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.
It is not hard to see why places of staggering natural beauty
make people feel closer to God - a towering mountain view,
the delicate beauty of a flower, a tranquil woodland pool.
It is harder to understand why people might feel
closer to the divine by going underground.
I'm setting out to discover why subterranean sites have
some of the richest religious histories in Britain
and how these sites came to be considered holy.
My first destination is tucked away in the Peak District National Park in Derbyshire.
This is Lud's Church, a natural canyon that has an atmosphere
all of its own - indeed it has an ecology all of its own -
many of these plants and ferns around me are extremely rare.
It's a place that's on the margins in more ways than one.
As you descend into its depths, the temperature drops by a few
degrees and you feel these mossy green walls closing around you,
giving it an otherworldly energy that repels some people but has attracted others.
Is it haunted? Or is it holy?
No-one knows when it was first used but Pagans are thought to
have worshipped here and one theory is that its name comes
from the Celtic deity Lud, who also gave his name to Ludgate in London.
It crops up in Arthurian legend where it is described as
"the place for the Devil to recite matins".
During the 15th century, it was refuge for religious
dissenters called Lollards, led by a man named Walter de Lud-Auk.
They were discovered,
and Lud-Auk's granddaughter was killed by soldiers sent to break up their meeting.
All this history weighs heavily.
I sense someone forever just over my shoulder.
The rocks and ferns offer fleeting glimpses of faces gazing down as I pass through.
Indeed, as I set off for Lud's Church, locals warned me
not to linger after dark.
Lud Church's labyrinth of corridors
make it feel like a building designed by nature. It's a natural
wonder, and it has been a subterranean refuge and a meeting point for clandestine worship.
It's the perfect place to start my journey to discover what happens when holy places go underground.
When considering the religious history of caves,
the timescale opens right up.
Since the earliest evidence of our ancestors is to be found in caves,
it's no surprise that they were also the site
of our earliest ritual activity.
There's one such site in north Wales, a cave high up
on the side of the Great Orme, overlooking the town of Llandudno.
This site contains signs of ritual use dating as far back
as 14,000 years ago, making this one of the oldest-known sites
of religious practice in Britain.
The view today is just as stunning as it would have been
14,000 years ago when the first settlers came here, although as that was during the Ice Age,
the sea would have been much further away.
But it would have been a perfect vantage point for a people who lived as hunter gatherers
to study the game on the plains beneath.
The cave itself was rediscovered just over a hundred years ago,
by a man named Thomas Kendrick, and the first thing that strikes
us as we come up to it is - it doesn't look anything like a cave.
Thomas Kendrick was hoping to attract visitors here,
so he built this Victorian facade over the mouth of the cave
so that his visitors could take tea whilst they, too, enjoyed the view.
Its days as a tourist attraction have obviously long since gone,
but the spiritual significance of the cave within remains undiminished.
The caves are no longer open to the public but we've gained permission
from the current owners to venture into the depths.
As Kendrick delved into the system of caves, he came across more
than he'd bargained for. He found lots of bones and initially
threw them out before thinking that they might be worth something.
Archaeological examinations, and later, carbon dating,
revealed that these were the remains of three adults
and a young person who lived 14,000 years ago.
This isn't the earliest cave in Britain with evidence of human burial.
That honour belongs to a cave on the Gower Peninsula in South Wales
which dates back over 30,000 years.
But what makes this place special is the fact that with the human remains they found here,
they also found objects, jewellery, and one particular artefact
that's now kept in the British Museum in London.
It's one of the earliest example of artwork in the whole of Britain.
And there's a copy of it in the local museum here in Llandudno.
And this is it.
It's the carved jawbone of a horse.
Ice Age horses were obviously much smaller than their modern counterparts,
and as we can see, the surface has been carefully etched with this herringbone pattern
which would have had red ochre rubbed into it to make the markings stand out.
Now, we don't know whether it was worn as some kind of a pendant -
or was it used as some kind of religious talisman?
