Poetry

Resurrection 31

We crossed the hills of the Elan Valley

Its marsh grass and its streams and obstacles,

Where boots and legs sink in up to your knee

And I remembered when I walked those hills

Patrolling those black hills for the Army

An eight man team selected for their skills,

A trial, we used to volunteer for it,

A hard patrol to do with all your kit.

Those were the days, when no more than a boy,

Your pack around your shoulders and your waist

A rifle in your hands, through night and day

Long range reconaissances, as a test.

We’d eat and rarely stop along the way,

But made a hide to cook or have a rest,

You never really slept, but carried on,

Equipment wrapped in rubber against the rain.

Collecting water from a running stream

Which came down from a bank of stone and moss.

And it was cold, so that when darkness came

We kept on moving through the wilderness

Since resting made you stiff in mind and limb.

We tended to stray by the conifers

And used the edges of the forestry

Comparing them with the maps, to find our way.

To cross a river, use your wetproofed pack

As a flotation aid, push it in front

And rest on it, or lie flat on your back

And do the back stroke if you find you can’t.

So we went on, toward the last attack

A final trial of brilliance to confront.

Those were the happiest days of my first life

Those long patrols through Wales’ central massif.

The forest at your side, the cold autumn

The vacant land without a sign of people

Except the light filled window of farm.

It felt like you were daring God to stop you

Or let you die, and bring you to some harm.

You wrestled with him, struggling in a grapple

To see how far and fast that you could go

How hard you were and how impossible.

At Builth town folks were getting on with life

We saw them work and doing the usual trade.

As if nothing had happened, or as if

The world had never stopped and been remade.

We didn’t go there, rather, to be brief

We went to where James of St George has laid

The stones of Edward’s castle on a mound

To hedge the Welsh in. Here is what I found:

No big Edwardian castle there, of course.

There hasn’t been one there for many a year

Just a flat mound of rubble trimmed with grass.

A tent there was, a pavilion with a door,

A flag was raised above it blowing loose

And inside, at a table, on a chair

My master sat, that master I had known

Since this adventure started and began.

The table, it was laid for drink and food,

And there was bread and wine, which he did eat.

When Nicholas and I went in he stood

And bowed to us, and asked us both to sit.

The Son of God he made us eat the bread,

Dipped in the wine so that it drenched it.

We ate some more to break our fast and then

The master spoke, talking as man to man:

“I led you through the first death of creation

When you were lost, but since then you have travelled.

Do you have questions about resurrection?

What residue of doubt has left you troubled?”

He asked, and I: “This is an imitation

Of that world that we killed, destroyed and levelled.

I see with direct eyes, now it is over,

Whereas I could die there, this life is forever.

“So, why didn’t you make the world like this

The first time? In our first life it was hard

To make decisions by our own free choice

Because what was important was obscured.

I was imperfect, given to follow vice,

Free and yet ignorant of what was good.

As if I suffered for an ancestral crime.

Why did you make it like that the first time?

“Then we were free, but we were ignorant

In suffering for love of the wrong thing.

Why was it so much like a punishment?

The economic pains, the suffering

The lack of wealth, and the disappointment

Of plans and works of love which all went wrong.

With constant rivalry in every matter

So that sometimes death might have been much better.

“Why was it fixed against me in those days?”

And he replied: “But you could learn of me

By means of church; and when a person prays

He speaks with me, both places, then and now.

You knew this. I helped you in many ways.

You loved God, and that’s all you had to do

And ask for mercy when you made mistakes

You did that. Other people turned their backs.”

“But there were personal and private pains

You sent to me, I had to undergo.

And then we died. It makes no kind of sense.”

“Where is the justice, if a man can’t die

When he despises God and takes his chance

And uses his free choice to offend both me

And other souls which I created free?

With pains I spoke sometimes. I called to thee.

“Accept this new life that the blessed alone

And those who want it, have inherited.

You passed the test and trial, and you have won.

It was so simple: they were truly dead

Who spurned eternal life and chose their own.”

He stood and took my arm, and then he made

A cross wise gesture with his outstretched hand.

“Accept the gift of life in this new land.”

I left my master, then I went for home.

The long walk took me through Llangollen’s vale

And that limestone escarpment was the same

With brachiopods and scallops in the shale

Three hundred millions years had hidden them.

It was the exact same earth I knew so well.

St Giles church was at Wrexham, Rev. Bray,

Was there, I guessed. Then, the A483.