CAREW, WITH ITS CROSS, CASTLE AND CHURCH. UPTON CASTLE AND CHAPEL. PEMBROKE DOCK AND HAVERFORDWEST.
forth by the morning train, we alight at Lamphey Station; whence we make our way to the grand old ruins of Carew Castle, as our pièce de résistance for to-day. Once free of Lamphey village, we soon find ourselves striding across the Ridgeway by Lamphey Park; whence we get a pretty retrospect, under some weather-beaten trees, of the pleasant vale we have quitted, with a more distant peep of the towers of Pembroke Castle. Here, too, we find a few traces of olden times in a group of gray, weather-stained farm-buildings; remnants, maybe, of Bishop Vaughan's famous grange.
At Rambler's Folly, on the crest of the ridge, we get the first glimpse of our destination, down in the valley below; with a background of open country rolling upward to the distant hills; while, by taking the trouble to cross over the road, we command the broad plain of the sea.
A shepherd with collie-dog at heel, driving his flock to pasture, now puts us in the way of a short-cut across the meadows. This woodland path is enlivened by a bevy of butterflies that, like ourselves, are taking the morning air. Here floats a stately 'peacock,' while yonder sprightly Atalanta, perched upon a spray of woodbine, displays her becoming toilette of scarlet and glossy black, edged with daintiest lace.
Approaching our destination, we skirt around a marshy watercourse abloom with yellow flags, orchids and gay pink campion. Ere long a flight of stepping-stones lands us in the village, right abreast of Carew church, a noble old structure with handsome traceried windows, and a tower such as one rarely sees in this locality. A picturesque old building with pointed windows, that was formerly the village school, adds a pretty feature to the churchyard.
But we must push on to the castle, reserving these minor matters for future investigation. Half a mile of hard highroad ensues, when, just before the castle gate is reached, our attention is absorbed by an object standing upon the steep bank, hard by the road.
This is Carew Cross, a hoary monument before whose patriarchal antiquity the ruined castle is little better than a mere parvenu. The huge monolith of lichen-clad stone terminates in a circular head enclosing a Celtic cross; while each of the four sides is richly overlaid with deeply-incised patterns, carved in that curious, interlacing fashion peculiar to these early monuments. The date of its erection is placed as far back as the ninth century: upon its eastern face is seen a rudely-fashioned cross, each limb of which is formed by three deeply-cut lines; while the reverse side is inscribed with certain archaic characters, which some ingenious antiquary has interpreted thus:
The cross of the son of Ilteut the son of Ecett.
Having completed the sketch of Carew Cross, which figures on the opposite page, we now pass on to view the wonders of the castle.
Carew Castle is located in a district which from very early times formed a royal appanage of the princes of South Wales. It was presented as a marriage dower with the fair Nesta, daughter of Rhys ap Tydwr, to Gerald de Windsor, the King's castellan, in the reign of Henry I. This great demesne was subsequently mortgaged by Sir Edward de Carew to the gallant Sir Rhys ap Thomas, by whom the castle appears to have been largely remodelled. Here it was that this doughty Welshman entertained his liege the Earl of Richmond, on his way from Milford to victorious Bosworth field; placing the royal arms, in memory of the event, upon a chimney-piece in the chamber where 'the hope of England' slept.
In olden times Carew Castle was surrounded by an extensive chase, or deer park. Here in 1507 Sir Rhys ap Thomas held 'a solemn just and turnament for the honour of St. George, patrone of that noble Order of the Garter,' when Henry VII. honoured the revels with his presence. A full account of this 'princelie fête' has been preserved, setting forth how 'manie valerouse gentlemen' then made trial of their abilities' in feates of armes, the men of prime Ranke being lodged within the Castle, others of good Qualitie in tents and Pavilions, pitched in the Parke.'
This 'Festivall and time of jollytie' commenced on the day dedicated to 'the trustie Patrone and protector of Marshalistes,' and continued for five whole days; the tournament taking place on the fourth day, when Sir William Herbert was the challenger, the lord of Carew playing the judge's part.
To the credit of all concerned it is recorded that, throughout all these 'justes and turnaments, seasoned with a diversitie of musicke for the honoure of Ladyes,' in spite of 'knockes valerouslie received and manfullie bestowed, among a thousand people there was not one Quarrell, crosse worde or unkinde Looke, that happened betweene them.'
