There are two Seasons in Scotland, June and Winter (B. Connolly Esq.)

That being the case, I decided June was probably the right choice, I’ve heard Scottish winters can sometimes be worse than Wales, although I find that hard to believe…

It’s strange, is it not, that the further ahead an adventure is planned the more surprised we are when it is suddenly Tomorrow !  It seems only a short few months since I was informed that I would indeed be going to Orkney in June 2012.  Hence this last week has been somewhat hectic, somewhat hot too !  I cannot believe how we have been suddenly catapulted into a tropical zone, apparently we are hotter than Africa !  So, if my geography is sound, Scotland should be like the Cote d’Azure, Stromness becomes Juin le Pins.  Of course, that throws up some serious issues in terms of what to pack, thermals or thongs, cheese cloth or wool,  sandals or wellies.  Safety first, it all goes.

Before all that, a very busy week and weekend ( I’ll save you the fascinating tale of getting packed !) of work and duty lay ahead.

The finished section, two weeks to do 10 metres, 4 days to do 10 metres, what’s the difference ? Sunshine !! The mud caked section is still very distinctive.

The new season (for so it seemed) saw me back at the mud encased wall I had battled with a couple of weeks ago.  Why I ever bothered trying to conquer the elements and the elemental I know not.  In four days this week I managed to build almost twice what I had done in over 12 days previously – if nothing else, it is not good economics.  Luckily, given the daily temperatures of high 20F, I have a lovely cool mountain stream at hand and so every hour I immersed my hot little head – and often much more ! – in the chilling water.  How amazing is the re-generation of energy that comes from such a simple activity.  It is highly unlikely I would have been so productive without that healing flow.

I rebuilt the old ‘lunky’ precisely where it had stood for nigh on 300 years and managed to complete the main section which I had erroneously got the machine to knock down.  There remains about 8 metres still to complete but as that has a good stock proof fence along it, it can be done later on.

The wall as it was, parts were still in reasonable order but most of it was too dialpidated to save.

I had begun to despair of getting any worthwhile amount of it completed before my departure north.  That would have meant some serious rethinking of the budget, some serious rethinking of the self indulgent activities I have planned. (Apparently there is a wine festival on in the Orkneys next week !!)

With a good dose of vitamin D, with some peeling skin too, with an energy level nearer where I like to be, it was a very satisfactory week and I had a day spare to get back to the walled garden to do some tidying up ready for the Open Garden on Sunday afternoon.

The old lunky was remarkably sound. It needed rebuilding to match the rest of the wall and because modern breeds are much bigger and struggle to get through, so…

I made it slightly bigger. Good for another 300 years – as long as sheep don’t get bred any bigger !

The National Garden Scheme (NGS) is a charitable organisation that uses Open Garden days (or half days, as here) to raise money for its charitable causes.  There are hundreds of participants and it is an opportunity to get to see some really amazing private gardens.  Not all of them are as grand as the Llwyn Madoc site, though most of the grand old estate mansions open up sometime during the summer.  It has been a very busy few weeks for the gardener and the Mistress (there’s no double-entende by the way !).  Just a week or so ago all was looking pretty gloomy, few blooms were out and certainly any that were got smashed by the driving rain and howling winds.  The piece-de-resistance at this grand garden is the wonderful display of Azelias which, along with the Rhododendrons, give a staggering display of vibrant colours. Alas, whilst the rhodies are well out the more beautiful Azelia bushes are only just beginning to show.  Never mind, there is another large event in a weeks time, a little party for a lady who has sat on a throne for 60 years, and the splash of bright colours will be at their height by then.

Being a garden event, I took some antique garden items. They add to the day and certainly attracted some interest.

My old water carriers are always cause for comment, they are hard enough to wheel empty, how they managed when they were full I can’t imagine.

“Ain’t nobody here but us chickens…” The old poultry brooder house and carrier were complimented by the basket work chickens – in fact I could have sold them a hundred times !! Slightly sad to confess I got them at T K Max !!

The beautiful weather brought the people to view the well manicured garden and the Laird and Mistress were well pleased with it all.  The gardener certainly earned his corn this last few weeks and the displays and lawns are a credit to him.

As for me, well another interesting day, lots of memories of using one or other of the tools or implements, especially the old push lawn mowers of course.

And now, as they say, for something completely different.  I’m literally pressing ‘publish’ and getting into baby car to begin the 600 mile trek north to the port of Scrabster which I will reach on Wednesday midday for a short sailing to Stromness on Orkney.  A journey that will take me through the Highlands of Scotland and bring me back through Northumberland and the North York Moors.  That after I’ve had a week exploring the archaeology of that remarkable place and catching a glimpse of the amazing wildlife (and nightlife !)  Yes folks, Welshwaller is donning his kilt for a two week festive with Celtic cousins north of the Border.

Queen’s Jubillee ?  What Queen !!  Stay tuned for tales from the land of Robert the Bruce and mad Viking warriors.  Oh yes, and some very interesting dry stone walls !

Walk a Mile in these shoes…. blisters assured !

As I write there is a steady, inexorable flutter down onto the keyboard; it’s my head, it is gradually cracking like the shell of the boiled egg I just ate and it alights on the black plastic like heavy dust.  Actually it is my dead skin (‘Ew’ ! I hear you say), it is the result of a fabulous but rather sunny day walking the hills.  More accurately it is my face that is crumbling as (most of the time) I wore a hat but, not anticipating the May sunshine, I neglected the sun-bloc and I am suffering the consequences.

The lovely countryside around Castle Bank near Hundred House in Radnorshire. The May sunshine arrived at last and with it the need for sunscreen !

