The Wild Horse of Antrobus

In Antrobus, where the mist settles like memory and the fields remember footsteps long vanished, the Wild Horse still dances. Each All Souls’ Eve, under lantern light and ancestral eyes, a village becomes a stage for ancient echoes—of spirits, soul cakes, and clacking jaws that blur the line between jest and invocation. In this Cheshire hamlet, the mummers’ play is more than performance; it’s a rite, stitched from Celtic myth and Christian masks, with the Wild Horse at its heart—a beast of wood and will that rears not only for show, but for the souls.