Wonderful stories were told of the feats of arms performed by the doughty Sir Rhys ap Thomas; insomuch that for years after his day the name of Sir Rhys ap Thomas was 'used about Terwin as a bugg-beare or fire Abbaas, such as Talbott's was in Henrie the Sixt's time, to affright the children from doing shrewd Trickes.' It is related how Sir Rhys, mounted on his veteran charger Grey Fetlocks, contrived to run the impostor Perkin Warbeck to earth at the monastery of Beaulieu, in Hampshire; and was rewarded for this gallant service by receiving the Order of the Garter from his sovereign. At the Battle of the Spurs this stout-hearted warrior led the light horse and archers against the enemy, and took the Duke of Longueville prisoner with his own hands.
Shortly after this event, having attained the age of threescore years, this brave old knight at last hung up his well-worn weapons in his Castle of Carew. Sir Rhys spent his declining days in extending and beautifying the stately fabric; calling in to his aid, we may be sure, the advice of his friend and neighbour the talented Bishop Vaughan, then dwelling at Lamphey Palace. Finally, after considerably over-passing the allotted span, Sir Rhys ap Thomas was gathered to his fathers in the year of grace 1527.
Meanwhile, traversing a broad green meadow, we approach the ivy-wreathed walls and turrets of the castle. This magnificent edifice is built around a large central courtyard. It has a huge bastion at each corner and displays, even in its dismantled condition, a most interesting combination of military and domestic architecture.
Before us rises the gate-house, probably the oldest portion of the present building. An adjacent tower contains the chapel, dating from Edwardian times and retaining its groined ceiling; and in one of the upper chambers we notice a fireplace bearing what appear to be the arms of Spain. The fragment of a graceful oriel is seen high aloft in the wall as we pass under the barbican tower, a massive structure with vaulted archways, portcullis and machicolated battlements.
We now emerge upon the inner courtyard of the castle, whose broad expanse of velvety turf is overshadowed on every side by gray old limestone walls, pierced with pointed doorways and many-mullioned windows.
The most prominent feature here is the ivy-clad portal of the banqueting-hall. This picturesque structure rises through two stories, and is adorned with some crumbling scutcheons, charged with the insignia of Henry of Richmond and of Sir Rhys ap Thomas; combined with the hoary, time-worn architecture of the banqueting-hall, the whole forms a charming subject for the artist's pencil.
A Corner of Carew Castle
The banqueting-hall itself must have been a magnificent apartment. It still shows traces of rich Gothic ornamentation in the deep recesses of its arched windows, doorways and huge fireplaces; while the springing of the open-timbered roof can be readily discerned. In another direction is seen the incomparable range of lofty, mullioned windows of the broad north front. This grandiose façade was begun, but never completed, by Sir John Perrot: it contains a sumptuous state-room, over 100 feet in length, and numerous smaller apartments.
CAREW CASTLE.
An hour vanishes in next to no time as we ramble amidst these echoing chambers, and clamber up and down the broken stairways. Here we pry into some deep, dark dungeon; yonder, peer through a narrow lancet; and anon mount to the crumbling battlements, to the no small dismay of a host of jackdaws that haunt these ruined walls. Meanwhile imagination re-peoples these deserted halls and desolate chambers with those throngs of faire ladyes, and gallant knights and squires, those troops of servitors and men-at-arms, and all the countless on-hangers that went to swell the princely ménage of its mediæval masters.
Presently we pass out again, to wander around the brave old fortress and mark the gaping breaches wrought by Cromwell's cannon, what time the beleaguered garrison fought for King Charles I., holding out long and valiantly until, Tenby having succumbed, Carew at length fell a prize to the Parliamentary arms. The accompanying sketch shows that most of the south front has been demolished, thus giving us a glimpse of the internal courtyard and a portion of the lofty northern façade.
Upon quitting the castle we stroll across the neighbouring bridge, whence we obtain a noble view of the great north front with its lofty oriels and vast, mullioned windows reflected in the shallow waters of the tideway. Our appearance upon the scene disturbs a meditative heron, who, pulling himself together, spreads his broad wings and stretches away in leisurely flight to more secluded quarters.
Pausing as we pass for another glance at the ancient Cross, we now retrace our steps to the village to complete our investigations there.
Arrived at the church, we prowl around that sacred edifice; noting its lofty Perpendicular tower, fine traceried windows and stair-turret surmounted by a low spirelet; then we pass within, and proceed to look about us.
