Whilst visiting Warwickshire for a lovely family wedding, we decided that we’d look around a little, before heading home. Having never been, we picked yesterday to visit Stratford on Avon and only afterwards realised that we had timed our visit to coincide with Shakespeare’s birthday. We didn’t let the small fact that we hadn’t bought him a card deter us and off we set. We had a timed entry slot at Shakespeare’s birthplace and didn’t want to miss it. As we arrived, it was clear that something was going on as roads were closed and crowds lined the streets. It seemed that Shakespeare’s birthday was to be accompanied by a parade. We listened to a band for a bit and watched some men appear with a bust of Shakespeare, which they proceeded to screw to a plinth (health and safety rules). The band stopped and no one seemed sure what was going to happen next. We needed to be on time for our birthplace visit but it seemed a shame not to see whatever was due to happen too. My intrepid companion approached a man with a clip-board – always a good strategy when in doubt. Said clipboard-toting gentleman suggested that we went for our visit straight away, as then we would be back in time for the planned procession. We complied.
Being seventeenth century types, the birthplace was very interesting, with lovely gardens. Without rushing, we managed to return to the ever-thickening crowds in time to watch the parade of costumed characters, school children, local dignitaries and morris dancers go past and walk to the church where Shakespeare is buried. Only the great and good, most of whom were clutching posies of yellow and purple flowers to lay, were allowed in the church, so that was us out. Instead, we watched the morris dancers and looked at several old buildings clad in wisteria, which is in full flower here; mine at home has barely begun to shoot. Next, a visit to The New Place, Shakespeare’s home in later life. Again, there were lovely gardens, as well as the exhibition itself. There were some Shakespearean themed sculptures in the gardens as well.
A short drive and we were at Anne Hathaway’s cottage, dating from the fifteenth century. More beautiful gardens, an orchard and more sculptures. Here it was the cowslips that were at their best. I invested in a few herbs to take home.
Definitely a recommended visit, even without the bonus of the birthday celebrations. A joint ticket to all three properties is a considerable saving and you don’t have to visit all three on the same day.
I am spending a few days in Sussex, which is indeed sunny. Yesterday, we arrived in time to take a look at the RSPB reserve at Pagham Harbour. This was a pleasant walk with views out towards the sea. The website warned us that the visitors’ centre and toilets would be closed due to staff sickness. Fortunately, only half of this was true.
Today, we headed off to the seventeenth century National Trust property Uppark, the home of the Meade-Featherstonehaugh family. This part of Sussex seems to be overburdened with roundabouts and Sally the Sat-nav was feeling sluggish today, which made exiting said roundabouts in the correct place somewhat tricky but we arrived without too much of a diversion. More Covid related staff shortages meant that only the ground floor of the house was open but there was plenty to see including some incredibly finely worked tapestries, with the tiniest stitches imaginable. Uppark suffered a serious fire in 1989 and had to be extensively restored but there still seemed to be original furniture on view.. We wandered round the grounds and were in time to enjoy the daffodils. Historic plans are being used to restore the garden’s pathways to the original designs by Humphry Repton.
In the afternoon, we explored Bersted Brook Nature Reserve, next to the caravan site. It was a tad underwhelming but it was an opportunity to walk away from the road and the blackthorn blossom was spectacular. We even managed to acquire something for tea from a nearby supermarket, which save us from the decidedly dubious ‘pleasure’ of resorting to one of the numerous local take-away chains.
Two days at home, two presentations given and now we have also spent a couple of days in South Devon, primarily to attend a Fisherman’s Friends concert. This was an adventure in itself as it marked our first venture indoors with a crowd of people. We had been warned by the venue that we would need vaccination certificates, or evidence of recent negative lateral flow tests to be let in, which was reassuring. I did wonder if we really would have to produce these but yes, long queues were already amassing outside the theatre thirty minutes before the concert started. Everyone’s status was checked and people were being turned away or provided with tests. I wish there was more of this sort of thing. As a bonus we got inside before the rain started. I was planning on wearing a mask throughout but I just couldn’t see. As we were in the front row, we weren’t too hemmed in so I decided to go without, along with 95% of the audience.
