I'm not even sure which hill we climbed, though this one looks familiar. If it is the one, I suspect the fact I remember being told it didn't have a name might well be because it's called Lord Hereford's Knob.
The chapel of St Mary the Virgin, in the shadow of said Knob, is delightful, and its diminutive size reminded me of Culbone Church on Exmoor.
The Rev Francis Kilvert described it as 'owlish', which makes Dru's discovery of owl pellets in the churchyard fitting.
A copy of David Jones' Sanctus Christus de Capel-y-Ffin
Leaving Capel-y-ffin, we headed back down the valley. Up on a hill to our left, I glimpsed a church that looked as if it were melting into the ground. Dru explained that the whole village of Cwmyoy was built on a hillside subject to slippage, so in a way it is.
As for inside, Dru's assertion that there wasn't a straight line in the place turned out to be true.
Back outside, we came across a tastefully lettered headstone to one Arthur Denys Gill. Ah, has to be one of Eric's clan, we thought, but a bit of (admittedly desultory) research has yet to reveal a link. This Gill, it turns out, was a racing driver.
Off then for a swift drink at the Skirrid Inn, which could comfortably accommodate a whole blog post all by itself, what with its tales of the days - well, centuries, actually - when the first floor served as a Court of Law and 180 locals were hanged from the beam in the stairwell. For sheep stealing, mostly.