The interior of Carew Church is unusually lofty and spacious, comprising nave with aisles, chancel and transepts. Lofty, well-proportioned limestone arches open into the latter, their piers embellished with the four-leaved flower that marks the artistic influence of Bishop Gower.
CAREW CHURCH THE BOY BISHOP.
The chancel contains a pretty sedilia and piscina, arched in the wall; while an adjacent niche is tenanted by a curious little figure carved in stone, and supposed to commemorate a certain boy-bishop, elected, according to a quaint old custom, from amongst his fellow-choristers.
Be that as it may, we now turn to the opposite wall where, beneath plain, pointed recesses repose the figures of an ecclesiastic habited as a monk, and a knight in armour, sword in hand and shield upon arm, legs crossed at the knees, and head and feet supported by carven animals. The latter is a finely-executed piece of sculpture, and withal remarkable from the disproportionate size of the head, which is twisted in a strange manner over the right shoulder—perhaps a personal trait committed to marble.
Whom these figures represent is not precisely known, but we may reasonably hazard the conjecture that this mail-clad effigy represents some forgotten scion of the noble family of Carew, erstwhile lords of this place.
The ancient tiles upon the chancel floor are also worthy of notice, displaying the emblems of the bishopric with the arms of Sir Rhys ap Thomas, the Tudor rose, and various other devices.
Old Rectory Houses at Carew
Having completed our survey of this interesting church, we next make our way to a curious-looking structure known as the Old Rectory. Though now a mere farmhouse the place bears traces of considerable antiquity, and appears, like many of the older dwellings in this locality, to have been built with an eye to defence. The massive walls are corbelled out beneath the eaves of the roof, which is pitched at a steep angle, giving the old structure a picturesque appearance. The house has apparently been formerly enclosed within a walled precinct; and a fast-fading tradition tells vaguely of 'the soldiers' having been quartered here in the turbulent days of old.
But it is high time to be up and away, so pulling ourselves together we face the slanting sunlight, and put the best foot foremost en route for Upton Castle.
After passing the grounds of Milton House, we follow the Pembroke road for about a mile and a half, until, just short of the fingerpost, we strike into a hollow lane that leads direct to Upton. The latter part of the way goes through a shady avenue, affording glimpses of the winding Haven and the broad, gray front of Carew Castle.
UPTON CASTLE
Upton Castle is undoubtedly of very ancient origin, but it has been restored and rendered habitable of late years, and is now occupied as a dwelling-house. The original gateway, with its double arch, is flanked by tall round towers pierced with loopholes for archery, and is crowned by corbelled battlements. A small old building beside the neighbouring creek was probably used as a guard-house or watch-tower.
Old Chapel at Upton
Within the castle grounds stands Upton Chapel, a lowly structure of no architectural pretensions, yet containing several objects well worthy of notice.
Opposite the entrance is the fine mural monument seen on the left of our sketch. The figure beneath the canopy is supposed to represent one of the Malefants, an extinct family that for several centuries made a considerable figure in this and the adjacent counties. The knight is clad in a complete suit of mail, having a chain around the neck, with the hands folded in the attitude of prayer. The upper portion of the monument bears traces of colour and decoration, while the canted ends are adorned with carven figures beneath dainty canopies.
From Upton Chapel.
A curious if not unique feature is the candelabrum, in the form of a clenched fist, that projects from the adjacent wall. This singular object is fashioned from a piece of yellow limestone, and is pierced with a hole to contain the candle formerly used at funerals and other ceremonies. It appears probable that the worthy knight whose effigy lies near may have left a small pension for the maintenance of this candelabrum.
The handsome Jacobean pulpit was originally in St. Mary's Church at Haverfordwest, whence it was acquired by purchase during the restoration of that edifice.
Upon passing through the small, plain chancel arch, we espy a huge, dilapidated effigy in a corner by the south wall. Though bereft of half its lower limbs, the figure still measures fully six feet in length. This image is clad in a complete suit of chain-mail, and is considered to be the most ancient of its kind in the county. To its history we have no clue, but tradition avers that this rude specimen of the sculptor's art represents a certain 'tall Ammiral' of bygone times, Lord of Upton Castle, who, returning from distant voyagings, was wrecked and cast lifeless ashore almost within sight of home.
