Summary

The website content is a poetic narrative titled "The Road Late Travelled" by Sally A Mortemore, recounting a mysterious and haunting late-night drive through Lincolnshire in 1993.

Abstract

"The Road Late Travelled" is a free-verse poem that paints a vivid picture of a night journey through the Lincolnshire countryside. The author, Sally A Mortemore, uses evocative imagery to convey the eerie atmosphere of the drive, with references to the blackness of the night, the straight Roman road, and the ghostly presence of cabbages in the moonlight. The poem describes the passage of time and the monotony of the journey, interrupted suddenly by the appearance of an enigmatic figure on the roadside. This figure, with its intense gaze and black eyes, captivates the passengers, leaving a lasting impression that haunts them, much like the proverbial ship upon a retentive wave. The narrative concludes with the figure's swift disappearance, leaving only a memory captured in the rearview mirror, as the journey continues through the relentless rain. The poem is accompanied by multimedia elements, including a SoundCloud recording and YouTube videos, providing an immersive experience for the reader. A personal note from the author reveals that the poem is based on a real event experienced by both the author and a passenger, an event that they still recall and reference when they meet.

Opinions

The author suggests that the landscape itself, with its regimental rows of cabbages and bleak towns, contributes to the haunting ambiance of the journey.
The poem implies that certain experiences, like the encounter with the figure, can leave an indelible mark on one's memory, becoming a shared haunting that defies rational explanation.
The inclusion of Shakespeare's and Emily Dickinson's quotes frames the narrative within a broader context of literature that explores the unexplainable and the haunting aspects of the human experience.
The multimedia elements, such as the SoundCloud recording and YouTube videos, serve to enhance the poem's atmosphere, offering an auditory and visual dimension to the written words.
The author's note at the end emphasizes the authenticity of the experience, reinforcing the poem's impact by grounding it in a real-life event.

Poetry

The Road Late Travelled

Free Verse

And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. There Are More Things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

‘Hamlet’ Act 1 Scene 5 — William Shakespeare

m i d n i g h t and the flat black of the Lincolnshire countryside stretches as straight as the Roman road ahead of us. headlights appear. and disappear. beams passed in a blaze of white light. the ghosts of cabbages lying in regimental rows of somnolence. an occasional tree bared against the craze of a full moonlight.

i t. i s. l a t e. three people sleep pressed between wound windows breath condensing on cold glass as the dashboard clock ticks past minutes beneath the hissing of the shipping forecast.

m i l e s. s a i l. b y. s l o w l y. and the drizzle of rain tires tired eyes the irritating raindrops pestering the windscreen.

m i le. u p o n. m i l e. u p o n. m i l e. along darkened tarmac each small town crowded by a bleakness window curtains drawn against incriminating streets. thirty five miles of endless nothing all tucked up under electric nylon sheets.

s u d d e n l y. on the bend of the road a figure pleads with an outstretched forefinger: eyes as black as the matt of its brimmed broad hat under the glow of a single lamp’s light.

in the passing of a second we drift in silent motion our journey suspended upon a gaze of intensity. a distortion of our senses as it stares at our passing like the proverbial ship upon a retentive wave.

t i m e. r e s t a r t s. with the t i c k - t i c k - t i c k i n g louder than the summoning of a Sunday church bell.

t h e r e. i s. n o t h i n g. the rear view in the mirror revealing no more than a remembrance chiselled in stone. disappearing into the distance. our eyes blinded by the sheets of incessant torrential r a i n …

Thank you for reading 🙏

One need not be a chamber to be haunted. One need not be a house. The brain has corridors surpassing material place.

Emily Dickson.

A note: this is based on an actual happening in 1993 in Lincolnshire, England whilst driving back to shared theatrical digs after a performance of ‘Sarah’s Emma After Jane’ produced by Great Eastern Stage Theatre Company. Both myself, and my awake passenger witnessed the happening independently of each other, and we were both witness to its almost immediate disappearance. Occasionally we bump into one another, and we always exclaim ‘Do you remember … ?’ and we both know to what we are referring …

We ask only to be reassured about the noises in the cellar and the window that should not have been open.

from: The Family Reunion by T.S. Eliot

THE END … or is it?