Tomorrow is October - yes, I know - how did that happen? Where did the year go? What about my one precious life, slipping past me day by day at jet speed? It is already dark at 7.30 p.m. and it is just going to get worse, until, if you don't get out of bed of a morning sharp-ish, you'll completely miss any day light - if you can call it daylight, so weak and watery is it in these far northern November latitudes.
So, while it is still September, we'll celebrate with a bit of elegiac misery.
The Earl's Palace, Kirkwall, was built around 1606 by Patrick, Earl of Orkney, cousin of James VI. He was a bad bastard, known as ‘Black Patie’, and ruled the Northern Isles from 1592. Earl Patrick's financial corruption, his brutality and torture of the local population led to him being summoned before the Privy Council in 1609, and then imprisoned in Edinburgh Castle. Whilst imprisoned, he sent his bastard son Robert Stewart to raise a rebellion in Orkney. Robert seized the Palace of Birsay with thirty companions in May 1614, then occupied the Earl's Palace and St Magnus' Cathedral in Kirkwall. 700 rebels joined Robert, claiming to restore royal justice in Orkney during the Black Patie's absence. The Earl of Caithness defeated Robert at the end of September, after a five-week siege of the Earl's Palace, battering the Palace with 140 cannon shots; he said the Palace was so strong that some of his cannonballs had "brokkin lyk goulfe balls upoune the castelle and clovin in twa halffis". Twelve of Robert's men were hanged at the castle gate. Black Patie was executed for treason in 1615. His Palace was built by slave labour. Here it is, brooding over Kirkwall.
September, Kirkwall
Slow, sad September drapes the town,
With mist that holds the rooftops down.
The black hulk of the Earl’s domain
Lurks in the dusk like anchored pain.
No laughter spills from stone or stair,
Just silence thick in Orkney air.
The palace dreams of fire and feast,
Wearing the twilight like a beast.
Thin arms lifted, not in praise - just habit.
The skyline bruises into evening tones,
No wind, no birds,
just the hush of ending.
Bird huddles close, all daylight shed,
A crown of leaves above her head.
The sun slips low, a molten thread,
unspooling gold where day has fled.
Blooms still hold a blush of flame,
Too bright for dusk, too soft to name.
Petals curling as shadows grow,
A slow retreat, a final show.
Yet in the dim, they seem to gleam—
Embers flickering in a dream.
Leaning against the weathered stone,
They bloomed too late, too far alone.
The sea is iron. The wind is keen.
13 comments:
Beautiful mrs I, thank you.
Thank you, mr inmate. I took all the photos on the 29th September, over three different years, all in Orkney.
6:30 here and the sun has gone down. So depressing.
By contrast, down here, we are in our spring. Everything is waking up. Last week, playing golf, we had to stop as a red belled black snake leisurely made its way across the fairway; it was warming up and it had woken in search of food and a mate. We, of course, were shit scared.
Googlemind reckons they're usually quite shy, mr Mike, is that right? Sounds like a bracing morning heartstarter, in any case!
Happy October, ishmaelites. mr mike reminds us that everything is relative. As the wisdom of the Sufi tells us: this, too, shall pass.
Or as we irrationally optimistic Brits tell each other, cheer up, it could be worse.
Snakes, eh? Not in Orkney. Rain, yes. Wind, certainly. Snakes? Not so much.
Most species of snakes are shy, Mr verge, or so I gather, they feel the vibrations and generally slither off before we see them. There are, however, exceptions. I remember watching a wildlife program on the "fierce snake" which is indigenous to central Australia, super deadly, and it attacks on sight.
The problem playing golf is you may hit you ball into the rough, or the bush and go looking for it. Tread on one and its trouble. The green staff carry snake bite kits just in case. The spiders are more dangerous - the Sydney Funnelweb, for instance. You have 15 mins to get to hospital if bit! Lots of those little buggers around.
Mambas also have an alarmingly aggressive reputation, as I understand it, mr Mike, but there's an exception to every rule & if you ever get the chance to read one of the books about Constantine Ionides, look out for the story about a green mamba in the unlit outside toilet.
Only you, mr verge, would have a ready-to-go story about a snake in a toilet.
Thank you, mr mongoose, but it had a happy ending, honest. The books are "Snake Man" & "Life with Ionides", worth looking out for in the charity shop.
Thank you, mr mongoose, though it does have a happy ending, honest. The books are Snake Man and Life With Ionides, out of print now I suspect but well worth scooping up from a charity shop if the opportunity arises.
If you were puzzled as to their non-appearance, mr verge, it seems your comments were thrown into the Spam bin by The Bots That Be - I have no idea why. The content is not at all seditious. Anyway, I've heaved them out and here they are.
Spam, was it? That explains the doubling up, as I thought I'd forgotten to press send or whatever we call it last night. Thanks.
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