The Lady and the Hare

Talking last night of caravans and pilgrimage with Father Mark of Mettingham, I couldn’t avoid musing on the profound experience of our glorious midsummer pilgrimage to Pennant Melangell: peace and tranquility, the length of the midsummer sunset, the clear night-sky, the sound of bees in the morning, summer flowers… and above all, walking down the dark lane, opening the ancient church door and approaching St Melangell’s shrine clutching a single taper, and praying next to her relics.

That day and night were such a contrast to the past day and present night – wet and cold, weeks from midwinter – yet a little connection was made as I browsed in Oxfam bookshop before buying groceries.

Among the poetry books was a very obvious title – “The Lady and the Hare”, new and selected poems from Pauline Stainer – and within its pages the poem of that very title.


They would have you believe

she slept on bedrock

where ash roots the stone

.

that what startled silence

was not a buzzard mewing

but the huntsman’s horn unblown.

.

When the hounds

broke from their thicket

they froze at her calm

.

sensed in the cold apse

of her breast

both the dove and the bone.

.

Today we started no hare;

downstream of the waterfall

found only her shrine

.

and how sternly 

the warm hare is folded

inside her fierce gown.

.

Posted in Pilgrimage.