It’s a long way from Wensleydale to Devon, so we were happy to break our journey with a stop in St Albans and a chance to have dinner with cousin Peter and his wife Alla.
The next morning, we set off on the M25 London orbital, and then eventually we were on the A303 and heading west. Once we were into Wiltshire, traffic slowed down as the highway passed Stonehenge. It is quite a sight from the road, so the delays are not surprising. Various proposals have been made, including re-routing the highway or building a tunnel, but nothing much has changed since we lived in this country more than 20 years ago.
Traffic slows to a crawl passing Stonehenge. The verges have to be coned off to stop rubberneckers from pulling off and parking!Stonehenge is truly an amazing sight.
Eventually, we arrived in Kingswear. This is a hillside town overlooking the River Dart, across from Dartmouth. The timeshare we exchanged into (our second visit) was once a country hotel. Rooms are spacious and furniture is comfortable. It is quite an adventure arriving and leaving, as many of the local roads are single lane with high hedges, and they are also very steep.
The main entrance to Kingswear ParkThe view across the River Dart from Kingswear Park.The railway station and harbour at Kingswear.
From Kingswear, visiting Dartmouth and western Devon requires a ferry ride across the river. The ferry is a very efficient cable ferry, and rather than running on a schedule, it simply crosses back and forth all day until 10:45 at night. There is a second ferry, further down the river, that crosses directly to Kingswear. This one is a large barge, pushed by a tug, and to be honest, we didn’t fancy it given the swift currents and tides in the river! Another ferry takes foot passengers only.
The Upper Ferry crosses the River Dart between Kingswear and Dartmouth. It runs back and forth all day until late evening.The Lower Ferry also takes cars back and forth, but we decided to forgo the experience!Another view of the Lower Ferry as it makes its way across the river to Kingswear.
Dartmouth is the home of Britannia Royal Naval College, where all officers of the British navy are trained. It has been an important port since the 12th century, and was the sailing departure point for two of the Crusades. It was a naval base from the 14th century, and it was also a base for privateers from medieval times. Two castles guard the estuary, and there was also a small fort at the southern end of the town. Today it is a tourist destination, and a centre for yachting, with hundreds of sailboats moored in lines up the river.
Dartmouth Embankment and River Dart.
Some of the ships that joined the fleet that defeated the Spanish Armada sailed from Dartmouth. The Pilgrim Fathers stopped here on their way from Southampton to North America in 1620, and rested for a while before heading out. One of the ships, Speedwell, was unseaworthy, and turned back and returned to Plymouth, while the Mayflower carried on and eventually landed in Cape Cod. During World War II, the town was a base for Americans, and it was one of the departure points for Utah Beach in the D Day Landings.
Bayards Cove. The Mayflower left from this cove to cross the Atlantic to Cape Cod.
There are quite a few excellent restaurants, many independent shops, and wide walks along the riverside. In the season, tourist boats offer excursions. There are still many medieval buildings along the narrow streets.
Spithead Street, with the 18th century York House on the corner.
We had originally planned to try one of the pubs in Kingswear for dinner on our first evening, but with a lot of leftovers to finish up, we decided to stay in. Dick had fondly imagined that we would walk down the hill for the meal (in the dark), as it is only half a mile. Perhaps he had forgotten just how steep the hill is, and that our accommodation is at the very top, while the pubs are at the waterfront. Later in the week, Dick went for a walk to explore, and even he found the return quite strenuous! According to his watch, it was a climb of 331 feet!
Kingswear from Dartmouth. Our accommodation is the yellow building with a red roof at the top of the hill.
The next day we set off to visit Salcombe. We stopped there for a short time many years ago, and I stayed there a few years later for a week with Aunty Helen. We enjoyed wandering around the streets and visiting the many interesting independent shops, followed by an excellent lunch at The Crab Shed, a tiny bistro on the waterfront.
Steep street in Salcombe.A narrow lane in Salcombe.Starters at the Crab Shed, prawns in chili sauce for me, and scallops for Dick.I had smoked chalk stream trout and prawn salad with grapefruit.Dick enjoyed the bouillabaisse. He said the mussels were some of the best he has even eaten.
The main car park was almost completely filled with boats that had been pulled out of the water for the winter. I guess it makes sense to use the space during the off-season when there are fewer tourists, but it did mean that parking was scarce during the busy Christmas week! We were interested to see that most of the boats had pulled their anchor chains out of their lockers, and laid them on wooden pallets below the bow. We assume this is to dry out the locker and the chain, and allow it to be washed and marked. In Europe, all-chain anchor rode is the norm, compared to mostly rope in North America. This is likely the reason why we have never seen this before.
Anchor chains taken out of the lockers to dry and be marked.
Salcombe was a fishing port and ship building centre from the 16th century. By the 19th century it was a centre for the fruit trade, sending ships to Iberia, the Mediterranean, the Caribbean, and even Newfoundland. Other local trade included coal, cider, malt, grain, and slate. During WWII, Salcome was a radar base, and the Advance Amphibious Base for the United States Navy. 137 officers, and 1793 men were based at Salcombe, and 66 ships plus auxiliary vessels sailed for Utah Beach on D Day.
Batson Creek at low tide.Many of the former commercial fishing sheds have been repurposed to be shops, although most still have a nautical association.
Today Salcombe is a sailing centre, with more than 1600 yachts and power vessels, and is visited by over 6000 vessels each year. There are no longer any large commercial vessels using the harbour and estuary. Apart from fishing boats (mainly shellfish), it is strictly recreational. Today, the town has one of the highest average property prices in UK, and local wealth is reflected in the high prices and upscale offerings of the shops and restaurants. We enjoyed looking around the town, and took advantage of the nautical shops and each bought a new pair of sailing gloves.
A small, open boat runs a passenger ferry business back and forth across the harbour.A historic Inn near the waterfront.The town water pump. The notice forbids cleaning fish or creating a nuisance!There is still a commercial fishing fleet operating from Salcombe. Here the fishermen have embraced the spirit of Christmas!A small fishing dinghy.Salcombe Lifeboat. The RNLI, Royal National Lifeboat Institution, is a volunteer institution. 451 lifeboats and hovercraft operate out of 238 lifeboat stations around the British Isles. They are operated by 7828 lifeboat crew and shore crew volunteers. This is a dangerous and demanding job, and it is remarkable that, like Mountain Rescue and Cave Rescue, it is purely a charity and volunteer organization.
Our next excursion was to the town of Kingsbridge. We decided to take the coast road, and found some stunning views of the cliffs and beaches. We drove across Slapton Sands. Although Slapton, the village at the end of the shingle beach, is mentioned in the Domesday Book, the shingle beach is more recently famous for the part it played in WWII. It was used for Exercise Tiger, a rehearsal for the invasion of Normandy. There were coordination and communication problems, resulting in friendly fire incidents. A German E-Boat fleet attacked one of the convoys, sinking two landing craft and damaging others. At least 749 American servicemen died. D-Day was nearly called off because the debacle was thought to have let the Germans know what was planned and even narrowed down the possible locations for the invasion. In 1984, one of the tanks that had been lost was raised and now stands at the end of the beach as a memorial to the tragedy.
Sheep graze in a field above the cliffs.Views of the cliffs and the beaches on a windy day with high surf.
The rest of the coast drive was interesting, although the roads are very narrow and there are many blind corners. There are a surprising number of villages along the route, and so there is also quite a lot of traffic. The beaches are very popular, especially in summer, but even on a very cold and windy day in December there were people walking on the sands and watching the surf.
Heavy surf crashes on Slapton Sands.Slapton Sands is a long shingle beach. Even on a cold and windy day there were a surprising number of intrepid folks out for a stroll along the beach.Separated from the beach by a long spit of land, Slapton Ley is a thriving nature reserve. The lake is entirely freshwater, and is surrounded by marshes, woodlands, and reed beds that provide habitat for many species. The area is designated a Site of Special Scientific Interest as well as a nature reserve.
Kingsbridge is quite a large town, and we were looking forward to browsing the shops before our dinner reservation. Unfortunately, although most had posted Christmas hours and planned to stay open until 4pm, we found many of them were already shut by 2:30. The craft tables in the Market Hall stayed open, and we found a new cutting board for the house and a pretty wooden bowl for nuts. There was a very interesting antique shop with a note on the door that said, “Back in 10 minutes.” Nearly an hour later the note was still there, and the shop was still shut. Pity, they had very interesting looking things. The yarnbombers in this town must prefer to knit. Instead of the usual crochet, the woolly coverings on the posts were all knitted. Very clever and colourful!
The main shopping street in Kingsbridge.A cleverly decorated Solicitors window.The Market Hall was still open and had some interesting crafts for sale.The yarnbombers in Kingsbridge like to knit, rather than crochet!Kingsbridge estuary at low tide.The waterfront park in Kingsbridge.
Our dinner reservation was for a fine dining restaurant called Twenty Seven. Dick had booked their 8-course tasting menu, with the wine pairings. It was an excellent meal, and we both enjoyed it. The great thing about a tasting menu is that the courses are so tiny that you can eat a great variety and not feel as though you need to be rolled home! Also, you try things that you probably would never order if you were choosing from a regular a la carte menu. The restaurant accommodated my sensitivity to crab, preparing a different sauce for the lobster ravioli, and leaving the crab off the seabass.
Twenty Seven, a fine dining restaurant in Kingsbridge.We enjoyed the special 8-course tasting menu!
The only real downside of the evening was the amount of time it takes to get to Kingsbridge from Dartmouth (and even farther from our accommodation across the river). It takes about 45 minutes total, and after a large meal the narrow lanes and complicated route are not very pleasant. We had planned to return to Kingsbridge a few days later for a meal at an Indian restaurant, but we decided instead of try one of the pubs in Kingswear.
The next day was Christmas. We brought some presents with us, so there was something for each of us to open on the day, and I like to bring the Christmas cards and put them on display so we are suitably festive. We finished the home-made eggnog with some spiced rum while we opened presents. Later there was a bottle of champagne to begin the Christmas dinner. Previous experience has shown that restaurant reservations are difficult to get, and many places prefer to close on Christmas Day, so we arranged for a turkey to be delivered to our home and froze it to bring to Devon. We cooked it with the usual bacon on top, but given the complication and small kitchen, we didn’t make our special sausage stuffing. We had brussels sprouts in smoked cheese bechamel sauce (left from our dinner party), and Christmas pudding for dessert. It was a very nice meal, but we doubt that we would do it again. It was quite a lot of bother, and now we have the issue of trying to keep the leftovers frozen in the inadequate freezer in our next place!
Christmas morning.The turkey is ready for carving.Roast turkey with gravy, brussels sprouts in smoked cheese bechamel sauce, and roast potatoes.There was home-made Christmas pudding with brandy butter for dessert.
The next day we also stayed in and enjoyed a quiet day. Boxing Day is traditionally a day for huge sales in the shops in Britain. Unfortunately, takings were down considerably this year, for the second year in a row. Shoppers have limited funds. Expecting them to shop on “Black Friday”, copied from USA, and embraced with enthusiasm by frugal Brits, and then shop again again on Boxing Day, is wildly optimistic, particularly in times when people are feeling the pinch of what is considered to be a poor economy.
We planned to visit a nearby stately home, Coleton Fishacre, an Arts and Crafts house that was built for the D’Oyly Carte family, with beautiful Art Deco interiors. The house is just 2 miles from Kingswear. We navigated the single lane roads and discovered that we were by no means the only people who thought this would be a perfect place to visit after Christmas. The usual National Trust muddy parking lot was completely full. We drove around, maneuvering past the poorly parked cars, and ultimately gave up. Given the number of cars, we decided that the house would be absolutely full of people and unlikely to be enjoyable with the crowds. Since we plan to return to Dartmouth in the future, we will leave Coleton Fishacre on the bucket list.
Narrow lanes with high banks and hedges in this part of Devon. If you meet another car, one of you has to back up to a passing place and pull over (into the hedge) to let the other pass.
Leaving the house without visiting meant that our plans for the day were thrown out. We took the ferry across to Dartmouth, and meandered around the town, exploring the narrow streets, and enjoying the views across the river. By 3:30, we had seen all we wanted to see, and after stopping for cappuccino in a café on the river, we just decided to return to Kingswear. A bit of an extravagance, with the round-trip ferry charges, but with nothing to do until our dinner reservation at 6:30 (and the restaurant not open until then), it was really the only sensible thing to do. A drive in the countryside was also out, because by that time it was getting dark!
The highly decorated Fairfax Place in Dartmouth.Flavel Church, Dartmouth.The inner harbour in Dartmouth.Historic buildings line the harbour.Goodies in a bakery window.A coffee shop in a back street features interesting murals above the cafe.A cannon on the Embankment.The market place, deserted on the day we were exploring.The Tudor Butterwalk, once a merchant’s house, today a cafe with a museum above.Royal Avenue Gardens in Dartmouth.Clever crafts using damaged (unsellable) books in the window of a second hand bookstore.St Saviour’s Church, a 14th century church in Dartmouth.
We spent a quiet couple of hours relaxing (one of us enjoying his customary afternoon nap), and then returned to the ferry and Dartmouth. We had eaten at Taylor’s on our last visit, and enjoyed it, so we had high expectations. Dick began with a very interesting, cured duck breast starter, and I tried scallops and prawns sauteed with sausage. My seabass was excellent, and Dick had the fish special, local sole served on the bone. I enjoyed a liquid dessert with a Baileys base, and Dick liked his Sicilian lemon pudding.
Cured duck breast at Taylor’s.Prawns and scallops sauteed with sausage.Seabass in cider cream sauce and an excellent side dish of sauteed leeks with bacon.Panfried local sole, served on the bone.Taylor’s desserts were a great finish to an excellent meal.
There were only 3 tables occupied in the restaurant, and ours was a prime spot in the window, overlooking the harbour and the river. Partway through dinner we saw a brightly lit train passing on the other side of the river. It looked fantastic, but it was much too far away for any photos.
Royal Avenue Gardens lit up for Christmas.
Our next planned excursion was to the Dartmoor Otter Sanctuary. There is also a butterfly house, but the butterflies are left to hibernate during the winter, so only the otter sanctuary was open. It is just off the parking lot of South Devon Railway, and steam trains make regular trips from the station.
South Devon steam train.
We timed our visit to arrive just before the afternoon feeding time. After a warm up coffee at the station, it was time for the feeding. The sanctuary currently has three breeds of otters in their public enclosures. Otters that are rescued are kept in a separate area, to avoid contact and habituation to humans so that they can be released back into the wild. The feeding progresses from pen to pen, and the keeper gives an absolutely fascinating commentary as he moves along.
There are three enclosures with Asian Short Clawed Otters. These are pretty, and lively little creatures, and always enjoyable to watch. They are diurnal, playful and very social. When we arrived the lady in the shop explained that at this time of the day, the British and Eurasian otters were sleeping, but they would appear exactly at feeding time acting as though they have been starved for days.
Asian Short Clawed Otter
The British otter, a female, was rescued by another sanctuary, but although well-meaning, they did not look after her in a manner that would allow her to be released back into the wild. She was given the wrong kinds of food, and had far too much human contact. A habituated otter is sure to become a nuisance, so she was fortunate that this sanctuary had space for her and was able to take her. I thought that the way the keeper put it was really nice, the otters on public view are ambassadors for their wild relatives, giving people an opportunity to get to know what are, in this country, shy, solitary, and nocturnal creatures.
This female British Otter is habituated to humans and cannot be released. She is living her best life as an ambassador for her species.