While we were down south we took the opportunity to visit Stover Country Park. We managed to dodge the showers and do some more experimenting with the new camera. We also went to Compton Castle but were less lucky with the weather here. It is a small but fascinating National Trust property. The Medieval house was the property of the Compton family. It was transferred to the Gilberts through marriage in 1329 and the house was enlarged in the 1450s and fortified in 1520. This is the family of Sir Humphrey Gilbert the explorer who sailed to Newfoundland in 1583, two years before his half-brother Walter Raleigh attempted to set up a colony on Roanoke. The Gilberts also helped to establish a settlement in Maine. The family had moved to Bodmin by 1800 and Compton was sold. Its extensive acreage was farmed but the building fell into ruin, with only the chapel retaining its roof. By a twist of fate, the house was reacquired by the Gilberts in 1931 and fully restored. It is still lived in today. There was plenty of heraldry on display and costumed interpreters in the rooms. We also spotted some Harry Juniper pottery form Bideford. Now a full on couple of weeks of presenting before our final trip of the year.
The next outing was to Gressenhall Workhouse and Farm. The workhouse opened in 1777 and catered for the poor of the hundreds of Mitford and Launditch; previously, each parish had provided for its own paupers. This pre-dated the Gilbert Act, which advocated parishes combining to provide for the poor. Known as the Mitford and Launditch Incorporation House of Industry it was described as a ‘pauper’s palace’. Subsequent masters of the workhouse, particularly after the Poor Law Amendment Act of 1834, took a rather different view and implemented the principle that life inside the workhouse should not be preferable to life outside. The workhouse was converted to an old people’s home in 1948 and closed as an institution in 1975.
I was particularly impressed with the telling of the stories of real people associated with the workhouse. There was a compelling sampler on view, stitched by an inmate, Lorina Bulmer. The ‘stream of consciousness’ words give some indication of her mental state. A reconstructed 1950s home brought back memories.
There is also an extensive rural heritage museum, with many farming artefacts on display. Across the road, we walked round the farm that was once worked by inmates. We got out feet wet walking through the long grass to say hello to the Suffolk Punch heavy horses.
The next day and we set off to Thetford, to look at the priory, founded by Roger Bigod in the early years of the twelfth century. It was a Cluniac foundation until the dissolution, eventually falling into disrepair. It is also the burial place of Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, who was a commander at the Battle of Flodden. We spotted a muntjac deer, unfortunately too far away for the Zoomless camera to photograph. Next our pre-booked session at the Ancient House Museum in Thetford, or, as it turned out, not. After a bit of banging on the door marked ‘closed’ it turned out that they were unable to open due to staff shortages. We couldn’t rearrange as our holiday was almost at an end so we returned to the site and walked through the forest instead. I have to say that the museum was very swift about refunding our entrance fee.
So to home and being thankful that the delays on the M5 were less serious in our direction than they appeared to be for those leaving the West Country. Fortunately, we managed to get the fuel needed to get us home in Bristol as, by the time we reached Barnstaple and Bideford, garages were either closed or had ridiculous queues as people unnecessarily began panic buying fuel.
Update on the injuries/damage. I now have a fully working camera, body not so much. One hand is healing nicely, the other is still a bit grim, one knee has an impressive bruise and my ribs are ‘interesting’. Still, I now have thirteen talks to give in eighteen days, which will take my mind off it!
Another day of ancestral church visiting, this time in the vicinity of Great Yarmouth. Having driven through a torrential storm, we arrived at our first church, Stokesby, in the sunshine. This is a thatched church pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Next stop Filby. The inhabitants of Filby are obviously gunning for a Britain in Bloom title and boy do they deserve it. I think that every begonia in the country must now be in Filby in a very impressive display.
As we weren’t far away, we decided to call in to Caistor. In some inexplicable manner, I managed to leave a fair amount of skin on a sand-covered concrete walkway by the beach. No idea how or why I left the vertical but it was a spectacular five point landing, two palms, one forearm, one knee and my ribs. This sounds impossible to achieve but achieve it I did. I even managed to escape with just a small scratch on the casing of the new camera (see below). Ouch was a rough translation of what I said. As I was now dripping blood fairly dramatically, we returned to the car and I attempted to wash my wounds in some handy toilets. Not actually in the toilet, that would not be hygienic, although urine is of course a steriliser. In this case it may have been more effective as the taps required me to press down with my palm, which was injured, in order for a meagre trickle of water to appear. Never fear, there will be a first-aid kit in the car. Indeed there is a first-aid kit in more than one car in our possession, just not this car. I wonder if facemasks, of which I have several in my bag, might be adapted for the purpose of staunching wounds. In the end large, cleanish handkerchiefs managed to stop me dripping gore over the car for the journey home. Glad I have never taken to tissues.
