Author: Alison

Porthmey by Margot Grey

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The gentle lapping of the waves on the shingle are hypnotic. The waves roll in before breaking softly on the stones, then the water draws back a foot or so before another wave forms and rolls up the beach, never the same as the preceding one.

The still bay of Porthmey is dotted with boats and dinghies, bobbing on the grey-blue water.  Closer to shore the breaking waves are brown as they roll over the shingle, whilst further out the deep water looks green. 

The Front runs just above the shoreline.  Here are a few gift shops, the old Ferry Hotel with its veranda restaurant, the even older church, seafood restaurants, and a few private houses.  Most of the inhabitants retreat to their scruffier houses in the steep hills during the summer months when tourists descend on Porthmey.  Many of the visitors stay in the Ferry Hotel or the guesthouses in the village, but most stay in Penmey Town, across the bay, and come over on the regular ferry service.  The one coastal road that leads into Porthmey is often washed out, so the ferry is the most reliable and convenient way to visit the village.

The ferry docks at Porthmey’s small pier, jutting out into the bay in front of the Ferry Hotel.  The small information hut at the end of the pier handles all the ferry and boat tour bookings. 

The most popular tours are, of course, the seafolk sighters, in business for over a hundred years despite not a single seafolken encounter.  This abysmal record has not dampened the enthusiasm of the many optimistic tourists only too eager to pay for a local expert to show them the favourite caves, islands and beaches of the seafolk.  Or search for the (entirely fictitious) nesting shallows.  Or travel beyond the sheltered bay, and dive in the deeper waters hoping for a seafolk experience.

Fortunately there are things to do in Porthmey that do not involve seafolk.  In the summer months, children paddle kayaks around the pier.  Closer to shore are the swimmers, enjoying the summer sunshine.  Small yachts glide gracefully over the waves, skipping around the forested headland and out of sight. 

In the evening people sit out on The Front, under the blossom of trees whose branches have been twisted by fierce winter weather.  Or they wander along the beach between the upturned rowing boats that sit above the highwater mark.  Some of these boats are for hire, and others belong to Porthmey residents who regularly cross the bay to Penmey Town to get any supplies that the local shops do not stock. 

In the winter months there are no tourists.  The calm seas of summer turn grey and wild, waves rushing up the shingle onto the Front, storms battering shutters and whistling through empty streets.  The villagers can see the lights of Penmey Town across the channel, but in these months it is too dangerous to try and cross.  Porthmey is cut off and self-sufficient, relying on its resourceful people to get through the cold, dark winter.  Volunteers staff vital services like the local ambulance and lifeboats.  During the day residents gather for Book Club or Coffee and Crochet in the library, or maybe afternoon tea or soup in the church hall.  In the evening the local pub, the Lobster Trap, does good trade, and the ballroom in the Ferryman’s basement is opened up for a Buffet with contributions from anyone who attends.

As soon as the road and sea routes become safe to traverse again, Porthmey goes through a spring clean.  Boats, guest houses and signs are re-painted; flower pots are replanted, and lawns are mowed and tidied; shops are re-stocked; the pier is checked, repaired and re-opened; the gallery puts on a new exhibition.  Soon everything is ready for the new wave of vistors and tourists, and the everyday Porthmey residents retreat back into the hills to wait for next winter.

Market Square by Milford Glower

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I feel hugely privileged to be the first to write for the My Farynshire section of this blog. 

I thought long and hard about the place in Farynshire that meant the most to me – there are so many!  Do I choose a natural wonder, a beautiful village, one of our most spiritual places?  In the end I chose Market Square in Rookpot, the place of protest, dissent and rebellion.

The most famous of Rookpot’s Squares is Dameg, surrounded by the Library, the Council Chambers, The Museum and the Cathedral – it is the heart of the city.  EassenBren is its soul, and I like to think of Market Square as the city’s conscience. In many ways it is the opposite of Dameg Square.  You can see immediately see the contrast between the two when you go through St Fulk’s Cut, the high-walled alleyway that connects them.    

The most immediately obvious difference is the graffiti.  Unlike its pristine neighbour, Market Square is covered in graffiti – some of which has been dated to before 1400, and some of which is still wet from last Tuesday.  Market Square is Rookpot’s public forum, the Square of Ideas, and a lot of them are scrawled on its steps and walls.

But most ideas are conveyed via well prepared speeches, or, more often, incoherent shouting. 

Every potential Councillor has to give a few speeches here.  Before live feeds, the Council Clerk stood on the steps and recited the minutes of every full Council Meeting.  I suppose if the wifi ever goes down some poor secretary will have to do this again.  All important announcements are made here. 

But it is not just a place for the Council or for important announcements; in fact, these take up but a fraction of the calendar.  Market Square is the place in the city where anybody can say or preach anything.  It is also the place where, no matter who the speaker is, anyone can argue back.

This sounds like a perfect set up for authorised street fights, I know.  But the authorities treat violence (including throwing anything) in Market Square very seriously.  The offence is Wilful Destruction of Trust of the People, and the minimum sentence is a week in Rookpot Gaol.

There is also a Code of Conduct that must be adhered to:

  • All speakers are prohibited from using loudspeakers, megaphones, or any other public address system
  • Anyone who uses the Speaker’s Square to make speeches does so at his or her own risk
  • Rookpot Council will not be responsible for any prosecution or legal action by the Constabulary or civil proceedings

The Code is engraved on the left gate post as you walk into the Square, so everyone knows the rules even if they rock up on the day.  If you plan your protest in advance, like we did, you receive a copy of the Code via email.

The debates are grouped together by classes, and written up in chalk on the blackboard by the entrance.  Our student protest was in the Rookpot class, because it focused on the proposed removal of the portrait of the Digger, Meredith Roke, from the Museum Gallery.  The title of our protest was History Needs to Celebrate and Acknowledge its Thieves, Amateurs and Adventurers.  The idea was to bring the debate surrounding the controversial Digger (which I won’t expound on here; if you want to learn more there are plenty of books in The Lilac Beech and records in the Library about the Rokes and their contributions to the Museum) out of academic circles and to the public’s attention.

This is one of the Square’s main functions: to bring grievances out into the light, and rally support for petitions and causes.  Anyone in authority is always seen as a fair target, and there have been numerous protests against the Council or Peer Families – a servant once spent five days endlessly pontificating against one of the Peers.  Because of these acts of outspoken sedition and dissent, the Square has always been seen as a safe space.  Some have tried to use it as a place of sanctuary, but only those expressing an opinion are safe from arrest – you can’t just pitch a tent in the Square.

The main speakers take turns to make their case by standing on the Speaker’s Spot – a coloured circle in the centre of Market Square.  They address the crowds gathered on the surrounding stone steps that rise above them.  It is a bit intimidating to make your case in front of all those jeering and cheering faces, but maybe that is the point: your views must be robust enough to survive the mob.    

You cannot be arrested in the Square, but anyone breaking sedition or other laws can be arrested as soon as they step back across the threshold.  There have been incidents in the past where Rookpot Costabulary have blocked all exits from the Square, waiting to make arrests when people leave.  This has led to some calling Market Square a freedom cage. 

The authorities have also tried to stop people getting into the Square at all.  The Constabulary have formed a ring to stop people from entering, but this was deemed an illegal act.  One of Rookpot’s Peer Families erected concrete slabs across the entrance, but these were torn down, leaving two stunted remains left in place as testament to how important the Square is.

And then there are those who believe that having a designated area for free speech is offensive – arguing that all of the city should be free.  And whereas everyone might agree that ideally this should be the case, history has proven the value of Market Square.  Its special status has allowed everyone space and opportunity for their voice to be heard.  And this has meant that Market Square has righted wrongs, exposed corruption, held authority to account, and sparked the occasional revolution.

History is everywhere in the Square.  In the graffiti scrawled over every surface, on plaques on the walls commemorating some of the most important and memorable altercations and announcements in the Square, and simply in the knowledge of all that has come before.  You can feel the righteous anger of all the people who have stood on the Spot before you lift your voice so that everyone can hear.

