Night run in search of ghosts (isog)

  • Wednesday, August 03, 2011
  • 0

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright 

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, 
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
(Dylan Thomas)

We don't rage against the dying of the light but gentle into the dark in a steadfast and yeoman like manner, we run resolute, the dying light lying across our shoulders like a golden yoke and burnishing the green fields around us. We are in search of ghosts and history and nightfall. We find none of the former but hear the stories of hanged highwaymen on the gallows outside William the Bastards pub and weeping Spanish smugglers. History is
easier to find in Kent, we learnt that Knockholt is the highest village in Kent, about the Norman knight called Vital who lived in the Shoreham valley and is shown in the Bayeaux tapestry and how Shoreham was the most bombed village in WW ll. We are a good mix of runners from two clubs. I know most of them and I am one of two minimalist runners, the other being Andy. Night suddenly comes outside Eynsford taking me by surprise, we fumble for torches and continue. We stop in a friendly pub, The Crown after 10 miles to rehydrate and engage with the locals. Recommended. It's hard to get going afterward, my muscles cold and stiff as we climb upwards in the dark en route back to Knockholt. I graft it out picking up fragments of conversation and good humour from disembodied runners in the dark. It is another fantastic evening begun in the sun and ended in the pitch black of a new moon, 15 miles according to my GPS of downland running. Thanks to the Union flag clad Jerry for his usual meticulous organisation.

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