Mad, Mad, Mad March Hare says Alice .......
Hares have been the theme of the week.
Not that Hair is something that I rejoice in or miss, but we have wigs, not for me, I hasten to add but for the event we are planning at St Andrew's on Grey Mare Hill on June 22nd.
My poem on Hares is coming along. On my last visit I saw two Hares in the woodland on the approach to the church.
I immediately thought of R S Thomas' poem about stumbling across the still warm 'form' of a Hare
(A form is a nest where a Hare will bear its young) and reading into it the idea of a God who is always going before you but whose image you become conscious of. Even though S/he has gone there is a sense of a presence.
But my Poem is more narrative and tries to tell the tale of how the Hare has become almost a mythological figure
But since moving to Snods Edge and Shotley Fields Hares have become familiar neighbours.
Opening the bedroom curtains last week there were five Hares in the field opposite standing, running and yes ... boxing.
Then on our Wednesday walk again Hares in a field.
Conscious of our presence, guarded, but equally clear that with a flick and a run, a dart and a sudden turn they could avoid and escape us with no problem at all.
My favourite Hare story was my Father, we were returning to Manchester from a weekend in the country in our old Austin 7, four of us in a tiny car with luggage, when the local gamekeeper, Bro Lomas, offers my Father a Hare.
Picking it up by its back legs he opened the car door.
My Mother was immediately on the offensive. No, she said firmly, not in the car.
Recognising the steeliness of the glint in her eye my Father decided that a Plan B was necessary. So he asked if Bro Lomas had any string and proceeded to tie the Hare between the cars headlights, across the Radiator grill and so we drove from Derbyshire to Manchester with the Hare which was then 'jugged' in the traditional way and eaten.
Hares were brought to Britain by the Romans along with Roads, Baths and Ground Elder as a foodstuff but rapidly became naturalised and became incorporated into our folklore and story telling featuring in tales of Boudica's victory over the Romans in AD 61 (Boudica feasted on hares entrails which gave her mythical powers), but inevitably they were Christianised too and the motif of three Hares as a symbol of the Trinity has decorated a number of Churches.
But the breeding season lasts until September and the Hare only occupies a small indentation in the ground, known as a 'form' so I look forward to making the acquaintance of the Mad March Hare and hopefully as Alice observes as it is almost June maybe it won't be as mad as it was in March.
Not that Hair is something that I rejoice in or miss, but we have wigs, not for me, I hasten to add but for the event we are planning at St Andrew's on Grey Mare Hill on June 22nd.
My poem on Hares is coming along. On my last visit I saw two Hares in the woodland on the approach to the church.
I immediately thought of R S Thomas' poem about stumbling across the still warm 'form' of a Hare
(A form is a nest where a Hare will bear its young) and reading into it the idea of a God who is always going before you but whose image you become conscious of. Even though S/he has gone there is a sense of a presence.
But my Poem is more narrative and tries to tell the tale of how the Hare has become almost a mythological figure
But since moving to Snods Edge and Shotley Fields Hares have become familiar neighbours.
Opening the bedroom curtains last week there were five Hares in the field opposite standing, running and yes ... boxing.
Then on our Wednesday walk again Hares in a field.
Conscious of our presence, guarded, but equally clear that with a flick and a run, a dart and a sudden turn they could avoid and escape us with no problem at all.
My favourite Hare story was my Father, we were returning to Manchester from a weekend in the country in our old Austin 7, four of us in a tiny car with luggage, when the local gamekeeper, Bro Lomas, offers my Father a Hare.
Picking it up by its back legs he opened the car door.
My Mother was immediately on the offensive. No, she said firmly, not in the car.
Recognising the steeliness of the glint in her eye my Father decided that a Plan B was necessary. So he asked if Bro Lomas had any string and proceeded to tie the Hare between the cars headlights, across the Radiator grill and so we drove from Derbyshire to Manchester with the Hare which was then 'jugged' in the traditional way and eaten.
Hares were brought to Britain by the Romans along with Roads, Baths and Ground Elder as a foodstuff but rapidly became naturalised and became incorporated into our folklore and story telling featuring in tales of Boudica's victory over the Romans in AD 61 (Boudica feasted on hares entrails which gave her mythical powers), but inevitably they were Christianised too and the motif of three Hares as a symbol of the Trinity has decorated a number of Churches.
But the breeding season lasts until September and the Hare only occupies a small indentation in the ground, known as a 'form' so I look forward to making the acquaintance of the Mad March Hare and hopefully as Alice observes as it is almost June maybe it won't be as mad as it was in March.
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