Into the Black Mountains Part I : Llanfrechfa, Abergavenny, Crickhowell and Llanthony Priory

As soon as they saw us at the edge of the churchyard, the whole flock came charging across two fields and shouted at us for five minutes before deciding that we probably weren't about to feed them and wandering off again. 

The Church  of All Saints in Llanfrechfa was the first stop on a jaunt into the Black Mountains, culminating in an art event at the Grade  listed farmstead, Llwyn Celyn near Llanvihangel Crucorney.  

For now, though, we were fending off hungry sheep and pushing ineffectually at the (locked) church door. 

Not that it mattered, as this is where my companion, Dru, spent several childhood years, and just taking in the view from the high churchyard while she gave me the historical and geographical information I needed was a fine start to our journey. 

A quick stop in Abergavenny for a mug of tea and a toastie in the market cafe and we continued on our way to Crickhowell, which I'd only ever driven through before.  I could have spent a small fortune I don't have - mainly on the Kay Leverton's stunning scraperboard prints - in The Tower Gallery, but instead confined my extravagance to a pack of poetry cards and this photo of Crickhowell's Mari Lwyd, a rather more macabre feature of wassailing custom than anything Somerset has to offer.  

I love the way there seems to be a hill at the end of every street in Crickhowell.   

Just as we were debating whether the People's Republic of Crickhowell was the preferred holiday destination for the inhabitants of the People's Republic of Stokes Croft, the owner popped out for a little chat. Turns out Tim Rossiter is an artist originally from Bristol.  (Dru's photo.)

Another thing I like about Crickhowell is the children's play area right next to the Castle ruins ... 

... and the way visitors ignore the path the authorities provide for climbing the Castle motte and make one of their own. 

A quick consultation of the map and we were off again, this time to Llanthony Priory, with me relieved that it was Dru driving the Moggy up long, single-track lanes rather than me.  

Dru had visited Llanthony Priory many times before, and told me how once she had stayed in a room in one of the original towers with no plumbing and a chamber pot.  

I was struck by how it is spring in the valley and still winter on the hills.  All the same, it was pretty nippy, so we went into the abbey crypt - now a bar - for a drink.

Then over the road and into the terraced church I'd nearly missed, being so bedazzled by the ruins and the trees and the hills. 

Originally the infirmary of the priory, St David's was converted into a church in the early 18th century. I think it's one of the plainest I've seen. 

After that we headed on up the valley to Capel-y-ffin. More about that anon. 

A New Year Jaunt Part III: Abergavenny

And so on to Abergavenny, a place I'd been to once before, briefly, aged about seven, my parents having decided to visit my sister's former teacher who had retired there.  I remember being amazed at the closeness of the mountains to the town; also, that the teacher was not at home.  No point looking for her now - she'll be long dead, and besides her name was Mrs Davies.

I liked Abergavenny, although the livestock market was on, which I had mixed feelings about, finding poor confused creatures distressing.   Apparently it will be moving before long to Raglan, and a Sainsburys will take its place which will make the town like everywhere else.

As luck would have it, the flea market was on so we had a good rummage about, Dru finding some lino cutting tools and John a rebate plane with lots of different blades in a wooden holder. I discovered a bargain Ola Gorie brooch to sell on eBay. (Or keep!) 

After lunch in the cafe, we had a wander around the castle, scene of the bloody Abergavenny Massacre in 1175 when William de Braose lured three Welsh princes and other Welsh leaders to their deaths.  According to the 16th century antiquary, William Camden, Abergavenny Castle  has been oftner stain'd with the infamy of treachery, than any other castle in Wales.  The 16th century historian, John Leland, declared that its very high walls were likely not to fall.  This was before the Civil Wars, of course.  

 From the castle we headed for the large and rather impressive Church of St Mary, which used to be a priory.

What it lacks in the way of charm it made up for with a huge number of mediaeval tombs of knights and their women.  Also, a massive wooden carving of Jesse, which once had a tree sprouting out of its middle.  

All this repose reminded me of the legend that Arthur and his men are not dead, just sleeping beneath the hill until Breteyne has need of them again.   South Cadbury Hill in Somerset is one of the purported sites, as is Alderley Edge in Cheshire. (Alan Garner relates this tale in his story 'The Weirdstone of Brisingamen'.)  Another possible location is Craig-y-Dinas in the Brecon Beacons, not that far from this somnolent bunch, and I could well believe it.

 

God keeping a close eye on what Gabriel is about to do with that lily while he makes his Annunciation.   

Then our final stop, the 12th century Tithe Barn belonging to the priory -a discotheque in the 70s, it has now been turned into a Visitors Centre for the Church and houses the magnificent 24 feet wide Abergavenny Tapestry, which was stitched to mark the Millennium.

The first photo shows Jesse from the Church and Sugar Loaf Mountain.

A panorama of the town, and the inscription (can you inscribe in stitchery?) Once Enemies Now Friends.

A brooding Owain Glyndŵr surveys the valley.  

And look, here's my Ted presiding over the Abergavenny Massacre. Yep, seems about right.