A drizzly morning saw us driving to Hay-on-Wye, home to countless bookshops and a world-famous literary festival. Serendipitously, the first little bookshop we ventured into turned out to be a new venture combining interests in letterpress printing, the history of books and bookmaking. Couldn’t have been more perfect for Russ or interesting for me.
Then on to Richard Booth’s bookshop – three floors of delight in an equally delightful old building. Russ bought a book of Eric Gill wood engravings and I got a second-hand copy of Bruce Chatwin’s Welsh work, On the Black Hill.
On through lovely cider apple country and across the border to Hereford to visit the 11th century cathedral, with its medieval Mappa Mundi (or map of the world) and chained library.
The interior stone work was very beautiful but the highlight in this ancient and lovely cathedral was, for me, the stained glass windows created in 2007 by Tom Denny to celebrate the writings of Thomas Traherne (c, 1637-74) and his association with Herefordshire. I found it difficult to leave these luminous works which overwhelm from a distance with their jewelled colours and delight with surprising detail on close inspection.
Traherne was the son of a Hereford shoemaker, born around 1636. He gained an M.A. from Oxford University in Arts and Divinity. Ordained in 1660, Treherne was a parish priest for ten years, then private chaplain to Sir Orlando Bridgeman until his death in 1674. He is now regarded as one of the foremost English Metaphysical poets, though in his lifetime only one of his works was ever printed.
His work develops “themes of childhood innocence, the infinite capacity of the soul, desire and happiness, and the power of nature to infuse the mind with beauty. In their blend of deep religiosity and visionary ecstasy, they are reminiscent of William Blake.”
You never enjoy the world aright, till you see how a sand exhibiteth this wisdom and power of God.
Suppose a river, or a drop of water, an apple or a sand, an ear of c0rn or an herb: God knoweth infinite excellencies in it more than we: He seeth how it relateth to angels and men; how it proceedeth from the most perfect Lover to the most Perfectly Beloved.
An ant is a great miracle in a little room and no less a monument of eternal love than almighty power.
You never enjoy the world aright till the sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens and crowned with the stars.
You are as prone to love as the sun to shine.
JaneRussell journeys 
Beautiful glass. We didn’t go to Hereford but based ourselves in Leominster and pootled about for several days. Hay on Wye, Golden Valley, black and white villages, it was beautiful country.
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You would have been in your element in Hay, Marion.
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