Chapter VI: JERUSALEM

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In England’s green and pleasant land.

William Blake.


Within days of returning home I found myself moving out. For years I had been putting off the inevitable. Now it had happened. I had projected my fears of the marriage breaking-up onto my son. How could I call it a day and leave him? Then in Germany I saw for the first time that the little boy who stood all alone in the swirling stream of change was not my son. It was me! And somehow seeing that made it much easier for me to find the courage to accept the future no matter what it might hold.

I moved into the musty bedroom of a flat I found in a dilapidated old manor house about four miles away from my old home. The first night I slept there I nearly choked in its atmosphere. The next day I spent beating and cleaning carpets, dusting and cleaning windows and polishing everything I could find. By immersing myself in work this way I managed to keep my mind off the hurt of separation. But there were difficult times to face. Loneliness, tears and depression seemed to stretch interminably ahead. I felt like the child I had seen within me, lost in an awful, empty world fast approaching some frightening end.

Often, I sat in my bedroom and stared at the four walls around me. I wanted to scream across the universe. “I’m lonely and frightened. God help me!” Maybe God did but no answer came back.

I worked on a daily basis as a substitute teacher and found plenty of business. But I was spending more than I earned. Later I found that my over-spending masked depression. No sooner had I paid one lot of debts than another lot arose.


One evening that spring I drove into Oxford to meet an old friend. Annie had been one of the original founders of the Greenham Camp and, through the years, she and I remained friends. We were kindred spirits. Over a meal we talked about the early days and how our lives had changed since then. I knew that our meeting was important to both of us.

“The Peace Movement’s changing, Annie,” I said, deciding to broach the subject and to see where it took me. “Many of us joined for the first time three years ago. Then it became clear to us that we hadn’t just joined a political movement. It was much more than that.”

Annie looked at me. “That’s what I feel, too. Beyond all the politics it was a movement for life that we helped to create.”

“I watched you being hammered by the politicos for daring to oppose the extremists who monopolized the Greenham Camp. You didn’t deserve that, Annie.”

“What do you mean?” She looked at me curiously. I knew that I had touched upon a deeper personal truth within both of us.

“Well, after committing myself to the Peace Movement I learned soon enough that I had become part of something for life when I read Martin Luther King and others on non-violence. What we created was more than a protest movement. From all that negative reaction was born spirit. It was born within all of us despite our political viewpoints or attitudes. And now I can see that it’s being born everywhere on the Planet. I feel we’re heading into a New Age.”

“Do you believe all that is really true?” Annie asked, her features alive with a new interest.

“Yes, I do,” I replied. “A year ago I would have thought of the Age of Aquarius as something fanciful. But a lot has been happening in my life. Something has started to change me from the inside out. I can’t prove it to you and there are times when I question the whole experience. But then I know it’s true because I can feel it happening. I can feel that we are on the threshold of a great change.”

I told Annie the story of my experiences in Germany and the months of inner change that had led me to them.

“I’m beginning to ask myself whether many of us were really alive in other times, Annie. Maybe that’s why it’s so important for us to be working for peace today. I’m not sure why I’m saying this. What we’re seeking is nothing less than utopia. For centuries others have sought it. We’re part of a very old movement.”

“Yes, I recognize that,” she replied. “It goes very deep in our cultures, doesn’t it?”

“The dream has been there in the collective psyche like the garden of Eden. The question is how do we leap the gap between present reality to the dream? Isn’t that what we should really be asking ourselves now instead of spending all our time in negative campaigns?”

“Too many seem to get stuck at that level,” Annie replied as she stirred her coffee thoughtfully. “Now, they’ve become their own worst enemies.”

“So what happens to us now? How do we get to that other reality, Annie?”

We paid for the meal and walked back to her house. Finally, I had found someone who seemed to understand what I was talking about. I respected this woman whom I recognized to be an open, lively thinker. I remembered the first time I had seen her at Greenham. Her blazing red hair and flashing smile singled her out from the crowd. I knew we were friends beyond that time.

We talked awhile and then I drove back home. I wondered how in the coming years she and I would travel our separate paths of experience and self-discovery. Through all our lives we had been working to the point where we had all been brought together in this movement of the ‘eighties. Now, that movement was changing as it was bound to and we moved on, playing the game, steering our little boats of consciousness into the unknown. What would the Year of Orwell bring us?