The Saturday stroll, which lasted all of 6 hours in fact, took in the hillfort I mentioned last time, Castle Bank near Llandrindod Wells in Radnorshire, but also some very interesting old tracks and a lunch halt on a Bronze age cairn.  Naturally we didn’t sit on the cairn -despite the presence of an Ordnance Survey concrete Trig Point (triangulation station) inserted into its very epicentre – as, being a Scheduled Ancient Monument, it is a little precious and is suffering from human damage.  Fortunately the area is not at all heavily walked or even known about and thus it is possible to wander this quiet corner of Wales and not say “Bore da” to a passing stranger very often.

Although planned as a guided walk for Ty Gwyn Farm (www.tygwynfarm.co.uk) I was joined by a very old friend of mine; ‘very old’ in the sense we have known each other for a very long time – and hence we are very old ! A country boy from the land of cider apples, this Somerset lad had come to spend the weekend in my ‘Empire of the Sun’ and we took every advantage of the sudden return of Ra.

This old oak post and strainer had five elongated holes cut in adjacent sides; in other words the holes through which iron single strand wire was pulled, turns at right angles in the centre of the post ! It places the enclosure of this open hill somewhere around the turn of the 19th/20th centuries. Forensic landscape archaeology !

This little man-made lake has been adopted by a colony of Terns who are happily nesting on the artificial island and seem content with their life away from the sea.

The walk, which begins near Howey, takes in the area of Gilwern Hill across which runs the old Drovers trail out of Ceredigion and onwards to cross the Wye at Rhydspence near Hay and thence into the English heartlands.  We took a circuitous route along the ridgeway past old settlements, ancient banks and ditches as well as more recent dry stone walls and abandoned summer shielings, called hafods, to arrive at the cairns.  It is an astounding view from the 1400ft/450m hill top and it becomes clear why these ritual sites were chosen.  The major landmarks in the region are visible from that spot and indeed from the nearby Iron Age camp of Castle Bank.

Even on a less clear day the area would warrant visiting as there is so much at hand to see.  I’m sure my companion must have been glad to get to the end having been bombarded by information and lyrical waxings for several hours.  We then went off to another of my favourite ‘secret places’, a little forestry area called ‘Water Break-its-Neck’ which has the most amazing Californian Redwoods and a pretty impressive waterfall (hence the name).  On the way we passed a small man-made lake with an artificial island.  The quiet back-water, in the middle of the  Radnorshire hills,  has quite literally been colonised by a 50 or so strong flock of Terns.  These small black headed sea birds, more normally seen on the shores of estuaries around the Welsh coast, have set up home and begun breeding right there.  There are a dozen or so nests on the island and the whole flock rises noisily if you dare stop the car.  Clearly they are finding plenty of food, there are several ploughed fields nearby which I suppose is attractive to them.  I shall return in a couple of weeks and see how the young are doing.  The island home certainly protects the eggs and young from foxes and badgers, which is why it was built of course.  Today any such pond or small lake would not have such an island as they do encourage waterfowl to set up home and that, in turn, greatly reduces the diversity of water loving wildlife especially amphibians and bank-side dwellers.

Water Break-its-Neck, the impressive fall is at the head of a narrow gorge which drips with moisture and its sides are fern and moss covered. Well worth a visit if you are by that way.

The great fall at Water Break-its-Neck, sits at the head of a very narrow gorge which the water is microscopically cutting further and further back.  The fall is the ‘nick-point’ where the softer Silurian shale, a rock hardly worthy of the name ‘stone’ , meets the harder sandstone which surrounds the basin.  The whole area is coated in antiquity and the close-by Walton Basin houses the greatest of all the Henges of pre-historic Britain.  Not great pillars of stone like the Wiltshire monuments, rather this one was of erected straight timber baulks, arranged in concentric circles and covering a huge area.  Roads in the basin delineate it as they curve around the old outer ring.  I feel sure Water Break -its-neck must have been a revered place and the suggestion of a Processional Way nearby adds to that feeling.  To see the water tumble out over the upper edge and crash into the chasm must have been spiritual to a people who held water and sun in such mystical regard.

Today the Basin is traversed by ‘Ogilvy’s road’ from London to Aberystwyth. At the western end, where this water fall sits hidden in the valley, a narrow pass or bwlch squeezes the road through the little village of Llanfihangel Nant Melin, and onwards through the passes of the Llandegley rocks towards Penybont and on to Rhayader.  The Romans tried to come into Wales along this route but were foiled and later Anglo Saxon incursions were similarly rebuffed.  It is an easily defended route-way and even today you really have to want to enter Wales via this route, it is no easy drive.

I don’t know the origin of the planting of these great Redwoods. They are quite an astonishing sight in a narrow valley just off the main London to Aberystwyth road near Llanfihangel Nant Melin in Radnorshire.

The remarkable weather remained the following day and my guest and I took ourselves off to another wild part of Wales to watch others having some fun.  The great expanse of the Eppynt military training are, the ‘range’, (SENTA in military speak) often hosts civilian activities on weekends. Mainly they tend to be associated with motoring events, speedy motoring events, muddy, noisy speedy motoring events.  Each autumn the Rally GB (still known locally as the R.A.C. Rally or Network Q – old sponsors get free advertising in these parts !) invades and thousands of rally followers in their suped-up Subarus and other copy-cat rally cars descend on the area.  The event we attended was a much more low key affair with few spectators.  It involved the ‘off-road racers’ of the Mid Wales Four Wheel Drive club zooming along muddy, bumpy, well rutted tracks of the military mountain.  Some competitors rode specially built off road racers others just trundled by in their mildly adapted road-legal four wheel drives.  Freelanders seemed popular as did the Discovery and Range-rover based racers.  I liked the little Peugeots and Fords which seemed less concerned about deep water and crazy angles of tilt than did the bigger factory built off -roaders.

