This is a tale I found in a very old book dated around 1364. I discovered the volume holding up a back leg of an old sideboard in a deceased relatives house, in the old fishing port of Whitby. It was very tatty and musty smelling, with many small nibbles, mould and fungi sprouting out of its spine. It almost went straight on the bonfire. But something stopped me and made me examine it further. When I finally found time to examine it further, sitting in front of a roaring real fire some weeks later I found it to be old and worn, it’s scratched brown cover had seen better days, dust spewed out as I turned the first page making me cough and splutter. Its contents handwritten, scrawled, crossed out and rewritten many times, in what looks like ink, at least I hope it’s ink. Strange insignia crawled up most of the margins as if they had squeezed themselves into the book after the covers had been closed. This is the tale I found inside, make of it what you will, believe of it what you will. This is it, as I read it . Although in a second reading some days later, the words seemed to have changed, dates and even events too. I recognised the tale but it was not what it had been. I can’t make it out. But here it is anyway.

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The book, chapter one page five.

“To experience this wonder one has to understand. This spectacle will only appear under specific conditions and to certain persons. If you are not one of those persons no amount of looking, searching or spell casting will force it to reveal itself. I have been lucky or unlucky in my search, which ever you may feel is justified. My senses have been irreparably changed. For better or worse I know not which. But here is my experience as I saw it. Make if it what you will.

It was midwinter, a fair frosty chill in the air. A full moon coincided with the solstice. The dark hillside in front of me sparkled with the frost as did the air. Ice forming on my hair and in my nasal passages. Thoughts were starting to form that I was freezing to the spot and would not be able to stand here much longer. For although I had been promised that I was the chosen one, one in every generation, I was not at all convinced. The moon vanished behind a sudden cloud bank, the hillside vanished and the ice started to form into shapes. I peered as hard as I could, leaning forward into the darkness in front of me as it appeared. A spectral, spirit before my eyes carved into the hillside. What was it, what of it. It seared and burned into my mind’s eye. It’s something I will never forget. A huge bird, carved lightly into the jet. In one hand a staff and the other weighing some sort of object. Instantly I knew why and I knew what it meant. Quickly I drew on the parchment I had brought. I scribed all I could see and wrote what words appeared in my mind. Here be my etching, my scribes are for my eyes only.

 

Can you make head nor tail of it? I need many more moons to fathom it out. The next pages will contain my workings. I’m sure it will become my life study.

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That’s it, I will have to study his/her workings in order to understand what it is was revealed that night. What I can tell you is, it is common local knowledge that every generation an apparition will appear, some say it’s a warrior holding aloft a spear and enemy skull, others say it’s a good fortune omen carrying phallus and egg, male and female. I have seen similar figures today carved into hillsides, who knows how long this has happened. There is one, in particular, that is very similar. Holding a staff and bearing forth. Do you know who or what? Scroll down to see if you are right.

Yes that’s right, The Cerne Abbas Giant.

To be found in Dorset. No one is really sure about it’s date. It could be Saxon or as late as the Victorians.

What does it represent? Again the jury is out, some say it’s Hercules, some political satire aimed at Oliver Cromwell. It has also changed over time. Some bits of him being lost, others enlarged!!!!!!!!!

 

Some say he’s a warrior, others a fertility symbol. What of his most famous appendage? You may have noticed the bird in the Jet Hill has non. He holds aloft an egg as his fertility symbol and as is maybe not so well know, most birds including gulls DO NOT have a penis!

Hope you enjoyed my little flight into fantasy and if you are ever in the region of both places, go say hello to the carvings in the hill.

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