Some weeks later I visited Bob and Sian, old campaigning friends, at their house by the Thames. We got talking about the subject Annie and I had discussed earlier. During that afternoon I met Barbara who was to become a close friend. She invited me back to her home to tea and we continued the conversation. I told her that, for me, the marching days were coming to an end and that the time had come to take a spiritual path.

I told Barbara of my recent experiences which had steered me away from the path of a political activist towards inner worlds. During the conversation I saw, on the living-room wall, a portrait of a man in an orange robe with bushy afro-style hair standing in a garden of tropical plants.

“Who is that?” I asked in passing.

“That’s Sai Baba,” she replied. “He’s an Indian avathar.”

She began to tell me all about Baba and, as she did, something began to stir inside me. Could this, after all, be the long-awaited Messiah whose coming had been predicted throughout so many centuries?

Barbara told me of another Sai Baba devotee who lived in the same road. She too was a supporter of our Peace Group.

“Janet will be able to tell you much more. She has been to see Baba in India.”

I decided to go and talk to her as well.

Then Barbara told me about a man called Arthur who was soon to visit her.

“Arthur is a spirit-channel. He calls himself a messenger of God. He lives in South Africa and people from all over the world send him invitations to come and visit them. He’s a very interesting man.”

“How does he afford all the travelling?” I asked. “Is he very rich?”

“Oh no. He doesn’t have a penny! He’s given away nearly all his belongings and lives with his brother near Johannesburg. People buy him air-tickets to visit them. When he visits Europe he’ll be staying with us for a few weeks. I’ll be arranging a meeting for anyone who’d like to meet him. You’re welcome too.”

I had begun to sense a strange feeling within that I had been brought to Barbara’s house to find out much more. Not just about Sai Baba and Arthur. There was something here that I didn’t understand but it concerned my own future as well...

“Yes, I may take up your invitation,” I replied, thanked Barbara and took my leave.

The summer was nearly over. I had found some good friends and returning to the gloom of the old manor didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. During the holidays I helped bring in the harvest on a friend’s farm and on free days sunbathed by the Thames. My dog Sally had come to live with me and she and I became inseparable companions. My son Jan visited and we enjoyed some special times together. September came and with it half a term’s work teaching elementary science to 10-year-olds at an Oxford School. Though not my subject, I was able to survive in the time-honoured way by keeping a lesson ahead of the children.

First I was to teach them how to make and operate simple light-circuits. I worked hard to teach the subject as best I could and thinking about light circuits must have tripped a switch inside me. Working with that group of children provided an unusual kind of energy. It was as if they knew something about life that they didn’t have the words to describe. Yet, it was an open secret and I found myself entering a light-field of energy.

One evening I drove to my son’s school to attend an open evening. The autumn gales blew leaves everywhere and there was a curious sense of expectancy in the air. In the weeks prior I had begun to experience great surges of energy. The yoga and meditation I practised had opened-up the psyche to other experiences and I had discovered a powerful connection with nature’s energies. Now as I drove the car I could feel a great surge of energy building up again. The metal body-shell of the vehicle seemed to become highly charged.

When I drive around the next corner something’ll happen! I thought. In my mind’s eye the car’s metal skin had turned silver and in my mind’s eye I saw a being in a space-suit standing in the middle of the road with its right hand raised above signalling me to stop. But nothing happened and I drove on.

Two hours later, I returned on the same road and wondered if something might happen yet. The car’s radio-cassette was playing a modern version of Holst’s Planet Suite and as I negotiated a bend in the road I heard an inner voice say “Now!” Again nothing happened. There was no UFO or space-man in the road ... then, just at that moment, a voice spoke on the tape saying “And when the searching is over and Man says, ‘There must be more’, the Heavens laugh and prepare to take him beyond.”1


Through such subjective experiences I began to learn about what Jung described as the “acausal principle of synchronicity”. And somehow these experiences were telling me something important that I was ready and needed to know. I felt myself moving into a strange, exciting new dimension. During this time, I felt myself very influenced by the songs of John Lennon. It was as if his spirit continued to live and teach from higher levels. I was attracted to mandalas, circles, the power of thought, prayer and visualization, energy, light and UFOs. I felt the third eye beginning to open to finer dimensions of thought and experience and began to wonder if this was the world I had foreseen in the poem that had come to me on New Year’s Day in Germany.

