Cornwall, Wales, Welsh History

Madrun

When you meet someone for the first time, it seems to me, that you can nearly always find something that you have in common — places you have lived, people you have known, views, tastes, maybe you have the same sense of humour — we humans like to do this, to forge bonds with new people.

I have just met Madrun and she is a remarkable woman.  She’s been dead 1500 years. 

Whatever you call her, Madrun or Materiana, this woman must have learned a thing or two from the turbulent power struggles that raged around her in her early life.  She was born a princess, eldest daughter of Gwerthefyr Fendigaid (Vortimer the Blessed), the 5th century warrior king of Gwent who opposed the Saxon invaders from Germany who were allied with his father.  He temporarily overthrew his father and took power but eventually is said to have been poisoned by his Saxon stepmother (that’s a recurrent theme!)  On his father’s death, his daughter, Madrun, succeeded from her grandfather and rulled with her husband Ynyr (descended from Roman emperor Magnus Maximus). (Thankyou, David Nash Ford for this information from Early British Kingdoms)

The details of her life are obscure but we know she was Christian and that, like many of her contemporaries she travelled to Ynes Enlli (Bardsey Island — at the tip of the Llyn peninsula in North Wales) as a pilgrim. 

Looking towards Bardsey Island,  Ynys Gwylan in the foreground

On the way she and her servant Annun stayed a night at Trawsfynydd.  I have visited this area — infact I blogged about the visit and the spooky nature of the place.(Off the Straight and Narrow) 

Madrun found it spooky too.  She and Annun both dreamed a dream of  founding a nunnery there, which they did –the church there still bears Madrun’s name.

Circle of hills around Trawsfynydd –slate wall in foreground

Yesterday we were at Tintagel, Cornwall, in a magnificent gale, shouting greetings to fellow walkers with excited wind-tousled dogs.  We watched the huge swell and the breakers hitting the offshore islands and sending spray 60 feet into the air.

The Sisters, Tintagel.

As we drove away we caught sight of a small church on the cliff and we were drawn to look.  Here it is — St Materiana’s (that’s the same Madrun — she ended her days in Cornwall)

Saint Materiana’s Church, Tintagel, Cornwall

Relatively modern –rebuilt in 12th century!  But there’s been a church here since the 6th century — I bet you Madrun’s buried here — look at the view.

Someone is keeping an eye on it anyway!

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Hill Farming, Humour

Chutney Days!

As I get older my back aches a bit and my trousers get tighter otherwise I feel much the same but I notice that the people around me seem to ail more and the things that fill my days are changing.  A lot of the things that we do hardly merit a blog — I can’t promise you a riveting account of my breast screening appointment next week.

This week I have scratched the new car and got stuck in the car-wash but I have mostly been making chutney — apple chutney.  Well, I’d cleaned the house after the cider episode (the floor no longer clings hysterically to my shoes as I walk, nor the door handles to my hands) so I thought, I’ll fill the kitchen with vinegar fumes, taint the washing on the dryer and torture myself with chilli fingers when I remove my contact lenses!

I can feel exceedingly green by recycling jam jars, soothing my hands in warm soapy water, marvel at the amazing adhesiveness of modern labels  and turn a blind eye (still red from the chilli) on the amount of sugar that goes in — much less than in  jam! 

All because I read somewhere that the reason the days seem to fly past as we get older is because we don’t do enough different things– distinguishing things — that-was-the-day-I-made-the-chutney things!  

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Hill Farming

Sticky Situation!

We have a decrepit apple tree — the sheep barked it, a hedge has swamped it, it has die-back and more lichen than leaves and has produced about ten apples in as many years — until this year.

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It still doesn’t look very healthy but, by God, this has been a good year for apples!

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A fraction of the crop.

Trouble is everyone has had an exceptional year — Alan was bemoaning this fact at the pub and the fact that we no longer had a cider press (actually that was a huge relief — we are trying to cut down.)

Next day a friend arrived with, guess what!

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State of the art cider apple masher and…

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Cider Press!

It takes a lot of apples and a lot of mashing and pressing to produce a gallon of cider.  We’ve got through about 200 pounds of apples.

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The kitchen is now full of demi-johns bubbling away — it smells like a real farmhouse kitchen and everything is sticky!

I don’t think I can face bottling it so we will have to rack it off (to remove the sediment) and insert bungs into the big jars — that will mean we have to drink it a gallon at a time — Happy days!

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