Initially, Bryn-y-Crofftau appeared to be one of those sites promising a great deal of hassle to reach.... for potentially limited reward. Coflein notes:
"Traces of a slight stoney bank, 12m diameter, 3.0m wide, 0.4m high externally & 0.1m high internally; set within a stony area, 28m by 16m overall, with several recent clearance heaps, on slight S-facing slopes; a second, adjoining ring has been suggested but not confirmed". [J.Wiles 22.07.04]
'Traces' of a 'slight' stony bank? Not worth the effort, right? The issue here, perhaps, is the insistence upon the bloody metric: such a large unit as the metre means nothing to me (6ft, or 1.8288m?) ... and, let's face it, the centimetre is nonsense in most outdoor contexts. CADW scheduling, however, swings it with a positive 'well-preserved' observation. That'll do. Hence, curiosity overrides my misgivings and I duly find myself parking beside the same still-derelict chapel near Gilfach-y-dwn-fach farm last frequented a decade previously (incidentally, it would appear the 'greater' farm further north is overlooked by an unmarked hill fort). However, instead of crossing the Afon Fflur to the wondrously extensive hilltop cemeteries of the hinterland, I head approx southeast along a firm track towards Bryneithinog and the forestry beyond.
Where the track dog-legs violently to the north, I take a bearing upon the coordinates scrawled upon my scrap of paper (the monument does not feature upon OS mapping)... only to realise that isn't going to work at all since an impenetrable phalanx of trees bars my path. So, Plan B. Carrying on to the north, I enter a substantial felled section where, following a short time blundering around over sundry ligneous residual shambles, I notice a path heading east into the trees. Sure enough, a glimpse of a clearing to my right hints at my goal... and there it is: a pretty fine, if overgrown, ring cairn.
The extent of preservation isn't immediately apparent owing to a copious covering of very late bluebells - but, hey, I can live with that. It begins to rain, the midges begin to swarm; however, waterproofs deal with the former, my ageing Scottish headnet with the latter. As I settle down to drink my coffee, the sheer intensity of the vibe here begins to manifest itself.... appears to seep deep into my consciousness; my very 'bones'; to penetrate, like cerebral 'deep heat', whatever 'essence' serves to make me human, whatever separates me from the mindsets of the other creatures that inhabit this forest. The notion arises that one wouldn't be overly surprised if Kevin Rowland was to suddenly sit down beside and exclaim that this is what he was trying to articulate all those years ago. The inherent meaning inferred by a prolonged interval of silence which has no literal translation to mere words. Even words constituting the language of The Bard Himself. Yet, somehow, the moment sums up what I seek from all those countless hours hauling my aching frame to places such as these. Hey, perhaps I do believe in my soul after all?
I have all day, so I will take all day. There's no rush. As the senses begin to adjust, observations taken during the course of numerous intermittent walkabouts begin to bring the form of the monument into focus - my very own geo-phys, courtesy of the Mk1 Eyeball. I recall that a standing stone is supposed to stand a little to the north, beyond a wall. However, it somehow eludes me and this does not seem an issue at all. The moment is everything.
All moments, naturally, are finite and recede to the memory having run their course. Eventually, I begin the return to the car with the realisation that the hillfort will have to wait for another day. Instead - with an hour or so to make use of - I settle down beside the Afon Fflur in the sunshine and drink tea. It seems the appropriate thing to do in the circumstances, prior to seeking out a camp upon the hills overlooking Tregaron.
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Posted by GLADMAN
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