A New Year Jaunt Part II: Mountains and Molehills

Stepping back out of St Ishow's Church into the churchyard, you are again swept up in the magnificence of the Grwyne Fawr valley.  It hasn't changed while you've been inside, it's just that you were so beguiled by the artifice of human beings, you forgot Nature's genius. 

Here's a reminder.

I loved this sheep with a black spot on its bum. 

The Churchyard was stuffed full of interesting gravestones.  I particularly liked this fallen angel with molehill ...

... and this spelling mistake, spotted by Dru.  

Oh, and this headstone also: A Man is born to dye

One thing that struck me was the number of plain yet beautifully lettered graves which resembled those in Mells in north-east Somerset.  It's almost as if the churchyards are twinned ... 

Robin Truelove, Partrishow                      Siegfried Sassoon, Mells

        gravestone, Mells                              gravestone, Partrishow

... or maybe both villages tend to attract well-heeled arty corpses.

After a good fossick around the churchyard, it was time to return to the well, the site (so the story has it) of St Ishow's martyrdom in (it is believed) the 6th or 7th century.  It's a peaceful spot nowadays.

Of course, springs were sacred long before the Christians came, as were yews.  I took a small chunk of wood from the yew stump up in the churchyard to lay with all the other votive offerings.

This is the well itself, with a pannikin hanging on one side and niches for offerings.    

Heading for Crickhowell, we stopped to see if we could capture a photo that replicated the vision of Dru's picture.  By scrambling over a barbed wire fence, Dru just about managed it.  Meanwhile, a pair of ravens chatted to each other over head.  Perfect.