Henry was here!

Yes, the ruined walls, ransacked sanctuary, vanished cloisters all tell a tale of a king obsessed with greed and lust; King Henry VIII to be precise, one time appointed 'Defender of the Faith' by the Pope; he soon became the opposite, the Persecutor of the Faith.

What would Britain be like today if Henry had not turned bad?

It is possible that we would be much like France, Spain or Italy who all suffered revolutions at various times but nothing on the scale that Henry, Edward and Elizabeth let loose on England and Wales. But, as with those countries,  all of our churches would still be Catholic, untouched by prudish protestant whitewash, glorious in furnishings and chalices and plate, intact and complete, full of statues and church art. Henry has a lot to answer for.

The ruins above are all that remains of an Augustinian Priory, founded in the 13th Century on the banks of the River Cleddau in Pembrokeshire's County Town of Haverfordwest. At one time monks would have tended to the sick and the leprous here, taught those that wanted a schooling, given employment to the poor, housed the aged and homeless (and less than  300 yards distant was a Dominican Priory offering more of the same).

The ruins have been capped in cement to prevent further decay taking place but it is not likely that any money to restore the Priory will ever be forthcoming from CADW, the heritage organisation charged with maintaining architectural integrity in Wales.

 After Henry's pillagers had made free with the holy place in 1536, local farmers and ne'er do wells would have moved in to remove much of the dressed stone and use it to build dwellings and pig sties and the like. The monks (those that were not executed for their faith) would have been turned out into a barren and heartless countryside and left to fend for themselves until such time as the elements so weakened their health that they succumbed to pneumonia and pleurisy.

The gentle cadences of plainchant were heard no longer, no rosaries were ever recited here again. What survives is the only medieval garden in Great Britain, complete with raised beds (as opposed to razed beds). But, in truth, there is not much to be seen.

That Time Of Year Thou Mayst In Me Behold

William Shakespeare

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

                                                    Bare ruined choirs....