HOD HILL...

Hod Hill: A Previous Existence?

The teeming rain from an uncertain sky

Dampened the quest

To find the unheralded site,

Barely marked upon a map;

A sheep-grazed hill,

Behind a silent village at a daunting height…

The persistent rain from a hesitant cloud

Interrupted its cause

To leave the grassy knoll

Strangely unmarked from the road;

A soaking, windy fort

Above a solemn village church bell’s toll…

The unexpected sun from a rare blue sky

Afforded the opportunity

To explore the Roman garrison,

Cynically strewn with droppings;

A serene, trenched promontory,

Protecting a sober village of no comparison…

The inappropriate sun between such threatening clouds

Served its conspiracy

To deceive my receptive mind,

Chronically transported through time;

A sadness, longing tears,

Leaving a thriving village centuries behind…

ORDERS AND DOGS 

BARKED AT ME,

HAMMERS AND SCREAMS

DEAFENED ME;

HORSES AND LATRINES

REEKED ON ME,

LEATHER AND WOODSMOKE

PACIFIED ME;

BATTLE WOUNDS

SCARRED ON ME,

HOBNAILED BOOTS

SCRAPED BENEATH ME;

GUERILLA BRITONS

HID FROM ME,

DISGRUNTLED LEGIONARIES

FEARED ME…

The impatient rain from that looming darkness

Scattered the dream,

To disrupt a previous life,

Certainly stamped upon my soul;

A spiritual, military existence,

Guarding a village and love and strife…  

Pete Ray

It rained all the way to Hod Hill. When I arrived I asked a woman who was walking her dog where the fort was. It turned out to be on the only hill near the village. 

The defensive ditches were grassy, the wind howled but the sun showed and I was immediately affected by a feeling of having been there before. 

In antiquity… 

I was overcome. 

As I walked back to my car, the rain began again and during my subsequent stay in Swanage, it rarely abated, throwing up severe waves, causing damage to the sea-front and piling seaweed upon the sandy beach… 

Weird.

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HOD HILL...