Freelander in Free Flight ! I was suprisingly impressed with the agility of the little land rover, the Freelander is more a townie’s vehicle than a serious 4 x 4 but it did good here !

Now it’s probably the case that half my readers are already tut tutting, off roaders are one of the perceived scourges of conservation minded folk.  It is a subject on which I have some mixed views.  Certainly I, like many others who value the countryside, abhor the convoys of tanked up, winch carrying macho men who regularly infect the landscape hereabouts.  They seem intent on getting into as muddy a place as possible and winching themselves out of, or into, even worse mess than was there to begin with.  Because of the historical classification of roadways and by-ways there is often a perfectly legal right of access for these machismos, although more and more green roads are being closed to them by local authorities.  Therein lies the problem I think, once again the majority suffers in order that the minority can be brought to heel.  For my part I like nothing better than getting off the road in my old 90 landie and quietly roving along stoney trackways but, whilst accepting even my ‘tread lightly’ approach does some damage, I absolutely do not go on such by-ways when they are wet or at sensitive breeding times.  It is a difficult issue, and whereas the 4 X 4 fraternity has been pilloried and demonised by conservation types, go speak to the local hostelries and they are delighted at the trade such activity brings in.  I can show you really bad damage caused by off road motor-cycles, by mountain bikes and certainly by horses, why even at my current work site at Grafog in the Black Mountains, the routes used by the local trekking centre are at least as bad and in some cases worse, than some of the green roads the off road guys use.

Even this landscape has value, but it seems probably better to roar through muddy tracks on a military range than through pristine wild country, but that IS pristine wild country, to the creatures that live there !

It is a real issue, especially for bodies such as the National Parks and local authorities.  Some sections of countryside users deem all other users anti-social, there is war between walkers and vehicle users and bikers and horse riders and and and… I don’t know the solution. For sure damage to ancient trackways is a big problem, ruts caused by whatever means leads to water flow and erosion, pretty quickly.  I’ll mention below how such careless ‘off-roading’ just here, on my estate, caused a major and expensive re-build of an old wall.  I have long thought that some of the more popular long distance over-land routes (for my overseas readers you have to take the notion of over-land route metaphorically !) could be used only after buying an entry ticket, for example the Monks Trod which runs over the Cambrian mountains between the two great abbeys of Strata Florida and Abbey Cwm Hir, now long since barred to off roaders, could have been easily barriered and a charge made to cross it. The sums collected could be used to repair and maintain, after all it is a stone lined track and only in a few places where idiots have gone off the road – ironically to avoid deep muddy holes made by other off roaders ! – was there serious erosion.  Of course, there is a social dimension, a ‘class divide’ even.  The rambling societies, the horse riding societies, the bird lobby, are all articulate and connected, they know how to shout loudest and use the ‘democratic’ system to get their voice heard and their point of view adopted.  Generally speaking the vehicular users seem less able to fight their corner and whilst the decision making on planning issues relating to such use of green roads is normally vested within green minded conservation loving local government departments, there seems little hope of any compromise.  Certainly there have been successes and the LARA organisation of off road groups has worked hard at getting its off road members to adhere to damage limitation and accept road closure, or TRO’s, in sensitive conservation areas.  As for bikes, motor and pedal, and horses, I am unable to comment except to say, there has to be room made for everyone, not everyone can be right all the time, either everyone gets a bite of the countryside cake or no-one does, in my humble view.  For now, the sort of event we attended, which gave great pleasure to many people (and yes, it did add to pollution and it did cause damage) seems a good compromise.  Personally I think we, the all destructive human race, has probably tipped the natural balance beyond redemption and so I intend to enjoy as much of the countryside, in as many ways as is possible, for as long as I can.  Besides, you won’t get me out on the roads, certainly not on a Sunday with all those maniacs on power bikes, faces blacked out, riding outside the law,  determined to kill themselves and as many others as they can.  Now a party determined to ban those anti-socialites would get my vote…. the trouble is we’ve been there before.  Llaissez-faire dear friends, each to his or her own, Carpe Diem.

Enough of country controversy, what about work ? This last week has seen a change of venue and task.  Tired of the mud and with an important date looming close, I had to get over to the mansion and begin the task of re-structuring the dereliction that has invaded the walled garden.

The old walled garden is desperately in need of some TLC. This section was once covered in glass, heated greenhouses stood all along this terrace.

Those of you that have been following my progress through the garden restoration, or rather the restoration of the hard landscaping, will know how much has needed to be done at the estate ‘big house’.  Like all post-medieval estates, the ravages of time and diminishing income has seen the once great gardens fall into decline.  Where once a work-force equivalent to some small manufacturing company kept the grounds and productive vegetable gardens in tip-top condition, today one man struggles to keep abreast of ornate plantings and acres of grass.

I first began to work on the walled garden some five years ago.  The ‘back wall’ or north face, stands at around 5 metres high (15ft) and is built of slate stone from the estate quarry.  It is a mortared wall using a strong lime mix and has stood for around 300 years.  Where once grand glass hot houses leaned against it today there is nothing left other than the quarry tiles of the old inside floors and remnants of the cast iron pipes that fed the heat into the houses.  The wooden super-structure and glass panels were demolished in the 1960s – a great shame as, by all accounts, they were quite salvageable even then – and all that remains is now quite derelict.  My first job was to deal with a rather alarming bulge that was seemingly growing ever larger in the base of the northern wall.  The agent and Laird had called in a number of so called ‘experts’ or builders; the solutions offered ranged from demolishing the whole lot and digging away hundreds of square metres of soil from behind, building a large concrete block wall to retain the (supposed) slipping soil and re-facing with stone.  Or just taking it all away.   The costs varied from over £50k to around £25k.  Enter a dry stone waller.  It seemed clear to me that the bulge was being caused by two likely factors.  Firstly the top of the wall was capped with enormously large and heavy slate slabs which had been added after the original construction.  These slabs leaned backwards and had provided a ledge on the garden side under which the glass roof of the hot house could be located.  There was thus a pre-disposition to tip the wall backwards.  That in turn persuaded the bottom to ease outward and with a suggestion of water in behind, there was a clear problem.

