Britain is home to many of the most beautiful holy places in the world.
Our religious heritage and architecture is more varied
than virtually anywhere else on earth.
My name is Ifor ap Glyn and I am on a journey to explore the best of Britain's holy sites
and to uncover the rich and diverse history of our spiritual landscape.
I want to know how these places came to be,
discover what they reveal about the people who worshipped at them,
'and explore why they continue to fascinate us today.'
This place is incredible.
'My journey will take me to towering mountain hideaways...'
It was here that St Twrog took on the pagan forces of evil.
'..icy healing pools...'
I'm not sure what effect this is having on me,
but it is certainly having an effect!
'..and the graves of long-departed saints...'
There's something quite unsettling about this relic.
'I'll search out islands where the faithful seek refuge from the world.
'I'll wander ruins steeped in history...'
His congregation were roused to come here
and rip down the rich trappings of this cathedral.
'..and descend into caves which have been sacred for thousands of years.'
Wow!
From the divine to the unexpected, join me on a journey
to the unforgettable corners of our country,
the landscapes that make the soul soar.
Until about 20 years ago, we were all happy enough drinking tap water,
but nowadays millions of us will pay a pound or more a time to drink
this stuff - "natural spring water".
Now, what's all that about?
Has our modern world become so contaminated that we really think that this stuff
is better for us, that "original spa water" or whatever is somehow the real thing -
even if it comes in a plastic bottle?
It turns out that it's not such a new-fangled idea at all
and I'm off to discover how this yearning for pure, natural water
has always been bound up with our spiritual beliefs.
I'm going on a journey to try and find out why it is that water crops up again
and again as the essential element in some of our holiest places.
My journey starts above the Conwy Valley near my home in north Wales.
Set amid this glorious landscape is a tiny church.
And in the corner of the churchyard is a well where
a superstitious healing ritual persisted for hundreds of years.
We don't know when it started, but there is a long tradition
of desperate parents carrying their sick or dying children
all the way up these rugged hills to this remote spot.
Today the well is overflowing following the recent rain,
but you can still easily discern
the surround of the well beneath the water
and there's something quite moving about the size of it.
It's small, it's child-sized,
and you can easily imagine desperate
parents bringing their sick children here in the hope of a cure.
What would happen is they would come here
either first thing in the morning
or last thing at night. They would immerse the sick child in the well,
and then wrap them in a blanket
and take them to a nearby farmhouse to sleep.
In the meantime, they would then take the child's clothes and put them in the well.
It was believed that if the clothes floated, then the child would make a full recovery.
But if the clothes sank, the outlook was bleak.
The current church at Llangelynnin dates from the 12th century.
But there's been a church here in some form
since a saint called Celynin first came here in the 6th century.
The holy well has been part of local folklore for centuries with
the first written reference to the healing ritual
appearing in a local history journal in 1867.
The well was still in use at the turn of the 20th century.
There is evidence of an inn next to the church which suggests
that people visited here in significant numbers.
It must have been a welcome sight after a gruelling four-mile trek
up into the hills from the nearest town carrying a sick child.
Nowadays the church at Llangelynnin is only used for three services a year.
But then it's always been a marginal kind of place,
standing as it does between the world of agriculture
and the wilderness of the mountain, and as the population has receded
back into the valley below, the church and the well at Llangelynnin
have been "left behind", as it were - society's moved on.
These days we put our faith in modern medicines and the NHS -
but we can still sympathise with the yearnings of the parents of the past who came here.
And maybe that's what draws us here still.
The fact that there's a history of hope here,
hope that was invested in the primal powers of water,
and that appeals to something very deep within us.
From Wales I'm heading north - to the Scottish Highlands
and a place where water played a dramatic
and turbulent part in our spiritual history.
1,500 years ago this area was a battleground for the soul
of Scotland, and in the process a legend was born that is now
known all over the world.
My destination is Castle Urquhart on the shores of Loch Ness, site
of the first recorded encounter with the fabled monster in the late 500s.
For the people of the early mediaeval period,
the whole of nature seemed to be imbued with spiritual powers,
and so trees, mountains and particularly water became a kind of elemental battleground
between the Christians and the pagans
as they sought to capture the hearts and minds of the people.
As to what exactly the pagans believed about water
we can't be too sure, because they left no records of their own
and of course history is written by the conqueror -
in this case, the Roman invaders that came here to begin with,
and then subsequently the Christian missionaries.
