AS it was her birthday on the weekend I drove out to see my sister in Govilon-shire to deliver the obligatory card showing her in the worst possible light and it came as something of a shock to see the state of the castle meadows.

Now I’m not going to wade into the pros and cons of the oft debated footbridge and whether or not it will be an asset to the town but it was heartbreaking to see the immediate impact its construction is having on the meadows.

For so long the riverbank between Llanfoist and Abergavenny has been a place where residents and visitors have walked, enjoyed picnics, taken their children to play and enjoyed unsurpassed views of the town and now it looks more like a city centre building site than an area of natural beauty.

I remember back a decade ago when the National Eisteddfod was held on the castle meadows how people from all over Wales delighted in the beauty of the site and how many had planned to return when it wasn’t packed with marquees and tents….I wonder how they would feel seeing it now.

I know there are those who will say, quite rightly, that progress is a great thing and that you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs…but sometimes there’s nothing better that a plan boiled egg, with just a sprinkle of salt.

I have to admit the area has a personal significance for our family as my late father’s ashes were, many years ago, scattered there.

As always with anything involving The Mother, my sister and me, the course of what should have been a fairly solemn occasion did not run smoothly and ended with the three of us shedding tears of laughter rather than grief, safe in the the knowledge that Dad was somewhere in the great beyond wearing his familiar expression of a blend of bemusement and exasperation at the lack of dignity afforded to his final journey.

The plan to scatter my father in that particular spot had apparently been instigated by The Mother who on one of their regular castle meadows walks had expressed her desire to end her ‘days down by the riverside’ as the old song goes.

“In that case I’d better come here as well,” said my father little realising at the time his journey would begin ridiculously prematurely.

As I drove over Llanfoist bridge last weekend, my thoughts turned to my father and I couldn’t help but wonder how he would feel at seeing his beloved meadows so desecrated but took some comfort in the fact that after almost twenty years he’s probably moved on.

I’m a bit more concerned about The Mother. Hopefully she isn’t planning on joining my father for many years but when the time comes and my sister and I who will probably be close to 100 ourselves, totter our way down to the river bank I’m not sure there’ll be the same appetite for scattering her ashes underneath the arches of the active travel bridge…it doesn’t quite have the same ring!