I first read some of Geoffrey Ashe's Arthurian books in the early days of my spiritual researching. They were not exactly spiritual books but there was an overlap because the Arthurian mythos taps into a deep level of the psyche where imagination, legend and spiritual exploration all meet up and feed off each other. The Arthurian stories are an entrance into a world of myth and magic, part pagan but with a strong Christian underpinning. The connection with Atlantis cannot be ignored either. Merlin and the Lady of the Lake both have a relationship with that drowned world which reached great spiritual heights before collapsing in hubris and wickedness.
I had long loved the Arthurian tales as any right-minded person from the British Isles or its diaspora should do. I was introduced to them through a vividly illustrated children's version with medieval knights fighting each other before courting beautiful maidens, and then gravitated to the Roger Lancelyn Green version which is a classic of its kind. Thus, when I encountered Geoffrey Ashe's work which tried to put it all in historical context I was interested to learn what he had discovered about the period. Then I went to India and my interests shifted direction for a while, but when I returned to England I lived for a while in Sherborne in Dorset, and that is only 6 miles from Cadbury Castle, the Iron Age hill fort that some identify as the site of Camelot. I visited Cadbury and let my imagination wander, and thenceforth I was reconnected with the Arthurian world.
I had been to Glastonbury a couple of times in the '70s but in 1987 I went for another visit. I visited the Tor, which has never really spoken to me, Chalice Well which has, and the Abbey which does most of all. Then I went to a tea shop, that bastion of Englishness which has now almost disappeared, for a cup of tea and a slice of homemade cake before wandering up the High Street and into a bookshop for a browse in the richly stocked (it was Glastonbury) metaphysical section. I had my nose deep in some tome which, oddly enough, I remember as a Gareth Knight book, when what seemed to me to be a rather elderly man came in and began browsing next to me. He saw what I was looking at and said "Ah, yes, that's good", or words to that effect, and I nodded my appreciation. He then moved over to the cash desk to buy a couple of books. The cashier addressed him as Geoffrey and he departed. When I bought my book I somehow knew that this person was somebody so I asked the cashier who he was. "That was Geoffrey Ashe", he said.
I didn't regret not talking to him some more. First of all, I had nothing to say, and secondly it must be annoying to be buttonholed by strangers. But I was intrigued that someone like Geoffrey Ashe would still be buying books like an ordinary person. I know that's ridiculous. Writers are first and foremost readers, but it was somehow reassuring to know that a proper author would still behave like the humble folk and retain the same passions and enthusiasms. He was only in his mid 60s then but seemed older to my relatively youthful self. Some might call this a missed opportunity but I saw it as a chance encounter made more interesting by its sheer everydayness.