Capel-y-Ffin

Capel-y-Ffin - this translates to "chapel of the boundary" and indeed it is right on the border between Wales and England.  The little River Hondu runs along the valley bottom and Offa's Dyke still guards the boundaries between the two countries. It has long been one of my aims to walk a good stretch of it.

Apparently this little hamlet was the last Welsh-speaking community in this area.

The sculptor Eric Gill spent 4 years here, setting up a commune (I bet that upset the locals!) before deciding that the area was too remote - especially from London.  However, it had served its purpose as a rural retreat, and was not totally remote as the Doctor arrived on horseback once a week, and there was a postal delivery.  Other artists, including the poet and painter David Jones.  Perhaps the serenity of the area, and its religious roots back to the 12th century, gave the area an ambiance which drew in sensitive people.  It is not hard to imagine them dining by the light of oil lamps, clad against the cold in Trench Coats.  The Gill women folk wove clothing and the only water supply was the River Hondu itself.  See HERE for the source of these facts.


The curate-writer the Rev. Francis Kilvert also loved this place and regularly walked here from his home in Clyro (9 miles to the West).  He said it reminded him of an owl.  The interior is small - about 26 feet x 13 feet, although it does have stairs and an upper gallery.

I hope you are able to read this piece about Kilvert, though it's looking dodgy this end!!!

I loved this teddy family on top of the organ - obviously a very family-orientated chapel.

This little mouse on the top of the font, was carved - I assume - by Robert "Mouseman" Thompson, a British furniture maker from Yorkshire.  The mouse was his signature on each piece he made. Apparently the first mouse came about following a conversation he had where the expression "as poor as a church mouse" was used, when he was carving a cornice on a screen for a church.  He added a wee mouse, and the rest, as they say, is history.

There are always flowers in the chapel - usually a little bouquet of wild flowers.  The light was against me in this photo but I am sure you get the idea.

And some more, against a better backdrop.

A beautiful East-facing window inscribed with Psalm 121, which I had read at my mother's funeral, inspired by this view and mum's family connections in the Welsh mining valleys.

Date on an old pew right at the back.

A plaque on the wall outside the chapel, in memory of Jane P?? who died February 27th 17(7?)96 aged 84.

A quiet corner of the churchyard.

A simple gravestone for Charlie Stoner, Carpenter, who died in 1935.  I like that he was remembered for his trade and I think he must have been very good at his trade.

I love the flowers and motifs carved on this 18th C headstone.

The remains of an early preaching cross in the churchyard.

Out along the tiny narrow lane (with passing places) under a tunnel of trees and that back out onto the mountainside and beautiful views again.  A lovely lovely day.

The ponies of Hay Bluff

Once upon a time, there were indiginous kosher Welsh Mountain ponies grazing the Welsh mountains.  Not any more.  I think there was a spell when everything looked half-Shetland.  Now, looking at these mares, I can see very scaled-down shires in their ancestry.  Some Welsh blood too, but they are raw boned, with upright shoulders and LOTS of feather and the mare at the back has Blagdon markings, which say heavy horse ancestry.  No pretty heads with pint-pot muzzles either . . .

A close-up of the mini-Shire.

Another mare of the same sort, perhaps related.

One of two gypsy cob stallions running with these mares.  Lots of feather and cart ancestry there.

Here's the other stallion, with a better sort of proper Section A mare, heavily in foal.

He was quite a nice chap really, seemed quite friendly, and better-made than the other piebald stallion. He was a bit over-protective of his mare though, and drove her away from the other little herd, not giving her any peace, poor lass.

He even posed for me, standing in true show-ring stance, to show me what a lovely boy he was!  So many of these sorts are roach-backed with weak hindquarters, so he was an improvement on most.  He was a goodish example of a gypsy cob to my mind, but for driving rather than riding with that upright shoulder.

A Welsh Mountain colt here, 2 year old I think, with a belly full of worms and no back end.

Another piebald mare and her colt-foal.

Another coloured mare who was part of this same herd.  She was a sweetie - a sort of blue-dun skewbald - and her new-born colt-foal looked like it had "Irish eyes" - put in with smutty fingers!

This foal, also a colt, but a bit older than the others, had obviously met people before, and was very friendly, but also very nippy and nipped my thigh at one point.  I began to walk back to our car (where he had already been for a recce, putting his head right inside through the open door to see if any grub was on offer!)

He really liked people and wouldn't back off!

When I got back in the car, he began to chomp the mirror attachment!

