Autumn Equinox is upon me. I am feeling the
closing in of the nights as the days shorten. I normally love autumn yet this
year I feel the receding light keenly and miss those days of bright sunshine. Although
there has been much late warm weather for which I am pretty grateful. Its
illicited some great river swims and one epic downriver float on an airbed with
my friend Hetti. I think of my cousin basking in Queensland, Australia and head
for somewhere far less exotic……Abergavenny in
Wales.
I love Wales, our nearest country neighbour
across the River Severn. As a child growing up I used to look across the waters
of the Severn Estuary from Clevedon to this place we always called Welsh Wales.
I liked the fact that another country was always in view, giving a sense that
there was somewhere that was different and maybe someone else looking back across
the water towards me. At Autumn Equinox I chose to go and explore a bit of
antiquity as I feel very drawn to castles this year. And then I trotted up a
couple of nearly-mountains for some stunning views.
After playing wacky races exiting the Severn
Bridge tolls I drove for Raglan Castle near Abergavenny missing the turning
spectacularly and cursing all the way back around. Raglan is a medieval castle
that is unusual for being constructed well beyond the heyday for castles with
works commencing in 1430. William Herbert, who had the concept in his mind, and
his wife Elizabeth who had the money to finance it, kicked off the project and
parts were added later to create the foundations of the grand ruin that stands
today. It was always destined to be a family home rather than a site of many exciting
battles and conflicts with knights marauding around the ramparts. However part
of the castle was used for a while as the local jail and an 11 week siege did
see the fall of the place eventually to the Roundheads in the 1500’s.
By all intents and purposes it was a grand manor
house really, designed to impress and influence those around them at the time,
which apparently it did. Although The Marquess himself was a Catholic man, he
was apparently amenable to all faiths and Protestants and Catholics worked
together in the castle. Much fine dining and music making must’ve taken place
in the Great Hall and you can see the remnants of the minstrel’s balcony where
they would’ve emerged to play to the assembled guests. Some of stone carving in
the windows is believed to have been done by cathedral-standard stone masons
from the West Country. A well-connected lot this bunch. Apparently visiting
Bards were given fine lodgings the same as any other visiting person of higher
status. One theory suggests that if the Bards were to be recounting tales of
Raglan’s hosts and their hospitality to future listeners, then the hosts would
wish these stories to be favourable, expounding their generosity and the
castle’s finery. The other theory is that Bards were revered as poetic chattels
of divine importance and deserved the best lodgings. You decide which is true.
King Charles the first is also known to have played boules on the adjoining
bowling green here. No-one knows if her won or not but I doubt anyone would
dare to beat the King!
I didn’t know a thing about Raglan before I
got there. I chose three places to explore partly due to proximity to my
campsite at Llanthony Priory. Raglan was
busy with visitors and therefore harder to tune into the feel of the place but
I enjoyed learning more if its history. I am useless with dates and names,
which may be an appalling reason to forget all your birthdays but a fairly good
reason to struggle to remember over 1000 years of recorded British history. But
I am trying! And a castle is a wonderful receptacle for placing a bit of
history and a good story. I am aware that this may seem a bit off piste, a bit
lateral to my mission of land based celebration, but autumn is the harvest time
and this castle is part of the kingdom that I call my land. For me autumn is
when I consider the foundations I have laid in my own life and therefore leads
me to feel a certain nostalgia for what has gone before on a personal level and
on a family level. I start to feel nostalgic for things I cannot even name. It
takes no great leap for me to add on the foundations our ancestors laid for
themselves and why and explode some myths about how I perceive previous
generations. So the marquess was Catholic, not a religion I have much time for.
Yet he tolerated and welcomed other religions in his household and by all
accounts seems to have valued the people residing around him and respected
their rights to their land. Much I am sure is lost in the mists of time. Yet it
reminds me not to generalize, or to pigeon hole people based on faith or wealth
or anything really. I hate to be compartmentalized myself. Let’s ditch the
labels and all just be people.
The White Castle sits down a little country
lane with a tiny car park and I gallantly arrive dragging an unfortunate
traffic cone I’ve whizzed over. I thinki from the hideous scraping noise that I
have a flat. An Australian woman with walking poles gesticulates wildly at my
tyre. I get out and laugh and return the mashed up cone to beneath the sign
nearby saying wedding. Oops.
“Are you here to collect me?” she asks. I
frown. Can’t imagine why I would be, I think and rack my brains as to whether
I’ve missed something.
“I’ve called my guest house”, she explains.
“I’ve walked from Mon Mouth”.
“Ooooh, great”, I say having no idea how
far that is but guessing it must be a reasonable distance and worthy of an oooh.
The White Castle has a long wooden bridge to
get in and adeep moat. Its very
attractive as castles go. It feels peaceful and no-one else is there. A few
cyclists come and go.
“What time does this place close?”, one
asks briskly.
Taxi pick-up, castle gate keeper…..I had no
idea I was so flexible in my personas.
“No idea!”, I reply, “but as there’s no
lock on the gate I guess anytime you like!”
They are doing some kind of mystery cycle tour
with quiz questions to prove they have made it to various historical sites. Not
sure my inconclusive response is proof of anything but they take off in their
lycra shorts at speed. Seems a shame they are missing seeing the castle
properly …..
I take lots of photos and waft about.
Whilst standing in a window pondering ancient history and how I would actually
quite like to live in a castle a man appears bearing a sword! What ho! This is
more like it. The man is in military uniform and I realise pretty quickly that it’s
a dress sword but we are in an ancient castle and its still very cool. Then his
bride wafts in with a floor length veil attached to her head and I just about
stop myself going, “Awwwwwww!”
