Above me the bare branches of
oak, beech and ash forming a crooked and bleak web-like roof beneath a stony
grey sky, and surrounding bare earth, all muddy, wet roots and rotting damp
leaves reminded me that we were in the midst of winter. Why then would I be choosing to plunge my
body into the icy waters of St Anthony’s Well on this rather unpromising and
uninviting day?
I wasn’t the only brave, or perhaps mad soul who had chosen to be metaphorically baptised by the Forest on this gloomy day, because this was a spot where
many people came to feel the refreshing exhilaration of the well, in addition
to experiencing it’s supposed healing powers and ancient mystery.
It was the first of
January 2026 and people came, both Forester and Outsider alike to be re-born,
refreshed and renewed by the ancient waters of the well. We weren’t the first of course, people had
been coming to this spot for centuries. Thought
to be build by the monks of what was once the nearby Flaxley Abbey, in the 18th
Century, though having been used for ritual purposes for hundreds, perhaps
thousands of years before. I wasn’t
there for the history though; I was there to wash off the old year and begin
the new cleansed and refreshed.
Refreshing was one word to use for the cool crisp waters
which lapped deceptively peacefully inside
the square stone pool, I girded myself with several deep breaths and hands
clenched together, prayer-like under my chin, as if calling on God for succour,
I summoned my courage and dunked myself up to the neck, holding myself in the
water and counting a minute before raising myself up, reborn into the cool,
damp air of the Forest. I beat a hasty
exit up the algae covered steps and quickly wrapped up in a fluffy dressing
gown, legs red raw, teeth chattering and shivering all over.
What a way to start the year, surrounded by the wonder of
nature however bleak it appeared at this time of year. The pain and discomfort
were worth it for the cleansing feeling experienced after a dip, and after
hastily and awkwardly drying and dressing myself under a dressing gown, I sat
with two friends and slowly began to thaw with the help of a hot tea and warming
chatter, watching whilst other brave pilgrims took their turn in the sacred
pool.
January 2026 was my fifth winter in the Forest of Dean, and
I was gradually becoming accustomed to the features of its seasons, landscape, flora
and fauna as the year rolled on. A wet and cool part of the country, especially
on the higher ground where I had made my home with my husband and four sons, but
enchanting and magical, mysterious and captivating as well. We were well compensated for its dampness and
cold by its beauty and abundance, and I looked forward to another year to
explore and learning about this unique place which was The Forest of Dean.