I took the section down by hand, four metres wide and five metres high.  Behind the bulging lower metre was nothing but fresh air.  There was in fact no soil slippage, so what was causing the pressure that was forcing the stone outwards?  I had to wait until a winter storm, a serious deluge, to discover the culprit.  Water pouring down the roadway behind was no longer entering the pit of a cattle grid as it has become full of silt.  Instead it was cascading against this particular part of the wall and soaking down the back.  I followed the water back up the hill to find its source, after all, it was not a natural flow.  Sure enough, at the top of the hill behind the mansion there is a pond, the pond overflowed naturally into a small stream or water course that ran eastwards down the side of the hill into the river.  However, a few years previously, the game-keeper had begun to ride his quad bike up that track and not only had he caused ruts down which water flowed, he also had created a new channel for the overflow.  Instead of flowing to the river, the excess of water, and it was some excess, came down to the back of the old wall and gradually, imperceptibly, pushed the bottom outwards.  No one had even noticed it happening let alone tried to work out the cause.  I stopped the overflow, got the cattle grid emptied along with the drain that was supposed to run from it and solved the problem.  All that was needed was just to rebuild the 20 square metres or so of lime-mortared wall… Lets just say it took some time !

The section that was taken down and rebuilt, notice the straight vertical lines, it turned out that this had once been the gateway into the garden.

As always, such an undertaking allows the opportunity to do some investigation, some archaeology.  It became apparent that whereas the ground at the back of the wall is now only a metre and a half below the top, all the ground has been artificially made up.  When first built the high wall was equally as tall at front and back.  Indeed within the stratigraphy of the soil behind the demolished section were interesting layers of pottery and food remains.  Amongst the most notable was lots of ‘posh’ porcelain and oyster shells.  It also became clear why the bulging section seemed to have nicely defined vertical cracks.  Once I had taken it down it became apparent that it had in fact once been the main gateway into the garden.

There is a great deal of work to do to bring some semblance of dignity back to an important part of this historic house.  The plan is to create a central pathway lined with bricks – there are ample bricks to be recycled – and plant cordon apple trees against the great wall and possibly some form of topiary at the front.  Unfortunately I won’t get it completed by the time of the ‘Open Garden’ day on the 27th May.  I will have to get a little more completed and some safety tapes erected but at least those coming along will finally see that the grand walled garden of Llwyn Madoc is at last getting the attention it deserves.  A short busy week at the end of which I will take a small display of old garden tools to the Sunday afternoon event before packing the gear and heading 600 miles north.  Scotland get ready, Welshwaller is taking the high road !

Getting ready for a garden open day. Hard work and some hoped for fine weather will result in a good afternoon for all who attend the Llwyn Madoc Open Garden afternoon on Sunday May27th as part of the National Gardens Scheme (NGS).

Talking the Talk and now, Walking the Walk.

It’s almost four years, and it’s also one year, since leg injuries laid me low, crippled me in fact.  The first came after a particularly hot day,  I had been doing a simple task, gathering stones and loading them into a trailer to take to my work site.  That site happened to be just along the road from me at the the estate mansion, where I was rebuilding a large section of the walled garden.  The stone was slate waste from the Laird’s quarry, a short distance and not a job I anticipated would take much of the day.  One of the consequences of this assumption was that my supply of water was not large – half a litre – as I erroneously expected to be home by lunch-time.  Alas gathering and transporting the mile or so took much longer than I expected and I quickly ran out of water, in fact during the last trip, I was gulping from the stream (not to be recommended when there are so many pheasants about !).  It turned out to be mucho hot and I distinctly remember being parched.  I finally got back and parked the trailer.  I reached into it to recover a rope I had been using to secure the load, it had snagged in the trailer but instead of merely walking around the other side to free it, I stretched to reach it and gave a short little hop.  ‘Bang!’, I actually thought a stone had dropped onto my heel and looked around to see where it had gone.  I stepped back and immediately fell over.  I don’t recall there being any pain as such but I had totally lost the ability to move my left foot or stand on it.  I managed to crawl back to the house and attempted to remove my wellington boot, to no avail.  I began to suspect something serious had happened,  I began to suspect my achilles tendon had snapped, I began to be a little apprehensive.  I eventually had to cut my left welly away and fished around in my heel/achilles area to see if I could feel anything.  It was at that point, with my finger disappearing deep into the back of my foot, that my fears were confirmed, snapped tendon.  When I eventually got to hospital – which for various reasons, not least my own stupidity, was some 2 weeks later – the first thing the consultant said to me was “I bet it was the end of the day “.  Indeed it was and the reason she knew that was because most such injuries are down to dehydration, the tendon apparently dries up very quickly and is the first to suffer any reduction in the body’s fluid level.  She told me that the biggest patient group presenting with such an injury are those who go home from the office or work, get on the bike or running shoes and… kerplunk, rupturing of the achilles tendon.  How I well remembered my thirst !  Just over 6 months later, most of which was spent in a foot-to-groin plaster in ‘full equinus’ (foot pointed fully downwards), I began to hobble around in a strange moon-mission type boot with bladders that were pumped up to support the much weakened leg.  A year later I was still packing ice around the ankle each evening as I got back to the hotel in Washington D.C. after a hot day on the National Mall, where I made sure I drank gallons of water and nagged those working with me to do the same.

