As part of my residency for ART-efact in Oswestry this summer, I’ve been following the small, cloven prints of sheep, the millions of sheep that over centuries were herded out of Wales across the border, many of them to markets in Oswestry (and many more travelling on towards the cities).

Out exploring near Llanforda, on the southern edge of Oswestry (before I smashed my left elbow joint, which has rather dominated things) I picked up a fine, clean, circlet of wool.

It’s been sitting on my desk since, a nudge to research. For centuries, Oswestry was a Staple Town – a special designation enabling exclusive sale of wool cloth. So the drapers of Shrewsbury were obliged to ride the 18 risky miles to Oswestry to acquire their cloth. And were not infrequently assailed on the way by the notorious robbers of Nesscliffe, who lay in wait under this sandstone hill, with its woods and caves.

My beautiful circlet of wool has a small poem now.

STAPLE TOWN

From border fields, uncarded
crimped and clouded
wool loft sprung above June grass
one small strand of moss
still trapped in the creamy
fibres as when
the Shrewsbury Drapers rode
their eighteen miles to Oswestry