The shifting pebbles of Pevensey

 A flying trip to Sussex yesterday for a pub lunch with my daughter and her partner, after which we wandered along the pebble beach at Pevensey Bay, where the future William I landed his invasion force on 28th September 1066. These days it's far more peaceful. 

Looking over towards Bexhill

We sat for a while and relaxed, before admiring the 'gardens' at the top of the shingle bank on the way back to the car. They looked more like they'd grown themselves, and were no less beautiful for that. 

I think I should thread my hagstones and hang them somewhere too, even though we're a few miles further from the sea here. Maybe I'll find somewhere when the extension I'm having built is complete.

There was just one thing missing. I knew there was a castle at Pevensey but for some reason, I'd been convinced it's on the coast, but it isn't. But I've seen it! I wailed, inwardly. In a picture, on a crag - with turrets - overlooking the sea ... 

I stopped, followed my subconscious train of thought - Pevensey à Pevensie à  Peter, Susan, Edmund, Lucy  à Narnia ... oh! I was thinking of Cair Paravel.  

The non-fictional Pevensey Castle is situated about a mile inland, between the villages of Pevensey and Westham. Alex kindly detoured so that we could see it from the outside. It's massive and impressive and I think I'll properly plan a visit there sometime. And ... 

... at the time of the Norman invasion, in 1066, the land it was built on was a peninsula projecting from the coast. It had first been fortified by the Romans; then, after the invasion, William had temporary defences raised, which were later replaced by the great mediaeval castle. So the picture in my head wasn't wrong; it was just 960 years out of date.

Castell Gwyn a Chastell Coch

The Severn tunnel still being closed, I made a couple more trips to South Wales last week, for the purpose of dropping The Northerner off at work and bringing him home not via Gloucester. Since it's always more fun staying and visiting than sitting in the queue for the Brynglas tunnels four times a day, I decided to visit a couple more castles.

The first was Castell Gwyn - the White Castle - up near Abergavenny, a massive edifice built during the 13th century on the site of an earlier, wooden structure, for the purpose of controlling the border between England and Wales. Like Chepstow Castle, it's a very intimidating building. 

Originally called Llantilio Castle, it got its current name in mediaeval times, possibly from the white rendering used on its stonework. It's still visible in patches today. 

 

the well

I'd been planning to do a short walk in the area around the castle, but I had a recurrence of the extensor tendonitis that bothered me last summer, and it was painful to walk even around the castle's curtain wall, so I headed back to Cardiff and Roath Park, where I limped around the lake on easier terrain. 

Meanwhile a pair of coots with their cootlings huffed and puffed disapprovingly at Cwtch the Collie as we passed. 

A fallen willow

The memorial to Captain Scott, who set sail on his voyage to the Antarctic from Cardiff in 1910

I worked out it must have been 42 years since I was last at Roath Park. I used to have a rowing boat down in Devon when I was a kid, so taking a turn around the lake back then was easy. 

Roath Brook

Since I'd been to Castell Gwyn, the next day I decided I should revisit Castell Coch - the Red Castle - just a few miles north of Cardiff. I'd been there rather more recently than Roath Lake: I think about 35 years ago.

Before you start getting ideas about the Red Wedding and 'Game of Thrones'-style mediaevalism, Castell Coch is something else altogether, namely, a 19th century dream of a castle, built from the ruins of one from the 13th century. It was commissioned by the same person who donated the land for Roath Park, namely, the Third Marquess of Bute, John Crichton-Stuart, and brought to reality by architect, William Burges.

Back in 1989, we hadn't been able to afford the entrance fee. This time I couldn't go in because I had Cwtch with me, but never mind, my foot was feeling better, having been iced several times in the hours since our visit to White Castle, and we went for a walk through Fforest Fawr instead.

It was a fairly steep climb up through trees, but the track was easy and the margins either side of it widened and filled with flowers. 

I especially liked this firework display of buddleia and agrimony.

This sculpture heralds a spot known locally as The Three Bears Cave, which is a bit weird as we all know they lived in a cottage. It's one of many remnants of iron mines in the area.

By now the forest was spotlit by the sun. We walked as far as the upper car park and then back along the side of the ridge.

An enormous oak

Everywhere there was evidence of iron mining.

The fluorescent purple undercarriage of a dor beetle

This year seems to be a great one for artist's conk 

There was still some time to pass before the return journey home, so after our walk at Castell Coch, Cwtch and I headed for Llandaff Cathedral, because I love it there and hadn't been since 2020. There was a school service on inside, so we didn't go in, but instead headed for the churchyard. 

; 

Bishop's Steps

The ruined bell tower seen from the churchyard

Common Blue butterfly 

After a perambulation of the Cathedral, we made our way to the overgrown part of the churchyard, which is always a bit spooky. There are lots of yews here, apparently planted in the 1860s, though some of them look a lot older than that. 

A reminder that it's best to leave Chicken-of-the-Woods uneaten if growing on a poisonous tree, such as a yew.

Fallen headstone of Mabel Honey, died on 26th October 1898, aged 4 years and 8 months 

Emma Owens, died 1900, aged three

Ooh, and here's some proper kissing gates ... none of your galvanised steel here. 

Then it was time to pick up the Northerner and head home, with a fistful of magpie feathers and a farewell to Wales for the time being.