It’s been a while since I wrote this, but I was reminded and I thought I would share it as a blast from the past. It’s always been one of my favourites.
There is a castle on the hill
A king sat there in days of old
His knights were brave, his ladies fair
The pinnacle of brave and bold
Minstrels there were, and jesters sharp
Ministers with wisdom deep
Priests and monks in cloistered nooks
All knowledge gathered in his keep
There was a knight, a lady fair
A false man and a desperate fight
A riven kingdom, empty hope
A funeral pyre and fading light
The story’s old and patched with songs
On threads that wore out long ago
Who knows the truth of treasure there
Before the final overthrow
Young lads go there to try their hand
Digging the vaults and dusty hall
The tombs are empty, nothing’s there
A bird’s nest in a broken wall.
Some nights, when Venus sails the sky
And Mars is courting near the moon
They say that ghostly dancers whirl
To echoes of an ancient tune
Splendour and crowns have tumbled down
The painted walls have faded pale
And while we bustle round our lives
Dust slowly settles on the tale.
Even in a fake made long ago there is history.
There is interesting history. It may have been a folly, but it’s linked with Roundhay Park. Waterloo Lake at Roundhay Park was created by soldiers back from the Napoleonic Wars, as a way to give work to the unemployed. It’s part of a mosaic of playing fields, woods, bandstands, fancy gardens and the Tropical House, all of which get layered with stories about how they came to be.
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