Sarehole Mill - A Brief History

 

SAREHOLE MILL

A BRIEF HISTORY

BY

BARRY VAN-ASTEN

Sarehole Mill. Pencil & Ink. 2010. By Barry Van-Asten.

During the Pre-Reformation, before the Dissolution, Sarehole Mill in Birmingham was the property of Maxstoke Priory, which was founded in 1333.

In 1542 the mill was rebuilt. Daniel Benford of Yardley gave John Bedell of Beoley, permission to build a corn mill. During Tudor times the mill was known as ‘Biddle’s Mill’ (or ‘Bedell’s Mill’). Nothing remains of this early mill.

In 1545 the mill was advertised for letting. In this period of the mill’s history there are no barns, engine house or chimney.

1721 – Sarehole, known as ‘High Wheel Mill’ is bought by Robert Eaves of Sarehole. The mill is let to various tenants.

1727 – The tenant of the mill is William Richards.

1746 – The mill is owned by Robert’s brother, Richard Eaves who was made bankrupt in 1754. (Richard bought the Yardley estate in 1727). The tenant during this time is James Green.

1750-52 – The tenant at this time was Judd Harding (or Harden), a sword cutler.
John Eaves (Richard’s son) joined Edward Ruston, a relation to buy land in Hockley Brook to build a pool and watermill – Ruston’s Pool was made and in 1762 Matthew Boulton (junior) leased the estate for the building of his Soho works in Handsworth. John Eaves died in 1763 and his brother Richard Eaves became the owner of Sarehole Mill. Richard was made bankrupt in 1775 after rebuilding Greet Mill.
Other tenants during the 1750’s were William Tallis and Joseph Bellamy.

1756-61 – The tenant at this time was Matthew Boulton .and the mill is used for metal work. Matthew Boulton senior rented Sarehole in 1759 and he died there some months later. His widow retained the tenancy for the following year of 1760.

1768 – Richard Eaves has permission from John Taylor, the Lord of the manor of Yardley (who bought his Lordship in 1766) to construct a new channel or head race, half a mile long from the River Cole at ‘Whyrl Hole’ (small basin) now known as ‘the Dingles’; with a sluice, four yards wide, upstream on Sarehole Common.
The water for the mill originally came from Coldbath Brook, known at the time as Bully Brook, which is now part of Moseley Golf Course (laid out in 1904). The Brook fed three pools before entering Sarehole Mill Pool, but it was not reliable. Richard Eaves paid three guineas annual rent for the use of the new channel.

1764-68 – Eaves erected a mill building with three floors and a single storey forge at the side. A bake-house and attendant barns with a stable are also constructed.

1768-75 – The tenant at this time is John Jones, corn grinder. The mill is also used for grinding blades for cutlery and edge tools. Along with the mill there was 68 acres of land, owned by the Lord of the manor of Yardley, who in 1767 was John Taylor. Sarehole Mill was known at this time as ‘Little Mill’.

In 1773 the mill became a corn mill and was rebuilt by Richard Eaves.

1775 – Eaves is made bankrupt and the mill is put up for sale.

About 1777-1780 – The tenant is John Allen.

1783 – Nearby Titterford Mill is built.

1790’s – Part of the mill machinery is used for wire drawing.

In the late 18th & early 19th Century the mill’s tenants was the Siviter family.

1807 – A second waterwheel is added (the South waterwheel) installed to drive blade grinding. This second wheel (the overshot wheel) is 10 feet 8 inches in diameter. The original (North) wheel (the high breast shot wheel) has an iron frame and measures 12 feet in diameter and 5 feet wide. Also a steam engine is installed in the Granary.

About 1840 – The forge at the South end beyond the overshot wheel is converted into a cottage with a barn added.

1841-47 – The tenant is Thomas Anderton, who went bankrupt in 1847. The next tenant was Joseph Briscoe and it was during this time that a barn was built.

1851 – Samuel Batsford is the next tenant. In 1851 Robert Summers a millwright carried out extensive repairs to Sarehole Mill. He added another steam engine, installed new wheels and corn grinding machinery which was taken from Titterford Mill.

1851-58 – The tenant is John Manders. John was paying interest to the Taylor family estate on the cost of installing the second steam engine to supplement the mill’s water power. John married Jemima Tackley in 1847 in Kings Norton, Birmingham and they lived at the mill with their two daughters and three servants.

1855 – The chimney is added to the mill.

1856 – William Deakin, the gun maker and sword cutler uses the mill (from around 1800-1850’s ‘Deakin & Son’ use the mill’s grinding facilities for the East India Company).

1858 – John Andrew becomes the next tenant (the mill stays in the tenancy of the Andrew family for the rest of its working life).
During the late 1800’s the mill was used to grind bones for fertilizer but it remained essentially a corn mill until 1919.

In the summer of 1896-1900, Number 264 Wake Green Road is rented by Mabel Tolkien, mother of JRR Tolkien and his brother Hilary. It was then known as 5 Gracewell Cottages.

1914 – The Taylor family sold the estate and the mill is bought by Arthur Henry Foster (1843-1928), a solicitor of Green Road. In the 1861 census Arthur is aged 17 and living at 9 Wellington Road, Edgbaston. He is a solicitor’s clerk living with his father Robert Hale Foster aged 45 and an attorney (he died in 1877 aged 67); his mother Helen aged 48 and Sisters Ann Francis 22 and Emily Helen 20, are also at the address (Emily married in 1873).

