Forms of worship

Another glorious day called for another long walk. Here I'm standing beside the  tiny isolated Baptist chapel called Caersalem, looking towards Carningli mountain whose rocky volcanic crest served as a fortified hideway for people in the iron age two and half thousand years ago.

It's long been supposed that the mountain has a numinous quality. With its rocky peak, its commanding position above the sea, and the many burial chambers, hut circles and standing stones located around its circumference it's not hard to imagine that it drew attention for reasons other than simple defense. With the arrival of Christianity it attracted new legends: the Irish saint Brynach who established several churches in the area was said to ascend the hill to commune with angels, hence its name Carn Ingli, Angel Rock. Indigenous beliefs, as we would now term paganism, may have been hard to shake - the saint is also said to have been chased away from his hermitage in the valley by shrieking spirits.

During the second half of the 20th century, as this area  became a magnet for alternative lifestyle/self-sufficiency folk, Carningli's reputation as an earth-magic location grew apace and not long ago you could book an overnight stay of hippie-guided dreaming on the summit. On the slopes you still come across small shrines, decorated springs and private memorials among the screes, the sundew and the sphagnum moss.

This little graveyard however remains sternly apart, although with clear sight lines to the small-holdings, cottages and squatter hovels where the congregation  once toiled.  First established here some 200 years ago, above the chapel door is carved a clock face, hands fixed at 11.42 (not long to go before day's end) with the admonition Gwylia dy droed pan fyddech yn myned i dy Dduw/Watch your step when you enter the house of the Lord. The tombstones, all in Welsh, turn their backs to the magic mountain and yet we can't help lifting up our eyes to the hills.