Walking the Waterfalls

One of the lovely things about having this rare “proper” English summer is the opportunity to relive some of those jaunts from my childhood years back in the sixties and seventies when there always seemed to be proper summers with, you know, sun.

Thornton Force

A place the family visited almost every summer back then was Ingleton Falls, just over the border in North Yorkshire, and this year, as the sun had his hat on and we had a visitor up from The Smoke staying with us, we thought we’d head off to explore our memories and share her new adventure.

Ingleton Falls

The familiar trail has been expanded into the next valley so that it is now a circular route with waterfalls in both gorges. There were lots of families doing the traditional thing of encouraging (begging) their kids to keep going as the walk gets steeper. Fortunately, the old green refreshment hut that used to sell  home made lemonade is still there at the top of the gorge. Nowadays it sells mass produced pop and plastic ice-cream, unfortunately, but that seemed enough to keep the kids happy and caloried-up for the descent down the next gorge.

Top of the gorge

Although the weather had been quite dry for weeks, there was still plenty of force in the waterfalls and they are particularly beautiful on the ascent up Swilla Glen and Pecca Glen. At the top, of course, there’s Thornton Force and the large open pool which we used to use for cooling off back in the day.

Beyond Ingleton Falls

All those waterfalls brought back the memory of studying Thomas Hardy at school and then during my first year at University. Though he was from the other end of the country, here’s his take on a memory of an English waterfall and, of course, love.

Force

Under the Waterfall

“Whenever I plunge my arm, like this,
In a basin of water, I never miss
The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day
Fetched back from the thickening shroud of grey.
Hence the only prime
And real love-rhyme
That I know by heart
And that leaves no smart,
Is the purl of a little valley fall
About three spans wide and two spans tall
Over a table of solid rock
And into a scoop of the self-same block;
The purl of a runlet that never ceases
In stir of kingdoms, in wars, in peaces;
With a hollow, boiling voice it speaks
And has spoken since hills were turfless peaks.”

“And why gives this the only prime
Idea to you of a real love-rhyme?
And why does plunging your arm in a bowl
Full of spring water, bring throbs to your soul?”
“Well, under the fall, in a crease of the stone,
Though where precisely none ever has known,
Jammed darkly, nothing to show how prized,
And by now with its smoothness opalised,
Is a drinking-glass:
For, down that pass,
My love and I
Walked under a sky
Of blue with a leaf-wove awning of green,
In the burn of August, to paint the scene,
And we placed our basket of fruit and wine
By the runlet’s rim, where we sat to dine;
And when we had drunk from the glass together,
Arched by the oak-copse from the weather,
I held the vessel to rinse in the fall,
Where it slipped, and sank, and was past recall,
Though we stooped and plumbed the little abyss
With long bared arms. There the glass still is.
And, as said, if I thrust my arm below
Cold water in basin or bowl, a throe
From the past awakens a sense of that time,
And the glass we used, and the cascade’s rhyme.
The basin seems the pool, and its edge
The hard smooth face of the brook-side ledge,
And the leafy pattern of china-ware
The hanging plants that were bathing there.

“By night, by day, when it shines or lours,
There lies intact that chalice of ours,
And its presence adds to the rhyme of love
Persistently sung by the fall above.
No lip has touched it since his and mine
In turn therefrom sipped lovers’ wine.”

Heaven, Earth and a Hare

“Here heaven and earth come close together,
here the small and the frightened find shelter and hope.”
– A.M. Allchin, A Pilgrim’s Prayer

The Hare at Pennant Melangell

I’ve wanted to make a pilgrimage to Pennant Melangell since I met the Priest Guardian of the shrine, Rev’d Lynette Norman, on a course in which we both participated earlier this year. Although I know North Wales pretty well, spending lots of childhood holidays there and with more recent visits to retreat venues, I’d never heard of St Melangell or the shrine church that honours her.

Shrine Church, Pennant Melangell

Since my chats with Lynette I’d had a couple of those strange “coincidences” in quick succession that prompted this visit: I’d picked up a novel in Liverpool that has Pennant Melangell as its setting (Fay Sampson’s The Hunted Hare) and I’d begun reading Andrew Jones’ book on Pilgrimage that features, well, Pennant Melangell. Three such encounters in the space of a couple of weeks probably is a good indication of a journey one is supposed to make. So on a glorious day in July two friends and I set out on our journey: one of us Russian Orthodox (Melangell is pre-1054 and the Great Schism), one Anglican with Buddhist heritage and practice and one Interfaith enthusiast who lives up a mountain in Sri Lanka for the most of each year. Quite a spiritual and quirky mix but all are welcome at Pennant as we found out!

Entarnce, St Melangell

The shrine has been a place of pilgrimage for more than a thousand years and is located in the secluded and beautiful setting of the Tanat Valley between Oswestry and Bala. The shrine church is cradled in the palm of several hills, surrounded by 2000 year old yews, and is very special. Some places seem soaked in prayer and this is definitely one of them. There are pilgrim liturgies said every day, whether there are pilgrims present or not, and there is a particular emphasis on healing with the laying on of hands and anointing with oil. Intercessory prayers are made for the many contacts that the Church in Wales Priest receives each day from around the world. The service we attended was very moving and, surprisingly, even had a tailored sermon although only we three (and God) were present. We felt part of something particular but universal.

Sanctuary, Pennant Melangell

The impressive 12th Century shrine in the sanctuary of the church contains the 7th Century relics of St Melangell and has undergone much reconstruction and restoration. It is Romanesque in style and similar in shape to those found in some grand medieval cathedrals.

Shrine

A leaflet at the church explains that “The legend of Melangell derives from two 17th Century transcripts of a lost medieval Life of the Saints. One day a prince named Brochwel was hunting at a place called Pennant. His hounds raised a hare that took refuge in a thicket. On pursuit, the prince found a virgin praying, with the hare hiding under the folds of her garment. The hounds were urged on but fled howling; their huntsman raised his horn to his lips and was unable to remove it. The virgin informed the prince that she dwelt at his place, and that she had fled here for refuge. So impressed was the prince by Melangell’s godliness that he granted the valley to her and here she founded a religious community.”

Modern Icon, St Melangell

Near the church is the St Melangell Centre which is used for the ministry of healing and for Quiet Days. There’s a very active programme of day courses and retreats. Although it was Lynette’s afternoon off she insisted that we join her for lunch at the centre and we were able to enjoy her great hospitality and the beauty of the views from the centre’s immaculate bird-filled gardens. This really is a very special place and Lynette and her husband are very fortunate to live and work in such a beautiful location. St Melangell’s shrine is wonderfully served by them, too. All three of us felt touched by our visit.