HHH CHAPTER 9: Cold hands empty the brain

“It’s very cold this morning,” were the words of my host at the Newtown Bed and Breakfast. Interestingly, I had been the only guest for the night, although she was fully booked the night before and the night after my stay. I realized how cool the day was when I saw that all the north-facing roofs of the city were white with frost! I had left the main road to get to my accommodation, so this morning I shivered with cold hands at the bus station, waiting for the bus to take me back to the Severn Valley road.

I started in Caerswys. I know Caer means strong in Welsh. My research showed that Caerswys began as a Roman fort around 75 AD, a very extensive fort, with large walls. All you see now is an innocent looking ridge along the edge of the field.

Today was cool, sunny and bright. So, following the walkers’ saying of «be brave, start cold», I set off and soon warmed up. I realized that I passed my first 100 km early in the morning.

Although my route is named after the River Severn, it does not follow the actual bank of the river, which is kept private by adjacent landowners, possibly for fishing and watering rights.

what goes up must come down

Well, it’s physics, right?

The path roughly follows the Severn, but goes up the hills that form the sides of the valley, and then down again, and then up and down again, again and again, through fields, woods and pastures.

When I stopped at the top of a hill for a coffee and snack (Chorley cake* since you asked), the grass was still wet. The sun scattered flashes of rainbow-colored light on the dewdrops across the meadow.

*A Chorley cake consists of buttery dough wrapped around a filling of dried fruits, bound with sugar. The name comes from Chorley in Lancashire. Normally I find them too sweet, but they were a good breakfast and strengthened my legs to continue climbing.

A large shadow moved over the grass. It was a large red kite looking for dinner on the ground. A seagull could have swooped in to steal my snack, but that would be beneath the dignity of a red kite.

Distant views showed hills on either side of fertile fields at the bottom of the alluvial valley. One of the woods was called «Undercover Fox», where owners could find foxes before hunting them on horseback with packs of dogs. Although that is now illegal.

I continued like this calmly, without meeting any other walkers and with my mind as empty as yesterday, without musings or musings.

I was surprised by the plowed land in this field. The heavy clay had dried hard, nothing was growing and the ground was impacted by large machinery. There were no insects and no birds could be heard. If this were my garden, I would be putting piles of organic materials and compost on it. It looked dead from too much heavy machinery and artificial fumigation.

Shattered peace

As we headed down the quiet road towards Llanidloes, the sky was filled with the roar of a military plane, which rumbled and rolled over the hills. It was probably a training mission from the RAF base at Anglesey. This was a brutal reminder that while I am free to roam peaceful landscapes, ordinary people like me elsewhere suffer from bombs, destruction and fear. Holy wells do not have much power against warmongering in the Middle East. May peace prevail.

Llanidloes is a lovely little place with this historic market in the centre. It was built around 1620 and fresh produce was sold below, and the oak-beamed hall above was used for wool and as an audience hall.

Not much is known about St Idloes, after which the town is named. I went to the possible site of his holy well, only to find no sign of him. Its church had a splendid row of 16th-century angels on the ceiling and the arches were apparently removed from a Cistercian monastery 14 miles away in 1535.

I’m still looking for more holy wells!

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