It was a disturbing, exciting time. I listened to John Lennon’s songs, searching for a deeper understanding of what I could feel happening within me. A lot of negative fear began to surface as well. It had to be faced and dealt with. It seemed that the way into this new world that beckoned me now was through working first with the past. But how? I felt very vulnerable. Every atom of consciousness in me seemed to be breaking up and reassembling into something new. At times it really felt like some sort of nervous breakdown. But somehow I knew that only by going through this ‘holy madness’ would I break through into the world of the new.


One late October day I joined my family and the Peace Group on a train to Cumbria for the big CND march which had been organized that year in Barrow-in-Furness where the Trident nuclear submarines were to be built. The rail journey was to take several hours. Making myself comfortable inside a carriage compartment I took a swig of brandy to warm up and put some Lennon on the headphones. Suddenly, I began to sense my spirit lifting out of me to merge with his. Quite alarmed, I switched off the music and consciously willed myself back into myself.

That afternoon, as we walked through the northern back-drop of Barrow’s streets, I began to succumb gradually to fatigue. I had worked very hard during the previous weeks and only a sense of duty to the Peace Movement had brought me on this march. Nobody was listening to our warnings and the world seemed to be racing ahead towards destruction. With irony, as I marched I sang Vera Lynn’s war-time song, We’ll Meet Again. Maybe, when the marching and the black drama of nuclear holocaust was finally over we would all meet again in some other world in some other part of the universe? I felt very tired of marching.

Fatigue came as if the final vestige of energy was draining away from me. Walking like a zombie I allowed my son to take me by the hand and to lead me back to the railway station. We sat on a platform bench and waited for the evening train that would take us back to the Midlands. Hours later on the train I sat listening to Lennon on my headphones and watched the sun go down over Morecambe Bay...


I’m just sitting here, watching the wheels
go round and round.
I really love to watch them roll ...
No longer riding on the merry-go-round,
I just had to let it go!2


On the way back to the manor that night I got talking with a friend about UFOs. Nick claimed to have seen one recently. In my mind I began to sift through the information I had read about unidentified flying objects. How did they figure in the larger meaning of terrestrial life? Jung had observed that UFOs played a vital part in our Astral, dream world.

Did four-dimensional entities actually materialize on the third? Could we contact that dimension through some unseen matrix of energy through prayer and meditation? And was there a link between what we call UFOs, matter, light and energy? Did UFOs switch from higher dimensions into the third at will? I had heard of a ‘cosmic barrel’ around the Planet which could receive and transmute the energy of prayer and meditation. Through such transmutation all life on the Planet would begin to change, first on the metaphysical and then on physical levels.

It was a very cold night and the stars above us appeared as icy pinpricks on a pitch-black canopy. We hurried indoors. The embers of a wood-fire glowed inside the living-room stove. I made coffee and poured the last dregs of my brandy into it. We talked awhile, then wished each other Goodnight. As Nick walked towards the door, he turned round and smiled meaningfully. “Thanks for the ride. Goodnight ... and may the dream unfold!”

Then he walked out into the wintry night...

I wondered what he had meant. Was all this some kind of dream I was experiencing? Perhaps I could put it down to weight-loss, fatigue and the weakening of ego? But maybe they were part of the symptoms and not the cause? How was I to understand these other worldly experiences? And where did the circles, mandalas, synchronicity and Jung come in? Were the UFOs actually physical manifestations of light, created by the cumulative prayers of humanity, emanating from a cosmic barrel enveloping the Planet?


A short while after the Barrow march I met Janet who gave me several pictures of Baba as well as some incense and vibhuti (holy ash). One of the pictures I installed on the dashboard of my car. It said, “START EARLY - DRIVE CAREFULLY - ARRIVE SAFELY.”

A much larger poster of Baba on a throne I fixed on a wall in the flat where I had felt the atmosphere to be disturbed. I had tried to lighten the place by burning candles and incense but the heaviness had remained. Around this time I had been experiencing psychic attacks. Walking back to the manor one night I felt a dark energy swirling around me looking for a crack through which to enter my Astral body. But as soon as Baba’s picture was hung on the wall I felt waves of blessed golden peace enter the rooms. Something remarkable was happening.

