Nature Notes 13

Walking along this ancient track which continued for some miles I was reminded of Christina Rossetti’s equally lengthy poem Goblin Market first published in 1862. The path was unnaturally quiet with no birdsong which gave it a somewhat eery feel, so it was quite easy to imagine hearing the Goblin’s cry as they came hobbling towards me. Later, I discovered it had once been the last route that convicts took before being hanged from an old oak tree at the top of the hill. Perhaps that’s why I felt so ill at ease walking along it.

We must not look at Goblin men, we must not buy their fruits. Who knows upon what soil they fed, their hungry, thirsty roots? “Come buy,” call the goblins, hobbling down the glen…