WHAT do you get if you cross a Victorian eccentric with a man of god? The answer is Father Ignatius. The notorious monk is pictured here seated at the table, at home in Llanthony Abbey with two brothers and two acolytes.

This lot definitely has a presence, don’t they? And so they should. Born Joseph Leycester Lyne in 1837, Father Ignatius dreamed of becoming “no ordinary clergyman.”

He maintained that everything he did was directly inspired by God.

Such were his unorthodox ways that no Bishop would ordain him a priest, but when, at the age of 60, he received his ‘orders’ in shady circumstances, he would go on to become something of a ‘rock star’ on his preaching tours.

There’s an interesting story regarding Father Ignatius and the father of a well-known Abergavenny jockey called Jack Goodwin.

Goodwin junior was once notorious for being allegedly involved in fixing a race alongside the clerk of the course at Monmouth, who was a dwarf known affectionately as “Little Dyke.”

Yet that’s a tale for another day.

Back then, Jack Goodwin’s father was the landlord of the town’s Swan Hotel, and the popular publican was involved in an unusual equestrian-type tale of his own which is worth retelling here for the price of a pint.

The story goes that it was a blustery and ferociously foul night in Abergavenny when Father Ignatius of the newly-built Llanthony Abbey burst through the doors of the Swan like a messenger straight out of the pages of the Old Testament.

Dripping from head to toe in a rain-soaked monastic garb and shrouded in a heavy air of righteousness, Father Ignatius struck an imposing figure to the gin-addled regulars in the Swan.

However, on that night, the holy man’s mission in this particular drinking den wasn’t to save sinners but to commission a cart to take him to Llanthony.

Unfortunately, the regular driver was bed-bound with a fever, so Goodwin volunteered to drive the man he called ‘the Abbot’ back to Capel-y-ffin,

On such a dark and desolate night, the only ride on offer was a decrepit nag and a ramshackle coach, but beggars or men of the cloth can’t be choosers. And so it came to pass, Father Ignatius and Goodwin senior, who was fortified against the elements by half a bottle of rum, set off from Cross Street into that hellish night.

Roads which were poor at the best of times, now became harder to navigate as they streamed with water.

Swearing at the storm like a sailor at sea, Goodwin continued to plough on, but coming to the end of both his endurance and his wit, the landlord came to the grim conclusion that holy or not, his passenger was going to have to buckle down and put his back into it if they were going to get to Capel-y-ffin intact.

Goodwin bellowed, “Tumble out your holiness and put your shoulder to the wheel.”

As so it came to pass, with his skirts pulled high, Father Ignatius pushed the man he’d paid to pull him to shelter and safety.