So definitely make your way through St Fulk’s Cut from Dameg Square when you visit Rookpot.  And, whilst you are here, maybe check out the Gallery in the Museum, where the portrait of Meredith Roke, a rascal, a thief, an unscrupulous seller of precious artefacts, the first Digger, still hangs.

This Christmas in Dameg Square

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This year the traditional blue spruce was not delivered to Dameg Square.  This meant no Christmas tree for the Square, and no tree for Rookpot.  The tree is the centre of the city’s Christmas festivities – what to do in its absence?

In years gone by, when dragging a giant spruce tree from the Daggerrock Mountains to Rookpot, and them up through the steep, narrow streets to Dameg Square, was impractical, the celebrations were focussed instead upon the tree that always lives in the Square: the bent oak that leans over the gorge.  The oak has bare branches in December, and so every household in the city creates three leaves, usually from paper or cloth: one red, one golden, and one green, to cover the tree in bright foliage.

This led to exploring other forgotten Christmas traditions, hidden in the Museum archives.  These traditions grew from the close relationship between the Peoples, and when the wolvern, foresteens and seafolk withdrew from human contact, the traditions were abandoned as well.  By reviving them once more, it is hoped that the other Peoples may be encouraged to return to Rookpot.

A giant wreath adorned the heavy, ancient Cathedral doors.  Young foresteens would once have climbed Rookpot tor and hung it themselves.  This year it was wrought by volunteers from the Cathedral choir and by a group of Museum Assistants.  They entwined holm, mistletoe, and the feathered branches of blue and fire-tinged firs, but not ivy (out of respect for the foresteens), and garnished it with red and white holly berries amidst their dark, shiny leaves.

The Square is bathed in the shimmering light of the giant silver star that sits atop the Council Chambers, visible from the ever-spreading suburbia that surrounds the tor.  Ropes of brightly coloured lights criss-cross the Square, and drape over the entrances to the Library and the Chambers.  Once these would have been ropes of jewels from wolvern mines, but now they are illuminated by slightly less mystic electric bulbs.

A red, blue, green or yellow (or sometimes all four) candle is placed in every window in the Square, kept alight until well into January.  This is one of the recent traditions.  As is using the leftover fat from Christmas dinners to create balls embedded with nuts and dried fruit that are hung up on trees, outside windows, and on the Library roof for the city birds.

There have been other visitors to the city, according to the archives, more mythical and legendary than the Peoples.  There is an entire section in The Lilac Beech devoted to Creatures from the Gorge, and two of these seem to be associated with Christmas, and they both seem to have paid a visit this Christmas.  How else to explain the light dusting of snow on rooves and window sills other than frost fairies?  And who else would have left a small gift or bauble on the porch of every house on Christmas morning but the Gorge Gnomes?  There are even rumours that the golden stag with the black antlers, Black Goron Carw, has been seen racing silently through the streets, spreading the Christmas spirit in his wake. 

To work up an appetite for Christmas lunch, it was decided to re-introduce the Kickabout.  The Kickabout had been indefinitely suspended because the last time it was played somebody fell into the gorge.  But that had been many years ago, and everyone was confident that that would not happen again.  It is a game loosely based on football, in that there is a ball involved, and it is played between the Cathedral, the Library, the Museum and the Council Chambers, although really anyone can join in.  It starts in Dameg Square, but often spills out into surrounding streets and Squares.  Two players from each side carry the goals, and another carries a bucket of punch and a ladle.  Those that manage to avoid being dragged into the game sip on large mugs of steaming hot chocolate. Nobody is ever sure who the winner is – but as long as nobody falls into the gorge, it is considered a success.

Later in the evening, after the post-lunch snooze, the people take to the streets once more.  This is a lazy time.  A time for eating (if possible) the rich, rum, bourbon or whisky-soaked fruit cakes and mince pies.  When the Peoples used to join the festivities this would be a time for feasting.  This year the flattened sugar biscuits have been cut out into shapes that resemble wolvern, foresteens and seafolk.

At midnight, or soon after, fireworks fill the sky, and all of the bells in the city ring out.  This was the farewell to the Peoples as they returned to the mountains, the forests and the sea.  This year it is to remind the frost fairies, the Gorge Gnomes, and even Black Goron Carw, that they must now return from whence they came.

They will be welcome back next year, though.  As will the other Peoples, should they wish to celebrate Christmas with Rookpot once again.

Merry

Christmas!

Travels through Farynshire: The Wild Gift

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The Wild Gift

The most famous and powerful of the Peer Families are the Meyricks of Riversouth.  The most eccentric (amongst some stiff competition) are the Bescoby-Angells of Sussengaard.

The Bescoby-Angells are known as the Gardening Peers.  Their main seat is Sussengaard, a sumptuous country house surrounded by glorious rose gardens, stuffed herb gardens, plum, apple and pear orchards, and acres of wildflower meadows.  If you have time, it is well worth taking a tour of the gardens – a lovely, civilised way to spend the day, maybe taking some afternoon tea in the beautiful Lawn Room as well.  But if you are feeling a little more adventurous, you should do what we did and visit the Wild Gift.

The Wild Gift is the Bescoby-Angells’ true legacy.  It stands as a testament to their commitment to and love for nature.  It was once called Bex Frith, and it was the largest town in Sussengaard.  In the 1840s, at the peak of Industrialism, the Bescoby-Angells deliberately abandoned Bex Frith, leaving it for nature to reclaim.  The inhabitants were relocated to new housing in the surrounding villages, and wardens were employed to patrol the ghost town and prevent anyone from moving back in.  Bex Frith became known as the Wild Gift.

These days there is a still a Warden, and it is their job to ensure that the Wild Gift remains for nature.  One of them wrote the code you must abide by if you visit:

This is not a place for humans, and your presence is not welcome here.  If you do persist in visiting, be mindful of the laws of this land:

You are responsible for your own safety

Your safety must not come at the expense of any living thing here 

Do not ride, drive or bring anything with wheels here

Do not linger, do not loiter

Take nothing you did not bring in with you

Leave only footprints (if you must)

Do not damage or mark anything

Do not get lost – nobody will come and find you

No noise

No heavy scents

No picnicking

No flash photography

No crowds

All life here must be respected

Anyone who contravenes any of these polite and reasonable laws will face fierce, full and prolonged retribution.

These laws are taken very seriously.  You would not be the first to wonder how fierce, full and prolonged the retribution can be, and fortunately early transgressors provide cautionary tales.  A family barbeque in the 1970s resulted in three months community service for the family involved.  The community service took place in Sussengaard, and the family were from Birmingham, so that ended up being quite an extended stay for them.  A couple of people were caught shooting rabbits in the late 1990s, and I think they are still in prison somewhere. 

All of this means that you tend to approach the Wild Gift apprehensively and very very quietly.  

If you’re as unfit as I am, you will also be quite out of breath because it’s quite a hike through the fields and country lanes to the misshapen moss-covered lumps that mark the edge of the old town.  There was once a bridge that ran over the canal that transported trade to and from the River Spurtle.  Now the canal is a dry ditch filled with sharp-edged grass and brambles, and the bridge is a rockery covered in lichen that you have to clamber over.    

Once you have pulled yourself out of the ditch you can see the town.  A gentle sward leads up to a mound of thick ivy, which might still have a wall in it somewhere.  Beyond this are trees and ruins.  It feels a bit like entering a place of worship you have never been to before; you’re very aware that there are rules you need to obey, you try and step softly and be quiet and unobtrusive as possible, and a quiet awe suffuses everything.  But it also feels like you should not be here at all.  This is nature’s place now.

If you look closely you can find the unnatural, straight lines that are the only signs of where the streets used to be.  Some of them are just a wild mass of untamed vegetation, lined by ruins, but the more popular tracks are grass paths that lead through the bushes.  At first you think the town is silent, but then you realise that there is noise, it is just not human noise.  Birdsong is continuous, and soon you forget it is there. The rustlings from the bushes, skitterings on the rubble behind you, and scuttlings in the dark, empty doorways are more disconcerting.  It soon becomes clear that you are not alone.

