Today's #HistFicThursdays blog comes from Judith, who is reviewing Tom Palmer 's fabulous book, Angel of Grasmere . Read on, to see what she thought... Picture from Tom's website, here: https://tompalmer.co.uk/angel-of-grasmere/ The Angel of Grasmere: From Dunkirk to Grasmere is a middle-grade novel by Tom Palmer. I came to read this book in a surprising sort of way. Having just taken up a post as an English teacher at the local High School, I was informed that each class has a session in the library every three weeks. The kind but terrifyingly organised librarian told me that my third-years had missed their last library session, so she had kindly slotted on into my first week with them. This was an absolute godsend as, last thing on a Thursday, it was lovely for me and the rest of the class to just sit with a book. It being November, there was a Book Week Scotland display up in the library, full of books which involved the theme of Hope. One of them, The Angel of Grasm...
Continuing from last week's post which explored Artwork as Inspiration (the starting point for Proof of the Old Faith) I'm sticking with Norse culture. Here is The Weave of the Norns, a poem I wrote a few years ago about these three frightening women.
Enjoy!
The Norns by Arthur Rackham
Beneath the threat of utter doom
he sought them at their fabled loom.
The king searched on until he found
them on the morrow’s battleground.
The tallest worked the wheel alone;
the next, a shuttle made of bone;
the shortest bore a silver sword
with which she severed each loose cord.
What pattern spun these women three,
dictating mankind’s victory!
“I come to beg you demonstrate
a gentle weaving of our fate.”
“Then know you this, oh man of peace,
we weave the thread and cannot cease.”
“Weave us an ending to this war
and grant us threads of peace once more.”
“What cost would such a wise man pay
for us to change our weave this way?”
And now he saw the bloody thread,
time’s fabric dripping crimson red.
As though she took him in her hand
he felt her pull aside one strand.
“You have forgone your chance to leave.
Your life is foretold in the weave.”
The sword cut clear, the thread hung down,
the mediator lost his crown.
For Fate demands a sacrifice
to cast aside her weighted dice.
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