Trisentona

The Triple Goddess

The prehistoric people of Britain believed that rivers were a representation of the feminine divine and that each river was a manifestation of a goddess. Croxall Lakes, near Alrewas, marks the triple confluence of three rivers: the Tame, the Mease and the Trent. The goddess at this spiritual place was known as Trisentona, the thrice beloved.

Over the millennia, this was shortened to Trent.

To mark this site of spiritual significance in the landscape, we commissioned the creation of a stunning sculpture. Carved in Portland Stone by artists Miranda Wakeman and Geraint Lloyd of Amerton Arts, the sculpture has three faces to represent the three rivers.  Each of the faces has the footprint of one of the three main monuments from the Catholme Ceremonial Complex represented on their forehead.

The swan feather cloak represents the connection with tales of the swan maiden, stories so old they predate any language spoken today.

On her breast is carved a bird’s eye view of the river system and the confluence at Croxall.

The river goddess sculpture was unveiled by Dawn Jutton, Staffordshire Poet Laureate, in March 2024. The unveiling included a reading of an original poem that Dawn had written for the creation.

Trisentone
by Dawn Jutton

Ahead, low arches cradle the Tame
rushing to meet the Mease and Trent
its trusses stained with the tide-marks of swell.

A single upright bramble stands in thorny defiance
against smooth columns of concrete;
nature’s David in the Goliath of progress,

so we turn our backs to the river
search for a place of safety
to lick our urban wounds,

curl ourselves in cotton white nests
and quiet willow hides,
listen to Trisentone whisper:

have you ever seen an electric blue pulse unzip
a river over washlands and in a dragon’s breath
ferment it iridescent green

or a willow’s restless fingers
still impatient water
just for the thrill of it

have you ever played marsh chess
with a heron while white-billed coots
play pick-up-sticks?

She warns us the rivers aren’t breathing, they’re drowning,
reminds us choices we make today hang over tomorrow
in riverbeds cracked and dry as a morning-after mouth