The Great Welsh Border Castle Challenge
How many ruined castles can you visit in one day?
“Uncle Simon, why is there a goat on top of that castle wall?”
My nephew stares at the white adult goat fifteen feet above us. A series of frantic bleats fill the air and, suddenly, three sure-footed kids join their parent on the narrow, stony ridge. “And how did they get up there?”
We’re in Richard’s Castle, on the Herefordshire — Shropshire border. Although just a collection of isolated ruins erupting from the rolling earthworks, these crumbling walls are substantial enough for any young nephew, to imagine attacking forces advancing from the south. We leave the goats bleating incessantly, and clamber up a series of eroded steps to the stone foundations of a tower, perched at the castle’s highest point.
“I can see for miles!” my nephew exclaims.
I point out the Malvern Hills, nearly 25 miles away, whose outline is reminiscent of a sleeping dragon.
My nephew finds an information plaque and practises his reading skills. “The original tower on the motte would have been built of wood,” he reads. “Towards the end of the 12th century it was replaced by a stone, octagonal keep. Octagonal keeps are rare in Britain, but were thought to be a better shape for repelling attackers during skirmishes. What’s a skirmish, Uncle Simon?”
Skirmish rather makes light of what went on here. People died during these historic border conflicts. Securing this remote and low-populated region wasn’t easy, and even today, travel around the Welsh Borders isn’t quick or simple, for there are no motorways or dual carriageways.
Wales has more castles per square mile than anywhere else in the world, and the Welsh Borders has many of those (well, it’s a border, you need the odd castle or two to keep the wrong people out!).
With so many castles built here for this reason, I knew I could lay down a challenge to my nephew first thing this morning.
“How many castles do you think we can visit in one day?” I’d asked.
“Three!” he confidently declared.
Richard’s Castle was already our third castle, and it was only eleven o’clock!
We’d started at Stokesay Castle, just south of Shropshire’s Craven Arms, which, technically, isn’t a castle but a fortified manor house. Its crenelated South Tower gives it that castle-like appearance though. What did look out of place was the bright yellow-and-black timber-framed 17th century gatehouse. Stokesay is unusual because it was built by a wealthy merchant, Laurence of Ludlow. Continuously inhabited until 1800, it is today one of the finest fortified manor houses in England.
Perhaps because it wasn’t really a castle, it didn’t come under attack, so considering its age, it’s survived pretty well. As castles go, this one is pretty short of ruins!
“Oh no!” my nephew cries.
A cold splat of rain runs down my neck. Unlike Stokesay Castle, Richard’s Castle doesn’t have a roof.
“Retreat!” I yell.
We dash down the steps, passing the still-bleating goats, to my car, parked in the tiny lay-by.
Ludlow Castle was our second stop on our castle challenge. Built soon after the Norman conquest, it was continuously expanded and improved over the next 600 years. Perched high above the River Teme, in a horseshoe bend, it has a natural moat, and the castle walls were extended to include most of the grid-like patterned streets of Ludlow’s town. This worked well because over 500 of Ludlow’s medieval listed-buildings survive today.
Ludlow Castle was a royal palace during the 16th and 17th centuries, and Henry VIII’s brother, Prince Arthur, honeymooned here with his new 16-year-old wife, Catherine of Aragon. (Yes, the same Catherine of Aragon who later married Henry VIII!) Sadly, Prince Arthur died here only six months later. (Marriage clearly didn’t agree with him, but then I suppose you could argue it didn’t agree with Henry VIII either!)
However, for most of the 15th and 17th centuries, Ludlow Castle was the administrative capital of Wales and the Welsh Borders, despite it being well within the English border.
“Cor! Look at this canon,’ my nephew called. “I bet it was loud when it was fired.”
A plaque on its vast wooden frame revealed it was actually captured from Sevastapol in 1855, and isn’t a genuine castle canon. Still, it’s a great place for a photo!
We drive through steady rain, from Richard’s Castle, deeper into North Herefordshire and within minutes we stumble across castle number four — Croft Castle, now in the care of the National Trust.
It’s crenelated 14th century walls are imposing, but the building itself is more like a stately home, with over forty windows in the front façade and huge double-doors that look like they need several men to open them. Mind you, Croft Castle is reputedly one of the most haunted properties in the West Midlands with, not one, but seven spooky spirits wandering the corridors. That’s enough to deter many from entering!
All this talk of ghosts makes my nephew a little nervous, so it’s back to the car in search of castle number five. It doesn’t take us long to find it.
