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THE FRIENDS OF ST GREGORY’S MINSTER KIRKDALE kirkdale compositions ________________________________________________________________ |
Orm Gamalson Fast the feather lay Like a sulky jewel in my head Till I knew it had fallen in a holy place: Therefore I raised these grey stones up again - Herbert Read, Kirkdale Or rather, did some distant English priest, beardless and pallid, shadowed by his cowl, resenting your ruddy skin and your wild pale hair, make you feel foreign in old Gamal's farm - though begotten in Yorkshire, born as well as he and bred among these English moors and dales?
And did he, this tonsured priest - turned sour maybe by Advent fasting or the living's dearth, resenting your belly and your well-fleshed haunch - pin guilt on you for your lands and for your wealth usurped and plundered by some far-back viking kin - albeit yours by lawful inheritance?
Did he insinuate that there were ways to gain a place above reach of reproach? And did you at last sell out, Orm Gamalson? Or rather, thinking in market terms, buy in - into the stock of the righteous company, into a share in the English hierarchy?
Only a churl would dare reproach you now. Your Minster rose - still stands - beside Hodge Beck. And proud enough of your fine Norse name you were to inscribe it there with Gregory's and with Christ's ... And Edward's, the dubious confessor-king, And Tosti's, the lawless and shortly-outlawed earl.
Copyright S. A. J. Bradley 2001 |
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