We abandoned the idea of going into Great Yarmouth itself and a final church on the itinerary was elusive due to a diversion that basically had us going round in circles. The journey home was also hampered by a twenty minute delay due to roadworks.
Having washed half a beach out of my hands, we went for a short walk in the forest, following the ‘Desert Rat Trail’, with interpretation boards telling the story of the Desert Rats who were stationed here in World War Two. An evening meeting, the sixth in the eight days that I have been away, reminds me that I really should look up the definition of ‘holiday’.
With my left hand still oozing interestingly and a distinct pain in my side, suggesting that all may not be hunky dory in the rib department, we nonetheless set off for Pensthorpe Natural Park. This is a great place to photograph birds. It was also where I realised that the damage to the new camera was a little more extensive that I hoped. The Zoom function no longer works and the camera automatically shuts down with a ‘lens error’. So the bird photography left a little to be desired but we still had a lovely day wandering round the site at a pace that my ribs would allow. There was a good array of woodland birds on display, as well as the wildfowl. Pensthorpe have a breeding programme for red squirrels, which are then released in the wild on Anglesey, where competition from grey squirrels is not a problem.
Back in the van, I unsuccessfully try a few self-help suggestions for rectifying lens errors, refraining from the more invasive, which basically seem to come down to hitting it. Just to add to the not going brilliantly theme, we receive an email to say that our October caravan holiday has been cancelled due to work on the site. We manage to come up with a more expensive and less convenient alternative. Still worse things happen at sea, as they say. Not sure who ‘they’ are and it is a pretty stupid expression but I am well aware that many people are worse off than I am. Onwards and Upwards!
More walking in the footsteps of ancestors as we head off to visit parishes on the outskirts of Norwich. One of these turned out to be right in the centre of the city, involving us in getting to grips with a multi-storey carpark, where, randomly, you had to go to the top floor to pay for you ticket before departure. We didn’t stay any longer than was necessary as our dislike of spending time in cities was confirmed.
In the afternoon, we went for a walk in Brandon Country Park, much more our sort of thing. This, like our caravan site, is part of the ‘Brecks’, or Brecklands, characterised by heathland. In the Country Park a large area of forest has been cleared to reinstate a heathland landscape. When Brandon Park Estate was purchased by Edward Bliss in 1820 it was devoid of trees and he set about introducing a wide variety of native and non-native species, planting eight million trees in just six months. His wealth came from the manufacture of gunflint, which was in high demand during the Napoleonic Wars, although the industry declined rapidly in peacetime. Bliss was able to use unemployed gunflint workers to plant his trees. His mausoleum is situated in the park but the remains of Bliss and his wife were moved to the local churchyard when the estate changed hands. I managed to spot a mandarin duck amongst the mallards hiding in the reeds.
I’d planned a visit to West Stow Anglo-Saxon Village, together with some of my descendants, before I knew it was going to be mentioned in my new course. The course itself is continuing professional development; does this mean the entrance fee is tax-deductible? We had a lovely day involving performing feats of daring on the adventure playground, well for some of us at least. We investigated the reconstructed Anglo-Saxon houses, uncovered archaeological finds and looked at an astounding array of locally excavated artefacts. It was a shame there were no Anglo-Saxon historical interpreters to add to the experience but it was well worth a visit nonetheless.
There were some Napoleonic re-enactors in the shape of the 95th rifles on site, which did seem rather out of period but gave some of our party the opportunity to compare musket firing experiences. We followed the Beowulf and Grendel trail; coincidentally one of the younger members of our party had been learning about the story in school. We also walked round the lake but this was a bit underwhelming, as it is geared up for angling rather than enjoying lakeside views, which were intermittent at best. There was a group clearing reeds from the river and examining the river quality. The had caught some non-native crayfish, which were a cause for concern.
All in all it was an excellent day and the lovely weather was a bonus.
