- published: 26 Dec 2015
- views: 15269
Coordinates: 53°40′59″N 1°50′24″W / 53.683°N 1.840°W / 53.683; -1.840
Elland is a market town in Calderdale, in the county of West Yorkshire, England, south of Halifax, by the River Calder and the Calder and Hebble Navigation. The area of Elland was called Elant in the Domesday Book. The town's name is derived from Old English meaning 'land by the water, river or land partly or wholly surrounded by water'. It had a population in United Kingdom Census 2001 of 14,554.
Mentioned in the 1086 Domesday Book as Elant, Elland was a centre of wool production. The decline of the woollen industry had a significant effect on the town, with many of the mills having been demolished or converted to residence.
Elland is one of the relatively few cases retaining continuity of tenure from before the Norman Conquest into the Middle Ages, as the Elland family were, in origin, Anglo-Saxon thegns. The Manor of Elland, with Greetland and Southowram, forms an island of the Honour of Pontefract in the surrounding Manor of Wakefield. In 1350 Sir John de Eland was murdered, as was his son in the following year, which extinguished the family in the male line and the Manor of Elland passed into the hands of the Savile family. From this period, the manor house ceased to be the principal dwelling of a gentry family, as the Saviles had their seat at the moated manor of Thornhill. Elland manor house was therefore never completely reconstructed and, when it was dismantled and excavated in 1975 by the West Yorkshire Archaeology Unit, it was found to incorporate a 13th century solar wing – one of the earliest secular buildings in the county. The manor house stood on a knoll aligned with the bridge over the River Calder and was destroyed during the construction of Calderdale Way bypass. The farm buildings, however, survive.
Rain the rains of a lost angel's day.
Her face washed over and over, again and
again;
Tears of sadness, tears of pain coloured red:
Our love dissolved by lacerating drops of
insanity,
Our unity, creating universes:
An opened circle, broken symbol.
The rains of Saturn are falling in my heart,
As tears of melancholy breed infinite dreams,
And the watery star pours its light into me.
The melopoea of the birds,
Musical death of paradise,
Altered the moving of the spheres.
The magic of their voices awakens
The nostalgy of the place out of reach
We visioned in a dream.
But the dark is drawing in their beauty,
And for them I would steal the light
From the glorious fountain of day...
Were I to be what I longed to be.
Under a crimson sky,
I open my wounds, I am the chalice
I offer up the ruby wine of the Sun,
And golden dust studs my mystical face.
Drain me to the dregs, you, Keepers of Truth,
You, Guardians of Beauty!
The birds of dawn cry the departure of light,
(the anthem of a fading sun)
The swans, weeping on the lake, glide in harmony
With the swaying of the sinful waves.
Fly the doves, bewitched by the fragrance of
my thoughts
For I am the sea of dreary tears
And not the foam seeking shelter on heavenly
shores.
As the birds vanish and pervade the azure
pure, They hide the sun with their enshadowed
wings.
Dolorem nostram tulit,
All my crying, the fears, the grieves, the pains,
Supplicium nostrum fert.
The hurting tears on the shores of time.
Dolorem nostram tulit,
The flowers of mercy they have given to me
Supplicium nostrum fert.
Cannot satisfy all my sorrow and pain.
Ab omnibus despectus,
Aeterno repudiatus,
Es angelus curarum,
Tristitia adfectus,
Fers luctum atque curam.
The birds of dawn.
Their chant resounds in me
As howling voices echoed under a vault
In the cathedral of sorrows and mysteries
Their death has built within my self.