I don’t waste much time on ghosties and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night. I get frustrated with those at the Inkwell (Creative Writing Forum) who seem to only write fantasy. It seems any piece I open currently has to contain a vampire or zombie. I have opined this to be laziness on the part of the author(s); ducking the need to make anything real or believable.
I have no belief in anything religious or metaphysical. My regular readers will know, there are several starkly atheistic posts within this blog.
Folklore is not a subject that has challenged my mind much. It has occurred to me however, over the last week or so, that this is a blinkered approach. Britain has a rich and varied folklore, inherited over thousands of years, that informs our national character and outlook. I doubt King Arthur or Robin Hood ever took breath, but I know their tales like the back of my hand, and so, I’d wager, do my peers. That’s a bond of sorts.
I rarely find cause for pride in “Britain’s” activities in the world, but I still have a kinship with my fellow countrymen. I will not be chasing faeries down the garden any time soon, but I have to accept that faeries form part of our history, albeit imagined history. And maybe, that is it imagined, doesn’t really matter anyway. The important distiction is that sufficient of our forebears felt the need to pass this material on to the next generation and so it lives with us.