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Cratcliffe Tor is a rocky crag, prized these days by rock climbers, and a treacherous twin of Robin Hood’s Stride. It was once the site of an ancient settlement and vestiges of prehistoric earthen ramparts remain. Cross the Portway, and a gentle slope leads to an intriguing jumble of stones, bracken and trees. It takes some imagination to make any sense of the landscape here.
Our first point of interest was the hermit’s cave, nestled under a rocky overhang and guarded by two great yews, a tree held sacred in these isles from time immemorial. We do not know for how long this open shelter was used, or when it was first occupied. We do know that it is situated close to the ancient track called the Portway and that was in use from prehistoric times, through the Roman occupation and right through the Middle Ages.
A fourteenth century…
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It’s beating on my eyes again
It’s blowing up my nose
It’s howling round my lips and mouth
And stealing my repose
➰
He dares not let it in, again
The chaos is too strong
It throws around the furniture
And wrecks the right and wrong
➰
I’d like to give a voice to it
But how to drink the wind?
I’ll have to keep him well subdued
Then see what else it brings
➰
A finer wine would be uncased
A deeper taste, an ‘I’ concealed
And leaden fear would drop away
To leave the laughing storm revealed
➰
©Stephen Tanham
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*
“This must be it,” shouted Min getting excited again.
If she had been a child she would have been jumping up and down on the spot.
“The green sward, you mean?” replied Cor who was just as excited but affecting the coolness of calm deliberation.
“Find the green sward beyond Hermit Hole…” recited Fran.
“…And follow it to the Throne of Stones,” finished Min then added, “and what’s that up ahead,” as she ran some way along the sward.
“It doesn’t look much like a throne to me,” said Cor.
“Nor me,” said Fran.
“Oh do come on!…” shouted Min, moving further and further away along the green sward. She turned on the crest of the rise and called back, “Hurry up, you two, I can see it!”
And then she disappeared…
*
Source: Stuart France
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It had been simple, back then, when all eyes shone with approval; when she was the young bride of the Queen’s Champion, Sir Philip Sidney. This daughter of the ‘Sworn’, – the inner cabal of those who had vowed to lay down their lives, without question, in the defence of their embattled queen – could do no wrong.
He should be here, she thought, fighting back the mist that threatened to undo the mask of determined perfection she wore. Philip, help me…use that old magic to help me from beyond your premature grave, my love… You knew her so well.
Her shoulders dropped at the uselessness of the thought. Philip Sydney, Queen’s Champion, and the monarch’s most intellectual challenger, had died in battle four years ago – his life wasted in a minor skirmish – and Frances had had scant time to grow into the might of his intellect, his inner nobility, nor the ancient and magical arts he practiced alongside his renowned poetry.
The Queen noticed the shift in her mood, indicated by a slight shift in her stance. How does she do that? Frances thought, turning to nod, subtly, her only acknowledgement to the women at whose feet she had learned the craft of living with royalty. Nothing less than complete honesty of gesture would be tolerated… especially now…
What is she doing with us? thought Frances. Here in this chamber, carefully crafted for this, and possibly only this, occasion. She thought of her father, dying only an hour’s ride away from NonSuch – lying in his bed, untended. Father, forgive me, she thought. I had no choice but to obey her. You, above all men, would understand that!
And he would, she knew; would shine with pride that the line of his blood continued to defend the woman they had secretly called The Birth. She thought she knew what that meant, but neither William Cecil, Queen’s first minister and her father’s constant companion in their secret dealings, nor her irascible parent would ever say…
She looked around the marble floor, with its stark black and white squares – pure in its pristine readiness – and suppressed a shudder. ‘A welcome’ it said in the private invitation, a ‘homecoming for Dr Dee’, former astrologer to Her Grace, mathematician, and cartographer of maps now used to guide the expanding Navy: the glorious English navy that had defeated the mighty Spanish Armada, giving Elizabeth’s England legendary status.
She has nothing to prove! she thought. Why this. Why now?
On the far side of the dais, beyond the Queen, Robert Cecil shuffled from foot to foot in the way that eased the pressure on his deformed spine. The shoes he had inherited were too big for him, Frances thought, with a smile, and he does not trust women…Whereas his illustrious father, William, had befriended and adored the company of many intelligent women, learning, perhaps, from his lifelong service with the Queen.
She let her eyes glance at the woman beside her. I know… she thought, quietly, I know the arrangement you came to with his father: take the blame, be scolded, humiliated, be driven out of office for my sake; and, in return, I will protect your estate, and your capable son may inherit your role…
The death...
