“'Tis the year's
midnight, and it is the day's,
Lucy's, who scarce
seven hours herself unmasks;
The sun is spent, and
now his flasks
Send forth light
squibs, no constant rays;
The world's whole sap
is sunk;
The general balm th'
hydroptic earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the
bed's feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr'd; yet
all these seem to laugh,
Compar'd with me, who
am their epitaph.”
John Donne, “A Nocturnal upon Saint Lucy’s Day.”
Donne’s poem is dated 13th December, 1627. The 13th
December was then, and still is, Saint Lucy’s day; but it no longer marks, as
it did in 1627, the Winter Solstice. Donne lived his life according to the
Julian Calendar, whilst we (post-1752) live ours according to the Gregorian (a
fact to be borne in mind by those of us who write historical fiction and care
about whether a particular date in a certain year fell on a Sunday or a
Tuesday, or whether the moon would have been full on the night our characters
set sail from a certain port). The Winter Solstice now falls on 21st
December (same day in solar terms, different position in our human calendar). Donne’s
“Nocturnal” is, on the one hand, a lamentation on the human experience of
bereavement and, on the other, a meditation on the transience of life and its
concerns. Donne draws an explicit link between the low point of the solar year
(the Winter Solstice) and the low point in the life of an individual (the death
of the person he most loves).
In making this connection, Donne is drawing on a much older
theme, a link between death and the Winter Solstice. That the Winter Solstice
was marked in prehistory has long been understood. The principle axis of
Stonehenge, for example, is solsticial, with key alignments based on sunrise at
the Summer Solstice and sunset at the Winter Solstice. A team of archaeologists
led by Professor Mike Parker-Pearson have recently argued that the Winter
Solstice at Stonehenge may have been more significant than the Summer Solstice,
linked to their understanding of the site as a funerary monument. The winter
sunset would be viewed from the Avenue, almost certainly the ceremonial
approach to the monument, whereas the summer sunrise would have to be viewed
from the other side of the monument, or from within it.
In my novel, Undreamed
Shores, I depict both a winter and a summer ceremony at Stonehenge. I have
more people from a wider area participating in the summer ceremony (in a
society without permanent bridges, it would be difficult to travel around a
landscape in which the rivers are likely to be in flood), but it is the winter
ceremony that I describe in greatest detail (for the simple narrative reason
that this is the first ceremony experienced by my protagonist at the site).
Given that the Stonehenge Avenue connects the monument to
the river, it is likely that the Winter Solstice ceremonies involved some form
of procession along the river from the settlement of Durrington Walls and, in
the novel, my heroine, Nanti, explains this to my protagonist, Amzai:
“All our life is a
journey, and death too. We can no more go back to childhood than the dead can
come back to the world of the living. Like the river, life has its twists and
turns, and we don’t always know where it will take us, except that, one way or
another, it will always carry us forwards, never backwards. The river can’t run
uphill…Each drop of water flows along the river only once, just as each person
lives only one life here…And at the end of the river, each drop of water flows
into a new and different world, that of the sea, just as, at the end of our
lives here, we are taken into another world…of which we know little.”
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