Close your eyes for a second and listen to your own mind. You don’t need to be anywhere quiet. It can simply be where you are. There are two schools of thought involving meditative practices: the first says you need to be somewhere detached from the world; the second states that the world – our world – is specially configured to give us deeply personal responses on all levels.
You may be surprised to find your mind is full of words. Even worse, the chances are it’s chattering away to itself. We don’t expect to find words inside us like this. It’s not how we ‘think’ of ourselves.
But we’re full of words; most of them useless. Word-worms…
Usually, that chattering is actually narrating your present moment: you mustn’t forget to pick up the milk from the supermarket; your active dislike of that couple you had round for dinner; that stiffness in your thigh after the long walk on Sunday. Did you fall on it, or is it just age…
They’re all shouting for attention, these word-worms. All of them want your whole attention for their second in the spotlight while your body gets tense and you have to invoke an even more powerful script of words to calm yourself down.
Let’s not…
Let’s not play their game of words. Instead, let’s trip them up in the middle of their usual writhing in our minds. Let’s create a ‘word master’, using their own technology, to deploy back at them.
The word ‘ONE’ : say it as though someone just opened the door to that garden in full bloom; or the park in midsummer, happy with the laughing of children.
Let it look like a circle of golden, fiery light in the blue sky, having the power to consume any worm word still writhing in your mind.
One of your more perceptive worms shouts in protest, ‘But it’s another word!’
And it is… but it’s a tool of the deep mind, not the superficial thought layer that thrives off eating your energy with tension, daydream and longing.
‘ONE’ – say it mentally (or even physically if you wish) watch how it stops every other word in your mind. Whenever another worm arises, say it to yourself, again. Keep doing it. Don’t let anything arise that isn’t ONE.
I first discovered the power of this driving the car while heading for a confrontational business meeting. I found over the next ten minutes that it didn’t do anything for my driving but enhance it. I arrived at my meeting clear-headed and full of creative ‘power’. That’s when I discovered for myself that there were two layers to my mind: Words and Awareness. The awareness had already absorbed how to drive. Once the worms were taken away, it carried on driving with calmness and equanimity.
Discover this for yourself. Start with something simple, then move on to the more critical activities. Assure yourself at each stage.
You may be walking, working or wondering. That’s okay. You don’t need to stop anything apart from the chatter of irrelevant worms. A few minutes of this and you may be eyebrow-raisingly shocked at how well your tasks are going. For some reason, you don’t need all those worms that regard themselves as irreplaceable.
After a while of this One-focussed silence, you’ll begin to feel a kind of peaceful golden glow… The image of the golden ‘One circle’ may take on a shine, one that radiates a gentle, peaceful feeling.
At this point your cleverer worm-words may begin, very quietly, telling you how remarkable this is, and, in, particular, how WELL you’re doing!
Have none of it. Whack it with ONE!
So what’s going on? Why is this working?
Next week, we’ll look at where all these word-worms come from, and why they have such power. By then, you might have experienced some answers of your own…
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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Close your eyes for a second and listen to your own mind. You don’t need to be anywhere quiet. It can simply be where you are. There are two schools of thought involving meditative practices: the first says you need to be somewhere detached from the world; the second states that the world – our world – is specially configured to give us deeply personal responses on all levels.
You may be surprised to find your mind is full of words. Even worse, the chances are it’s chattering away to itself. We don’t expect to find words inside us like this. It’s not how we ‘think’ of ourselves.
But we’re full of words; most of them useless. Word-worms…
Usually, that chattering is actually narrating your present moment: you mustn’t forget to pick up the milk from the supermarket; your active dislike of that couple you had round for dinner; that stiffness in your thigh after the long walk on Sunday. Did you fall on it, or is it just age…
They’re all shouting for attention, these word-worms. All of them want your whole attention for their second in the spotlight while your body gets tense and you have to invoke an even more powerful script of words to calm yourself down.
Let’s not…
Let’s not play their game of words. Instead, let’s trip them up in the middle of their usual writhing in our minds. Let’s create a ‘word master’, using their own technology, to deploy back at them.
The word ‘ONE’ : say it as though someone just opened the door to that garden in full bloom; or the park in midsummer, happy with the laughing of children.
Let it look like a circle of golden, fiery light in the blue sky, having the power to consume any worm word still writhing in your mind.
One of your more perceptive worms shouts in protest, ‘But it’s another word!’
And it is… but it’s a tool of the deep mind, not the superficial thought layer that thrives off eating your energy with tension, daydream and longing.
‘ONE’ – say it mentally (or even physically if you wish) watch how it stops every other word in your mind. Whenever another worm arises, say it to yourself, again. Keep doing it. Don’t let anything arise that isn’t ONE.
I first discovered the power of this driving the car while heading for a confrontational business meeting. I found over the next ten minutes that it didn’t do anything for my driving but enhance it. I arrived at my meeting clear-headed and full of creative ‘power’. That’s when I discovered for myself that there were two layers to my mind: Words and Awareness. The awareness had already absorbed how to drive. Once the worms were taken away, it carried on driving with calmness and equanimity.
