Strange memories on this nervous night in Tantegel. Has it been five years? Six? It seems like a lifetime, the kind of peak that never comes again. Garinham in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. But no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world, whatever it meant.
There was madness in any direction, at any hour. You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. And that, I think, was the handle, that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of the evil Dragonlord. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave.
But now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Tantegel and look southeast, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high water mark - that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back...
Charlock Castle.
