
From ‘Islands of the Vale’ by Eleanor G Hayden. 1908
A turn past a couple of inns, sitting cheek by jowl in apparent amity, brings us to the green, where the few dwellings retreat to stand at a respectful distance off the grass. In the centre is an ancient sun-dial raised on three steps of inconvenient height. The hollows which generations of children climbing up ‘to see the time’ have made in them, and in the pillar of the dial itself….I put my feet into the children’s marks, and …., I too climbed up to see the hour. The gnomon was still fixed to the plate. Time, however, as though in despite, had erased the figures that none should mark how he went forward to his end. A modern guide-book sets down the dial as a cross, to the indignation of the villagers. ‘He’ve allus bin a dial,’ they exclaim, ‘an’ never nothen else. What should us want wi’ a cross then?’ Aye, what indeed? Have they not had the Cross in their midst for well nigh a thousand years, as the stones of their own church can testify?
You must be logged in to post a comment.