Discover this for yourself. Start with something simple, then move on to the more critical activities. Assure yourself at each stage.
You may be walking, working or wondering. That’s okay. You don’t need to stop anything apart from the chatter of irrelevant worms. A few minutes of this and you may be eyebrow-raisingly shocked at how well your tasks are going. For some reason, you don’t need all those worms that regard themselves as irreplaceable.
After a while of this One-focussed silence, you’ll begin to feel a kind of peaceful golden glow… The image of the golden ‘One circle’ may take on a shine, one that radiates a gentle, peaceful feeling.
At this point your cleverer worm-words may begin, very quietly, telling you how remarkable this is, and, in, particular, how WELL you’re doing!
Have none of it. Whack it with ONE!
So what’s going on? Why is this working?
Next week, we’ll look at where all these word-worms come from, and why they have such power. By then, you might have experienced some answers of your own…
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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Although it was a continuation of the same trip, it would be misleading to continue with the ‘Poolewe Diaries’ as a title. The sailing from Ullapool to the Hebridean main island of Lewis marked the second week of the Scottish adventure, so a change of title is appropriate…
Arriving on the island of Lewis, you get a strong sense of the remoteness of the place. Our departure port of Ullapool was remote enough, but then adding a three-hour ferry crossing just emphasised how separated this community is from the main population areas of Scotland.
Image from Apple Maps, post processed by the author)
The largest town on Lewis is the port of Stornoway, famous for its appearance as the second item in the BBC’s maritime ‘shipping forecast’. The Shipping Forecast is a BBC Radio broadcast of weather reports and forecasts for the seas around the far coasts of the British Isles. It is produced by the Met Office and broadcast by BBC Radio 4 on behalf of the Maritime and Coastguard Agency.
Stornoway is the main town of the Western Islands (the local name for the Outer Hebrides). It was founded by Vikings in the early 9th century, with the old Norse name Stjórnavágr. The settlement grew up around a sheltered natural harbour and became a trading hub for people from all over the island. Local travel to Stornoway was either by family boat, or (more slowly), by horse-drawn coach. The town of Stjórnavágr was the main base for trade with the rest of Scotland and further afield.
In the 15th century the local castle, the ancestral base of the MacLeod clan, was breached by the cannons of the Duke of Argyle, and local taxes were imposed on trade. This was hated by the islanders, who rebelled against such shipping rights being imposed. Continued resistance succeeded against King James VI, who, in 1598, tried to establish his own trading company, the ‘Fife Adventurers’.
It failed. Declaring it ‘ungovernable’, James transferred Lewis to the MacKenzies of Seaforth in 1610. Stornoway Castle was later demolished to expand the harbour. A few remnants of the old stonework are to be found beneath the sea, alongside the pier foundations.
I have a personal connection with the island of Lewis – cultural rather than genetic…
I was born in Bolton, Lancashire. As a boy I used to walk the moors above the town of Horwich, marvelling at the ‘lost city’ nature of the ruins of the old ornamental gardens – long abandoned after the house that used to be there was burned down by the Suffragettes.
Later, I found out the mysterious gardens were the creation of William Hesketh Lever and built as a summer retreat on the site of where he and his wife did their courting. For many years, I looked into his life and built up a collection of facts and images. In a sense, his personal industry and success inspired me.
William Hesketh Lever, a man born to a working-class family in the centre of Bolton, built up a local soap business and became increasingly successful and prosperous, eventually creating Port Sunlight on the Wirral Peninsula, an entire ‘model town’ where the workers in his vast factories were guaranteed quality homes in the pleasant village. Until this trip, I had not realised that there was a link between William Lever and the island of Lewis.
In 1918, Matheson sold the island of Lewis to the soap millionaire – who had now become William Lever, 1st Viscount Leverhulme. Lord Leverhulme owned the island for only a short time. His economic plans for the Island of Lewis (together with various business setbacks) overstretched his finances. Faced with failure in Lewis, and unlike his predecessors, he gave Stornoway parish to the people of the town. The Stornoway Trust was formed and continues to administer the town for the people.
The Lever Brothers soap empire eventually became part of Unilever, the modern multi-national corporation whose cleaning products grace most supermarkets.
It was the Friday afternoon. We needed to stock up on essential supplies from a local supermarket, as Stornoway had the only sizable shops. The following day was Saturday, which would allow us to get our bearings in the Uist Region of the island – before the almost total closure that is Sunday on Lewis.
We had been warned that there was a strong and specific religious presence on Harris; one that pervades many aspects of life on the island. In Lewis’ case, it was the ‘Wee-Frees’. The entry in Wikipedia refers:
The Wee Free in modern usage is used, usually in a pejorative way, of any small group who because of their, arguably obscure, religious principles choose to remain outside or separate from a larger body. A Wee Free attitude might show as a preference for being part of a smaller but ideologically sound group rather than a larger compromised one.