British and European otters are apex predators. It was good news to hear that in the last 20 years the British populations have recovered from near extinction to the point that there are otters in every river system in Britain, and it would now be detrimental to continue to captive breed and release them into the wild. These otters are solitary and territorial. They are also nocturnal. Like foxes, they are beginning to encroach on towns and cities, and are very fond of ornamental fish ponds! The keeper told us that people lose all their fish one night, and the next day they go out and buy more, to the great delight of the otters!
Male British Otter.
The most amusing enclosure has 12 Asian Short Clawed Otters, a large family group. The male died recently, so Mum continues to raise her large family. They are full of mischief. They like to crowd at the edge of their enclosure, waiting for the keeper. As soon as they hear him at the next enclosure, they start chirping loudly, and then, when he is not quick enough to arrive, they start banging stones on the fence. Altogether they make quite a racket!
Asian Short Clawed Otter family. Much chirping and banging stones on the wall to encourage the keeper to hurry up with the food!
We had a wonderful time, and really enjoyed the outing, well worth the hour’s drive.
On our last evening at Kingswear, we drove down the hill and had dinner in one of the two local pubs. We enjoyed our meal, and the pub is very popular. That was a bit unfortunate, because our table was beside the main door, and there was a continuous parade of pub-goers arriving, all politely holding both the inner and the outer doors open for each other, and as a result we were treated to an arctic blast every few minutes through dinner. The food was very good, and we would return, but certainly ask for a different table!
Ship Inn, Kingswear, starters. Pan seared prawns in white wine, garlic and chili butter. Salt and Pepper Squid.Chowder at the Ship Inn.Burger with bacon and blue cheese, accompanied by Cajun fries at the Ship Inn.
As we came out of the pub, we were delighted to have perfect timing, as the Christmas train arrived at the station! It is the Dartmouth Steam Railway Christmas Train of Lights. The 25-minute journey includes a stop to walk around at Kingswear, and I gather that some of the areas surrounding the tracks are also lit up for the festive season. A visit to Santa can be included with the ticket. The train looked magnificent, and it is clearly very popular given the number of people who got out at the Kingswear station. Seeing the train was a great finish to a most enjoyable Christmas week in Devon. We will certainly return.
A steam engine pulls the Christmas Train.Brightly lit carriages of the Christmas TrainAnother look at the Christmas Train in the station at Kingswear.
After a soggy stay in the Lake District, and after being away for three weeks, I was happy to be home in Hawes in our warm house with comfy chairs and excellent bathrooms.
Warm and welcoming Steppe HaughIngleborough at sunset on a wintry afternoon.The footpath to Hawes with snow dusted fells in the background.Widdale from Gayle
The “run-up” to Christmas starts in November (and is ever earlier) in this country. There is no American Thanksgiving holiday to provide a starting date, so retailers begin promoting their Christmas goods as early as possible, hoping to get people in a festive mood (and open their wallets). Black Friday is a big day, with the same vast array of (mostly) junk and knockoffs, punctuated by the occasional genuine bargain that we find in America. Depending on what you read, between a third and a half of people who purchase Black Friday “bargains”, regret it later. No wonder retailers hope to get some Christmas income earlier, before folks have spent all their money.
Towns and villages put up festive lighting, and hold “switch on” street parties in early December. Shops decorate their windows lavishly. We are noticing a trend towards private homes with outdoor lights and decorations as well, with a few more each year. Pubs and restaurants promote festive menus for the month, and grocery stores bring in all sorts of party specials. Another tradition that we have not been aware of before now is Christmas “Tractor Runs”. Yorkshire has a large farming community, and many of the small towns organize tractor runs. Farmers decorate their tractors with lights and other Christmas decorations, and parade through the area after sunset. The pictures and videos I have seen tell me that next year we must make a point of attending one of these amazing shows.
Hawes Christmas lightsHawes Market Hall and street lightingAerial view of one of Yorkshire’s Christmas Tractor Runs (credit BBC website)Some of the decorated tractors (credit BBC website)
One of the small supermarket chains in our part of England, Booths, publishes a hard cover book full of stunning pictures of festive foods that you can order ahead or buy in store. There are also a few interesting recipes. Many supermarkets and local grocery stores bring in special appetizers, prepared vegetable dishes, and lavish desserts that can be pre-ordered and collected a few days before Christmas.
Booths Christmas BookSome of the delicious offerings from Booths
We have past experience with a Yorkshire turkey farm that feeds their turkeys on herbs. The birds are delicious. This year we decided to order the smallest size they offer, for delivery mid-month. We put it into the freezer, and will be taking it with us to our accommodation in Dartmouth. We know from experience that since covid, there are very few options for restaurant dinners on Christmas Day, so we decided to cook our usual festive meal on the big day instead of going out.
I spent time in the next couple of weeks making Christmas puddings and other food. I like to leave home made Christmas puddings for our holiday let guests during the Christmas/New Years season. I also planned a festive dinner party with friends and neighbours. There would be eight of us. I took a lot of time planning the menu and ordered racks of pork from the excellent grocery/butcher shop in Leyburn. In anticipation of Sarah’s early December visit, I made soup and tried an experiment with pink chocolate mousse.
The first Christmas activity that I participated in was a Christmas Craft Fair at the auction house in Leyburn. Large numbers of vendors set up and offer very high quality crafts, clothing, artworks, and even food. I was invited to join our neighbours for the outing. We looked around all the offerings, and then had lunch in the café. I enjoyed the day out very much, although I was somewhat shocked at the rudeness of many of the shoppers. Groups stood in the aisles and blocked the sales tables, and a surprising number of people (all women I might add) literally shoved me out of the way to get closer to the tables. By the time I was ready for a coffee break I was thoroughly fed up and more than a little lacking in Christmas spirit towards my fellow man! A pleasant lunch and good company helped to restore my equilibrium.
At last, December arrived, bringing Dick from his bachelor existence in Hilton Head, and starting our own festive preparations.
Dick flew to Manchester as usual, and rather than me driving down to collect him at the airport (which would have required a 6am start), he took the train from the airport to Oxenholme, in the Lake District. This makes a much easier drive for me, just over an hour, and no motorways. Unfortunately, the West Coast Line is notoriously unreliable, and, sure enough, a few minutes after Dick bought his ticket and texted me that the train was on time, it was cancelled. By this time, I had already left home, so I did not see the text until I was already parked in one of the very few, much prized, limited-time parking spots outside the station. Once I was made aware of the delay, I set off to find a place to have a coffee, and was happy to end up in the parking lot of a large Aldi. Not our usual supermarket, but as I wandered around the aisles, I was pleased to discover that they carry Campbells soups. I use them for cooking, and the English brands do not have the same taste and textures.
Eventually, Dick managed to get on a train that was stopping at Oxenholme, and he arrived at the station less than 2 hours later than his planned arrival. He had a very long 23 hours, from being collected in Hilton Head to arrival at home in Hawes, and was happy to disappear for a long afternoon nap!
The next day was our Settle Bridge Club Christmas party. This was the first one we were able to attend, and it was very enjoyable. The meal (2-course lunch with 3 choices for each course) was excellent. There were about 30 members in attendance, including a number who we have only met online in the past, so it was lovely to meet in person. After lunch, the tables were separated, and a draw was made for partners for a 16-board friendly game of duplicate bridge. Dick’s partner was delighted with the draw. She plays regularly on BBO, playing 5-card majors, and she managed to draw one of only 3 people present who can actually play that system. My partner and I managed, as I adapted to a very basic version of Acol, but she is a conservative player, and I found her bidding somewhat challenging. Regardless, we enjoyed the afternoon (but I will draw a line and will not reveal the final results of the duplicate game).
The next day we set off again for Oxenholme, to meet Sarah’s train (which fortunately was only a few minutes late) and begin our traditional Christmas lunch and shopping afternoon in Windermere and Ambleside. We started in Lakeland, a small chain store, that in addition to very high quality kitchen and home goods, has an excellent café for lunch. Our next stop was the Hayes Garden Centre in Ambleside. They go all out for Christmas, with a huge main hall that is lavishly decorated and offers every possible Christmas decoration you could imagine. We never come away empty handed. Dick found an outdoor string of lights that is a flock of robins. They sit on the outside dining table, looking as though they have just flown in and are pausing to admire the lights on the shed. Clever wildlife experts among our readers may note that in fact, robins are both solitary and territorial, but I am sure that these fellows have been imbued with the Christmas spirit and are gathering for a party before going their separate ways in the New Year.
A flock of Christmas Robins!
We brought our treasures home and settled down for a quiet evening. The next day was the big push to decorate the house for the season. Dick duly hauled out (and put together) the Christmas tree and the large tubs and boxes of decorations for Sarah and me to put up. The tree looked beautiful, and I always enjoy setting up a “woodland” gathering on the sideboard.
Fireplace decorated for Christmas.Christmas tree decorationsInstead of an angel, our tree is topped with a little sheep, appropriate for the Yorkshire Dales!The woodland gathering on the sideboard
Having discharged his sherpa duties, Dick retired to the study, with frequent naps in the bedroom, as he was coming down with a bad cold that he must have caught on his travels. He tried very hard not to spread it, flitting around the house and avoiding Sarah and me as much as possible, even eating his meals in the study, but all to no avail. In spite of extra vitamin C and my other sovereign remedies to ward off colds, I came down with it after Sarah left. As always, it hit me harder than Dick, and I was tired and lethargic for days after the cold and cough were gone.
We had planned to participate in the Hawes Christmas Lights switch-on that evening. The Hawes Silver Band plays Christmas carols in the market square, Santa arrives in a sleigh pulled by a beautifully decorated and lit up tractor, and the celebration finishes with a very nice display of fireworks. Unfortunately, it was a wet day and evening, and after putting up decorations all day, Sarah and I were both feeling quite tired and disinclined to be outside in the rain, so we missed the show. I saw some clips on social media later, and it went ahead, although the usual crowds were missing.
Hawes is looking very festive, even during the day. The yarn bombers have outdone themselves this year. In addition to the usual tiny caps on the fence posts beside the pavement (sidewalk), there is a life-sized Santa and reindeer with a large pile of presents and elves outside the market hall. The post box has a topper with a nativity scene. There are three, near life-sized (or perhaps they are life-sized, do we really know?) elves sitting on the parapet of the bridge, and another Santa is surfing down the waterfall on Gayle Beck. There are lights strung across the roads, the market hall is lit up, and there are Christmas trees above the shops and a large tree at each end of the town.
The fence tops each have a little woolly hat for ChristmasA Christmas pudding!A creche tops the pillar box.Santa, reindeer, presents, and an elf outside the Market Hall.
Meanwhile, Sarah and I continued with our planned Christmas activities. We had tickets for a Christmas concert and carol singing at the auction house in Leyburn, and had booked Sunday lunch in the bistro beforehand.
We both started with prawns Marie Rose (small shrimp in a tomato mayonnaise sauce for our American friends), served with crisp toast and sundried tomatoes. Sarah had seabass, and I enjoyed an interesting cauliflower steak with cheese sauce. The presence of a (very nice) Yorkshire pudding was a little odd, but we have noticed that these days Yorkshire pudding is offered with just about any main dish, and is considered non-optional for Sunday lunch, so I should not have been surprised. Desserts were chocolate mousse for Sarah and sticky toffee pudding for me.
Prawns Marie Rose at Tennants Sunday lunch.Seabass on gnocchiCauliflower steak, accompanied by a Yorkshire pudding!Chocolate mousseSticky toffee pudding with vanilla ice cream
We were surprised that we did not have enough time to look around the auction rooms before it was time to queue for the concert. For reasons that were more about acoustics than comfort of the audience, the seating was set up in the hallway. There were no reserved seats, so everyone had to queue up. We joined the line, and it soon began moving, as a gentleman checked tickets. Then it slowed and came to a halt. We had been told that programs were to be collected from a table on the left. As we stood waiting, suddenly about 30 people rushed past those of us in line and poured into the hall, of course bagging all the best seats. I stopped a woman and she told me the man who was checking tickets had said if they didn’t want a program, they should just go past. However, nobody told the man at the program table, who was busy requiring every attendee to pay a “donation” of a pound and take a program. When someone tried to pass, he rushed after them and told them the program (and donation) was not optional. At this point, Sarah and I slid past the holdup and found seats, but by then we were in the back of the hall.
The concert was excellent, with the first part of the program being Christmas themed classical music. After the interval, and a couple more pieces, the choir arrived and took their places and sang some carols. At last, it was time for the audience participation. The choirmaster did a great job of directing, and everyone sang with grand enthusiasm. When it was time for Good King Wenceslas, the choirmaster asked the male/alto members of the audience to sing only the king’s parts, and the female/soprano members to sing the page’s lines. To my vast surprise, it went off very well, with all the right voices singing their parts and nobody messing up. Sarah and I both enjoyed the concert and the singing. The only downside, and it was a big one, was the seating. The orchestra and choir did not even have a raised platform, so all we could see was the tips of bows of the violins, and the tops of the musicians’ heads. When everyone stood up for the last carol it was even worse! I don’t know whether I would buy tickets again without asking careful questions about the seating arrangements. I gather that concerts are normally held in the auction hall, with sectioned seating (at different price points) and a raised platform for the performers. I had planned to take pictures, but images of the backs of people’s heads was of little interest, so I didn’t bother.
The next day we had a quick wander around Hawes to look at the various shops, and in the afternoon, we enjoyed a Festive Afternoon Tea at the Creamery. This is the Wensleydale cheese factory, where the Wensleydale cheese that you can buy in your local supermarket (even in America) is made. This kind of cheese has been made in Wensleydale since the 12th century. Today the factory makes several other cheeses, and also adds interesting extras to the traditional Wensleydale, including cranberries, ginger, and apricots.
A special Christmas shape truckle of Wesleydale cheese for the season!
For December, the restaurant was offering a special afternoon tea, with a menu unlike any afternoon tea I have ever tried. For the savoury part, there was a ramekin of beef bourguignon, a bacon wrapped sausage (a very traditional British Christmas treat), roast potatoes, and deep fried cheese balls. For sweets, there were mince pies and ginger parkin (a dense, ginger cake). Everything was very tasty, and quite filling! We also had a good look round the gift shop and the cheese shop. After a couple of years’ absence, there are now little pieces of cheese for tasting in the cheese shop, a welcome return, as it is hard to know what you might be buying if you can’t taste a new cheese first.
Festive Afternoon Tea at the Wensleydale Creamery. Beef bourguignon, roast potatoes, sausage in bacon, and a deep fried cheese ball.Desserts: mince pies, ginger parkin, and Wensleydale cheese.
The next morning, Sarah left, and I collapsed into the cold that was Dick’s early Christmas present. Various plans were cancelled, including afternoon (in person) bridge, and an evening at one of our favourite restaurants. Dick was feeling better, and there was a break in the very wet weather for him to set up the outside Christmas lights. Tommy came round to help, and the job was accomplished very quickly. In fact, it took longer to drink the beer and chew the fat than to actually do the job!
A snowman brightens up the shed (and there is lots of firewood for the wood stove).Steppe Haugh outdoor lights at the front.Steppe Haugh outdoor lights at the back.The robins at dusk.
By the weekend I was feeling better and we enjoyed a nice meal at the White Hart, that we consider the best of the four pubs in Hawes. Dick booked us for the room with the fireplace, a small and characterful area that allows dogs. Each table was occupied by a well-behaved dog (or dogs) and their owners. There was a border collie, a boxer cross, two golden retrievers, and a Weimaraner, all very laid back and quiet. One of the goldens thought (mistakenly) that Dick would be a soft touch. He sat beside him and gave him those “I am starving” looks from soulful eyes. Sadly for goldie, Dick has long been proof against those particular looks, and no treats slipped off his plate. I tried really hard to get a picture, but every time I got the camera out, goldie turned away.
