The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1451 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

We didn’t go to Salisbury after all, we had a wander round Wilton. This is the same place where they made those luxurious carpets but the factory has since gone and there is a small shopping complex on the site. We examined it thoroughly and I bought one or two things, but nothing much.

After that we went to the local pub which did quite delicious bar meals–I had a tuna pasta bake–well I was getting withdrawal symptoms, with a side salad. The girls both had chicken Kiev which also looked quite tasty.

We then strolled along the river up towards the military headquarters, it’s the army main base for land forces, so there were plenty of uniformed types about and we also saw several young women pushing prams and pushchairs who we were sure were all army wives.

How could we be sure? I don’t really know but there is something about women who are married to soldiers which sets them apart from civilian wives. To see if we were right we followed two women who we’d decided were army wives and sure enough they went into the base where presumably they had housing.

Nearby is Salisbury plain, which is a relatively large area of land a significant section of which is under the control of the military and they use it for exercises. However, it isn’t all military as Stonehenge also resides on the plain, as does its predecessor, Woodhenge.

I know dormice are my thing, but I happen to know that henge means an enclosure with a bank and a ditch, the ditch inside the bank–so Stonehenge is an enclosure with a bank and ditch and the familiar stones–the trilithons, the blue stones and the slaughter stone. Woodhenge, if you should ever go there, has no wood–that long since perished but they put concrete posts in the holes they found, which would once have contained loads of wooden posts–and these things were about three feet in diameter and there’s over a hundred and fifty of them. Henge monuments were Neolithic, so go back about four or five thousand years–yeah, they’re even older than Tom.

Back to Salisbury plain–I remember listening to a radio documentary which was made on army land. They do all sorts of training there, house to house street fighting, tanks and large scale exercises and apparently, they have a mock up of an Afghan village complete with supposed Afghans and Taliban fighters and so on to give the British troops a chance to experience what the place is like before they’re sent there. I don’t think they grow much in the way of opium poppies in Wiltshire, so that’s a bit different from hostile climes like Afghanistan.

I always thought a plain would be flat–it isn’t. There are lumps and bumps, little valleys and small hills, thick woodland and signs telling you to keep out–unexploded ordnance. It’s also rich in wildlife–people have to keep out, so things like stone curlew and great bustard exist here, albeit in small numbers–and I was pretty sure there would be dormice in some of the woodland–must check if we’re monitoring them–and all of this is a stone’s throw from Wilton and Salisbury.

We didn’t have time to go to Wilton House, the country house of the Earls of Pembroke, the original being a buddy of Henry VIII, who profited handsomely on the dissolution of the monasteries and was given the land of Wilton Abbey on which was built the first house. It’s quite spectacular and well worth a visit–but I’ve seen it before and we didn’t have that much time.

Back at the girl’s house we refreshed ourselves with a cuppa and a piece of cake which Kirsty had made and then I took my leave and drove back homewards. I’d really enjoyed my day out, we talked about schooldays and how Siân had helped me survive the bullying by staff and pupils at my high school.

Kirsty hadn’t heard much of this before and was horrified. When we told her about the Lady Macbeth episode, she was doubly horrified and asked why no one had reported it to the education authorities. Possibly because my father was in agreement with the maltreatment I received, because he thought it might cure me of my girlish tendencies. He admitted later, when we became more or less reconciled that he’d been mistaken and had been doing it for his sake rather than mine. He also admitted that he was afterwards proud that I’d succeeded despite his efforts to stop me and was in fact very proud of his beautiful daughter.

Kirsty was almost in tears listening to us talk and she did shed one or two when I told her about my interaction with Dad while he was in hospital. She seemed to think my devotion to him was bordering on saintliness.

I disabused her of that in no time–there was nothing saintly about me at all. Siân disagreed and suggested I’d been chosen to do all the healing because of it. Kirsty was very interested in that and particularly so when I mentioned my encounters with the Shekinah. I, of course, pooh-poohed it as my unconscious mind trying to grasp the impossible, Kirsty, however, had a different view.

“What if God does exist, and this feminine principle sought you out by whatever method it uses.”

“Kirsty, look I respect you’re a woman of the cloth, but even for you I can’t believe God exists except in your imagination, let alone having a feminist branch run by that crabby old crone. It just doesn’t stack up in a scientific universe. Where’s your evidence?”

“Surely your ability to heal some very sick people speaks of the love of God for his people.”

“Bit of a quantum leap isn’t it? Why did He need me to do it for him–thought he was omnipotent–so why the middle man or woman? Why does he need clergy to interpret for him–isn’t that all part of the general con that religion is?”

“Do you think I’m deliberately conning my congregation?”

“Not you especially, Kirsty, I respect your faith because I believe you feel it’s true. However, I can’t for the life of me see how you can be so self-deluding.”

“Perhaps, you’re the one who’s delusional, not seeing the gift of healing as just that–a gift from the Almighty, a reward for the love you’ve shown to others, taking on children in need of a mother–and dysfunctional adults who’ve all prospered under your care.”

“It was curse, not a gift, and I’m not sorry it’s gone.”

“Gone?” gasped Kirsty.

“Yep, it just petered out and I’m no more able to raise the dead than most people.”

“Cathy, that’s verging on blasphemous–only Jesus and his saints can do such things.”

“I think you’ll find all sorts of holy men and women have been able to do it through all ages.”

“You couldn’t do that, could you?” Siân chucked in.

“I don’t know if I managed it or not, but one or two folk I got back to health looked pretty dead to me.”

“That can be deceptive,” she suggested wearing her doctor’s hat.

“Fine–anyway, I have to go and sort out half a dozen juvenile delinquents and feed them.”

We hugged and I took my leave, just as I was going they both said we must keep in touch more often and I agreed. Kirsty also said quietly, “You were blessed, Cathy, you are special and the gift will return when you are ready to accept it for what it is.”

“Don’t hold your breath, kiddo,” I winked and she smiled at me. They’re a lovely couple and sometimes I envy Kirsty her faith, it makes everything so much easier to understand than the truth.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wilton_House