In the 1881 census Arthur is living at Sarehole and he is the head of the household aged 38 and a solicitor. His mother is 68 and a widow and his sister Ann is 42. With them are Thomas Perry, a 21 year old servant (groom) from Cheltenham and Emma Cole, 18 from Malvern who is a general servant.
In the following census of 1891 they are still at Sarehole with Arthur’s 16 year old nephew George and two servants: Kate Withington, 19, housemaid from Red Hill, Shropshire and Mary Walsh, 30, cook and domestic servant from County Limerick in Ireland.
Arthur’s mother Helen died in 1896 aged 83.

Also from the 1891 census we find George Andrew at Sarehole Mill. He is 44 and a corn miller from Harbury, Warwickshire. Living with him is his wife Hannah, 47 from Rowington, Warwickshire, and their son, George aged 18 a miller born in Yardley, Worcestershire. They are also found on the 1881 census at the mill.

1919 – The mill fell into disrepair and the Andrews are unable to make repairs and so the mill is disused and becomes derelict.

1928 – Arthur Henry Foster died and bequeathed the mill to Birmingham City Council on the death of its present tenant Mr George Andrew, the son of the last miller also named George.

1946 – Sarehole Mill bequeathed to the City of Birmingham.

1959 – The death of Mr George Andrew (bachelor) the last tenant of the mill. At the time of his death the miller’s house had two floors but the top storey was removed during restoration work in the 1960’s. Mr Andrew had also erected a greenhouse overlooking the mill pool.

July 1960 – vandals destroy much of the interior of the mill and an appeal is made to restore the mill. Tolkien himself becomes a contributor to this appeal to save the mill from demolition.

1968 – Restoration begins.

Sunday 13th July 1969 – The mill is opened to the public as a branch museum under the care of the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery.

1974 – Restoration is completed and the mill is designated a grade 2 listed building.

The John Morris Jones Walkway is a path on the River Cole in Hall Green, (in an area once called Sarehole). It is part of the Shire Country Park.
John Morris Jones was a headmaster of George Dixon Junior School in west Birmingham from 1960 – 1980. He wrote extensively about the local history of the South Birmingham area, particularly Yardley, Hall Green and Sarehole.


The Tolkien Society was formed in 1969 and Sarehole’s significant connection to his writing has played a large part in the mill’s recent popularity. The mill and the recreation ground beside it with the lovely River Cole have hosted the ‘Tolkien Weekend’ since 2000 or as they are now known ‘The Middle Earth Weekend’ in May. The first Tolkien weekend took place on Saturday 13th & Sunday 14th May 2000 from 2-5 PM, and featured guided walks around Moseley Bog and historic crafts etc. Other weekends increased in popularity:

2001 – Saturday 19th & Sunday 20th May.
2002 – Saturday 18th & Sunday 19th May.
2003 – Saturday 17th & Sunday 18th May.
2004 – Saturday 15th & Sunday 16th May.
2005 – Saturday 14th & Sunday 15th May.
2006 – Saturday 13th & Sunday 14th May.
2007 – Saturday 19th & Sunday 20th May.
2008 – Saturday 17th & Sunday 18th May, 11-5 PM.
2009 – Saturday 16th & Sunday 17th May, 11-5 PM. Tenth Anniversary.
2010 - Saturday 15th & Sunday 16th May, 11-5 PM.
2011 - Saturday 21st & Sunday 22nd May, 11-5 PM.
2012 - Saturday 19th & Sunday 20th May, 11-5 PM.

For more information about the Middle Earth weekends visit www.tolkiensociety.org

THE VEIL OF EDEN - Part seven

THE VEIL OF EDEN

BY

BARRY VAN-ASTEN

Part VII - The Holy Place

Sprite:

And thus the tragedy is revealed:
Vir puris cunni - Adam's shield
That shineth golden, from afar
To light the darkness as a star.

Chorus:

Cometh, yea! above all this
Lies thy destiny. Thou hast seen
The sacred sword that lies between
Thine Angel and thine Abyss.
Goeth unto the realm of light
And kiss the apex of the night!

Sprite:

And by thrice moons was Eden rent
Of manhood's self-slain element!

Adam:

Eve, fair Eve, be thou not afraid
Of God's cruel wonder - night and day
Where sin and shame in the same shade play.
Oft' I hath seen its beauty laid
Upon a tear-stained marble mount
Within the sanctuary of unrest;
Where forest beasts lie breast to breast
And taste of knowledge from the fount
Of life and death. But tremble not
At the sword of light I wield,
For hath I not this golden shield
To reflect the agony of Eden's rot?
And changed, thus far, I must retreat
Unto the dark forest, and there find
A love that be not of thy kind
That gives mine flesh to comforts, great.

Eve, fair Eve, knowest I loved thee,
Yet now, cannot I, my sweet, conceive
How born of Adam's rib, my Eve
Should'st be so blind she cannot see
That God, in all His grace, that blessed
And gaveth man breath, created pure,
Should'st fasten woman to some fleshy core
And wake the elements from their rest.
O dark this love, and of God's flock
Hath come by different waters, gay;
Hath wished the gentleness away
And sought the pains thou did'st unlock.

Eve:

O Adam, weep not for thy sighing,
O Adam, curse not the unknown night,
For I see the day upon thee dying
And darkness where there once was light...

