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Entering upon a world so different, so remote,

A world of seeming fantasy.

Time stopped, there was no world outside.
Even the air was strange
Essence of peace, cool, moisture-laden.
We were breaking this bond,
Strong bond, which held this world to itself

For so long.
Calm reigned here;

We could not speak,
Forgetting bleeding hands, cold-cramped bodies, bruised aching limbs.

Floor marble-white, pocked with fragile, tiny

Rim pools,
Exquisitely edged with crystal lace,

Delicately patterned tracery.

Walls iced in glistening flowstone,

Sparkling myriad crystals in the

Sharp darkness.
Gleaming pillars writhe upwards

Petrified serpents.

Small straw-like stalactites

Delicately tapered;
Alabaster organ pipes, intricately wrought,

Loosing pure crystal notes when brushed.
Here were majesty, grandeur, beauty.
Should we have entered
Into this place
Older than history?
Man is


Janet (Chadwick) Parker

Written by Barrie Parker's wife Janet in the mid sixties whilst she was active with the Eldon Pothole Club. A copy was rediscovered among photographs belonging to the late Alan Eaves.


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