The menu has been updated to include some of the dishes and interpretations that seem to be fashionable here in UK, as I have been noticing on my various travels. My chicken liver starter was spread on toast and served with brandied prunes on top and pickled radishes. Dick tried a dish of prawns, chorizo and cannellini beans. Instead of a main course, I had Iberico ham croquettes, which were served on chipotle and lime aoli with pieces of Manchego cheese. As a starter it would have been enormous, but it was an excellent main course portion. Dick loved his stout-braised short rib with winter vegetables. Neither of us had room for dessert.
Starters at the White Hart. Chicken liver pate for me, and prawns, chorizo and cannellini beans for Dick.Iberico ham croquettes and seasoned fries.Short ribs with mashed potatoes and winter vegetables.
We enjoyed the walk back through the town, with all the Christmas lights, and were happy to see that Steppe Haugh is looking as festive as the rest of the town. Several of our neighbours have put up outdoor lights this year, adding to the magical atmosphere.
Hawes Market Square
By the weekend I was feeling well enough to start on the planned festive dinner party for the next week. I made individual frozen cheesecakes with raspberries and blueberries, and parmesan toasts. The glazed sausage bites were not so successful, so I added another starter to the plan, and made a smoked salmon mousse to put into little puff pastry cups. Dick visited various shops in search of ingredients, with the upshot that we ended up with an incredible quantity of different kinds of cheese! Next up was our traditional home-made eggnog. Until you have tasted homemade, you have no idea what it is supposed to taste like, as the stuff you buy in the supermarket has no resemblance to the real thing.
A few of the cheeses Dick brought to try for the various recipes.Home made eggnog with a generous addition of spiced rum.
While I planned and prepared for the dinner, Dick set up his Christmas gift to me. It is a new, smart TV to replace the elderly small one in the kitchen, hence the early presentation and set up.
Monday was the day for a big switch to full fibre for our internet and phone service. I will draw a line under the many frustrations we have experienced over this service (some ongoing), and just say that the tech who came to do the installation was great. The job took far longer than expected (as do most endeavours in this old, characterful and much altered house). The tech had to call for a helper to run the line outside from the junction box, and eventually it was dark and the job was not finished. He promised to return the next morning, to my great surprise, as I had assumed that another appointment would be made for weeks away! He had another job first, but he duly arrived by noon the next day, and we finally had a new and faster broadband service. Of course, then came the challenge of finding all the devices that are connected to the wi-fi and re-setting them for the new router. Technology makes our lives interesting!
In the evening, we went to The Green Dragon Pub in Hardraw for dinner. This is a 13th century pub near to England’s highest waterfall, Hardraw Falls. When we first moved here, the pub served meals and had a good reputation, but it stopped serving food shortly afterwards. It has now changed hands and is open again, and judging by the number of occupied tables on a Monday night, it is doing very well. The owners have restored and kept many of the old features, so it is a really atmospheric place with multiple cosy rooms.
The Green Dragon at Hardraw.
I started with my favourite chicken live pate, served conventionally with toast. Dick tried a very interesting dish with three tiny Yorkshire puddings, each set on a bed of mashed potato, and each one with a different filling. Delicious gravy was served on the side. It was a most unusual and innovative starter, and it was nice to see something unusual without calling on ingredients and/or fusion from other cuisines for a change. I ordered scampi and chips for the main course, and Dick had beef stew. There was not much room for dessert, but we wanted to try, so we ordered sticky toffee pudding, served to my great joy with proper hot custard! It was a very nice meal, and we will certainly return.
An interesting and delicious starter of tiny Yorkshire puddings with different fillings.Chicken liver pate with toast, chutney, and salad.Scampi and Chips for me, while Dick had Beef Stew.Sticky Toffee Pudding, served traditionally with hot custard.
Continuing the dinner preparations on Monday and Tuesday, I made a roasted garlic, leek and potato soup, and a dish of brussels sprouts in a smoked cheese bechamel sauce. A pine nut, garlic, and Dijon crust was prepared for the pork racks. I enjoyed setting the table for eight, getting out Mum’s special china, and folding the new Christmas napkins we found a couple of years ago in a boutique on our travels. Dick headed to Leyburn to pick up the pork racks that had been ordered. In the evening, we enjoyed our online bridge game, finishing fourth, and earning some master points.
The table set for eight for our festive dinner party.
The next day was the planned dinner party. I was awake very early, but after coffee and breakfast, I felt somewhat unwell, so I went back to bed for a rest. Things did not get any better, and by late morning we realized that we were going to have to cancel the dinner. We hoped that everyone would be able to gather two days later, but sadly, at this very busy time, only one couple were free. I slept for most of the day, and felt a little better by the evening. I also took it very easy the next day.
We slightly re-jigged the menu, and Dick headed off down the road to the butcher to find a leg of lamb, while I reset the table for four of us.
We spent a very quiet day on Thursday, and did not attend our usual in-person bridge game in the afternoon. Everything for the dinner that could be prepared ahead had already been done.
Friday morning, I started the final dinner preparations, with help from sous-chef Dick. Our friends arrived by 5pm, and we began a very leisurely evening of food, drink, and chat. The eggnog had turned out very well, and I had various small bites to accompany. The soup was a delicious new recipe that I will certainly plan to include in future dinners. The lamb took a little longer cooking time than expected, but there was plenty of wine while we waited. For dessert we had some of my Christmas pudding, as well as tiny frozen cheesecakes. As always, when we are entertaining, I completely forgot to take any pictures.
I forgot to take pictures of the dinner, but here are two of the frozen cheesecakes.
After a leisurely start on Saturday, and an interesting new recipe for a breakfast sausage and egg casserole, our friends left for home, and we began preparations to depart for our Christmas/New Year travels. I made arrangements for the neighbours to pop in at noon on the day of the guest’s arrival to turn on the rest of the indoors Christmas lights and decorations that are not on timers. We put our personal items into the storage cupboards (and put away the alcohol), and got suitcases packed and the multitude of bags of stuff that we like to take to self-catering accommodation were set by the door ready for loading into the vehicle.
In the morning, Dick packed the food (including the turkey) and loaded the car, and we were away shortly after 9am for our drive south and the start of our Christmas adventures.
Change day started out well enough. I had made a good start on preparations (and even part loaded the car) the day before. I was out of the driveway well before 10am. A certain amount of wrestling with the two routings on my phone and the car was required, so it took rather longer than it should have done to get out of Buxton and on the right road that would avoid the half-hour delay that I knew about on the A6 route.
Buxton may be England’s highest market town, at 1000 feet, but it is still down in a valley, and as I climbed out, the mist came down, and visibility was very poor. This was a road that I once knew very well and always enjoyed because of the stunning views in all directions. No views today. However, every layby was packed with parked cars as intrepid British walkers were out and about on the hills, despite the cold and drizzle, and the mud underfoot. Remember that what the British call walking, Americans call hiking. So, a walk is likely to be a trek between 3 and 10 miles, over hills, on the many trails that crisscross the countryside.
Eventually the winding roads came down into Macclesfield and then on to the south side of Manchester. Again, I needed to ignore attempts by the car and the phone to put me on their routings, but this is my old stomping ground, and I knew where I wanted to go. As we passed the outskirts of Manchester, the sun came out and there was blue sky and puffy clouds. Sadly, the weather closed in again a few miles north.
There was no practical way to avoid motorways on this journey, and I knew that there were at least two sections of construction on the M6, so I was mentally prepared for a lot of sitting in traffic. The first slowdown occurred much sooner than expected, as an accident brought the highway to a near standstill. Half an hour later I passed two very sad-looking cars, but the owners were standing talking to police and there had been no ambulances, so it was a good day for them, although I don’t imagine they thought so! I cannot get over the sheer volume of vehicles on the motorways these days. In the early 90’s there were 21.2 million cars registered in Britain. Today it is over 36 million. Then there are the trucks. The speed limit is 70, but many cars passed me in the fast lane doing at least 80 and more.
Traffic on the M6 at a standstill
Fortunately, after the accident slowdown, there were no further delays even as I passed through the construction areas. Many fewer trucks on the road on the weekend. Eventually I took the turnoff for The Lakes, and was back in some of my favourite countryside.
Dick and I first visited the Lake District in 1976, and I have been returning regularly, on my own, and with Dick, ever since. For a while we thought we would buy an apartment in one of the towns, but prices went through the roof, and we found our wonderful house in Yorkshire. No regrets, especially when I see the traffic and how the honeypots (the main tourist towns) are heaving with tourists, even on a dank day in November. Still, this is countryside that I love. I have walked all over it, bagged many of the peaks, and know it better than any other part of England. As I drove down into Keswick, it felt like a real homecoming.
Station Road and Upper Fitz Park, Keswick. The sun came out briefly and bathed everything in beautiful light.
The euphoria did not last. I had no trouble finding the parking lot with the space designated for the apartment I was renting. As I arrived, another car was parking in the space beside mine, and it was quite clear that I was not going to fit. The ladies in the other car were very helpful, maneuvering their vehicle so it was tucked right up against the wall, thus allowing me to actually get out of mine. I was parked right in the middle of my designated space, and there were just 6 inches on each side of my wheels. I had visions of coming back to the car during the week and finding that there would be no way of getting into it. Granted, the Freelander is an SUV, and a bit larger than the little runabouts that are favoured by many Brits, but it is not considered a large car by any means!
The agency was entirely unhelpful. I was essentially told to go jump into Derwentwater (that’s the lake). “Nobody else has ever complained about the parking!” As far as I am concerned, the listing should have specified that there is designated parking for a small car only. I already knew that the parking lot was not beside the accommodation, but I had expected it to be closer than down a lane and across the road before the entrance to the building. Something that would eventually amuse me (just not that day) is that apparently the problem with the parking is entirely my fault for having a “big” car. A very British attitude. The Freelander is not even that big, there are two Land Rover models that are larger, plus a host of SUVs from other manufacturers.
Designated parking space, Royal Oak, Keswick. The ladies in the red car moved over against the wall so I could get out of my car. I am right between the lines but there is not enough space to open the doors,
The Royal Oak (the building now converted to apartments) is a former coaching inn, and there is a rather florid description of its past at the bottom of the stairs. Apparently, its history goes back to Elizabethan times. One doubts that there is any fabric of the building that is so old, but there was most certainly a surge in prosperity in this area during the 16th century. Once the monasteries were dissolved and lost their grip on the economy, wool and sheep diversified, and there was also an increase in mining in the area for copper, followed by a new material, graphite. The 18th century seems to have been the heyday for the packhorse trade, and Keswick and the Royal Oak were also important coaching stops. Later, the house was frequented by Lakeland poets and writers including Coleridge, the Wordsworths, Shelley, and Sir Walter Scott. Tennyson and Robert Louis Stevenson were also visitors.
In addition to the story of the hotel, there is a large, framed plague with excerpts from the diary of Effie Gray, written on her honeymoon in 1848 with John Ruskin. They stayed here in the Royal Oak. I was amused to read, “This is a pretty place, but the day is not good, so I will say nothing about the Hills, which as far as I can see, are merely good hills without colour or crag like our Highlands, but I will tell you more about them when I get up Skiddaw. But still everything looks very sweet. We went to the one church this morning, and had a good sermon, we were rather late and had all the juveniles in the place staring us in the Face.” Later, Effie was rather more complimentary, and wrote about a sail on Derwentwater, “which is small but lovely” and their excursion to the top of Causey Pike, with white ponies and a guide. Today’s walkers have to climb the 2090 feet without benefit of equine assistance. Even so, Effie and her new husband had to come down on foot because it was so steep, “and we felt all over aches and bruises, but the view was beautiful…”
After I figured out the somewhat obscure instructions and gained access to the Royal Oak building, the disappointments of the day were not over. I was aware that the flat is on two floors, with the second, upper floor having the kitchen and living space (to take advantage of the views). What was unexpected was that the elevator to the first level was out of order. So everything had to be carried up two long flights of stairs. A review of the rental from a month earlier suggested that the elevator is often out of order, but since it was only mentioned by one guest, I had assumed that they had been unlucky. From the eyeroll of the neighbour, I am pretty sure it has been out for weeks, if not months. After my four trips back and forth to the car, and then carrying everything up the stairs, I could not decide whether I needed a cup of tea (and chocolate) or a large whisky. Ultimately, I chose both.
Royal Oak, Keswick. Stairs to the first floor flat. The lift is out of order and has been for some time.
The apartment is pretty much as I had expected. Reasonably spacious and well equipped, relatively clean, and there are signs that the owners are gradually trying to update everything. Unfortunately, the (recent?) painter managed to be very sloppy, and there is paint all over the carpets and the windows. The carpets are badly stained, but again, clean is what matters more. No extra touches here. This is the Lake District, you can do as little as you like and pretty much charge what you like! There were tea bags and tubes of instant coffee, but no sugar, no milk in the fridge, and no cookies.
Royal Oak, Keswick, stairs to the upper floor of the apartment.Royal Oak, Keswick. The upstairs lounge and dining area.
After what had turned out to be a long and tiring day, I rummaged in the fridge and prepared myself a creation of toast with cheeses and chorizo, heated in the microwave.
The wispy sunrise was the best part of the next day, sadly it was then very wet until late afternoon.
Keswick, sunrise over the rooftopsKeswick, sunrise over the rooftops and a view of Skiddaw, wreathed in clouds.
I had booked for Sunday lunch at a nearby country house hotel where we have enjoyed meals in the past. This time it was even better! What was looking quite old fashioned and tired a few years ago is now smartly refurbished in a style that suits the historic venue, and yet is clean and fresh. I was far too early, so after sitting in my car waiting in vain for the rain to slacken, I scurried through the front door and found the comfortable lounge. I enjoyed a cappuccino while I waited for the lunch service to begin.
Lyzzick Hall, Sunday lunch. Cappuccino in the lounge while I looked at the menu.
Sunday lunch is a very British tradition that is still going strong. It is the day when the big roast is served (with Yorkshire pudding, even if you aren’t in Yorkshire). It is a mid-day meal. In fact, my dear Auntie used to refuse to go out to a restaurant on Sunday evening, because she was certain that the food would be mostly left over from the lunch, and the staff tired and cranky. Experience suggests that she was quite right! Typically, in a restaurant there will be several choices of roast meats (beef, lamb, pork), or you can often have some of each. The meat is accompanied by generous portions of a mixture of vegetables, and plenty of potatoes. There are usually alternatives for those who prefer something other than meat. People still get dressed up for Sunday lunch, even the men!
I started with a wonderful celeriac and mushroom soup. It was incredibly thick, more of a potage, and absolutely delicious. Instead of a meat choice, I had the hake, which was coated with crisp panko and served with parmentier potatoes and a pea puree. It was excellent.
Lyzzick Hall, Sunday lunch. Celeriac and mushroom soup.Lyzzick Hall, Sunday lunch. Hake with parmentier potatoes and green peas.
Something that I always appreciate in this country, and miss when we are elsewhere, is how hot the food is generally served. It is quite unusual to be given a dish that is merely warm, and usually the plate is also heated, so that the food does not get cold quickly. My fish was piping hot, as were the potatoes. One is pretty sure that everything has been cooked to order, not sitting on steam tables.
Much as I would have loved to try a dessert, having eaten all of the soup and most of the main course, I had no room for anything but a cup of coffee before I headed out into the rain to return to Keswick. The parking space was as I had left it, so I was able to park and get out of the car. After a bit of quiet time to just sit, digest, and read a book, I spend the afternoon researching the possibilities for alternate accommodation. The prospect of having to simply stay in town because I couldn’t get into the car, or the other option of having to pay for overnight parking in a public lot if I returned to find that someone had parked too close, was a serious concern. I spoke with the neighbours and knew that while their car would be gone on Monday, after that there would be someone else using their space, and almost certain to block me in.