Adam:

Hush! for the ache of flesh is pain:
I desire mine maker's hands again!

Eve:

O Adam, I hath long here dwelt
And known thy pains and always felt
That what thou seekest is wrong by God:
Thou treadest not the path He trod!
I fear for thee and almost wish
Thou had'st thy way with eager flesh,
For I cannot giveth, all ye seek:
I cannot offer shame my cheek
And lie with sin. O what thou art
Hast wounded me within mine heart.

Adam:

O Eve, fair Eve, I am strong, yet weak,
Thou hast all within thee that I seek,
Yet I asketh thee not, for truth it be,
Mine body will not yield to thee.
And I am cursed to walk alone;
To shame myself before God's throne.
As mortal to immortal, met
To find His liquid gaze is set
Upon the flesh that breadeth shame:
Upon the body without name.
This in mine heart, shalt not be moved
Till unalterable love is found and loved!
I must away to solitude
And retreateth from this painful mood
And give mine lusts a stronger bough
To shelter fancy's fear of now.
For I hath buried the lone star of desire
Deep in the whiteness of the snow;
I hath felt its burning light expire
In sorcery, and sleepless, I go
Unto the sword of Liberty's light. I give
All that I hath that I may live!

.................................................................

And Adam was wrought with lust
And rage and sickness,
For the sweet perfume and
The darkling caress.
And great citadels of shame were his
Shadows erect in the Abyss.
Yet what untold horrors lie in wait
For Adam on the path of fate?

Serpent:

O fate, draw back thy bow
And sing, sing long thy virtuous note
That purity's thought cannot know
For thou art ever concealed and remote.
In thy bleak simplicity - tremble
And let thine arrows pierce
Unto man's universe and dissemble
With actions subtle, swift and fierce.
Break the harmony that is sorrow,
Go, go with thy lustre, look
On man's dawn and man's tomorrow
Where thine arrows hath with beauty struck
The chambers of his dim lit reign.
Here be sadness, for the bud
Of spring rejoiceth long in pain -
Thy rose hath drowned in brotherhood!

Adam:

O mother earth, what pains I see
To carry this dread misery
That in me burns both day and night -
Lust, in all its colours, bright!
And in seasons pass, I alone:
Would'st to God mine heart were stone!
I lie in fate and lie with truth
For stars of Heaven be my roof
As onward unto welcome breast
Is my perfection and my rest;
Where strong arms gently fold around
The limitless wonders they hath found;
To feel the ache of thighs caressed,
Kissed by lips that hath never kissed.

Serpent:

O see the sun upon thee frame
The flowered passion of thy name.
This, thy music serves thee well
Before the throne of Raphael.
This, thy guiding light of Hell
Before the throne of Michael.
This, thy sufferings that doth swell
Before the throne of Gabriel.
This, thy heartache that doth tell
Before the throne of Uriel.

Adam:

'Tis myself grown dim, for I am dust,
Cursed by the ache of brotherhood's breast:
Wine be mine poison, bread be mine shame
And burn the flesh of sin with flame!

Serpent:

What devil this of thy construction?
Let nature's course, divine, compete -
To lie with death is thy destruction:
Thou must tasteth the bitter and the sweet!
Thy downfall? Never! thou art uplifted
Unto the rose of God, divine.
The scent of greatness, here hath drifted:
Speaketh not of bread nor wine.

....................................................................

And his skin that longs for love anew
Shalt weary where desire breaks through,
And Adam in his loneliness
Shalt reflect on his lost gentleness.
But he is young and unafraid
Of what the Gods upon him laid -
The fear of man, the weight of God
That strikes night with His blasting rod.
Break Adam, break, all concentred hate
For thy flesh and for thy fate.

Adam:

In fields of Eden will I dream
The hands that built me, slew me.
Through this foul sleep, I resteth not
Mine dark seed - O how art
Thou sighing for brotherhood...sighing!

Serpent:

Pity not ye man of sighing
For the old moon that is dying.
This thy Kingdom thou hast won:
Be strong! thus thine will be done!

Eve:

Mine womb be as the desert sands
Scorched by an everlasting sun;
Mine garden foldeth in mine hands:
No rose on the horizon!
Yet mine womb doth sing, though barren be,
For 'tis half the fruit of humanity.
Yea! life upon the earth - awake!
To beauty, to mine child - the snake!

...............................................................

Epilogue:

On Eden's veil did'st man caress
The splendour of his nakedness.
The wine of life was his true goal;
The crushing arrows of his soul,
And that which stained God's pure creation
Was Hell's thrice-formed abomination.
For love had'st soughtest he the most:
His desire for the Holy Ghost.
His sword thrust to the heart of reason -
Thus was man's fall Eden's treason.
And faith in liberty and in light
Crowned by the dyad of the night.
Yet freedom cameth from afar,
Beyond the radiating star
That giveth truth unto the soul;
That giveth will to what we are!
And so in many splendid ways
Did'st man desireth of its rays
To light the Kingly regions, dim
O'ershadowed by the seraphim,
Who keepeth the secret of the fire,
Saddled with its strange desire -
But man is born to seek new things
In his earthly wanderings.
And now that man hath been ordained
Unto the highest sanctuary,
Let splendour in his heart be framed
By Love and Light and Liberty!
For he hath crossed that great divide
That separateth God from man;
He hath distilled pure from the void -
The universal organ!
Speech shalt flameth that within
And destroyeth that which lies without;
His noble brow shalt look on sin
With no shame, no fear and no doubt!