Eight miles north, back in Shropshire, I pull off the main road onto a tiny lane with grass growing down the middle. The hedges caress the side of my car, as we creep up on castle number five.
Hopton Castle was besieged during the English Civil War, leaving it as the ruin we see today. It’s perched on a grassy mound, with a small pond, the only remains of a moat, offering a reflective opportunity.
Hopton is a proper castle. Its square keep stands defensively, and as we climb in through the main entrance, we spot the walls are at least two feet thick, if not more. Although a ruin, the alcoves, windows, arrow slits, and even the remains of a chimney, convey a sense of what the building once looked like.
My nephew climbs into one of the smaller alcoves with a stone slab windowsill and peers through the open frame.
“What can you see?” I ask.
“Forty-three sheep,” he replies.
Well, it makes a change from goats!
From Hopton it’s a hop, skip and a jump to castle number six: Clun. Clun Castle is also a classic square-shaped stone keep, although, unusually, the keep stands at one end of the large earthwork motte, and not it its centre.
Its moat is the River Clun, curving around three sides. The fourth side is protected by the village’s bowling green, which probably isn’t an original feature! Although built as a defensive castle, it was converted by the Fitzalan family into a hunting lodge in the 14th century, but was largely destroyed during the English Civil War.
Some scaffolding allows us to reach the keep’s windows and gaze northwards along the border. Like the others, its position is clearly strategic. The River Clun runs west to east, through the Clun Valley, epitomised over a century ago by AE Housman’s poem, A Shropshire Lad, when he wrote:
Clunton and Clunbury, Clungunford and Clun,
are the quietest places under the sun.
It’s not completely quiet though. High in a brightening sky we hear the tuneful song of a skylark singing its heart out.
“There he is!” cries my nephew, pointing at a pinprick in the sky. It’s amazing such a tiny bird is capable of making such a big noise.
Fifteen miles later, it’s not a skylark we’re watching, but a peregrine falcon. It soars above our heads then swoops downs settling on a rock face somewhere below us. We’ve crossed into Wales, and now find ourselves wandering along a gentle incline to a rocky promontory, sticking out into the Severn Valley, where Montgomery Castle was built. Peering over the hedge on our right, the roofs of the houses of Montgomery sit below us, and the views stretch back into Shropshire.
Two bridges carry us over huge grassy moat-like ditches to the impressive ruins of the main castle gate, towering above us.
“Whoa! Look at that!” My nephew points to the stone groove, where the portcullis once slid.
Just inside the gateway, a plaque tells of a curious death. Not of a soldier from an attacking army, but of a woman mysteriously killed when she came looking for the return of a cooking pot she’d lent to someone in the castle’s kitchen. An accident? Or was it murder?
Passing through the large masonry gate towers, the huge grassy courtyards convey the size of this defensive stronghold, dating back to the 13th century. On our left a wooden platform, padlocked for safety, hides the castle’s well. To secure a safe water supply they had to excavate over 200 feet of rock. No mean feat in those days!
We’re drawn to the furthest end of the castle, where the land drops abruptly into the Severn Valley before us, offering an advanced warning of any attack from North Wales. In the distance, perched on a wooded ridge about fifteen miles away, stands the red-stoned, fortified palace of Powis Castle. Is this castle number eight in our quest?
But my nephew stifles a yawn. I think we’ve found the answer to this morning’s challenge. Seven castles conquered in one day. That’s more than most armies achieved. Time to head back to the car.
Still, had my nephew had the stamina, we could have gone on to conquer the following castle ruins:
Oswestry Castle
Acton Burnell Castle
Dolforwyn Castle
Moreton Corbett Castle
Bridgnorth Castle
Interestingly, Bridgnorth Castle ruins lean at an angle of fifteen degrees, which is greater than the angle of the Leaning Tower of Pisa (Five and a half degrees).
Whittington Castle
I suppose we can leave these ruins until another time, when my nephew has a bit more energy.
But if you’re looking for ruins then come to the Welsh Borders. There’s practically one around every corner here!
And if you successfully pass all these ruined castles and cross the border into Wales, then check out Liam James H’s piece about Conquering the Highest Mountain in Wales. Despite the news stories of it being so busy you’re queuing for hours to get to the top, Liam’s piece shows it is possible to experience this majestic mountain, but it should always be respected at all times (read to the end!).
And, not all UK ruins are castles — some are much older. Check out Susie Kearley’s piece on Britain’s Ancient Stone Circles. I’m envious of her doing Stonehenge-it’s on my list to do one day!
For more of my travel piece, check out:
