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A ghost in cornwall - book-reviews


This land is my memories. For two thousand years this valley has been mine alone.

I know every rock, every brook and every tree. I know the army that shape this land and the associates who inhabit it.

A billion years ago this land was a itinerant trail for the animals of Western Europe. They roamed liberally diagonally the huge land of one continent. Millennia accepted as the rivers washed silt to the ocean and the sun raised rain to the sky. At that time the mass of Eurasia was joined. The tectonic plates shifted and islands formed, raising proud, green peninsulas on green water, thrust out to the ocean. Long ahead of my time the military of description battled along the coasts of Western Europe. From the Southwest, the Gulf Barrage warmed and opened the land with summer heat. From the north, ice raged and cracked the rock of what would be converted into the British Isles.

The land tells me it was an epic struggle. The generous heat of earth, venting her spleen, the wash of the water, cooling and circulating air. Rain succoured the land and ran back to the sea, endless cycles, repeating endlessly. The earth shifted, chasms opened and the sea swept in, submerging areas and separating the islands of Britain and Ireland from the mainland.

Spouts of boiling lava spewed from the molten centre of earth to construct stone formations, a font of amazement till the end of time. A great rift opened up what is now the Bristol Avenue and the Irish Sea, separating the land into clear-cut areas. Many characteristics still associate Brittany, Ireland, Wales, and Cornwall. Their fusion can still be seen in place and people. But veins of power run by means of the sea, a matrix of energy criss-crosses the land and reaches out about our planet.

The Phoenicians, Egyptians and Greeks journeyed to these coasts even ahead of the Iron Age, in exploration of Keltic wisdom, since long ahead of the time of my youth. They followed the trail of gold and wisdom crosswise the sea to Cornwall and then to Wales and Ireland. Later, tin trade followed these routes crossways Brittany and the journeys of wise men and saints to the west of land, the land of backdrop sun, of Gods and the quest for immortality that haunts us all. Ships and boats from the French and Spanish coasts often sailed to rivers on the south coast of Cornwall in hunt of trade and journey with the open and civilised Keltii, with a bit of luck avoiding the pirates that have ravaged these coasts for millennia.

2000 years ago I was killed difficult to save my care for from Portuguese raiders on the river, who stole the gold that came from Ireland. My story is located in the valley of one of these rivers, now called 'River Fowey'. It is a story that I have not been able to tell until now. My own story starts with the visit of Jesus of Nazareth to the river Fowey in 30 AD (according to the Julian Calendar and allowing for a seven year miscalculation). He was twenty three years old. He journeyed on a ability to see quest to the west-of-land, in examination of the wisdom of the Keltii and union with his vicar spirit. I have spent much time assessment about this minute and my brief bump into with a man who claimed to be Son of God. For hundreds of years I puzzled at his smile, the light in his gaze. He had a characteristic of being rare in the extreme, an utter and absolute compassion for all life.

Who am I? A ghost; Fintan, born 2000 years ago and fixed in the matrix of character incapable to tell my story until now. I am here, before you for you.

A Cornish ghost story, 'The Lily' free only at http://www. simonthescribe. co. uk/Lily. html


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