Parish Church of St. Mary and St. David, Kilpeck*

Eight or nine miles out from Hereford is the hamlet of Kilpeck and its Parish 
Church of St. Mary and St. David. What is of interest here are the carvings 
about the church, near the roof, door and window-ways. They are all 12th 
century and apparently the only examples of secular Norman sculpture in 
existence. On a church, no less. And, I must say, they are a complete and total 
hoot!

Altar; so far so good

Door...no religious imagery...at least that religion...

Beautifully carved sandstone, but no obvious 
religious symbolism

After this, however, things start to get a little weird

Creature from the Black Lagoon

Birds? Of a feather?

Lovers...I really like this one

Dog and bunny show? My sense of Norman art and architecture is forever 
changed...

Then it gets really weird

And weirder

The fine print

*Afterthoughts: subsequent years of travel, in the UK and throughout Europe taught us that there was really little unique to this little church; it's simply one of finest early examples; and it was the beginning of my subsequent fascination with "funny faces," Sheila-na-Gigs, and so on. Examples abound in the later years of the blog...maybe some day I'll put a tag on them... (May 12, 2020)

Mappa Mundi and the Chained Book Library

Mappa Mundi replica

Books in chains

Among Hereford cathedral's most important and unique treasures are the 13th century Mappa Mundi (map of the world) and its two chained libraries. World maps are not unusual, but 13th century Christian maps are. This one is about a meter square, on vellum, in one hand. Pictured here is a replica (photography not allowed), but you can see the original on the web by apppropriately googling (mappa mundi hereford would do). As with everything else in the European middle ages, the map liberally mixes theology with whatever else is under discussion, in this case, geography.

In the middle ages, a book was as valuable as a farm or house (!!!), yet much more removable and portable and thus vulnerable to theft. The medieval answer to this problem was the so-called chained library, in which all the books are chained individually to a central rod, one on every shelf of the bookcase. Most others have disappeared, but Hereford's was in use well into the 18th century. Vicki commends this approach to all former fellow librarians concerned about library theft.  Myself, I am reminded that, at SMU, where libraries once reported to yours truly, the highest theft rates were always in the law and theology libraries.

Hereford Cathedral, 2009

Hereford's cathedral--the Cathedral of St. Mary the Virgin and St. Ethelbert the King--has the same general history as most of the others we have seen hereabouts...early Christian beginnings, Norman foundations, parts fell down, put back up, pretty much finished by the 13th or 14th centuries, renovated in the 19th and 20th centuries. It was spared the ravages of the reformation (it was never associated with an abbey), though looted, but the most important items, from today's point of view--the Chained Book Library and the Mappa Mundi--were untouched. Oh, and it has a 19th century Willis organ I got to hear when I stayed to listen to the choir practice.


Central tower

West face

Nave

West window

Ribbed vaulting

Altar and choir

Choir practice; note boys choir members in

blue robes

Hereford

City square, Hereford

The "Old House," city square, ground zero, Hereford; part

of the city museum, it is crammed with 16th and 17th

century furnishings

Among the furnisings...beautifully carved

A toddler lap-walker...

16th century dog door

"The Lawsuit"--16th century humor

First, it's not "Hereford" as in the cattle, as Americans say it. It's "Hair-a-furd." (Travel is so educational.) Hereford is not on the tourist circuit, and, in fact, has not been on any circuit much since the Welsh were tamed. Hereford was one of the "Marches" towns established in the borderlands as a first defense again Welsh incursions. But then the Welsh stopped incurring, and things have since been pretty quiet in Hereford.

My maternal grandmother's surname was Hereford, and, accordingly, Hereford is a place we had to visit. I must say, for the afternoon and evening we spent there, it is a charming mid-sized town, very pleasant on the eyes, and containing some real gems, at least for those into books and knowedge generally. But more of that later.

We parked on the fringe of the CBD and walked into town, and Vicki quickly found the city museum's "Old House," at ground zero, a beautiful half-timbered structure that dates from the middle ages. A little conversation with the staff revealed that there is no one in Hereford named Hereford, never has been, and that--he surmised--when people moved to America, many were not so eager to retain their identities. So, many American surnames that link back to England or Europe are really just the town they were from, or some town they could think of with immigrations people. We have seen this in numerous other cases and were not surprised. I was undeterred, nonetheless, from having my own "Roots" experience, and felt a special closeness and warmth with everything I saw, however remote or irrelevant. ("Wow, so an ancestor of mine might have shopped at this very Marks and Spencer's.") He also informed us that while Hereford is still home to the international registry of all Hereford cattle, there are practically no cattle left in Herefordshire. It is is sheep country. OK, I have never cared for cattle that much anyway, except for steak, cheese, cream, leather....

The rest of our Hereford experience was enlightening and edifying and upbeat, but I'll leave it for the next post.

Stokesay Manor House and Parish Church

Stokesay is said to be the best-preserved example of a 14th-15th century manor house/fortified residence. It was scheduled for "slighting" after the Civil War, but somehow was left relatively intact. The parish church adjoining it dates from the 11th century, but had to be rebuilt after Civil War fighting damaged it. The Say family came over with William the Conqueror.

