Saturday Rave: The Shepherd's Calendar January by John Clare.

 The hedger now in leather coat

From wood land wilds & fields remote

After a journey far & slow

Knocks from his shoes the caking snow

& opes the welcome creaking door

Throwing his faggot on the floor

& at his listening wifes desire

To eke afresh the blazing fire

Wi sharp bill cuts the hazel bands

Then sits him down to warm his hands

To tell his labours happy way

His story of the passing day

While as the warm blaze cracks and gleams

The supper reeks in savoury steams

Or keetle simmers merrily

& tinkling cups are set for tea

Thus does the winters dreary day

From morn to evening wear away.

photo by Gilbert Scott

And after tea? Then there are stories of ghosts and murderers, princesses and giants, to freeze again the blood warmed by the fire: dreadful warnings, and hope of good things to come.

It's true that John Clare tells us in his poem that nowadays he is too racked by real problems to believe in fairy tales.

But I don't believe him.

Word To Use Today: bill. Clare's kind of bill is a knife with a narrow blade (he's not cutting the hazel bands with his nose!). In Old English a bill was a sword. In Old High German a bil is a pickaxe.