All the birds of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire (and Warwickshire)

Son the Elder was roboteering just outside Oxford and needed chauffeuring, so the Northerner and Cwtch the Collie joined us, on our trip to visit the places we failed to see last November, when we were making the same journey and my car broke down en route.

After dropping my son off in Botley, we headed for St Edward's in Stow-on-the-Wold, mainly to see the famous door in the North Porch, which is flanked by two three-hundred-year-old yews and said to have inspired Tolkien when he was writing about the Doors of Durin in 'The Fellowship of the Ring'.

I'd hoped to linger and take some photos of the Northerner here because he loves 'The Lord of the Rings', and maybe get him to take a possible author photo of me for my forthcoming poetry collection, but there was a constant stream of visitors rounding the corner to pay homage to The Door, so we didn't linger. 

Inside the church the things that interested me most were the remaining traces of mediaeval paintwork on the south side of the sanctuary ...

... and a splendid ledgerstone to the sacred memory of Sir Hastings Keyt, a Royalist who died, aged 23, in 1645, during the last battle of the first Civil War just outside Stow-on-the-Wold. 

I particularly like the detail of the skulls. 

In the churchyard there's a memorial to the battle itself, which saw 1000 Royalists held prisoner in the church ... 

... and also in the nearby square, scene of the slaughter of 200 Royalists and of the surrender of their commander, Jacob Astley, 1st Baron Astley of Reading. 

After lunch at the Porch Inn, which apparently dates back to 975AD and is another of those pubs claiming to be the oldest in the country, we set off for Adlestrop to pay homage to Edward Thomas, poet and wanderer, who wrote his famous poem about a brief, unscheduled stop at the railway station in 1914 just a couple of years before he died during the Battle of Arras in 1917. 

The station fell victim to the infamous Dr Beeching's axe in 1966 and is no longer standing, but the railway sign is ingeniously displayed in the local bus shelter, along with a plaque inscribed with the poem, which we read aloud, of course, in homage.

After our similarly fleeting stop, we headed for the Rollright Stones, which stand right on the Warwickshire/Oxfordshire border, not that the border existed when they were set up from the 4th to the 2nd millennium BC.

The earliest of the stones are believed to be the Whispering Knights - actually the remains of an early or middle neolithic dolmen. 

Chronologically, the next stones in the complex are the King's Men, a stone circle more than 100 feet in diameter and apparently comprising 77 stones, although how anyone can state that with any certainty is beyond me, for as we all know, counting standing stones accurately is impossible.

the Clootie tree by the King's Men

The most 'modern' of the Rollright Stones is the King himself, just over the road in Warwickshire and a sinuous curved shape thanks to the tradition earlier visitors and drovers had of chipping off parts of the stone as good luck charms. 

'Seven long strides shalt thou take 

and if Long Compton thou canst see, 

King of England thou shalt be'  

said the witch in the Early Modern folk tale attached to the site, and on the King's seventh stride a mound rose up blocking the view, and the witch turned them all to stone:  the king becoming the King Stone;  his army the King’s Men;  and his knights the Whispering Knights, forever plotting treachery.

daisies and corn speedwell; ground ivy; harlequin ladybird; hairy chervil and red campion; speedwell and stitchwort; red and white campion; butterbur leaves; hen pheasant feathers

Having wanted to see the door of the church in Stow, and the Adlestrop railway sign, and the Rollright Stones ever since I lived in Banbury 35 years ago, I was in a very buoyant mood as we headed for Cumnor, the Northerner's choice of destination, having studied Matthew Arnold's 'The Scholar Gypsy' for A-level, but having had a necessarily swift drink in a truly awful, unwelcoming pub and failed to find the Cumnor Hills, we soon moved on to the nearby village of Iffley. This has a church I was keen to visit, being Romanesque in style and dating from the 1160s. 

Beakhead ornamentation on the West Door

The South Door

Carving of a King by the South Door

the ancient Iffley yew

white and blue forget-me-nots

This sculpture in the churchyard reminds me of work by Peter Randall-Page but I haven't been able to find out who carved it.

The first thing I noticed as I stepped inside the church was the 12th century font in the baptistry, with its mismatched leg, the result of an ancient repair job, and its striking lid that dates from 2014 ... 

... and then the two beautiful, modern stained glass windows on either side of the space.

The Nativity window was designed by John Piper and made by David Wasley, and was installed in 1995 as a gift from Piper's widow, Myfanwy Piper. 

Cockerel: Christus Natus est

Goose: Quando? Quando?

Crow: In hac nocte

Owl: Ubi? Ubi?

Lamb: Bethlem! Bethlem!

detail, Piper window

The second window, designed by Roger Wagner and installed in 2012, continues the theme of the Tree of Life, with Christ crucified.

looking up through the nave, tower and chancel to the altar

The sumptuously carved stone was reminding me of Bristol Cathedral Chapter House, which is probably my favourite space in all of Bristol, and when I got home, I checked the date and discovered it too dates from 1160.

 the altar

one of many delightful carvings, this one a bird on its nest

It was time to go to the pub, for a swift drink before picking Son the Elder up and driving back to Bristol, but before I left, I resolved to return to St Mary's, Iffley next time I'm in that area, and stay a little longer.

I really love you, I do ... [hic]

Pentre Ifan, Nevern's Bleeding Yew and Seal-Spotting at Strumble Head

As we drove through Cardigan, I slowed the windscreen wipers from fast to medium speed. 'Phew!' we agreed, 'it's going to be a scorcher.' 

We had lunch in a pub in St Dogmaels and headed for Poppit Sands, a popular suggestion amongst friends for places to visit. 

Ted in particular appreciated this choice. 

We then headed inland towards the Preseli Hills, which I would have loved to have walked, had we had more time. 

We were headed for Pentre Ifan burial chamber, a fine example of a neolithic dolmen with a 16 tonne capstone.   

My go-to dolmen is Spinsters' Rock, west of Drewsteignton on Dartmoor. Pentre Ifan is bigger, higher, stonier, with views over the Nevern valley down to Cardigan Bay. 

What I'll remember always is the energy of the stones, familiar from Stonehenge yet so unknowable, and the strong, seductive scent of late may blossom.

Our next stop, another recommendation, was the Church of St Brynach in the village of Nevern.   

St Brynach's has several claims to fame, not least its impressive, 13' Celtic cross which dates from the tenth century.  

Even older is the Vitalianus stone, which is carved with the Latin words VITALIANI EMERTO and Vitaliani in Ogham. It's believed to date from the fifth century. 

There are more old stones inside the church, set into the window sills in the south transept. This is the early tenth century Braided Cross ... 

... and this is the fifth century Maglocunus stone, inscribed MAGLOCUNI FILI CLUTORI in Latin and maglicunas maqi clutar in Ogham.

I love old churches because of what they can tell you about the lives of the people who built them and worshipped there. Sometimes, though, the mysteries simply deepen.

Increasingly, I find the sacred in nature rather than in church. Show me the fruit and I'll eat it. 

Which might be why I liked Nevern's famous bleeding yew best of all. 

NOT THAT I ATE ITS FRUIT ...

... just daubed myself with its sap. 

A quick drink in Fishguard and we drove out to Strumble Head, having been assured it was the wildest part of this coast. (I like wild.) I was hoping to spot choughs but the corvids available were resolutely jackdawian. 

I had to keep reminding myself that we weren't in Cornwall. Geographically, geologically, it seemed so familiar and yet I'd never been here before. 

We followed a path to the edge of the cliff ... 

... and in the small cove below us ... 

... were two grey seals, enjoying the last of the evening.

It was a privilege to share it with them for a time.