The next morning, I made the decision to abandon the Keswick apartment, finding a holiday lodge near Ambleside, and booked it for Tuesday through Saturday. After spending hours doing the research and making the reservation, I was ready to get out and explore Keswick.
Lower Fitz Park and the Greta River, Keswick. There have been major floods in Keswick in recent years as the Greta rose and overflowed its banks.
There was a time when we thought we would like to buy a home in Keswick. It has been a market town since the 13th century, and was an important mining area for copper, graphite, and slate. Since the 18th century it has been a tourist hotspot. It was a favorite haunt of the Romantic writers and poets, and each year it hosts an evangelical gathering that generates well over 2 million pounds of revenue annually. Keswick is one of the Lake District’s “honeypots’, and attracts something over half a million visitors each year. Interestingly, that figure of half a million is likely to be highly inaccurate. As far as I can tell, they only count people who call in to the Tourist Information Centre. So, for example, I would not be counted, because I did not need their assistance. Many of the visitors come for the walking. They set off each day to hike the hills of the Northern Lakes, and then collapse into the tea rooms after their day out. Bad weather is the norm, but these tourists are intrepid, and you see them out in their waterproofs and hiking boots even when the rain is falling. The wettest place in England is Seathwaite (over 3550mm, 140 inches a year), which is just nine miles south of Keswick!
Market Square and Moot Hall, Keswick
Over the years we have enjoyed our share of the walks in the area, and visiting the various interesting shops in the town. As I walked around, I could see that this is no longer the town that we knew so well a few years ago. Many of the independent shops are gone, and their places have been taken by some of the chain stores that appeal to a younger demographic, and by a great many charity shops. I was unable to find a single restaurant in the town that had consistent reviews and served food that I would want to eat. The china shop now sells only modern art pieces, and those small shops that are not outdoor clothing merchants all seem to be pitching the same stuff. At least the lovely bakery and tea room, Bryson’s is still in business after 75 years, and Friar’s Chocolate Shop is nearly 100 years old. I was glad to see that some things remain the same!
Treeby & Bolton, Keswick. This used to be a favourite china shop, but today it only sells very modern items that are not to our taste.Ye Olde Friars, Keswick. Sweet shop started in 1927, still run by the same family.
Tuesday, I got up very early, and with barely a pause for coffee and toast, I started packing up and staging the bags in the hall. I felt reasonably confident that I would not be blocked in before 10am, but I wanted to be out of the parking lot as early as possible. The forecast was for rain all day. I had several very helpful notes from the owner at the lodge I was moving to, in fact she told me the evening before that I could arrive any time from right then! This was very helpful, because it is only 40 minutes from Keswick to the holiday park. I had everything loaded (5 trips) and was out shortly after 9am. It was raining, but not hard enough that I got soaked. Normal check in time would have been 3pm, I was at the lodge just after 10am.
As soon as I got on the road the rain got heavier, and the main road, A591, was starting to flood quite a lot as I drove south. I noticed that even the intrepid Brits were staying home, with few cars in the various laybys and no sign of walkers on the roads, apart from the occasional person with a bedraggled dog. The car park in Ambleside was quite full, so I assumed that people had decided that this was a day for shops and tearooms.
I have never visited a British holiday park, and certainly never set foot in a “lodge”, so this was to be a new experience. The lodges are something between a fixed trailer (caravan) and a cabin. Many are sold to individual owners and can be privately rented. The one I booked is remarkably spacious, certainly as roomy as the apartment in Northumberland, or even the one in Keswick, with the possible exception of the kitchen space. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, generous living/dining room, and a well-equipped galley kitchen. Parking is right beside the lodge, and hooray! I could get the doors open on both sides of my car!
White Cross Holiday Park. My lodge on the left.White Cross Holiday Park, kitchen, dining room, and loungeWhite Cross Holiday Park. The twin bedroom is nicely set up.
The owners seem very nice, and we carried on a conversation online, as the helpful lady made sure that everything was fine and helped me to work out how to operate the heating system. In fact, half an hour after I asked how to operate it, two fellows from the park maintenance department knocked on the door, just making sure that everything was working properly.
After the early start and all the exercise, not to mention stress, I was happy to spend the rest of the day relaxing and catching up.
Wednesday was my day for visiting Ambleside, our favourite town in the Lake District. The weather was smiling! Blue skies and sunshine. I was in the parking lot by 10:30 and had time to walk all around the town before my lunch reservation.
White Platts Recreation Ground, Ambleside. On the right is the spire of St Mary’s Church, and in the distance is Loughrigg Fell.
Some familiar shops are gone, but they have been replaced by other independent (and interesting) stores. Only one charity shop, and the chain stores are all of the outdoor clothing type. Of course, there are lots of restaurants and tearooms, but even these are mostly unique and different from each other.
I hope you enjoy these pictures from my walk around Ambleside! Travel writers might post 20 pictures of New York or Hong Kong, me, I put up 20 pictures of a small town in northern England…
Ambleside, The Post Office in a large Victorian building.Ambleside Market Hall, built in 1863.A selection of breads and pastries in the window of one of the bakeries in AmblesideAmbleside, Rydal Road. The main north/south road in the Lakes goes right through the centre of town. A one way system is in place, or it would be even more of a traffic nightmare.Old Courthouse Gallery, Ambleside. Dick and I love visiting this gallery, easily spending an hour browsing their interesting and varied offerings.A display of teddy bears (and bunnies) in an Ambleside window.This shop always smells wonderful! They offer wreaths and garlands as well as bundles of dried oranges, cinnamon sticks, pine cones, and other natural items. They also sell soaps and various scented products for the home.The Old Stamp House. William Wordsworth was the postmaster and distributor of stamps for Westmorland from 1813 to 1843.A tiny garden in front of a tearoom in AmblesideThe Book Brewery Ambleside. Books, Coffee, Wine. Either they don’t know what they want to be, or they are onto a great idea!Ambleside, Friars Chocolates. The company, started in Keswick in 1927, is still run by the same family. A peek into the shop and their beautiful displays.Window of a bakery in Ambleside. Hah! Note that there are cheese, plain, and fruit scones, and the fruit scones have raisins, not glace cherries! Vindication!Ambleside Barber Shop.. Note the sign, Welcome to The Baabars, this is sheep country after all!
Ambleside is the town at the head of Windermere, England’s largest lake. The Romans were here, and built Galava in 79AD, but it seems that the town did not become a significant place until somewhat later than many, having been granted their market charter in 1650. Most of the buildings in the town are Victorian, easily recognizable by their construction of grey slate, although there are a few older cottages.
Victorian houses on Church Street, AmblesideChurch Street, Ambleside, 17th century cottages.
There were a number of mills in the town during its earlier history, beginning with fulling mills supporting the wool trade. When those closed, there were bobbin mills, and sawmills. There are still two of the mill buildings on Stock Ghyll. The one that houses The Flying Fleece Pub is claimed to date from the 15th century, and was a fulling mill. The weir, millrace, and wheel have been preserved.
Stock Ghyll, AmblesideThe FLying Fleece Pub is located in a former fulling mill dating from the 15th century. The weir, millrace, wheel, and some of the machinery have been preserved.
Probably the most famous building in Ambleside and possibly the Lake District is the Bridge House, a strange building that straddles Stock Ghyll. I had always been told that it was originally a real house, but in fact it was built in the 17th century by local wealthy landowners to access their lands across the river and to store apples from their orchards. It was used as a counting house in support of the mills, a weaving shop, a cobblers, a chair makers, briefly a house (with a family of 8), and a tearoom (no surprise). In fact, I can remember seeing a tearoom, and also a souvenir shop, but in recent years, although the National Trust claim otherwise, I have never seen it open to visitors.
Bridge House, Ambleside. One of the most photographed buildings in the Lake District.Bridge House, Ambleside. The front door, and steps up to the upper storey.Bridge House from across the road. You can see how small the structure actually is.
My lunch reservation was at a new restaurant opened by the same people who operate one of our absolute favourite restaurants anywhere. The Schelly is following the trendy style, with sharing plates. The idea is that you order several plates of each size, depending on the size of the group, they arrive when they are ready (as opposed to in a particular order) and you all share. The venue has only a few conventional tables, and a long row of high-tops that look out onto the street (and the hills in the distance). This actually seems rather odd, because you are sitting beside your companions, not facing each other, so that will be less than ideal for chatting. In fact, I watched at least three couples peruse the menu outside, and then come in and request a table. When told there were only the high-tops available, they turned around and went straight out again.
I had made a reservation, and specified a table. I sat by the window and loved watching all the people passing by, half of them accompanied by an extraordinary variety of tail-waggers (dogs).
I chose three of the “small” plates, and one “medium”, accompanied by a glass of Sancerre. Everything was delicious, and I had room for dessert and a cappuccino! The service was as excellent as I would expect, and the presentation was exquisite. This was not a cheap meal, but it was worth every penny.
The Schelly. Potted shrimp with curried caulifower veloute.The Schelly. Trio of cured bellota de Iberico and focaccia with roasted garlic and rosemary hummus.The Schelly. Poached chalk stream trout, samphire, vermouth, and dill.The Schelly. Ginger cake with toffee sauce and chantilly cream. A cappuccino accompanied the dessert.
Afterwards, the rain held off long enough for me to take a walk down to Windermere at the Holiday Park. And yes, it is Windermere, not Lake Windermere. The trick question for tourists is, how many lakes are there in the Lake District? The answer is one, Bassenthwaite Lake. The rest are called meres, waters, or tarns. In fact, there are 16 bodies of water of a significant size and hundreds of smaller tarns in the National Park. Just to round out the facts and figures, there are over 200 “peaks”, called fells, in the Lake District. The 10 highest are all over 890 metres (about 3000 feet).
The marina, White Cross Holiday Park. Windermere and the distant fells.
By late afternoon the rain had started again, and it continued throughout the night. In the morning, I checked various websites, and there was flooding, especially in the northern areas of the county. All schools were closed. My plan had been to visit the Distillery on Bassenthwaite Lake, one of our favourite places. They have an excellent Bistro that does a wonderful lunch, and I had made a reservation. I cancelled (they were quite understanding and did not charge for the late notice) and made the decision to stay indoors for the day.
The forecast for Friday was better for this part of the Lake District, so I was able to get out and about. A named storm was arriving further south, and winds from that were affecting Cumbria, but at least it wasn’t raining! Much.
After the previous day’s rain, I knew that I didn’t want to venture too far north, so I planned a visit to Grasmere and the Wordsworth Museum. Normally I am not much of one for museums, but this museum experience includes a visit to Dove Cottage, where William Wordsworth, his sister Dorothy, and his wife and children lived from 1799 to 1808. Entry to Dove Cottage is timed, so there are only a few people inside at a time, and one can really get a sense of how they might have lived.
William Wordsworth was one of the greatest of the Romantic poets (and arguably the most famous). His words still resonate today. When he was born in 1770, the American colonies had not declared independence, the population and economy of UK were mostly rural, and travel to London from Windermere was by stagecoach. By 1850, when Wordsworth died, the French Revolution had happened, the United States had elected their 13th President, and travel around Britain was by steam train. The urban population outnumbered the rural.
The Wordsworths were born in Cumbria, just a few miles north of Grasmere, but the children were separated quite young, as their mother died and their father sent William away to school, and Dorothy to live with relatives. They were reunited 9 years later, and set up house together in 1794. Five years later, they settled in Dove Cottage.
Dove Cottage had been a pub, in the village of Town End, outside Grasmere. I was intrigued to be told that the cottage was whitewashed because that way it would show up better in the dark for pub goers! I have always wondered why so many houses in Cumbria are whitewashed, and the practice is generally not followed in Yorkshire, even though the buildings tend to be of the same age. Further research offers a more prosaic explanation. In fact, the whitewash protects the house from moisture in the very wet climate.
Dove Cottage and Town End, Grasmere
Wordsworth’s first poems were published in 1793, and in 1795 he received a legacy of £900. By judicious investment (primarily in the East India Company), he was able to live on the proceeds of the legacy, support his sister as well as his wife and their children, and also support Annette Vallon, a French woman who he met during the French Revolution, and their daughter.
The Wordsworths lived in Dove Cottage for 8 years, during which he wrote most of the poems that he is best remembered for. Friends came to visit, and, as was customary at the time, stayed for weeks and months rather than days! Eventually, they outgrew the cottage and moved to a larger home a few miles south. The Wordsworth Trust acquired the cottage in 1890, and it has been preserved as a museum ever since.
I wandered around the museum until it was time to visit Dove Cottage. For me, seeing how the Wordsworths lived is of more interest than reading about his career and the writings of his sister. I was surprised at how much room there actually was in the Cottage. I can remember my grandmother’s tiny council house, and my dad once took us to a farmhouse where his family lived in just two rooms when he was 5 years old. Dove Cottage is a mansion compared to those places. I enjoyed seeing the kitchen, with the recipe book and the makings for gingerbread laid out. In one of the bedrooms, the walls were papered with sheets of newspaper, and there was a book and a candle on the floor beside the bed. Of course there was no bathroom, and “the necessary” was outside in the garden. My dad’s maiden aunts, who lived in a church-owned charity cottage when they were in their 80’s, did not have an indoor toilet, Aunty Mary with her bad hip had to make her way down the garden to the outhouse.
Dove Cottage dining tableDove Cottage kitchenDove Cottage kitchen baking gingerbreadDove Cottage bedroom with newspaper as wallpaperDove Cottage from the rear garden. The “necessary” would have been out here.
While the Wordsworths lived at Dove Cottage, Dorothy would walk to Ambleside several times a week, an eight-mile round trip, to pick up post and to shop. Brother and sister were great walkers, and hiked all over the hills of the Lake District. At the time, it was considered quite scandalous for women to go walking, but Dorothy was a very independent soul, and she ignored convention.
I was intrigued by what was apparently a set of playing cards. Card games have been popular in England since the 15th century. There are enough mentions in Dorothy’s diaries for us to know that playing card games was something that the Wordsworths enjoyed with visiting friends, and I read that whist was likely to have been the usual game. The deck of cards is unusual, and I cannot find enough references to be sure, but I note that some of the figures on the cards, the cups (equaling hearts) and the swords (equaling spades) are in a Spanish, rather than the English style of the times
Dove Cottage, playing cards on the sideboard
The linens laid out with pegs of varying sizes are a reminder that laundry was pegged out on a line. I hang laundry to dry, but I don’t typically use pegs, nor do I line dry sheets. On the other hand, across the road from me in Hawes, on any relatively dry day, one of the neighbours pegs out all of their laundry including sheets and towels!
Dove Cottage linens and pegs
After the museum, I walked a little way down the road to take in some of the views of the hills and the countryside.
Silver How, Grasmere, from Town EndGrasmere Common and Greenup EdgeHelm Crag from GrasmereGrasmere A591 and Grey Crag to the east
I planned to have lunch at the Badger Bar, just a short distance south in Rydal. We have passed that establishment countless times, but never stopped in. When I arrived, only the bar was open, and I was directed to choose a table, given a menu, and told to order at the bar. I picked a smaller table, which was an unfortunate mistake.
I decided to change my usual practice, and rather than have starters, I ordered a Cajun chicken burger that was accompanied by chips (fries) and onion rings. The chips were excellent, as were the onion rings, and the burger was incredibly tasty, built with grilled chicken breast, tomatoes, lettuce, bacon, and cheese. It was so huge that there was no possibility of eating it in normal burger fashion, so I deconstructed it with knife and fork, and ate it that way. It was delicious.
