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Word From Wormingford

RichardB on December 12th, 2014

Glorious tombs and an old pub draw Ronald Blythe to a small town MURKY warm December days. Strangely pleasant. We drive to Framlingham on the spur of the moment. The little town, with its great history, is still and wet. I remember once coming home from baking Sydney, and loving the raindrops sliding down the plane windows […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 12 December 2014

RichardB on December 5th, 2014

St Edmund watches as Ronald Blythe takes shelter from the rain TORRENTIAL rain for St Edmund, our Sebastian-like protector, his cult a thousand years old. Thin and shiny on his plinth, bristling with arrows, he watches us process by under our umbrellas as we hurry into the dry. Legend has it that he was 15 […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 5 December 2014

RichardB on November 28th, 2014

A seagull’s wing reminds Ronald Blythe of carved angels in Blythburgh JUST up the lane, children are snatching at breakfast, and grown-ups are snatching at time. But I am looking out of the window, as usual, and musing on birds; just as R. S. Thomas did, when he walked to the Llyn peninsular to give […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 28 November 2014

RichardB on November 21st, 2014

Ronald Blythe is struck afresh by the words of a familiar hymn LOVELY but sad days. The leaves fall, the sun shines, in church we muster for the Remembrance. It has become a kind of saints-day, filling the aisles with its devotees. We turn to its memorial, and I say its liturgy. Its words are by […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 21 November 2014

RichardB on November 15th, 2014

Knees attract Ronald Blythe‘s attention after a craftsman’s visit JESUS, Peter, Paul, and Stephen all knelt to pray. “Strengthen the feeble knees,” Job prays. Now and then in scripture there are apologies for not being able to kneel down. The great novelist Henry James suffered agonies from what was lightly called writer’s cramp, but when his […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 14 November 2014

RichardB on October 31st, 2014

A pungent odour takes Ronald Blythe back to his book-polishing days A WILD October morning. Bottengoms is calm in the front and tempestuous at the rear, where the trees I planted a lifetime ago meet the sky. Leaves race past. Birds protest. Or maybe they are simply exultant as they are blown about. Tidying a […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 31 October 2014

RichardB on October 25th, 2014

Ronald Blythe marvels at the CV of one of the Apostles A GOLDEN day for St Luke, one of my heroes. I talk about him at matins to a thin-on-the-ground congregation. Luke, the New Testament’s Renaissance man, doctor of body and soul, artist, travel writer – everything. Also the birthday saint of the Greek-English boy who […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 24 October 2014

RichardB on October 17th, 2014

Ronald Blythe retreats indoors as a downpour batters the house THE classic rainy day: the sky a liquid colourlessness, the trees drenching sieves, the farm track a river, the fields just dull and wet. The old labourers “saved” for such a day because, unable to work, they would not be paid. Four horses soak it up, […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 17 October 2014

RichardB on October 10th, 2014

Wet grass and windfalls remind Ronald Blythe of a childhood treat ANGELIC days. Two feet of white cat stretch out in the sun. But the first ash leaves sail down, wavering in the air before landing. The grass is soaking wet and ruled with badger trails. Undaunted blackbirds sing as though it is May. It is warm […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 10 October 2014

RichardB on October 3rd, 2014

Ronald Blythe takes Virginia Woolf down from the shelf   A PENSIVE morning. Adrian is mowing the grass, up and down, round and round. The white cat watches from her wall. The postman crashes along the farm track; the horses gossip on the hill. The brook splashes to the Stour. The sky is colourless. Wild geese […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 3 October 2014