The rational mind struggled with the challenge of my recent experiences, all of which had occurred at the intuitive level. Beyond the struggle, however, I could feel myself ‘returning home’ and though I could not understand it rationally I knew Baba was my Protector. One day I seemed to hear him tell me, “You’ve done enough struggling in this life. Now, YOU get in the back seat and I will do the driving!” With an overwhelming sense of relief I felt myself handing over my destiny to Sathya Sai Baba.

But my new life away from my family was very lonely. Sometimes I ran out of things to do and would begin to feel desperate for company. I had returned from Germany determined never to live in an isolated, nuclear family again. It was so important to me to be part of community life as well as to share in that greater evolution.

One evening, I found myself alone in the flat. I got out a card-index box of addresses and began to flip through them. Picking up the telephone, I began to call the numbers. But everyone seemed to be out or all I would get was an engaged tone. I started to panic. I tried everyone I could think of. No one answered. Everyone in the world was not at home. Then finally I got through to a friend.

“How’re you?” he asked. I gulped back the tears but I could feel my pretence dissolving already.

“Help me, I’m lonely and frightened!” was the only thing I could say.

“Ok. Stay there. I’ll be over and bring some beer,” he replied and put down the ‘phone. My friend seemed slightly alarmed. Perhaps I had sounded suicidal. Half-an-hour later he was over. We opened a couple of cans of beer and drank and talked.

I tried to explain what I was experiencing but most of it must have sounded like the ravings of a lunatic. How could I relate this very subjective experience to him or anyone else for that matter? What I was going through — the loneliness — affected so many today. I was trying to break down my walls and become a different kind of human being. But I couldn’t do it by myself! He listened carefully. Though I knew he didn’t dismiss out-of-hand what I was telling him how could I expect him to relate all this fantastic stuff to his everyday reality?

Just talking began to calm me down. Maybe I had simply needed to break down and cry in front of another man: to tell another male of the lonely world into which I had been driven and felt locked inside ... the real, breathing, feeling-scared human being that was me.

After my friend left that night I got into my car and drove off into the dark. It was thirteen years ago since I had taken LSD. Now I wanted to return to that inner world which could provide me with more meaning to my life, perhaps, than the frightening, empty existence which surrounded me. I knew that it was in part escapism. But I wanted to escape!

I had never taken magic mushrooms before and I hoped that they would allow me to go deep into myself and find whatever was there, waiting to be expressed.3

“Here’s sixty. But don’t take more than about ten or fifteen,” I was advised by the person who sold me them. Before getting back in the car I chewed several and swallowed. Soon, I began to sense a hollowness in the pit of my stomach and a lightness in my head.

Driving down the country lane the white lights of my car made a silvery tunnel as they reflected the hedgerows. I glanced up at the sky through the sunroof window. The stars blinked and sparkled, bejewelling the heavens with their light. Trees silhouetted the crouching shape of a hill, their branches raised delicately into the velvety night. I could feel their filigreed patterns gently reaching, like airborne roots, into my nervous system and brain cortex.

Within me a being came alive. It was the ‘Amerindian’ I had known from the old days. Now he spoke.

“This land, all of this, it is mine ... It is mine because it is me! I am it. Nothing, no one, can take it away from me. Whatever they do to this body they cannot dispossess me of what is mine. This Earth is my heritage for I AM this Earth!”

Once again, I had contacted the spirit who lived and dreamed so deeply within the psyche. A spirit wholly of the Earth and the stars in the universe. A godly being, immensely great and eternally patient. Yet a fugitive from Twentieth century reality. Like the Earth it suffered silently the pain of the shackles with which our civilization had bound it. In its voice I heard a reality much greater than anything I knew. Why then did this Spirit allow its greatness to remain imprisoned by the arrogance and conceit of a civilization which refused to learn and accept its true role in creation?


That night I felt a strong urge to travel to Glastonbury. I could feel it as a tingling pull of antennae in my temples. It was as if the land itself spoke to me and told me that the time had come to approach that ancient, spiritual place to discover something greater about the meaning of my life. I turned the car towards the manor and drove towards town, feeling every little bump in the road as the car made its gradual descent down a winding lane. The lights of Wallingford sparkled like brilliant orange jewels before me. Beyond it, in the low land of the Thames Valley, a panorama of golden light from the surrounding villages and towns rose up into the starry dome of a winter sky.

