Yesterday one of my music heroes, Alvin Stardust, sadly passed away at the age of 72 after a short battle with cancer. I missed out on an opportunity to see him live at a small local venue a few years back, which I will forever regret. He was still performing a week before his death, and a new studio album (his first in 30 years, I believe) is due for release on 3rd November 2014.
All of this reminded me of the most widely read post from my now extinct, popular walking blog. Since I still have the text I will re-create that post below.
Readers should note that after I first published this article, Larry Klatzko read it and got in touch.
It was my great joy to re-establish a connection with my old friend and teacher, and spend some precious time together.
Walking blog post:
All of this reminded me of the most widely read post from my now extinct, popular walking blog. Since I still have the text I will re-create that post below.
Readers should note that after I first published this article, Larry Klatzko read it and got in touch.
It was my great joy to re-establish a connection with my old friend and teacher, and spend some precious time together.
Walking blog post:
Thursday 6th March 2014
Distance Walked: 5.75 Miles
The forecast for the week saw me flip my usual schedule around, and it turned out to be a good decision as glorious sunshine awaited me atop Wye Downs. Starting at the Wye exploration hub featured in ‘People Look East,’ I gradually made my way in a south-easterly direction to Folly Town and from there to Hastingleigh. There was a haze in the air but a wonderful fresh breeze, and the hills rolled away from me bathed in the warm glow of some much needed sunlight.
Hastingleigh (pronounced ‘azin-loye’ if you have a very broad local accent) shares a number of things in common with many other villages up and down the land. Firstly, it is no longer situated on its original spot. The tell-tale sign of this is the distance to the village church, which occupies the site around which the village was once located. During the plague, fears about infection from bodies of the deceased caused the occupants to burn down their houses and move the village atop the nearby hill. The Domesday Book records the village as ‘Hastingelai,’ which is thought to derive from the name of an ancient warlord, ‘Haesta,’ combined with ‘ingas’ (the people of) and ‘leah’ (a forest glade). Thus the name roughly translates as ‘The woodland glade of the people of Haesta.’
Another thing the village shares in common with others is a pond, that at some point was the scene of a witch investigation. Local legend tells of how a young woman on the road was accosted by a group of men, accused of witchcraft, and thrown into what is now locally known as ‘Witches Pond.’ While it is pure speculation on my part, the poor young woman probably did nothing more than spurn an advance from one of the men. I wonder how many other young women suffered such ordeals on the back of hurt pride? This tale has an unusually brighter ending however, as the local priest rescued the woman from the pond and her persecutors. He allowed her to go safely on her way, but reputedly only after insisting on hearing her full confession. Whether this just refers to the standard sacrament of confession or relates to the accusation of witchcraft is unclear, but I would imagine the former.
The last commonality with other villages is a more recent one, and that is the loss of the local village shop and post office. I remember the place well and sadly it closed in 2004, yet another victim of the price club supermarket oligarchs. A tragic loss.
As I set off past ‘Witches Pond,‘ I noticed that the nearby grass was festooned with snowdrops, which seem to have reached their peak since I photographed a small clump a few weeks back.
Following an offshoot of The Street past the vicarage, I made for the edge of the hill that would present me with a view of the church in the valley below.
I have often mentioned my beloved Steiner School in these posts, and when I planned the walk past Hastingleigh church I was prompted to look up some old acquaintances. Mainly this was due to a former teacher of mine who lived nearby. Larry Klatzko was my Eurythmy teacher and class guardian, and his wife Rosie had a passion for dressage that inspired so many children and adults. She always helped people to have a deeper understanding of horses, and sought to enrich the lives of those who could not afford one of their own. To my great sadness, I discovered that Rosie Klatzko had passed away on 13th September 2012, aged only fifty nine years. A charity foundation was set up to honour her memory and this also has a Facebook page. If you love children and horses and would like to help them, or if you would simply like to learn a little more about this extraordinary woman, please have a look at the links I have included.
The Normans built the church in the 11th century, although a Saxon structure is believed to have stood there before it. In the southeast corner of the churchyard I found a wooden bench set in concrete, with a plaque dedicated to Rosie’s memory by the children, teachers and parents of my old school. It was upon this bench that I sat and paid my respects, glancing at her grave beyond with the small wooden cross and beautiful message from her husband. Care for the privacy and dignity of the family prevent me adding further details here, but Spring flowers were pushing their way through the grass and blossoms were beginning to bud on the trees. In the midst of such loss, new life was breaking out all around as the cycle refreshed itself once more.
