A Pilgrimage to St Cynog's Walking Yew

We'd just settled in and it was time to go home ... 

Feckin' monkeys!

... but having taken four hours to drive the 110 miles to our base in Pembrokeshire the previous Saturday - and with the final of the Champions League being held in Cardiff that evening - we decided to avoid the traffic and take the scenic route back. 

First stop Narberth, for some (veggie) treats.

Then a 60 mile drive around the top of the western Brecon Beacons.

Just under three years ago, I came across an article about a yew in the churchyard of St Cynog's in Defynnog, Powys. It had just been estimated to be 5,600 years old, and thus the oldest tree in Europe. 

I wanted to go and see it. I had to go and see it! And so did my friend, Cheryl. We started to make plans. 

And then Cheryl died. 

So when I saw that our detour home would take us through nearby Sennybridge, I had to go there for her, as well as for myself. 

The tree is so old it has split into two halves, one 40 feet wide, the other 20. For a long time it was thought to be two trees, but tree DNA says otherwise.

In a pamphlet in the church, yew tree historian Allen Meredith writes that 'walking trees' occur as part of a natural layering process, or can sometimes be due to lightning strike or other natural phenomena. Thus part of the tree can appear to move away from its original site. 

Both parts of the tree can continue to produce new growth to cover the old and decayed wood, and eventually it will appear as two individual trees. 

The researchers obtained several samples of old wood from the larger trunk, where over 120 rings were found in one and a half inches, making the Defynnog yew a very ancient tree - a sapling in the early Bronze Age. 

It was the perfect place to contemplate life and death and regeneration.  

I get the feeling that this tree, like the other remarkable trees I've met, is quite aware of how special it is. 

And like those two ancient Somerset oaks, Gog and Magog, lots of people have visited it, bearing gifts. I wrote a tiny plea, rolled it up and eased it into a crack in the bark. And thought about the quietly continuing presence that is Cheryl. 

St Cynog, son of Brychan, was an early British saint and martyr, and the yew is not the only ancient thing associated with his church here. 

This is a Romano-Celtic gravestone with the Latin inscription RUGNIATIO LIVENDONI, meaning [the stone] of Rugniatis, son of Vendonius. It's believed to date from the fifth century, and was discovered in 1853, built into the external face of the church tower.

On the left hand side are vestiges of Ogham script which are no longer legible, thanks to the mediaeval masons who fitted it into the tower ...

... and at the top, Celtic inscriptions from the ninth to 11th centuries.    

Also very very old indeed is this stone holy water stoup, believed to be pre-Norman ... 

... and the font, the Runic and Lombardic inscriptions of which makes it unique in Wales. 
The base is also a font which has been upturned. 

On the rim is carved SIWURD and GWLMER, which apparently indicates a Viking settlement in the early 11th century. 

This interested me on account of Sywardes Cross (aka Nun's Cross) on Dartmoor, which features large in my novel, 'Dart'.  

However, Syward/Siward of the Cross has been tentatively identified as the 11th century Earl Siward of Northumbria. This Siwurd could be Richard Siward, Lord of Talyfan, who lived two centuries later. 

It was time to be going, however. 

One last look at the churchyard, bright with fox and cubs ... 

... and we headed home at the end of our West Wales adventure. 

A Day in St Davids: There's choughed I am

Last full day on holiday. Clearly, despite the downpour, we had to go to St Davids. 

By the time we arrived in the far west, the rain had lessened. We emptied our pockets and found just a little blue sky. Enough to be going on with.

From a scene reminiscent of the Dartmoor borders ... 
  

... we proceeded over fields to Porthclais Harbour, which reminded me strongly of a mini Boscastle. At the same time as being very definitely, unmistakably Wales. 

We then turned left onto the coast path to skirt St Non's Bay - the most spectacular section of our walk. I had to keep stopping every few steps to take photos.  

Then I spotted a pair of black corvids sitting together on a rock below the path.

Luckily, we'd remembered the binoculars and could verify that they were choughs. 

Further on we came to the ruined Chapel of St Non, a local nun who, tradition holds, was raped by Sanctus (or Sant, or Sandde or Xantus), King (or Prince) of Ceredigion. This chapel marks the spot where she gave birth to her son, St David. 

This stone was found in the same field as the ruins, and is believed to be an altar or gravestone. It can be dated to the 7th to 9th centuries. 

There's a well too - a holy one, natch. 

As we climbed, the hilly terrain of Ynys Dewi (Ramsay Island) came into view ...

... and still the precipitous drops that were making me feel a bit whoozy. 

I don't know anything about this stone at the side of the path above Caerfai Bay except that I love it. 

We'd lingered a fair while and had to hurry back to St Davids to be on time to meet with friends for further explorations.  

By the time we'd had something to eat, there was enough blue sky for my photos of the Cathedral and ruined Bishop's Palace to look like 1960s tablemats.

I did wonder why the Bishops Palace was in such a state. It turns out that in 1536 the Bishop, one William Barlow, stripped the lead from the roof to pay for the dowries of his daughters. (He had five.)  

He accrued so much money from this that it was reckoned it would take more than a dozen years' revenue of the bishopric to cover the cost of replacing it, and so the building fell into disrepair.

The fabric of the Cathedral shows how it has changed over the centuries. I love the stonework of this window, the double porthole effect resulting from the heightening of the nave aisles to accommodate larger windows. 

It's the wooden ceiling that's famous, however. It turns out that there was an earthquake in these parts in the 13th century. This, coupled with inadequate foundations and the fact that the ground slopes and is a bit squidgy, means that the walls at the west end of the nave lean out a bit. For this reason, the cathedral has never had a stone vault - at least as far as historians can tell. 

The ceiling was built in the late 15th and early 16th centuries, and cost about £90 - a vast sum of money. 
  
In 1538, the same Bishop Barlow complained that the canons were using up all their money re-edifying the body of the church which was ruinous. Cheeky git. 

The tower lantern

This is the presbytery ...

... in which you'll find the very-difficult-to-photograph tomb of Edmund Tudor, father of King Henry VII ...  

... and the very recently restored shrine of St David. 

I like the humbler stuff best ...

... graffiti with serifs ... 

           ... sixteenth century tiles ...

... and look, a rare three hares outside of Devon. This one inspired the first known literary reference to the symbol, in 'A Survey of the Cathedral of St Davids',  published by Browne Willis in 1717:

'In one key stone near the west end are three rabbits plac'd triangularly, with the back sides of their heads turn'd inwards, and so contriv'd that the three ears supply the place of six so that every head seems to have its full quota of ears. This is constantly shewn to strangers as a curiosity worth regarding.'

The carved misericords in the choir are famous too ...

... though I was intrigued how the choir boys managed to graffiti the backs of the seats so heavily without being spotted and stopped.  

After an ice cream by the Cross, we headed for Whitesands Bay, which looked lovely but was completely out of bounds for us, as during the summer months, no dogs are allowed on any part of the beach at all, on pain of a £500 fine, so we moved back down the coast to Newgale instead, which we had almost completely to ourselves. 

It was heaven, especially for a certain border collie.

Final entertainment of the day was watching the Northerner (though three of our party fitted that description) trying to catch Ted, who really didn't want to get in the car and drive back to base ... 

 

... and this hovering jackdaw, clearly after something it could see in or above the pebbles alongside us. 

It had been great to see the choughs earlier in the day, but Corvid of the Holiday Award had to go to the chaws.