No-one dared speak of the death, the Scottish Queen. For a queen to kill a queen meant that queens could be killed–and Elizabeth was a queen, too. So, someone else, someone beyond corruption, had to trigger that blow, and then the screaming Queen of England would beat her breast at the injustice of a killed queen under her protection – plotter or no.
Her eyes would betray her, so she sought softer gazes in the faces turned to the royal party. Robert my love, her heart whispered to the young Second Earl of Essex, standing, calm and still, to her left. This will be hard. Send me your strength… But, behind the comfort, darker emotions boiled. His furtive eyes never left her soft face as she read his look.. She will rage at us, I know, but love is an anointing of freedom.
More than that – and she wondered if he knew – the very blood that now pulsed with his passion carried the seeds of a line that would engender more than rage in the Queen. In fact, if known, it might be the gravest danger she had ever faced.
The solid oak door to the Chamber of Questioning opened and three people entered. The tall man in the front of the party was familiar and a friend: Sir Walter Raleigh filled a room with his presence.
Frances could feel the Queen’s eyes appraising her former beau. She dared not check, but could sense the smile with which the royal eyes appraised him: beyond her reach, now; belonging to another.
But the Queen did not know that Essex was, too…
The two men Raleigh was escorting into the chamber were less familiar. With a shock, she realised the one on her right was Dr John Dee… How he had aged! She would not have known that his bent figure had been the glorious champion of knowledge of her youth. What had befallen him to reduce the man of learning to this state?
Welcome him home? I don’t think so, my Queen!
The other man wore a simple robe. Its colour triggered the inner call to danger that her father had forced her to learn at his side. With a disguised gesture, she laid her hand over the concealed slit in her robe and felt for the presence of the ever-present dagger.
She had killed two men with it. The first by a dark London dock when a man attempted to rob her. The other, in the presence of her father, an act of execution forced by him in, a rite of passage, as the paralysing illness began to take his strength.
Her eyes, wise and deadly as those of a serpent, fixed themselves on the Jesuit cross hanging around the stranger’s neck…
In our five-act mystical story, when the company arrives at Elizabeth’s NonSuch palace, they are shown into a newly-prepared room, one in which a deadly search for the truths of the age will be played out on many levels: intellectual, emotional, religious and magical. Outside of the Queen’s own mind, no-one else in the room is aware of what is to follow.
What confronts the participants in the centre of the space is a huge game board consisting of black and white squares…
Each side of the board has its own symbolism and its own champion. In our five-act magical drama, Frances Walsingham has a very special relationship with the Queen, but also with several of the other figures in the Court. Four years after the death of her beloved husband, Sir Philip Sidney, she has begun a relationship with the Queen’s current favourite, the Second Earl of Essex – Robert Devereux, whose name is to become infamous. Can Walsingham’s daughter maintain her objective judgement?
The Silent Eye’s spring workshop, April 2018 is: “The Jewel in the Claw’. The jewel is the emerging spirit of humanism and tolerance that Elizabeth, the self-styled virgin-queen, engendered; the claw is the nature of the forces of ignorance that still plague us in the twenty-first century every bit as much as they did in 1588, the year that the mighty Spanish Armada was defeated by a combination of English naval courage and our equally fabled weather; and Elizabeth I finally achieved a degree of security.
The Silent Eye has produced dramatic mystical workshops since its inception in 2013, but this is a break from tradition, and will stick closely to the formula of an actual Elizabethan production, letting the acts of the play tell the deeper story. There is no formal audience, of course. We, the players, play to each other, and in doing so invoke the desired depth of psychological and spiritual interaction.
If you’ve never been to such an event before, don’t be over-faced by this heady agenda. There are always new people joining us, and we take great care to ensure they are comfortable. We do not expect our ‘actors’ to learn their lines! We all read from scripts – as though doing a final rehearsal, but the atmosphere is truly electric and you will find yourself working to bring your character to the greatest life you can give them! You will also find they stay with you for years afterwards…
Above all else it is always fun; and every year, come the Sunday farewell lunch, those attending do not want to go home and end that living link with a body of experience and aspiration that they have helped create…
We can honestly say that the workshops become a living thing, formed and sustained in the minds and hearts of those attending. Come and join our ‘merry band’ and you’ll want to come back.
Places are still available for ‘The Jewel in the Claw’. 20-22 April, 2018. The average price is approximately £250, fully inclusive of all meals and accommodation. You will struggle to find a better value weekend, anywhere.
The weekend workshop will be held at the lovely Nightingale Centre, Great Hucklow, near Buxton, in the heart of the Derbyshire Dales at a wonderful time of year – the spring.
You can download the pricing and booking form here:
Other posts in this series cover:
John Dee, Sir Walter Raleigh, Sir Philip Sidney
Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester
The Dragon of Elizabeth’s Seas
For more information email us on rivingtide@gmail.com
Banner Image: Composite of original artwork by the author plus a portrait of Frances Walsingham, courtesy of Wikipedia, CC by 3.0, Public Domain.