It must have been around two in the morning. I parked the car, entered the gloomy alleyway leading to my flat, opened the front door and padded quietly into my room. I lighted the gas-fire, undressed and slipped into bed. For a while I must have lain there, gazing into the fire’s redness before drifting into sleep and the Astral world.4

In a dream I awoke inside an aeroplane where God was the pilot.

“Will you leave everything behind and come with Me?” he asked.

I remember looking around my cold, cell-like room. There was nothing much to leave behind so I answered willingly. The ‘plane took off in the High Street outside and, as it climbed up a nearby hill, it soared up into the sky. I could see the navigation lights flashing on its wing-tips.

Then I was on the ground again. In a forest of very tall coniferous trees that towered up into the sky. Perhaps they were Redwoods. Through their branches golden sunshine shone down into forest glades. All around me there were people living peacefully and naturally. Somewhere nearby I could sense the sea and a beach.

Then I must have slept for sometime later I saw the aeroplane landing in the street outside, bringing me back to my terrestrial home. I awoke at about six o’clock to the sound of a cockerel crowing outside. The faint glow of dawn illuminated the window-panes as I heard a voice speak clearly within me.

“You have waited patiently,” it said, “and you have kept faith in Me. In faith you have waited so long. Now, your dreams shall unfold!”

I knew that I had undergone some kind of self-initiation. It was the Amerindian within who was waking and whose dreams were manifesting. It felt like the very first morning of the Age of Aquarius.


A few days later, I was on the road to Glastonbury together with my son. A friend of mine who knew Glastonbury had described this little West Country town as ‘the Cathedral of the New Age’. Two thousand years ago, the story goes, Jesus is said to have visited it with his uncle, Joseph of Arimathea. The geomantically shaped Zodiac design found in the land surrounding the town is said to constitute an ancient land temple.

This Temple of the Stars is thought to have been built by an ancient civilization originating in Atlantis which understood well the powers of Earth energy, leylines and the planetary and solar influences affecting terrestrial life and evolution. Not far from the megaliths of Stonehenge and Avebury, I had been told that Glastonbury was a ‘planetary chakra’ where the energies of Gaia, the Mother Earth, flowed out to mingle with those that descended onto the Planet from the galaxy.

What would I discover in Glastonbury? I was strongly aware of being guided on inner planes on something that felt to be both a pilgrimage and a quest. The day before leaving I had begun to think of the Arthurian legends surrounding Glastonbury. In my mind’s eye I saw an armour-clad knight who pulled out the sword, Excalibur, from within a stone. The knight’s name was Galahad.

But why Galahad? In the story it was Arthur who had performed this feat and who later inherited the kingdom of his father, Uther Pendragon. At that time I did not know the part of the story in which Galahad too had pulled Excalibur from its stone. Within a day I was to receive my first clue.

Some kind of unseen force seemed to be resisting my attempts to travel to Glastonbury. First, I found it difficult to book into suitable accommodation. Then the lock on the passenger-door of my car disintegrated with rust as I slammed it close. It was too late to repair it so tying the door down with string and tape we drove to Somerset on a bandaged steed, threatening imminent mechanical breakdown. But if I had to make the journe, like a medieval penitent on my knees I was determined to get there! Nothing in my life was more important than that journey.

On arriving in Glastonbury I let my intuition guide me to the Chalice Hill Hotel. Not seeing the entrance I drove right around the town before ending up on the same road. I parked near a huge oak tree under which was a curiously designed building which reminded me a little of a space-craft. We went to check-in and as I stood in the lounge I saw, in the corner of the room on a glass cabinet, a large picture of Baba. So it was he who had guided me to Glastonbury!

We filed into a room across the entrance hall to see an introductory audio-visual show about the town and its environs. In it we were told something about the Zodiac Temple that surrounded the Tor, Glastonbury’s best-known landmark. I discovered that each of the twelve zodiacal signs were associated with a character from Arthurian legend. One of these was mentioned by name: Galahad, who was associated with the sign of Gemini, my own astrological sun sign.

In the coming weeks and months I was to learn much more about the meaning of the Glastonbury Zodiac. In Celtic mythology Arthur, as well as Galahad and other knights, were seen as Solar deities. In Arthurian legend, Galahad was the only knight to have pulled out Excalibur from its stone and to have been given a vision of the Holy Grail. He was said to be closest to King Arthur of all the knights of the Round Table. With others, Galahad is known to be amongst the Shining Ones 5 -Astral beings who mortals may call upon for assistance.