Badger Bar, Rydal, chicken burger with onion rings and chips
I didn’t realize that the door beside me led to the hallway and the front entrance, plus the men’s toilets. People went in and out continuously, and each time a draft came whooshing around the corner. As the traditional British lunch time arrived (1pm), a great many walkers, some with dogs, came bustling in, and it was a bit like trying to eat in a railway station. The final straw arrived with a group of younger walkers and their large, anxious dog. After trying to sample my chips, he was dragged to the table across from me, and told to sit. He didn’t. He became more and more anxious, in spite of liberal applications of treats, and began barking. Between the constant to-ing and fro-ing, the barking dog, and the cold wind, I gave up, having pretty much eaten all I could handle of the enormous burger, and I left.
Returning to the holiday park, I settled down for a quiet afternoon and looked forward to returning to Hawes the next morning. It had been a long three weeks!
I am planning to write something about December (called the run-up to Christmas) in Wensleydale, and during Christmas and New Year, Dick and I are planning to visit Devon and Kent, so those are the planned postings for the next few months.
The drive across country from North Norfolk was absolutely beautiful. So few travellers experience crossing England from east to west (or the other way), because “all roads lead to London”. Really, they do, historically, and so do all the main train lines. Tourists visit London (of course they do, regardless of how many times they have been there before), and then most of them head north as fast as they can to Edinburgh and the Scottish Highlands. Thus missing most of the beautiful English landscape.
Okay okay, some people do visit a few other places. Devon or Cornwall perhaps. Oxford or Cambridge. Some have heard about the Lake District and dip into Windermere for a day or so on their way north to Scotland. In 6 years of operating a vacation rental, we have not had a single booking from outside the British mainland. Only one friend has visited us from Europe, and one from USA/Canada.
When friends and acquaintances tell me they have been on a “tour”, most of them have hopped from city to city, stopping only briefly in the location of the day, be it Downton Abbey, All Creatures Great and Small, or perhaps Poldark. Heaven forbid, cruise ship visitors see even less, queuing to get on a bus that takes them on a 2.5 hour bus ride, each way, on major highways to the Cotswold’s famous Burton-on-the-Water. All these tourist destinations are beautiful areas, and very nice to visit, but these visitors, whether driving themselves or riding a bus up the motorways, are never really seeing the beauty, the diverse landscape and culture, and of course the fantastic local eateries that this country has to offer.
Rant over. Okay, for those of you who are giving me “that” look, rant over for now…
I wanted to describe the beautiful drive across country, on a glorious autumn day when I got sidetracked…. Fall colours here mostly lack the bright reds of eastern North America (except in landscaped gardens), but the leaves turn shades of yellow and gold, as well as a luminous brown, and absent major storms, they last a lot longer. Driving through woodland was like going through a corridor of gold, as the sun shone through the trees and lit up the leaves. Fields have been ploughed, and many have already been planted with winter crops that are already carpeting the fields with bright green, a stunning contrast with the golden trees.
Larch trees turn gold in Autumn. They are deciduous conifers.
Unfortunately, there were no suitable places to pull of and take pictures, so you will have to try to imagine how lovely the countryside was from my descriptions.
Norfolk was looking bucolic, with its enormous fields, mainly full of winter vegetables, and a lot already harvested (the sugar beets and the grain crops). There were some cornfields, with farmers taking advantage of the delights of the season and offering maze experiences through the high corn, and quite a few pumpkin patches. Next came Lincolnshire and the area of the Fens. This part of the country was drained long ago, starting in the 1630’s and is wide, low-lying and flat with huge drainage channels and automated pumping stations. The fields are smaller than in Norfolk, and are intensively farmed. I saw mostly autumn and winter vegetable crops. Nottinghamshire has more villages and built-up areas, and the land is less flat and the roads less straight. At last, we came into Derbyshire, with deep valleys and rolling hills leading to the southernmost area of the Pennines, the low mountain range that forms a spine down the middle of northern England. (Our home, Hawes, is on the eastern edge of the Pennines further north).
The Buxton apartment, in a divided-up, large Victorian house, is handily on the ground floor, and was very nicely refurbished quite recently. Sensible grey carpet does a great job of keeping the floors warm (and quiet) and it is not so light that it shows every stain. Rooms are generous, and there are two shower rooms for two bedrooms, very civilized! Heating turns itself off in the British style, but it is on from 6am to 10pm, and at night the flat does not get much cooler than the settings on the radiators. The owners left nice extras. As well as the tea and coffee and a jug of milk as one expects, there are good quality biscuits (cookies) and to my great surprise, a generous bunch of fresh flowers on the dining room table! Strangely, no extra toilet paper was left, beyond what was already on the holder. That I find hard to understand.
The house is divided into 7 apartments. Mine was on the ground floor at the back (and has a dedicated parking space).It is common to find that parking is allowed on both sides of a residential street in English towns. Drivers have to take turns coming and going because there is not enough room to pass.
I spent Sunday catching up online, enjoying my weekly Zoom chat with Dick, and then took several hours to research the area and make plans for sightseeing and meals for the coming week.
Buxton has been settled since the Stone Age. The Romans were in occupation throughout their time in Britain, building a town known as Aquae Arnemetiae, loosely translated as Baths of the Goddess. The Goddess in question was Celtic, so predates Roman occupation. Evidence of Roman baths were uncovered during various renovations of what is now The Crescent.
In the 12th century, the town of Buckestones was recorded as part of the Peveril Estate, and by the 15th century the mineral spring had been declared holy and a chapel had been built and dedicated to St Anne. By the 18th century, the town was known for its healthful waters, and the Dukes of Devonshire used profits from copper mines to develop the town into a spa. Once the railways arrived, Victorians flocked to the area to “take the waters” and much of the architecture of the town dates from those years. Following a decline in the 20th century, the town managed a resurgence as a centre for theatre, culture, and festivals. This is a posh town. When we lived in Cheshire in the 1990’s I came to an antique show here. There were no prices on any of the items displayed on the tables, all the men wore suits and ties, and the women were dressed to the nines!
St Anne’s Well still exists, and the water that comes out of the tap is the same as that in the baths. Buxton Mineral Water (owned by the Nestlé conglomerate) is bottled from the same source. Each time I passed the Well, I could see people filling various plastic bottles and containers and taking them to their cars, so clearly, they still believe in the healthful effects of the water.
Bottles being filled at St Anne’s Well
While tourism is a major component of the local economy, there is a well-regarded university, local quarries, scientific research, and the bottled water industry. The town certainly seems busy and prosperous.
Monday was my day to explore Buxton. I had booked a ticked for an Irish Christmas Show at the famous Buxton Opera House, so I wanted to collect the ticket, and also take a look around the area. The holiday let is in a perfect location! It was about 2 blocks to the Opera House, and only a little farther to the historic gardens and shopping area. I planned to have afternoon tea at a well-regarded restaurant across from the Opera House.
Buxton Opera House
The Pavilion Gardens were laid out in 1871 on land gifted to the town by the Duke of Devonshire. Alert readers may wonder, as I did, why the Dukes of Devonshire are associated with Derbyshire (including the famous Chatsworth House) when Devon is in the south of England. There is an explanation, but it is somewhat convoluted. It resulted from the political climate at the time the Dukedom was established in 1684, honouring the Cavendish family, who were (and still are), some of the most politically powerful members of the British aristocracy. As far as I can tell, the Cavendishes never held lands in Devonshire. That bit of research was quite a digression from my investigations into the origins of Buxton!
The Pavilion Gardens were built along the winding path of the River Wey, and a number of public buildings for entertainment and exhibitions were sited around the gardens. There is a conservatory with exotic hothouse plants, a boating lake, a miniature railway, and lots of winding paths and bridges across the river. On a damp and windy day, the gardens looked somewhat sad and unkempt, but there were lots of people enjoying the walks and more were browsing the art galleries and enjoying lunch in the restaurant.
The Pavilion Gardens, BuxtonThe bandstand, Pavilion Gardens, Buxton
The Buxton Baths are natural hot mineral baths that have been used since Roman times. They are fed by a geothermal spring that produces about a million litres of water per day at a temperature of 80F. The water has a very high magnesium content. The present Baths were built in 1851 and were renovated to form part of a Health Spa Hotel, after sitting empty and unused during the latter part of the 20th century.
Buxton Baths
The Crescent is a distinctive feature of the fashionable 18th century spa town. It was originally built to include a hotel, five lodging houses, and a grand assembly room. It is flanked by the mineral baths, and faces St Anne’s Well. The Assembly Rooms were the social heart of 18th century Buxton. Today the building has been completely refurbished and turned into a spa hotel, but a few of the rooms are still open and decorated as they would have been in the Victorian era. For a price, you can enjoy a guided tour of these rooms.
The Crescent, Buxton
After the original hotel fell derelict in the 20th century, various schemes were set up to fund a restoration of the historic and significant building with the eventual goal of turning it back into a spa hotel. In 2003 the property was put out to tender. The winner of the tender expected the project to be complete and the hotel to be opened by 2007. Problems were continuous and more funds were required at all stages of the work. There was also an issue with Nestlé taking the water for the Buxton Mineral Water business from the spring under the proposed spa. After 17 years, the hotel finally opened in 2020. Sadly, it is up for sale again, after the hotel management company defaulted on some of its multiple loan obligations.
The Cavendish Arcade Shopping Centre was converted in the 1980’s when the original Hot Baths, built in 1811, fell out of fashion. The walls retain the original Minton tiles, and the whole place is a reflection of past glories. I wandered around some pretty little shops and was very tempted by the gorgeous offerings at a jewellery store. This is the kind of jewellery that both Dick and I like, but I prefer to buy such things in his company (and using the credit card that has my name on it but he gets the bill), so we can be sure he had a narrow escape from an expensive afternoon!
Cavendish Arcade, Buxton
The afternoon tea was a very mixed experience, mainly because the enthusiastic changes to traditional recipes did not appeal to my taste. The sandwiches were acceptable. The quiche was just odd, with cashews and zucchini (courgette) strips, which would have been all right, but it had a sweet taste that I found most unpleasant. Move on. The scone was large (as they all seem to be today) and it too had been fiddled with to become pretty much unrecognizable. Almond essence had been added liberally, and it was full of glacé cherries. Since these are two flavours I seriously dislike, only a few bites could be tolerated. Why a restaurant will offer strangely changed scones that are meant to be served with jam and cream I do not know. From the happy exclamations I could hear from the other tables, I am very much alone in my convictions. There was a lot of dessert, an outstanding jam sponge cake, a very nice raspberry macaron, plus a brownie, and a large piece of layer cake that waited for another day, as I took them home.
Afternoon tea in Buxton
Yarn bombing has taken off recently in this country. I read that it started in Houston, and is seen as a feminine answer to the overly masculine practice of graffiti. A few years ago, when we first saw the adorable cozies covering the round tops of the posts on the railings leading down the road in Hawes we were absolutely charmed. Later examples of festive covers for post boxes at Christmas were equally enjoyable. This year I am seeing a less attractive trend, with ever larger structures, that quickly start to look faded and seedy as they are out in all weathers. Hawes had a huge, ugly rocketship with a life-size Buzz Aldrin balanced on it in the middle of the waterfall for most of the summer, until one of the late August storms washed it away. The display for Remembrance Day here in Buxton is nicer than many I am seeing lately, and an unusual presentation as well, consisting of crocheted poppies laid out on the hillside on the grass in the park.
Yarn Bombing for Remembrance Day, BuxtonPenfold letter box. These were in production from 1866 to 1879.
Hargreaves and Sons is a shop selling fine china and gifts, in business since 1865. There is a display cabinet in the antique section upstairs that was built for the opening of the shop. There are very few such businesses these days.
Hargreaves and Sons, Buxton. A china shop that has been in business since 1865.
For more than 150 years, the pharmacy business of C.R.Clowes and Son has dispensed remedies and high-quality personal items to the public. The windows show an assortment of tastefully arranged expensive hairbrushes, perfumes, makeup bags, soaps of all kinds, mirrors, and an incredible array of beauty products.
C R Clowes and Son, Buxton pharmacy.
W. Appleyard and Son is a very odd combination of toys and tobacco, complete with a coin operated ride-on red fire engine in front. Besides toys and tobacco products, they sell jigsaw puzzles, board games, Russian nesting dolls, walking sticks, and scale model building kits.
W Appleyard and Son, Buxton toy and tobacco shopBuxton shopping and spa area from the parkA steep street in Buxton
In the evening, I set off for the Opera House. I had been lucky to find a single ticket in the second row of the Dress Circle (the first balcony, or sometimes called the mezzanine in USA), and right in the middle of the row. The seats were perfectly staggered, so that even though there were people in the seats in front of me, I could see perfectly.
Arriving at the Opera HouseI could have rented opera glasses for a pound, but my seat was so good I didn’t need them!
The show was called A Fairytale for Christmas, and was billed as an evening of Irish music and dancing. The dancing was far and away the best part, although the whole production was beautifully choreographed with all performers dancing while they sang and played their instruments. The dancers did mainly Irish Dancing, which is always energetic and impressive, and they were outstanding. Unfortunately, the sound was horribly muddy. The background musical accompaniment drowned out the miked singers and their instruments completely, except on the few numbers when they played and sang alone. These opera houses are designed with acoustics for unamplified music and singers, and when you put in over-loud and badly mixed amplifiers, the result is not as it should be. I had thought I might go to another production at the Opera House on Friday, a tribute band performing Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple numbers, but given the poor sound I decided not to bother.
I enjoyed the evening anyway, and was glad I went. The building is stunning. The audience was interesting. As is usually the case, most of the women had dressed up, and most of the men had clearly not. I would have liked to take one or two pictures of the performance, but I noticed that while a lot of people took pictures before the show, nobody did while it was on, so I followed their lead.
Buxton Opera House stageThe beautiful ceiling decoration in Buxton Opera HouseBuxton Opera House boxesThe balcony in Buxton Opera House
The forecast for Tuesday was awful, so I switched my plans about and headed for the Chatsworth Estate Farm Shop. Chatsworth House is closed this week to make their Christmas preparations, so I could not visit the house as I had originally planned. On the other hand, I knew the farm shop would be a good one, and I was not wrong!
The first thing I saw was a beautiful display of tomatoes grown on the estate. They looked so gorgeous I was tempted to buy them, but reality set in and I realized that I would be unlikely to eat more than two of them, given my various meal plans over the next few days. Inside I found bottles of mulled wine, so one of those went into my basket to serve at home in December. The butcher counter was amazing, and there was a good selection of fresh fish, even though Derbyshire is a long way from the sea. Mostly it was unusual foods and special treats. There is a separate pavilion for Christmas foodie treats, and it was fun looking around the well-presented displays. After stocking up on a few things I needed, and some that I probably didn’t, I paid for the groceries and headed out to the tearoom.
Tomatoes from Chatsworth EstateChatsworth Farm Shop fruit and vegetablesA selection of single serving ready-mealsThe Christmas Pavilion
I seem to be on a mission to find properly served scones with jam and cream. After Monday’s awful offering, I was feeling wary, and asked the waitress whether the scone was plain. She told me they don’t make plain scones. The scone that day was blueberry and cherry (and at another table I could see that the cherries were my pet hate, glacé cherries). I settled for a cheese scone with butter and a cappuccino. I was glad I didn’t order sandwiches, they were enormous, as were the various lunchtime savoury choices. I enjoyed my selection, and looked forward to some of the nice things I had in the fridge for supper later.
A cheese scone and cappuccino in Chatsworth Farm Shop TearoomChatsworth EstateMy haul from the Chatsworth Farm Shop, some things I needed, and some that I didn’t!
