From the dates it appears I haven't set foot in here for a month! A whole 4 weeks! I haven't however been sitting about contemplating my navel ....far from it in fact.
We have been out and about 'sprotting' around the locality looking for bits of useful history, taking pictures by the memory card load, walking ...usually in the rain ...why does it rain on a Wednesday when that is the night for designated 'walks on the wild side'?... and a street party ...yes another one!
It was a hot Saturday afternoon when with a friend we made our way over to the Kingdom of Trelystan for a wander round Mountainear's lovely garden and a peep into Trelytsan Church. What a 'peep' that turned out to be. What an amazing jewel that is, from the moment the gate on the roadside is opened to the track across the field to the centuries old Church surrounded by some of the oldest gravestones I have ever seen, my imagination ran riot. Where did the congregation come from? Why here? Why up on this hill in the middle of nowhere is there such a Church? As they key in the door turned and the door opened slowly I was craning my neck to see inside. It was dark, the windows are so small and quite high. The roof is almost folding in on itself, rods stretch from side to side whether to carry the heavy old lamps or to stop the roof moving in I'm not sure. The huge stone flags on the floor would have a long old story to tell. The single stained glass window with the most amazing shades of blue twinkled in the sunlight. No pale wishy washer colours for the Kingdom of Trelystan ...no fear ...more like 'lets sock it to 'em' vivid blues and scarlets, emeralds and gold.
There was a barrel organ with golden pipes near the altar, according to the written description it had a repertoire of 20 hymns. I wander what they are. The thought of fairground type music accompanying olde English/Welsh hymns started to make me chortle.
We stood quietly, reading avidly all the information we could gather.....behind us something rustled and moved...light footfalls like a child skipping...we turned ... stared at each other with eyes like saucers...not a word was spoken ....oh well...time to go.
Back out in the summer sun we read inscriptions on gravestones that were beautifully carved in weathered stone, a family of buzzards wheeled and mewed high above us in the clear blue sky and we wandered about those who had been here before us.....
Sunday................
A Sunday afternoon and I persuaded the shepherd to veer from his normal route to let me take some atmospheric pictures along a lonely valley. Once this valley was busy, a route for monks to the nearby Priory, more recently working men on bicycles going to the mines, now just sheep bleat and a silage harvester whined in the distance like an angry wasp. The smell of honeysuckle fell over us as a sweet veil. We stopped and started all up the road with me either climbing up gates or standing on the side of the truck to catch a view of the Devil's Chair from a different view point. Just below those jagged rocks there were once poor communities trying to hang on to the valley sides in tiny stone cottages built by hand with fields the size of a large lawn. They are all gone now and the cottages have all but returned to the earth ...ashes to ashes etc.
Wednesday................
Another wet Wednesday walk on the wild side found the intrepid band gazing into the depths of a long mining tunnel hidden by undergrowth. We searched for a cottage ...I saw it last year ...it has gone now. The rock faces towered above us as we stood quietly listening to a stone dropping two hundred feet down an open mine shaft. Two rows of barbed wire are the only hint of a hazard. A flock of coal black sheep jumbled around in the lime green bracken below us as we clambered down the rocks to the old farm at the bottom. They have gone now, the farmers, they wont be needing their boots again, they are there under the stairs waiting for warm feet that never come. Somebody has been in and rooted through the detritus left behind, looking for things to sell on no doubt. The roses still flower around the door and a pot of lilies stand on the step but the farmers have gone now and they wont be coming back.
Saturday dawned fine but rain was forecast ...there was much scurrying and to-ing and fro-ing along the track as dishes, trays and indgredients all swapped about. The sun held on and the rain never came and by 7pm one of our amazing street party gatherings was underway. There was a theme chosen this time for the first time ...The Wild West...very fitting. Now our street parties are becoming rather well known in the area and before we knew it there was a crowd of cowboy hats and boots that would have done credit to a scene from a John Wayne western. But the prize had to go to the clever couple who put a different interpretation on the basic cowboy and Indian theme. She was resplendent in a beautiful green and gold brocade sari number, with a golden shawl and a red caste spot straight from Mrs Kumar's family tree whilst her husband attired as Bob the Builder - hard hat and rigger boots, tool belt and claw hammer was the original cowboy builder. Did we laugh!
There were little dots running around in home made fringed tunics with feathers in headbands looking as though they had just come off the North American plain. The inevitable bonfire was lit as the dusk fell and the older children built little fires in brick hearths and toasted slices of bread. There were hilarious party games involving string and large bolts and tubes of cardboard. There were choruses of 'happy birthday' for the two birthday boys , a neighbour was 60 and my youngest was 17. As the crowds diminished the circle gravitated to the fire and the singing of good old fashioned country songs started...I could still hear them as I fell asleep on my pillow...apparently they were still going strong at 3am.....I wasn't!