As I did my research a day or two before that led to this discovery, I encountered recent pictures of old friends and also found many photos from the old days. The title image for this post was taken of my class aged sixteen, just over a year before we left. Larry Klatzko stands on the left, and (in case you were wondering) yours truly is the tall guy in the very middle at the back. Despite my fair share of challenges and health problems, I always knew even at the time that my school days really were the best days of my life. Heck, I even wrote a poem about it that was published in the school newsletter. (One of several during my time there, as it happens).
Were I just gazing back through rose-tinted glasses, as is the way of human nature, this might not be anything special. Yet I felt that way while I was actually there, and when it came time to leave I think it left a hole which I have never really known how to fill. Those magical days seeing the universe as a place of endless possibilities, the way we were taught, the outstanding teachers we had, and the friends we shared it with are truly something I will treasure and carry with me until it is time that I too am laid beneath the greensward and my disappearing body gives birth to new life.
In 2011 I happened to be passing my school on the day of the Advent Bazaar. Deciding to stop in, I was delighted to encounter my old friend and classmate Sara Hunt (bottom right in the class photo), who I had not seen since we left in 1989. After a period of travelling and study, she had become a teacher at the school. A fond embrace exchanged, we began to reminisce and Sara enunciated so clearly a feeling I have consistently experienced. She said, “This place calls us back, doesn’t it?” Yes Sara, it does. Always.
Leaving the serenity of the churchyard behind, I made the deceptive climb to Kingsmill Down. Picking up the southerly lane to Brabourne Downs, I turned northwest onto the North Downs Way. Gradually I hiked the ridge crest back to the Broad Downs above Wye, via Cold Blow and Newgate Scrubs. The sun was still shining, but I think the pang in my heart suggested a rain cloud within.
Famous author, Stephen King, once wrote a story called ‘The Body’ which eventually became a sleeper hit in the film adaptation ‘Stand By Me.’ Based around an author looking back to his childhood when a group of friends went searching for a missing boy, it contains a pertinent quote that has become something of a classic line:
"I never had any friends later like the ones I had when I was 12. Jesus, does anyone?"
Reaching the car, an old Mike Batt song he wrote for Alvin Stardust in 1984 came to mind. ‘I feel like Buddy Holly,’ was a turning point in re-invigorating the musician and singer’s career. At 72 Alvin is still going strong, touring and recording a new album! He was 42 (the age I am now) when he recorded the song, and it has always had a special place in my heart. I’ll leave you with the main chorus and a link to a video of him singing it, as it perfectly sums up my reflections on today’s journey.
Well I feel like Buddy Holly 'cause it's Raining In My Heart.
All the sad songs take me back to you now that we are apart.
Now I know how Paul McCartney felt when he got up to say:
I wish it was Yesterday.
Distance Walked: 5.75 Miles
The forecast for the week saw me flip my usual schedule around, and it turned out to be a good decision as glorious sunshine awaited me atop Wye Downs. Starting at the Wye exploration hub featured in ‘People Look East,’ I gradually made my way in a south-easterly direction to Folly Town and from there to Hastingleigh. There was a haze in the air but a wonderful fresh breeze, and the hills rolled away from me bathed in the warm glow of some much needed sunlight.
Hastingleigh (pronounced ‘azin-loye’ if you have a very broad local accent) shares a number of things in common with many other villages up and down the land. Firstly, it is no longer situated on its original spot. The tell-tale sign of this is the distance to the village church, which occupies the site around which the village was once located. During the plague, fears about infection from bodies of the deceased caused the occupants to burn down their houses and move the village atop the nearby hill. The Domesday Book records the village as ‘Hastingelai,’ which is thought to derive from the name of an ancient warlord, ‘Haesta,’ combined with ‘ingas’ (the people of) and ‘leah’ (a forest glade). Thus the name roughly translates as ‘The woodland glade of the people of Haesta.’
Another thing the village shares in common with others is a pond, that at some point was the scene of a witch investigation. Local legend tells of how a young woman on the road was accosted by a group of men, accused of witchcraft, and thrown into what is now locally known as ‘Witches Pond.’ While it is pure speculation on my part, the poor young woman probably did nothing more than spurn an advance from one of the men. I wonder how many other young women suffered such ordeals on the back of hurt pride? This tale has an unusually brighter ending however, as the local priest rescued the woman from the pond and her persecutors. He allowed her to go safely on her way, but reputedly only after insisting on hearing her full confession. Whether this just refers to the standard sacrament of confession or relates to the accusation of witchcraft is unclear, but I would imagine the former.