How was it then, (you may well ask!)   I ended up last May again writhing on the ground with a severe leg injury !  This time it was the right leg, this time it was not the tendon, thank the Lord, but a ruptured calf muscle, merely an alternative way of the body telling you it had not had enough water !  This time I was ‘simply’ pushing a lawn mower up a steep slope when…… I kind of knew it wasn’t the tendon as the pain was so excruciating as to make me scream, that had not happened the last time.  In one sense it was worse for there was nothing that could be done surgically or with plaster, it had to just heal itself .  Again I was laid up, again it was down to my own stupidity, again I had not hydrated sufficiently !  The other thing which happened was that I realised how very weak my original left leg injury still was and that the poor old right leg had been carrying all the weight, literally, and doing more than its fair share of work.  So now I have one bad leg and one worse one, ha !

A year or four on and things have come full circle, I am about to embark on much walking !

What ever is glorious about mud ?! Trying to walk or work in the claggy, sticky, all consuming mire is very draining on the energy levels and the spirit ! This has been my daily battle for two weeks now…. nice colour though, wouldn’t you say ?                (very SC yes ?)

What I realised last year was that I had seriously neglected the rehabilitation, which is to say correct exercise regime, of the original inury.  Hopefully I have learned that lesson and have worked hard at getting some of the old strength and fitness back into my leg muscles.  I walk as often as I can, and generally, other than some tiredness in the both calf muscles, I manage quite well.  Of course the distances are much less than I used to do, a ten mile walk was a common little jaunt for me prior to 2008, now I find I am pushing on and often struggling after the 5-6 mile mark.  Depending on the terrain, steep I can do, uneven under feet requires more care – dropping the heel suddenly into a hole or gulley is not a good idea – but I am getting more and more confident and regularly now clock up a six miler on a Sunday afternoon.

This last week has been a severe test of my leg stamina, and my ability to overcome duress !  I unwittingly made a serious mistake on my latest job.  Instead of stripping the wall out stone by stone as is best practise, I got a machine to demolish it for me.  Now that is something I have often done in the past, for although it means a slightly slower rebuild, due to having to dig around and spread the stone about, the few hours that a machine takes to strip out an old wall saves me two or three days depending on length.  It is not worth it for a small section but I had 20 metres of wall to demolish and some of it is made up of quite large stones, so as a machine and driver was available, go to it !

Not sure about this colour, it spoils the lovely scenery of the upper Rhiangoll somewhat, but it made short shrift of that old section of wall.

There was some urgency to get the whole section demolished as quickly as possible.  I had noticed that already the summer visitors were beginning to appear.  I saw a pair of Wheatears already on site and within a few days Redstarts had arrived and Pied Wagtails were flitting about agitated.  Walls are the perfect nesting places for these birds and our summer visitors return each year to the same site.  I had managed to survey the wall last summer and had noticed only the Pied Wagtails had nested in this particular section, nevertheless I didn’t want to leave the demolition any longer, there is nothing worse than ruining a nest full of eggs or, worse still, young chicks !!

The problem came in the form of several inches of heavy rain, it absolutely saturated the ground so that when the machine scraped the foundations of the wall out, water immediately poured from the surrounding subsoil into the trench.  Within a short time I had trod it into a quagmire from which I have struggled everyday to escape.  Each step causes the foot to disappear into the clinging morass and the slightest pause, to place a stone on the wall, means excessive strain to unstick the large boot that encases my weakening lower legs.  Any time I might have saved in not demolishing the wall by hand has long since been used up.  I am woefully behind and each day leaves me tired and demoralised.  To add to the problem the section of wall is four large fields away from the farmyard, where I leave my vehicle.  Now normally the walk up to any wall on Grafog is part of the daily pleasure, the return stroll in the evening is always a delight.  Just now, not least because the first field is ploughed, the trek through ankle deep mud leaves me having used up half the day’s supply of energy and enthusiasm before e’er the wall is reached !

Oh my, what a mess, mud and stone and me, to separate the three of us is an absolute battle, each stone has to be extricated, scraped of mud, moved by glued feet and webbed hands to an even muddier wall.

The wall itself has stood here for well over 400 years but it had become rather dilapidated and sections of it have been variously robbed-out (stone walls were not highly regarded once they had become un-stockproof and the stone was a valuable resource for use in buildings or for sale) or just lie where they have fallen, moss covered and untidy.  One of the problems of assessing the habitat value of a dry stone wall lies in the species being taken into consideration.  Much of the conservation policy in this country has been driven by the bird lobby and hence attempts to increase nest sites and food sources have had precedent in agri-environmental programmes.  I have often had battles with the officers who monitor and create these plans, often around whether a wall is more important in its collapsed – just a pile of stones – state than ever it would be rebuilt.  I rarely have won such an argument and have seen many highly important ‘over-wintering’ sites – that is a habitat area where creatures such as invertebrates and amphibians spend the winter in safety, out of the way of hungry predators or Jack Frost – destroyed after having been there for a hundred years or more.  I therefore try as best I can to make the wall I rebuild a good habitat area for all such animals even to the point of creating bird nesting holes, properly constructed with a safe and dry roof, as would be used in an old dilapidated wall.

The old wall was at one time the mountain boundary and this little passage, called a ‘lunky’, allows the sheep to pass through the wall and out onto the hill.