The terraced houses that face each other across narrow cobbled streets now have saplings rooted in the living rooms that rise through the first floor, reaching above where the roof once was.  Some of the buildings are wrapped in branches and vines that wind out of glassless windows and hang from splintered beams.  The vines have pulled down a few walls, and now cover the fallen masonry.  Flowers grow along the road, or from the cracks in the walls.  We walked between the houses and found an alley full of roots that have fallen from an oak growing on top of what is left of a wall.  We were careful not to damage any of the roots as we carefully picked our way through the tangle.

On the other side of the alley is a wide square meadow, fill of long grass, poppies, forget-me-nots, and other colourful flowers.  Two dappled deer looked up from their grazing, cheeks moving, and regarded us with frank curiosity.  When Felix slowly and carefully reached for his camera they trotted off.  He did take some pictures of the many rabbits running and jumping over the rubble.  A couple of squirrels watched us from the branches of wild pear trees.  A shadow passed overhead and we looked up and saw red kites wheeling above us.  The wildlife in the Gift knows that this place belongs to them, and it is unafraid of any human visitors.

The most recognisable building is the red-bricked factory and the Old Mill beside it.  This is where the canal ran from, but there is no running water here now.  The factory tower is still standing, but only because there is an oak tree growing in the centre of it, and its branches now hold the structure together in a weird fusion of brick and living wood.  I’m still not convinced that this is not a foresteen.  It seems almost alive as its branches entwine with the tower, and it feels like it is watching over the whole Gift.  Unlike Gnivil Forest, though, there have never been any rumours of foresteens in the Wild Gift.

The main door to the factory once stood over twelve feet high, and it is much higher and wider than that now, as the frame has been pulled down by an expanding thicket of gorse that has spread inside.  I was very aware that there is no phone or wifi signal in the Wild Gift as we entered the factory.  Nobody maintains these buildings, and the code clearly states that no rescue will come even if there is an accident.  

The roof of the factory has long since fallen in, and basking in the sunlight that poured in was a carpet of nettles.  We carefully picked our way through the waist-high nettles, getting stung quite a few times.  Towards the centre of the vast space the floor falls away completely.  Vines hang over the edge and tremble in the cool space below.  Here there is no birdsong, just a constant, echoing dripping.

Several floors must have fallen in because at first we could not see what was at the bottom.  A cloud passed overhead and the sunlight shone straight into the void.  Far below we saw a brief glint of light.  Felix suggested we try and go a bit further down.  This is not as impossible as it first looked because the collapsed floor had resulted in a rough slope of rubble that we could slip and slide down.  Soon we reached a point where we would have needed ropes to go any further.  But we had a good view of what was below.

The waterworks in the Old Mill next door have been destroyed over the years, and the water has flowed out, forming the lake below.  The cellars of the factory have been flooded, and the water now laps at the stone steps that disappear beneath the gloomy surface.  As we watched, bats swooped and dived over the surface, and a shadow slunk back into the darkness before we could see what it was.  I know that some people go diving in the lake, but the dark green surface looked sinister and thoroughly unappealing to me: who knows what lurks in the fathomless gloom? As soon as Felix had taken his photos we climbed back up to the factory floor.

I’m glad we went to the Wild Gift, but I don’t think I will ever go back there.  The Bescoby-Angells gave it to nature, and humans are no longer welcome.

By Mabel Govitt

Reach of the Meyrick: Controversies

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Controversies

Professor Efa Foster and the Museum curators who worked with the White Palace Scribe on the exhibition felt that they could not display certain items without a couple of notes attached to them.  The White Palace Scribe agreed with the wording of the notes, and checked this blog post before it was published.

There are numerous artefacts on display in Riversouth and Rookpot that come from Wild Wolvern Mey.  These include numerous pieces of wolvern jewellery, gems worn by Meyricks and their families, including the ruling ring, and bejewelled gifts of Musril-embossed skins from wolvern Clans. 

It should be noted that many wolvern artefacts were given as genuine gifts to the Meyricks from the Clans in Wild Wolvern Mey, and these are considered the rightful property of the White Palace.  However, several items discovered in the Palace Archives have a more dubious provenance.  These are items that were taken from wolvern Clans without permission, and in many cases the wolvern had requested that the items be returned to them.  The Museum is working closely with the Palace Archives to see if this is feasible.  At the time of the exhibition no wolvern artefacts have yet been returned to the Clans, but there are ongoing talks being held in the neutral territory of Rookpot Museum, which representatives from the White Palace and the Sperakeden Clan have attended.

The second note concerns the Musril language, particularly its origins.  We all know that Riversouth prides itself on protecting and promoting Farynshire’s native language.  Indeed, most academics acknowledge that without The White Palace’s devotion to the language it might very well have died out many years ago, amongst the human population anyway.  What has been increasingly challenged, particularly in recent years, is the long-held theory that Musril spread out to the rest of the county from Riversouth.  In fact, there is no evidence that Musril was created in Riversouth.  Despite this, many well-respected academic books, articles and theses make this claim; some of them from many years ago, but, perhaps surprisingly, some published in the twenty first century as well.  This is very much a live and current theory, as evidenced by recent podcasts and online videos that are popular around Riversouth.  Rookpot Museum distances itself from this theory.  If anything, recently discovered evidence suggests that Musril did not originate in Riversouth. 

It is important to acknowledge new discoveries and revise existing theories, however well established, accordingly.  Rookpot Museum is committed to pursuing the truth of history, rather than a version of it.

The 213th Rookpot History Conference

The Peoples of Farynshire: Challenging the Narrative

The Scribe of the White Palace, Aderyn Tooking and Professor Efra Foster from Rookpot Museum will chair the 213th conference of the Rookpot History Conference.  The theme of the conference is challenging the traditional theories concerning the Peoples of Farynshire.  The programme has been deliberately designed to be radical and provocative and many of the speakers could be considered controversial. 

The Programme

“Four Peoples, One County”   Professor Roland Coombes

“Our Common Language: Musril for All”   Professor Lana Evans and Doctor Peter Wallace

“The Voices of our Forests”  Doctor Rhyll Jones

“Following the Seafolk”   Sephus Moxley

“The Meyrick, the wolvern, and Wild Wolvern Mey”   Aderyn Tooking and Professor Efra Foster

“A wolvern in Rookpot”   Botolf ken Geirolf os okto

There are limited places available for the public – so book your place early!

The Reach of the Meyrick: Seafolk and Wolvern

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Seafolk and Wolvern

Recent research has challenged the longstanding narrative around Riversouth’s relationship with seafolk and wolvern.  This has been made possible by examining the other side of the story, and re-learning history through the memories and stories of the Peoples themselves.  We hope one day to run that exhibition.

The focus of this exhibition is the Meyrick and Riversouth, and all of the sources and exhibits used and displayed are human.  This exhibition has started to challenge the traditional historical narrative, and we will continue to explore wider historical perspectives in our work.   

The Impact of the Seafolk (begin in The White Palace, Riversouth)

These days even occasional and rare sightings of seafolk in our coastal waters are met with both extreme scepticism and obsessive theorising, so it is hard to imagine a time when seafolk were not only a common sight in Farynshire’s waters, but regularly interacted with humans.  They may be elusive, but it is important to remember that they are one of the four Peoples of Farynshire, and they created one quarter of the ancient seal that hangs on the wall in the Council Chambers in Rookpot.

Before the Seal that brought the Peoples together (for a time anyway) there was often conflict between the seafolk and the human coastal communities, including Riversouth.  There are numerous stories and tales about seafolk raids on Meyshore Bay.  One of the oldest and most fascinating records in the Palace Archive is an eleventh century book listing the loss of sea vessels to seafolk attacks.  Some boats disappeared, and the book claims that witnesses on shore observed boats being pulled underwater. 