Then he tried the rubber round the back window, and it reminded me of a Safari park, when the monkeys come along and climb all over the car, ripping bits off!  Well, this one was a little monkey alright, and we drove away whilst we still had our car intact!

It was lovely to be around ponies again though - I could just hear my dad's voice, saying I was off pony-chasing again . . .

Hay Bluff last Friday

On recent visits to Hay-on-Wye, we have been too stretched for time to go and picnic up on Hay Bluff, but last Friday, after we had finished our business in Brecon, we set off to make the most of the lovely summer's day, and have a picnic with a view.

We parked on the grass - although there is a car park of sorts, with stones laid down, but we don't care to be cheek-by-jowel and there was only one other car on the stretch we parked on.  As you can see, the views are stupendous, and it wasn't long before I was tempted out with my camera.

Sheep and ponies featured in the landscape too, but it must have been pretty hot for the sheep (even though they had recently been shorn).  One or two were keeping cool in a deep gully which wound across the top.

Had we the energy, we could have climbed right to the top, but another time perhaps . . .  Although there were some people strolling across the bit we were parked on, no-one seemed drawn to venture higher, but it was a pretty hot day . . .  It must have been 75 deg. or so when we were in Hay-on-Wye later.

Pen-y-Fan in the distance.

It makes a change to see a ploughed field.  We are mainly arable around here, and no cereals grown (too much rain!)

Ponies in the landscape.  Not so much the indiginous Welsh Mountain pony (which are never coloured, like these two), but scrub mares who may have a few Welsh Mountain genes and a lot of other ones too.  I will do a separate post on them.

Then we drove on to Capel-y-Ffin . . .

Hay Bluff

The new header is the view from Hay Bluff, where we had a picnic lunch last Friday.  More photos later, but we have been car booting today and it's been a long day and I think I had better rustle up some food pretty soon.

Back later.

When it rains . . .

"They" had forecast rain for today, and for once "they" got it right.  Not the pelting, slanted-across-the-landscape, streaming down the windowpane type rain we get so often here in Wales, but the soft gentle drizzle which nourishes plants and soon persuades outside cats that they would rather be inside cats!  Which is why I have a happy little Banshee cat on my lap, and the good news is that her left eye is healing well. When I told the vet that it seemed to be clearing from the side, she said that was definitely the result of a trauma (as indeed the other eye had been, since we saw that happen.)

Anyway, the wind is beginning to get up a little now, combing breezy fingers through the apple leaves and making the baby apples, flushes with summer sun, jiggle and dance.  My main rambler roses have gone over and their pale pink blossoms, faded through white, are now withered to a dirty brown.  I dead-headed some yesterday but need to get out there when it's drier to finish the job.  

(Tess of the D'Urbervilles is now in full bloom.)

Today I have been ironing and mending, and catching up on the 2002 dramatisation of The Forsyte Sage which has been showing on Sky recently.  I have now watched 1 - 3 and it is well done - just as well done as it was the first time.  I should love to re-read the book again but I already have a stack of books to work my way through.  Bed-time reading is Currently Sebastian Faulke's  "Charlotte Grey", set in a France torn apart by WWII.  Downstairs I have several on the go, and no time to do justice to any of them.

I have been trying to remember the wet days of my childhood, but for some reason not many have stuck in my head.  I remember that we usually went swimming during the winter months, rather than riding, because the weather was generally not conducive to the latter.  I was useless swimmer, but always accompanied my friends because it meant stopping at the Museum on the way, every Saturday morning, and I loved the Museum.  I can remember one room made up as a Victorian parlour, complete with a stuffed dog on the hearth (Dachshund I think), a large Aspidestra in an equally large pot, and gloomy wooden panelling.  

I remember only ONE wet day at the riding school, when I was riding a lovely fleabitten grey mare called Twilight.  She was fed up with the weather, and wanting to turn her tail into the rain (as horses always do).  The rain had darkened her neck and first flattened her fine mane and then it developed a little wave, as it dried a little.  The Drove (where we could trot and sometimes cantered towards the end) led to "Rhodies" - a gravel trackway hemmed in by purple rhododendrons all the way.  Usually considered too hard a surface for cantering.  Little bay Robin, on working loan to the stables, had come from a cottage along here.  We rode past the Mad Cat Lady's cottage under the pine trees along Loperwood Lane, near Tatchbury Mount  (so Mad Cat Women are not a new invention).  She must have had about 40 cats, and none of them neutered, as there were always more cats and kittens.  We imagined the smell inside, with all those tom cats, and held our noses as we rode past!  

