An upland meadow

[wolfinthewood]

It is haymaking time in the White Peak district of Derbyshire and Staffordshire, where I was walking today. I was reminded of this passage, which I haven’t reread for many years. It is still as vivid as I remembered.

A company of Arthur’s knights have been sent out foraging:

Now ferkes to the fyrthe thees fresche mene of armes,
To the felle so fawe, theis fresclyche byernes,
Thorowe hopes and hymlande, hillys and other,
Holtis and hare woddes with heslyne schawes,
Thorowe marasse and mosse and montes so heghe;
And in the myste mornynge one a mede falles,
Mawene and une-made, maynoyrede bott lyttylle,
In swathes sweppene downe, fulle of swete floures.
Thare unbrydilles theis bolde, and baytes theire horses,
To the grygynge of the daye, that byrdez gane synge.

from Morte Arthure (late 14th/ early 15th century)

Now go to the forest these eager men of arms,
To the fell so colourful, these vigorous men,
Through valleys and borderland, hills and other [places],
Holts and grey woods with hazel coppices,
Through morass and bog and mountains so high;
And in the misty morning on a meadow [they] happen,
Mown and not made, only slightly worked over,
In swathes swept down, full of sweet flowers.
There unbridle these bold [men] and bait their horses,
Until the greying of the day, when birds began to sing.

There is a hamlet called Hope (=valley) near where we were walking. In many places the hillsides were colourful (‘fawe’) with flowers, especially ox-eye daisies. And the larks were singing in the meadows and pastures.


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