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.
