The Crest Quest - Chapter 1: The Ring has Awoken

I have a distinct memory of my mother’s signet ring throughout my childhood. It’s lustrous

gold band was crowned with a beautiful blue stone, flattened on one face and engraved with

the head of a creature I didn’t recognise, double-horned with it’s mouth agape. Tufted ears

sprang up from the side of it’s head and a lolling tongue snaked from it’s mouth, serrated with

pointed teeth. A heavy metal band circled the neck, tethered by a delicate chain and below it,

three curled tufts sat poised on a thick, twisted band of material.

It had a mythical quality to it, reminiscent of the jewellery worn by Geneviève Page in El Cid

(1961), a movie I remember watching on a rainy Sunday afternoon when I was too young to

understand the narrative but completely drawn in to the extravagant costumes, legendary

heroism and dramatic dialogue. It’s preciousness was apparent in the fact that she wore it

every day and galvanised one fateful day, when the ring was lost whilst we constructed dens

as a family in nearby woodland. We searched and searched but it was no good, the ring was

gone and the mystery of it was sealed in my mind, secretly tucked away in the safety of my

memories. It’s no wonder that The Hobbit was my favourite story as a child.

The ring made itself known to me from time to time, in old photographs, the occasional

conversation overheard and at least once in a dream; the memory of that day in the woods

becoming more elaborate with every retelling. As I got older and teenage exploits took centre

stage in my world view, thoughts of the little ring and it’s magical engraved creature

dwindled, much like Isildur’s ring, sitting quietly on the bottom of the River Anduin. In my

late teens I was lucky enough to meet my soulmate and in our early twenties we decided that

spending the rest of our lives together sounded like a pretty good deal, especially as we had

been blessed with life’s greatest surprise. We excitedly made all the necessary preparations,

many as there were, and then one day my father came to me with the most unusual question... “Has Hollie decided what stone she will have in her ring?”

The only wedding-related rings that I knew had stones in them were engagement rings and

clearly Hollie already had one of those. The wedding bands themselves had already been

procured and were safely in the hands of the Best Man; we wouldn’t see them again until the

day itself and, although Hollie’s did have a delicate row of diamonds running across it, the

question still confused me. My mask of incomprehension made him laugh and he clarified,

“For her signet ring!”

Prowse signet ring

The river bed had been stirred. An ancient image of my mother’s ring swirled in the murky waters of my oldest memories and a cursory streak of light illuminated it’s long-forgotten surface. My father continued to explain that brides marrying into the family are traditionally given a signet ring by my Grandmother bearing our family crest (as opposed to our Coat of Arms, of which I was quite familiar) and that each recipient should choose her own stone into which the engraving would be made. My mother had chosen Lapis Lazuli, a deep-blue metamorphic rock, prized since antiquity for it’s intense colour. In one unexpected moment, the significance of the ring and what it symbolised became clear to me. My bride-to-be enjoyed my excitement immensely as I recounted the conversation and she set about choosing her stone. Being of dual-heritage, Hollie’s half-Indian genetics have given her the most beautiful golden-green eyes and after much deliberation, she chose Tiger’s Eye. The ring was made and consequently presented to Hollie, as per the tradition, on our Wedding Day.

I marvelled at it. That mystical symbol calling to me again, whispering through those

acuminate teeth. For the first time in adulthood I asked myself, What is that creature? The

horns indicated something bovidae and, for me, their linear nature pointed straight to

antelope. My mother and father didn’t know for sure so I asked my older brother (the

academic amongst my siblings) but his answer more mythological than I wanted. “It’s a

Bicorn,” he declared, with absolute certainty. To clarify, a Bicorn is a fantastical creature -

part panther, part cow, with a human-like face that devours kind-hearted and devoted

husbands. Being newly wed myself and entirely devoted, I didn’t like the sound of that. It

also sounded like the strangest gift to bestow upon a bride joining the family, so decided to

disregard his suggestion. Realising that this was of genuine interest, my father mentioned that

my cousin had asked a similar question of my Grandmother and proposed that she might be

able to offer some insight. I felt like there should have been a clearer answer, why didn’t

anyone know exactly what this creature was? There was something about the tufted face, the

ruggedness of it, that didn’t fit with the idea of antelope.

I emailed my cousin and sure enough, she had asked my Grandmother the same question. It

was then that I learned of the blazon, the written description of a coat of arms and it’s accompanying crest, designed specifically (and ironically) to ensure clarity of communication

when talking about heraldry. It was pure poetry:

Sable, three lions, rampant, argent, a bordure gold.

With crest an ibex’s head, erased, sable, eared, armed, collared and lined gold.

Finally I had an answer. Lifting the ring out of those figuratively murky, swirling waters, I

saw it in a new light, with validation and context. The creature that had eluded me all this

time was an Ibex - or so I thought...

The Crest Quest had begun.

NB. To give you a sense of how this first piece of the puzzle made me feel, listen to a song

called ‘Evey Reborn’ by Dario Marianelli.