Visiting the site of Sweyn's Castle
Rayleigh
By Robert Hallmann
ON CASTLE MOUNT
On Rayleigh’s Mount I walked that summer morning,
It’s one-time moat alive with ducks and coots.
The coppiced willows, ivy-grown, adorning,
The busy vole at home among their roots.
A pigeon cooed, the magpie homed in splendour,
As birdsong all about joined in the throng
To drown the voice from car and train and vendor.
The redbreast sang. The raven croaked along.
A sound-swell rose up in my contemplation
From fosse and bailey, barbican and ditch
And I heard voices in its congregation
In Saxon tongues and some of Norman pitch.
From far in time commands and curses tumbled.
The sounds of horses, anvil, craftsmen’s toil.
A blessing mixed with serfs’ and yeomans’ grumbles.
A minstrel’s song. A sermon of the soil.
And tears and laughter mixed with lamentation.
The voice of Sweyn, the Conqueror’s kin, resounds.
And England’s Standard Bearers proudly take their station
And raise their banners on this humble mount.
View from the Mount to windmill and church
© Robert Hallmann
Rayleigh Castle Moat reflections
© Robert Hallmann