But we do know what one of those Christian missionaries,
St Columba, got up to when he first came to this spot,
thanks to a monk called Adomnan who wrote a chronicle of Columba's
life at the end of the 7th century.
The legend as recoded by Adomnan is
that in the 6th Century, St Columba travelled over from his native
Ireland to save the souls of the heathen Scots.
He arrived to find a population in thrall to pagan gods
and living in terror of a fearsome beast that lurked in the depths.
To enter the water was considered certain death.
Never one to turn down a challenge, Saint Columba
commanded one of his men to swim across the waters - and almost
immediately the monster reappeared, swimming swiftly towards its victim.
Everyone was terrified, but not Saint Columba.
When the monster was but a spear's length away from its intended victim,
he made the sign of the cross and commanded the monster to go back.
Which is what he did.
Terrified by the sound of the saint's voice,
he fled more quickly than if he had been pulled back by ropes.
And that is reputed to be the first sighting of the Loch Ness monster.
Whether fact or folklore, the stories of this
and other miracles performed by Columba found a willing audience.
St Columba was shrewd.
According to another story, when he came across
pagans worshipping at a poisonous well, instead of destroying it,
he simply purified its waters and claimed it for his own faith.
Rather than destroying the old symbols of paganism,
Christianity simply subsumed them.
This previously pagan landscape was overwritten with a new Christian
narrative, and water was central to that new narrative because
not only did missionaries like St Columba miraculously
purify water, they also used it to symbolically purify their converts
in one of the rituals that is central to the Christian tradition.
I want to understand the scale of the conversions
that the missionaries undertook...
..so I'm heading to Holystone in Northumberland, home to Lady's Well,
one of the oldest surviving baptismal pools in the world.
This remarkable spot can trace its origins back to late Roman times,
and lays claim to being the most important place
in the history of early Christianity in the Scottish borders.
I certainly can't find the source. The outflow is there.
My guide is Nick Mayhew Smith, a lay minister and author
who has studied the significance of the Holystone site.
Tell me then, what's so special about this pool?
Well, this might be the oldest sacred pool in Britain.
- Really? - Yeah.
There's evidence that it's linked to Roman-era Christianity
for two reasons.
First is it's got an apse shape at the far end,
which is a traditional shape for a Roman ceremonial building or space.
The second thing is a Roman road used to run directly
- alongside this part of the pool. - Oh, really? - Yeah.
So what other traditions are there, to...
That attest to its use in that early period?
Well, there's a very early tradition
that St Ninian came here
and converted the people north
of the border of the Roman Empire.
He was active in the early 5th century so the time
that the Roman Empire was falling in on itself,
and the Romans left Britain for the last time in 410 AD.
So round that period, the last flourish of Roman Christianity
was pushing the faith north of the borders of the empire.
I don't think I've ever seen one quite as big as this.
Well, if you had a large number of people to convert as St Ninian
no doubt did, you'd probably need as much space as you could get.
I'm sure the mass baptisms would have taken several days to perform.
And also the early baptismal rite would require
quite a lot of outdoor water.
The notion of full immersion would no doubt have struck the pagan
tribes as a strange rite of passage.
But it was introduced to them by a missionary from the Roman Empire,
a superior society with advanced technologies.
Baptism provided a psychologically compelling route into this
new way of living as the old life was metaphorically washed away.
So this place could be the birthplace of Christianity in the Border region?
Yes. This is where the border country can claim it was first baptised.
The little dab of warm water that we now give to
an infant in our church is a descendant of the ritual.
But when you look at a place like this, you realise just how primal
and how psychological the whole rebirth experience would be out here in creation
with this beautiful natural chapel of trees closing in over the scared space below.
I'd like to try and understand what this ritual
would have entailed, and Nick has offered to show me.
Much as I'd like to get into the pool, it's now a protected site
and we're not allowed to disturb the water.
These days, it seems, we are encouraged to look
but not touch when it comes to our spiritual heritage.
However, as Nick explains, this will at least save my modesty
and your blushes.
So if we were doing this in a really authentic Roman manner
you would now be naked
- and indeed you would have even had to take your wedding ring off for this. - Really?
As a sign that you've divested yourself of your past sinful life
and you are about to enter the healing waters of baptism and be born again.