Sephus Moxley, who has spent a lifetime researching, studying and searching for seafolk, has written a book about the history of seafolk in Riversouth for this exhibition, and you can buy How the Seafolk shaped Riversouth in the Rookpot Museum shop and The Lilac Beech.  In his hefty tome, Moxley explores the relationship between the seafolk and the growing Riversouth, postulating that the seafolk are the reason Meyshore Bay never became a bustling port like Sylnmouth, despite being a natural and safe harbour.  The seafolk raids usually targeted fishing vessels and it is believed that they were defending their foodstocks.  In response to these raids Meyrick the True through to Meyrick the Thrift-Purse oversaw the building of defences along the shoreline.  There is very little to be seen here now, although some ancient timbers have been excavated that were once part of what looked like extensive fortifications.  Stone forts were constructed on top of the Sussen Orchelflilin, and if a seafolken was spotted in the waters below a beacon was lit to warn any boats that were already out in the Bay, and to rally the defenders – though Moxley believes these had little to no effect on the seafolk, certainly none were ever captured or killed. 

But what eventually kept the Bay waters seafolk-free was the construction of the underwater defences.  Moxley spends a good portion of his book explaining the significant of this remarkable architecture.  Most of it was buried for centuries, before Diggers from Rookpot Museum re-discovered it in the 1970s.  Since then it has been carefully preserved in its underwater setting using techniques that involve coating the metal and timbers in specially created waterproof lacquer.  The defences cover the entire seabed of the Bay, and start below low tide, making them invisible from shore.  Moxley believes that what has been discovered is but a remnant of the original structures.  He also suggests that the defences prevented the development of a port in Riversouth.  It was always assumed that the Meyricks discouraged the growth of a port because they did not want Riversouth to become like Sylnmouth, and possibly that was a secondary purpose of the underwater defences.

As part of the exhibition you can take a glass-bottomed boat trip out over some of the more stable defences.  Your guide and accompanying divers will ensure you get a good view of the marvels beneath the waves. 

Before you do that, first visit the art exhibition, Seafolk Encounters, in the magnificent Emerald Hall in the White Palace.  This beautiful exhibition has brought together art that features seafolk from around the county.  There are vast watercolours from the Vaults of Rookpot Museum, exquisite porcelain figurines from Cowley Maggs, mixed with the varied and ancient collections from the Palace Archives.  The exhibition is dominated by mermaids, of course, as they are the most frequently sighted of the seafolk, but some older, rarer works depict distant sightings of large males or family groups.  It seems that everyone who has ever encountered a seafolken has tried to capture its likeness in paint, pottery, glass, china or wood.

Wild Wolvern Mey (the White Palace, Riversouth, and Rookpot Museum, Rookpot)

Sephus Moxley argues that it was the pressure of the seafolk on Meyshore that led to the Meyricks pushing out beyond wider Riversouth area and eventually into the territories that would become known as Wild Wolvern Mey.  In truth, it is likely that this expansion would have happened with or without the seafolk.

There is evidence of Bronze Age trade between the pre-Meyrick communities in Riversouth and early wolvern Clans, such as wolvern jewels in Riversouth graves and human daggers, axes and swords in the mountains.  There are also very rare and prized finds of joint endeavours: metalwork created by wolvern and human, human pottery encrusted with wolvern stones. 

Sephus Moxley might be presumptuous about why the Meyricks started to expand out beyond Riversouth, but he is right about when.  Rather than the pressure of the seafolk raids being the reason, it seems as though the new sea defences gave the Meyrick confidence to turn their attention away from the sea and focus their energy inland.  One of the first developments was re-building the route network, repairing and strengthening existing tracks, and building new roads.  There is archaeological evidence of old toll stations along these new roads, particularly at the new turnpikes and bridges.

Numerous settlements were built along the new roads, and the villages and towns that are descended from them bear the Mey names to this day.  The Meyricks learned from the success of Meyshore and all of the initial settlements were designed by a Riversouth architect, Ogilby Hooke, who created one streetplan that was then applied to every new community, which makes it easy for archaeologists to identify these original settlements, even if they have been subsequently demolished or altered.  Hooke’s streetplan is on display in Rookpot Museum.

Hooke also drew up plans for a canal to run through Riversouth, out into the hinterlands to Skrudfenrion Lake, crossing a tributary of the River Spurtle, before joining the Bychan Darkflint River that winds its way from the mountains into the Lake.  It was a hugely impressive and ambitious project, and Hooke did not live to see it finished.  But there can be little doubt that the Riversouth Canal (Farynshire’s only canal) accelerated the Meyrick’s expansion projects. 

The humans soon attracted the attention of the local wolvern Clans, including the infamous Sperakeden Clan.  At first, relations between human and wolvern seem to have been respectful.  The wolvern were particularly interested in trading the jewels and precious stones they mined for sheep, wool, and human textiles.  Some wolvern even exchanged tracts of land that they considered unusable, which the humans quickly settled in.  Living in close proximity, though, it was inevitable that disagreements would occur.  Both wolvern and human are territorial, and boundaries were only respected when convenient.  Wolvern raided livestock, and humans continued to encroach and build upon wolvern land, constructing forts to deter wolvern attacks.  Most disputes were settled by jeldanas, an old method of settling scores whereby an agreed payment is given for a wrong, but resentment on both sides lingered. 

The arrival of the railways in the mid nineteenth century changed everything.  Meyrick the Third Tall paid for a line of track to run straight into Wild Wolvern Mey, at the same time as the Age of Industry enabled extensive mining in the region.  Meyrick the Third Tall’s successor is known as Meyrick the Scarrer, and is the only Meyrick to have an epitaph bestowed upon them by one of the Peoples.  Human miners were known as scarrers, and they changed the landscape in Wild Wolvern Mey forever with their dynamite and heavy machinery.

As the scarrers blasted their way further into wolvern territory, the wolvern were pushed deeper into the mountains.  The name Wild Wolvern Mey appeared at this time, attached to registered companies and materials that were mined from the area.  The industrialisation made the Meyrick and Riversouth very rich, but they did not have it all their own way.  The Sperakeden Clan constantly harassed, disrupted and attacked the railway and canal supply routes, and sometimes even the mines.

In the Palace Archives there is correspondence between the White Palace and the owners of the mining companies operating in Wild Wolvern Mey that reveal they all knew that their time in the area was not going to last long.  At this time the Peoples attended Council meetings in Rookpot, and the minutes from those meetings show that the wolvern representative petitioned the Council many times on behalf of the Sperakeden and other wolvern Clans. 

Because they knew that they had limited time to reap the rich rewards from their mines, the scarrers ruthlessly exploited as much of the area as they could.  There are early photographs of the devastation that was inflicted on the area.  Forests were burned to the ground, rivers and streams were polluted by the run-off and turned brown and toxic, slag heaps rose up in mockery of the surrounding mountains, the slopes of which were blasted, resulting in landslides and permanent damage.  Meyrick the Scarrer’s rule was short, rich, and ruinous for Wolvern Mey.

The Meyrick’s short and sudden advance beyond Riversouth shaped modern Farynshire, and you can follow in the footsteps of the scarrers via two routes.  The first is to step aboard a converted barge to make your leisurely way via the Riversouth Canal, or you can take the land train from Riversouth along the old roads to Wild Wolvern Mey.  Either route will stop to visit one of Ogilby Hooke’s villages, Norssenmey, a reconstructed settlement using Hooke’s streetmap.  From Norssenmey the tour continues over a wide stone bridge, and via a crumbling fort, and on to the modern town of Gorssenmey.  The mines still exist, though most are too dangerous to visit, but there is one that has been preserved, and this is where the tour ends. 

The Retreat of the Meyrick (Rookpot Museum)

The Meyricks left a lasting legacy on Wild Wolvern Mey, and many people assume they must have been there for centuries, but, in truth, everything that you can still see  – the mey names, the roads, infrastructure, railway, mines – all happened within the rule of two Meyricks, or less than fifty years.  For most of that time, protests were regularly raised during Rookpot Council meetings.

