Breydon Water, my go-to place when I need to escape the pressures of the day. It never fails me.
I stand on the bank and look over the water… and I see ships. Long ships. Viking ships. A fleet of eighty. Where are they going – to raid the monasteries? In later years there’ll be one on the Yare at Norwich, but for now Norwich is just a collection of Saxon hamlets. Nothing there to interest Vikings.
Their longships hug the southern bank, and veer into the Waveney. The Waveney divides Norfolk from Suffolk and rises near Thetford not ten meters from the rise of the Ouse that then flows westward to the Wash. Thetford. They’re heading for Thetford, there to meet with others coming in from the west.
This raid will surely find its way into the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles.
In 869:
“This year the Viking army […] fixed their winter-quarters at Thetford. And in the winter King Edmund fought with them; but the Danes gained the victory and slew the king; whereupon they overran all that land and destroyed all the monasteries to which they came.”
crispina kemp 
Love this, Crispina. A little bit of lore a little bit of history and a lot of imagery evoked.
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And all of it written late this morning when I suddenly remembered I hadn’t done it!
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So very interesting Crispina
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Thank you. And I do often mull on it when walking Breydon bank. The historian in me just will not be quiet
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You’re welcome! I enjoyed your story
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Thank you
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😍
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The shore bird’s cry echoed my soul’s. Walking slowly, picking my way carefully among the rocks, I walked to the water’s edge. Branches to dodge, leaves brushed past and caught at my clothing. Impatient, I yearned to be at the water. To feel the soothing lap against the shore. Anchoring myself in solid ground, at last! I close my eyes, face toward the water, allowing the sounds of Breydon water to wash over. The waves enter my soul, washing away my brokenheartedness, rinsing away my guilt and sorrow. The gently lapping water is soothing. Oh to be whole again, my only wish. Lost, I am so lost! My soul aches for him. He is gone, gone in the ground. A gull’s shriek startles me, and I open my eyes to see the sun, rays radiant through the dark clouds. It warms me, filling my chilled, empty heart. Oh to stay here forever! But no, I must go on. For a moment more I stay anchored, no longer adrift. The water is like a balm, the chilled breeze a tonic. My eyes drift closed once more, but the wailing of the gulls overcome me once again. Echoing in my wounded soul, they fly swiftly past, to the sea beyond.
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Hi Nan, I have replied to this in G-Docs. But in summary, brilliant, I love the stream of consciousness which yet contains the proper ARC. I can see potential to develop this into a story, with backstory and full resolution. You’ve left plenty for the reader to fill in, which is good
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Thank you, Crispina!
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🙂
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love the historical feel of this. 🙂
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Oh it is true history. The quote I give at the end is real
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Pingback: Losing control | Transition of Thoughts
My entry – https://transitionofthoughts.com/2021/06/04/losing-control/
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A very evocative piece of writing Crispina, it conjures that sense of history you sometimes get standing in a landscape very well.
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Thank you. And I do stand on that bank and think that and similar thoughts. Try to imagine it.
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