The term ‘Wee Free’ was an epithet commonly used to distinguish between two Scottish Presbyterian Churches after the union of 1900: The Free Kirk and The United Free Kirk – the latter being some 25 times larger in its congregation. The rhyming Scottish diminutive became the adopted familiar name of the smaller entity.
The Island of Lewis is dominated by the Wee Free Presbyterian Church. It has its presence in every aspect of the island’s life. The church is energetically anti-Catholic and regards the Pope as having been artificially ‘inserted’ by dogma between mankind and God. One of the tenets of the Wee Free community is that you protect the Sabbath.
Holidaymakers are welcome to attend the churches or simply enjoy their time on the island. But nothing is open on Sunday… well, almost nothing, as we were to discover.
First, we had to cross the island to the Uist area and find our holiday cottage…
Part One: https://suningemini.blog/2022/05/24/a-poolewe-diary-1/
Part Two, https://suningemini.blog/2022/05/31/a-poolewe-diary-2/
Part Three, https://suningemini.blog/2022/06/06/a-poolewe-diary-3-the-loch-on-the-back-of-the-oats-box/
Part Four, https://suningemini.blog/2022/06/14/a-poolewe-diary-4-once-upon-a-time-in-the-far-north-west/
Part Five: https://suningemini.blog/2022/06/21/a-poolewe-diary-5-over-the-minch-to-lewis/
This is the continuation of our adventure, now on the Hebridean Island of Lewis, and is Part One of ‘A Hebridean Diary’.
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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I’ve always loved piers…
Most partly grown-up small boys do. It’s that sheer expanse of linear possibility…
Breathtaking.
Piers are usually associated with railway towns. In many ways the railway town was the forerunner of modern urban development. The ‘seaside’ was invented by railway companies who provided the means to get there – in three graduations of ‘wealth: third class; second class and first.
The scruffy small boys – all looking like they were from one of Richmal Crompton’s ‘Just William’ books – didn’t seem to mind being bottom of the heap. ‘Wakes Week’ had arrived and dad could come, too…
Seaside towns didn’t always have long piers, but it was a badge of honour if they did.
This one’s in Llandudno, North Wales. It’s privately owned. There are numerous small businesses along its impressive length and a rejuvenated cocktails and drinks bar at the end.
Pint of Guinness with the sunset, anyone?
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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Heroes in a Landscape (7) End of the Quest
by Steve Tanham
Continued from Part Six…
The final day of a weekend like ‘The Journey of the Hero’ has to serve many purposes. It has to reinforce what has been shared; it has to send people on their homeward journeys with a smile… and a desire to do it, again. In short, it needs to embrace the companions with a warm hug!
It also needs to bring closure to the ‘plot’ of the story. All workshops need a good story – a thread of purpose and often mystery that defines the sequence of experience. Those attending should feel they were the ‘players’ and not simply the participants. Most will embrace this…
As with the other stages of the weekend, timing would be vital for our final day. To make sure we had workable planes, we had taken a day out, in April 2022, to dry-run the sequence for the final half-day, ending where we began at Castlerigg Stone Circle… hopefully with kinder weather.
We met at the usual Cricket Club car park in Keswick, from which the two peaks of Latrigg and the much larger Skiddaw are prominent.
Even from the car park, Latrigg appears to be anything but simple. The footpath rises from the river valley and becomes a small road that dramatically crosses the ravine carrying the main A66 carriageway. It then merges with a number of small lanes, eventually snaking up the side of Latrigg, to end in a shambolic and muddy car park not far from the summit.
There was mischief afoot – but well-humoured mischief. Gazing up at Latrigg from the Cricket Club, it looked a challenging climb, and one that wouldn’t fit well with a relaxed and reflective morning. In reality, the companions would soon find themselves whisked up to within a level half-mile of the summit by car.
At least, that was the plan. The photos, below, taken during the recce day in April show how wonderful the views are from the path edge facing Keswick and its two lakes.
At what you think is the summit – as in the first two photos, above, you turn round to see that the path continues climbing gently for another half-mile to reach a point where you can see the Borrowdale Valley, the A66 main road….and Castlerigg Stone Circle.
The symbolic idea was that, nearing the end of the quest, the hero would be granted a final view of the destination. But first they would have to find it!
That was the plan. Sadly, something else was in store for us. On the recce day in March, we had little difficulty in getting up the twisty, tiny road to the car park. I remarked at the time that I wouldn’t want to turn around in that tight place if there was much traffic…
Sunday morning, 8th May 2022, offered beautiful skies and a warm day. Everyone seemed to be converging on Keswick. Those that know the access points to Skiddaw also use the top of the Latrigg road as their start-point. The place was rammed.
But the time I’d crawled the car up the busy hill, there were only one or two very tight parking places available, and other cars were frantically trying to escape the mayhem and get back onto the broader roads below.
We had to abandon the idea of parking at the top. I offered the alternative of leaving the cars just off a lower section of the road a short distance below us, but tension had set in – along with the spectre of not being able to retrieve the vehicles in a timely fashion, later.
