HOWTOREACH67INJEWISHART

WYE VALLEY

April 8, 1963

We began at Chepstow, left on the bridge to walk across the river then up it via Tintern to St. Brieval (it rhymes with revel). The castle at Chepstow was high on a cliff overlooking the Wye & in the haze – the Black Mts. surrounding like coal smoke – its solidity was undiminished; a continuation of the strength of the cliffs. From there we left the river, went through the town & across an abandoned estate with larch-woods & sheep on the turf each ewe with its new lamb. The lambs would butt the ewe’s udder & their tails would waggle as they began to suck. Rookeries in the bare trees & further on towards Wyndcliffe there were huge oaks with mistletoe new yellow green as a willow & festooned with the darker green of ivy. Cawing of the rooks, crying of lambs. And at Wyndcliffe were a crows foot – windflowers, anemones ? – where we looked over the 800 foot drop to the Wye, very low with the tide out, & the trees on its serpentine banks were faintly clouded with the first red of spring. We dropped down through a field where the hedges of thorn were filled with buds, drops of dew (at mid-day) from the mist, & wisps of wool. A lark (?) was above the field singing in flight & everywhere more new lambs. We lunched at Tintern – the Abbey was disappointing though not in bad condition. [???????] in the lakes was much more massive & delicate & interesting. Then over a hill, leaving the river once more, we came to St. Brieval where the hostel is in a castle – very ‘homey’ & countrified as castles go – but there are primroses in the moat[?] & its smallness & sturdyness is enchanting: one feels there were neve[r] dragons in the neighborhood & the knights there must have spent all their time with feet up to the fire.

April 10^th

Two days of mist – everything muted, even the urgency of spring. All buds rounded, little knobs, hardly any bursting yet. The banks of the river are green, closely cropped turf. Sheep giving way to Hereford cattle. Swans on the river in many places, rather grey like the sky – long snaky necks with which they reach under the ledges of the banks for fish. Saw a dead sheep floating in the water like a heap of dirty foam – its legs & head seem under the surface like a withered apple & gnarled boughs.

12^th Sun at last. A very clear bright day, though quite cold – a few times we were even snowed on with the sun shining & only a lace of clouds above. Celandine bright along the greeny banks & where the <[????]> fields slope to the river on soft green banks there were often white violets – a few of purple also. Here at Staunton there is a view of a cottage with a whole carpet of primroses in the lawn, & we passed a small wood where the whole of the floor of it was covered with nothing but wild daffodils – for about an acre – not in bloom yet, alas. Every where the various song of the English blackbird & the hoarse cries of rooks. The church at Bredwardine where Kilvert is buried was very lovely with flowers both snowdrop & daffodils & also primroses. Also a wildflower called locally “Joseph & Mary”.

13^th Bright but morning storm clouds which moved rapidly down the valley – wider here with the most in great sweeping curves across its expanse. But only showers then more brightness. Very cold. The swans became brilliant while in the sunlight.

15^th Easter. Cold & rainy, but made our trek to Vaughan’s grave at Llansantffraed church. The church was a nice one overlooking the Usk from a pleasantly sloping hill (though Vaughan’s feet were up the hill, his back to the Usk) & inside were Easter flowers, white iris & ivory freesia – though more in keeping with the Welsh season blooming pussy-willows filling the font. The grave was a raised, horizontal slab-type much [???]ed on & [????] mossy. Under a yew & nearby were a few broken & dusty ‘immortelles’: off-white lilies & hands[?] in a wreath. We stood in the driving rain & looked down to the Usk – a railroad bridge crossing just there & many sheep hodded in a field. A few lambs bleating. The rain continued into the night.

16^th Wye swollen & brown from rain.

17^th Rain.

18^th First sun since good Friday – bright patches with intermittent showers, much more like spring showers than the drizzle of the last few days. The stream of the river has narrowed & become almost emerald (in the sun) rather than its previous jade. More hills, brackened & hake[?]-like. Though some rounded & patched with fields – Palmeresque. Curlews. And it is said the first cuckoo was heard today – perhaps we will hear it soon.

AH! SUN-FLOWER

Ah Sun-flower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the Sun:
Seeking after that sweet golden clime,
Where the travellers journey is done.

Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow:
Arise from their graves and aspire,
where my Sun-flower wishes to go.

This was an extraordinary case, and I am therefore the more particular in it, because I came so much to the knowledge of it; but there were innumerable such-like cases, and it was seldom that the weekly bill came in but there were two or three put in, ‘frighted’; that is, that may well be called frighted to death. But besides those who were so frighted as to die upon the spot, there were great numbers frighted to other extremes, some frighted out of their senses, some out of their memory, and some out of their understanding. But I return to the shutting up of houses.

The night is freezing fast,
  To-morrow comes December;
    And winterfalls of old
Are with me from the past;
  And chiefly I remember
    How Dick would hate the cold.

Fall, winter, fall; for he,
  Prompt hand and headpiece clever,
    Has woven a winter robe,
And made of earth and sea
  His overcoat for ever,
    And wears the turning globe.

I., ll. 12-18:

And, truly, waking dreams were, more or less,
An old and strange affection of the house.
Myself too had weird seizures, Heaven knows what:
On a sudden in the midst of men and day,
And while I walked and talked as heretofore,
I seemed to move among a world of ghosts,
and feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Variant lines from the UCL MS:

And truly I had glamourish waking-dreams
That sometimes held me for an hour or twain
(They were an old affection of our house)
And sudden weird seizures when I seemed
To walk among a world of hollow shows,
And framed a thousand monstrous fantasies,
And felt myself the shadow of a dream.