The Song of Stanton Drew

Midsummer eve it fell on a Saturday
Sue and William went to be wed
They had music played by a fiddler'
"Let's go dancing!" William said.

They danced and danced and danced around
They danced and danced to the fiddler's sound
They danced with a skip, they danced with a hop,
It seemed that nothing could make them stop.

Midnight struck and then said the fiddler
"Dancing on a Sunday wouldn't be right,"
Sue gave a laugh, "Don't care if I to Hell go
I'll find another fiddler tonight."

They danced and danced and danced around
They danced and danced to the fiddler's sound
They danced with a skip, they danced with a hop,
It seemed that nothing could make them stop.

Off went the fiddler, left them all grumbling,
Then another fiddler came along the way.
"You'd like to dance and I'd like to play for you"
Tunes he played both merry and gay.

They danced and danced and danced around
They danced and danced to the fiddler's sound
They danced with a skip, they danced with a hop,
It seemed that nothing could make them stop.

"Stop" cried the dancers, "NO" cried the fiddler,
He kept on in spite of their moans.
They couldn't stop their jerking and a stumbling,
Then in a flash, he turned them into stones.

They danced and danced and danced around
They danced and danced to the fiddler's sound
They danced with a skip, they danced with a hop,
It seemed that nothing could make them stop.

Stanton Drew in the County of Somerset
That's where the Devil played at Sue's request,
They played the price for dancing on a Sunday,
Now they are standing evermore at rest.

Kim Ravenscroft

West Kennet Long Barrow. Image credit Willow

West Kennet Long Barrow

“Because of them we are buried. Not spiteful, no.
For the rise of this hill ensures that our souls
will live forever in the light of the stars.”

Watch the young boy rise
from the fields surrounding
He is almost
a silhouette in the cornflower sky

Feel his heart pounding
along the path to the barrow
His courage
barely clings to his heels

See him pressing his bare chest
up against the cold stone
He looks
like he is trying to lift it

Listen to the voices of the dead
whispering their prophecies to him
He knows the secrets
locked inside their bleached bones

Hear the village singing
as the young boy returns to them a man
He is ready now
to lead them into a new world

© Copyright Persephone Vandegrift 2008

Lettergorman South. Image credit Gordon Kingston

The Way Stones

I passed here often when young, tired and bored
after another long day at the strand
and never looked past the gate, or did and
saw only cattle rubbing against a post.
It would be thirty years before I knew,
of the cobwebs spun in the morning dew.

Gordon Kingston

See also http://heritageaction.wordpress.com/2009/11/29/archaeoastronomy-and-staring-at-the-sun/