Thomas the Rhymer, true Thomas of Ercildoune (Earlston, in the Scottish Borders) was he who met the Queen of Elfland and spent seven years with her in her realm, before returning to the regular world of humans. He flourished in the thirteenth century. A carved stone in the wall of Earlston Church, reads Auld Rhymer, Bard, Lyes in This Place. The carved words are difficult to make out and the stone is protected by glass to prevent further fading.
carving on Earlston Church, Scottish Borders
There are other old stone carvings too, with sands of time, skull and crossbones etc symbolism and an amazed-looking angel. From Earlston we drove to the church at Bowden, which lies on the other side of the Eildon Hills. It dates from the twelfth century. It has been tastefully modernised with lots of wood, and you can still see the original stone arch leading to the recess for the organ. There are small windows in the organ alcove. There are carvings at the end of each pew, with the scallop shell in the middle, the sign of the pilgrim. You see these all over the caminos or chemins in France, [link?] leading to Santiago/St Jacques, in Spain. But any Way or any journey can be a pilgrimage, and Bowden Church is on St. Cuthbert’s Way.
Scallop shell carving, symbol of the pilgrim, in Bowden Church
(There is also the Way of Haiku. On one of the many buses and trains I take in the next few days, I’m reading the latest book by the incomparable Natalie Goldberg, Three Simple Lines, about her pilgrimage to Japan, her love of Basho, Buson and other Haiku masters. Reading her, the scenery I spy from bus and train windows turns into short poems, observations, which I cannot claim to be haiku.
Where are we?
Ah summer, late as usual
or departing in haste )
I’ve walked parts of St Cuthbert’s Way a few years ago, but the Bowden church reminded me of this Way. I’ve also just finished Benjamin Myers book Cuddy, about St Cuthbert, only it’s not about his life so much as his spirit, the life of those who came after him, who carried his body (allegedly uncorrupted) for years until it found its final resting place in Durham Cathedral, in the north of England, which was built especially to house his remains. In several sections, the book describes imagined lives of people living near the Cathedral, in the centuries since then.
I felt it was time to visit again Lindisfarne, the Holy Island, where St Cuthbert lived for many years. Like Thomas the Rhymer, St Cuthbert spent much time in an alternative world, where it seems he was happiest, on the Holy Island, away from the regular world of mankind. He would allegedly spend hours praying in the sea, in the chill of the water, and legend also has it that he preferred the company of the birds there, including sea eagles.
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| Lindisfarne from the causeway crossing |
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| Fishing creels & Lindisfarne castle in the background |
The background hum of the sea is audible. The sea all around and the tide coming in. The sea would always be in movement, around this island. The sea embraces it. It floats in the water.
The Gothic arch of the old priory ruins is still standing, with white daisies and red poppies in front.
A distant hum – the sea.
There is no wildness here, just the regularity of tide
severing the island
from the human world of Everyday.
And the regularity of prayer.
Its freedom.
Cuthbert welcomed the separating tides
traded membership in human groups
for immersion in the water,
found his belonging in the shorelines,
in the habits of the birds,
in the folding dark,
the enfolding silence.
Bird flight over the small lake on Lindisfarne
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