Sprite:

Looketh! see how man hurries in
To see his evil seedlings sprout!

The End.

THE VEIL OF EDEN - Part six

THE VEIL OF EDEN

BY

BARRY VAN-ASTEN

Part VI - How The Whore Was Saved And Won

Lilith, on Her mighty air
Hath led the way through darkness, where
She lay Her flesh and cast Her spell
And showed man mortal, lusts of Hell.
In dream, spoke She unto the son
To show the Whore both saved and won.
And She sang of the mysteries that unite
The eternal darkness and the light.
For the Lord of Night sits oft' astride
The infernal sadness of His bride
And blasphemes nature with His lust
To abide with devils and with dust.
His bride, the Whore, sick to Her breast
Found no ease in sleep nor rest,
Till one night, in the leafy shade
Came footsteps nearer, unafraid,
For 'twas the Lord of Day, that came
To witness Night with Whore in shame.
And in Day's hand a mighty sword
Was drawn and raised without a word;
'Twas thrust into the heart of Night,
Thrust with all His regal might
That split the Lord of Night in twain -
From head to toe, the Night was slain!
And as the thunder clouds rolled by
The Lord of Day looked to the sky,
While Whore sang sweet beneath the beast
Of Night, to gaze on Her saviour priest.
And She rose and danced and kissed His feet
With gentle kisses that were sweet.

Whore:

My Lord, my Lord, this very night,
Day hath turned my darkness light!
I who loved each maid and man
With all the skill of an artisan;
I who conjured man from boy
And dashed his dreaming with a sigh,
For 'twas the love that carried me
Into the doomed realms of devilry.

Lord Of Day:

Thou art the harlet of the world, it's Whore;
The fount of all splendour to adore!
Tho were shameless before all men,
Returned to shame and shame again.
Through the spring and summer air
Did'st thou in thy purple, perfumed lair
Stain with blasphemies, thy cup
And bid the goat god drink it up!
Autumn, winter, came and went
And still thou stolest thy sacrement.

Whore:

O how mine womb sings in the night
Sweet songs of love and songs of fright!
For I am but an instrument of man's desire,
And man is but a stringed bow to my fire.

Lord Of Day:

O, my thrice-blessed daughter of Hell
That hath sighed through aeons...I cannot tell
Why my path hath led me here
In priestly mock that's thread with fear.
For I gaze upon thy limbs that wrought
Joy to life and death, unsought.
And I ache with passions, born anew,
For thou see'st, I am but mortal too!
And here, beside the Night in twain,
He of dark appetites and of pain,
I hunger thine unamed caress
That foldeth fear within thy kiss.
O harpy of infinitesimal lust,
Thy body is as dust and dung;
A chariot of disgust that must
Wield by magic, thy foul tongue.
Crescent form and lissome limbed:
Thou hast seen the bloom of midnight dimmed!

Whore:

Nay my Lord, for see, I blush.

Lord Of Day:

How I long to hold thee near, and crush
Thy soft bruised flesh, and kiss it sweet,
And feel thine heart upon mine beat.
For 'tis madness that within me lies
And yearns to thine cup that destroys.

Whore:

I see thine passions runneth deep:
Thine sting of holiness doth sleep!
Mine change was swift - see how it turns
Unto Whoredom's grip that burns!
My breasts are ripe with motherhood
Where beauty's flame hath flickered in;
Veiled with roses and with blood:
I hath long been the Queen of Sin!
Mine limbs doth ache, mine heart be tired;
Mine flesh is soft, yet weak and sore.
Flames of passion hath I fired
In this sacred vessel known as Whore!
Beggar, Prince, wench and King -
To all hath I sworn my lusts to sing!
By streams hath I lain with beast and brute;
To poets, strummed soft on lyre and lute.
In chambers hath I soiled with bliss
Mankind's threefold consciousness
That unlocked the gates that case the womb
To reveal the glories of the tomb.
A flower, cursed and midnight, dead,
By morn shall resteth on his head.
With flames I coil and weep and sing
To the ecstasy of lust's everlasting spring.
But I see thou art cold to nocturnal pain;
Those tongues of fear hath dulled thy brain,
Yet wine is sweet! My Lord, cometh near,
Be ye not afraid of regions drear,
And when next thou see'st the sun goeth down
Thou shalt bear the sceptre and the crown!

Sprite:

Child of thy bowel, the war is near won:
See'st how the moon lookest to the sun!

.....................................................................

And the Lord of Day remained all night
In the arms of Whoredom, painted white
As the pure snow driven, soft and deep
Upon abominations that will not sleep.

Whore:

O my Lord, how art thou weak;
How art thou senseless in thy reign.
Thou hast planted wisdom on mine cheek,
I hath invoked horror in thy brain,
And defiled the holy seed of man
To bronze his passion in the womb
And sin unto the Holy Lamb.
Yea! I hath sheathed his purple plume
In depths unutterable, till it blooms
Where rose and lily fold as one.
And limbs are still in crimson tombs
Now the dark God's work's near done!
But hush, dost thou not hear mine womb burst
Into song, now quenched of thirst?

Sprite:

Harketh! dost thou hearest the moan of Hell
Rise in triumphant madrigal?

Chorus:

It be the solar rays of light:
It be the lunar washed of white!