In a change to the planned itinerary, we called in at Grime’s Graves. We’ve been passing the brown sign to it on our travels and having looked it up, it sounded worth a visit, especially as it was only four miles away. This is the site of an early C20th rubbish tip but also a Neolithic flint mine. So it seemed like a good idea to continue our early history theme from yesterday. The mine was in operation from 2600-2300 BCE, about the time that Stonehenge was being constructed. As bronze and iron began to replace flint for tools, the mines which are between six and twelve metres deep, were used for burials. The miners used antler picks and scapulas as shovels. The flint axe heads, arrow heads and knives were ceremonial and symbolic as well as functional. The name ‘Grimes’ comes from the Anglo Saxon god Grim, another name for Woden. In Anglo Saxon times, the site was important as an administrative meeting point but its Medieval use was as a rabbit warren.
We started by looking at the explanatory interpretation boards. Michael Rosen had written some powerful poetry about the site. Then it was time to descend the mine. We were equipped with token hard hats but as there was no under chin fastening, I am not sure what good they would have done if we’d fallen down the mine. I have no idea what part of me decided that it was a good idea for someone who really doesn’t like heights and isn’t too keen on enclosed spaces to descend twelve metres (it felt like about two hundred) down an almost vertical metal ladder but descend we did. Even my companion isn’t super keen on being underground. I ensured there was photographic evidence and then returned to the surface pretty swiftly.
Then back to the itinerary and a drive to the coast at Blakeney. We managed to avoid following the sat-nav to Blakeney in Gloucestershire. It was convinced it must be that one we wanted as we’d been there earlier in the year. Blakeney is noted for its bird life. Despite a calf-killing walk across shingle for a mile or so, all we saw were a few seagulls.
On to look at Sheringham, where I visited as a child. There seemed to be some kind of 1940s fiesta going on, with plenty of people in period costume, including an impressive scout troop, complete with appropriate uniforms. We also saw the heritage steam train pass by. Another drive through Cromer, this time in the sun and then it was time to turn for home. The forecast rain began to materialise but we managed to stop off at a church to look for a tomb for one of my students. Sadly, although the family were well represented, the one we sought was elusive.
We drove northwards, passing a large field full of pig arcs and hundreds of pigs. We also passed Sandringham estate but decided not to call in. It was interesting to see several sunflower fields. As we travelled along roads in the middle of nowhere much, I was reminded how much I enjoy following along on an OS map. We began our series of stops along the north Norfolk coast at Shepherd’s Port, near Snettisham. Here we found an RSPB reserve that had been created from a former gravel pit. Accessing the obligatory parking ticket was a challenge. Parking was free for RSPB members. I pressed the appropriate button, expecting to have to input my membership number or perhaps scan my card. I was hoping it wouldn’t be the latter as I have a ten year old life membership card, which doesn’t have any kind of scanability function. After much button pressing and card waving, it turned out that it was sufficient just to say you were a member; there was no necessity to prove it. I wonder how many people abuse that system?
This stop was the opportunity for a pleasant walk but not a great deal of wildlife. There were definite signs of autumn. Not only are the leaves and bracken tinged with rust but rosehips, elderberries and blackberries dot the hedgerows. We worked our way through Heacham, Hunstanton and Holme to Brancaster. Not on foot I hasten to add; our days of longer distance walking are over. On the way we passed a sign to another RSPB reserve, complete with car park full notices. Having turned round at Brancaster we decided to ignore the car park full signs and see if this was indeed so. It wasn’t. We availed ourselves of one of several free parking spaces and set off to explore Titchwell Marshes. Here we found birds a-plenty and an opportunity to try the 50x Zoom on my new camera. I discovered just how many photographs of a far distant, swimming avocet with his head underwater it is possible to take before getting one with his beak showing. The answer is a lot. My camera does have a rapid-fire function somewhere, which might have helped, I just need time to read the 186 page manual.
The next day it was off to another RSPB reserve, this time at Lakenheath. After taking the ‘pretty route’ – ok we got slightly lost – we set off to explore. A lovely four or five mile walk round the reserve was worth every step when we found a kingfisher posing so I could photography it. Less success seeing bitterns, cranes and otters, all of which frequent the reserve but I’ll settle for the kingfisher and a quick fly past by the bearded tits.
We returned to the van early so I could attend the first lecture of my experimental archaeology course, now I am really excited, definitely worth missing half a day of the holiday! More of that in its own post.
Some more recent travel adventures for you, this time to Norfolk. We left home slightly later than we might have, as I began the day by chatting to the lovely Helen Tovey of Family Tree Magazine, making a recording that will be available on their website. Then the inevitable lengthy, cross-country drive. We arrived at our caravan site in Thetford Forest about 5pm and had time for a quick walk in the forest.
