01/08/2026
I took the boys to Wookey Hole for their birthday. I’d never been before.
Everyone else seemed to be looking.
All I wanted to do was sing.
It was the silence. The acoustics. The reverence. The depth. Every chamber felt as though it was waiting for a voice. Not to fill it, but to become part of it.
It’s interesting that my first instinct wasn’t to take a photograph or read the information boards. It was to sing. To sing with the people who came before me. To imagine cave bears, hyenas, the first humans, all sharing this same space across unimaginable time.
Hundreds of millions of years in the making, and for a few minutes, my voice became another echo in the story.
I found myself singing:
Deep into the earth I go.
Deep into the earth I go.
Hold my hand, brother.
Hold my hand.
It didn’t feel like a performance. It felt like remembering something I didn’t know I’d forgotten.
For a moment, I wasn’t just visiting a cave. I was sharing breath with a place that has witnessed millions of years of life, loss, fear, wonder and belonging. My voice disappeared into the rock, and somehow that felt exactly right.