Whore:

I am the horror of thy bowel;
I am the obscene whorings, come
By fragrances both fair and foul,
For I am corruption and the sum
Of man's extension into shame,
That shall by fear and bliss, enflame
Thy brain, by copulation's bud
And disintegrate thy nakedness
And giveth thee to brotherhood
In the excreta of excess!

THE VEIL OF EDEN - Part five

THE VEIL OF EDEN

BY

BARRY VAN-ASTEN

Part V - The Angel And The Abyss

Shall the lie of God be told;
Shall His mysteries unfold
And swell thy bosom to victory
That thou hast sipped of His glory?
And this be rapture in thy brain;
This be thy star, risen and slain
And risen, once more into light
That once was darkness of the night.
That once was far beyond thee, cast
Into the formless void, so vast,
For 'twas the wrappings of the tomb;
Thine pasture of nocturnal gloom
That leads thee here. What visions tell
Why thy lusts are darkness, drawn from Hell;
Thy lie of madness and desire -
Thy penetrating star of fire?
Thou hast slipped thy fetters, see them fall
And unto thine own Angel, call.
Thy bondage broken by a kiss;
Thy liberty strong in rapture's bliss.
Ah, but what hath made thee so?
What pause in thy eternal ring
Hath brought misfortune's silver sling
And dealt thy heart a mighty blow?

Chorus:

Draw back thy flesh;
Hold back thy veil:
Hail! unto thine Angel, hail!

Sprite:

Speaketh monster!

Angel:

I magnify man's little sorrows
Into steps of doom;
I bringeth the Abyss, that swallows
Thy radiant bloom.

In this thy park of discontent,
Ever at thy side
Was thine Angel - thy sacrament
Of fire, long denied.

Thou art risen on the wings of fate
That leadeth ye aright.
O sire! be not ye desolate
And forsaken in mine sight,

For thou walketh as a god, new-born
In thy robe, aflame;
Thou art glorious in the distant dawn
In thy crown of shame!

I sing of thine own sweet embraces
That in thine heart doth grow;
For 'twas in those wild abandoned places -
There I loved ye so!

Sprite:

Thou hast seen thine opposite attract
Itself to thee in every act.
Thou hast glimpsed thy birthright, from afar:
Thy flame-flecked wisdom of the star!

Chorus:

Hail! unto thine Angel, hail!

Sprite:

Thou cometh swift from restless sleep
Into casms, dark and deep.
But lo! thine Angel, more must speak,
Soft and low - 'tis very weak!

Chorus:

Hail! unto thine Angel, hail!

Angel:

If in sleep thou dreamest, I come to thee
In love's unfolding of the unseen,
Be ye ever a sun that burns, serene,
To die in the arms of eternity...

Sprite:

Hear ye Adam! these words are gold
Rushing through thy veins! Unhold
Thy feared forebodings, be as one:
Dimensionless unto the sun!
Here, the inhabitant of the Abyss
Summons ye to its nothingness!

The Dweller Of The Abyss:

Adam, Adam, come, not linger,
Come with Royal lips aflame;
Fear not the song, thou art the singer
Robed and crowned in Adam's name.

Adam, Adam, there be sweet joy
In all thou givest unto love:
Joy be the heart of man and boy
That sings thy praises from above.

Adam, Adam, fruit of God's labour,
Thou art not condemned by God;
Loveth thyself and damn thy neighbour;
Maketh madness thy method!

Adam, Adam, breathe salvation,
Redeem the urges of the beasts
That elevate their jubilation
In sacred rites and forest feasts.

Adam, Adam, raise thyself up
And seekest thou swift brotherhood,
In damnation and the cup
That thou hast drained dry of its blood!

Adam, Adam, fear not thy shame,
Fear not the wind that carries thee
Into strange places, thou art the flame
Of fortune and of sorcery.

Adam, Adam, thy flesh is bold;
Thine heart hast run its course of lust.
A mirror of thyself, behold,
Is what thou seekest in the dust!

Adam, Adam, hide not thy tears
For this sweetness, come to pass;
Thine is the Kingdom that ye steers
'Twixt thine Angel and Abyss!

Sprite:

Ah! 'tis like a broken bone
That love disgraced, before it fell
To find its roots are firm in Hell,
Where two mortal souls are thrown.
For the great adulteress hath begun
The unison of the moon and sun,
And its fulfilment shalt be done:
Hark! how the whore was saved and won!