A holiday isn’t a holiday without some family history so, the following day, we set off westwards across the county to Aylsham, the birthplace of my great great grandmother. The landscape was what you would expect from Norfolk, flat, large fields and the vernacular brick and flint cottages; there seem to be plenty of new housing developments on the edge of settlements. Having parked somewhere that probably wasn’t a parking space we looked at Aylsham church, then investigated the marketplace, where my ancestor had a grocer’s and draper’s shop in the 1830s.
Next to Felbrigg Hall, a National Trust property, built in the 1620s by John Wyndham, on the site of an earlier house. It was subsequently added to by later generations. The house passed to a step-son, who changed his name to Windham but the estate was lost by the profligate William Frederick Windham, who married a woman of dubious reputation and then lavished thousands of pounds worth of jewellery on her. His uncle’s attempt to have him declared a lunatic failed. The property was sold, complete with contents, in 1863 and coincidentally found its way back to a Wyndham descendant through marriage.
Our first port of call was the church, to try to identify John’s memorial trees that were planted nearly thirty years ago. At the time, it was easy to spot them, as they were the only young oaks in the vicinity. Now it is a little more tricky. Just how large should a thirty year old oak tree be?
We walked round the extensive walled garden. I thought it was a shame that there were so many more recently introduced non-native plants on show but it was impressive. In order to sit down, we forced ourselves to eat cake (me) and a bacon butty (my comrade in arms). There was a handy undercover outside space for this purpose. It had been drizzling all day and it seemed that everyone wanted to be undercover, so there were large queues, both for the café and the house itself. Although we had avoided indoor public spaces up until now, we decided we would go round the house, especially as almost everyone was wearing masks. As a glasses wearer, this does actually mean I can’t see where I am going, as despite purchasing masks described as ‘anti-fog’, I still steam up. I did discover that I could alleviate this by walking round holding my nose. Holding my breath also works but clearly this is not sustainable for more than a few seconds. Holding my nose not only makes me looks slightly ridiculous but comes with its own issues. I am contemplating purchasing one of those nose clips, as worn by synchronised swimmers.
The highlights of the house for me were, of course, the library, with thousands of volumes, including many travel books, brought back by a Windham after an extended Grand Tour. I did wonder how many had ever been read. The ‘enlightened’ family provided a library of twenty five books for their servants. This did seem a bit underwhelming, given the size of their own library. The eighteenth century Chinese wallpaper was also interesting. Apparently it was peeled off the walls and sent to Cambridge for cleaning, before being reapplied. There was also some floor-covering on a bathroom, that had what appeared to be a nursery rhyme theme. As usual, the servants’ quarters had their appeal. A quick look round the second-hand book shop led to the obligatory purchases, including a book by a friend of mine.
With a months’ rainfall forecast for the late afternoon, we decided walking round Cromer might be best left for another day. We did drive in to see where the sea would have been if it wasn’t masked by heavy cloud. Cromer was gridlocked with those who had taken to their cars to escape the rain, so we resolved to return later in the week if we have time. The evening saw the first of a series of planned, how easy is it to Zoom using pretty ropey caravan site wifi? experiments. Possible it seems, as long as you don’t want to say anything or be seen.
The final instalment chronicling our adventures in Wales and beyond.
Day 7 Blaenavon Ironworks
We set off for our pre-booked entry at Blaenavon Ironworks. This time the sat-nav, not only gets us to the right place but takes us past some stunning scenery on the way. Blaenavon Ironworks is a fascinating site. We get in free because Cadw, who run the site, have a reciprocal arrangement with English Heritage. The ironworks were established here in the 1780s and the finished products were shipped out by canal. It was at Blaenavon that Sidney Gilchrist Thomas discovered a way to remove phosphorus from iron ore, which was significant for the steel industry. An impressive digital display gave some idea of the noise and heat that was part of the working environment. It was somehow more impactful because part of the commentary was in Welsh. I am drawn to ruined industrial landscapes and this is on par with the Cornish tin mining sites. Here the jackdaws and the feral pigeons have made their home.