What expediated the Retreat of the Meyrick was the Leader of the Sperakeden Clan, Conri, who travelled to Rookpot to petition the Council to stop the mining and the occupation and expel the humans.  The Council minutes record his speech in full, both in the original Musril that Conri used, and translated into Welsh and English; you can see and read these minutes in the exhibition in Rookpot Museum.  Unfortunately nobody thought to make an audio recording, so we can only imagine the oratory power of a wolvern Leader speaking for his Clan, his home and his people.  But we know it must have been passionate and compelling because it provoked enough sympathy amongst the Councillors and the Peer Families that they put pressure on Riversouth to stop their activities in Wild Wolvern Mey. 

The mining was stopped immediately, and over the following year the Meyrick’s authority fell back to Riversouth.  The White Palace never publicly or formally renounced its claim on Wild Wolvern Mey, but from that moment on it essentially acted as though it had never heard of such a place, and paid no attention to anything that happened there.

These were big victories for Conri and the wolvern, but they did not get the full expulsion of humans that they wanted.  The villages and towns remain to this day, and the region is still known (amongst humans, at least) as Wild Wolvern Mey.  The wolvern, like the seafolk and the foresteens, would eventually break all contact with Rookpot, the Council and humans, but the concessions to Leader Conri delayed this for a few more years.

As well as selected excerpts from the Minutes of the Rookpot Council, this part of the exhibition is a wonderful collection of maps.  Ogilby Hooke’s original streetplan for the settlements can be viewed here, as well as modifications future planners made to his design.  The Scribe of the White Palace documented in detail the expansion and retreat of the Meyrick in and out of Wild Wolvern Mey, and you can see the growing and shrinking territories on intricate maps.  It is an extensive collection, and we are indebted to the Palace Archives for allowing us to make it public.

The Reach of the Meyrick: the Rise of Riversouth

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Rookpot Museum is home to countless archives, stories and finds from all over Farynshire.  Since its conversion from a glassworks factory in 1762 to the magnificent building standing today, its mission has been to explore, explain and share the rich history of our county and its Peoples.  To this end, we thought we would highlight some of the splendid and fascinating exhibitions the Museum has held over the years.

The Reach of the Meyrick was a once in a lifetime opportunity to get close to the truth and myth of the family who has shaped Farynshire more than any other. 

This is an exhibition that allows you to get up and close and personal with history as it is unearthed and reclaimed by Diggers and academics.    

The Museum had been given unprecedented access to the archives in The White Palace.  We are indebted to Aderyn Tooking, the White Palace Scribe, who granted extensive access to the Palace Archives and curated this exhibition across both cities.  We also thank Professor Efra Foster from Rookpot Museum for devising, coordinating and overseeing this vast project.

The focus of the exhibition is how the Meyrick’s influence spread out from Riversouth throughout Farynshire, with a particular focus on Wild Wolvern Mey, and then receded back again, leaving plenty of evidence of their presence in their wake.

This is the largest exhibition ever put on by the Museum – you might need to spread your visit over a few days!

The Rise of Riversouth

The Meyrick and the region of Riversouth have been part of each other since the dawn of history.

This part of the exhibition uses recent archaeological evidence and current projects to reveal new insights into this region, and how the first Meyricks established their dominance.

Explore the Dig (the White Palace, Riversouth)

By making use of the latest archaeological techniques and technology, Diggers from Rookpot Museum have begun exploring the early history of the White Crag upon which sits the White Palace of the Meyricks.  This is the first time the Meyrick has given permission for archaeological exploration in the grounds of the Palace, which has allowed us to trace the story of the Crag from its prehistoric settlements to its current splendour and influence.

The project is likely to take years to fully explore the secrets hidden within the White Crag, and these live and open excavations are part of the exhibition.  You can take a tour around the site, and speak to the Diggers as they work.  There are opportunities to take part in the dig itself, uncover a piece of history, and see some of the extraordinary fines that have already been unearthed.

The History of the White Crag (Rookpot Museum, Rookpot) 

The Diggers’ finds have been brought back to the Rookpot Museum so that they can be catalogued, preserved and studied.  The most impressive and revelatory of these have been put on display.

The earliest settlement on the White Crag dates from over 8,000 years ago.  Fragments of early seacraft, probably coracles, have been discovered, and it is thought that they were used on the calm waters of the gentle bay beneath the Crag.  From this time onwards, the White Crag’s natural resources gave early settlers the security and confidence to come together, build homes, raise families and develop their societies. 

It looked like these early people often clashed, as there is evidence of tribes fighting all over the Crag.  It is not uncommon for fossil hunters to find arrowheads, smooth missile stones, and even the occasional axe head around Meyshore Bay and Sussen Orchelflilin

At some point one of the tribes conquered the Crag’s summit and built a palisade around their community.  You can see artists’ reconstructions of the firstly timber, and later stone, walls in the exhibition.  Behind this stood what is known as the Hill Fort, which some historians claim is an early ancestor to the White Palace.  The community that lived here thrived behind their high walls. 

This was the site of the first Mint in Farynshire.  One of the most exciting finds during the excavations was a hoard of coins from this Mint, with the earliest dating from the eighth century.  Coins struck from the Riversouth Mint were used throughout the county for hundreds of years, and finds have been unearthed as far afield as the Daggerrock Mountains, Tropsog and Cwm Purne.  The Old Mint now stands on the original site, a wonderful little tea room in the public grounds of the Palace.  One of the coins in the hoard bore the name Myrreck in an old form of Musril, and is on display in the Museum. 

The success of the Mint enriched the Myrrecks (who soon after changed their name to Meyrick), who invested their wealth in developing the community on the White Crag.  The first permanent structure was a dark castle with a round tower, and the ruins can be seen within the grounds of the White Palace.  When the early Meyricks discovered how to dig the white rock out of the Crag itself the building did not stop for hundreds of years.  The founding stone of the White Palace has not yet been discovered, but experts think it was laid under the current Wessen Tower in the early eleventh century.  From then on each Meyrick used the Palace to show off their opulence and power by adding more and more magnificent architecture.  The building projects continued until the nineteenth century whereupon the attention of the Meyricks and their vast wealth turned to industrialism.  The Palace you see today, shining bright atop the Crag, has not changed much since that time.  Meyricks have modernised the interior, and there are always ongoing maintenance projects, but you can see in old paintings and then photographs and early film that the main structure remains the same.

The City (the Meyshore Tour, Riversouth)

Today both the region (boundary markers can be found on the Crag, over the cliffs of Sussen Orchelflilin in the village of Aracely Cheth, beyond the Crag on Hewmey, and in the fields that lead to Tel-Yarridge) and the city have the same name.  Those outside of the region are usually referring to the city when they speak of Riversouth, whereas those within the boundary marks refer to the large urban area around Meyshore Bay as the city.  But before it was a city it was simply known as Meyshore, and it was the beginning of the Meyrick’s influence over the wider region. 

In the written records in the Palace Archive and Rookpot Museum Meyshore is the first place name in Farynshire that includes the mey that is now so common throughout the county.  There are signs of early settlements around the Bay, and soil analysis has revealed that many of them were burned to the ground.  It is likely that these settlements were absorbed into one, large community.

Once Meyshore had been established it grew quickly.  It is the perfect place for a community to thrive.  It sits between the ocean and the Sussen Orchelflilin, with the White Crag to the south and the rocky cliffs to the north, and the Rivers Spurtle and Darkflint end their journeys through Farynshire here, providing a plentiful and reliable supply of fresh water. 

The first town of Meyshore was planned in advance before a single stone was laid.  What would shortly become the Promenade on the shoreline was the starting point, and from here straight streets were constructed up the slopes under the cliffs, until a network of narrow roads, avenues and thoroughfares spread parallel to the Bay.  Unfortunately the plans for this new town have not been found in The Palace Archives.  There are later schematics that map the streets and parks, and it is assumed that these were copied from the lost original.  These are fascinating in and of themselves as they very clearly show, stage by stage, how Meyshore grew into Riversouth, but it would have been a true insight into an early genius to see the idea and shape of the town before it had even been built.