Although it was very gloomy and drizzly, the drive was still enjoyable, through the winding roads of the Derbyshire Dales. In the 1990’s, when we lived on the south side of Manchester, I had a Jaguar XJS (year about 1986), and I loved driving these roads in that powerful sports car. It was gold, with a wonderfully grumbly 12-cylinder engine that loved nothing better than twisty roads and steep hills, unless you count the motorways, which at the time were usually driven at 80mph or faster (and were not nearly as crowded as they are today). It was the only automatic transmission car I have ever owned. When we test drove the 6-cylinder standard transmission version, Dick discovered that there was not enough room for his big feet with the three pedals in the tunnel! We sold that car when we moved to Prague in 1996, having been advised that it would disappear out of our driveway in ten seconds if we took it to Eastern Europe. You can buy one today for pretty much the same amount as we sold ours, taking inflation into account. As I drove towards Chatsworth, I found the road quite familiar, even after all these years, and enjoyed remembering driving those roads in my beloved Jag.
Mine was gold, but this is just what my Jag looked like.
I set off on Wednesday for Bakewell. I made a brief stop to look at Chee Dale Gorge, which is cut through by the River Wey, and is the site of a quarry that produces high purity industrial limestone. The sun came out unexpectedly, so I turned off to visit Ashford-in-the-Water, a very pretty village that I had seen earlier in the week.
Chee Dale Gorge
This is an ancient town on the bank of the Wey, mentioned in the Domesday Book. The Sheepwash Bridge, a packhorse bridge dating from the 17th century, crosses the river in the middle of the village. Apparently, the name is quite descriptive. A pen with lambs was placed on the bank on one side of the bridge, and the ewes swam across the river to get to them. As they swam across, shepherds pushed the sheep under water to clean the fleece before shearing.
Sheepwash Bridge, Ashford-in-the-Water
The local parish church, The Church of the Holy Trinity dates from the 12th century, although very little of the original structure remains. The Norman tower contains a ring of 6 bells, cast in 1954. Anyone who watches All Creatures Great and Small (or, if I remember correctly, at least one episode of Midsomer Murders) will be familiar with the practice of bell ringing. Long ropes hang down from the bells in the tower, each of which have a different tone, and the ropes are pulled in turn by bellringers, to create a “change”. The bell is controlled by holding the “sally” the puffy bit, and the tail end. Ringing is both physically and mentally challenging, and is also considered a great social activity. The most difficult ring is a peal, which involves many different sequences and can take over 3 hours to complete.
Church of the Holy Trinity, Ashford-in-the-WaterAshford-in-the-Water church font and bell pullsThe nave
There are several stained-glass windows. The Haworth Window dates from 1880. It shows the Six Works of Mercy from the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats in St Mathew’s Gospel.
The Haworth Window
After wandering around the pretty village and admiring the quaint houses and gardens, I drove the couple of miles to Bakewell.
Ashford-in-the-Water churchyardAshford-in-the-Water houseAshford-in-the-Water houses and pretty garden
Bakewell is another ancient town, probably Anglo Saxon. It was a market town from 1254, and developed into an important trading centre. A brief, and unsuccessful attempt was made to turn it into a spa town in the 18th century, but a cotton mill was built in 1777 that employed over 300 people and ensured the future of the town. It is now a major tourist honeypot. It is famous for Bakewell Pudding, a sweet pie that supposedly happened when a cook at the White Horse Inn made a mistake when preparing a jam tart. There are no less than 3 establishments in the town that claim to have the original recipe for Bakewell Pudding. It should properly be made by spreading raspberry jam over a pastry crust, and topping it with a mixture of eggs, sugar and ground almonds. This bakes into a slightly misshapen (but delicious) dessert. Later versions, including Bakewell Tart, are fancier, sweeter, and have a lot more almond flavour (ick, says I). I learned to make Bakewell Pudding from my mother, and it is always well received, but it is some years since I have made it.
Bakewell Pudding ShopBakewell Puddings in the window
It took a long time to navigate the town centre and find parking, so I was glad I had planned to be early. The first public parking lot I found had more than half of the 17 spaces dedicated to electric vehicles (they were all empty), and all but three of the rest were coned off and in use by commercial vehicles. The next parking lot was larger, and had plenty of spaces. Examination of the pay and display machine revealed that while the fee of £2.80 for 2 hours is not excessive, that is the limit, and you cannot pay and stay any longer. I asked the waitress in the restaurant if she thought that returning and getting another ticket would work, but she told me that they are quite enthusiastic with enforcement of the 2-hour limit. In fact, when I returned, I could see the parking attendant wandering around, just waiting to pounce on anyone who foolishly returned late or tried to take another ticket. The fine for overstaying is £70. What a marvellous way to make tourists feel welcome. I just felt like a mark.
I had time before my restaurant reservation to wander around the pretty town and look at some of the interesting shops. There are some nice gardens in the centre. If I had been able to stay longer after my lunch I would probably have bought something in the shops.
Bakewell town centreBakewell Bath Gardens late rosesBakewell Bath Gardens
Down one street I saw the strangely named Dead Canary Restaurant. I had to look it up! Leaving aside the inability to focus on any one style of dining (steak, tapas, seafood), apparently, they have no liquor licence. You can bring your own wine, but you have to somehow know this ahead of time (this information is not on the website). The odd choice of name comes from the owner’s grandfather, a Welsh miner who saved many of his fellow miners when his canary died from toxic gas poisoning, thus giving early warning. A slightly gruesome choice of name, one might think there could be another way to honour a heroic grandfather. Although, in my opinion, it was the canary who was the dead hero.
Bakewell street (and weirdly named restaurant).
The restaurant, Piedaniel’s, that I had planned to have lunch at is in a character old house, and it appears that the dining area has been created from what was once a courtyard garden. They follow the highly civilized (but vanishing) practice of showing you first to comfortable seating, where you can sip an aperitif while you peruse the menu. You are called to your table when your first course is ready to be served.
Piedaniels restaurantPiedaniels restaurant and chicken pate to start (with kir royale)
I ordered a kir royale and two starters instead of a starter and a main course. Kir royale is a drink made from champagne mixed with crème de cassis, blackcurrant liqueur. It was a perfect start to an outstanding meal, one of the best I have had. I chose the chicken pate to begin. It was served with hot, crisp toast and some very nice chutney. A piece of tasty focaccia was also brought to the table. My second course was a blue cheese souffle, served in a red wine sauce. It was absolutely delicious. When I told the owner how much I enjoyed it, she said that they try to create recipes that are “unusual without being strange”, which I thought was a perfect way to describe it. The fairly robust flavour of the blue cheese held up with the sauce and it was a great combination. Believe me, I am thinking about how I might make something similar for our next dinner party.
Piedaniels blue cheese souffle with red wine sauce
There was sadly not enough time to try any of the desserts. I wished that I could return one evening for dinner, but since I am on my own, I would not be happy driving the half hour through the countryside after dark.
After leaving Bakewell I decided to explore a little, and followed signs for Tideswell and “The Cathedral of the Peak”. I drove into quite a substantial village, and in the centre was the beautiful, large Church of St John the Baptist, constructed between 1320 and 1400. I parked (nobody is fleecing tourists in this town, there are no restrictions and lots of on-street parking!) and went into the church to look around. It was beautiful, with a lot of elaborate carving and even a side chapel with a historic tomb of a knight and his lady.
Tideswell Church of St John the BaptistTideswell Church of St John the Baptist, naveTideswell Church of St John the Baptist, organTideswell Church of St John the Baptist, chancelTideswell Church of St John the Baptist, ornate chair
Later, I researched the history of the church, and it makes quite a tale. Essentially, from its earliest days, it was the subject of disputes between Lichfield Cathedral, and Lenten Priory, both of which are in Nottinghamshire. The disputes continued right up to the Dissolution of the Monasteries, and on several occasions were taken to the court at the Vatican. On one occasion, the monks of the Priory armed themselves and tried to steal wool and lambs from Tideswell. The wool and sheep were moved to the nave of Tideswell church, but the monks did not respect the sanctuary, and invaded with horses and weapons. 18 lambs were butchered or trampled by horses, and another 14 were carried off by the marauding monks. The crime was investigated by a commission appointed by the Pope, and the Priory was made to pay a heavy fine, but the disputes continued until the Priory was dissolved by Henry VIII.
The tomb of the knight and his lady is interesting. It looks just like many that I have seen in churches all over England, but there is a mystery about the occupants. There is no record of a knight called Sir Thurstan de Bower, or his lady, but there was a yeoman of that name. Descendents of the Bower family were convinced that their ancestor was a knight, and funded some of the windows in the chapel. Nobody knows who the effigies actually represent. There is an interesting account of the knight that was written in 1862. The author was absolutely certain that there was a hero knight of that family, who erected “at his sole cost the whole of the spacious south transept”. There was certainly a family called Bower, living in Derbyshire at the time. In fact, there is some suggestion that the Ladybower Reservoir was named for this family.
DeBower chapel
The George Inn was a coaching inn. The present building was built in the late 18th century and is reputedly haunted by Old Sarah, a barmaid who searches for her husband. I didn’t see her when I stopped in for a cappuccino.
George Inn
The weather forecast for Thursday was the best of the week, although it rather let me down. I planned a day of driving to the northern part of the county, the area known as The High Peak, and the Hope Valley.
My first stop was the Ladybower Reservoir. This is one of three joined reservoirs that provide water for cities in the East Midlands. They supply over 200 million litres of water per day, enough to serve 573,000 households. When full, Ladybower holds 6.1 billion gallons of water. It is unusual for a couple of reasons. The dam is not the usual masonry, instead it was constructed of a clay-cored earth embankment. There are two spillway overflows (locally called the plugholes) that prevent the water from overtopping and damaging the dam in times of high water. The plugholes are a big tourist attraction. After the drought this summer, they are high and dry, and you can see from the pictures just how low the reservoir is.
Ladybower reservoirLadybower dam overflow, known as The PlugholesAnother view of the Ladybower dam overflow and the reservoirLadybower dam.This is what the Plughole looks like when it is doing its job of protecting the dam.
Creation of the reservoir between 1935 and 1943 drowned two villages. In times of drought, including this past summer, the ghostly remains of the villages are revealed. There has been enough rain since August that the villages are again covered.
Severn Trent Water (the company that owns the reservoir), announced in 2022 that it planned to increase the size of the three linked reservoirs, or alternatively, create a new one. There was immediate opposition, for all the usual reasons, but any expansion would have drowned some of the remaining ancient forest and be something of an environmental disaster. The company announced that it was abandoning the plans a year later.
I parked at the official lot, contributing again to the coffers of Derbyshire County Council. As I walked along the road, I could see several places where I could have parallel parked for free. Interestingly, there is a large (and entirely unoccupied) section of the car park designated for handicapped parking. It is helpfully near to the toilets, but like the rest of the car park, it is a good half mile from the dam and the part of the reservoir that is the tourist attraction! I took advantage of the toilets, and was surprised and pleased to find they were remarkably clean!
The pretty Heatherdene woods at Ladybower
The reservoir is used by fishermen, and there are serious restrictions on who can access the water. You absolutely must be a paid up member of the fishing club that owns the rights. There were several keen fellows out that day, hoping for their dinner. There are both brown and rainbow trout in the waters. You can keep up to two rainbow or blue trout per day, if you are a member of the angling society, but all brown trout must be catch and release.
Fishing is an exhausting pastime!
After enjoying my walk, I headed to the town of Castleton. This is the nearest place to the mines of the Blue John stone, a semi-precious stone that has been mined here since Roman times. The only location in the world that this particular variety of calcium fluorite is found is just outside the town. It is mainly purple and white, with veins of orange separating the bands. It is extremely brittle, and can only be worked by continuously dipping the piece into resin. It can only be mined by hand. The mine is played out, with no large veins left, but there are still small pieces that can be made into jewellery. To give you an idea of the rarity (and the price), a small bowl, about 2 inches across, was for sale for just under £500.
About 30 years ago, I visited Castleton with friends, and was intrigued by the beautiful jewellery then, but did not buy. I remedied that on this visit, finding some modestly priced pendants (and of course one requires matching earrings) in a jewellers that have been in business since 1977. All the pieces are made in their workshop above the store.
Castleton villageCastleton village row of housesCastleton village streamCastleton jewellersBlue John necklace and earringsA historic collection of Blue John pieces.
Parking in Castleton continued my sense that I am buying land in Derbyshire one parking space at a time. Having just paid nearly £3 for 2 hours at Ladybower, I pulled into the car park in Castleton to discover that I had to pony up another £4 for the next 2 hours. I did enjoy walking around the village (and of course my shopping), and I decided to have lunch at the apparently well-regarded pub in the hotel. I ordered scampi and chips. For my non-English readers, scampi in this case means breaded shrimp. These supposedly came from Whitby (they always say they do), but I have my doubts. It was quite a tasty pub meal, although all the food was unevenly hot. I was not surprised that the price of the meal came to just under the threshold where they refund your parking charge. Google’s AI tells me that I should expect to pay between £10 and £15 for this meal in a typical English pub. My bill was just over £19.
Note to self. Try to avoid stopping for a meal in any honeypot!
Scampi and Chips in Castleton
The weather on Friday was dank and drizzly. I stayed in and occupied myself with packing and various emails and phone calls.
I gave some thought to my dinner plans. There was a tiny French bistro very nearby, and they offered a pre-theatre fixed price menu that looked delicious. On the other hand, I had plenty of food and some of it needed to be eaten! I decided to stay in and prepare a pizza baguette. It was a complete and utter disaster. To start, I have a lot of trouble deciphering the incomprehensible European symbols on modern appliances. The provided instructions for the oven were impenetrable and more concerned with operations using a timer than anything straightforward. I managed to bake the baguette, but then everything went horribly wrong. Halved and buttered, I put the baguette into the oven to toast, and nothing happened. I waited a while, and the bread was then so blackened that it set off the smoke detector and I had to open the front door to clear the smoke. New plan. I got a couple of pieces of bread out of the freezer and put them into the toaster. More smoke and blackened toast.
Burnt baguette, followed by burnt toast.
I got out more pieces of bread and tried again with the toaster, with reasonable success. Spread with pizza sauce, layered with pepperoni, and topped with grated cheese, it should have been a tasty meal. Unfortunately, the bottle of red chiles didn’t have any small holes in the top, and I dumped considerably more than I planned into the pizza sauce, thus rendering the whole meal blow-your-head-off hot. The oven cooperated and melted the cheese, but the spicy chiles meant that it was far from my best cooking effort.
Pizza sandwiches looked better than they tasted.
I finished the preliminary packing and planned an early night to be ready for the long drive the next morning.
It was a glorious morning for a drive as I set off eastbound from our home in Hawes. The sun is low in the sky at this time of year, and it lights up the hillsides and the landscape, as well as creating beautiful long shadows. Cattle were grazing in the fields. We don’t usually see the cattle on our visits, because in winter they are usually inside in barns.
Upper WensleydaleUpper Wensleydale. Note the limestone crags on the hillsides.
The drive was supposed to take about 5 hours, but of course it was longer. I arrived in Mundesley at about 5pm. The house was not difficult to find, as it is on the main road, but there are “traffic calming” measures at this point on the road as it comes into the village, so it is quite easy to safely back into or out of the drive. I had the code for the lockbox, and later my host knocked on the door to make sure I understood how to operate the heating.
The holiday let is an annexe to the owner’s home, and my hostess had told me that this is their first year in operation and they have been overwhelmed by the number of guests. It is a tiny place, although it does have a large, beautiful and private courtyard that would be a lovely suntrap in summer. There is a double bedroom and a single bed is set in the entrance hall, an odd arrangement, but it worked fine and Sarah did not find the accommodation unpleasant. The property was spotlessly clean, and there were a number of little extras, a bottle of orange juice, water bottles and glasses at each bedside table, two packages of nice quality biscuits (cookies), and a generous supply of extra toilet paper! The toilet paper was of particular note, because at the last place we were only supplied with the partial roll that was already on the holder.
