Tag Archives: #Well

In the little Village of St. Well – Revisited.

St. Well’s Well was, well, it just was – what more could be said about it?

This. It had always been there. Well, that is for just about as long as anybody knew of the village of St. Well, there had been a St. Well’s Well – it’s almost as if the village had been named after the well itself; although some did say that there had been an ‘actual’ St. Well, who had lived in the village a long, long, long time ago – he was rumoured to be a saint, and, some do say, a man of the church.

Not that any sane person would consider taking a drink from the St. Well’s Well, it was barely of a standard to be used for washing clean the narrow lanes of Cornwall after the silage tractor had passed by.

But, as ancient monuments go, St. Well’s Well ticked all the boxes; barely accessible, situated well away from any parking, and a bit of a disappointment when you did eventually find somewhere to park, climb down to the hidden wellhead, and take the obligatory ‘selfie’.

At least St. Well had an ancient monument; some Cornish villages have to make do with a George VI postbox.

“well?” said the chimney

“well?” said the chimney,

“Yes, chimney?” said the well.

“You, are just a hole in the ground!’ stated chimney.

“I am.” replied well.

“And I am a tower reaching into the sky.”

“You are.” agreed well. “You could say that we are opposites?”

“I could.” answered chimney.

“And opposites attract?” well posed a thought-provoking theory.

chimney mulled this over for a moment.

“well, I do find you a little bit… enthralling, but we are like chalk and cheese—“

“Sweet and sour—“

“Tick and tock—“

“Flim and flam—“

“Rock and roll—“

“Ping and pong—“

“And…”

“Precisely!”

“So, what do you say about us getting together?”

“Well, chimney, I’ll check my diary and see if I can fit you in.”

The Wisdom Well – a Haiku.

In the Wisdom Well
there is a rusty bucket,
and a length of hope.

In the little Village of St. Well.

In the little Village of St. Well.

St. Well’s Well was, well, it just was – what more could be said about it?

This. It had always been there. Well, that is for just about as long as anybody knew of the village of St. Well, there had been a St. Well’s Well – it’s almost as if the village had been named after the well itself; although some did say that there had been a St. Well who had lived in the village a long, long time ago – he was rumoured to be a saint, and, some do say, a man of the church.

Not that any sane person would consider taking a drink from the St. Well’s Well, it was barely of a standard to be used for washing clean the narrow roads of Cornwall after the silage tractor had passed by.

But, as ancient monuments go, St. Well’s Well ticked all the boxes; barely accessible, situated well away from any parking, and a bit of a disappointment when you did eventually find somewhere to park, climb down to the hidden wellhead, and take the obligatory ‘selfie’.

At least St. Well had an ancient monument; some Cornish villages have to make do with a George VI postbox.