We managed to reverse everyone out and cut our losses – heading directly for Castlerigg, and noting, for future trips, the lower points on the hill from which a short additional climb would have made the whole plan feasible.
One of the companions, a lady who lives locally, suggested that we take a break at the new Climbing Centre just down the road from the stone circle. It proved to be good choice. A coffee and cake later, we agreed that, over the three days, very little of fundamental importance had gone wrong… and we could swallow this one hit…
After all, Castlerigg could now be explored at our leisure and in sunshine. It had plenty of its own magic to offer.
Back at Castlerigg, I pointed at the nearby hills and the secondary edge where we would have stood to look down on where we were, now. You can just imagine our ghostly presences waving…
The revised agenda allowed us to spend more personal time within the Castlerigg stones, before calling everyone together into a quieter place to the side of the main site to complete the Hero’s Quest and confer on all present our customary bag of coloured ‘raw gemstones’, for ‘placing or planting’ at other specials locations in each person’s future travels.
To those that were leaving straight from here, we said our goodbyes by the cars. Then, one final journey back into Keswick to reunite the main body of the group with their vehicles and we were done. Everyone had enjoyed it. A few even looked wistfully back up at Latrigg as we were leaving to envisage how the full morning could have gone.
The workshop had proved resilient. Everyone said they felt that a meaningful journey – including a degree of needed ‘hardship’ – had been achieved. A landscape had been ‘absorbed’, a quest fulfilled, and a deeper understanding of a few key Tarot images had been not only gained, but also used in a way that none had seen before. The Heroes had returned to their start point, to – as T.S. Eliot wrote, and known it for the first time. And with that knowledge, able to go forth empowered…
It was still a beautiful day. Stuart and I ambled back along the A66 and joined the M6 motorway southbound. I took us off at the junction prior to the usual one and surprised my co-Director by emerging from a small lane next to the Station Pub – the place we hold our monthly management meetings close to Oxenholme Station – the only West Coast mainline station in a village!
Sadly, time did not allow the usual pint of Guinness, and soon he was being whisked south to Preston by the Glasgow-London train…and I was driving the short distance to home.
Keswick had served us well, but it was good to be back in Kendal. We hope you’ve enjoyed the journey…
September 2022 Workshop
There will be another workshop of this kind, but with a different theme, in the first half of September 2022. All are welcome. The admin fee is £75.00 per person.
You can register your interest in the comments section or via an email to Rivingtide@gmail.com
Other parts in this series:
Part One, Part Two, Part Three,
Part Four, Part Five, Part Six.
This is Part Seven… the final part.
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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Midsummer from the Pike My thanks to fellow blogger Ashley, for his evocative Haiku this morning, and from which I stole the title of this blog. My …
On the hill of summer
Michael from the Rivendale Review ‘took me home for the Solstice’ with this blog. I used to mountain bike ‘up the Pike’ on the Solstice evening.
Surrounded by lakes and mountains, now, I cannot complain! Yet they are all a car ride away. My own Solstice evening now consists of a local dog walk to see my favourite oak tree. Yesterday evening it was radiant with midsummer energy.
Here’s the photo, with a little bit of editing to fully capture the ‘feel’
I hope you had a reflective Solstice…
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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Continued from Part Four…. See index below.
We’re in Ullapool. Waiting to board the ferry to the Outer Hebrides – the island of Lewis, to be precise. Our first week in the far north-west of Scotland is over. We’ve marvelled at some of the most dramatic scenery we’ve ever seen. My iPhone has struggled to cope with the sheer scale of this land.
It’s raining, as it has been most of the week. But we’re not going to let it dampen our spirits. After a while, being damp ceases to dull the spirit, and you fill the day with smaller explorations – ensuring that each one has a warm coffee shop!
My best waterproof is long and based on a riding-coat style. Bernie says it reminds her of the Mad Max films. I don’t mind – I’m quite happy being at a slight angle to the universe…
But it’s not here. It’s several hundred miles south in Cumbria, hung on a peg by the front door where I wouldn’t miss it when leaving with the last of the cases…Mmm.
In fairness to this beautiful part of the Highlands, Cumbria is pretty wet, too – and just as unpredictable as Scotland. Winter and summer, the long ‘Mad Max’ raincoat has proved invaluable.
Though not in itself warm, its length provides a body-fitting waterproof barrier. In summer storms, it’s ideal. But you do need to have it with you…
For reasons explained in Part One (see index below) I hadn’t told my wife, Bernie that I didn’t really have a coat. This was doubly poignant when you consider she was carrying – for my imminent holiday birthday – a very tasty, shorter version of Mad Max, made by a New Zealand company that also understands a life in near-constant rain.
