A Wander in Hawarden

It was about time. I'd put it off for to long, of course, but I was just a little hesitant, a little over awed, I think. I'd had a brief shufty a couple of weeks ago, just to test the water, but today was about getting a proper feel for the village. I wasn't disappointed. What a wonderful place.

I'd done the research, and was eager to have a look at the Castle, sited within the remains of a prehistoric hillfort. I knew access was restricted, of course, but what I saw was immensely atmospheric - I look forward to the day when access to the Castle is returned, usually on specific Sundays each spring and summer.

Trueman's Hill Motte is a bit of mystery. For many years it was thought to be sepulchral, a burial mound, but an excavation in 1820 found nothing to suggest it was a cairn. In fact, rather sweetly, the Rev. Stanley thought it might be some platform to watch medieval pageants. It's probably a motte - one of the many hundreds in the British Isles that lack a known history. Why it would be raised so very near to Hawarden Castle is beyond me.

The rather wonderfully named House of Correction is a village lock up. It looks quite posh, in truth, but I fancy those miscreants kept within its walls before being transported to court elsewhere might I thought otherwise. It has a basement, if you please, with a stone bed.

A wander about St Deiniol's was an absolute pleasure. We were made so very welcome, by a variety of vicars and vergers, all with a tale to tell. And the resplendent Gladstone Memorial, at rest in the boat of life, was a highlight.

And what better way to end the day then Sunday dinner at St Deiniol's Library. And yes, I joined, obviously.

A wander about Wells and Sherborne

It sometimes feels like I've spent a half century wandering around cathedrals, abbies and churches in a permanent state of befuddled bewilderment. Built to glorify God, in an age which rarely rose above 30 feet in height, and that in wattle, daub and timber, I try to see them as the medieval people saw them, and I am in awe.

And in that 50 years and being struck dumb by the magnificence of these structures, several have remained with me, and sustained me. I remember them as I remember faces and feelings. Wells Cathedral is one, but Sherborne Abbey...always Sherborne.

The weird and wonderful grotesques of Rhos Uchaf Hall - Llanfynydd

I first came across these rather beautiful characters some many years ago, after leaving one place and travelling on my way to another. I love that - you know, coming across the unexpected quite by accident - forcing you to swerve from your ordinary. And it's fair to say these grotesques, lining the road facing wall of Rhos Uchaf Hall are quite extraordinary. I knew what I was looking for, this time away, and with the last bit of badda bing of summer on my back, I travelled up to Llanfynydd to reacquaint myself with the grotesques of Rhos Uchaf Hall.

Rhos Uchaf Hall is fascinating in itself - owned by the wonderfully named Claude PIerrepoint Hunter, son of the founder of Hunter Seeds of Chester. Claude used the grounds of the Hall for seed experiments and made a name for himself in creating Hunterised airfields, grass runaways of exceptional quality - including that of the Great West Aerodrome - now known as London Heathrow Airport.

Though parts of Rhos Uchaf Hall have 17th century origins, much of the current building is said to have been the bricks of a chapel and school in Saltney. The grotesques were the work of a farm bailiff, and are copies of gargoyles on Notre Dame Cathedral.

Built into the wall is a well, of sorts, but better still is the quite beautiful memorial to those men of Llanfynydd that fell during World War One. Splendid and desperately moving.