St Aebbe (c.615-683) was one of the pioneers of Christianity in seventh century Northumbria. Noah’s Arcs was originally sited in the Borders, which would have been part of Northumbria.

This poem was published in the anthology Sarah Law (ed.) Thin Places, Sacred Spaces (2024, Amethyst Press)

‘a mother of the handmaidens of Christ, called Aebbe, who ruled over the monastery situated in a place called Coldingham, a woman honoured among all as well for her piety as for her noble birth, for she was own sister of King Oswiu.’   Bede, Life of Saint Cuthbert

Colud’s Fort, an abandoned soldiers’ clifftop haunt, gifted apology for our brother’s murder. We monks and nuns built our wooden church inside the stone, as black and grey white-rumped wheatears nest in empty rabbit burrows. We weave mantles of praise, eclipse a spirit of fearfulness.

Once a far-sighted look-out for un-friends. King Oswiu’s gift, we keep vigil now with gulls, pray Opus Dei, eight set hours. Fulmars build grass and mud nests on sheer cliff faces. Rock rose thrives in salt sea air, holds fast, fulfils her nature. Deep gullies, offshore stacks mark the war of sea and land.

Thousands of sea birds scream. We sit at wooden benches, embroider sea campion on linen with moss green silk, white wool from our own flocks. Sing psalms with flocks of twittering linnets, streaky-brown meadow pipits. ‘I take refuge. How then can you say to me: Flee like a bird to your mountain.” Psalm eleven, verse one.

Our church stands where swords once glinted. Sunbright streams through high-placed windows, picks out gold on silk and linen. Oswald’s treasured gift of hangings. My brother, the true king who shared his food, silver plate with ceorls; patron of gold flecked textile workers. These women now rank as artisans. Oswald. Requiem aeternam, salve rex gloriae.

Outside the sea-candle glints on North Sea water, gestures to home of distant ancestors.

We stand in darkling church lit by candles. Bishop Cuthbert stands at the open door and waits, haloed in streaming sunbright. The peace-candle refracts, reflects, and the space bursts with light.  Land once drenched in melting battle icicles is now soaked in prayer. 

Smell of beeswax from bronzed hanging bowls, a single beam sparkles, as the day-candle

moves, shines on different windows, casts shadow then light. Our own illuminated manuscript Deo gratias, a focus for prayer. The space echoes with chanted plainsong in the sacred tongue. Plumes of smoky incense defuse the light, as Cuthbert swings the thurible, appears from the created haze, moves down the nave. Deo gratias.

Endnote:  Aebbe’s brothers were Northumbrian Kings Oswald, Oswiu and Oswine. Oswiu had Oswine killed, and sought absolution through gifts of land to found religious communities.

Sea-candle and peace-candle are both Old English kennings for the sun. A ceorl is the lowest rank of freeman. A battle icicle refers to blood dripping from a sword.