The location is very central for the various attractions of North Norfolk. Unfortunately, the village of Mundesley is quite unprepossessing. It is a mixture of retirement bungalows on the outskirts, and a rather dreadful town centre that has a lot of empty shop spaces, and those that are occupied are nothing that one would wish to patronize. The beach would be a big draw for families, but it is quite a long drive from the holiday let.
A grassy spot to park with a path down to the beach.
On Sunday I headed out to the nearest supermarket, which happened to be Waitrose. For our non-English friends, this is one of the more upmarket options for groceries in this country, and we are always happy to be able to visit one of their stores because they do not feel any need to locate their stores in the north (until you get to Edinburgh). Don’t get me started on the north/south economic divide in England!
I have to say that I was somewhat disappointed by the offerings this time at Waitrose. They have gone over almost entirely to own-brand products, and while those are to a high standard, I generally avoid supermarket branded products. Also, much of their produce and meats are already prepared. This is very helpful I am sure for busy working families, but in addition to being an expensive option, it is unlikely that the various preservatives required to keep cooked food fresh are particularly healthy. I found it quite remarkable that in a country that loves cooking and baking TV shows, there is an array of cooked vegetables, including carrots, and even boiled potatoes, in the supermarket. In fact, there are more already-cooked foods than fresh. I remember my Australian friend Lesley being shocked that our local supermarket in Hilton Head sells hard boiled and already peeled eggs. I find already-boiled potatoes and carrots to be equally disturbing!
After stocking up on the few things I needed, I drove back a different way and had a brief look around the area and Mundesley.
Sarah was coming by train on Monday to join me for a few days. Her train was not due until the afternoon, so I spent the morning and early afternoon exploring the wider area.
Norfolk is a very fertile agricultural county, and very, very flat. Once away from the sea cliffs, you can see a long way across huge fields. Many of these are newly planted with winter crops. I have also seen sugar beets being harvested. Agriculture and tourism are the main contributors to the local economy. Much of the arable land was drained hundreds of years ago, and crops today include sugar beet, barley, wheat, and oil seed rape. Over 20% of the employment in the county is in agriculture and food industries.
Newly planted crop, note how big the field is!
The tourism aspect of the economy, is very much in-your-face. As I came over a hilltop outside Cromer (the largest town in this part of Norfolk) I was greeted by the sight of hundreds of fixed trailers (caravans and lodges) coating the sides of the cliffs above the sea. There were miles and miles of these holiday parks, and no attempt has been made to tuck them out of sight, or even paint them green so they are less obtrusive! Extraordinary, when you find out that the north Norfolk coast has been designated a National Landscape (these are also called and considered to be Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty). How conservation efforts and miles of holiday parks can possibly be present on the same piece of land I do not know. And the question remains, what have your DONE to an Area of Oustanding Natural Beauty??
It’s a blurry image, but you can see the acres of white holiday lodges filling up the most beautiful parts of the coastline. There are miles and miles of these parks.
This is a county with a lot of history. It begins in the Stone Age, with a succession of prehistoric peoples, including one of the earliest traces of European man, and also one of the most important sites of Neanderthal man. During the Bronze Age, Norfolk was a centre of metalworking, and in the Iron Age the county was intensively farmed. It was occupied by the Iceni Tribe when the Romans arrived in Britain, and was the site of Boudica’s rebellion. Once the Romans left, the Angles and the Saxons arrived and settled. They replaced the culture of the Romans and the ancient Britons.
Norfolk was part of the Earldom of Harold of England, and after his defeat by William the Conqueror, Norfolk offered no resistance to the Normans. Much of the county was presented to Ralph de Gael as the Earldom of East Anglia, and when he rebelled against the Crown, his estates were forfeited and presented to Roger Bigod. His son Hugh became the first Earl of Norfolk, and our favourite cheese, a beautiful, gooey, flavorful brie, Baron Bigod, is named after him! (I had some a couple of weeks ago, but it all disappeared before I could take a picture…)
By the 14th century, Norfolk was the most densely populated and intensively farmed region in England. The Church was important and powerful, and more medieval parish churches were built in Norfolk than in any other county in England.
Over time, and following a long depression in English agriculture and industry during the 19th century, the great estates were broken up and other landowners and businesses took over. Aviation became important during the first and second World Wars, and Norfolk has the distinction of being the first place on earth to have been bombed from the air. German Zeppelins raided the county a number of times.
The nearby town of Overstrand was much more pleasant than I had expected. The retirement bungalows and cottages had nicely tended gardens, and in the town centre, the Victorian homes were in good condition and most are clearly occupied full time. Above the sea cliffs I found a tiny hut selling dressed lobster and crabs, as well as a couple of fishing boats drawn up out of the water with tractors. Whether those two tractors will ever move those boats again is questionable, but it all looks very romantic. There is also a nice-looking clifftop café, where you can get fresh local seafood sandwiches, or just refresh yourself with a cup of tea. The steep path to the beach is paved, but there are warning signs that the cliffs have eroded, and some parts of the beach are inaccessible at high tide.
You can buy fresh crab and lobster most days.Fishing boats pulled out of the water and up onto the cliffs.This is a Fordson Major Diesel Tractor. These were produced from 1951 to 1964 in Dagenham England, for those of you who like to know about old tractors! The fishing boat looks serviceable, but one wonders whether the tractor will ever move again.High tide and the beach is completely covered. Warning signs explain that some paths are closed due to cliff erosion.Looking south down the path to the beach at Overstrand. I saw quite a few people out walking their dogs on the bright but very windy day.A nicely kept village house and the clifftop tearoom in Overstrand.
I managed to navigate the confusing one-way system in Cromer, and found myself on the coast road heading north through the miles of holiday parks to the village of East Runton. We had booked to have dinner there, so I wanted to check the parking situation. There is a large pay and display car park at the top of the cliffs above the beach. I sat in my car and enjoyed looking out to sea, where a windsurfer was sailing back and forth across the waves. Later another intrepid soul (in a wetsuit) launched a kitesurfer and raced around the base of the cliffs. In the far distance I could see offshore windmills, a reminder of another aspect of the economy of the county.
A windsurfer enjoys the breakers in East Runton. You can just see a large offshore windfarm on the horizon.Kite surfing off East Runton.
Eventually it was time to meet Sarah’s train. She arrived exactly on time, and we soon made our way back to East Runton. We sat in the car looking out to sea and chatting until it was time to make our way to the restaurant for dinner. The food was excellent.
Sarah began with a dish of scallops at the White Horse.I tried the smoked mackerel pate on beets. It was delicious.Sarah’s seabass was beautifully presented and perfectly prepared.I enjoyed a delicious and unusual pizza with lobster and burrata cheese.
Our plan for the next day was a visit to the village of Holt. This is clearly where the wealthy folks from London and the county set hang out. A fire destroyed much of the town in 1708, so most of the buildings are beautifully maintained Georgian architecture. There is hardly a charity shop or chain store to be seen. There are antique shops, art galleries, craft shops, a specialty shop selling clothing for dogs, and a wonderful department store, Bakers & Larners, owned by the same family since the 18th century. The butcher shop has a whole section devoted exclusively to game. Sarah and I walked all over the town, taking time to thoroughly explore many of the shops, including an hour spent wandering around the food section of Bakers & Larners. I see that like many of the forward-thinking businesses today, they also have an online presence, so some of the unusual and exotic offerings can be ordered and shipped all over UK.
The window of a butcher shop in Holt.One window in Holt offering exclusively game. There are packs of pheasant, rabbit, venison, teal (that’s a small duck), mallard, whole game birds, and a mix for game pie. Dick would have been in heaven!The offerings from the fishmonger were more to my taste!You can buy fashionable clothes for your doggie friend from Woofers & Barkers in Holt.
There is a beautiful row of character Georgian houses constructed from flint. These were probably once workers’ cottages. They are two-storey and the rooms are of modest proportions. There are small gardens at the rear of each property, but the front door opens directly onto the sidewalk (pavement). The most recently sold was 2 bedrooms and 1 bathroom, and sold in 2022 for £325,000. One of the cottages, with just one bedroom, can be rented for a week in mid-July for £851.
A very attractive row of houses in Holt. Note the flint construction and the decorative elements. Note also that the front doors open directly onto the narrow pavement. Each cottage has a tiny but private garden.
From Holt, we returned to the coast and stopped at a small country house hotel, The Grove, for afternoon tea. This was the real thing, with a choice of teas, and a delicious meal with tiny sandwiches, scones with jam and clotted cream, and interesting cakes. The service was very friendly, with the lady returning frequently to see whether we would like more tea.
Nicely presented “proper” afternoon tea at The Grove Hotel. Tiny sandwiches, scones with jam and clotted cream, savoury pastries, and delicious desserts to accompany your choice of tea. Mine was Earl Grey.
The next day was expected to be wet and miserable, but we made our plans anyway, and set off in the morning for East Ruston Old Vicarage Gardens. This property was purchased in 1973. At the time it had been vacant for 2 years, and the small garden was waist high in weeds. For the first years both men continued to live and work in London during the week, and then made the trip to Norfolk to spend each weekend working in the garden. From a beginning on less than 2 acres, they gradually acquired some of the local surrounding land and today the gardens occupy 32 acres. It is still fully private, funded by the owners, and they raise money for a local charity by plant sales and entrance fees.
Sarah and I loved the gardens, and we were very surprised to see so many beautiful flowers and plants at the end of October. Apparently, the garden has a microclimate that is closer to the southwest of England than what would normally be expected just a few miles from the North Sea. Instead of large open areas, the whole site is made up of garden “rooms”, each with a distinctive character, and with substantial walls and hedges it is possible for many quite exotic plants to be grown in the warm, sheltered spaces. I hope you enjoy the series of photos I took as much as I enjoyed taking them! The weather cooperated, and while we didn’t see any blue sky, we also did not get wet!
Still colourful, a border at the Vicarage Gardens.Nerines are a pretty flower for autumn.Stunning fuchsias, still going strong at the end of October!One of the lovely “garden rooms” at the Old Vicarage Garden.A shady walk.The Kings Walk has a row of clipped yew and a view of the house (which is not open to the public).An interesting modern fountain sculpture in the Exotic Water Garden.The Sunk Garden at the Old Vicarage.A gorgeous and colourful dahlia.A watering can and an old milk churn.Vintage garden tools were for sale at the gardens.A friendly robin said hello outside the tearoom.
Prior to visiting the gardens, we had time to look at the village of Happisburgh and the lighthouse. This is the oldest working lighthouse in East Anglia, and the only remaining independently run lighthouse in Britain. It was built in 1790, and is 85 feet tall, with the light at 134 feet above sea level. The flashing light can be seen up to 18 miles away.
In 1789, during a severe winter storm, 70 sailing ships were lost off the Norfolk coast with 600 men dead. Following an enquiry into the tragedy, Trinity House, the general lighthouse authority for England and Wales, built a pair of lighthouses that allowed vessels to be guided around the treacherous Happisburgh Sands. The lighthouses became operational on New Years Day in 1791. Can you imagine any government “enquiry” being completed in less than 2 years today, let alone a solution agreed and two major structures built and in full operation?
When the shorter of the two lighthouses was no longer viable because of erosion, in 1884, the taller one was painted in characteristic red and white bands, in order to distinguish it during the daytime from another lighthouse at Winterton, roughly 10 miles away.
By 1929, new methods of fueling the light meant that the lighthouse no longer had to be manned, and the Keeper’s cottages were sold. Today they are still in private hands. In 1988, the lighthouse was scheduled to be decommissioned, but local residents were able to raise funds to create a Trust, that operates the lighthouse to this day.
Happisburgh Lighthouse is still operational. You can rent one of the Keeper’s cottages for a week.
One of the Keeper’s cottages is now available as a holiday let. It has 2 bedrooms and 1 bathroom, and is fully booked for most of next July. It is still available for a week at the end of July for £1336.
On our way back to Mundesley we stopped briefly to look at Stow Mill. This is a fully restored windmill. It was built between 1825 and 1827 as a flour mill, and was used for its original purpose until 1930, when the machinery was removed and the mill converted into an annexe to the existing miller’s house. For much of the 20th century it continued to change hands, until the 1970’s, when the then current owner hoped to fully restore the mill, but he died before work could be completed. The mill had been open to the public as a tourist attraction since the 1960’s. Ongoing efforts to restore the mill continued through the 1980’s and 1990’s, but it proved to be too expensive to turn it into a working mill, so instead it was refurbished to become accommodation. It took 3 years and 4 planning applications to finally get permission to change the use of the mill to a holiday let (as opposed to the full time residence it had been). The renovations have been done to a very high standard, and at the same time, the owners have been able to restore both the cap and the sails, so that the mill turns with the wind as it had not done for over 50 years. You can rent this unique holiday home for a week in July for about £1600. (2026 rates are not yet published).
Stow Mill, another unique holiday let.
After a stop to change clothes and refresh ourselves with a cup of tea, we set off for Cromer for an exploration of what was touted as a street of independent shops, followed by dinner at a fine dining restaurant. As we drove down the street, we were confronted by the largest charity shop I have seen in UK, taking up enough space to house 5 or 6 regular shops. There were no less than 3 additional charity shops on the same street, plus an optician, a solicitors office, and a tea room, as well as the restaurant we were looking forward to. We had not found any other interesting places in Cromer for shopping, so we just waited elsewhere until it was time for our dinner reservation.
Fino was an excellent choice. From the very friendly greeting to the delicious food and efficient service, we thoroughly enjoyed the evening. I had deliberately booked on a Wednesday, as they offer half price on all their wines. We shared a carafe of a very enjoyable Spanish white. In fact, we were choosing between that and a French white, so our host offered us tastes of both, and gave us generous amounts of each so we could decide. Sarah started with a crab thermidor dish, while I enjoyed my pate of different kinds of meat in a pastry case. We both chose the whole plaice for our main course, and they were delicious and perfectly prepared.
Pate of mixed meats with a pastry crust, served with home made piccalilli at Fino.Whole plaice with broccolini and roasted potatoes on the side at Fino. It was perfectly cooked and delicious!
Sarah left the next morning, and after taking her to the station, I continued on to Walsingham, to visit Walsingham Abbey. An Anglo-Saxon chapel and shrine were built in the 11th century. The shrine was recognized as a holy site, and attracted worshippers from across Britain and Europe. Walsingham Priory was built in the 12th century, and was an important place of pilgrimage for 4 hundred years, until the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1538, when it was seized by the Crown and ordered to be destroyed. In its early years, the Priory expanded to reflect its wealth and importance, and the beautiful East Window that is all that remains of the former church dates to the 14th century. Seven kings of England, including Henry VIII before his split with Rome, visited and worshipped at the Priory. After the priory was destroyed, the site was sold, and various owners expanded the former Prior’s Lodging, incorporating some of the ruins, which became known as Walsingham Abbey. In 1921, nearly four hundred years after the original shrine was destroyed, the local vicar decided to restore the shrine and see if it would attract modern pilgrimages. His vision was successful, and in the 1920’s a hospice and church were built. Today, hundreds of thousands of visitors arrive each year to visit two shrines and a chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Walsingham Abbey is completely separate from the shrines and the pilgrim’s chapel, which I did not visit.
The beautiful East Window and autumn colours of the landscaped grounds of Walsingham Abbey.
