Solstice Dawn at Kirk Carrion

Once upon a time in a land not so far away, but long, long ago – no, I mean, really long long ago. Longer than that. …. there was a Prince called Caryn who died and was cremated and his few remains placed in an urn  and the urn was placed on top of a hill and covered with a large cairn of stones. 
Over time the cairn disappeared under the grass but the idea that a Great Man had been buried on top of the hill remained and much later, Local Brigantes named the place Carreg Caryn.

In 1804, during the enclosure of Crossthwaite Common, a team of workmen were riving stones from the hilltop for making the walls of the new allotments and one man came upon a stone kist, and in the kist was an urn. He hugged the urn, thinking it contained treasure, and declared to anyone who could hear the “ It’s aa mine.” Unfortunately, on looking inside , he found the urn to contain only burnt bones and some dark material.

Lord Strathmore’s bailiff decided to protect the place and had an enclosing wall built and Scots pines planted
This is Kirkcarrion.
Pennine wayfarers will recognise it. It has fine views over Teesdale and Lunedale. It is said that if you were to spend the night in Kirkcarrion, you would spend it in the company of Caryn’s spectre.

Me and Superdawg visited Kirkcarion this morning for the witnessing of the dawn of the shortest day. From here, it gets lighter each day. The King is dead. And so is Prince Caryn. Long live the King but God rest Prince Caryn wherever he is.
It was very misty this morning. Quite spooky, in fact……..   oooer…….