This particular piece of wall is the oldest of the walls on the farm and at one time it formed the drove from the hill to the farms nearby.  Just a few hundred yards upstream is a sheep-wash where the hill flocks were brought for dunking in the clear mountain water prior to shearing.

Given the history of the land hereabouts this wall probably dates from the 1600s and is built from stones gathered from the hill and the stream.  It is different from the other walls which are primarily built from locally quarried Old Red Sandstone.  In one sense it is a shame to demolish it as it has characteristics of those builders who toiled here hundreds of years ago.  It is actually possible to track the builders as each section they built in a day is clearly marked by a rather inept ‘straight’ or ‘rip’ joint.  This is something that is one of the hallmarks of the late medieval enclosure walls.  Wallers were paid on a daily basis and for how much they had erected, it was thus important for them to get a ‘rood’ a day done (the ‘rood’ is the old measurement which strangely varies from place to place but is around 18-21 feet) and of course it had to be completed.

I have really struggled with the rebuilding because of the terrible conditions but progress is being made.  It needs to be done soon as I am heading to the Orkneys for some archaeological study, oh yes, and some respite from bad weather !  However, that is not the only change coming my way soon, and the other involves a greater use of these weary legs.  I’m going walking….

Some time ago I mentioned beginning a new adventure with some customer friends of mine over in the Llandrindod Wells area.  We are going to launch some Guided Walking Breaks with a difference.  The area around their farm is a real historical gem, full of antiquity and interesting landscape features.  Utilising my interest (some say ‘obsession’ !) in Historical Landscape study and their very fine B & B or self catering accommodation (together with some nearby B & B businesses) we are offering short walking breaks which will examine the prehistoric and medieval features which litter the hillsides within a short radius of their holding.

This pile of stone is in fact the defensive ramparts of an Iron Age hillfort. Known somewhat ingloriously as Castle Bank, it sits on a natural rocky outcrop hidden in the Radnorshire hills between Howey and Hundred House.

Within five miles of the farm there are numerous features, the Iron Age is dominant in these forgotten hills and there are a number of ditch and bank defended enclosures.  The main camp, Castle Bank, is a univallate (a posh way of  saying single ditch and bank !) enclosure which is a huge elongated hilltop fortification surrounded along its less steep side, by stone ramparts.  Whilst these are now just piles of stones it is likely that at one time they would have been a built dry stone structure.

The ditch and bank is quite clear along a good length of the hillfort, especially on the northern slopes where the gradient is not so steep as to present an impossible line of attack.

The enclosed area is around 16 acres and the steep slope to the south, covered in loose stone scree, is formidable.  Within the camp, which is mainly a bumpy, rocky hilltop, there are several flattened terraces where huts would have stood.

The surrounding field systems and  low banks now consumed within the heather and scrub of the common land around the fort, mark the areas where the tribesmen would have farmed.  The views are extensive from the fort, 30 miles or so to the western hemisphere and 20 miles or so to the eastern.  On the surrounding skylines are smaller hillforts all having a clear line-of-sight to this major camp.  These satellite camps are assumed to have belonged to the extended clan and the clustering of such hillforts is currently being plotted throughout south Wales by my old University Professor, Dr. Ray Howells.

The steep rocky scree presents an impenetratable defense along the southern approaches to the hillfort.

In addition to the Iron Age features there are relic field systems thought to date from the Bronze Age and a number of stone cairns which dominate the skyline.  The small area, framed by the Builth Wells to Llandrindod Wells and the Builth to Hundred House and on to Llanfihangel Nant Melyn roadways, is indeed a wonderful area to wander in.  The walking is not too onerous and the pathways are grassy turf with wide open panoramas in every direction.

Of course, dry stone walls also dominate the area  – well they would wouldn’t they ! – and these too provide a very interesting clue to the stratigraphy of the historic landscape.  The encroachment of the fields up onto the open hill and the way the farmsteads nestle along the spring-line show how farming was effected by and absorbed the climatic and political changes which ranged forth over this area for hundred of years.  Place names too provide a fascinating insight into the old socio-political structures with many Welsh names, such as Pen Tre  (meaning the top of the township, or estate, the Tref), and of course the very clear ‘Hundred House’, a reference to the old Cantref, or system of dividing an area into a hundred homesteads.

‘The wall walks the hill, millipede like’. The old walls of the Disserth Betws area hold the secret to its evolution.

The whole area has some delightful little relics of ages past, including its place in the folklore of Cattle Droving, with a major old route passing through the area.  I am excited to get going, to get walking, and show off this hidden corner of Wales.

As well as the more historic walking days we are also beginning some short courses relating to the ‘Why’s and Wherefore’s’ of dry stone walls, which again consists of short guided walks looking at walls in their environment and learning about why they are where they are, who put them there and when.  I have been developing dating models for dry stone walls over a number of years now and have some clear indicators which allow an estimate of the period in which a wall was constructed to be deduced from the way the stones are laid and the wall built.  This area is full of excellent uncorrupted walls, that is they haven’t been rebuilt by someone like me who comes along and ruins the historical integrity !

Old farmsteads lie in ruins beneath the great hillfort, giving yet more clues to the history of this fascinating corner of Radnorshire.

The two day course also offers the chance to have a go at building a dry stone wall having learned the skills and seen the old walls in the surrounding countryside.

This development, this ‘diversification’ from my usual activities, gives me the chance to share some of my knowledge and interest with others, and, hopefully, still pay some bills !  Who knows, I might even get to meet one of YOU, faithful long suffering readers of the ramblings of Welshwaller !