Stokesay castle

Inside the great hall

Beautiful 15th century hearth in the family quarters

The tower

View from the battlements; Stokesay was assailed only once 
in its long history, during the Civil War, and the Royalist 
contingent holding it quickly surrendered to the 500

Parliamentary troops set to attack

Some residual fighting did occur, which damaged the little 11th century church, 
then rebuilt in the 17th

The church is notable, we thought, for its boxed or gated

pews, including the high boxes afforded some members;

today's equivalent of "sky-boxes," I suppose

Powys, 2009

From Llanberis we drove back east through gorgeous valleys, mountains and hills, through Betws-Y-Coed (Betsey Coed), the principal mountaineering center (why Llanberis is not, I have no idea), and a beautiful town itself, and then on to the edge of Wales and Powys Castle. Powys was a Welsh stronghold but acquired, in the 15th century or so, by the Ludlow family. The castle is a large fortified residence. By the time the Ludlows began changing it, the Welsh were happy campers, and there was no need for all the defensive/military stuff. The site is notable for two other reasons. The first is that it is the home of the relics of Clive of India, whose son married into the title and estate. Clive was an 18th century India Co. military official and was a principal in putting down a couple of major rebellions. The relics are the booty and lootings of these military victories. The various articles are impressive--far better than anything we saw in India. Similar things have been said, I suppose, about Egypt and Greece and everywhere else the sun has not set on British soil. [Today (October 20) I came across the very first reference to the E-word (Empire) I have seen in two months in the UK. Appropriately, it was at a Blenheim shrine to Churchill who "did not become His Majesty's First Minister in order ot preside over the dissolution of the British Empire." (I know these words by heart.)] But I rant, I mean, digress. Anyhow, the other very notable thing about Powys is the terraced gardens, never updated from the 17th century and a singular example of what gardens were supposed to have been like before Calamity Brown got into landscaping. Powys' gardens, even in mid-October, were stunningly beautiful.

Powys, like so many others, was something we might have easily skipped, but are really glad we did not. We have learned that each and every one of these properties is special in some way(s) or other, unique, and especially interesting and informative.

We spent the night in another lay-by, out in the boonies.

Entrance to Powys Castle

Virginia Creeper

Castle from the 17th century garden

Countryside from the garden

Flowers, Alstroemeria Psittacine, specifically

Hedges in the garden

So here you are, looking down a couple hundred feet of 
perfectly trimmed 8 or 10 foot high hedge, pictured above; 
obviously they use laser-guided trimmers

And the mountain-size topiary is not bad either

'r 'n aflawen Cymraeg (The Awffll Welsh Language)

Cawn iawn lawer feddedig 'n gofwya at Cymru. We have very much enjoyed our visit to Wales.

Namyn 'r Cymraeg ydy iawn 'n afrwydd atom at ddeall. But the Welsh language is very difficult to understand.

Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiligogogoch. The church of St. Mary by the white hazel pool, near to the fierce whirlpool by the red cave near St. Tysilio's church.

This is an actual place name, Llanfair for short, one of several the Welsh have been accused of concocting just to vex English tourists.

But language preservation is taken seriously here. Walk into any store and the conversation you'll hear among the locals is Welsh. Despite what the guidebooks said, we never heard any Gaelic, no matter how far to the north or west we went--and we went about as far as you can go--in Scotland or Ireland. Evereything here is bilingual--it's the law--and the people seem to like it. It's tough on visitors, but you have to love it. We have adapted so far as to attempt our own pronunciations: Caernarfon = car phone; Betws-y-coed = Betsy coed; etc.

Sheep

There's always one; and he's generally the one, in the middle

there, I identify with...

"We're going for a ride!" ... "What's an abbatoir?"

Snowdon: A Walk in the Clouds

The literature of mountaineering is predominantly English, and much of it is about this mountain and especially its north face, the Black Cliff, Clogwyn dur Arduu, which has long been a training ground for British rock climbing. At 3,560 feet, it is just a day hike, but it is one of those classics one has to do. Besides, on a fine day, from Snowdon's summit you can see the Wicklow Mountains south of Dublin, the Isle of Man and the Isle of Wight. So they say.

The day, Thursday, started hopefully for me but then quickly deteriorated. Bigger mountains make their own weather, and, as soon as I climbed up onto the ridge from the valley, everything went gray. Fellow walkers at fifty paces were vague dark figures. It was cold and clammy for six hours, but it was still fun and a thrill. Snowdon!

Vicki stayed back at the carpark, slaving over a hot laptop. After I got back down, we camped at a lay-by down the road from Llanberis, overlooking a lake and the huge strip-mined former-mountain of slate beyond it. Wales, for many years, roofed the world.

The Victorian cog railway still plies the route; here it is in

the valley, the weather, hopeful...

A couple hours later, near the summit, in the clouds; BTW,

I, obviously, eschewed the train; that is to say, I

eschewed-schewed.

Just below Snowdon summit

Snowdon summit compass

The Irish Sea, and beyond, the Wicklow Mountains, and far

to the right, the Isle of Man...

Summit self-Portrait

Staircase into the Abyss...one of the alternative trails

Clogwyn dur Arduu...as I would like to have seen it