THE VEIL OF EDEN - Part four

THE VEIL OF EDEN

BY

BARRY VAN-ASTEN

Part IV - The Blossom And The Sigh

From this holy place I go
Unto a wilderness unknown;
Unto a place where love, outgrown,
Lies barren, for it cannot grow.
Here, the spirit of silent birth
Hath thundered long unto the sea,
And virtue thrown to devilry
Is all that purity is worth.
For upon this world mankind doth tread
'Twixt an everlasting faint dimension
And things beyond man's comprehension;
Beyond the living and the dead.
Yet what bright moon on the horizon
Will sail the oracles of space
And revealeth love's eternal face?
In measure met - all things are one,
The Lord of Life hath wished it so;
For He gaveth man his opposite,
His dual expression - black and white.
And time and spasmodic change shall flow
As the body yields to spring passions
And there, breathe life - it breatheth yet,
Strong by nature's calling, set
Into a robe of dreams - man's visions
Are life's rememberance of the dead.
The stars are sown, the torn veil rent
And the Host of the Heavenly sacrament
Fell tearful at man's side and said:
Enough of unholiness and of death,
For all that liveth in vain, shalt sing
Of life's beauty over everything!
Thus, the great lie of man, beneath
The starry sadness of Heaven, drawn
Unto soft whisperings that revealed
Nothing in joy is twice concealed
By woman, at her darkling dawn.
And time wilt cease for moonlight priests
At the extinguishing of the light,
For darkness be their God of might;
A continual conjuring of strange beasts
That come, by Royal sacrifice
To trample hooves in tribal dust;
To work their foul alluring lust
And in the madness found - rejoice.
On the Holy mount shalt man seek
The glory of his radiant star
That hath retreated, and gone far
From the ceremonies of the meek.
Here shalt corpses come to lie -
The glory of our loved dead:
Every one a good man's head
Unstirred by the blossom and the sigh!
And God hath cast thy fortunes great
Into scented halls of hate;
This be thy mannequin of woe
For the elements hath found ye so
Rich in joy on wings of sadness:
Thou art sent scrying into madness!
And with thine new-found love, retrace
Thine footsteps to the Holy place
And supplicate thine self in prayer!

Sprite:

But soft! here I invoketh to thee - Air!

Air:

I am loud and silent: I am Air;
I am the words of war and prayer,
On streams to carry love and hate
Drawn from hearts both small and great!
And I am flattery which is joy;
I am thy breath, I am thy sigh.
And I make tempests of thy bones
When mine rough winds upon thee moans.
Within, without, I am the storm
Of change, thy progress without form!

Chorus:

O carry, carry, wings of Air
Man in his boat adrift, despair;
Seeketh still man, of the higher...

Sprite:

Here, I invoketh to thee - Fire!

Fire:

I am thine inmost: I am Fire;
I am thy flower of desire.
I am thy flickerings, set in pain:
Thine serpent of unsaintly reign!
And I bring joy and ease and love
From under the cloak of lust, I move,
Ever burning, though, thee be still -
I goeth onwards in thine thrill
Of ecstasy, that in thee be
Flames of uncontainable devilry!

Chorus:

O burn, burn, thy flames of Fire
Unto man's heart that doth aspire;
Thy love, thy melancholy rapture...

Sprite:

Here, I invoketh to thee - Water!

Water:

I am thine thought: I am Water;
Thy mother, thy bride, thy Holy daughter.
I am thy wanderings that resteth not;
Thine river that ever disturbs thy lot!
And I am the flow of fate, foresee
Thine own miracle of thy destiny.
And I be calm and showeth the moon
Or whipped by tempest and typhoon
That turn thee swift upon thine will
Unto mine waters - magical!

Chorus:

O roll, roll, thy Waters sweet
Over man's brow in defeat
And strike thy pleasing chords of mirth!

Sprite:

Here, I invoketh to thee - Earth!

Earth:

I am thine form: I am Earth;
I am thy firmament of birth!
I am thine glories and thine fear,
Slow of change, I doth appear
Dull and heavy, I confess
I am the vacuum of thy stubbornness.
I am thy surface, point and plane -
I am the laughter in thy pain.
I am thy dream of lips unmet:
Yea! I, the spectre of regret!

Chorus:

O fold, fold, Earth manifold,
Thy temple stones, thy bed of old
Upon man's boundless breast, and sit...

Sprite:

Here, I invoketh to thee - Spirit!

Spirit:

I am thine core: I am Spirit;
I seize thee by thy brain and will it
To mine works that centre thee;
To thine masked wonder: Liberty!
And I be stirred and moved by song
For I am the fortunes of the strong
Soul that sleeps and wakes once more:
I am thine entity to adore!
Mine kisses giveth endless joy
For they be sweetness to thy sigh.

Chorus:

O kiss, kiss, Spirit bliss,
The lips of man that doth caress
Passion's ardour and repents...

Sprite:

Here endeth the song of the elements!

THE VEIL OF EDEN - Part three

THE VEIL OF EDEN

BY

BARRY VAN-ASTEN

Part III - The Eye In The Sanctuary

In the phosphorescent hush of the dark wood,
Came Eve, that delicate blush of womanhood;
Her body, an ecstasy of celebration:
A temple of song that she sings of creation!
But her eyes hang sad for the veil is rent;
She weeps for she can foresee man's discontent.
And here passes the star, in its sickness, grown
Awful before the meteor that was God's throne;
Where there once was passion, dark and deep,
Radiant by night, where the light doth keep
Its vigil strong. Gone, O 'tis all gone now
Where woman walks alone and weeps unto her shadow.
Her heart a stone cast in the pit of motherhood,
Lost unto the shades where she weeps within the wood.
Thus tormented she sees things fate hast chose to be,
This be the song sweet Eve sings of man's destiny.

Sprite:

And having tasted of desire
She swooned at the unspeakable rites
Foretold in a vision of the higher
Realms of angels and of sprites.

Thus, her eyes drawn unto fire,
She sang as sighing satellites
Perished in the unalterable mire
Of mightier things in their delights.

Struck with beauty, sang the choir
From their heavenly heights;
But blood lust gave the great destroyer
His joy amongst the parasites.