We cantered along Golden Gutter, gobbets of sandy mud being thrown up in our wake and the rain making us close our eyes.  I was hoping that Twilight wasn't doing the same!  We cantered again along the sandy track across the heath, made deep by the regular passage of hour long hacks from the stables.  Under the pines at Copythorne we stopped and sheltered for a while, the ponies having a good shake to make themselves more comfortable.

I've just been looking it up on the Google earth map.  Copythorne wasn't actually Copythorne (just in the general direction) and was actually Barrow Hill.  It looks so CLOSE to the stables too - it was probably 2 miles or so each way.  It seemed to take forever . . .  I was about 11 when I was on that ride.  51 years ago.  My gosh, it seems like yesterday . . .

Back to walking again

Yesterday I deemed that the pollen levels had fallen sufficiently for me to begin walking again.  Most of the hay/haylage has been cut round here and grasses gone to seed.  So I set out along by the river, soon regretting that I had a thin 3/4 sleeved top on and not the flimsiest of t-shirts.  Here is Common Cow-wheat which grows prolifically on the riverside bank.

The river is low at present, after the long dry spell.  The clearing of a tree etc is proof that our neighbours finally have electricity in their house, after relying on a generator for 30 years or more now.  I imagine life will be much easier for them now, especially come winter.

You can barely see that there was once a wee cottage here, it is so overwhelmed by moss and undergrowth.

Where the road meets the bank and verge, Creeping Jenny tumbles down.  Its other common names include Moneywort and Herb Tuppence (love that one).  This plant contains a number of Phenolic acids, and was used in the past for healing wounds.  Some herbalists use it for treating gout.

Now I am feeling better and my body is responding well to the change of medication, I am giving it a few challenges again.  This is a long steep hill, and although I knew I would be stopping a few times climbing it, I have to say it was my legs stopping me rather than my breathing, although obviously that was challenged too.

Looking up the valley towards Llanfynydd.  I think that's Pantglas Home Farm top right.

One of the spectacular Copper Beeches planted along our valley.

Looking across the Towy Valley with Grongar Hill top right.  The local poet John Dyer, who was born just up the road in Llanfynydd around the turn of the 1600s, his father being a very successful solicitor in the village.  A growing family (6 children) called for a larger dwelling and the Dyers moved to Aberglasney which is about 5 miles away by road and now a garden open to the public (I'm going there on Thursday morning in fact).  After his father's death in 1720, Primogeniture passed the Dyer estate and holdings to his brother Robert and John was not even mentioned in the will.  Perhaps his father recognized that the dreamy impractical poet and artist was never going to make a successful career as a solicitor.  Indeed, he travelled to Italy and spent 18 happy months there before returning to Aberglasney, where his estrangment from his brother sent him onwards to London.  He ultimately became an Anglican Deacon and the last years of his life were spent in Lincolnshire churches and he died in 1757 of a consumptive disorder.  Not too surprisingly, for Edward Thomas knew and loved this area so well, Thomas made a collection of Dyers' poems which were published in 1903.

Unfortunately the click of my camera upset the mares and foals and they were soon up and cantering across the field.

These brood mares are from the same stud where we bought our palomino Section A Merlin when we first arrived in Wales.  Gosh, he'd be 26 now . . .

Visiting mares at the TB stud next door.

Someone was keen to make friends.  She was such a poppet and it was lovely to have horsey cuddles again.

Rest Harrow on a bank top.  Normally you see this growing close to the coast and denoting poor soil.

A loop of the river much closer to the A40 end of the lane.

Meadowsweet ("Queen of the Meadow") and a tangle of brambles, nettles and goosegrass grow above the ditch at a field-margin.  The leaves of the Meadowsweet have an almond scent and it was once a strewing herb in Medieval halls.  A Modern Herbal says that it was one of 50 ingredients in a drink known as "Save" and mentioned in Chaucer's Knights Tale and was known as Medwort or Meadwort in the 14th Century, and its flowers used in wine and beer and I have more than a strong suspicion that it was the main constituant of Mead, beloved of the ancient heroes and drunk at Yeavering and other such halls before battle was undertaken (can you imagine the hangovers they must have had?!)  Traces of Meadowsweet pollen have also been found in the Beaker Folk Beakers which accompanied their burials.

Lastly, a very large caterpillar which was dawdling at the laneside near the river.  I put him back amongst the grass.  Anyone recognize him?