A series of workers’ cottages on the site have been furnished to represent different eras from the 1780s to the 1960s, the life of the ironworks. Covid restrictions mean that we can only look in these cottages, rather than enter them but they are still a highlight of the site. Instinctively, I wanted to look them up in the census returns and mentally put real people in them. This is just the sort of site that anyone with ironworking ancestors should visit. An interesting fact that I gleaned was that, in 1851, there were more industrial workers in Wales than agricultural, allowing Wales to claim to be the first industrialised nation in the world.
We went for a short uninspiring walk from close to the car park then headed off home, planning to stop to take photographs of the view on the way. We hadn’t done so on our outward journey as we were keen not to miss our entry timeslot. Strangely, the sat-nav decided to return us to Brecon via a completely different route. Although a circular route has the advantage of exposing us to more of the country, we are disappointed to miss the views. Just as we are lamenting this, the landscape opens up and the vista is amazing. Squelchy bog prevents me getting a great camera angle and views always seem less impressive in photographs, so I will have to rely on memories. The mid-Welsh landscape seems to be darker green than many areas and fields tend to be small and hedged, despite the availability of stone for walls.
On the way home we are reminded that the Brecon Beacons have their fair share of ******* drivers. We reach a bridge that it not only described as weak but is barely wider than the car. This in itself is not a problem but like many Welsh roads, it is not straight and at the point at which you join the bridge you cannot see the end of it. An illuminated sign warns us that there is a vehicle on the bridge. A vehicle emerges the sign goes out and a green light comes on. We launch into the unknown, only to find, as we turn the corner, that someone is coming in the other direction, presumably having ignored the sign at his end. My gallant chauffeur had to reverse 100 yards round corners, with unforgiving walls no more than six inches from the wing mirrors on either side.
Day 8 Thursday Brecon Canal
Today it is sunny, so we decide to walk from the caravan site, down the canal towpath to Brecon. This involves taking our lives in our hands to cross two dual carriageways first but we survive. This is a pleasant walk and we are rewarded by a grey heron allowing us to get to within five yards before flying off. There are more signs of industrial heritage here, with the remains of the limekilns that were in operation in the early nineteenth century. The canal linked Brecon with the industrialised areas in south Wales.
After a short rest we decide to explore more byways of Wales by car. We drive out to Craig-y-nos Country Park but by the time we arrive, dark clouds are looming and as we have already had our walking ration for the day, we return to the van.
Day 9 Friday To Cheltenham (yes, I know this isn’t in Wales)
It is time to move nearer to home and take up residence at the caravan site on Cheltenham Racecourse. We have stayed on racecourses before and although we have views across what is probably the Malvern Hills, I have to say that it isn’t the most picturesque site we’ve been to. Cheltenham too is unexpected, much larger than I was anticipating. In my head I was thinking smallish, Georgian grandeur, maybe a bit like Buxton but it seems not, or not in the part we travelled through.
I hadn’t planned an activity for the afternoon so time to Google for an outside space. I lied when I said that the wifi on the previous site was the slowest in the world, that honour belongs to the Cheltenham Racecourse wifi, which is not the Caravan Club system, for which I have an annual subscription but free Jockey Club wifi. I guess there isn’t much call for surfing the internet when hurtling over jumps on the back of a horse. An additional issue is that we have the ‘delights’ of a ‘Fun Weekend’ event on the racecourse this weekend – deep joy. This appears to involve a fun fair. Peaceful it may not be.
We opt for Beckford Nature Reserve. This comes very close to being another addition to our ‘nature reserves we didn’t find’ list but no, here it is, unsigned until you get to a small gateway hidden in a hedge. A path winds round an algae covered lake. There’s not much sign of wildlife apart from some baby coots, which I am surprised to see have orangy-coloured heads. Despite two perambulations of the lake, I am still 1500 steps short of my target. Time for some jogging up and down on the spot outside the van. This is followed by the Wimbledon men’s singles semi-finals.
Day 10 Forest of Dean
It wouldn’t be a holiday without some family history, so today it is off to the Forest of Dean, the haunt of some of my children’s ancestors. This lot even rate some gravestones, though many were in poor condition. Trailing from churchyard to churchyard is often circumscribed by bladder capacity, because small villages rarely rate toilets but hurrah, today two of the churches on our itinerary had toilets, so we could happily spend hours peering at semi-legible gravestones.
One of our stops is at St. Briavels. St. Briavels Castle, now run as a Youth Hostel, is closed to the public. It was built as a royal hunting lodge in the twelfth century. It became an important centre for the making of cross bows, using iron from the Forest of Dean.
