Tag Archives: The Hidden Treasure of Glaston

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Hidden Treasure of Glaston,’ by Eleanore M. Jewett

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I was a teenager when I read The Hidden Treasure of Glaston, by Eleanore M. Jewett. I remember enjoying it quite a lot. I re-read it now as part of my research for my Haakon book, and am delighted to report that it holds up pretty well.

The book is set in England in the 12th Century. The hero is a teenaged boy named Hugh, son of a disgraced nobleman. On his way into exile, Hugh’s father leaves him with the monks at Glastonbury Abbey, as the boy was born lame and can never hope to be a knight.

Hugh is bereft at first, but soon finds that the monks are kindly – especially Brother John, the librarian, who begins teaching him the work of a scribe, for which he proves to have an aptitude. He also finds a friend, Dickon, an oblate (a boy given to the monastery by his parents), who swears him to blood brotherhood and shows him his secrets – the hidden passages under the monastery that he has found, and his “treasures,” ecclesiastical items left behind in the passages when they were being used for shelter and escape from Viking attacks in the old days.

They also meet Bleheris, an old hermit who tells them stories of the legends of Glastonbury – of King Arthur and the Holy Grail. His great dream is to find the Grail himself.

What Hugh does not tell the old man is that among Dickon’s treasures he has found lost pages from an incomplete history of the Grail that is one of the abbey’s treasures. The boys’ adventures will lead them to the discovery of Arthur’s grave, to the king’s court, through fire, and finally to miracles.

The Hidden Treasure of Glaston was published in 1946. I’m not sure if they knew back then, as they do now, that the name of Joseph of Arimathea was never associated with Glastonbury before the time when this story is set. But if you’re just looking for a fun story, a medieval adventure meant (especially) for boys, uncontaminated by Game of Thrones cynicism and perversion (and with Christian values), The Hidden Treasure of Glaston works pretty well. The view of God is more Catholic than Protestant, but not in a way to put Protestants off greatly.

I liked it a lot, and recommend it.

Reading, Religion, Writing

Chronicle of a writer’s day

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“Daffodils and Glastonbury Tor.” Photo credit: Glastomichelle. Wikimedia Commons, Creative Commons license.

What’s on tonight? Hey, how about a pointless account of my day? What could be more fun than that?

Last night my men’s Bible study group re-convened after several weeks of preemptions. I continue to be astonished how much these meetings nourish and uplift me. I feel an actual physical easing. I’ve been a solitary for so many years, getting by without close Christian fellowship. I knew that was the wrong way to do it, but I was hemmed in by… well, fear, to be honest.

I don’t think these guys will ever realize what they’re doing for me.

This morning I drove to the gym, and while I was inside, beavering away at my Sysiphian labors, a freezing rain came down, which covered my car windows in a matrix of icy pearls and made the road treacherous going home.

I worried about driving this afternoon, as I had a doctor’s appointment. But by the time I had to pull out again, the moisture had all melted and (mostly) dried off. I was able to reassure a technician, who took samples of my blood, on that point.

(No big deal on the doctor’s appointment, by the way. I wanted him to check something out, and he ordered tests, but didn’t seem greatly concerned. This stuff is just S.O.P. when you achieve venerability.)

Right now I’m re-reading two different books I read as a teenager, both of which deal with medieval Glastonbury. Because I’m writing a book about King Haakon the Good, and he grew up in England, and there’s good reason to think he might have spent time at that ancient site of monasticism and pilgrimage.

The first book is The Hidden Treasure of Glaston, by Eleanore M. Jewett. This is a book aimed at teenagers, and I remember that it surprised me when I read it (as a teenager), since I had known nothing about Glastonbury or the grave of King Arthur up to then. So far, I think it stands up pretty well. Entirely credulous about the legends, but well done withal. I’ll review it when I finish it.

The other book is Avalon, by Anya Seton, which I’ll also review. I read this as a Reader’s Digest Condensed Book (remember those?) back when it was new. It was quite a thrill for me, back in 1965 or 66, to discover any novel involving Vikings. I’m enjoying this book too, though I detect some historical errors. It’s set slightly before my Erling books.

What do I envy most in other historical writers’ works? The ability to describe geography, plants, and wildlife. I struggle with that stuff. “What kind of flowers would be blooming in an English marsh in Somerset in April, 980 AD, and how would they smell?” Would it be the same varieties they have now? How much have things changed in a thousand years? How much guessing do the authors do? Sigrid Undset was great at that stuff, but she was an amateur expert in botany.

What comforts me most? Finding mistakes. If successful novelists can screw up on details, maybe I can get away with a few howlers too. Because I know they’re there, like Communists under the beds (who were also actually there, as it happened).