Page 32 of The Christmas Retreat
While Bea and Maudie seemed sure that the young man would desire a visit from Bea the moment he returned, Mr Caradoc saidin his sardonic way that if the invalid was still so frail that he needed to be brought back by easy stages, they would be better to leave him in peace to recover, until invited.
After this Bea sulked for the rest of the evening, but I did not care, for I had a most interesting discussion on the new directions modern art is taking. Mr Jones originally trained as a painter, like Mr Caradoc, but his family being engaged in the pottery business in the Midlands, he found himself drawn to work with ceramics, especially porcelain. Triskelion Art Porcelain will make figures of characters from legends, fables and Welsh mythology, all designed by himself, as well as decorative items like vases. The building is near completion and he will give me a tour whenever I wish.
And now, dear Milly, I must finish this letter, for as I told you at the start, I am waiting for the car to come round, to take us to church and I am now being called. So, off I will go in my best blouse and skirt and one and only hat, my old felt!
Your loving friend,
Arwen
9
Fantasy Figures
We all followed Timon to the TV room, which was off the big drawing room where we had sat before dinner.
It was smaller and cosier, the collection of sofas and the armchairs gathered before a large TV wearing slightly threadbare chintz covers.
Rhys, who was setting up his laptop on the coffee table, was to show pictures on the TV screen to illustrate Noel’s talk.
I noticed with amusement that no one had absented themselves, not even the serious-minded Kate Komodo. She did seat herself as far away from my mother as possible, but then, so did I. Toby somehow found himself bookended on a sofa between the twins, and looked terrified about it, so when he caught my eye I gave him an encouraging smile, which he returned. Then, when I turned away, I saw Rhys, now squatting on a small pouffe like a giant on a boulder, watching us, as were the twins.
When everyone had settled down with coffee or a drink, Noel took up a position in front of the hearth, which was filled with a display of red-berried holly and other seasonal greenery, and began.
‘This is a brief account of the annual ceremony that takes place tomorrow in Seren Bach, to celebrate the Winter Solstice, so that those of you who wish to join in will have some idea of what’s going on. Now, the significance of the Winter Solstice is that it falls on the shortest day of the year. This originally pagan celebration is one of the oldest in the world, for the seasons and weather were very important to hunter-farmers.’
‘Succinctly put, Uncle Noel,’ said Nerys, and, to the rest of us: ‘Anyone who’d like to learn more about the traditions and history of Seren Bach and St Melangell should head over to A Winter’s Tale in the village, where Uncle Noel sells pamphlets and a book on local history that he has written himself.’
‘Thank you for the plug, my dear,’ said Noel. ‘Indeed, I also stock books by the authors who come to the retreats, so some of you will find your own works there. Of course, I already have Ginny’s latest children’s board book, and also her most recent paperback Hedgehoppers novel.’
I felt myself going pink, but since the room was lit only by table lamps, I hoped no one had noticed.
‘Here in Seren Bach we are lucky enough to have preserved the remnants of seasonal customs that in many cases began back in the mists of ancient time,’ Noel continued. ‘The two most ancient local rites take place at the Summer and Winter Solstices, with the more recent addition of a celebration on Twelfth Night. Of these three, the Winter Solstice is far and away the most important. We also celebrate Christmas itself – or Yule, as it is in Norse – in the usual way. Some of those customs, too, are quite ancient, such as bringing evergreens into the house.’
Rhys put up a picture on the screen of a white-robed figure.
‘Tomorrow evening, the players and audience will gather on the green in front of the village hall at eight, just after a bonfire has been lit on top of the hill, and then the Druid leads everyone up behind Triskelion to the top of the cliffs …’
Noel went on to explain the traditions of the ceremony before bringing his talk to a close. ‘So, that is the lie of the land. The Winter Solstice procession returns to the green after, when wassail cake, a special kind of biscuit called Jumbles and hot wassail punch will be served.’
‘Bronwen and a couple of her friends lay that on,’ said Nerys. ‘And did I mention that dinner will be at the earlier time of six tomorrow, because of the event?’
‘By tradition, on the day after the Solstice, all the local people gather mistletoe from the oak wood to decorate their houses,’ Timon said.
Noel beamed round at us. ‘Well, I think that is it. The ceremony tomorrow is mostly a local affair, but we do sometimes get a few modern Druids joining in.’
‘It all sounds like great fun,’ I said. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’
Timon offered drinks and Noel came and sat next to me on the sofa.
Suddenly remembering the road sign on the way into Seren Bach, I asked him, ‘Can you tell me why Seren Bach is twinned with Starstone Edge? I’ve never heard of it.’
‘Oh, that came about because an old friend of mine called River, who runs a large community in the Black Mountains, where they practise self-sufficiency and sell craftwork, is also interested in the old Solstice rites. They hold something similar there too. But he told me of another that takes place in a tiny Lancashire moorland village called Starstone Edge and, afterI’d visited it and established friendly relations, as it were, we decided to twin our villages.’
‘It’s fascinating to hear about this sort of network of ancient rites that I never imagined could still be going on,’ I said, then added that I’d had such a long, tiring day, I really must go to bed.
Not only had it been a long day, but the transition from my hermit-like existence to being part of a house party full of strangers had been so sudden, it was beginning to seem quite surreal, not least the presence of Rhys Tarn.
‘And I must go and say goodnight to Cariad. She’d read until midnight if no one switched her light off!’ Rhys said, hoisting himself off his low pouffe. ‘If you still want to say goodnight to her, Ginny, come up with me now and do it on your way to bed.’