Eve:

And I saw thus blazing from the hordes,
The shining ones come forth and listen
With bloody hands clasped on mighty swords,
Upon the emerald hilts that glisten
Radiantly at their armoured sides.
These winged warriors with giant strides

Came to rest beside a stream,
The fight not lost, though their eyes told
The light had'st lost God's brilliant gleam,
For eyes were as the darkness, cold;
Like lunar lamps, and all put out
As shadows fell to unseen doubt.

And Paradise raged against God's Law
At the full rise of the sun,
Where the beauteous bankside maidens saw
The light retreateth into one.
And here were stars in the folds of sorrow
As darkness came down, thick and low.

And morning light did'st turn his head
Aloft unto God's mighty throne
And back upon the field of dead
Celestial seraphims of stone:
Come home! Come home! His pitiful voice
And all the dim stars did'st rejoice!

Our saviour crosseth on the prow,
Watched by darkness at the helm;
With names of blasphemy on His brow,
He surveyed the measure of His realm.
His broken sword aloft, He swore
To reverseth all God madeth Law!

And God's voice did'st tremble in the wind
Unto shameless sinners and the sinned:

Make why thou wilt, my brother son,
For 'tis writ that there shalt cometh one
To un-good the good that I hath done
Unto this Paradise begun.
Thy broken wings of undying hate
Are folded in combustible fate;
Where the zenith hath appeared too late
To save the Kingdom that falleth great!
Thou may'st have thy rule, thy period
Where thou may'st strut thyself a God,
But lo! as from a lightening rod
Shalt God's word find thy Kingdom shod
In filthy labourings of the dead:
A crown of thorns upon thy head
Shalt bloom no more, for it hath bled
The terrors of the tomb ye fed.

...........................................................

And the muse of all time sat in wonder
As dark, those ones of evil, born,
Tore the brotherhood of Light asunder,
Terrible to that scarlet dawn
Where the phoenix of the flames had'st flown
In the splendour of damnation's crown.

And within the city of soulless slaves
Were vast pyramids of corpses, lying
Skinless, shovelled into graves
Of red streams unto midnight, sighing;
Here man in fear of his true fate
Did'st pray to terrors, insensate.

And the filth of an hundred days of war
Had'st spoilt six days upon the earth;
Death's cloud did'st appear to blot the star
And violate its swift re-birth.
Iron death and scent of skin
Had'st let infernal darkness in!

From the night our master fell
And in war's wake the moon had'st turned
With fastened lips - a sunlit Hell
As victory in death's madness yearned
Unto man's cerements of fear:
Lo! the goat-foot God was here!

And man breathed fire and man breathed force
Throughout the depths of eternity,
And God revealed His unholy course
For man and woman's destiny.
And woman sighed, sealed in the tomb
For she was as blind within its gloom.

Her love, shalt creaseth to the moon
And man's unto the sun
Where he shalt sheathe his splendid plume
In sorrow's fruitless womb,
Where demon lusts slays, without pause:
Man, in the calamity of its jaws.

And love divided, conquered all,
Arose damnation on its head
That whispered softly, Eden's fall
Was thrice glimpsed and thrice blessed!
And this thy pleasaunce and thy shore
God giveth greatly to adore.

And tears shalt wash away the work
Of God whose mind cannot contain
The will to penetrate the murk
That clouds upon the human brain,
Where imagination and the dream
Be thus like fishing in the stream.

Man long betrayeth for he hath wronged
The omnipotent eye that all doth see
The myriad miscarriages, triple-tongued
In sad songs sung in serpentry.
Yet came the lone voice from afar
Curled towards that elusive star:

Hast thou seen the lion loveth the lamb?
Hast thou seen the hawk loveth the hare?
Hast thou seen the she-wolf loveth the ram?
Hast thou seen man weak in woman's snare?

And his shadow shalt darken and grow with time
Before the threshold of the dawn
That shalt awaken him to the sublime
Seeds of sorrow, upon him, born;
Unto the dying of the old year
Wilt man wait, and beauty re-appear!

THE VEIL OF EDEN - Part two

THE VEIL OF EDEN

BY

BARRY VAN-ASTEN

Part II - The Serpent And The Sorrow

Here, I fortify the wine of disease
With my liquid tongue of blasphemies.
For I hath wrestled from the sacred bough
The true lusts of man - these seeds I sowe;
The dark dimensions, the black centuries,
Unto the wind and watch them grow!

I conjure whoredom's flickering flame
And curse the Almighty without shame.
Man, that walketh with the moon
Hayh harkened to the immortal tune
And sought the perfume, without name
That's supped by gods and all too soon

Consumed in thy cup of amethyst, drained,
Unto the end was its vile filth strained
By mortal lips. Now man hast seen
The beginning, the end and the in-between.
The cup of destruction, red-ruby stained!
The perfume of release - our Queen,

Unto Heaven's vault did'st seal
Man's disobedience and conceal
The architecture of man's fate
That strikes at the chains of inviolate
Love, for by wisdom and by zeal
Did man tire of his righteous state.

And thus possessed of gods did'st man
Tear down the lie: no mortal can
Be as a god and walk with might
And rejoiceth in the eternal light.
Yet his bosom yearned and stranger, ran
Into the sorrowful realm of regal night.

And I am the circumference of thy skin
And all that it containeth within,
For I am fashioned to thy breast
And I swim with poisonous unrest.
I am thine own sorrow and thy sin:
Thy north and south, thine east and west!

