Sunday, 29 April 2012

The Faerie River of Husborne Crawley.

Long we have puzzled over the Faerie River. This is not to be confused with the Bourne that gives Hus- its second syllable. Oh no.

The Faerie River appears at times of moderate to heavy rainfall. It rises rapidly and unexpectedly, and traditionally catches out late-night returnees from the pub. On this occasion it was Hnaef and Burton, together with the members of the Soc Media Pastoral weekend. They were walking across the drive past where the path forks off to Cross Horse House, when they suddenly realised they were paddling through a couple of feet of water.

Ever one to keep his head in this sort of crisis, Burton started shouting, "We're drowning! We're drowning!". This set off the Pastoral people, and by the time I got down there, suitably waterproofed, there was watery hysteria setting in, with the Pastoral people attempting the doggy-paddle and Hnaef trying to calm them down by shouting out that he has a life-saving badge.

In the end, everything was sorted out with hot cups of tea. And the good news is that with all that Pastoral ability around, everyone was able to offer everyone else counselling. I saw them all this morning, and they all claim to be post-wet or ex-wet, and to have got over it. I dunno though. They all still seem pretty wet to me.

You see, that's the way with the Faerie River. It comes and goes as it choosess, answering to no-one and obeying no master or mistress. My personal theory is that it's the primeval memory of the landscape, periodically recreating the days when Husborne Crawley was on the sea bed. It makes me feel very small and yet blessed, somehow.

On an unrelated matter, i'd better get down and chivvy up the people who've foolishly joined today's Landscape Encounter Group. We're going to get them to clear out all the leaves that have washed into the drain on the drive. Blooming nuisance, but thankfully it only happens at times of heavy or moderate rain.

1 comment :

  1. Reminds me of one of my favourite Freudian slips when I translated Hysseburnan in an Anglo/Saxon charter as 'steam of the young warriors' Goodness knows what I was thinking of.


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