Bernie hadn’t yet noticed my oversight…and I wasn’t about tell her. It was down to me to survive on what I had packed long enough to collect the new coat. After that I would always be dry…
…and warm. Did I mention warm? For the past week the weather had not only been wet, but cold. Zipped into my stand-in Berghaus windproof, I had no less than three layers, comprising: vest, walking ‘woollie’ and super-light gilet. I was, it has to be admitted, warm. But I was permanently damp…
Now in Ullapool and seeing the waiting ferry boat below us brought home that it would only be a few days to dry warmth. I was counting them down.
Our adventure holiday – ‘four wet people in a people carrier’ had been adopted as its moniker – was planned as a two centre holiday. We were at the end of the first week and about to board a very modern ship to cross the ‘Minch’, a challenging stretch of sea that separates the extreme north-west coast of the Scottish mainland from the islands of Lewis and Harris – the Outer Hebrides; a place we had long wanted to visit.
Bernie and I are well used to sea-going ferries. We travel each year – usually November – to spend time with friends on the Isle of Man. The crossing takes four hours and can be rough; though, in the fifteen years we have been doing it, we have been fortunate in always having calm weather.
Image from Apple Maps, post processed by the author)
We had realistic expectations of the island of Lewis. The interior of the land was spoken of as rocky and rather featureless, but with hundreds of sea-lochs. The highpoint of the scenery seemed to be the beaches. We were travelling with two dogs, one of them blind. We were hoping that both would find the large and empty beaches joyful, and that Rosie, the blind Labrador, would find in them a vast and safe space to run free.
Part way through the voyage to Lewis, the sun came out and I went on deck to photograph it. At least I think that’s what happened. Perhaps I’d nodded off. Either way, things might have been about to improve.
For now, I was enjoying the warm, dry and dog-friendly lounge of the Calmac Ferry to Stornaway, and smiling at the thought of the birthday waterproof coat just around the corner…
Part One: https://suningemini.blog/2022/05/24/a-poolewe-diary-1/
Part Two, https://suningemini.blog/2022/05/31/a-poolewe-diary-2/
Part Three, https://suningemini.blog/2022/06/06/a-poolewe-diary-3-the-loch-on-the-back-of-the-oats-box/
Part Four, https://suningemini.blog/2022/06/14/a-poolewe-diary-4-once-upon-a-time-in-the-far-north-west/
This is Part Five
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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The raw picture had some pleasing elements. The ‘follow-line’ from the foliage down to the sea was attractive, but the width of the foreground diluted the impact. The first step was to deepen the ‘feel’ with a number of tonal changes.
There’s no instant fix. It’s a process of trial and error. There is a danger of going overboard with the effects and making the image look interesting but artificial. There’s a desire to move away from the original, but only to get closer to what was ‘glimpsed’, emotionally, when taking the original image.
After this balance is arrived at, the rest is down to cropping – extracting a core ‘block’ of the image to be the new whole. To do this we take away what we don’t need of the original using digital tools that ‘crop’ to any desired aspect ratio.
There is an undefinable moment when something goes ‘click’ in the mind and you know you’ve found a certain symmetry of composition. It’s more of an ‘art’ than a science.
Above: restoring a little of the grassy surface on the left establishes a better balance. It’s a process of ‘feel’ rather than mathematics, although I suspect the mind recognises quite complex areas as ‘harmonic’.
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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Heroes in a Landscape (6) Fellowship of the Shepherd
by Steve Tanham
Continued from Part Five…
There comes a moment in any weekend event when the carefully cultivated sense of order breaks down… no matter how good the plan. At that point one looks to ‘heaven’ knowing that the success is in the ‘laps of the Gods’.
The man striding up the hill from Great Salkeld towards Long Meg Stone Circle possessed a brain whose capacity for the solution of additional problems had ceased…
You can only do so much to anticipate what might go wrong. This is different from careful planning; which provides a framework which should be resilient, and above all else, elastic.
The companion who was having difficulty walking was, to the best of my knowledge, still somewhere close to Lacy’s Caves; and being looked after by some, if not all, of the walking party. Even with their help, she might be unable to walk out of the Eden Valley.
She was later to write to Stuart and I that there must have been a remarkable amount of ‘elastic in the system’ to bring things to a successful conclusion. At the time, it didn’t feel like that…
The Saturday of the Journey of the Hero workshop had gone very well. The problems were entirely about how it was ending…
To the best of my knowledge, I was the only one not still ‘trapped’ in the Eden Valley. Somewhat hot and sweaty, courtesy of my self-imposed route-march, I was approaching the Long Meg Stone Circle – where all the cars were parked. Other than breathing deeply and being hot, I felt okay. There was no sign of extreme fatigue. My concern was entirely for the companions farther back along the route.
A glance at my watch showed I had made it back in record time. But there was none to lose. It seemed unlikely that we would be making our early dinner appointment at the Shepherd Inn, Langwathby – the next village, but a million miles away in problems. A prime Saturday evening booking cancelled… they would be rightly annoyed.
I located my car keys in the backpack and opened the door… It’s amazing what sliding behind the wheel of your car can do for the spirits when you’ve spent the past hour walking at a near-run. Now, finally equipped to get somewhere fast, I could begin to put a rescue into effect. Down in the village the large gate was padlocked and I would not be able to take the car on its return mission without solving that first.
