Friday, February 03, 2006

Wayland's Smithy

Tonight, folks, I'm blogging about a place to which I've always wanted to go, but to which I've never been. It's a burial chamber called Wayland's Smithy, and it's also at here. It's in Oxfordshire

Now, the area has lots of burial chambers and ancient chalk carvings, but this seems to be an exceptionally beautiful site, and it's also interesting because it's the one English place dedicated to the ancient god called Wayland The Smith. This is the ancient Norse god of blacksmithing, which seems a rather strange idea. I mean, it's not very spiritual, is it? It's like having Wayne, the Essex god of plumbing, or Kevin, the god of sorting out your dodgy gearbox, and he'll knock a bit off for cash. But people used to leave their horses at Wayland's Smithy with a piece of silver, and find their horses shod when they returned. It's perfectly possible, of course, that a local blacksmith was making a tidy profit by nipping up to the burial chamber every so often. But who knows...

Anyway, I've found a comprehensive site which outlines the legends surrounding Wayland, and very fascinating they are too.

You might like to check out where it is.


Blogger fjl said...

Hilarious. x
Oxford is full of Deities like that , that's why the builders get away with the prices they do. Perhaps in pergatory I shall have to visit this terrible spot!

10:24 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Ooh! I went there! Check out my white horse pics on Flickr if they're still there.

What spoiled it for me was that I just kept calling it Wayland Smithers.

T.O.O. M.U.C.H. S.I.M.P.S.O.N.S.

9:45 am  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

best regards, nice info
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11:18 am  
Blogger bluerabbit said...

I was a lucky person to have seen Wayland's Ghost outside the burial mound, some 25 years ago, I shall never forget. It was early November, late in the day and after walking around the trees and the burial mound I lokked back along the track. I saw a man stood sideways to me about fifty yards from me, his legs faded down into the mist, his arms were flailing about, his body was quite steady his head was facing me, slightly blurred in the mist, yet distinctive. I turned again and he had completely vanished, I looked around till dark, no one at all there except me I made my way home and then read about Wayland the blacksmith, his ghost is only seen several hundred years apart, strange as it is I still often think about him and wonder if he has attached himself to me in some strange way, I have never worried about it because I seem to be an ordinary person yet have been tuned to several ghosts over the years! Martin

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