A stone let into the chancel pavement shows the tonsured head of an ecclesiastic, with a floreated cross and damaged inscription. Within the Communion-rails we observe a female figure, draped from head to foot in flowing robes and lying under an ogee canopy. Though devoid of any distinctive badge this figure is well executed, and in a very fair state of preservation.
Upon the south side of the chapel, and close to the entrance-door, rises the small stone cross figured at the end of this chapter. It is raised upon a sort of basement constructed of masonry overgrown with vegetation, and is approached by rough stone steps.
We now retrace our steps to the highroad, and at the fingerpost bear to the left. Just beyond the old toll-gate we pass near a house called Holyland, so named from the fact that its stones were drawn from the ruins of an ancient hospital, dedicated to St. Mary Magdalene, which formerly existed at Pembroke.
As we traverse the King's Bridge, at the head of the tidal water, the clamour of the 'many-wintered crows,' winging their homeward flight to a neighbouring spinny, falls pleasantly on our ears. Thus we reenter the quiet street of Pembroke, while the arrowy swifts, wheeling around St. Mary's time-worn steeple, fill the air with their shrill, piercing cries.
Finally we round off the day's adventures by climbing the castle walls, whence the eye traces all the familiar landmarks standing clear-cut against a glowing sky, with a broad span of the fast-empurpling landscape, locked in a silvery reach of the winding Haven.
Beside the deep, untroubled waters of Milford Haven, there has grown up within the present century one of the finest and most complete shipbuilding establishments around our coasts. Here were constructed those hearts of oak that bore our flag so bravely in days of yore; and hence are nowadays turned out the leviathan 'battleships' that will bear the brunt of Britain's future wars upon the vasty deep.
Lord Nelson was, we believe, one of the first to point out the peculiar advantages offered by Milford as a constructing yard for the British navy.
In the first years of the present century, the Government rented an existing yard at Milford for a term of fourteen years; after which, being unable to come to terms with Lady Mansfield's representatives, the authorities caused the establishment to be removed to the opposite side of the Haven. Thus arose the modern town of Pembroke Dock; and from these modest beginnings the place has continued to increase, both in size and importance, down to the present day.
In spite of its remoteness from the manufacturing districts, whence most of the tools, materials, etc., have to be brought, the work is turned out in a style that would do credit to any establishment, by as steady, thrifty a set of men as is to be found in any Government yard. The workmen dwell in rows of neat cottages, forming a small town at the rear of the slipways. Though unpicturesque enough, these modest dwellings appear clean and sanitary, although unfortunately still lacking that prime necessity, a constant supply of pure water.
The adjacent hill is crowned by a heavily-armed redoubt, while many a vantage-point of the winding waterway is so strongly fortified that, should an enemy endeavour to force a passage, he would probably experience a mauvais quart d'heure in the warm welcome prepared for him.
From Pembroke a short run by train, and a ten minutes' walk through dull, workaday streets lands us at the dockyard gates. Before passing through, a constable politely relieves the visitors of such parlous impedimenta as fusees, lucifer matches and the like inflammables. Thence we are handed on to a stalwart sergeant, who without more ado pioneers us around the constructing sheds. Work is now in full swing, and the ring of riveters' hammers and clang of resonant metal combine, with a thousand other ear-splitting sounds, to swell an uproar fit to awaken the Seven Sleepers.
By dint of stentorian shouting, our cicerone explains the various details of construction; now descanting on the special merits of a swift 'torpedo-catcher,' anon describing the internal economy of a half-completed gunboat. Meanwhile weird, Rembrandtesque effects of light and shade are seen on every side, as the men ply their heavy labour in the gloom of the iron-ribbed hull.
Thence we pass onward to a gigantic shed, lofty as a cathedral, with its forefoot planted in the sea. Here the rudimentary ribs of a huge ironclad swell upward from the keel-plate, resembling the skeleton of some antediluvian monster of the deep.
Farther on we come to long ranges of spacious workshops, crammed with machinery of the latest types propelled by engines both ancient and modern. By means of these, thick metal plates and beams are shaped and fashioned as easily as wood in a carpenter's shop. Here lies a massive bronze casting weighing many tons, destined to form the ram of H.M.S. Renown; yonder a metal plane shaves off golden spirals, much like the 'corkscrew' curls of other days, from a plate of solid brass. In another direction a strapping mechanic is bringing a steel plate to the requisite curve, by means of herculean blows from a heavy sledge.
