When we went to Gwent (and Cardiff)

Once again, it was the time of year when the Severn tunnel is closed for maintenance - very important - and whoever it is who runs the railways these days fails to put on an even half-decent replacement coach service between Cardiff and Bristol. Not wanting the Northerner to have to return home via Gloucester and, per chance, Swindon, I drove him to and from work on the days it was possible for me to do it - four in all.

Although eight hours is a long day out, I wanted to stay in Wales if I could, to reduce costs and my carbon footprint, but one day was forecast to be full of heavy rain and thunderstorms, and another over 30°C, so on those days I made the two round trips, regretting my decision the second day when it took me two and a half hours to cover the 36 miles from home to his workplace on Newport Road in extreme heat. 

The other two days were hot but not oppressively so, so Cwtch and I pored over walk books and websites and found two places in nearby Gwent for us to visit.

First stop, the Sirhowy valley, in the next valley from where Son the Younger used to live, so full of familiar skylines. The outward leg of our circular walk started just south-west of Crosskeys and took us along a disused railtrack, the former signal box now seeing service as a toilet. 

high above the River Sirhowy

sycamore and whitethorn

foxglove

It's an easy walk through the woods, though given the number of little streams crossing the path, I imagine it must be muddy in places when it's not summer.

There were some quite steep steps to climb at the point where our route turned back on itself, which caused my knees to grumble a bit, but we made it. 

Cwmfelinfach

Returning along a higher path, there were some lovely views along the valley to where the Sirhowy meets the River Ebbw. I was thrilled to hear both a cuckoo and a curlew.

non-native fiddleneck

enough hemlock water dropwort to poison the entire population of the British Isles

one of many self-seeded alders lining the path

broad-leaved marsh orchid

marsh valerian

The worst bit of the walk was right at the end when our route took us down an extremely steep, stony path to our starting point, but again I managed to negotiate it without doing myself any damage. I think I might try the longer walk through Sirhowy Country Park next time, as it's definitely worth a revisit.

Our second destination in Gwent was Wentwood , formerly ancient woodland that was part of Chepstow Castle's hunting grounds and is now mostly conifer plantation (though the long and laborious job of replanting native species has started). I was following a walk I'd found online that would take me to the Curley Oak, reputed to be between five hundred and a thousand years old.

                                                   

distant view of England adrift across the Severn

Our route took us past not one but two Bronze Age round barrows in a truly lovely spot.

Fallow deer slots

The track through the woods was still quite muddy in places, despite the warm and (mainly) dry summer weather we've been having.

heath-spotted orchid

honeysuckle

yellow pimpernel

Our route to the oak relied heavily on waymark posts, rather than giving estimated distances between instructions, which was a shame as many of them were no longer in place. Much of the time I had to guess whether a path was the right one, and we did get a bit lost, but not in that trackless-middle-of-the-wildwood way; it was more 'well, I'm pretty sure the car park is back in that direction so I'll take this path for now and head left when I get a chance'. I made a few of my own waymarks for the return leg. 

Eventually - having been distracted by its fence and missed it altogether - we looped back around and reached the Curley Oak. I have to say, it looks rather older than five hundred years to me.

As is the custom with ancient trees, people had left little gifts for it, the most striking of which were limpet shells. I'd picked up a bit of blue pottery earlier on our route, so I left that.

I felt a bit of a pang standing there, as Curly was my father's old nickname and the name his grandchildren called him. I'd have liked to have learnt about this tree thirty years ago, when he was still strong and I could have walked to see it with him. But in any event, it was a stunning high point for a walk.

Since I was in the area with time to spare, I did stop off in Cardiff to visit another memorable tree, this one a London Plane near Roath Park that's in the process of eating a Victorian pillar box. 

And I also got to while away a couple of hours in a favourite spot in Llandaff, namely the wild bit of the graveyard in the Cathedral precinct. Even under the trees it was hot, though, so Cwtch and I headed down to the River Taff where there was a bit of a breeze.

Cwtch is still too scared of water to chase the ducks, thankfully.

It must have been during the 1980s that I last stood in this spot. Much water over the weir since then. 

A poem for Neurodiversity Pride Day 2025

This is a poem from my 2014 collection, ‘Map Reading for Beginners’. I wrote it in 2010 about a trip to Oxford in January of that year, for the purpose of having a MEG scan. This, it was hoped, would reveal how my brain was wired and whether there were genetic implications with regard to my children’s autism.

Years ago, neurodiversity had yet to be recognised as a thing, autism wasn’t considered a hereditary condition, and my family had long been deemed something of an anomaly for containing not one but two autistic children. As a result, we got roped into several scientific studies over the years. The one with the MEG scan came comparatively late in the day and was the last one we participated in. It was researching the molecular genetics of autism, and involved hours of videotaped interviews and tests over quite a few years. (I remember I was told I’d achieved the highest score they’d ever recorded on word recognition, but was really rather rubbish when it came to spatial awareness.)

On the day, after being stripped of metal, wired up by the wrists, forehead, eyelids, cheekbones, and that tender spot behind the ears, and clamped into a sort of all-body salon hairdryer, it turned out the scanner wasn’t working properly, and I drove back home to Bristol with whatever mystery my brain possessed unfathomed.

This poem has added poignancy for me now, as fifteen years later I’m waiting for an ADHD assessment. I see now that a diagnosis back then could have been really helpful, not just for me but also for my two other children, who, like me, didn’t tick any of the boxes when it came to the Triad of Impairments – which was how autism was diagnosed back in December 1993, when my autists were two and four years old respectively – but who could well be interestingly wired themselves and would have benefitted significantly from support and understanding, had their (possible) neurodiversity been recognised.

