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.