There are two main theories for the creation of Meyshore.  Since the Bronze Age, traders wishing to sell their wares would trek up the Crag to The White Palace.  This was where the Meyrick’s people – fishers, blacksmiths, millers, tailors, carpenters etc. – lived and worked with their families.  The community grew to large for the Palace grounds, and were re-located to their town.  Meyshore attracted more trade than the Crag had done because it was easier to get to.  The Meyrick stayed in the White Palace, overlooking the ever-expanding town of loyal citizens.

We know the exact time that Meyshore became Riversouth.  In Volume 45 of the Year One thousand and Ninety Two of the Chronicle of the Scribe, it is written (in Musril):

The Meyrick has designated the city Riversouth.

That is all there is.  It is the first time that the area is known as a city, and as soon as it received that accolade Meyrick the Lonely changed the name.  The new Grand Hall had been completed in this year: a formidable grey and white square tower at the far end of the Bay, and it is possible the name change deliberately coincided with this.  Of course, the new city was not known as Riversouth but its Musril name, Kelsussen.  Much like today, the Meyrick encouraged the use of Kelsussen, but it was the English name that took hold and became widespread.

The best way to experience the history of Riversouth is to take the Meyshore Tour.  Specifically designed for this exhibition, you will start at The White Palace so you can see the early maps of the town, and then travel down the Crag to the Promenade.  Your expert guide will show you all the historical secrets hidden all over the city.  You will need a whole day for this one, but don’t worry – there are plenty of planned teashop stops along the way, and you will finish the day by attending an elegant meal in the Grand Hall.

This is certainly not the end of the Meyrick and Riversouth’s history.  We have not even mentioned the Peoples yet …

Travels through Farynshire: Soup by the Sea

AlisonLeave a comment

The title is not misleading, – this is a very soup-focussed entry.  If you do not care for soups, broths, pottages, bisques or chowders, feel free to skip this one!

When planning our trip we made sure that we would be in Tel-Yarridge on the second Thursday of the month so that we could take part in a tradition that can be traced back to the fifteenth century, now known as The Soup. 

Tel Yarridge is best described as pile of very large rocks that overlook a beach of dark orange sand.  Embedded in the rocks is a village.  If you were on a boat on the sea and looked toward shore it would appear as though the houses were squeezed into the nooks and crannies between the boulders, or perhaps that they were survivors of a terrible rockslide, but once you are in the rocks themselves, you can explore the hidden network of narrow streets that winds throughout the village. 

Tel-Yarridge now sits outside the Riversouth area, but it was the historical connection between the places that gave us The Soup.  The festivities are said to originate from an idea a philanthropic Meyrick who enjoyed the broths and pottages the fisherfolk of Tel-Yarridge survived on throughout the winter months while their boats remained tethered in the harbours, sheltering from the wild storms.  This Meyrick often left the White Palace to travel around Riversouth to speak to their people, and they realised how hard winter was for anyone who did not live in a palace.  These people had to pray for good harvests, and then store any surplus to see them through the cold months.  The Meyrick became fascinated by the winter dishes the people made, each area producing unique food depending on what they grew or reared in their fields and farms.  The Meyrick decided to hold an event where everybody could show off and share their winter dishes, and it would be held on the beach at Tel-Yarridge because … well, why not, I suppose?  The dishes people brought were simple so that they could be easily transported, and this usually meant they were broths, soups and pottages.

For a few years this was known as the Winter Feast, and usually took place at the end of January.  And then they became more frequent, starting in early autumn and occurring regularly until Easter. 

There is no need for such a Feast these days, of course, but rather than dying out, the event has become very popular and has been re-purposed as a celebration of the original simple food: soup.  It is now a monthly event, attracting visitors from around the world. 

You can just show up empty handed, and you can be confident that there will be many soups that you can sample, but to really enter into the spirit of the occasion you should really bring your own soup.  Or, at least, ingredients you can use to make a soup, which is what we did.

I already had numerous soup recipes on my phone, but you do not even need to be this prepared.  Tel-Yarridge is Soup Central, and they take it very seriously.

The stalls start on the outskirts of the village; lines of tables groaning under the weight of every conceivable ingredient, as well as recipes, ladles, spoons, bowls – everything you would need to make, cook and eat a soup!  We counted at least seven stalls that just sold bread: rolls, crusty cast-offs, flatbreads, baguettes.  One bakery just sold bags of croutons made from their day-old bread.  Another offered only dumplings in various sizes.

You have to have a purpose, we decided.  If you just wander in with an open mind and a curious nature you will very quickly succumb and become confused and lost.  We encountered several such poor souls, aimlessly meandering through the crowded streets, carrying bags of vegetables, bones for the stock they were convinced by some enterprising stallholder that they needed to make from scratch, four separate cooking pots, and a small bag of fish-heads.  The most tragic are those that inadvertently find their way into the Eat Streets.  They are drawn there by the delicious smells coming some the many-sized pots bubbling away on the tables of the official stalls, as well as kitchen tables outside open front doors, and on the windowsills of the terraced houses.  If you are not strong-willed (and this alone will often not save you) you can be here for hours, sampling concoctions from all over the world.  It is not uncommon to see people lying in doorways, their lips stained with tomato, too stuffed with dumplings to move.

Felix and I had already agreed on our plan: we were heading straight for the beach with our ingredients.  Nevertheless, and despite our resolute determination, the Eat Streets did delay us for an hour or so.   

Progress through the Eat Streets is hampered by people thrusting spoons full of varied coloured and interesting smelling at you as you try to walk briskly past, or trying to stuff bread into your mouth.    

I saw a lot of varieties from Farynshire Broth by Irayna Gromer (an ongoing effort to bring together all of the county’s soup-related recipes into one tome, currently on its forty-second edition), including:

  • Tiny crab brew, from up the coast in Prydferth,
  • Tropsog sludge (a thick grey gloop made from mushrooms)
  • Thorn pottages (these can be made from any thorns, and they are often sweet because they include thorns from roses and brambles)
  • You can also get root soups, which are lovely and earthy, and can be made from the roots of any vegetable though parsley roots and celeriac are big favourites.
  • Honey veg, from Over Pippleford
  • Green soup, which can be made of any combination of green vegetables or fruit.  We saw  – broccoli, carrot tops, and cabbage; cauliflower leaves, peas and kale; green pepper, green apple and rocket; and gooseberries, watercress and celery

The Eat Streets also boast soups from around the world.  Some like scotch broth, cawl cennin, and cock-a-leekie are from quite close to home, whereas others such as gumbo and kimchi have come from thousands of miles away.  Basically, you can find every kind of soup here, no matter if you prefer them sour, sweet, spicy, hot, cold or bitter.  Just don’t try all of them at once.

The Eat Streets are just above the beach, and that is where everywhere makes for, even if some get side-tracked and don’t make it.

The narrow streets end in a pile of rocks, and here the smell of the sea, open fires and cooking hit you.  There is another stall once you have clambered down the rocks, and we did make purchases at this one: two small iron cooking pots, a tripod and some firewood and kindling.

The whole beach is filled with groups of people crowded round fires, and over the fires hang the cauldrons.  We were escorted through the throng to our piece of sand, in the centre of which was a shallow ditch with a ring of stones around it. 

We made our fire and set up one of our small pots.  We were making different soups, and I helped Felix with his first.  He had chosen a thick cream soup made from scallops, haddock, milk and parsley, and he was going to garnish it with some fried onions, which he made a good attempt at in my unused pot.  I washed it out to make my soup which was a simple apple and parsnip, and I was hoping it would be thick and sweet.

It is a fantastic atmosphere on the sands.  Everyone is so closed together that you are soon chatting with your neighbours and swapping ingredients (I added a couple of chestnuts to mine at the insistence of the man at the next pot).

The best part of the whole thing is the evening as the sun sets.  We all sit on the sand and watch the sun sink below the sea, slurping on the soups we have just made ourselves (or bought in the Eat Streets), and eating warm, stale bread.