Images in background montages by the author – own photography.
Stephen Tanham is a director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit organisation that helps people find the reality and essence of their existence via low-cost supervised correspondence courses.
His personal blog, Sun in Gemini, is at stevetanham.wordpress.com
©️Stephen Tanham.
It had been simple, back then, when all eyes shone with approval; when she was the young bride of the Queen’s Champion, Sir Philip Sidney. This daughter of the ‘Sworn’, – the inner cabal of those who had vowed to lay down their lives, without question, in the defence of their embattled queen – could do no wrong.
He should be here, she thought, fighting back the mist that threatened to undo the mask of determined perfection she wore. Philip, help me…use that old magic to help me from beyond your premature grave, my love… You knew her so well.
Her shoulders dropped at the uselessness of the thought. Philip Sydney, Queen’s Champion, and the monarch’s most intellectual challenger, had died in battle four years ago – his life wasted in a minor skirmish – and Frances had had scant time to grow into the might of his intellect…
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Sue adds some rich detail to the possible Templar links with the Bakewell region…
We toured the church in Bakewell with our companions, stopping at each of the eight chosen points of interest that highlighted the story we were speculating upon. There is far more in that church than the details upon which we were focussing, but knowing that time was limited, we wanted to ensure we covered the unfolding tale. As it was, our timing was more perfect than we could have planned… a group of schoolchildren left as we entered the church, leaving the place empty apart from our party and the wardens, who locked the door behind us as we left.
There was time to look around though. We wanted to show our companions the fantastic misericords, with their carved beasts and dragons, as well as the Elizabethan and medieval tombs that now occupy the Newark. They also needed time to find the token that had been hidden within another…
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The Riddles of the Night weekend, created and hosted by Sue Vincent and Stuart France, reached a dark crescendo on the Saturday night.
One of the Arbor Low stones in our torchlight – that’s how dark it was!
By dark, I mean the kind of physical blackness that comes with an early December trip to the middle of an ancient site at nine in the evening…
After the all-consuming (Saturday) daytime visit to Robin Hood’s Stride, and the nearby stone circle and cliff–face, we needed some simple sustenance. The lovely village of Youlgreave, high in the hills to the south-east of Bakewell, with some good quality pubs, had been chosen for the first part of our evening.
Stuart and Sue had already reserved us a table at one of the pubs, mindful that our agenda was not finished yet. We settled for a single course, as time was passing, and one of the best stone circles in Europe beckoned… in the darkness of a December night. It’s the sort of experience you either run towards… or away from. We were definitely in the former camp and had a full turnout to prove it.
One of the Arbor Low stones from a previous visit
Sue will describe Arbor Low in more detail, but in summary, it is a Neolithic henge set on a high moor, which is open to views (and winds) from all around. The circle is set within an earthen bank and has approximately fifty white stones, all made of the local limestone. All the stones are described as fallen, but they may have been laid that way. One of the reasons given is that it could be a ‘night-temple’ where the purpose was for the priests to lie on the stones to look at the stars. The circle features an unusual central stone or ‘cove’. These are only found on sites that were of the highest importance.
We had been before, in late summer, and it had been freezing. We wondered what sort of experience we were in for, especially as the clouds were making it a very dark night.
The weekend had been blessed, so far, with lovely weather. We drove the few miles up the road to the farm that lies in front of the ancient site. Sue and Stuart, our organisers, had secured special permission for us to access the site in the darkness; after dark it is normally closed. Walking up the farm track, we must have cut a strange sight, with our torches picking out the way, ahead. The track gave way to a muddy field, and, by the time we entered the final field containing the ancient site, we were ‘well slutched’ as we used to say in my Lancashire childhood.
It didn’t matter, even if the stars were hidden. What changed everything was the soft and gentle rain that began to fall as we each selected our ‘own’ stone and sat or lay upon it, letting the intellect slip away and drinking in the wonder of actually being there under such strangely wonderful circumstances. It’s prosaic, but it felt like ‘being washed’ by the sky.
After our personal meditation, Sue gathered us together for a small ritual to close the evening. Then, without words, we walked back to our cars and away into the night to sleep.
It had been a truly wonderful day.
The smaller Derbyshire roads can be difficult to navigate, as our Sunday morning was to show. Our party ended up divided and time did not allow the full programme. By late morning a smaller group began the walk up to the astonishing plateau that lies just below Stanage Edge – a series of famous ridges that connect the western edges of Sheffield with the hills and valleys of neighbouring Derbyshire.
