My companion and I were tired and dusty. We had been riding for nine hours, and the sight of the green, peaceful valley below us was something to give our hearts a lift.
We rode down to the Boys’ Inn at Thule, and two boys immediately appeared to take care of our horses. It was a warm day, and they were just wearing short pants. They looked to be around nineteen years old, and were very appealing. We liked them immediately (Joe and Paul) and so did our horses, who went happily to be watered, fed, and combed.
That done, we went to the front door and opened it, only to be greeted by a crowd of handsome young men, two of whom led us off to the showers.
The two boys stripped down to linen underwear and joined us in the shower, making sure that soap and shampoo were abundantly employed. The dust and fatigue of the day began to disappear as we finally rinsed the last of the dirt off. The boys towelled us well, and then led us off to the massage rooms, where our aching muscles were treated with loving care.
Now feeling like new men, we were taken to our rooms and told to enjoy a thirty-minute rest. Ah! The pleasure of that rest, compared to our long and dusty ride!
A knock at the door told us it was time to dress and join the others at the bar, where delicious white wine was freely offered. We chatted with the boys (perhaps twenty or thirty, all appealing) and the other guests, and then two of the boys took our hands and led us to the dining room.
The dining room was nice, and there was no menu. We were served roast chicken and potatoes, with a cool salad and more of the superb white wine --- simple and delicious food, topped off with a superb berry pie.
Then we were led back to the bar, where the happy conversations continued until sleep began to beckon us. I was chatting with a very nice boy named Theophilus, and asked him if he could come and sleep with me for an hour or so. He gave me a big smile, and I understood that he wanted this just as much as I did.
We managed to love one another and slake our appetites, and I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
At nine o’clock the next morning, there was a knock on my door with the message: “Morning chapel.” I dressed and went downstairs, only to discover that this Boys’ Inn had its own chapel, and that everyone in the inn was a religious Christian. The service began with a choir singing, “When at night I go to sleep,” and continued with a strong message that God is Love.
Then, alas, I woke up.
The Boys' Inn at Thule
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Rogie
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Re: The Boys' Inn at Thule
Interesting to learn Thule has been variously thought to be Norway, northern Britain, Iceland, Greenland . . . maybe more.
I was already imagining Thule as something akin to a never neverland when this Poe poem caught my eye:
Dreamland
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule-
From a wild clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE- out of TIME.
Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,
With forms that no man can discover
For the tears that drip all over;
Mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore;
Seas that restlessly aspire,
Surging, unto skies of fire;
Lakes that endlessly outspread
Their lone waters- lone and dead,-
Their still waters- still and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily.
By the lakes that thus outspread
Their lone waters, lone and dead,-
Their sad waters, sad and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily,-
By the mountains- near the river
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,-
By the grey woods,- by the swamp
Where the toad and the newt encamp-
By the dismal tarns and pools
Where dwell the Ghouls,-
By each spot the most unholy-
In each nook most melancholy-
There the traveller meets aghast
Sheeted Memories of the Past-
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by-
White-robed forms of friends long given,
In agony, to the Earth- and Heaven.
For the heart whose woes are legion
'Tis a peaceful, soothing region-
For the spirit that walks in shadow
'Tis- oh, 'tis an Eldorado!
But the traveller, travelling through it,
May not- dare not openly view it!
Never its mysteries are exposed
To the weak human eye unclosed;
So wills its King, who hath forbid
The uplifting of the fringed lid;
And thus the sad Soul that here passes
Beholds it but through darkened glasses.
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have wandered home but newly
From this ultimate dim Thule.
Edgar Allan Poe
I was already imagining Thule as something akin to a never neverland when this Poe poem caught my eye:
Dreamland
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule-
From a wild clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE- out of TIME.
Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,
With forms that no man can discover
For the tears that drip all over;
Mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore;
Seas that restlessly aspire,
Surging, unto skies of fire;
Lakes that endlessly outspread
Their lone waters- lone and dead,-
Their still waters- still and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily.
By the lakes that thus outspread
Their lone waters, lone and dead,-
Their sad waters, sad and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily,-
By the mountains- near the river
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,-
By the grey woods,- by the swamp
Where the toad and the newt encamp-
By the dismal tarns and pools
Where dwell the Ghouls,-
By each spot the most unholy-
In each nook most melancholy-
There the traveller meets aghast
Sheeted Memories of the Past-
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by-
White-robed forms of friends long given,
In agony, to the Earth- and Heaven.
For the heart whose woes are legion
'Tis a peaceful, soothing region-
For the spirit that walks in shadow
'Tis- oh, 'tis an Eldorado!
But the traveller, travelling through it,
May not- dare not openly view it!
Never its mysteries are exposed
To the weak human eye unclosed;
So wills its King, who hath forbid
The uplifting of the fringed lid;
And thus the sad Soul that here passes
Beholds it but through darkened glasses.
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have wandered home but newly
From this ultimate dim Thule.
Edgar Allan Poe