Gwaun Ceste Hill to West Tump, via Colva Church, Brilley Green, The Scar Rock (Brobury), down Monnington Walks (central), Monnington Church, The Chantry, Perrystone, Mullhampton, Anthony’s Cross, Tibberton Court, Llanthony (Glos.) Abbey, and dead on a Gloucester street.
Little Mountain (Westbrook) to St. Ann’s Well and Priory Church, Malvern, via Arthur’s Stone, Cross End, Moccas Church, Monnington Church, Credenhill (old) Court, Pipe and Lyde Church, and Beacon Hill.
Pen-y-Beacon to North Hill, Malvern, via Sugwas Park, Ten Houses Pond ([Plate VI].), Burcot Pool, White Stone Chapel, Shucknell Hill, Stretton Grandison Church, Moat at Birchend, and Mathon Church.
Croft Ambury to Y-Fan-Drongarth (2,410 peak in Brecon Beacon group), via Hill Barn, Easthampton, Milton House, Court of Noke, Elsdon, Bollingham Chapel Tump, Clyro Church, Llowes Church, Bryn-Rhydd, and Slwch Camp, Brecon.
Bailey Hill (Knighton) to May Hill (Longhope), via The Warden, Presteign, Golf Course Tump, Holmer, Holmer House, Holmer Lane Tump, Venn’s Lane, The Prospect and Tupsley Hospital Road, Main Street and Church, Fownhope, Caplar Camp, How Caple Church, Old Gore Cross, and Linton Church.
ENDWORD.
I close up my patchwork pages for this booklet, and a tired brain finds relief in two memories. The one of the day, just on half a century ago, when, a lad on a trader’s route for my father’s brewery, I pulled up my horse to look with wonder at the Four Stones, standing like sentinels in a field corner. Later in the same day, the steep slope of the Radnor Forest surmounted, came the first view of Castle Tomen at the summit of the Forest road, with its background of Wye and Irfon Valley (Breconshire) Mountains. And the note of unsatisfied wonder struck that day has lingered through nearly fifty years’ unusually intimate knowledge of our beautiful West Country border land, and I know now that my sub-conscious self had prepared the ground and worked at the problem I now see solved.
The second memory is the vivid one of the rush of revelations in the gorgeous year of sunshine just finished. And I can scarcely realize that half the year had gone, the clear smoke-free distances of early summer a thing of the past, and midsummer day over, before I got the first clue. Once started, I found no halt in the sequence of new facts revealed by active search on the tracks.
It is a mere framework for a new knowledge that I offer, but I know that it has solid foundations, and that good wholesome field work by others—for it may not be granted to me to do very much more—will fill in many gaps. That is why I write.