Our destination was the stone circle known as the Seven Stones of Hordron – a location alongside the well-known A57 ‘Snake Pass’ with which Sue and Stuart were very familiar. The smaller group meant that they could be relaxed with our own induction to this beautiful part of the landscape.
The first shock comes as you begin to climb up from the level of the track and stream in order to double-back onto the higher plateau.
The few hundred feet make all the difference. You emerge into a completely different world. All around you can be seen a landscape of peaks whose context is suddenly made clear. It is as though there is an upper floor to this world – one that unites the sky and land in a very different way.
The strange, shallow curve of the southern horizon
Using this path, you approach from the southern edge of the moor, with the dark line of Stanage Edge visible in the distance. It was a strange thought that, a few miles to the south-west, lay the paths and site of the ancient hilltop forts that our two hosts had used as the basis for the September workshop of 2016 – Seeking the Seer
The Hordron stones have a very different ‘feel’. You don’t see them until you are very close. Like most of the Derbyshire stones, they are only a few feet tall (the nine stones near Robin Hood’s Stride are the tallest in the county) and the winter is the best time to see them. In summer, they can be partly hidden by the moorland grasses. Sue and Stuart have an extensive theory about marker stones, and there is a marker stone on path that clearly marks the first point at which you can make out the stone circle.
The Hordron Stones, with Stanage Edge in the background
To stand in the circle is to appreciate just how much this place meant to the ancients who created it. The sense of communion between earth and sky is intense – and yet, this is a very peaceful place.
Also astonishing is the extent to which the upper outline of the stones are shaped to map the distant horizon – as shown in the photograph, below. The architects of this sacred place knew what they were doing – and how to link it with the world around it. One word used to describe this is ‘sympathetic magic’.
The near-exact alignment and ‘shadowing’ of stone and horizon
We gathered together in a simple ceremony to mark the end of the visit and the coming Winter Solstice – the shortest day and longest night, the point at which the ‘brightening’ begins, leading us, in increasing light, to the Midsummer solstice which marks the longest day; and the cycle begins again.
The Winter Solstice is deeply spiritual. It marks a symbolic ‘death’ in which there is the rebirth of life – an emotional, as well as physical transition to a new state.
While on the track and, later, the moor, we had forgotten time. It came as a shock to find that it was nearly three in the afternoon. We came down from the moor via a different and more direct path, and soon found ourselves at the car park and ready to end what had been a rewarding and beautiful weekend.
In closing, we would like to thank our hosts Sue Vincent and Stuart France, whose knowledge and planning made these three days so special.
——-
Stephen Tanham is a director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit organisation that helps people find the reality and essence of their existence via low-cost supervised correspondence courses.
His personal blog, Sun in Gemini, is at stevetanham.wordpress.com
©️Stephen Tanham.
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We began at the well that gave the town its name. Baecca’s Well is an ancient healing spring that rises from deep within the earth. It is thought to have taken its name from a tribal leader whose story is lost beyond memory. It is one of the points on a proprosed ley running from the great circle of Arbor Low and yet, it sits incongruously within the modern recreation ground and right next to a children’s wet play area that is open in summer. I wonder if the water for that comes from the spring too and hope that it does… there would be a nice continuity to that… and the continuing flow of the Underground Stream was one of the major themes of the weekend.
The Underground Stream refers to that continuing flow of knowledge and understanding which, like pure water, flows through mankind’s spiritual history, resurfacing from…
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Stuart’s fascinating tour through the classics of esoteric history continues…
*
“The nine orders of Angelic Being mattered because the divisions echoed the Trinity and because they corresponded to the nine-fold partition of the heavens.”
*
*
“From the Empyrean in descending order the spheres were those of the ‘first mover’, the fixed stars, saturn, jupiter, mars, sun, venus, mercury and moon. The Nine Hierarchies of Angelic Being each regulated one of these spheres.”
*
*
“Although this order was familiar to the Elizabethans, they thought nothing of ‘playing fast and loose’ with it and before long the Archangels had been ‘promoted’ to the place of the Seraphim.”
With quite ‘devastating’ results for the world at large…
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*
“The Angelic Worlds had been set out as early as the fifth century AD by Dionysius the Areopagite who taught that the Angelic Beings were arranged in a definitive nine-fold order according to their capacities to receive the undivided divine essence.”
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“In this scheme there were three main orders. The ‘contemplative’ consisted of Seraphim, Cherubim and Thrones. The ‘attitudinal’ was divided into Dominions, Virtues and Powers. While the ‘active’ was made up of Principalities, Archangels and Angels.”
*
*
“It was the lowest of these orders, the Angels, alone, that formed a medium between the Super-Being and Man.”
Sun in Gemini 
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