By Mabel Govitt

Caer Ddewin, Brish, Lake Quietus and Gnivil Forest

Alison2 Comments

Caer Ddewin

There is one stone circle in Farynshire, and it sits just outside the territories known collectively as Wild Wolvern Mey.  Caer Ddewin is a squat, flat-topped hill with slippery black flanks covered in wild gorse bushes.  There are secret paths to the top, but those who try to find them without a guide usually end up slipping on the shiny rock and end up impaled on the fierce gorse needles. 

The most famous story relating to the Caer gave it its name, and comes from a time before there ever was a Wild Wolvern Mey.  There are various versions of this tale, but the common threads involve one of the many skirmishes (some historical, some now nothing more than myth and legend) between humans and wolvern.  A pack of wolvern was besieged upon the Caer.  The humans had the Caer surrounded, and used their mage to create a thick fog which descended upon the summitt, until even the humans could not see or find each other.  This was an enchanted fog (it was said) and when the humans eventually broke through the thickets of gorse, torn and bleeding, they saw no wolvern, nor any sign that they had fled, and only nine hunched stones stood upon the Caer.  The wolvern had been turned to stone.

This does not sound very Christmassy so far.  But Christmas Eve is the time when the deepest magic rises up and over the ancient hill and the freezing night air is thick with the feel and taste of it.  The wolvern feel it, and their long, mournful cries echo in the darkness.  It is said that if you stay on the Caer on Christmas Eve you will see the hunched stones stand upright, come to life and frolic in the snow. 

This is definitely no longer true, if ever it was.  What you will see on the night of Christmas Eve is the Dance of the Shadows.  Everyone is invited – presumably even the wolvern, but they have yet to RSVP.

It begins in the early evening when people from the surrounding villages leave their warm homes, the fires crackling low in the hearths, and the Christmas dinners ready to be placed in the ovens the following morning.  They wrap themselves up in scarves and hats and walk out of their villages, into the fields beyond, over the frozen ground, following those with lamps and torches.  As they near Caer Ddewin they meet up with people from other villages, and excited laughter and loud chatter fills the night air.

It is unwise to try and climb the Caer if you do not know the hidden paths that wind through the treacherous gorse and provide a true surface to walk upon over the slippery slopes.  Guides from the villages lead the people safely to the summit (they will also escort them safely back down when they might be a little worse for wear after the festivities).

Lanterns are placed on long poles by each hunched stone to illuminate the flat space at the summit of the Caer.  Small fires are lit around the edge of the stone circle in order to heat up the mulled wine and melt the marshmallows.  Once everyone is comfortably settled on the blankets, rugs and cushions they have brought with them, gloved hands wrapped around mugs of steaming mulled wine, the dancers emerge from behind the stones.

The dancers are dressed in black, and they move like shadows in the warm glow of the lanterns’ light.  They make their way amongst the watching crowds, making the smaller children squeal in delighted terror.  They are fleet of foot and as soon as anyone realises they are beside them they are gone again.  The dancing can last about an hour, and it finishes with a flash of magical lights in which the dancers disappear, just like the ancient wolvern did.  At this every lantern is extinguished, plunging the whole Caer into darkness.

The challenge then is get everyone safely off the Caer and back to the warmth and safety of the village pubs.  To date, nobody has been lost before Christmas morning.

Brish

There are Christmas markets in every town and village in Farynshire, and any of them are worth a visit, but if you only have time for one, definitely go to Brish.  It is said that Father Christmas himself visits the market for gift ideas.

Brish is small town nestled in the foothills of the Bloon Peaks, and it is known for its regular snowfall.  The last time Brish had a snowless Christmas market was in 1837.  The townsfolk have a snowman competition in the week before their market, and their efforts line the main road leading into Brish, welcoming the shoppers and visitors with smiles made of coal and carrot. 

A steam-powered engine with tiny wheels and a large chimney stack pulls a small line of carriages through the streets so that people can hop on and off at the stalls they wish to visit.  The stalls line the streets around the small square in the centre of the town, selling locally made products ranging from colourful wooden toys and decorations, to handmade chutneys, cheeses, sausages, wine and ale, to exquisite jewellery (but do not believe any seller who claims that the gems in their jewellery come from wolvern mines) and crafts and stocking fillers.  You should be able to do all of your Christmas shopping here.

Shoppers make their way to the square in the centre of Brish, laden down with their wares, ready for hot food and wine.  A large pit is dug in the centre of the town’s main carpark every year for the hog roast.  A crackling pig, bursting with juices that cause sparks to spit from the fire, slowly revolves over a large open charcoal fire, and visitors line up to claim their piece.  The stalls around the pit offer all the trimmings you could want from roast potatoes, sprouts, carrots, broccoli and parsnips, to hot chestnuts, gingerbread and candied fruits, as well as bubbling fruit wines and hot chocolate.

Choirs sing carols from the doorway of the old stone church at the far end of the square, and hand out decorations for children to place upon the tree in the courtyard. 

The Brish Christmas Market lasts for three days – so make sure you get there in plenty of time!

Lake Quietus

For the months of November through to March Lake Quietus is frozen.  It does not matter what the weather or temperature is like in the rest of the county; even during the rare mild winters where there is no snow except on the tops of the highest mountains in the Daggerrock Range, the lake freezes solid.

People move onto the ice as soon as the water has frozen.  Temporary structures, some three stories high and re-used every year, and streets are set up around the edges (in case of a sudden thaw).  Many people move on to the ice permanently during these months, living in rooms above their shops.  In years gone by there was no limit or rule as to how many or who could claim a spot on the ice.  This led to fights over spaces, the Terrible Crush of 1911, and a lot of corruption. These days there is a strict map that must be adhered to.  There are limited spaces (although it still feels crowded) and applications for a spot are restricted to traders.  The streets of stalls are kept to the periphery of the lake, as the centre is where the entertainment takes place.  The lake attracts thousands of visitors, and is at its most popular just before Christmas.  It is well worth seeing at this time of year, but to avoid the really busy periods try and plan your visit for early morning.

In the days leading up to Christmas there is a carnival atmosphere.  Fairgrounds are set up in the centre of the lake.  At first these were merry-go-rounds and stalls for shooting wooden ducks, but these days they include bumper cars, waltzers, and a rollercoaster that climbs high above the lake and takes its riders in a wild ride over the temporary streets and stalls.  Circus and music shows are put on in the large tent (bring a cushion to protect yourself from the chill).  During the day there is sled racing, curling and ice-skating. 

After Christmas the lake becomes a lot quieter, though some traders take pride in staying right up until the ice starts to finally melt in the spring.

Gnivil Forest

If you happen to be in Gnivil Forest at Christmas time you might notice something strange.

At this time of year most of the forest slumbers.  If there are foresteens amongst the leafless trees they are deeply asleep.

Well, most of them are.

You have to be quiet and patient and careful.  If they know you are there, you will not see them.

Even if you are quiet and patient and careful you might not see them. 

While the oaks, elms, beeches, birches, alders and the other warm-blooded trees sleep, it is the time for the holly, mistletoe, ivy, spruce and fir to come to life.

The best chance of seeing anything is on a clear night when the sky is full of cold white stars.

But it is only if they think nobody is looking that the winter trees light up the dark forest.

Holly berries burn brightly as their dark leaves shimmer with their own internal luminescence.  The mistletoe glows so brightly that it lights the tangled forest paths, each tiny berry a soft halo.  The ivy berries are clusters of darkness that is blacker than the night itself, so dense that they could be holes in reality. 

There are tales that those who have strayed from the forest paths and become lost are guided back by silver dust glittering amongst the needles of the firs and spruces, the only trees in the forest with any green in winter, a sign of life and resilience even in the deepest snows.  Nobody has ever collected any of this dust (though many have sought it), and it seems to only appear to those in need of guidance.  Sometimes, from a distance, an ethereal silver mist can be seen rising from the depths of Gnivil Forest, rising up to the bright stars and dissipating in the cold winter night.  If you run into the forest to try and find where it comes from, you will never find it.  

