A Hike Cut Short

For a few weeks, I had been eyeing up the small Herefordshire village of Llanwarne on Google Maps, which first caught my attention due to the church ruins located there. The second thing I noticed, as someone who drives and is only paid slightly above the minimum wage, was the free car park.

This would be the perfect place from which to base a hike out of. Unfortunately, I was not exactly the perfect person to undertake it, and time and time again, after planning to set out the next morning, I would put it off and stay at home.

This was quite easy to justify, what with spraining my foot at Llandrindod Wells whilst scurrying down a steep riverbank, and then pulling both my calves on what must have been a very fun night out spent in Hereford. My dance moves are lethal, but only to me.

None of this bode well for hiking through the hilly countryside, but fortunately, my self-inflicted ailments had mostly subsided by Sunday 29 December, when I finally got in the car and drove down to Llanwarne.

Turning off the main road and onto one of many narrow country lanes England is infamous for, I was greeted by a pair of quaint stone houses, but as I passed the second, the real jewel of the village made itself known to me.

Standing on the right side of the road were the ruins of St John the Baptist, the church I had been admiring on my computer screen for so long. It was even more impressive than I had imagined.

The earliest parts of the structure date from the 13th century, but it was abandoned in 1864 after floods repeatedly forced parishioners out of their pews. Its successor was Christ Church. Built almost opposite, and this time on higher ground, it stayed perfectly dry when The Gamber next burst its banks.

With my appetite now whetted, I eagerly entered the free car park, slipped on my hiking boots, and brandished my camera before striding towards the church ruins. As I approached, I set my lens on the medieval lychgate and clicked the shutter button. This was where things started to go awry.

My face dropped as I read the message that popped up on screen: ‘Cannot record! No memory card’. I instantly realised I had left this key component at home, plugged into the USB that I use to transfer my photos to my computer.

I did not let this affect my mood too much though. It wasn’t as though taking photos was imperative to me enjoying a hike through the lush scenery and fresh air of the countryside. Besides, I could always return at a later date to snap some shots of the church.

The first leg of my journey went reasonably well. It felt good to once again hear my boots crunch against gravel roads and rustle through grass-covered fields. There were a few times where I got rather muddled, but I knew I was a bit out of practice with following maps and footpaths, so it didn’t deter me.

As is to be expected when traversing the English countryside, you will undoubtedly pass by at least a few country houses, and I spotted my first one not long after setting off. Through the trees and past some farm outbuildings, I could just about make out Lyston House, its skylight catching the rays of the sun and sending them sparkling towards me.

The house is thought to have been built in 1842 for a R. M. Lingwood, and he must have been a wealthy fellow indeed if the skylight is anything to go by. It was remodelled in 1864, the same year St John the Baptist was abandoned, and then enlarged sometime in the 1920s.

Having admired its architectural merit as someone who has next to no knowledge about architecture, I swiftly crossed the main road, hopped over a stile, and made my way through more fields.

Within a short time, I reached Mileshiggins Farm. This was to be the highlight of the entire walk, because as I walked through the gate, a beautiful little dog with shiny black fur came running over to me, jumped up, and set her paws on my legs. I obliged to her begging and gave her as much fuss as I could before carrying on through the farm.

Mileshiggins Farm from the slopes of Bryngwyn Hill

After dodging past a cumbersome tractor, of which Poppy the dog took the slightest bit of notice, I began my final stint of uphill walking to reach the top of Bryngwyn Hill. The effort was well worth the view, as I got a fantastic prospect of Aconbury Hill, with the three villages of Much Dewchurch, Wormelow, and Much Birch huddling beneath its tree-covered crown.

I could even make out the spire of Much Birch church, and to the north were the huge white satellites of Madley Communication Station. It was from here that I also saw the second and third country houses of the walk.

The view from Bryngwyn Hill, with Aconbury Hill in the distance on the left

To the west lay The Mynde, the construction of which began in the early 16th century, although it has been much remodelled over the years, so all that can be seen from the outside is the late 18th century façade.

Then, to the northeast, I gazed upon what can only be described as a feast for the eyes. Rising out of the soft, green valley was Bryngwyn Manor, a sprawling Gothic mansion built in 1868 for M.P. and Liverpool shipping magnate James Rankin, who also funded the construction of Hereford Library and Museum in the early 1870s.

Bryngwyn Manor, nestled between Bryngwyn Hill and Aconbury Hill

After reaching the top of Bryngwyn Hill, I made the very steep descent to meet the Herefordshire Trail, which is a 154-mile route that loops through the county’s five market towns. I must admit, for such an established footpath, I did expect to have less trouble walking along it than I did.

I had no choice but to let my feet sink into deep muddy puddles as I waded towards a country road. In that moment, the sight of tarmac in the distance called to me as though it were the Holy Grail or some desert mirage.

The treacherous Herefordshire Trail

Since the fiasco of the forgotten memory card, things had been going fairly well, but now they took a turn for the worse again as I felt water seep through my hiking boots. By the time I had made it to the road, my socks were soaked through, and I could feel the ball of my left foot starting to rub.

I was only about a quarter of my way through the eight-mile route, with more declines and inclines to follow. I realised that I was not going to make it to the end without a painful blister and a pair of soiled socks, neither of which I was particularly hoping for.

I reluctantly made the call to head back up the hill, taking the easier option of walking up the gently sloping drive of Mileshiggins Farm instead of the steep footpath I had just come down. On the plus side, retracing my steps meant that I once again met Poppy, who begged me for pets just as excitedly as she had the first time.

As I neared Llanwarne, my foot rubbed more and more, and I will admit that a few curses were hissed through gritted teeth as I tried to get back to my car as quickly as I could.

Sat sideways in the passenger seat, I slipped off my mud-caked boots and put on my everyday shoes, although I unfortunately did not have any dry socks to change into. I crept out of the car park a little over two hours after I had arrived and drove back home, thankfully with no further incidents to report.

I shall have to visit Llanwarne again, preferably with a camera complete with memory card, and after I have built up the stamina and resolve to embark on, what was at least to me, such a gruelling hike.

Sources

• Brooks, A., & Pevsner, N. (2012). The Buildings of England: Herefordshire. Yale University Press.

Images

• Image 1: Quinsey, T. (2024). Mileshiggins Farm [Photograph].

• Image 2: Quinsey, T. (2024). View from Bryngwyn Hill [Photograph].

• Image 3: Quinsey, T. (2024). Bryngwyn Manor [Photograph].

• Image 4: Quinsey, T. (2024). Herefordshire Trail [Photograph].