Early Man in Hallamshire Copyright © Roy Everitt 2009-10

And so, to the ascent of man
as told by incidental things
we scattered where our time began
or that this long-dried river brings:

Some shards of flint, some antler, bones
we butchered in our bookless years,
some sooted soil, some teeth, alone
from early man in Hallamshire.

But while the river, unaware,
ran past us, squatting by our fires –
us cosied from the Hallam air –
we'd not yet come to naming shires

nor even lands. Our main concern:
our bellies and our backs, and when
we hunted or were preyed upon,
surviving to give life again.

We learned to speak, to draw and paint
and then to write of us and they,
and so to name ourselves, distinct
from other tribes, who stayed away.

And then to speak of Him, the guard
who warms us in our chillest hours
but who, as recompense, demands
we recognise his holy power.

And then the march to spread his word
and write it in eternal dust,
where Hallam, unaware, interred
its losses and its grief; till rust

was turned to iron, then to swords.
An imprint, not in soil or stone,
but wood, was wet with ink and words
were set that we might fight alone,

or yet atone...

And so to books, and so to here:
amongst the poems, stories, tales
is Early Man in Hallamshire,
against whom rest, on either side,
‘Ascent of Man', an old Shakespeare,
a book of Morris Minors - pride
of my collection. Nothing fails
but echoes softly, year on year,
with early man, in Hallamshire.

26/1/09 & 26/1/10