On Thursday the sun was shining and once again, the Goblin didn’t have to go to work so we headed for Derbyshire and Stanton on the Moor to take photos. Say it outloud with a bad English accent (unless you are English in which care say it with a really bad Welsh accent), ‘Stanton on the Moor’. It sounds like one of those Gothic romance novels loosely based on Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. Stanton on the Moor…it’s the top of a hill covered in heather except for the path, large clump of trees in the middle and the odd Torr. (tor or torr tör; noun a hill, a rocky height. Old English torr tor, from Latin turris tower, or perhaps from Celtic) Torrs are large standing rocks that were probably set up by prehistoric people who meant it to say something like, ‘We’re so strong and fit we could afford to risk our strongest young men all pulling muscles to lift this great big rock to a standing position…to let you know how strong and fit we are!’ Or maybe (because there are climbing holes in it and we can’t date the holes) maybe it was a way to see if unfriendly neighbors were coming to steal their sheep and women.
We know the hilltop was once a Celtic fort. Which makes sense as it would have been much easier to defend yourself from psychos trying to kill you coming up the hill. But lost in the mists of time it was probably a center of religious worship because the main attraction is The Nine Ladies, a prehistoric stone circle. The name is dramatic and brings to mind something equivalent to Stone Henge, but Stone Henge it is not!
The first time I saw it a few years ago, I came around the corner and stopped and thought…where is it? Most of the nine stones don’t even reach my kneecaps and I’m only 5ft 3″. That first viewing was very surreal. On one of the stones sat a left-over punkrocker hunched up looking cold and bored. It was sunny winter’s afternoon. He was with the protesters trying to stop a quarry being dug near by. This visit, I saw the quarry down the hill, but the punkrockers had moved on which meant I had a clear shot without extraneous people though someone left a stone egg on one of the stones. You can see it on the far right stone…it looks like a pimple. I went over to see what it was and knocked it off…because I’m that sort of person. I don’t like people leaving trash on national monuments. If you want to worship stone circles made by people we can’t even name, fine, but don’t leave them cluttered with modern rubbish. I picked up a crisp packet and took that with me. I left the stone egg on the ground.
The weather was glorious. It was sunny, but with a light cool breeze and during our little treck we had most of the hill top to ourselves. We passed several people, but they quickly disapeared, as if swallowed by the heather. It was the most relaxing quiet. At one point I could hear a small plane flying overhead, but it was like a mosquito and there was only the rare bird singing and the odd sheep braying in the distance. It was so peaceful. The only blight on the landscape was me in my screaming orange long sleeved shirt that clashed with surrounding colours. We parked near some cows in a field and the young calfs all stared at me…probably because I matched the orange painted feeder. They probably thought I was some sort of extra treat. They were cute cows.
Once upon a moor…in a land green, but brown there lived a fat fairy who loved wearing orange. On her way to her third Fairy-ball she got lost in woods, but found a scowling Goblin and asked him directions. Are you coming, she asked, to this years’ fairy-ball? ‘No, said the Goblin. What’s the point? I’ve been to twenty and no one’s ever asked me to dance. I’ll never find a fairy…and who needs a fairy anyway? You’re all fluttering, disorganised creatures afraid of spiders. Who needs one?’ I’ll ask you to dance, said the fairy in orange her wings suddenly glowing neon casting a magical blue halo over the unsuspecting Goblin. I make the best spider soup, and you have cute funny teeth. Can I be your fairy? ‘I don’t need a mad fairy! Fly away and leave me in peace.’ My wings are tired…I’ll just rest here on your knee a few minutes… The fairy sat back and crossed her legs and let the magic blue light work its magic on the Goblin’s heart as she hummed a cheerful tune.
The adorable Goblin who couldn't escape the fat fairy in orange! There is something magical about the top of that hill. I completely understand someone building a stone circle there. The first time I visted the nine ladies I had one of those magical moments as I looked out over the valley to the surrounding hills. It was as if time stood still and for moment there was nothing between me and eternity. This time it was almost a tangible peace as if peace was something carried on the wind, a byproduct of the bees gathering nector from the heather.
