LAZARUS’S BLA BLA BLOG

Crach FFinnant, Debbie Eve and I are driving to Pembroke today and what a beautiful day for the journey. Dippy, our Crach’o’Magic camper van, will be winding its way through the Pembrokeshire countryside as we seek Showboat Television Studios with the sat-nav and no doubt Noodle, the ever faithful hound will be winging every time the indicators sign a change in direction. It must be said his contribution to journey’s often err on the musical side and joining in becomes a foregone conclusion to maintain sanity.

Our time slot is 1445 and we have no idea if it is a live show or recording, but have it in our mind it will be live and then in the finest spirit, we will proceed with intuitive wisps flowing through our noggin (‘head’ for the uninitiated). After the filming and interview we are heading up the west coast of Wales to Cardigan to visit friends and in particular, the Cellar Bar to play some music and share stories. The weather is said to be grand for a few days, so the call of West Wales beaches and paddling appeals.  So Crach Ffinnant, dwarf, prophet and seer, Debbie Eve (Illustrator) and me, Lazarus Carpenter (Author) reach a mile stone, our first ever television interview about The Prophecy. Crach will tell you that the year 2018 in numerological terms to him, suggests the magical elements of eleven and two. These are numbers of magical omens portending future dreams occurring now. I say we will wait and see.

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On this day I, Crach Ffinnant, magician, prophet and  seer remember many years, decades and centuries long-lost in the mists of time. So many blessings, rituals and celebrations of new life, repeated time after time as the wheel of the sun turns all life on pathways of light. Such light, I know, is found in all life, be it the human, non-human, vegetable or mineral kingdoms. Thus at the Summer Solstice, the two unite, giving power and embracing unconditional love and respect for the earth on which we live, under the sky of whose air we breath, and within the light of the great sun. In this year 2018, I Crach Ffinnant, magician, prophet and seer, give grateful thanks to the sun. Grateful for my rebirth in this year I remind myself, six hundred years is a long time, yet no time at all. It is good to be back and I welcome you all to join me in my new life, recalling the old. This is Crach’o’Magic!

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ON THE TRAIL OF THE BALLAD OF PENYGRAIG

In my first published book, albeit, self published, THE BALLAD OF PENYGRAIG like much of my work, it has a history. It was first written as a song with the same title, then quickly joined by three more, Rachael’s Lament, Poacher on the Rock and The Hawk Cried on the Moor. Then I started to write the book, followed by a stage play script. It all started ten years ago, now the title song has been number one twice in Reverbnation Folk Charts, and came joint first in the Doncaster Folk Festival Song Writing Competition in 2016. It has taken a life on of its own nowadays and I guess when folk do parodies of your work, it has become popular. Certainly in South Wales and parts of the USA it has proved to be so. I thank the spirits of Dai Davies, Morgan and Rachael Lewis (circa 1850) for the story and life changing experiences I shared. It is sad that Penygraig House came down in the Landslip of 2012 and no more does evidence remain on the scarred mountainside. Their headstones still lay in the Chapel graveyard however, future rest is unlikely as the Chapel now has a demolition order, so what will happen to them? Grateful thanks to Stuart Loosemore for the program and the pint in the pub afterwards. Enjoy the story and share with me, ‘On the Trail of the Ballad of Penygraig’.

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A member of one of my Facebook page / groups  https://www.facebook.com/groups/fansofcrachffinnant/ made a rather derogatory statement about our book receiving so much publicity of late, through social media and in particular, Facebook. There were ‘expletives’ not important to share because you get the drift! ‘You’ve written a book, so f 2=4=7? what.’ This comment was posted on https://www.facebook.com/groups/fansofcrachffinnant/ The group embraces over five hundred fans of Crach Ffinnant, so perhaps with hindsight the writer may have reconsidered, where to post their obvious frustrations at the publicity, Crach Ffinnant – The Prophecy is receiving. He probably has not read the book, due to a distinct lack of interest and that is a matter of choice. My first reaction was to ‘delete and block’, because I was affronted by the comment. But, it is a media site of free speech, so let him have his say, think I.