I'll ask you to kneel, and then I'll scoop up water
and pour it over your head three times
and each time I'll ask you part of a creed,
"do you believe in the Father, the do you believe in the Son, do you believe in the Holy Spirit?"
It'll be in Latin,
- but when I pause, you'll know to answer "I believe" or in Latin... - Credo. - .."credo".
- So if you'd like to kneel... - Right.
It's been years, if not centuries,
since there's been a full baptism at this pool.
Nowadays, holy sites like this are protected and conserved,
rather than used.
It's a shame. Full immersion in this freezing water
would be a incredible experience.
Even so, just to hear the Latin creed echoing around the pool
in the same way it would have done for whole tribes of Picts
1,500 years ago, is inspiring.
And that is you baptised.
Thank you.
My pleasure.
Discovering one of the world's oldest baptismal pools
situated in a field in Northumberland is one thing,
but the next stop on my watery pilgrimage is even more striking.
I'm in the town of Holywell in Flintshire,
home to a healing pool whose history stretches back
to the 7th century, making it 1,000 years older than Lourdes in France.
The site attracts 30,000 visitors a year from across the globe.
So, how did this small site near the Welsh border
acquire such world-wide prominence?
'It's all down to the legend of a woman called Winifred,
'a woman who was determined not to give up her chastity without a fight.'
Gwenffrewi or "Winifred" in English, was a young woman of the 7th century
who had already decided to devote her life to a life of chastity.
But one day, a local nobleman called Caradog
decided he wanted to have his evil way with her,
and when she repelled his advances and ran for sanctuary to her
uncle's church, Caradog pursued her and cut off her head with his sword.
Her head fell at that very spot there and immediately
a well gushed forth miraculously.
Her uncle Beuno, hearing the commotion, rushed out of his church
and by a second miracle, re-attached her head to her body.
And if you look at her statue, you can still see the circular scar
around her neck. And thus was established, in some style,
this place's reputation for miraculous cures.
Now, that might seem a far-fetched tale,
but it has stood the test of time.
Visitors to the site have included Richard the Lionheart,
Queen Victoria, and King Leopold of Belgium.
The building that stands over the pool was reputedly built
by Henry VIII's grandmother, and it may have been this
royal connection which saved it from destruction during the Reformation.
Whilst Henry was happy to risk war with the Catholic Kings of Europe
and even ex-communication by the Pope himself,
he was not prepared to upset his dear old gran.
If it's good enough for the crowned heads of Europe,
maybe it's time for me to take the plunge
and find out what the restorative powers of this pool can do.
And what a prospect!
It's November, the leaves have fallen and rain is on its way.
This may indeed take some kind of leap of faith.
It's cold.
I'm not sure exactly what effect this is having,
but it's certainly having an effect.
So far, the only thing I can say for certain is that
it has totally cured me of being warm!
Well, I'm sure that the water has a purifying effect.
But perhaps even more than that, is the effect of the cold.
Because obviously it wouldn't be seemly to warm up a bit
by doing a front crawl up and down the pool.
And so you have to suffer a little bit
and, erm, there's something quite...uplifting about that.
Others profess the effect to have been far more pronounced.
Life-changing, even.
I'm meeting Lolita l'Aiguille
who now helps run the well's information centre.
The discarded crutches belong to those who claim to have been healed
after plunging into the sacred pool.
Just as Lolita says SHE was after her first visit.
What brought you to Holywell in the first place?
Illness. Looking for healing.
I had thyroid, I had a lump that needed to be removed.
And I also had a hip inflammation, the bones,
because I suffer from osteoporosis.
I didn't realise what it was all about until I arrived on Saturday morning.
And fully dressed, no changing clothes, just fully dressed as I was,
I went into the well, I laid into it.
And I asked her, "Help me." I didn't even have time to pray.
When you're actually in agonising pain, you don't think about prayers.
You just ask for help.
I said, "Please help me." And I stayed in there for a few minutes.
About five minutes or more. And I came out like I was in a trance.
I could see people, I could hear them.
I could see them looking at me down in the well, in the water.
They were looking at me down in the water.
And I walked out of there with no pain.
And I had to go back to the doctor that next morning,
thinking, "Oh, how embarrassing, I'm having to go to the doctor
"saying I have no pain. He's going to think I made it all up."
So they took the blood tests for my thyroid. That was cleared,
the lump had gone, I'd had no op.
