About Cinderwath
The old bloomery, down where the beck runs shallow over flat stones. There was a ford, and beside the ford the ironworks: a wheel in a stone pit, a leat cut along the hillside to feed it, barns for the charcoal and a hearth that was never let go out.
The slag is still there, banked in black mounds around the roofless walls, and it gave the whole valley its name. The wheel went for scrap long ago. The fires went out before anyone now living was born.





