I refrained from responding as did Debbie Eve, both quite hurt at such a cruel comment. Of course this is the nature of things in the world today, but we write and promote our work with love, not hate. Thus such comments do hurt and no matter how many supportive remarks come through from others, equally insulted, it does seem unreasonable. Well its jealousy, say some, a sad life, say others, but in my mind, why be a fan of something and then try to destroy it? Incongruous, is the word springing to my mind and no matter how I try to rationalise such behaviour, I cannot. I can only forgive ignorance and hope the words of our many supporters, commenting on the stream, rang true for the aggressor. Thank you to all https://www.facebook.com/groups/fansofcrachffinnant/

‘JUSTICE WILL PREVAIL’

Crach FFinnant circa 1400 

BOOK TWO

‘CRACH FFINNANT – RISE OF THE DRAGON’

Hanging on for fear of my life’s imminent demise, I used every drop of strength I could muster, blood pulsing through my muscles, straining with effort in the name of survival. My arms wrapped around Tan-y-Mynedd’s thick muscular neck, thighs and heels digging into a scaly armoured body provided me with some illusion of safety. Allowing myself to be cajoled into flying at such great speed aloft in the heavens, riding a dragon, in itself warranted an examination of my sanity. But I had been given no choice in the matter, none at all. Tan-y-Mynedd’s great wings flapped, glided and flipped this way and that, as we flew on through the night. Our destination, the ‘Great Council of Blue Stone’.

The full moon illuminating a dark night sky gave light to all below and the stars above twinkled. Tan-y-Mynedd the Fire-Dragon glided with ease, trapping draughts of air beneath huge wings, tail swishing left then right and back again. With the dip of an appropriate wing tip, gathering speed, he hurtled on. The great Dragon flew in and out of large fluffy clouds, limiting vision to the end of my nose, reminding me of the many times I had been temporarily blinded by a mountain mist. But as he flew on, the clouds dispersed and I could see for miles around, above and below. Peaks of mountains glistened, seemingly so small, far below. Valleys flashed into sight – there, then gone. Rivers wound their courses from source to sea, crisscrossing, twisting, splitting and turning, giving the appearance of an enormous spider’s web guarding the earth so far below.

Tan-y-Mynedd the Fire-Dragon twisted a wing, dipped downwards and flipped his long scaled tail. He glided down through the sky slowly from the heavens in ever-decreasing circles, the mountains, valleys, pastures, lakes and rivers getting closer and closer with every twist of his tail. Suddenly, he turned back on himself, shooting off at an angle level with the ground below. Following a river through a shadowy gorge, flying just above the treeline of the forest, Tan-y-Mynedd the Fire-Dragon soared skilfully ever onwards. The ground below rose and then dipped away again into a deep valley, shrouded by mountains on all sides. The darkness of night began to fade, rose-pink and magenta flecks and flashes streaked across the ever-lightening sky. Dawn lingered in wait upon the horizon.

The great Dragon pulled back both wings, thrust out a proud armoured chest, extended four thick, muscular, scaled legs, flexed talons and swished his tail high. Expelling hot air from both nostrils in clouds of steam, he landed rather less than gracefully on a scree covered mountainside. Scree, rocks, dust and debris flew in all directions. As the dust cloud settled, a morning sun was just beginning to rise, shrouded in streaks of multi-coloured cloud – a landscape in the sky, painted by wizards. Scrambling from this ‘steed of the air’, legs shaking like jelly clothing brawn, my feet touching solid ground again, I heaved a sigh of relief. After hanging on to dear life on a dragon’s back for heaven knows how long and also not knowing how far we had come, I had a need to take a deep, deep breath. Standing perched on a rock while looking down the valley at the lake below, Tan-y-Mynedd the Fire-Dragon pointed with one great wing towards a cave set back in the rock-face and quietly spoke in the ancient language.

“The Great Council of Blue Stone.”

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