Pass we now to the iron foundry, where a gang of workmen are about to draw the glowing metal from the furnace. The scintillating mass is hitched on to a movable crane, and borne away to be manipulated between a pair of massive metal rollers. After several successive squeezes, it emerges in the form of a huge armour plate.
Now, too, the Nasmyth hammer is much en évidence, its mighty strokes shaking the solid ground as we approach; yet so docile is the monster that the engineer cracks a nut beneath it, to the no small astonishment of the visitors.
Nor must we omit a peep at the wood-working shops, where the circular saw sings at its work the live-long day, shearing the roughest logs into comely planks with wonderful precision, while skilful hands fashion and frame the various parts required.
All these multifarious handicrafts, carried on in extensive and inflammable structures, necessitate an efficient fire-extinguishing apparatus. This is maintained in a separate building, and is kept in apple-pie order, ever ready to fight the flames in case of an outbreak of the devouring element.
Resuming our peregrinations 'in search of the picturesque,' we now bid farewell to the county-town of Pembroke. At Hobb's Point a grimy little steamboat, that years ago plied on the Thames, ferries the traveller across to the railway pontoon at New Milford, whence we entrain en route for Haverfordwest.
Rail and river keep company for a time through a pleasant, undulating country, with copsewood feathering down to the water's edge. Presently we pass close to Rosemarket, a primitive-looking village where, in the days of the Stuarts, dwelt a certain fair maid named Lucy Walters.
Lucy Walters.
Here at the age of seventeen 'that browne, beautifull, bold but insipid creature,' as Evelyn calls her, was discovered by the gay Prince Charlie, who was so fascinated by the young lady's charms that he bore her away with him in his cavalcade.
Lucy's grandfather it is said constructed a fine genealogical tree, in which that gay lady figures as 'married to King Charles ye Seconde of England.'
The house where Lucy Walters' father lived has long since disappeared, the only relics of that period being probably the old stone pigeon-house east of the village, and the parish cockpit!
Our sketch of the famous beauty is copied from a contemporary portrait, brought from Dale Castle, whither the Walters family removed from their earlier home. It is now in the possession of a gentleman residing near Pembroke, who has kindly allowed us to make the accompanying copy.
The next station is Johnston, where we will break our journey and take a peep at the church, whose steeple we descry as the train approaches the station. The little structure stands, with a few cottages grouped around it, at a corner of the lanes; and its gray, time-worn stones make a pretty picture amidst their setting of fresh green foliage.
At the western end of the church rises a small but ancient tower, with roof fast falling to decay. The lower part is solid, but towards the top it is pierced with a quartette of graceful, traceried windows, of which three have been blocked up; while the only bell the church could boast lies broken in two on the stone floor.
Small as it is, the church has shallow projecting bays, or chapels, after the manner of double transepts. Between them rises the chancel arch, devoid of features save a quaint, square-headed opening on either side, enclosing two small pointed arches.
JOHNSTON CHURCH.
The interior, with its two-decker pulpit, simple box-pews and ancient font, has a quiet, old-world look; and the chancel, raised one step only above the body of the church, contains a double sedilia, a small piscina and a few other early features.
Rumour hath it that the 'restorer,' save the mark! already lays his plans for the undoing of this interesting structure. However, as the attention of the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings has been given to the subject, we may hope that their praiseworthy efforts to maintain the ancient features of this church, in their unrestored simplicity, will eventually be crowned with success.
A VIEW OF HAVERFORDWEST
A long league's trudge still separates us from Haverfordwest; so we breast the easy slope of Drudgeman's Hill, and presently descend to Merlin's Bridge, spanning an affluent of the Cleddau. A scattered group of cottages that overlooks the stream bears some slight traces of the chapel that formerly stood here. A kind of Vanity Fair was formerly held in the vicinity, when the country folk foregathered at Cradock's Well, a wonder-working spring frequented by a hermit who had his cell at Haroldstone.
The Perrots of Haroldstone were great people in their time. Here dwelt the gallant Sir John Perrot, Lord Deputy of the Sister Isle in good Queen Bess's reign; also Sir Herbert of that ilk, the contemporary and friend of Addison, who is said to have been the original of that pink of courtesy, the incomparable Sir Roger de Coverley.