I feel frustrated by this, but at the same time, I have to acknowledge that's where medical science was thirty years ago, and maybe our participation in all those studies helped to bring society's understanding about neurodiversity to the point it's at today. I'm sad too, though, because if these divergencies had been picked up, the dynamics between me and my children might have played out differently, and we might all still be in each other's lives. 

Sweet especial rural scene

Another day to explore another corner of Oxfordshire while Son the Elder roboteered. Having made several road trips around the county, I decided to take it easy this time and visit a few places closer to his destination on the western edge of Oxford.

First stop, 13th century St Bartholomew's in Yarnton, which was on my itinerary a couple of years ago, but which I had to ditch, having run out of time. I was drawn by the prospect of 15th century wall paintings, but found so much more.

 

remains of a 14th century preaching cross

In fact, the wall paintings turned out to be less fascinating that some of the church's other features, being rather difficult to make out. There's definitely a nativity scene in there, though - you can see Mary with her blue mantle - and apparently other figures lurk under the whitewash elsewhere in the building.

I particularly loved the simplicity of the chancel ... 

... and the remaining couple of box pews ... 

... and lots of lovely early 17th century carvings. Plus these embroideries which don't get mentioned in the heritage listing, probably because sewing is by and large women's work.

The octagonal font dates from the 15th century, and has a lovely modern bowl inside it ... 

... and look, there's a tub font too - the parish font - which dates from the 12th century and is situated in the Spencer Chapel.  

Yes, we are talking about those Spencers - or at least, a branch of the Althorp family - and their Chapel is larger and much grander than the actual chancel. It has a spectacular Early Modern tomb, belonging to Sir William Spencer and his wife, Margaret, who died in 1609 and 1608 respectively ...

... and a Baroque tomb, which is much less pleasing to my eye, though absolutely bonkers, I have to admit, and which belongs to Sir Thomas Spencer, who died in 1684, and his wife, Jane.

The chapel also has a beautiful painted ceiling and 17th century stained glass.

It's the mediaeval glass, both English and Flemish, which is the Church's real treasure, though, most of which was donated to the church in the early 19th century. 

I particularly loved the birds in the above window, detail here ...

... and these angels with their feathery bodies.

Out in the churchyard there were some bonny skulls and cherubim.

I think this one actually looks like a child's death mask ...

... while this one looks like the homophobic sister-in-law of Bill Nighy's character in the film 'Pride'. 

Part of the churchyard was blocked off so that visitors didn't disturb the mason bees who live in part of the church wall ...

... but I did get a closer look at this lovely female common blue butterfly.

Then on to nearby Godstow, where you can see the ruins of a nunnery, alongside the Thames path. It was founded in 115 and closed in 1537 on the orders of Henry VIII, who gave the buildings to his personal physician. 

hemlock in the hedge

The only part that survives, apart from the boundary wall, which has been rebuilt, is the chapel. Even so, it's an atmospheric place, and looked lovely in the sun, with dog roses, elders and poppies adorning the site.

There was some weathered graffiti in the doorway to the Chapel, including this mason's mark ...

... and a date which appears to read 1417, when the nunnery was still in use, although not carved as carefully as most ancient graffiti is.

Hemlock Water Dropwort at Godstow Lock

After the nunnery, I continued down the Thames path in the direction of Binsey. I wanted to see something that wasn't there - that is, Binsey poplars, the trees that were felled in 1879 and commemorated by Gerard Manley Hopkins in his lament of the same name. Except they are there, because they were replanted in 1918, nearly thirty years after Hopkins' death. 

First, though, I passed this spectacularly contorted eared sallow, where a made a little shrine to a predated magpie, incorporating what looked like a piece of slag I found on the path.

Soon the poplars came into view up ahead. They are just the most beautiful trees. 

 A pair of brimstones so enamoured of each other they flew into my leg

Early Bumblebee  on Green Alkanet

On the edge of the village of Binsey, I sat down where I had a view back along the bank. I had something important to do, which was to read Hopkins' poem to the poplars and the sky and the cows seeking shelter from the sun and the river and the minnows or whatever it was darting about at its edges.

Minnows - or similar -  in the Thames

Sweet especial rural scene

My last stop for the day was Wytham Woods, which I came across by accident while looking at my OS map for places to visit. The site was given to Oxford University in 1942, and you can only access it if you apply for a permit in advance, which is free. As they are research woods, dogs aren't permitted, but since Cwtch doesn't accompany me on my trips to Oxford, her exclusion wasn't an issue.

I must admit, I felt quite smug and even a bit academic driving up the private road and pushing open the gate into the woods.

It was quite late in the afternoon and there seemed to be few people about (though the woods are quite expansive and I was only in one small corner of them). After a while I noticed numbered markers, strange white plugs stuck into trees, seats like umpire's chairs and orange paint. I was walking around inside an experiment - or several. It felt like I was inside a dystopian novel.

Another strange thing was that none of the pathways appeared to get enough footfall to be worn, and clumps of fungi grew in the middle of them. 

As I wandered along, I noticed I had a walking companion that stopped every time I stopped and kept pace with me - another common blue, this one a damselfly.

 small magpie moth

For all that it was a bit weird, there were some wonderful trees just in the tiny part of the woods that I visited, and I think I'll go again next time I'm in the area and spend longer there.