If you want to find out more about the courses ( and I genuinely apologise for this bit of advertising !) go to:

www.tygwynfarm.co.uk

This is the area where we will go exploring; the old Drovers road from Howey to Hundred House, winds over the open hill, another element in the history of this quiet corner of my favourite Welsh county.

“Oh to be in England now that April’s there”.

“And after April, when May follows, and the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows…”

The rainbow's end, not alas the end of the rain ! Some wild skies have greeted us this last few weeks.

If March was trying to impress us with fine sunshine, oh my, how April has stamped her authority on the status-quo of folklore and weather.  It is to be hoped that “though April showers may come my way, they bring the flowers that bloom in May” ! So, I’m wondering… when does a shower become rain !?  For what seems like ‘forever’,  water has been deluging from the sky, apparently they are ‘showers’.  I’m not sure, if that is the case, that we ever actually get rain.  I mean, if more than twelve hours of constant down-pouring doesn’t constitute rain, then what does !  True, we needed to get some moisture into the ground, and most of England is apparently suffering drought, but I need to get some work done !

Once again I have slipped through the March of Wales and into the English county of Herefordshire.  Not too far mind you, in fact had I been a few hundred years earlier I would not have found myself out of my home country at all.  The border between Wales and England washed to and fro for several hundreds of years and the presence of Welsh names on farms and townships on what is now the English side,  evinces this.  The great boundary of Offa’s Dyke runs close to the farm where I found myself working for a short while this past week. The fact that I was still on the Welsh side of that great 8th century barrier just shows the confusion…

English Tudor manors, classically timber framed with English Oak, indicate clearly that one is in a foreign land.

The small market town of Kington is a typical small market town, though once it was far more eminent and strategic than it is today.  The small river on which it stands, the Arrow, meanders through the Herefordshire countryside and along its course are some really fabulous traditional timber framed farmhouses.  They are grand and would have been called Manor or Manoire had they been in Normandy.  I enjoy a drive through the lush green pasture-lands, the large ‘champion’ arable and the linear orchards.  It takes me back to a halcyon time of childhood when  I would accompany my uncle in an old Morris van, loaded with wooden crates, on a journey to find apples which would then be transported to the family grocery store back in Pontnewydd.

Why is it, I wonder, that those crooked timber frame houses, with their tiny windows and low ceilings, their narrow doorways which deny access to any furniture larger than one of the apple crates we carried, the rickety twisting stairways which lead to unimaginably small and low ceilinged bedrooms, why is it indeed that such dwellings attract such affection and desire.  I would be a hopeless occupant, spending most of my time unconscious or bad tempered as my head constantly cracked against some medieval timber baulk !

My workstation in the ancient hamlet of Chickward was equally charming, but for some reason its ceilings were sufficiently high and its doors and windows amply proportioned.  I would have no problem moving in, and even though it is technically in England, it is sufficiently close to the Radnorshire border and is historically well on the Welsh side, so as to cause me no political or emotional guilt.

This lovely old farmhouse is nigh on 500 years old and has the classic design of the Radnorshire Hall House even though it is in England.

I was called to this lovely spot by an equally lovely lady whom I had first met some five years or so ago.  I had been asked to do some repairs at the nearby ancient church at Gladestry and she was a prominent member of the Parochial council – a relic of medievalism indeed !

It was a simple task to build a small retaining wall at the redesigned entrance.  Of course being simple didn’t ensure it was to be  ‘quick’. The problem with doing a job for ‘nice’ people, especially on their yard, is that tea is often served and takes up an interminable amount of pleasurable time; the fact that they were Radnorshire folk and farmers to boot did nothing to speed up the proceedings !

The geology is also a bonus, lovely light sandstone which comes in nicely manicured slabs, well it usually does but my supply here was in fact the remnants of an old farm building long since demolished.  The problem with using stones from a building is that they are often too ‘short’ because they were set in lime mortar.  In building a dry stone wall it is necessary to have stones with some length  so as to penetrate into the heart of the wall.  Nevertheless a reasonable job was achieved.

One of the interesting places on the outskirts of Kington is Hergest Camp.  Begun at the start of the 2nd World War, it ultimately became one of the largest American military hospitals receiving hundreds of wounded soldiers from the D day landings and the subsequent battles through Normandy and onwards into Germany.  First commissioned as a British camp in 1939 the construction of two general hospitals for the American forces began in 1943.  By the time of the invasion in June 1944 the two hospitals, 107th and 122nd, had bed space for 1250 in wards of forty beds.  Officially opened in August of 1944, the 107th hospital had started to receive wounded from the Normandy invasion soon after June 6th.  Between June of 1944 and May 1945 over 13000 American wounded were treated at the camp.

Hergest Camp at Kington still has a number of the old prefabricated concrete buildings that once housed two American general hospitals in WW2.

Today several dozen of the old buildings still remain, some used as workshops or storage, some just empty and forlorn.  There are moves afoot to create a museum and more and more of the history of the of the camp is being catalogued (just google Hergest camp and several options come up including oral history from residents).  Driving past the camp on my way to Chickward it struck me how undistinguished the whole area now looks.  Old buildings and even the huge brick built water tower stand scattered in an otherwise rural setting.  Yet nightly, during the summer of 1944, trains loaded  with wounded American forces personnel, up to 300 per train, would arrive at the nearby station and a convoy of field ambulances took them to the hospitals.  Many older residents, then young children, remember the sound of engines passing through the town all night in those long ago days.

What a story these buildings tell, how much suffering but also relief was experienced here nearly 70 years ago.

Another connection with American forces and my work places was also to the fore this last week.  On the farm where I was building, in 1943, a P51 Mustang of the American Air Force crashed killing the pilot.  The family recovered the body and assembled the scattered wreckage.  There is a small memorial and an information leaflet which is given out to visitors and school children who come to the farm on visits as part of a Farm Stewardship scheme.  History of farming and past happenings are being well catered for.