The foresteens are always elusive, but if you are quiet and patient and careful, and most of all, lucky, you might glimpse them enjoying winter.

Experience Christmas in Sylnmouth, Rookpot and Riversouth

Sylnmouth, Rookpot and Riversouth

AlisonLeave a comment

Sylnmouth

Christmas starts in Farynshire in the port of Sylnmouth, specifically in the Sylnmouth Sentinel that has overlooked the port for over two hundred years. 

On the 1st of December every year the Sentinel’s guiding light, historically used to guide ships into the safe waters of Sylnmouth Harbour, turns red and green and sweeps across the boats and pontoons.  Then the fireworks erupt over the city, signalling the start of the festivities. 

Sylnmouth homes have already put up and decorated their trees, and at the lighthouse’s signal everyone switches the Christmas lights on.  This starts in the boats on the water, then the homes that overlook the harbour, and then ripples back from the sea into the suburbs and villages.  And it does not stop on Sylnmouth’s boundary.  Watched from the air, it must look like a wave of light washing out from Sylnmouth across the whole of Farynshire.

Rookpot

Rookpot tor lights up when it gets the relayed signal from the coast. 

The Ayres, one of the oldest Peer Families, decorate all of the city’s streets.  Their own magnificent hall, The View, is festooned with decorations and lights, and adorned fir trees line the drive from the road up to the house.  The View is the centre of the festive party season for the Peer families, and beautiful balls and celebrations are held every night in December.

The Peer families give the first donations to the Doorway Feast that begins as soon as the lights are switched on, and goes on until twelfth night.  Christmas meals are put out for all of the city’s citizens to enjoy in the entrances to the most famous public buildings: The Raven Theatre, The Lilac Beech, The Library, The Museum, the Cathedral, and the Council Chambers, and all the churches.  Everyone donates what they can, and an army of volunteers prepares the meals, taking them to the homes of those who are housebound.  This means that Christmas dinner happens across many nights, but it is different to the dinners everyone enjoys on the 25th because it is held with the community, out in the Squares, or on the church pews, the cold city air filled with the rich smells of roasting meat, hot broth and sizzling vegetables.

If snow falls on the city, the inevitable happens and, despite the City Council’s warning and lines of cones, the most precipitous street in the city, the Steep, becomes an impromptu sled run.  It truly is a Christmas miracle that nobody has been killed during this increasingly popular annual event.  Participants can compete to:

  • Be the Most Intact Sled to Arrive at the Bottom of the Steep
  • Have the Most Father Christmases on Board
  • Have the Most Christmassy Sled

The winners of each category receive a bottle of hot ginger rum and a net of satsumas (and a year’s worth of bragging rights).

          Dameg Square

A giant blue spruce dominates the centre of Dameg Square during the Christmas period.  The tree is chosen from the forests on the mountain of Gwyrddlas in the Bloon Peaks, and transported to the city by train from Hen Ffydd.  It is Rookpot Council’s gift to the city, and it always arrives with small parcels in the branches that anyone can take.  Over the years, people have placed their own homemade presents amongst the tree’s needles for strangers to take.  Dameg Square’s permanent sylvan resident, the bent oak that sits on the edge of the gorge, slumbers at this time of year, oblivious of the baubles, tinsel and lights that have been draped all over it by passers-by.

The dark gothic Cathedral is the focus of Christmas celebrations in the Square.  Thousands of candles make the colours in the stained glass windows blaze brightly at night.  On Christmas Eve the pews are full of Rookpotians singing carols and sharing mince pies and a few glasses of sherry.  At the end of the official service everyone spills out into the streets and the singing continues as people wander home or gather around the trees in the Square with mugs of hot chocolate and coffees (sometimes with an added shot of rum or whisky) from Lacey’s, the most popular and creative coffee shop, open late into the night at this time of year.  Eventually everyone makes their way home before Father Christmas begins his rounds.

          EassenBren Square

It’s pantomime season in The Raven Theatre in EassenBren Square.  There are usually at least three different productions throughout the season, as well as more serious offerings, ranging from family friendly through to definitely not for those with a delicate constitution.  You do not need to go into the Theatre to see a show.  Open air orchestral performances, formal and informal dances are performed on the steps of the theatre, no matter the weather.

Many of the artists’ covered workshops opposite The Lilac Beech are taken over by Christmas projects.  Hundreds of unique decorations can be bought straight from the artist, many of which appear on the fountain or on the trees in Dameg Square. 

In the city’s (probably the county’s) most famous bookshop, The Lilac Beech, shivering visitors pour themselves a mug of wassail from the punch bowl, and then sit in the comfy armchairs in front of the open fire.  The small Christmas tree twinkles with lights, and paper chains loop over and around the bookshelves.  All of the Christmas cards received by the bookshop are strung together and hung from the ceiling beams.  Holly and mistletoe entwine around the wrought iron staircase that links all the floors together.  The shop bustles as people try to find a last minute present, shuffling around the tables piled high with books.  Their purchases are placed in colourful paper bags and tied with string; if you see anyone with such a bag around Rookpot you know they have been to The Lilac Beech.

Riversouth

In Riversouth, Christmas, like everything else, revolves around the Meyrick.

The Meyrick’s Gift is presented to the incumbent Meyrick, and is traditionally from all of the people in Riversouth.  A procession of children make their way up the Zag to the White Palace, and the Meyrick opens the gates and accepts the gift.  Since the mid-nineteenth century the gates have then been left open and the children lead the local people into the White Palace for the Commoners’ Feast.  This is a lavish affair held in the Golden Hall, and it is the only time of year that most people ever get to see inside the White Palace, let alone attend a party paid for by the Meyrick. 

On Christmas day every Riversouth house will find a gift outside their front door, wrapped in blue and white paper and tied with a silver ribbon.  The small silver card is inscribed with the words: From your Meyrick.

The Ocean Frost Ball is the most anticipated event in the Farynshire social calendar.  This invitation-only gala brings together the county’s high society in a glittering event that raises eye-watering amounts of money for various good causes. 

The only limitations placed on the design of the ball is that it must adhere to the Meyrick’s colours of silver and blue.  The best, biggest and most luxuriant white tree is felled from the Meyrick’s personal forest (which is made up of albino versions of oaks, beeches, elms, firs, spruces etc.) and brought to the centre of the Golden Hall where it is embellished with ropes of thin silver loops and chains and bright bejewelled (with real jewels) baubles. 

The guests waltz around the tree to music played by orchestral groups from Farynshire, and the Meyrick’s own hand-picked string quartet leads the way.  Once the dancing is over the guests move outside to the wide terrace that overlooks the ocean.  This terrace sits at the very edge of the White Crag.  A magnificent silver and blue fireworks display entertains the guests, and the rest of Riversouth, and any seafolk that might be passing by. 

After the fireworks is the feast, widely known as the Feast of Farynshire.  A selection of wines is served in crystal glasses: rich ruby root from the vineyards on the distant slopes of Gwyrddlas, sparkling Marwolaeth White, and the slightly salty Pink Prydferth.  The menu is always made up of produce from around Farynshire, and could look something like this:

Starters

Smoked salmon from the River Spurtle with fresh dill from the fields of Cheth Aracely

Roasted parsnip soup with fresh cream from the small village of Hessen. 

Main Course

Turkey from Riversouth farms

Sea bass caught from the sea around Riversouth. 

Please help yourself to anything from the mountains of crispy roast potatoes, parsnips, butter-glazed sprouts and broccoli, honeyed carrots, and red cabbage with walnuts and apple (all harvested from the gardens, orchards and fields from across the county).

Pudding

Rum-soaked Christmas pudding

Spiced apple, smooth ice cream and cranberry port.

After dinner, if the guests are able to, there is more dancing.  For those who are too stuffed to dance there are large fires and hot ginger punch.

For a wilder Christmas, see how they celebrate in Caer Ddewin, Brish. Lake Quietus and Gnivil Forest