I glanced at the Long Meg stones and made my silent prayer, again. Then drove off down the steep lane back to Great Threlkeld.
Five minutes later, I swung the car round the corner and into the small road by the village green to find that three people were sitting on the bench, looking at the arriving fast car. Stuart was one of them. I couldn’t work out what had happened but was relieved to see at least some of the party. They were equally surprised to see me, and explained that they presumed they had been just behind me on my self-enforced march.
It transpired that the lady with the walking difficulties had made a determined effort to have another go at it; and found out that her Covid-suppressed leg muscles had begun to respond to her needs! She was somewhere behind on the trail but being assisted by one of our strongest hikers. In my absence, the problem had begun to resolve itself… There’s a lesson in that, I muttered to no-one in particular…
It seemed there was nothing I could do to speed up the situation, so the critical path shifted to getting everyone who was here back to their cars.
Without delay, I ferried them back up the hill to Long Meg. I was about to set off, again, back to the village, when one of the party approached me looking glum and shaking her head.
“I appear to have lost my car keys,” she said in a low voice.
She’s an experienced lady, and hosts workshops of her own. She looked downcast, conscious that the slim possibility of getting to our dinner had just evaporated…
Stuart and I looked around the car, then got down on the ground to see if the keys had dropped beneath. Nothing. Meanwhile, the lady without the keys was searching every pocket she had, including those of her backpack. It was fruitless…they were not there.
The three of us mentally retraced our steps to think where they might have been dropped. She said that, after locking the car, they were always placed in a certain pocket of her walking jacket. She patted it, silently.
“One of my daughters lives close by. She said, brightening. She took out her mobile. “She’ll not be surprised…”
I always admire self-deprecating humour. In the face of difficulty, it’s a noble thing.
Stuart sighed and said, in the way he does when he’s wearing his Reaper’s look, “Lacy’s Caves… we all sat down for that tea and chocolate…They might have fallen out there!”
No-one responded. The implications were ‘too horrid’, as a long departed mentor would have said.
I took stock: we did have enough seats in the available vehicles to get us all to the Shepherd Pub in nearby Langwathby. We were short two people, one of whom might be limping along the river trail.
It was 17: 40. The dinner table was booked for 18:00. It was Saturday evening; they wouldn’t hold it long.
“I’ll drive back into the village” I said. “You never know, the final two might have made it that far.”
I got into my car, again, opening the side window to catch any last-minute developments. The companion without her car keys was phoning the daughter with the spare set. I could hear the cackle of laughter at the other end.
“Again!”
It was beautifully good-natured. We would be okay, even if we had to dine off fish and chips, standing on the pavement in Penrith…
I drove down the lane, again. This was beginning to feel like the central character in Gerard Hofnung’s story of the bricks… If you’ve never heard it, it’s ten minutes well spent.
The lady with the limp and her stalwart protector were sitting on the same bench. She looked fine. I had a growing sense of amused unreality.
“I’m fine, Steve. My leg started working, again. Just lack of exercise… I should have done some training before the weekend!”
I thanked her protector and we climbed back into the car. I was about to set off for Long Meg when a different plan presented itself…
I dropped them outside the Shepherd Inn in the nearby village of Langwathby with instructions to secure our table and delay things as long as possible. If we were thrown out at that point, we had at least battled and lost. Dinner in that delightful pub was to be the high point of the day and I wasn’t going to surrender it, lightly.
I went back up the hill to Long Meg… (See I told you you’d like the Bricklayer’s tale)
The lady without her keys was standing behind her car, talking with her daughter. The keys being brought seemed to be a minimum of an hour away. All hopes of the nearby dinner were vanishing.
She turned to lean on the back of the car and – to her visible surprise – the boot swung up and open…
“That’s not supposed to happen,” she remarked, quietly, to her bemused daughter on the other end of the line. “I think I know what the problem is…”
Stuart and I looked on in astonishment as, saying nothing, she walked to the driver’s side and pulled the handle. The door opened. It hadn’t been locked…
Flashing me a ‘please don’t say anything until I’ve had a drink’ look, she reached down into the well of the door and extracted her keys…from where she now knew they’d been, all along.
“Done it again,” she murmured to her daughter, who was still on the phone. “Thank you!”
Nine minutes later, our party arrived in Langwathby and parked by the village green, next to the pub.
As we crossed the threshold, I looked at my watch. It was one minute to six…
It was a lesson in the art of the possible – as long as you let the possible happen. A lesson that Stuart and I are unlikely ever to forget… It was also an excellent dinner.
The morning after, we would be climbing a mountain… but not exactly in the way we had planned…
To be concluded in Part Seven.
Other parts in this series:
Part One, Part Two, Part Three,
This is Part Six.
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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We’ve got to approach this, carefully… Or you won’t have as much fun as I did.