And many are mine horrors and mine name;
This legion, mirrored, be but the same
Cross of desire in darkness, falling
Unto the circle of lust's calling
Thine golden seraphimed head of shame
That sought the sanctuary. This appalling

Pyramid of thine own making
Found ye sorrow for thy taking
And this dim star, thy profile, cast,
Is mine Royal seal, for here at last
Is an apparatus re-awakening:
A man perfected of his past!

The Song Of The Serpent:

Ah! the fruit is ripe upon the bough:
Shalt desire snatch it from me now
And plant its knowledge on thy brow?

And what mystery of flesh shalt sing
When unto man falls everything?
But lo! 'tis more given when 'tis nothing!

Yea! for all of man's temptation,
The fool regreteth not his action:
This is his sorrow and salvation;

This is his rapture that is sweet,
Soft and fragrant and complete:
But when shalt man with serpent meet

And caress the dim shore of his pain
And break the rhythms of his brain
That's circled by a serpent's chain?

When this night of mitred elegance
In its fleet-footed pageant dance
Doth ache to passion's darkling glance,

That shoots through youthful veins of fear,
For here, love lingers long and drear
Before the God, Love doth revere,

Thou shalt shame thy God before thine eyes,
Thou shalt conjure His immortal cries
And damn His sacerdotal sighs!

O blow wind, yea! eternally blow
For speech and shame and sin follow
The endless summit of man's tomorrow.

But life's miracle that we dare expand,
This tortured madness of command
Hath given scope to understand

The nature of desire, that slept
Firm in thought as sadness leapt
Where the soul of Eden wept.

And thrice was beauty turned to stone,
Banished from her golden throne
To lie with lustful ways, alone.

She dreams, but nothing more than this
Hath fallen unto sleep, to kiss
The awful ache of our mistress.

And mortal unto dying breath
Shalt find a certainty in death,
That death shalt all too sooneth cometh!

..................................................................

I see thy wound, it runneth deep
Through the centuries of sleep;
Deep, deep, so vast and deep
In the fiery fathomless place of sleep.

This little world of man's content;
This infernal fold of past desires,
Death's rapture clings to his element:
Man unto the arm of man aspires.

Here death's feather hath weighed ye right,
And judgement manifold, thy fate
Upon the lips that kissed the night;
Lips of thine own incarnate hate.

Lips that cursed the ancient moon;
Lips of thine unspeakable hell,
Pressed to the prison of the womb
Of thine resurrecting angel.

He giveth up and giveth all,
He rejoiceth in his sad suspension
That dances, beast-like in the hall
And clings to man's incomprehension.

O come, I adore thee, come O come
While death's scent hath found release
From the pangs of falsehood's angeldom,
And the terrors, pray ye now may'st cease!

Sprite:

But hark! what vision of loveliness doth tread
Between the living and the dead?
What frenzy of lust doth speak its name;
What salacious mollusc, revered by shame
Doth come? Its robe cast in the mud,
Its high art a stain of womanhood,
Purple, from the fount of Hell
Like some magnificent Jezebel.
And as nature bows before our Queen;
As the elements flicker, and stir unseen
She assumes Her Royal right, anon,
And comes before us - Babalon!

Babalon:

Blessed be midnight, blessed be shame;
Blessed be the paps that seal my name.
Blessed be the season of desire:
Blessed the unquenchable Holy fire!
This head be death's head, reared for war,
This heart be rotten to its core.
Witch of the moon, whore of the sun:
I am the ghost bloom - Babalon!
I am thy work of silk and gold;
I am thy mysteries untold.
My lips, the claret of the moon;
My breath, the scent of sweet perfume.
My limbs as lithe as panthers, move
Through the Holy abodes of love,
For I am thy midnight jubilation:
Thy dawn, thy noon and thy dusk damnation.
My hair, a stream of lust, unending,
My body yearns to thy ascending
Light; thy palace remains unmoved -
I see it ever thus, unloved.
For I am love, cloaked in desire,
Rich and strange, I burn with fire.
And I desecrate the Holy place
And trample the contours of God's face.
I am thy tempest mind, awake
To bloodless sighings of the snake.
I bear the cup of fornication
That gives thee sweet intoxication.
I, the Queen, who doth assume
Thy purple passions, to illume
Thy body, levelled in the tomb,
Clung to the flower of my womb.
Thou did'st seekest, yet I was found not
In those shapes of shade that rot
Thy hungering, for doth not ye see:
I hath always dwelt in the heart of thee;
Since virgin, thy initial breath
Smote the catacombs of death
And drew forth thine eyes unto the sun,
Ye whispered one word - Babalon!

Sprite:

And through the intricacies of sleep
Doth Babalon in Her whoredom, creep,
To rise on smoke, foul of the air,
Her teeth fixed firm on flesh, to tear
The heart of man, from out his breast,
Softened to Her glance, caressed
By slender hands that woo with lust
And grind the humble into dust.
O star! my litany of desire,
Desolate in seduction's mire
To see thy nakedness crowned with gold
Upon Love's altar, where of old
Did'st Babalon cherish unto death,
The ache of man that lies beneath
The splendour wrapt, the sapphire tomb
Of virtue veiled deep in Love's gloom.

Babalon:

O desirable man, I give thee rest
From thy hierophantic quest;
I warm thy flesh and give thee ease,
Trimmed in the wrappings of disease,
Where nothing moves, nor shall it stir
The masked sentinels of sleep and fear.

Sprite:

Animal-sighing - we are all dark now
As man passes into that which he cannot know!