On The Black Hill

  This photo of Fred Jordan's boots is from Roger Giles.

 

Winter on the Black Hill, these walls are sound

They keep the world away

But the fields have gone back to weeds and fern

And the world it stays away

When the weather is closed all about this hill

Nothing can stir for days

No one can reach us from the valley below

Whoever is up her must stay

 

On my Black Hill each day’s the same

Nothing disturbs the round

Of work, no rest, no feelings expressed

Silence falls upon barren ground

Long nights of snow or hard bitter rain

Short days of mist and hard frost

Soil as sour as each passing hour

Sheep that are hungry and lost

One day I’ll step from the doorway

Take the road that leads you somewhere

I’ll shoulder my pack and I’ll never look back

One day I’ll take to the air

 

Strong men once worked the heart of this hill

But now the veins are too thin

Nothing but spoil that covers the soil

From this heart there’s no more to win

My heart like the hill has closed over the years

They say I’m a man of few words

But there’s little to say when you pass time of day

With none but the cry of the birds

One day I’ll step from the doorway

Take the road that leads you somewhere

I’ll shoulder my pack and I’ll never look back

One day I’ll take to the air

But I’ll wait til the winter has passed

As I’ve done every year’s turn before

One day with summer’s returning

Yes one day I’ll open the door

 

 

Mother and sister, father and friends

Long since have all passed away

Once was a girl found her way to this world

But she left me here with nothing to say

Now we sit here together this hill and I

Barren and empty as one

While winter’s cold keeps a grip on our soul

We wait for the touch of the sun

One day I’ll step from the doorway

Take the road that leads you somewhere

I’ll shoulder my pack and I’ll never look back

One day I’ll take to the air

But I’ll wait til the winter has passed

As I’ve done every year’s turn before

One day with summer’s returning

Yes one day I’ll open the door

Oh I’ll be down this hill and be gone

No more chapel trip days out for me

One day I’ll stay out past sunset

One day I’ll set myself free

 

Winter on the Black Hill these walls are sound

They keep the world at bay

 

 

Inspired by Bruce Chatwin's wonderful novel of the same name of course .

Also by a number of bachelor farmers whom I have met over the years,

each with a good story to tell.…

 

Autumn 1996