As we drove, the weather closed in, and we pulled into the car park in Tintagel to persistent but fairly light rain. Out we got, umbrellas and rain jackets at the ready, and it was 4pm. We were just about the last people to get tickets and walk across that long bridge that replaces a thin spit of land linking the mainland to the now-island of Tintagel castle ruins.
This is where, it’s said, Uther Pendragon came to Igraine, wife of the Duke of Cornwall, under an enchantment of disguise, a glamour, cast by Merlin. From that night, the future King Arthur was conceived, and the next day, all was revealed. Duke Gorlois was killed in battle, fighting against the High King, and Uther married Igraine shortly afterwards. Arthur was born in wedlock, but everyone knew he was conceived from adultery, casting a shadow over his eventual right to rule.
So, an important part of our Return to Avalon.
I’ve visited Tintagel once before, five years ago, but I was recovering from a nasty virus and didn’t have the energy, in hot summer sun, to climb up all the steps to the summit, and see Gallos, the 8′ tall sculpture of a ghostly man wearing a crown, and holding a sword, looking out to sea, as if guarding the coast against invaders. English Heritage says it’s not meant to represent a single person, but represents the general history of the site as a medieval fortification and trading post with the Mediterranean.
However, if there’s a person in the world who doesn’t think it represents Arthur, I’ve yet to meet them.
I worked slowly and steadily, treading carefully on wet steps and gravel, making my way through the ruins, wondering at each ‘room’ or wall. Someone had left a bottle of body lubricant in the chapel. I removed that. I didn’t find it funny. To me, Tintagel is a meaningful place, and even though I’m a pagan and witch, not a Christian, perhaps some of my ancestors worshipped there. Besides, I have a committed Christian husband and have been aware, this whole trip, of doing right also by his belief system. PizzaBoy would have removed that. So I did too. Also, pollution – plastic bottle.
Ever upwards, and every now and then, I paused. But, the past five years have seen me change naturopaths, acquire an integrative doctor, get a Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis diagnosis rather than a fibromyalgia diagnosis, fully transition through menopause and stop having hot flushes mostly(spicy food, too much sugar, and too much caffeine still set me off), and have my autism and ADHD diagnoses. Armed with all that, and understanding myself so much better, I’ve much more stamina and strength. I made it all the way up, and knelt before Gallos/Arthur.
To one side, a young Asian lass was having an Instagram photo shoot, with no indication that she was anywhere but on some anonymous cliff top. No Tintagel, no Gallos, no ruins. Just her and the wind and rain, and the mainland behind her. It was very hard to get photos without her poncing and posing in the background.
There she was in pale pink wafty clothes, and the bland, smooth face of stacks of make up, and pore-disappearing creme, and her beleagured photographer/boyfriend trying not to step in puddles. Sitting and posing, one hand to her face. Change half a centimetre, 20 more shots. And then off they went, back to the mainland, while I’m kneeling in a puddle before Arthur, saying: “I am your liege woman.”
The rain and wind picked up as I made my way slowly down the stairs, holding on to the wet metal railing all the way, and sometimes almost climbing down steep steps. My knees creaked like old dunny doors.
How Igraine must have felt, married off to Gorlois, an older man, when she was a young woman, still really a girl, and brought to Tintagel. Lonely, cold, windswept. Her husband away defending the coast most of the time. She suddenly mistress of a whole castle, and household, with the village beyond. Cold, bleak winters with the chill seeping into stone walls. Grey sky, steel grey ocean stretching out to the horizon, and enormous gulls crying along with her. She likely didn’t fear Hell, she probably thought she was already there.
Loneliness exudes from the very rocks and land, with the Atlantic biting at the cliffs every day.
The Lady Morgaine, or Morgana Le Fey was born there to Igraine and Gorlois, half sister to Arthur. Did she have sea magic in her veins? Did she send enchantment on the howling winds?
Below the castle ruins, at low tide, are a series of caves, one of which is dubbed Merlin’s Cave. It’s quite the popular destination. I have visited it before, but when we were there, it was high tide, and under water. Low tide was midday and our timing just wasn’t right.
We arrived at our pub Bed and Breakfast in Tintagel, all chilled, slightly damp, and ready for a hot meal and bed. I never thought I’d be sick and tired of chips, but honestly, by this stage, I’d had enough of them.
We all fell into bed, for the next day we’d be up and at ’em again.
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