And they just said they had no explanation and if I had no pain,
then you don't need any painkillers. And I've been like this ever since.
Lolita is not alone in claiming a miracle cure
from her time in the pool.
Carved into the walls of the shrine are names stretching back
hundreds of years. Names of those who have put their faith
in the goodness and chastity of St Winifred.
The final part of the tradition here at Holywell is to bottle
some of the water to sustain you on your journey.
Now, it may seem slightly peculiar to take a plastic bottle
and to fill it with holy water, in order that you can take it away
and drink it at home.
But believe it or not, we've all done this.
Or at least, we have done indirectly.
30 years ago, buying water like this would have seemed
faintly ridiculous.
Paying for something that you can get for next to nothing
from every tap in the land.
But with this brand, it turns out that's not as mad as it seems.
- 60, one pound. - Thanks very much.
This water has a sacred pedigree longer even than that of Holywell.
I'm in Derbyshire heading for the source of this water.
The setting for Buxton Spring
does not at first seem obviously spiritual.
Rather than an ancient chapel or shrine, the water arrives
at the surface through a brass fountain on a street corner
in the centre of the town.
But this unprepossessing setting masks a long and proud spiritual history.
Buxton Spring delivers over one million litres of water a day.
It comes up over half a mile from the rocks beneath,
and in fact this water is thought to have fallen as rain
the best part of 5,000 years ago.
This spring was known to the Celts.
It was dedicated to the goddess Arnemetia,
The Romans then appropriated it and called it Aquae Arnemetiae.
Then in Mediaeval times, the Christians appropriated it.
It was dedicated to Saint Ann. After the Reformation,
this spring became the focus for a spa town.
All these buildings grew up around it, the pump room next door.
In its most recent reincarnation, Buxton water has become a major brand.
The bottling rights have been acquired
by a major multi-national company and there's a huge bottling plant
just over the other side of the hill.
But the canny locals still come here to fill up for free.
Because this is exactly the same stuff.
Nothing is more fundamental to life than water.
Before utility companies and sewage works, springs became holy,
because they were guaranteed sources of pure water.
They were life-giving in the most literal sense.
Despite the advances of modern life,
many of us would still rather drink bottled water
than trust what is coming out of the tap.
We crave exactly what our forefathers held dear,
something purer, something life-giving.
People have been taking the waters here for thousands of years.
It's an act of faith.
These days, we take it in a plastic bottle and we drink it,
thinking that it's purer than what we can get out of our taps.
But indeed, that's just as much of an act of faith
as people who in former eras have turned to water
as an agent of spiritual rebirth,
or turned to it for its healing properties
when they felt that all other hope had gone.
Holy water, we believe, can make us healthy.
Be that spiritually or physically.
"Holy" and "wholesome" are two words that share the same root,
so holiness and healthiness are in fact not that far removed from each other.
But there is one other way in which water has shaped
and defined our spiritual history.
From Derbyshire, I'm travelling south to Essex.
But in a way, I'm actually going back to where I began.
My journey started by the sea and now it's ending back by the sea.
Britain is an island nation and long before we had a network
of trains and motorways, water was the easiest way to travel.
My final stop is a remarkable church in Essex.
This lonely sentinel on the coast at Bradwell-on-Sea
marks the point where Christianity first arrived
in this part of the country.
And it's one of the oldest churches in the land.
This is St Peter's. It was built in 654,
using materials from an earlier Roman fort.
And its coastal location is key,
because for the seafaring monks of the 7th century,
that was the surest way to carry the Gospel
around the island of Britain.
Wow.
This place is incredible!
This church has a unique atmosphere.
It is simple, peaceful,
and its antiquity seems to seep out of the very walls of the place.
It was built by St Cedd, a Celtic missionary who travelled
around the coast of Britain, spreading Christianity in the south.
Bradwell was once a gateway for a new belief system
which arrived from across the water, to change our society for ever.
Now, it's a forgotten place on the margins of the country.
The sea has always been a powerful metaphor
within the Christian tradition.
Its turbulence and unpredictability mirror our own lives.
But here, the sea is the reason for the existence
of this fantastically atmospheric church.
You don't need to be a believer to fall for the simple peace
and calm of this place.
Like the sea that surrounds it,
Bradwell's appeal is timeless, universal.
Making this the perfect place for my watery pilgrimage to end.
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