The last commonality with other villages is a more recent one, and that is the loss of the local village shop and post office. I remember the place well and sadly it closed in 2004, yet another victim of the price club supermarket oligarchs. A tragic loss.
As I set off past ‘Witches Pond,‘ I noticed that the nearby grass was festooned with snowdrops, which seem to have reached their peak since I photographed a small clump a few weeks back.
Following an offshoot of The Street past the vicarage, I made for the edge of the hill that would present me with a view of the church in the valley below.
I have often mentioned my beloved Steiner School in these posts, and when I planned the walk past Hastingleigh church I was prompted to look up some old acquaintances. Mainly this was due to a former teacher of mine who lived nearby. Larry Klatzko was my Eurythmy teacher and class guardian, and his wife Rosie had a passion for dressage that inspired so many children and adults. She always helped people to have a deeper understanding of horses, and sought to enrich the lives of those who could not afford one of their own. To my great sadness, I discovered that Rosie Klatzko had passed away on 13th September 2012, aged only fifty nine years. A charity foundation was set up to honour her memory and this also has a Facebook page. If you love children and horses and would like to help them, or if you would simply like to learn a little more about this extraordinary woman, please have a look at the links I have included.
The Normans built the church in the 11th century, although a Saxon structure is believed to have stood there before it. In the southeast corner of the churchyard I found a wooden bench set in concrete, with a plaque dedicated to Rosie’s memory by the children, teachers and parents of my old school. It was upon this bench that I sat and paid my respects, glancing at her grave beyond with the small wooden cross and beautiful message from her husband. Care for the privacy and dignity of the family prevent me adding further details here, but Spring flowers were pushing their way through the grass and blossoms were beginning to bud on the trees. In the midst of such loss, new life was breaking out all around as the cycle refreshed itself once more.
As I did my research a day or two before that led to this discovery, I encountered recent pictures of old friends and also found many photos from the old days. The title image for this post was taken of my class aged sixteen, just over a year before we left. Larry Klatzko stands on the left, and (in case you were wondering) yours truly is the tall guy in the very middle at the back. Despite my fair share of challenges and health problems, I always knew even at the time that my school days really were the best days of my life. Heck, I even wrote a poem about it that was published in the school newsletter. (One of several during my time there, as it happens).
Were I just gazing back through rose-tinted glasses, as is the way of human nature, this might not be anything special. Yet I felt that way while I was actually there, and when it came time to leave I think it left a hole which I have never really known how to fill. Those magical days seeing the universe as a place of endless possibilities, the way we were taught, the outstanding teachers we had, and the friends we shared it with are truly something I will treasure and carry with me until it is time that I too am laid beneath the greensward and my disappearing body gives birth to new life.
In 2011 I happened to be passing my school on the day of the Advent Bazaar. Deciding to stop in, I was delighted to encounter my old friend and classmate Sara Hunt (bottom right in the class photo), who I had not seen since we left in 1989. After a period of travelling and study, she had become a teacher at the school. A fond embrace exchanged, we began to reminisce and Sara enunciated so clearly a feeling I have consistently experienced. She said, “This place calls us back, doesn’t it?” Yes Sara, it does. Always.
Leaving the serenity of the churchyard behind, I made the deceptive climb to Kingsmill Down. Picking up the southerly lane to Brabourne Downs, I turned northwest onto the North Downs Way. Gradually I hiked the ridge crest back to the Broad Downs above Wye, via Cold Blow and Newgate Scrubs. The sun was still shining, but I think the pang in my heart suggested a rain cloud within.
Famous author, Stephen King, once wrote a story called ‘The Body’ which eventually became a sleeper hit in the film adaptation ‘Stand By Me.’ Based around an author looking back to his childhood when a group of friends went searching for a missing boy, it contains a pertinent quote that has become something of a classic line:
"I never had any friends later like the ones I had when I was 12. Jesus, does anyone?"
Reaching the car, an old Mike Batt song he wrote for Alvin Stardust in 1984 came to mind. ‘I feel like Buddy Holly,’ was a turning point in re-invigorating the musician and singer’s career. At 72 Alvin is still going strong, touring and recording a new album! He was 42 (the age I am now) when he recorded the song, and it has always had a special place in my heart. I’ll leave you with the main chorus and a link to a video of him singing it, as it perfectly sums up my reflections on today’s journey.
Well I feel like Buddy Holly 'cause it's Raining In My Heart.
All the sad songs take me back to you now that we are apart.
Now I know how Paul McCartney felt when he got up to say:
I wish it was Yesterday.