The Abbey grounds are beautiful in autumn, with the romantic ruins of the Priory Church in the 19th century landscaped grounds. You can also visit the Shirehall Museum, housing the former courtroom. From this court, a great many prisoners were sentenced to be transported to Australia, while others were ordered flogged. The courtroom was used right up until the 1970’s (although there is no suggestion that miscreants were flogged, hanged, or transported recently). In fact, transportation was stopped as a punishment in the 1860’s. Flogging continued until 1948, which explains the rather gruesome photos that are proudly displayed in the museum!
Another view of the East Window, with more Priory ruins. Note how the priory buildings were attached to the modern expansion of the house.The Gatehouse to the Priory was built around 1350.Known as the Well Garden, this entrance is a 12th century doorway, relocated in the 19th century. Beyond is a medieval water stoup. The twin wells in the water garden were thought to have healing powers. The stepped stone pool was altered in the 19th century, but it is thought to have been used by the monks as a bathing pool when the Priory was active. The complete lack of fencing and the simple sign, “deep water” are an H&S professional’s nightmare!The Courtroom of Walsingham Shirehall. Cases were heard here until the 1970’s.Walsingham’s Town Pump. Villagers would have drawn their water here. Note the very old buildings down the road.The street across from the Gatehouse. You can see the mixture of Georgian and medieval houses.
On my way to Walsingham, I had driven through the villages of Little Snoring, and then Great Snoring. One should probably not be surprised that I noticed that there seemed to be a lot more homes in Little Snoring, perhaps due to its proximity to the main road. There is a fascinating church, The Church of St Andrew. I stopped on my return to explore.
The tower was probably built before the Norman Conquest (1066), and was constructed of the most available local stone, flint. Apparently, the art of brickmaking was lost when the Romans left, and builders had to use what stone was available in the area. Flint usually appears as nodules of silica in chalk, and there was, and still is, an abundance of this hard building material available in Norfolk. Initially, the stones were used whole, but by the 14th century it became possible to use knapped flint, that is, nodules that have been cut in half so that the shiny flat silica surface is what appears on the outside of the building or wall. Brickwork and/or concrete is added to both types of flint to provide decorative elements. These flint walls are very distinctive and are seen everywhere in the county. (And yes, for our more alert readers who are wondering, flint is what stone age men used to create axes and sharp tools)
The Church of St Andrew, Little Snoring. Note the flint construction.
According to the historians who wrote about St Andrew’s Church, flint towers were generally built in a round shape, because the material does not lend itself well to sharp corners. Also, many of the towers from that early medieval period did double duty as lookout towers for protection from raiders from the sea (or the land). Nobody knows why the tower of this particular church is completely detached from the main building, although of course there is much debate among historians.
Nobody knows why the tower is completely detached from the church.The simple church interior. The font is Norman. This is an active church, think how many babies have been baptised in this font in the last thousand years! Today, the windows are all plain glass, but it is thought that they would once have been elaborate stained glass, all smashed after the Reformation.
My next stop was an antiques warehouse that promised lots of interest and managed to be incredibly disappointing. It was in a ramshackle building down a dirt lane, with junky outdoor stuff stacked randomly outside. Stepping inside did not improve things. I have seldom seen such a large collection of unmitigated junk at vastly inflated prices. Nothing was older than mid-20th century.
Friday was my last day in Norfolk, but the forecast was poor, so I decided to stay in for the morning. Lunch plans were for a well-regarded pub, The Vernon Arms. Like many destinations in this county, the village was only accessible down one of several long and very narrow lanes. After a week of exploration, I had worked out that the best option was to try to find one of the routes that travel between large fields, so that you can see well ahead when another vehicle is coming and you can pull into a passing place. After several miles of tiny lanes, I arrived at a surprisingly large village with modern houses around the historic centre. The pub was old, and “not tarted up” as my lovely old friend used to say. Scrubbed pine tables and slightly uncomfortable chairs were the option in the restaurant section, or you could choose to perch on a small stool or sink into a deep settee and try to eat from a plate on your lap. I opted for the restaurant!
I was one of the first to arrive for lunch, but by 1pm (normal lunch time in UK) the place was nearly full. In addition to a lunch menu with sandwiches, and a “lighter fare” menu, the regular dinner menu was also available, so I opted for two starters. I began with a nicely presented and quite delicious seafood platter. There was a little smoked salmon, some mackerel pate, and some prawns (small shrimp) in Marie Rose sauce. All this was accompanied by a small mixed salad, and slices of buttered granary bread. Prawns Marie Rose is one of my all-time favourite British dishes, usually offered as a sandwich, as a baked potato topping, or as a salad. These days they seem to have been eclipsed by more fashionable crayfish tails, so I am always delighted to find them on the menu. For my second course, I opted for mushrooms in stilton cream sauce with a crusty roll, which were delicious. I decided to forego dessert, as I thought I might find something at the tearoom at my next stop.
A delicious seafood plate at the Vernon Arms.
Felbrigg Hall is a stately home, built in about 1620 by the Wyndham family. It has passed through the hands of 4 local families before being given to the National Trust by the last Squire on his death in 1969.
I wanted to round out my visit to Norfolk with a stately home, but as I have a deep-seated dislike of the National Trust and all its works, this one was perhaps a mistake. I found the usual muddy-field-as-parking-lot, for which you pay £5. The enthusiastic volunteer at the information booth told me happily that for the £5 I could park all day! Given that it was already after 2pm, I was not there to walk a dog, and all I was going to do was visit the house, and possibly spend money in the tearoom, I felt that I was hardly getting a bargain. Entrance to the house is £15. There is no discount or concession given even though a large part of the house is currently under reconstruction and inaccessible. The rooms are interesting, in a vastly overblown style that is mostly lacking in any sort of cohesion (or good taste for that matter). They are also quite dark.
Felbrigg Hall
The very keen volunteers in each room were excited to tell you about the rooms and the family members who acquired all the paintings and treasures. I have been in a great many stately homes in UK over the years, and while they are seldom my favourite way to spend an hour or so, I can usually find something to appreciate. On this occasion it was the kitchen. Clearly, the extravagant taste of the owners of the Hall had not extended to the kitchens, which were simple, large, and functional. What made them stand out was the beautifully polished copper pans and other kitchenalia. The volunteers had also created a very tasteful Harvest Home/Halloween decoration with fruits, vegetables, and lots of interesting squashes and pumpkins around the copper displays.
The Drawing RoomStunning copper kitchenalia and a tasteful Harvest Home display in the kitchens.
Outside I found the shop (the usual National Trust offerings of kitsch with very little that was local), and a large courtyard with plants for sale. These did look like something that one might enjoy, but since I am still two weeks away from home, I can’t consider buying anything for my garden. It happens to be half term in this part of the country (that is the week’s holiday for schoolchildren that occurs on a staggered system in October), so there were a lot of badly behaved children rushing around and being generally noisy and irritating. I decided to pass on any temptations from the tearoom.
The plants for sale looked very good, but with two weeks before I am home I could not buy any.
I made my way back through Cromer to the holiday let, and arrived just before the drizzle turned into heavy rain for the rest of the day and overnight.
It was an uneventful drive from our home in Wensleydale, Yorkshire, to Beadnell, Northumberland. I had plans to drive cross country, rather than taking the motorway route, but the GPS (Satnav for our English friends) in the Freelander did not cooperate. Just as well, the drive took only 3 hours, but I had been delayed in leaving the house.
I had no difficulty finding the property, and there was a private parking lot at the back of the building. Unfortunately, the vacation rental was on the second (English = first) floor of a row of houses, with the entrance door at the front while the parking was at the back. I schlepped all the various bags, boxes, and suitcases around the building and up the steep, narrow stairs, and then discovered that I could have parked on the road for easier unloading.
Initial impressions were not enhanced by the very clean but very stained biscuit-coloured carpet in the apartment. The problem with today’s fashion in décor is that everything is aimed at “light and bright”, and in a vacation rental, light-coloured furniture and carpets quickly start to look dingy and stained. Next disappointing discovery was that the fridge had a smaller than usual freezer section (even for England), and that was 50% frosted up. I had spent several days cooking meals and freezing them into individual portions for this week and a future trip. I had to decide which ones to thaw and plan to eat within a few days. There was no dishwasher, which I already knew, and, as expected, almost every glass and most of the dishes had to be washed before I wanted to use them. Clearly, other people’s definition of clean is radically different to mine!
Captain Ron’s, light and bright decor with stained carpet.
Who would guess that the kitchen equipment would include an electric milk frother, but no means of making coffee, not even a French press. Again, having had quite a lot of previous experience, I had brought my own cafetiere. Beds were comfortable, and there was more than just freeview offered for the modern TV. Good wi-fi, something that should be taken for granted these days but is often a problem.
The beautiful sand beach, the only beach in Northumberland where you can watch the sun set over the sea, was just a few blocks away. There were some potentially interesting restaurants in the village, but with the prepared food having to be eaten, we didn’t try any of the local eateries.
Beadnell beach
Sunday was a quiet day, catching up further with the various emails in preparation for our upcoming renovation and dealing with things that I had let go while I rushed around the previous week. In the afternoon I took a walk along the sea front, and then made my way around the point to discover the lime kilns and the huge sand beach.
Fishing boats on the shore at Beadnell
Most of the eastern shore of Northumberland is part of the Great Whin Sill. This is a broad, flat layer of igneous dolerite (sub volcanic) rock that stretches across the northern part of England between the North Sea in Northumberland, and the North Pennines. Much of it is in the form of high cliffs, and these cliffs were ideal for fortifications and defence. The Romans certainly recognized the defensive capabilities of a natural rampart for keeping out the unfriendly Picts when they built Hadrian’s Wall. Not to mention the effectiveness of having limited access in both directions for travellers and particularly traders, allowing taxes to be collected. Later conquerors took advantage of the high cliffs of the Whin Sill in Northumberland to build castles that commanded the landscape for many miles. Bamburgh, Dunstanburgh, and Lindisfarne all took advantage of the high vantage points. In the Beadnell part of the coastline, the Whin Sill is lower, and is in the form of long fingers that reach out into the sea. Barrier islands are also present, The Farne Islands broke off from the mainland and formed an archipelago offshore.
Beadnell shorelineBeadnell shorelineWhin Sill, with sandstone closer to shore
In 1798, Richard Pringle began building a lime kiln in Beadnell for John Wood, a local landowner. The limestone and coal were extracted from Wood’s estate, and the lime sold so well that two more kilns were quickly built. Each kiln produced at least 1000 carts of lime each year, which was mainly exported to Scotland, but some was used as fertilizer in nearby fields. The business was short-lived, in just over 20 years the kilns had fallen out of use. They were used by local fishermen for curing herrings, and today they are storage for lobster pots.
Lime kilnsToday the lime kilns are used to store lobster pots.Beadnell harbour at low tide, with the lime kilns in the background
The medieval village of Beadnell was further north, but by the late 1700’s there was industry and trade in the area and a protected harbour was built, the only west-facing harbour in this part of the coast. Previously, fishing boats and traders had to be drawn up on the beaches. Lime and grain traders used the harbour in its early years, and there were several fishing boats on the sand at low tide when I walked around.
The tiny harbour entrance
On a sunny Sunday afternoon there were lots of people on the beach, taking advantage of the fine weather, many with dogs, but some families were sitting on the dry sand and digging holes to China and enjoying other traditional beachy activities. The beach parking lot was full, and many people were trying the food at the on-site restaurant. Tempted though I was, I dutifully walked back to the flat and heated up some of my prepared dishes.
Monday morning, I was ready by 9am for a photography day out. I have been out several times with Northern Experience Wildlife Tours in the past, and it was great to catch up with Martin and hear about his new ventures. We began with a walk along the Wansbeck River, watching for Kingfishers. We saw one Kingfisher, a Little Egret, several Little Grebe, and lots of gulls and Canada Geese. The fall colours were lovely, reflected in the still river. As we drove towards our next destination, we saw a Barn Owl sitting on a post, and then hunting across the dunes, an unusual sight during the day. Most of the wildlife was out of reach for the camera lenses I had with me, but I enjoyed seeing the birds.
The weir on Wansbeck RiverGeese and autumn colour on Wansbeck RiverQuiche, salads, and roast potatoes at Drift Cafe
We had a nice lunch at a local cafe, and then went on to the Howick Bathing House. The Bathing House was built in the early 19th century by former Prime Minister Earl Grey. He had a large family with 16 children, and built the house on the shore so that they could all go swimming together. Charles was the second Earl Grey, and his tenure as Prime Minister from 1830 to 1834 saw the passage of the Reform Act of 1832, and the abolition of slavery in the British Empire in 1833. The Reform Act enfranchised a large segment of the (male) British population, who until that time had no vote, and it also redistricted to address an unequal distribution of Parliamentary seats.
Howick Bathing HouseThe Bathing House overlooks the shoreBeautiful chimneysThe shore with rock pools and a sandy beach
The second Earl Grey earned many accolades during his time. Perhaps for most of us, Earl Grey tea is the most memorable, although it is unlikely that he and any association with it! Earl Grey was a great reformer and politician, serving mostly as opposition beginning in 1786 until his resignation from the position of Prime Minister in 1834. He resigned over unresolvable disagreements in the Cabinet regarding Irish affairs.
Today, the Bathing House is a 5-star, 3-bedroom, 2-bathroom vacation rental, sleeping 6. The earliest availability is February, when you can secure a week in this isolated spot for £2300. If you would like to visit at a more salubrious time, you can have a week in July for £3500. Just as a note of comparison, our equally rated 5-star, 4-bedroom house, with 4 ensuite bathrooms, sleeping 7, rents for £1496 for that same week in July.
The beach at the Bathing House is a fascinating geological area, with soft sandstone instead of the dark Whin Sill. The eroded sandstone creates interesting pockets and pools that would have been perfect for safe swimming for the children of the Earl (as it is for visitors today). Looking north, you can see the magnificent Dunstanburgh Castle on top of the cliff. Although open to the public, it is not an easy castle to visit. The closest you can get to it by car is one mile walk along the beach. It is an atmospheric ruin, but after you have trekked along the beach there is the imposing cliff to climb as well.
Sandstone and the beachThe soft sandstone erodes and creates safe pools that are ideal for swimmingDunstanburgh Castle and cliffs in the distance. The cliffs are a habitat for seabirds. You can only visit the castle by walking along the beach for a mile and then climbing up the steep cliff path.
After Howick, we drove north to Bamburgh, so that Martin could show me an interesting place to view the castle and the beach for another day. We returned to the flat by about 4:30, and Rosemary arrived shortly after that to stay for the rest of the week.
Bamburgh castle and beachNorth of Bamburgh is Blackrocks Point Lighthouse, and Stag Point. You can see the white painted stag on the rocky point. Workmen painted the stag when they were building the lighthouse, so the story goes.
We set off the next morning for Lindisfarne, also known as Holy Island, having checked the tide tables. The island is only accessible for cars by a causeway, that is completely covered at high tide. Lindisfarne has a recorded history of occupation from the 6th century, and has always been an important centre of Christianity. The original monastery was destroyed by Viking raiders, but a priory was established by the Normans after the conquest. A castle was built in the 16th century on a high promontory looking out to sea. The island is just over ¾ of a mile from the mainland. There is a modern causeway for cars, and an ancient Pilgrim’s Way, that crosses the mudflats at low tide. We could see many people walking over as we crossed. Given the long distance to the village from the crossing, we thought that you would spend most of your day coming and going, and have little time to explore. I suppose that for keen walkers, it would be an interesting day out.
The causeway is open from about 3 hours after high tide, until about 2 hours before the next high tide. There are very prominent signs and warnings, but as many as one vehicle a month gets stranded and either the Coastguard or the Lifeboat have to come out to rescue the driver and passengers. A sea rescue will cost around £4000, while an airlift will be upwards of £7000. