Just a swift look-in, and a little something to keep you amused.

The second book is now published, and the third, and final part of the Trilogy should be published by Christmas.


        

Out across the Severn Vale, there stands a forest, deep and green,
bordering the Welsh Marches... the ancient forest, they call Dean.
The russet sandstone cut deep through, a winding, twisting river, by....
clear and cold, and slow and wide... the timeless, drifting River Wye.
And, to the North, upon a crag; a ruined castle stands four-square...
once, a bastion on the Marches... built to curb rebellion, there.
This then, the sandstone Fortress... Goodrich; curtain walls, and buttressed towers;
to subjugate the Welsh insurgents... awe them with the Royal Power.
Goodrich... but, one of a chain; built strong to hold the Welsh in thrall;
such monuments to Royal conceit... for, soon then, did these bastions fall.
And, in the main, they did not stand above two hundred years in span...
for politics change like the wind...
and politics change with the man.

And so, they crouched upon the Marches, impotent;their mighty power
diminished...
with no enemy to overbear, 'till came the hour
when, again the war drums beat; but, this... a different kind of war;
Brother against brother... quite unlike that, which had gone before.
At first, the Parliamentary forces marched up into Goodrich, where
a Garrison to quell rebellion in the West... all seething there,
was posted;
for this was King's Country... Royalists were all about;
a most un-nerving place for Ironside troopers, there is little doubt.
But, in truth... a backwater, as far as gallant forays go;
the odd, indifferent skirmish... seemingly more ebb, than there was flow.
Perhaps, a hue and cry down through the Marches; chasing shadows there
and, nothing, then to show for it, but sodden boots, and vexed despair.

But, soon enough, Goodrich would taste of fate... the bitter, fickle hand;
The Royalists were mustering in the East... rebellion swept the land.
Already in September 1642, was Powick Bridge;
and now, in deep October, the same year... there came the Edgehill ridge.
And so the Garrison was mustered, marching out to join the fray;
but little did they know that they would not return for many a day.
For, all on through that fateful year the victories ebbed both to and fro...
with Turnham Green, and Tadcaster; see how the armies come and go;
and just the same in 1643... Lansdown, and Roundway Down,
with Rupert laying siege to Bristol, Torrington and Bideford Town;
and then surrender in the West... the Royalists take Exeter;
the city being surrendered one bright, Autumn day in September.

Meanwhile, at Goodrich; now the Royalists held sway in '45,
and, from Goodrich, sallied forth to make a misery of the lives
of harassed Parliamentarian troops across the land, all County wide.
At length, the Hereford Governor named John Birch, a Colonel; did decide
to mount a foray; steal their horses, fire the stables... hindering
the forays;
so, one dark and evil night, in March... did he begin,
a mock attack upon the gate... the stables undefended, left;
the horses led out quietly... the stables fired, and all bereft.
But, sadly... not yet quite enough... for Hereford was again attacked;
although this was a forlorn hope... the Royalist cause, goodwill now lacked.
The townsfolk did not rally to the King this time... John Birch, this saw;
deciding then, the need to neutralise Goodrich; once, and for all.

Towards the end of May, Birch gathered all his army round the walls,
summoning, in the name of Parliament... surrender, sparing all...
should they submit;
but they refused, and so, a tight-bound siege was laid;
and Birch brought up his trump card... "Roaring Meg"... a mortar, that some said
was the largest ever forged... she fired balls of Two Hundred pound;
all wreaking havoc on Goodrich, as walls and towers came crashing down.
Six weeks the siege had lasted 'till at last, the Garrison did submit,
and marching out, upon the last day of July, in '46.
In the Autumn of that year, the fate of Goodrich was decreed...
de-garrisoned and slighted; made un-useable, with utmost speed.
If you think this is some spinning of some dusty history...
think again...
this was but, just scene setting... for a tragedy.

A Romeo and Juliet... as sweet as any Shakespeare play;
the Ghostly Goodrich Lovers, sometimes seen, up to this very day.
They say that Alice Birch, the daughter of the Colonel, had eloped
with one Charles Clifford, Royalist; to Goodrich, where they both had hoped
to find safe refuge from the war; but when the siege, the Colonel laid...
then they were trapped within; how soon it seemed their love, had them, betrayed.
The Royalist Commander, and the Colonel laid a covenant
to let the lovers make good their escape, alas... no word was sent
to them of this...
and so, they bade their time; until... one black, wet night;
when Charles and Alice slipped away; no moon to guide them, by its light.
Skirting past the Roundhead lines... deep in the woods, before they dare
mount on Clifford's horse, and gallop to the Wye, to seek out there...

The Ford; by name of Goodrich Boat; a good three quarter mile to ride;
a perilous gallop through the storm... the only place that would provide
their path to safety;
but the Wye, by now, was in full, rushing spate;
swollen by the very storm, that gave them cover for escape.
And in their haste they missed the crossing... and the torrent pulled them down...
sweeping them away... apart... sweeping both downstream... to drown.
And, it is said; on stormy nights, their ghostly figures can be seen
riding on a phantom horse, and drowning in the rushing stream
on the anniversary of their deaths toward the end of May;
the river echoing with their cries, as they are cruelly swept away.
And sometimes they are seen; each one alone, high on the Castle walls;
and round the ruins near the water's edge... they say you hear their calls
upon the wind...

So should you, on a stormy night, pass Goodrich, there...
for two lost lovers' souls repose... just pause, and say a little prayer.


'Bye for now,
D.