Of course, the wedding is nearby, what a
great locale for atmospheric photographs. I stealthily take a couple from a
distance just because they look great. They leave me to my wanderings and I
explore all around and about. It turns out later that W.C was actually more of
a working castle, a military garrison, although it did have a chapel and a hall
and some of the usual trimmings. Funny how places so easily rest after humans
leave them be. It feels so tranquil here. Echoes of the past left behind maybe
but little else. There is a hill in West Cornwall I like to climb and a sign
board says that the peace of today belies the hard, noisy, dangerous place it was
to work when it was mined. Apparently the miners there were fearsome and tough,
yet today it is tranquil and affords great views although I am not sure many
people go up there. I did my first Vision Quest there. How times change. The
land remembers I think. Again, tiny echoes through time if maybe we can hear
them. Faint murmurs….
I head on and towards Llanthony Priory via
that ancient place….Aldi…. as I need snacks. I pitch up in a field below the
ruins. There are a surprising amount of campers here and next door, perhaps
everyone is glad of the late warm weather. I go up to the ruins and duck into
the cellar bar for a glass of red. I wander back out and turn to see the
windows of the old place glowing, with the adjoining ruins just still visible
in the gloaming. What a place for an evening stroll with a drink in hand. I
feel way posher than I really am sashaying through the arches and leaning on
the old stonework. I have looked up the term priory and what makes it different
from a monastery and got rather lost in church jargon. Its like a monastery
really. As they say in Nepal, same same but different. Llanthony was created by
two hermits who founded a church, gained followers and the place expanded. It
fell to ruin after the dissolutions of the monasteries in the early 16th
century but at least no-one was killed unlike the last unfortunate abbot of
Glastonbury Abbey. LP has a beautiful backdrop of hills and some very
photogenic horses to boot and I was most happy to be camped here.
I returned inside to treat myself to an
Abbot’s Casserole (gluten free, how exciting). I ended up sharing a table with
a couple who had just been fell running. 17 miles of fell running in a race. I
was impressed. Both were at least 10 years older than me. Good inspiration to
get fitter. We chatted walking, running and pubs and it was all very enjoyable.
I returned to my little tent (a freebie
discarded at Glastonbury in perfect nick). It is bedecked with duvet, two
pillows, thermarest, sleeping bag, blanket in a rather luxurious pile. I have a
chest infection and wondered if coming at all was wise. I get comfy and the
rain starts. Just a thin layer keeping me safe and dry from the elements. I
always feel so grateful in these moments for simple things. I love listening to
rain as I fall asleep. Its one of my favourite things ever.
I awake and flaff about for a bit. I pay a
farmer on a quad a stupidly small amount for a night’s camping and perch in my
boot nibbling humous and crackers. Everyone else seems to be cooking bacon. I
don’t have a stove but don’t really care. The cellar bar will open soon for a
mug of coffee so I’m sorted. My sister and two friends are coming over to join
me for my stomp soon, yet there is absolutely no signal here so I wonder if they
really are coming as they are a bit late. I flaff and puff a bit as I hate
waiting for people. I send some hilariously laborious texts from the phone box
nearby to try to make contact. I try to enjoy the sunshine. Eventually they
arrive and I am relieved. We head for Hay Bluff and get a route locked in.
The weather is all sunshine and rain, not
too much rain, but it does cause us to cower a couple of times. We make the
trig point at the top, its white with a red dragon emblazoned on it. The views
are fab. After papping a few photos we descend and huddle as the rain moves in
in bands. We can see when the next patch is coming marching over the valley. Sy
giggles and cracks open his pasta lunch. My sister hands out chocolates and we
nibble away and sit the rain out for a bit. Apparently when it is clear here
you can see nine counties. Pretty impressive.
When we get moving again it eases off and
that’s it as we make a circuit and head for Twympa / Lord Hereford’s Knob. What
a name. My right knee is playing up. We do a bit of foraging. We walk along an
old hedgerow of old beech trees that have grown up and overhang our path. Its boggy
in places but we skip across it.
We take a totally unorthodox route up Twympa
after confusing a boundary line for a footpath. It feels like the gradient is
one in two. Vic has ditched her boots and is gaily ascending barefoot. The boys
are way ahead. I keep stopping to bark and choke as my lungs complain. I don’t
want to admit I have some vertigo too. After several stops and amid much
coughing we all make the top replete with many jokes about summiting based on
the name of the place. Its great to be up there. A comedy hands and feet
scramble for the last half too. But we’ve made it. And despite coughing
endlessly, it feels like kill or cure for my lungs. The wind flushes them out
and I hope tomorrow its all better. We walk on along the top and start to wind
our way back to the cars. Its great to do a walk with a few friends, as much of
my walking has been alone so far, which is great, just different. I have
enjoyed seeing these two hills as I have heard much about them from different
people.
This is my 6th seasonal walk.
Strangely I realise now writing this, that 5 of them have involved getting up
high in hills or mountains. The other has been a coastal walk with large vistas
too albeit at night. I already know that I love wide open spaces I guess this
just confirms it. I often feel hemmed in and simply can’t get quite enough
physical space. I guess it just reminds me to go for what I need and make no
apologies.
I have enjoyed having company on this walk.
And the slightly different take on my theme in visiting the castles and
bringing a bit of antiquity in. Its important for me to keep trying to do
things differently. Don’t get stuck in a rut. And always try to do a bit more
than I think I can manage. Or as David Bowie once put it; swim out to where
your feet don’t touch the bottom anymore and you are slightly out of your depth
and creatively that’s exactly where you need to be.
Photos to follow....upload issues xx