We don't know whether it was made here in Wales or carried here
with people who migrated into the country at the time of the last ice age.
What we do know is that somebody went to a lot of trouble to make it
and the fact that it was found
with evidence of human burial in Kendrick's cave
seems to indicate it was part of a burial ritual.
And even though this is a copy, it's quite an experience to
hold something like this, that even indirectly
connects us to our long forgotten forefathers
who buried their dead in the caves above Llandudno.
Events that took place 14,000 years ago are almost impossible
to piece together in any significant detail.
But my next stop, in Northumberland, allows me
to jump forward 13,000 years to the resting place
of one of the most renowned early British Christians.
His life - and death - were recorded in exhaustive detail.
When we think of caves we tend to think of a refuge, a sanctuary,
a hiding place.
And once we move on from pre-history to the Christian era,
that is exactly how caves were being used.
This isn't an easy place to find - but then that's the whole point.
In the 870s, following a series of Viking raids on the island
of Lindisfarne, the monks fled six miles inland to here.
They took with them their most treasured possessions,
including the body of their most famous abbot, St Cuthbert.
So, this cave became a place of refuge for somebody
who'd already been dead for the best part of 200 years.
Now as we can still see today, it's a pretty bleak spot - not that that would have bothered St Cuthbert,
but the monks apparently didn't stay here for very long.
They roamed for the best part of seven years around the north of England,
looking for a safe spot for the body of their most famous abbot
before they finally settled at Chester-le-Street,
having left a string of holy places in their wake.
This place is wonderful, but also bleak, harsh and inhospitable.
You can understand why this would have seemed a good option
when escaping from marauding Vikings,
but also why you would soon crave more comfortable surroundings.
At St Cuthbert's cave, the monks came to hide but then swiftly moved on.
The hermit at my next location spent most of his life in a cave
and in his hour of need, the very rocks themselves
are said to have come to the aid of their holy resident.
From Northumberland I've come down to South Wales
and a wonderful coastal setting.
St Govan's chapel here in Pembrokeshire
provides the location for perhaps the most dramatic holy cave story of them all,
albeit one of the most far-fetched.
It looks as if the cliffs themselves have split apart in order to
accommodate this tiny chapel, wedged down here, almost out of sight.
As a place to hide, it takes some beating.
Some time around the year 500, a mysterious hermit called St Govan
came to live in this stunning ravine.
St Govan himself would have lived in a cave amongst the rocks
as this chapel wasn't built until the 13th century.
I'm meeting Dr Patrick Thomas, Chancellor of St David's Cathedral,
to find out more about St Govan's claim to fame.
Well, he came here to escape from the world
and he was living in this place, halfway up the cliff,
where it seemed to be quiet and out of the way of things,
and he tried to help people who were shipwrecked,
and in doing so, he upset the local people
who depended on their living from stripping the people who had been
shipwrecked and indeed causing some of the shipwrecks themselves.
So they came to do him over, the local Mafia, as it were,
and he hid in a corner of the cave in a little split in the rocks,
a cleft in the rocks, and prayed,
and according to the tradition, that rock closed around him,
and there are marks on the cleft that is said to be the place
where Govan hid, that are like ribs,
and that's obviously strengthened the tradition.
The story of St Govan's subterranean miracle would have struck
a chord with many of our forefathers as the idea of caves as holy places
already had a special resonance.
Particularly within the Christian tradition and within the eastern tradition
which also affected strongly on the early Celtic saints,
the idea was that Jesus himself was born in a cave,
that was used as a stable, so it becomes connected with birth,
then Jesus' tomb was seen as being a cave.
So you've got a connection with life and with death,
with the most basic things, and so it becomes a place of sanctuary,
but also a place connected with the central themes of life and death.
The other undeniable attraction of this place
is its coastal location,
something that would not have been lost on St Govan.
For all the Celtic saints, water and the sound of water
was particularly important, so you are by a river, you are by a well.
You are here by the sea.
And the rhythm of the sea, and the ebb and flow of the tides
was something that again, would have become part of his prayer life.