Having got suitably soggy feet from traipsing through grassy graveyards, we take a short walk along a forest path to keep the step count up. Then it is back to the van, where the wifi oscillates from intermittent to non-existent. I hurriedly identify today’s photographs. In the past, I have been known to end up with numerous church photos and not be quite sure which is which.
Day 11 Slimbridge
We have saved the best until last. Today is our pre-booked visit to the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust centre at Slimbridge, established by Sir Peter Scott seventy five years ago. Last time I visited it was in the spring so there are different things to see today and the opportunity to feed birds is confined to a small area. My favourite part is the new estuary aviary with avocets, oystercatchers, black-tailed godwits, ringed plovers and spoonbills, amongst others. I manage to get a few half-decent photos, despite every bird assiduously going into a preening frenzy at my approach, so that their head are hidden from view.
Now I am back home and no longer in the land of steam driven wifi, I can continue the story of our Welsh adventures.
Day 4 Ynys-hir Reserve
This is a day to make use of my RSPB life member status and we visit the reserve at Ynys-hir. The reserve is a pleasant setting but notable for its lack of wildlife. Tally, one robin, one thrush, a few squirrels and an unidentifiable, distant bird of prey. In the absence of my own coat, which is sitting on the peg at home, I have appropriated a waterproof coat from the caravan. One of those two words, waterproof and coat, accurately describes this garment. Half way round the second of two trails the heavens open, mostly it seems on my head. We squelch back to the car and call it a day.
Day 5 To Brecon and Llangorse Wildflower Meadows
Time to journey 60 miles down the A470, back towards home and move to a new site at Brecon. This has the advantage of us being able to access more than three TV channels and it has wifi that reaches to the van. Ok, so it is officially the slowest wifi in the world but it beats sitting in a car park. We arrive by lunchtime and decide to explore the nearby wildflower meadows at Llangorse. ‘Park by the common’, it says. First problem, identify the common. It turns out that it wasn’t the tiny, scrubby piece of grass where we leave the car. We do find the enormous common on foot but I am not convinced that we reached the wildflower meadow, unless it was an area of unmown grass with some clover growing on it, not quite the poppies, cornflowers and ox-eye daisies that I was expecting. We did find a Crannog, an ancient lake dwelling familiar from our trip to Scotland and plenty of ducks. If you are wondering why we didn’t use a map, there is a bit of a map issue for this part of the trip. As usual, I made sure I purchased an OS map before leaving home. This is the Brecon Beacons, surely I need a map called Brecon Beacons? No. It turns out that there are three that cover this area and I have chosen the wrong one. Map of the western half of the Brecon Beacons anyone?
Sad to see Emma Raducanu’s enforced retirement from her Wimbledon match on our return to the van.
Day 6 National Botanic Garden of Wales
The National Botanical Garden of Wales is on the itinerary today and this is the furthest we plan to go from a site. Today we have our fair share of road re-surfacers again but all the roads that aren’t being re-surfaced are having their verges/hedges cut, so the stop-go board count rises even further. The sat-nav insists that we have reached our destination. We haven’t. We drive round the block a bit in search of helpful brown signs. After a few miles we pick these up and discover that we should have turned left when the sat-nav insisted on us going right. The gardens were definitely worth the drive and the effort. There is plenty to see, including an Eden Project style biome and a bird of prey centre. Inevitably my favourite parts were the less formal apothecary’s garden and the allotments. There is a display associated with medicinal plants and some beautiful quilt panels depicting herbs. I also learn about the physicians of Myddfai, whose story began with Rhiwallon who was the thirteenth century court physician to the Prince of Deheubarth, Rhys Grug. Their tradition continued until 1739 and the Red Book of Hergest, which records their remedies, is held out to be one of the most important Welsh manuscripts from the Medieval period. I couldn’t resist looking for an English translation.
We return via a local supermarket of our choice. This is the second time I have been in a shop since March 2020. I still have 1000 steps to hit my daily target, which I’ve maintained all year. It is now raining persistently. My options are to circle the site in the rain or to make myself look like an idiot jumping up and down by the cold counter in M********* whilst my companion loads up the yoghurt and milk. I’ve tried getting soaking wet doing laps of a caravan site before. Fun it is not. I go for surreptitious jogging as I examine tins of beans and load the bag at the checkout. Yay 1000 steps accomplished.
The History Interpreter - Janet Few 