Tradition has it that the Holy Grail, used by the Christ at the Last Supper, was brought to Glastonbury after the crucifixion and was buried somewhere under Chalice Hill from which a chalybeate spring runs into the Chalice Well gardens below. The water, high in iron content, was reputed to have strong healing qualities. The globular, space-age building underneath the oak tree outside Chalice Hill hotel had been built recently and sanctified as The Sanctuary of the Grail. Anne and David Jevons, our hosts, invited us to use the Sanctuary for meditation whenever it was free.

So, after dinner I walked over with Jan who said that he would prefer to be with me than to go to bed. We wrapped ourselves in blankets against the November chill and sat down quietly. Inside, the Sanctuary was very peaceful. The atmosphere was alive with an unseen energy. We lit two candles and the flames reflected their light against the dodecagonal windows, multiplying their light one hundredfold. As I lit an incense-stick I felt myself to be before the altar of the Cathedral of the New Age.

We must have sat for several hours inside the Sanctuary, deep into the night. My son was fast asleep, snoring softly inside his blanket. I found myself rising into a timeless place beyond the physical dimensions of the Sanctuary, feeling the stars in the sky above and my body inside the blanket. Was this what they called Astral travelling? I asked myself.

About two that morning I slipped out of the blanket and walked towards the Sanctuary entrance. The incense had burned itself out but the atmosphere was heavily impregnated with something far more powerful ... a holy presence.

In the vestibule I found a book which had been left for those who came to the Sanctuary. I opened it and started to read. The book was a revelation, part of the magick of Glastonbury. Another initiation. I was sure that Baba had led me there to read it and that was why I felt his presence so strongly. The book it seemed had been received as a channelling and was meant as an Aquarian rite of passage for those who were led to it. As I pored over the words the overlighting Christ presence continued to permeate the Sanctuary.

The visit to Glastonbury soon came to an end but not before the excitement of taking part in its annual Light Festival. It seemed highly significant that our first trip there should have been at the time when the whole town joined in celebrating the Light — an old, pre-Christian custom — before the onset of the darkest month in winter.

Before leaving, I paid a final visit to the Sanctuary. As I knelt inside its sun-warmed circle of peace there came to my lips a prayer of liberation and healing. Where I had sensed Baba the night before I became aware now of the Christ presence as Jesus. Yet the two were in no way different. They were both of the same holy presence I discovered on Chalice Hill.


Though I had been brought up as a Christian I had lost that faith somewhere in a materialistic world. Now, after wandering for twenty years in a spiritual wilderness, I found the Christ in Baba on the hill of the Chalice. At Glastonbury I returned to the game of consciousness whose intimations I had first sensed fleetingly on Richmond Hill thirteen years before. Here was a great star-map, barely visible as a Zodiac Temple, in whose cosmic symbols lay the keys to our higher selves. They waited to be rediscovered beyond time, space and frail mortality: Keys to personal myths which flowed beyond the third dimension into infinity.

Through the Lord’s grace I believe I was given a glimpse into the meaning of the Grail during that pilgrimage and vision-quest. There I began to perceive it as consciousness evolving into the finest octaves of light. The quest is the game we play through many, many lives seeking that state of consciousness. The game of consciousness is also the quest for the Grail to which I had been introduced as a child in the stories of King Arthur and again as a student of T.S. Eliot’s WASTE LAND ... the quest that will ultimately take us all far beyond the gross vibrations of these present physical forms.

I arose from my knees sensing a new freedom in my soul. As we drove away from Chalice Hill and the Vale of Avalon I began to perceive that the sword, Excalibur, I had ‘seen’ Galahad retrieve from the stone, had become a living sword of fire and light which lay in his hand. And his quest was now mine. My personal search for the Grail had begun.


...and in front of the garden of Eden he posted
the cherubs, and the flame of a flashing sword,
to guard the way to the Tree of Life.6


I didn’t know where he would take me but I could feel the Lord opening new doors inside my heart. At last I could glimpse the Promised Land! And as I looked back for a final glimpse of the gaunt, imposing silhouette of the Tor I thought I had heard an invisible choir sing Jerusalem ...


© RW 1989