We now make a short détour to visit the ruins of Haverfordwest Priory, which stand in a meadow close beside the Cleddau. Though of considerable extent, there is not much to detain us here save a mass of crumbling arches and ivy-mantled walls, apparently of Early English date. This priory was established about the year 1200 by Robert de Haverford, first Lord of Haverfordwest, for the Order of Black Canons. It stands in one of those pleasant, riverside nooks that the monks of old so frequently selected.
The massive tower of St. Thomas's Church, crowning the brow of an adjacent hill, forms a conspicuous feature in our general view of the town. Though much modernized, this church contains one relic of the past that must on no account be overlooked.
Upon the pavement of the north aisle is preserved an ancient slab of limestone, whose battered surface is carved in low relief with a beautiful, foliated cross, terminating in trefoils; beside the cross is an object resembling a palm branch, and a closer inspection reveals, incised upon the edge of the stone, the legend: f ricard le paumer git ici deu de saalme eit merci amen.
Brother Richard's Tomb in The Church of St Thomas à Becket Haverfordwest.
According to the verdict of the antiquaries, this curious monument records a certain brother Richard the Palmer, who, in days so remote as the time of Giraldus Cambrensis, journeyed as a pilgrim to Rome; or it may be joined as a recruit in the Crusade of Bishop Baldwin.
Up in the tower we discover a brace of fine old bells, the larger one bearing the motto sanctus gabriel ora pro nobis; the smaller, or sanctus bell, geve thankes to god, t. w. 1585.
This church was formerly a possession of the Perrots of Haroldstone, until in Queen Elizabeth's reign the Crown became, as it has ever since remained, the patron of the living.
Let us glance back into the past as we stroll through the clean, bustling streets of the little Western metropolis.
From the earliest times Haverfordwest held a position second only in importance to that of Pembroke, as a bulwark of The Little England beyond Wales.
Its castle, built by Gilbert de Clare, first Earl of Pembroke, stood as a protection to the English settlement against the incursions of the hardy mountaineers, who had been driven back by the advancing immigrants upon the wild hill fastnesses of the interior.
The lofty walls of Gilbert's ruined castle, dominating the town that clusters around its feet, and the mediæval churches that rise amidst its steep, paved streets, recall the vanished prestige of Haverfordwest; while a characteristic vein of local dialect, which lingers yet despite of Board Schools, attests the foreign ancestry of some of the worthy townsfolk.
Curiously enough, Haverfordwest forms a county all to itself; and is further distinguished by the fact that, alone amongst the towns of Great Britain, the place boasts a Lord-Lieutenant all its own, a privilege obtained from the Crown by a very early charter, when Pembrokeshire was a County Palatine.
The town formerly returned its own member to Parliament, but of late the representation has been merged in the districts of Pembroke, Tenby and Haverfordwest.
Saint Mary's Haverfordwest.
But it is time to look about us, so we now make our way to St. Mary's church, in the centre of the town.
Contrasted with the primitive structures we have seen in the country parishes, this is a noble church indeed, having been in large part constructed during the best period of Gothic architecture. The lofty nave is covered with a flat wooden ceiling, relieved by enriched bosses at the intersections of the beams, and upborne by handsome brackets against the walls. It is connected with the adjacent aisle by a series of richly-moulded arches, supported upon tall clustered pillars.
On the north side of the chancel stands a group of thirteenth-century pillars and arches of still more elaborate character, whose capitals are encrusted with a variety of grotesque figures intertwined amongst deeply-cut foliage.
Handsome traceried windows admit a flood of light into the chancel, whose walls display monuments and epitaphs of no little beauty and interest.
In a remote untended corner of the church lies the mutilated effigy of an ecclesiastic, whose sober livery, and wallet embellished with scallop-shells, mark him as a pilgrim who has crossed the seas to the shrine of St. James of Compostella, in Spain.
Passing out by the north porch, we observe a pair of tall, carved bench-ends, on one of which St. George is seen in combat with a triple-headed dragon. A sketch of this bench-end will be found at the head of Chapter XII.
After glancing at St. Martin's, the mother church of Haverfordwest, with its slender, crooked spire, we turn townwards again as dusk creeps on, and come to anchor at the Mariners Hotel. The old-fashioned hospitality of this comfortable inn is a welcome relief after a long day's tramp, so we cannot do better than make it our headquarters while exploring the surrounding country.
Arms of Haverfordwest.