Living here would undoubtedly have been harsh, but also very beautiful.
And the allure of retreating to a waterside cave is central
to my next destination, too.
All over the world, it seems that we are drawn to worshipping
underground - there are instances of this practise in many religions.
It was in a cave that the Prophet Mohammed received
the revelations that are the basis of the Koran.
Buddha also lived for a time within a cave.
In France there are vast ornate chapels built underground but
in Britain this practice only seems to have caught on in Derbyshire,
perhaps because the rocks here lend themselves to carving.
So I am heading out to see the finest example of a cave church in Britain.
And this is it - the Anchor Church at Ingleby.
This rocky outcrop once formed the southern bank of the River Trent
and the caves here were formed partly by the action of river water
on the soft rock, and partly cut out by hand.
As Christian worship became more mainstream,
people no longer sought out caves as a place of refuge and a place of safety,
but they still sometimes chose them as somewhere to get away from the noise
of the secular world, a place for spiritual contemplation and prayer.
The name Anchor Church derives from the Greek word "anachoreo", meaning "to withdraw".
This cave at Ingleby was first used as a religious retreat
in the 6th or 7th century, but it wasn't home to just one
solitary hermit - there is evidence of multiple dwellings in the area.
All along these cliffs are signs of candle holes
carved into the rock, perhaps part of lean-to structures,
and then spots like this where smaller caves have been carved out.
The first recorded hermit at Ingleby was called St Hardulph,
who his reputation for wisdom and holiness was such that he began to attract visitors.
On one occasion he famously had to save two nuns who were drowning in the river as their boat capsized
on their way to come and see him.
It would appear from cells like these that other people came to stay,
and so gradually it would appear that a community of hermits evolved in this area.
Now of course, the point of being a hermit is to get away from it all,
so it would seem that that was defeating the object of the exercise.
But as hermits came together, something else happened
and it is in communities of hermits like these that we find the roots of monasticism.
We're used to seeing the ruins of medieval monasteries that
in their day must have been the most spectacular buildings in the land.
So it's humbling to think that the monastic tradition actually grew
out of places like these - groups of hermits withdrawing from mainstream
society and then being drawn back together in isolated corners
of the countryside to live out their lives in devotion and prayer.
Even today this place still feels remote.
You still get a strong sense of the seclusion that would have
attracted a Saxon hermit here for a life of contemplation and prayer.
But there's something else about this place -
when you go inside, you're drawn somehow deeper into the earth -
it has that womb-like feeling
and it's quite unlike any of the other places I've visited.
Perhaps this is the appeal of underground worship,
the sense that by detaching yourself from the everyday concerns
of the world, you're almost returning to the womb,
entombing yourself within your beliefs.
If that is the case, then it can be no more graphically
illustrated than at the home of my next extraordinary anchorite.
This is the church of St Julian's in Norwich
where in the mid 1370's a woman made the momentous decision
to become an anchorite, but chose to do so in a manner that required an incredible level of commitment.
At the age of just 30, she willingly allowed herself to be bricked up
in a tiny cell within the walls of the church,
for the rest of her natural life.
She spent the next 40 years in meditation and in prayer
and became, in the process,
literally part of the fabric of the church that she loved.
Julian's cell itself was destroyed during the Reformation,
but during restoration work
following the bombing of the church during the last war,
they found some medieval foundations
indicating where the cell probably lay,
and they built this chapel on that very spot -
although this is much, much bigger and much, much lighter than the original cell would have been.
However, the original cell, like this chapel, would have been south facing,
so Julian could at least have enjoyed some of the warmth of the sun that she would never see again,
There were three windows in cells of this nature,
one opening into the main body of the church,
so that the anchorite could see the altar and receive communion.
then a second window through which she would receive food and be able to pass her waste out,
and then a third window opening out onto the street,
so that she could dispense advice and consolation
to people or pilgrims who came to see her -
because to the medieval mind, this extreme way of life was just as fascinating to them as it is to us.
