Mid Wales, you have delighted us long enough

Towards the end of a holiday, with my to-see list mostly crossed-off, it's easy to lose a bit of momentum. The plan on our last full day of holiday was to park at Aberporth and walk up the coast path to Tresaith to see the waterfall that tumbles onto the beach there, but the weather was rainy and someone had left his raincoat at home - that is, 130 miles away - so we spent most of our visit in the pub instead. 

a scarlet tiger moth

I was a bit disappointed but Cwtch is easily bought. 

On our way to mid Wales, we'd driven up through the Bannau Brycheiniog national park, partly to avoid the M4, but mostly because we wanted to say Bannau Brycheiniog to each other as much as possible. (What a beautiful, mouth-filling word its new but very old name is.) We chose to return by driving around the top of it ... 

You're not leaving without me! 

... pausing not far into our journey to visit All Saints Church at Cellan, a small village just outside of Lampeter, which, I'd read somewhere, contains 'the only significant Arts and Crafts work in the country of Ceredigion'.  

There followed a familiar pattern of events. Having finally found somewhere to park, we couldn't find the church. Having found the church, we found there was a padlocked chain around the gate. Having found you could in fact lift the chain and open the gate, we found the main door was locked. Having walked around the church, we found the main door was the only door. 

In the porch a poster saying 'Come and see our beautiful church' taunted us, prompting the Northerner to quote Mr Bennett: 'Mid Wales, you have delighted us long enough.'

We pressed on homewards. I couldn't help feeling that something about this part of Wales had eluded me. Maybe it was down to the language barrier, which would be up to me to fix. Maybe we hadn't had enough time.

By the time we reached Crickhowell, we were famished, so stopped for something to eat at the Bear Inn. 

These obsolete petrol pumps reminded of some in Laugharne and Aust. 

Back home, my haul from the week was interesting but modest. I still don't seem to have broken the habit of picking up cone shells and limpets for my mother, proving old habits die harder than parents. Also, I think I need to start wearing my reading glasses when I go hunting, as I kept mistaking bits of broken mussel shell for blue and white pottery. I'm also going to need to find out what it is that's embedded in that piece of slate from Aberporth. 

Getting A Cobb On (Or Going For A Burton Bradstock)

And so to Lyme Regis, so that my companion could stand on the Cobb and pretend to be the John Fowles' French Lieutenant's Woman - even on a bank holiday Monday in May and without a hooded black cloak or a storm to go with it.  

I love the Cobb, the first mention of which is in a document dated 1328 (although it has been reconstructed many times since). What a feat of engineering, though.  

The literary character I was keenest not to emulate, whilst balancing on its slanty walkway with an always excitable Ted, was Louisa Musgrove in Jane Austen's 'Persuasion' who famously falls from it (or at least from its steps) and sustains a serious concussion. 

But look, here's a lovely view over to the distinctive outline of Golden Cap ... 

... and here's some boats on Monmouth Beach upon which the Duke of Monmouth landed at the start of the ill-fated Monmouth Rebellion ... 

... and here's the Cobb and harbour seen from the Jane Austen Gardens on the John Fowles Walk. (I sense a bit of a theme developing here.)

But it's a bit too crowded down on the front, so let us away to Burton Bradstock instead ... 

... where the crows are disreputable ...

... there are fossils for the picking up ... 

 ... and  rather more room for a dog to frolic.  

Beauty Things in Winchester

It was off to Winchester yesterday with Pameli Benham, who was going to see a friend perform in a play at the Chesil Theatre.  Meanwhile, I had designs on the Cathedral, having spent so long in the pub and Christmas Market during my only other visit to Winchester that by the time I got round to a bit of culture, it was too dark to see anything.  I also wanted to see the City Mill and take a wander along the river in the footsteps of Keats, who sojourned there in 1819 following his brother Thomas's death, and was inspired to write Ode to Autumn.     So after a toothsome lunch in The Corner House, Pameli and I went our separate ways and I made a beeline for The Close.

The usual stunning soaring stuff inside, but like every other Cathedral or Church, Winchester has its own particular points of interest, almost all of which I'd missed the last time, the first being Jane Austen's grave,

memorial and commemorative window. 

A skitter past the lavishly decorated font of c1150, and I encountered the Ephiphany Chapel, which was always going to be right up my alley, boasting four Morris & Co windows designed by Edward Burne-Jones and a beautiful Agnus Dei by Eric Gill.

 

The next absolute glory was the medieval wall paintings in the Holy Sepulchre Chapel.  Dating from the 12th century, they were covered over during one of our several Cultural Revolutions and only rediscovered in the 1960s ...  

... closely followed by the huge expanse of 13th century floor tiles, over which pilgrims would cross on their knees ...

... to visit the shrine of St Swithun.  (It was tempting to offer up a prayer or two for fine weather, it being St Swithun's Day the following day - and it has been fine, but as I forbore to slither across the tiles on my knees, I'm not holding my breath for forty days of non rain.)

There were ancient tombs and memento mori aplenty and exuberant misericords in the choir, although the huge stone screen was partly covered in scaffolding and it was difficult to appreciate it fully.  Oh and the enormous Norman pillars were smothered in graffiti with serifs, one of my joys in life.  Below is a set of initials from 1582.  

The Cathedral was closing to the public earlier than usual because there was a special service taking place, but I made sure I had time to pop down to the crypt and I was so glad I did.  Despite the prodigious quantities of rain we have had lately, I wasn't sure it would be flooded, but it was and I was pleased because it meant that Antony Gormley's sculpture, Sound II, was in its element - literally - and a heart-stoppingly beautiful and tranquil sight.   

  

The Riven Itchen was fairly high and, being a chalk stream, running fast through the ancient city and under the City Mill.  It felt strange to stand in the room above the mill race and feel the floor trembling.

There was no time to wander in the company of Keats down to the Hospital of St Cross and Almshouse of Noble Poverty, but that's fine because it means I shall have to return some time. Maybe in autumn, perhaps ...