The borderland separating England and Wales are steeped in legends, all of which I firmly believe. A case in point is the story of the predatory marsh. The geological background may or may not add weight to the story. Shobden Marsh, along with the rivers Lugg, Arrow, and Teme are largely a result of glaciation and the carving of the landscape as the icesheets retreated. For much of prehistory and up to the early middle ages the entire area was forest and marsh. This then is the background to the mysterious disappearance of ‘Old Pembridge.’
One night, the entire village was swallowed up by Shobden Marsh, and we know it is true because of a nameless fiddler possessing a pair of fine gloves: white and tied with red ribbons.
There was a dance at Pembridge that night, and the fiddler from the neighbouring village of Eardisland provided the music.
On reaching home, he realised he’d left behind his magnificent gloves and so, no doubt muttering under his breath, set off to retrieve them. He never did. Nor did he find ‘Old Pembridge.’ Where it stood was marshland glistening in moonlight.
The marshes have since been drained, but neither old Pembridge nor the fine white gloves adorned with red ribbons were ever found. Never mind, we have 'new' Pembridge.
There is apparently a well in the vicinity. It is said that if you drop a stone into it, you might hear it strike against the top of the old church steeple. I believe that too.
Close by is the magical village of Much Marcle whose only claim to fame is ‘The Wonder’ and the fact that the serial killer Fred West was born there. Three of his victims are buried nearby: his nanny Annie McFall and their unborn child (1967) and his first wife, Rena (1971)
But back to ‘The Wonder,’ equally traumatic but far less sordid or evil.
On the 17th February, 1575 the earth moved, or strictly speaking, Marcle Hill moved. In a great roar it swallowed the chapel at Kinneston, destroying hedges, livestock, and trees. On the 19th of February it reached its present position, where for the moment it seems content.
The incident was recorded by the great antiquarian, William Camden (1551-1623) in his own unique and wonderful style:
‘Near the conflux of the Lugg and the Wye, eastwards, a hill which they called Marcley Hill in the year 1575 roused itself and, as it were, out of sleep, and for three days together, shoving its prodigious body forwards with a horrible roaring noise and overturning all that stood in its way, advanced itself, to the astonishment of all beholders . . .’ Some wonderful phrases there ‘roused itself’ ‘shoving its prodigious body’. One can only weep for the state of our language today. Nevertheless, I live in a playful landscape, and that is some compensation.
2 comments:
I took a dip in Google and was surprised that England has had its share of earthquakes over the centuries. The early ones are more hearsay, but it was enough for someone to write it down for posterity.
Glad to hear it's been quiet lately.
We still get minor ones. Sometime in the 1980s we were in Snowdonia with a school mountain walking trip when the earth moved and our cabins shook. It was only 6.7 on the Richter scale, but interesting enough
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