Badacro Creek… I’m not sure there’s a ‘creek’ in there, but if there’s not, there should be. Badacro is well known in these parts as a safe anchorage for boats, particularly sailing boats. It lies at the heart of a ‘jigsaw’ of inlets and creeks just south of Gairloch.
At least, that’s what the guidebooks say… The reality is something far more vivid than such words can convey. And there are surprises here, too.
Badacro is a hidden gem, tucked away in one of the most beautiful, yet secluded parts of the North-West Scottish coast.
Standing at the top of the tiny lane, these things are made apparent by a combination of the faded map and old, weather-worn signposts. Badacro has an inn, and as it seems to be down by the water, I’m drawn to it. I love shoreline locations. I’ve known about this one for all of two minutes…and I’m intrigued, and intent on following the narrow lane that winds down towards the sea.
We look at the sign at the intersection; it groans as it flexes in the cold wind. The day looks warmer than it is. No change there, then…
And it’s not raining – which only adds to the sense of something strange (but beautiful) happening.
It’s rained continuously since we got to this far corner of North-West Scotland nearly a week ago. But now, there’s an hiatus. We have an undoubted ‘window event’ opening up, here. I’ve learned to recognise them over the years. There’s a kind of inaudible crackling in the air… which fades to an intense and pregnant silence.
Something’s gonna happen here… a familiar and mischievous voice in my head chuckles. The skin on the back of my neck prickles, supportively. Definitely…
Cue the music… ‘Once Upon a Time in the West‘… ( link: https://youtu.be/6MZw_Iv0wdU)
It’s my nomination for the best-ever western, and it has nothing to do with this part of Scotland…except that the music comes to me every time one of the ‘window events’ occurs.
Every Christmas, in a stolen slice of late evening, usually on Boxing Day, I watch the whole movie, having hypnotised the family into thinking that I’m walking the dog…
That wailing harmonica – played by good guy Charles Bronson – whose character is only known as ‘Harmonica’ – to a nearly empty hotel bar… Those eyes! Cinema at its 1960s best.
Bronson’s mysterious ‘Harmonica’ eventually wins out against the emerging railroad’s chief enforcer, ‘Frank’, played by Henry Fonda.
It’s a good fit to the brightening mood in Badacro Creek.
Back in Badacro, the first roof-line comes into view. But the lovely cedar-panelled building on stilts over the creek is not the Badacro Inn. It’s a nautically-themed gift shop. They don’t take dogs, not even acting dogs that understand Ennio Morricone’s music, so we carry on walking down the steep slope, anticipating that the inn is close.
As we near the waterfront, there’s that slightly unreal feeling. At the next turn, The Badacro Inn comes into view… If you’re an old romantic like me, it’s what you want to find at the end of a lane that curves down to the sea so beautifully. Everything seems to be lined up. The music is playing. Bury me here, my love, I want to say, but the Collie says stop being stupid, Dad.
The image above is only half the story. To the right of this, there’s another unexpected feature.
We didn’t get to find out whether the ‘Pizza and Prosecco’ trailer is part of the pub or a licensed extension. Either way, I can only imagine it being a welcome offering to sailors, locals and wet gunslingers in search of refreshment… and fun.
Claudia Cardinale provided the fun in Once upon a time in the West. Her character rises from supposed seediness to noble heroine, despite the death of her husband-to-be at the brutal hands of the icy arch-villain of the piece – Played superbly by a steely Henry Fonda – ‘Frank’.
I’m not a frequent beer drinker, but when I do, I love a well-kept pint of Guinness. With this thought, the laughing feeling grows, triggering remembered stories of how one’s favourite things and places are arranged as experiences at the end of life… It’s not a morbid thought, but it invokes the mischief-maker within and the harmonica music, of course. Always the harmonic music.
We go inside the Badacro Inn and it’s just as tempting. There’s an old naval chart showing the location of this part of the shore. I’ve ringed it in red in my photo.
The Badacro Inn used to offer accommodation, but the Covid years seem to have changed that. It may need some tender loving care to help it back to full functioning . Let’s wish it well. It’s simply a beautiful place, but, for now, the gunslinger may just have to move on. Here’s how Sergio Leone handled Harmonica’s departure. This is not how it ends, only how it ends for now.
Somehow, the return to Poolewe feels flat. The rain begins, again of course. It’s comfortably familiar…and today is our last day in the village. Tomorrow, very early, we leave for Ullapool and the car ferry to the Outer Hebrides. It will be a very different world.
But, then, so was the Badacro Inn… and the fine memories that, briefly, lived again.
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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We’re often in Heysham Village. Its beach is the nearest decent one to where we live. The Collie thinks it’s well worth the 40 mins drive…
But the beauty is not the beach, it’s the cottages in the the main street that are special. The road winds steeply down to the start of the shore path that can be followed for several miles along the promenade, until you reach Bolton-le-Sands.
There was once a tiny fairground here, and an nougat shop, and two cafes with sea views. All gone, now…
But the beautiful cottages remain. And every year I photograph them.