Now you may think I am always harking on about Americans ! Well it certainly seems so this week, and in general much of the area in which I work (as I have mentioned on several occasions) was ‘occupied’ by our friends from the New World during the 2nd World War.  Whether as training areas or bases there was a huge presence.  However, with an apology, I have to go even further this week and mention some artefacts which have their origin in that far away land.

Cattle or Ox shoes, called 'cues' or cuiw in Welsh, affixed for driving cattle long distances.

A part of the history of this area, and indeed where I live near Llanwyrtd Wells, has a long history of cattle droving.  Large numbers of Welsh Black cattle were walked out of the rich fertile coastal pasture lands of Wales and into England, either for fattening or direct to the urban markets.  This trade began in the 15th century and really only ceased with the coming of the railways in the mid 19th century.  Kington is on an old route and as part of the farm visits I mentioned above, I am to take some of my collection of farming memorabilia to demonstrate how things were done in days gone by.  A rare item, highly prized as it happens, are the shoes which were fitted to the feet of cattle in order for them to walk the hundreds of miles involved in a drove.  Even though there must have been tens of thousands of them made, there a very few to be found.  In fact the only new ones I’ve seen have been in the local museums.  Thus I was particularly excited when, on my recent visit to the Carolinas, I came across a brand new pair at a ‘flea market’ in a little township called Pickens. (Pickens Flea Market is ‘awesome’ and then some !).  They are exactly the same as the ones used here and it must be supposed that the settlers took with them the knowledge of such shoeing and how the cues were made.

This very rare photo is from an old glass slide I found and shows the frame in which cattle were locked whilst being shod ready for a drove.

The green glass bottle is for gathering the blood let from the neck of horses- mainly stallions - having made an incision with the fleam.

Another item I shall be taking along is my treasured ‘fleam’ which is a bladed instrument for making a small incision in the neck of horses in order to withdraw blood.  Whilst fleams are themselves difficult to find, the correct glass jars are almost non-existent (again only to be seen in museums) so I was particularly pleased to find one on ebay.  It was however in North Carolina (don’t you get struck by coincidence ?  I saw it a week or so before I was due to fly off to the States, and it was in a town I actually got to drive through !), the seller kindly sent it on to Greenville for me and – much to the surprise of ‘mine hosts’ – the parcel was waiting for me when I got there some 2 weeks later.  It is an 18th century glass jar and hence was more likely to have been collecting blood for human medicinal purposes (used to enhance fertility of the female) of a more basic nature.  As previously mentioned, by the time of the 2nd World War, blood from horses was a nice little earner for farmers as it was needed for making plasma.

My final little trans-Atlantic connection comes in the form of pigs.  Every farm would have reared at least one pig which, when killed in the early autumn, provided meat and meat products to carry the family through the long hard winter.  Pig killing was a gruesome business and one which even the hardest of farmers often found too much to endure (and hence they went off to the fields).  On the farm at Chickward there is even a field called the ‘Butcher’s field’ where, instead of killing the poor animal in the yard, it was taken away to a quiet corner.  I have been asked to take some items relating to that unsavoury yet necessary activity, and again Pickens comes into play.

These scrapers were used to scratch away the hair from the carcass of the slain pig.

I have seen very few ‘scrapers’, devices which resemble a candle stick – indeed the one Welsh pig-scraper I have is  a’candle-stick’ in that a candle was inserted into the one end to singe the hair – and are gripped in the fist and drawn down the hanging carcass to scratch away the bristles.

Perhaps because they were used also as candle-sticks or maybe just because they were rather flimsy tin, few seem to have survived.  I was therefore delighted when a casual request to one Mr Brown when he visited Wales back last autumn, to keep a look out for a ‘hog scraper’ (hog is the name given to pigs in the U.S.) knowing that the south, in particular North Carolina, is a big hog rearing area.  Now he is a man out of my own heart, quite up to wandering the miles of stalls at Pickens Flea Market, indeed he does so at least once a week throughout the year, and whilst he had no idea what I was on about, within a very short time of his returning home he duly found me three very nice examples for a very reasonable ‘few dollars’.  I collected them on my visit and they now too make a very interesting and valuable addition to my educational collection.  Being of equally generous spirit I gave one to a dear friend of mine, ‘Dai-it-is’, (so called because every phone call he makes is precipitated by those three little words) who, if anything, is a bigger collector than yours truly – yes, it’s true !

So, there you have it.  A couple of days in a foreign land, a connection to wartime history and farming history and once again the Stars and Stripes have invaded the life of Welshwaller !  What can I say !  May has arrived, with glee I turn the page on my calendar – another New World connection ! – it is without doubt my most favourite of months, at the end of which I go off to another foreign land, the home of our Celtic cousins, the Scots.  In the meantime I’m battling through the wettest Spring on record – Wales apparently received three times more rain in April than it would normally expect – I’ve moved back down to the Rhiangoll to do a little rebuild of an ancient wall at the Grafog, which I swear has had three times more rain than the rest of Wales !  It didn’t even abate for HRH, who visited nearby Glanusk Park on her Jubillee tour of Wales.  My sister’s grand-daughter (umm, is that my great neice ?) saw Her as she officially opened the new school at Aberfan, Wales’ most tragic of locations. “Nanny, she’s very old !”, well who isn’t when you’re 4 !!

Mayday Mayday, send the Sun, urgent !

The grass is always greener - even if it means a swim in a freezing raging torrent... These two just had to get across once they saw I had taken the fence down to start my next rebuild - then the rest followed.... oops !