In search of Camelot

Tintagel – the birthplace of Arthur

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro’ the field the road runs by
To many-tower’d Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

My fanciful imagination was ignited as I went in search of Arthurian legend. As I drove past wind farms overlooking fields of barley and rye I wondered what the knights would have made of the massive white turbines so prominent across the landscape.

The eerie, steep cliffs of Tintagel sure feel like the birthplace of a legend. Merlin’s cave, dark and foreboding beneath the Cornish cliffs; the climb high above the dark sea to the castle ruins.

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Dragging my clotted cream body up the steep steps made me grateful for 21^st century handrails. Even my wild imagination couldn’t extend to the thought of Knights clambering up the hills in full armour. Romantic images of Guinevere see her being led on a horse – I am sure though that she was far too sensible for that nonsense – two feet firmly planted was the order of the day.

It was fantastic. The dark, rolling clouds adding to the atmosphere of dark lords at play. The practical side of me fought with the romanticised images of knights and maidens. Oh god it would have been dark. How an hell do you get home safely after a night of frolicking in the fields? What if you needed to nick out for milk or felt like a cuppa in town? I am fairly sure you would have had to do Coles Click and Collect – no one in their right mind would deliver groceries up that hill.

The thought of the castle standing high above the cliffs, the spells of Merlin and the dark arts at play made me quite relieved to return to magical 4G networks, machines that spit out paper for trading and motorised chariots that stop at Tesco on the way home for gin and biccies !!

From knights to smugglers – the fiddler outside the 1312 Sloop Inn was fantastic .. but I dragged myself off the sea wall and ran as fast as I could in the dark and sombre cobbled street – the key in my door wouldn’t turn – was the ripper ever in Cornwall? – quick inside and bolt the door – so the ghosts don’t get me!