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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It seemed we were learning anew, each day…
The decision to abandon the walk along the long ridge path to Ashness Bridge had been forced upon us by time constraints. It would cost us the boat ride back to Keswick – something that had immense emotional appeal – but, instead, it had given us back… calmness.
After a snack lunch by the lake shore in Keswick, the group travelled to the Eden Valley in three cars. One of the companions lives near to our destination, in Penrith, and would not be returning to Keswick at the close of the day.
Stuart and I were eagerly anticipating this next part of the workshop. The caves we were to visit had been researched by Sue Vincent. She and Stuart had planned to incorporate them into a landscape weekend, but the sad events of 2021 overtook this.
There was the light of a personal pilgrimage in Stuart’s eyes when we all arrived at the stone circle of Long Meg, the start of our Eden Valley adventure. With some regret, we were not able to spend much time here, as the walk along the River Eden would be a substantial – needing to represent the Hero’s challenge as they sought to inherit the ‘magical reward’ promised by the quest – in truth, really a change of consciousness…
During our recce day, we had evaluated two routes. Now, siding with caution and calmness, we set off on the shorter one…which turned out to be a blessing – and one not related to the weather!
The Lacy Caves are located directly above the River Eden. It had taken us about ninety minutes to get there, a half hour longer than forecast. The difference was down to an oversight on our part.
This workshop was the first after the Covid period. Though everyone was delighted to be out in the countryside, again, not all had recovered their former walking strength.
By the time we were halfway to the caves, two of the companions were experiencing tiredness. With one it was affecting her walking. We stopped to allow a period of rest, but the signs were not good – we had travelled a long way into the valley and, regardless of the drama we were about to enact as the day’s exciting finale, we still had the walk back to Long Meg Stone Circle where the cars were parked.
Our pace slowed and, as group leader, I had to take some decisions. The companion in question said she would be okay, as long as the caves were close. They were just around the next curve in the river.
I walked at her side, my arm ready to give support if the going got too difficult. Unlike our recce day, most of the route had been dry, but the final few hundred metres were muddy; adding to the difficulty.
But everyone was happy to continue, and we reached our destination without further difficulty.
Colonel Lacy, a wealthy landowner of Salkeld Hall, owned the land on which the Long Meg stone circle lies. He wanted to clear the circle to make it usable as pasture. On the night he set dynamite to the first stone, a devastating storm developed which caused considerable damage to his nearby farm.
Immediately relenting, he repaired the damage and thereafter swore to protect the ancient circle.
Lacy switched his attentions to the sandstone cliffs a mile away as the crow flies, alongside the river, where he carved out a cave system for parties and entertaining. It was fashionable to have such a folly at the time, and the place was decked out with furniture and had extensive gardens sweeping down to the river.
Having said that, Stuart and I think there was a parallel with Francis Dashwood’s ‘hellfire caves’ at High Wycombe… The truth is lost to history. There is certainly an air of mystery about the place.
We both had suitable outfits to complete the dramatic effect. We were not seeking to make it macabre, simply to shift the mood to a deeper contemplation of two of the remaining Tarot cards: Death and the Hermit.
Stuart prepared for the drama to come, in which we used two parts of the cave system: a well-lighted entrance chamber and a much deeper and darker passageway leading to the innermost space in the complex.
At the entrance, Stuart’s figure of Death called forward each of the companions in turn. showing them the card and asking them to seek the deeper meaning. He then made a loud signal and I appeared – as The Hermit – at the end of the dark passageway, hooded and with a torch illuminating my face from beneath. I am told the combined effect was dramatic…
The companion had to choose to ‘go beyond death’ to find that the inner room actually looked out over the river (of life).
We had completed our tasks for the day. Outside the caves, in the last of the sunshine, we laughed and shared impressions of the Hero’s journey so far.
My rucksack contained a large flask full of still-hot tea, and some chocolate. We shared this- appropriate provisions for this stage of the journey.
All we had to do to finish the day was to get back to the cars and then drive to the nearby village of Langwathby and the comfort of the Shepherd’s Inn, where we had an early dinner booked.
Our rest complete, we set off… to find that our companion in difficulty was having trouble walking at all…
We took stock of the situation. There seemed no way she could make it back to the village on foot. My only choice was to leave her in the capable hands of the group and walk as fast as I could back into the village and up the steep road to the Long Meg circle. It had taken 90 minutes the other way, perhaps I could do it in half that, if I walked at a fast pace.
Once there, I could drive the car back to the farm track and hopefully get the car within striking distance of the lady – even if it meant reversing the car for half a mile or so.
I made good time to the edge of the village, only to find that the large gate to the main road was locked. We had earlier passed through the footpath space. All I could do was continue to the car, then try to locate the farmer or another keyholder and explain the emergency.
The day that had gone so well was ending with peril… And it had nothing to do with our planning.
I remember looking up at the sky and asking, silently, for help…
To be continued in Part Six.
Other parts in this series:
Part One, Part Two, Part Three,
This is Part Five.
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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