KINGSHALL FARM, Gower 2019
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Notes on KINGSHALL FARM, Gower 2019
I parked the car at the hamlet of Llanddewi, beside the road, a cloudy damp day. I walked passed the tiny and attractive church of St David's and along the bridle-path. The tarmac track soon comes to a gated track and to the right the large farmhouse of 'New Hen-Llys farm'. The track from the farm to (old) 'Hen-Llys' is only passable with wellingtons and at that, barely. The divots of years of tyre tread are around a foot deep but that said it has rained a lot recently. I made my way, waddling through the puddles, disturbing the clear water and occasionally trying the banks to see if the mud was easier to navigate than the water. It wasn't.
To a gated field, footpath marker, a large field full of sheep and cows - all ignored me, the grass wet and slippery, more mud, more puddles. Another gate, narrow path between two fields
more mud, bicycle tread marks, people do come this way and then another gate, stone track and finally to the ruins of Kingshall farm. A large L-shaped farmhouse, built on a square site, a wall completing the L-shape to create a square. Long ruinous, roofless, door-less and window-less, lintels in place, bits of metal laying around, farm plastic sacks, little sign of care. Nonetheless a nice site, sheltered due to trees, a small stream, two pig sty's, the track running alongside the house. Time to breathe here. Set up the camera. A light aircraft overhead. It circles almost directly above me and then disappears over the horizon. I'd had an argument with my partner in the morning. The walk a tonic. The struggle through puddles and mud were the mild hardship, the conversations re-lived, altered, talking to myself, making logic of my actions, trying not to disregard hers. Keeping a level head. I set up the camera and about to take the first image. I think the unseen plane is a tractor engine, the phone rings, I normally have it on silent, I need to take this picture. It's only a plane, not a tractor. I'm not trespassing but neither am I in the mood for conversation. A picture is made. The phone rings again. I don't want to speak. I compose and take another photograph. The plane returns, the phone rings. I ignore both. Both stop and there is silence but there's another sound that I can't quite work out what it is: a low engine murmur almost like birds. It stops and then I see the cloud of starlings rise above me. I take more pictures, nothing spectacular but document the farm as I see fit. When I finish I phone my partner back. She isn't impressed. I can't say I blame her but sometimes we need to stick by our decisions even if they're not right. I walk back the way I came. I had wanted to explore further - to another ruin but it is already 3pm and the dim day is becoming darker. I also haven't eaten or drank anything all day and I feel upset in body and mind. I stop at Hen Llys farm on the way back. It is not ruinous but neither is it lived in. Rendered, single glazed, a long house of sorts - around the rear a pond - probably modern and often frequented by cattle.
I make a few exposures, viewpoints are few, the house looks sorry for itself rather than on the verge of dereliction. My phone is ringing again. Too many short and angry phone calls. Everyone argues. Little solace. I think my partner would not have enjoyed this walk anyway. It's been too long, too muddy, too wet. I finish my photographs again and phone her back. Do I love her? Yes, I love her. Not that she has asked me and not that I have told her. That is what it boils down to, mostly. Everything else in this argument is shrapnel and some of it hurts, some of it misses the mark. I have made my peace with myself. The power of walking with the added bonus of a ruin. I do wonder how it is to live with me.
I parked the car at the hamlet of Llanddewi, beside the road, a cloudy damp day. I walked passed the tiny and attractive church of St David's and along the bridle-path. The tarmac track soon comes to a gated track and to the right the large farmhouse of 'New Hen-Llys farm'. The track from the farm to (old) 'Hen-Llys' is only passable with wellingtons and at that, barely. The divots of years of tyre tread are around a foot deep but that said it has rained a lot recently. I made my way, waddling through the puddles, disturbing the clear water and occasionally trying the banks to see if the mud was easier to navigate than the water. It wasn't.
To a gated field, footpath marker, a large field full of sheep and cows - all ignored me, the grass wet and slippery, more mud, more puddles. Another gate, narrow path between two fields
more mud, bicycle tread marks, people do come this way and then another gate, stone track and finally to the ruins of Kingshall farm. A large L-shaped farmhouse, built on a square site, a wall completing the L-shape to create a square. Long ruinous, roofless, door-less and window-less, lintels in place, bits of metal laying around, farm plastic sacks, little sign of care. Nonetheless a nice site, sheltered due to trees, a small stream, two pig sty's, the track running alongside the house. Time to breathe here. Set up the camera. A light aircraft overhead. It circles almost directly above me and then disappears over the horizon. I'd had an argument with my partner in the morning. The walk a tonic. The struggle through puddles and mud were the mild hardship, the conversations re-lived, altered, talking to myself, making logic of my actions, trying not to disregard hers. Keeping a level head. I set up the camera and about to take the first image. I think the unseen plane is a tractor engine, the phone rings, I normally have it on silent, I need to take this picture. It's only a plane, not a tractor. I'm not trespassing but neither am I in the mood for conversation. A picture is made. The phone rings again. I don't want to speak. I compose and take another photograph. The plane returns, the phone rings. I ignore both. Both stop and there is silence but there's another sound that I can't quite work out what it is: a low engine murmur almost like birds. It stops and then I see the cloud of starlings rise above me. I take more pictures, nothing spectacular but document the farm as I see fit. When I finish I phone my partner back. She isn't impressed. I can't say I blame her but sometimes we need to stick by our decisions even if they're not right. I walk back the way I came. I had wanted to explore further - to another ruin but it is already 3pm and the dim day is becoming darker. I also haven't eaten or drank anything all day and I feel upset in body and mind. I stop at Hen Llys farm on the way back. It is not ruinous but neither is it lived in. Rendered, single glazed, a long house of sorts - around the rear a pond - probably modern and often frequented by cattle.
I make a few exposures, viewpoints are few, the house looks sorry for itself rather than on the verge of dereliction. My phone is ringing again. Too many short and angry phone calls. Everyone argues. Little solace. I think my partner would not have enjoyed this walk anyway. It's been too long, too muddy, too wet. I finish my photographs again and phone her back. Do I love her? Yes, I love her. Not that she has asked me and not that I have told her. That is what it boils down to, mostly. Everything else in this argument is shrapnel and some of it hurts, some of it misses the mark. I have made my peace with myself. The power of walking with the added bonus of a ruin. I do wonder how it is to live with me.
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