Bravo to the fairy! This fairy would like to go to a ball, but alas the slave driving children have lured her into the dungeon with promises of new clothes and cute shoes.
There she waits for her handsome prince to come and rescue her, but he’s out scratching away with parchment & quill and has completely forgotten his fairy in the dungeon (who is now watching through her bars as the children dance around scattering food and dishes over her newly cleaned cottage).
*sigh*
Perhaps someday soon.
That is the result of going to the fairy-ball! You danced with an adorable Goblin and then agreed to be his fairy forever. Soon little fairies and goblins came along and suddenly the tranquility of the forest was rent with screams of…”Are we eating that again? I hate spider soup!” Hopefully your Goblin will soon come release you…if only for an hour!!! If you’re really lucky he may cast a spell on the smashed crockery and have it magically leap into the trash. If they’ve broken all the plates there’s always the medieval option…the bread plate…then you could say, “Eat your plate!” I quite like that idea (but then I’m evil) Or the Heidi option…a wooden bowl to drink and eat out of. Then you could say, “Drink your gruel!” Knowing your children they’d probably reply, “Don’t be cruel!” 🙂 This is why our Fairy Godmother sent the fairies and goblins to you…she knew they wouldn’t be tortured with stupid stories about how medieval children always had to wait to eat last…after the grown ups were finished. :>
He he he…
oooh, bread plates that’s an idea. Or maybe easier would be bread bowls. Saves on dish washing!
add a frozen stick of ice to the bread bowel meal and you get to wash your hands and after it melts down a little bit, you also have your drink. P.S. I’ve always wanted to know if a bread bowel is where they served “oat-stir around”in some medival stories I have read or if it’s just fiction.anybody know?
Victoria…I like that! The frozen drink/hand wash in one! Excellent idea!
I’ve never actually read about bread bowls or bowls made out of bread. (I mispelled it bread bowel). I know the trenchers, or plates of hard bread, were often fed to the poor afterwards. I guess that’s one way to clear up. I hear a song coming on, “Don’t come begging at my castle door…you’ll get some bread I’ve used before!” The poor toothless beggars would have had to soak the bread in a nearby ditch for half an hour before they could gum it down. Some medieval people must have had lives like a bad Monty Python sketch that replayed over and over until they died of malnutrition or cold. I’m dead curious about these bread bowls though…maybe sometimes they made trenchers shaped like bowls? That would make sense. Bread bowls would have been cleaner than wooden bowls…hopefully…if they stacked the newly backed dishes out of reach of mice and rats…yum!
Did they stack anything out of reach of mice and rats?
It makes me cringe, the thought of mice pooing in the flour…and then it being made into bread…for the King! Some things act as equalisers in life; mice and rats happen to be two of them! Pests! I read in this old Book on English ways…that mice hate the smell of peppermint and that they avoid it. I need to get some more peppermint oil for my kitchen and do a proper experiment…on the plus side…it smells good!
lol what are you saying? that you have a mice infestation in your kitchen?
That is interesting though. I can see me spraying peppermint oil all over our garage as the neighbor kids watch and whisper about the crazy lady living on their street.
Yes, we have pesky mice a la kitchen. The house is originally late Victorian though the interior isn’t. There must be any number of cracks and holes under the kitchen units where they can come and go. They know we can’t kill them and we can’t have a cat as they’re not allowed under the rental agreement. I’ve had mice come out and stare at me..taunting me with their cuteness. We tried catching them…using humane traps (with the intention of carrying them away and leaving them far down the road) we spent 15£ buying these two little plastic traps. You put the chocolate in one end…they go in, the flap falls they can’t get out. Wrongo! The mice went in…ate the chocolate…pooped …and left without ado! The same thing happened when we tried to trap them in a rubbish bin. Clivey set it all up and made a little walk way so they’d get up on the little table…go through the ballanced paper tube with chocolate at the end over the bin…they ate the chocolate…fell in the bin…pooped…and jumped out. Pepermint oil here we come!!!