Lady Julian chose to embark upon her life as an anchorite after
experiencing a series of visions or revelations.
To hear more about this I am meeting Sister Pamela
who lives in a nunnery attached to the church
and helps visitors understand the rigours of Lady Julian's life.
When she was 30-and-a-half years old but told that she was nearly
dying, and drifting away, and yet, she didn't -
she had these revelations, and being a sane sort of woman,
which I'm sure she was, she doubted them, and she was given
the sixteenth revelation to say, "They're not just for you.
"They're for everybody." She had a vivid vision of the Crucifix.
It was as though she was at the Passion,
and if any people have seen the movie Passion Of Christ,
you'll know how vivid that is, and I think she felt she was there.
Once she'd taken the momentous decision to become an anchorite,
the machinery of the church would have sprung into action
to organise the practicalities of her interment.
She would have been led here from the Benedictine
monastery at Carrow, which is just outside the city walls here,
and the bishop would have conducted the service,
which would actually have been a Requiem Mass.
She was being buried - not in a cave or a hole in the ground,
but actually in a small cell.
And possibly the brickie would be there,
to actually brick her up afterwards, after she'd been enclosed.
Being an anchorite, she'd spend her time praying
and counselling people,
but also meditating on these amazing revelations that she'd had,
so she spent 15-20 years expounding, meditating, writing...rewriting them.
She was a unique figure in English literature.
She was the first woman we know of to write a book in English.
- She was contemporary with Chaucer. - Yeah. - Yes.
The ultimate thing, of course,
is that she said at the end of her book, "15 years or more,
"God showed me in my inward being what this was all about -
"that love is his meaning. Who showed it to you? Love.
"What did He show you? Love! Why did he show you? For love.
"Hold onto this, and you need not know anything else,
"because love is Our Lord's meaning."
And so she sums it all up, in that word - love.
It is impossible for most of us
to imagine having ourselves bricked up for the rest of our lives.
Many of us would consider such an extreme decision as stifling,
crazy, a waste of life, even.
But coming here has left me with a strange admiration for
Lady Julian. It's rare that you come across such a singular act of faith.
However, after contemplating the claustrophobic confines
of an anchorite cell, it's almost like being able to
breathe again to come back into a space like this.
This is my final stop - Ripon Cathedral in North Yorkshire.
To our modern eyes, this is the kind of church architecture that we
find most inspiring.
Soaring columns, stained-glass windows, plenty of light and space.
For us, the idea of delving into the dark recesses of a crypt
is not particularly appealing, but for the earliest pilgrims to this
church, that would have been the main attraction.
This 12th century cathedral is magnificent,
but it was not the first church built on this site.
The first church here dated back to 672,
and was built by a man called St Wilfrid.
The only remaining part of that earlier church is the crypt,
but it was actually the crypt that made this place such
a celebrated destination.
Pilgrims would have wended their way down that passage into this
central chamber, lit then, as today,
by lamps placed in these niches, before they then venerated
the holy relic that would have been set in this larger niche here.
In a sense, it's a piece of religious theatre,
and the man who had it built, St Wilfrid, was certainly something
of a showman and this place was certainly built to impress.
There would have been nothing quite like it in Britain at the time.
What St Wilfrid built and what countless pilgrims
flocked to see was nothing less than a recreation of the most holy site
in Christendom - Jesus' tomb in Jerusalem.
At a time before foreign travel was a realistic possibility,
the crypt at Ripon was as close to the Holy Land as most
people in Britain would ever get.
This crypt consciously echoes Christ's tomb
where his body was laid for three days before the resurrection.
And in some of the other caves we've visited, they might be interpreted as womb-like structures,
places of refuge, of safety, and of rebirth, even.
This is surely why caves crop up again and again
in all the world's religions.
The reason they strike such a deep chord is because they echo
so closely the places we've come from and the place we will all end up -
the womb and the tomb.
What could be more primal than that?
It's a challenging concept, but in somewhere like this
perhaps we can come a little bit closer to understanding that meaning.
Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd