I will lift up mine eyes unto Lord Hereford's Knob

Last July, during a walk on the hills around Olchon Valley in the Black Mountains, I came upon this old way stone. (Click it to see a larger image.) The writing is indistinct but you may just be able to make out  'Capel y Ffin' straight on and 'Olchon Valley' to the right. On that occasion S-- and I turned to descend into the Olchon Valley but my interest in Capel-y-Ffin had been awakened, aided by several friends who assured me that a journey there would not be a disappointment.

So last Monday, in lovely Spring sunshine, we headed up the long narrow lane from The Skirrid Inn, past the ruined priory of Llanthony and on to the hamlet of Capel-y-Ffin. The name means Chapel on the Border, a reference (I presume) to the Wales/England border, about a mile away.

My friend Lucy visited Capel-y-Ffin last October, further wetting my appetite for the place. She also wrote an informative and amusing post which you can read here. I'll try not to repeat too much of what she said.

Here is St Mary's Church, Capel-y-Ffin, with its wonky little tower. Anglicans always call these places 'churches', despite what the Welsh may think. To this day, Christians in these parts (as in my native Cornwall) are either 'church' or 'chapel' and in times past there was great rivalry between the two.  Incidentally, have you ever wondered why the Anglicans of Wales call themselves the Church in Wales and not the Church of  Wales? Try abbreviating them!

The writing on the window is from Psalm 121 – I will lift up mine eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my help. An appropriate text for a church set amid the Black Mountains.

In the churchyard I lifted up mine eyes to the hills and in particular this hill, which we would soon be climbing. It looked worryingly steep.

It was!.. though thankfully the path zig-zagged, making the climb less arduous. Soon Capel-y-Ffin was reduced to a white dot in the middle distance. The building on the right is Llanthony Tertia, of which more later.

Here is your windswept bloggist at the first cairn, with the U-shaped Vale of Ewyas spread out behind her. It's not the top, but by now the worst of the climb was behind me.  A good spot to lighten my load and eat lunch.

After another three miles on a gently climbing path we arrived at Lord Hereford's Knob. On my mobile phone I searched the Internet for a sensible explanation of this most strange name, but to no avail. Suffice to say that I have stood on his lordship's knob, admired the view towards Hay-on-Wye and even added a stone to his erect stature, but departed none the wiser.

The route down Nant Bwch follows a track that may have been an old quarry route. At several points it was still covered by snowdrifts which looked fun but, as I soon discovered, needed to be negotiated with care. Crossing one drift, the snow beneath my feet gave way and I sunk down to my thighs. There really ought to have been a photo but S-- couldn't stop laughing.

Back in Capel-y-Ffin there was one more place that I wanted to explore — Llanthony Tertia. Last August I wrote about Llanthony Priory and Llanthony Secunda, the latter having been built when attacks by unsympathetic Welshmen made life at Llanthony unbearable.

Llanthony Tertia was founded in 1870 by an eccentric Anglican lay reader who was inspired by a revived interest in the monastic life. Despite receiving no support from the bishops, who even refused to ordain him, he took the name Father Ignatius and gathered to himself a handful of like-minded individuals. Life must have been tough under Fr Ignatius' rule as they took it in turns to be led into the cloister with a halter, to be spat upon, walked over by the rest of the community, then to beg for mercy. Hardly surprising, then, that the community fizzled out shortly after its founder's death in 1902.

Today the monastery stands on private ground but there is an ecclesiastical-looking gateway to a path along one side of the ruined building, from where I took this photo.

Paper production in a Welsh valley

Clearwater Paper Mill

I enjoyed last week's walk around Whitestone and Cleddon Falls so much that I decided to return to the Welsh side of the Wye Valley for another ramble. This one, from Whitebrook, is only 2¾ miles long – an ideal Thursday afternoon 'quicky'.

Like many steep valleys in this area, Whitebrook was once a hive of water-powered industry. Now it's a beautiful and quiet place but the remains of the old mills are easy to spot. One in particular fascinated me – the former Clearwater Paper Mill, which operated between about 1760 and 1875.

I spent many years working for English China Clays in Cornwall, where much of our product was used in the paper industry – either as a filler (mixed with the wood pulp) or as a coating to give paper its familiar fine or glossy finish.  Might Cornish china clay have found its way to Whitebook? Sadly the answer is 'no'.

Despite the abundance of wood hereabouts, Clearwater Paper Mill made its pulp by pulverising rags. Later they switched to Spanish esparto grass and, thanks to the clear water of White Book, produced such pure white paper that it was used for bank notes.

I found myself wondering when wood pulp was first used to make paper. The answer turned out to be 1845 (thank you, Google) though I guess that it took a few decades for the process to become commonplace. However, by the time of its closure in 1875 Clearwater must have been somewhat behind the times.

Incidentally, thanks again to Google, I discovered that there is a Clearwater Paper Corporation in the USA – underlining the fact that you do need clear water to make good paper. I wonder whether they know of their old namesake in a wooded Welsh valley?

After much peering over shrubbery and musing about paper production, there's not much more to say about this short walk, other than it is very beautiful.

Here I am on the path through Pwllplythin Wood, which I followed for about a mile before crossing White Brook and climbing up to The Narth, whose residents seem to have an enthusiasm for flying flags. There was a Welsh one (of course), the 12 stars of the EU (I sympathise) and one of uncertain origin outside the village hall – and all within the space of about ½ a mile.  Next time I pass this way I'm sorely tempted to plant the Cross of St Piran in a hedgerow!

Manor Brook

From The Narth I descended to Manor Brook and thence back to my starting point in Whitebrook. A shade under 2mph is a bit slow for me, but there had been much dallying on the way and a stiff, rocky climb out of the White Brook valley.

Too hasty

Bathurst Park, Lydney

I can hear the comments of my Cornish friends: "You'm too 'asty, maid!" My confident assertion that winter had past was definitely premature. "... disregarding the probability of snow flurries this weekend," I wrote, "warmer days are here."

In my defence, the forecasters' expectation last Thursday was that the mini beast from the East would all but fizzle out over central England and give us little more than a light dusting.

Nonetheless I still live in hope. Temperatures will have soared to 9° by Thursday... I think.

The winter is past

Rise up, my love, 

my fair one, 

and come away.

For, lo, the winter is past, 

the rain is over and gone.

The flowers appear on the earth; 

the time of the singing of birds is come.

(Song of Solomon, 2.10-12)

Yes, the time is long overdue for Angie to stir from her winter slumbers, pull on her walking boots, head into the Great Outdoors and resume her more frequent blog posts. Not that I have been entirely inactive during the long winter months and (to quote the Manchester Rambler) there really has been

a measure of some kind of pleasure

in wading through three feet of snow.

But (disregarding the probability of snow flurries this weekend) warmer days are here to lure me out of the house and resume my countryside adventures further afield than the Forest of Dean. So come away, just a few miles from my home, over the Wye Valley and into the hills above Llandogo. 

This short walk began in Whitestone Car Park, where there's a lovely playground for kids and a picnic area, but on this day no-one to enjoy it.  From there a broad path tracks through Bargain Wood, an oddly-named place that might be a corruption of 'bare gain', referring to the poor grazing to be had in former times. At three places along the path there are viewpoints down to the Wye Valley, each provided with a seat where one may relax and drink in the view. Here are two of them...

The highlight of this walk is Cleddon Falls. According to my walk book - Wye Valley: 40 Hill and Riverside Walks - the point at which the stream suddenly plunges down marks what may have been the level of an ancient sea, long before successive ice ages caused sea levels to drop and the land to rise. So now you know.  It would have been interesting to explore further down the falls but on this occasion I didn't relish the long climb up again. Maybe next time.

Not far from Cleddon Falls stands Cleddon Hall, the birthplace of the mathematician and philosopher Bertrand Russell. I was 21 years old when Russell died and my memories of him - on the sort of TV programme that young people rarely watch - was of a rather boring old man.

Cleddon Hall

He was fiercely anti-religion, which ensured his lack of popularity with my father, who also didn't think much of his vacillation over the rights and wrongs of World War Two.  As we grow older, though, many of us learn to tolerate, and even respect, views that are not our own. And I do like some of Russell's more well-known quotations, particularly as he bemoans the sad fact that idiots so often prevail over the intelligent:

"The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt."

And that is quite enough philosophising for one blog post!

White wine on my cornflakes

Shortly after lunchtime on Thursday Storm Emma met the Beast from the East in the skies over Lydney. Compared with many areas of the kingdom, we escaped lightly from this meteorological dust-up. Nonetheless, the only time I've seen more snow fall in a day was on holiday in Switzerland, and that was many years ago.

By bedtime, Storm Emma's easterly blast had piled up a 3ft snowdrift outside the lounge window. It was also bitterly cold and the central heating was failing to keep room temperatures much higher than 18˚. Fortunately we have a gas fire to supplement the lounge radiators, but when I finally toddled off to bed the only way to keep warm was with a hot water bottle, woolly bed socks and a nice warm spouse. I was grateful for all three!

This morning the snow abated but the roads around Primrose Hill in Lydney were only passable with 4x4s.  Bluebird (our trusty little Hyundai) was left on her driveway and I ventured forth on foot, camera at the ready and with two shopping bags as my veg rack was almost empty. Feeling adventurous, I decided to take a long route to the Co-op via a bit of snowy Forest.

This is Millrough Wood. There were a few animal tracks in the snow but I was the first human to pass this way since the snow stopped falling.

New Mills. I think this one may find its way onto this year's Christmas cards.

Middle Forge

No trains on the Dean Forest Railway today!

I finally made it to the Co-op, which was doing a roaring trade, despite a dearth of cars in their car park. They had sold out of bread and milk, but thankfully the veg shelves were overflowing with all the things I needed. Finally, I picked up a couple of bottles of my favourite New Zealand Cabernet Sauvignon and made for the checkout, where they were bemoaning the lack of milk.

"No problem!" says I as I placed my bottles on the conveyor. "I'm going to have white wine on my cornflakes."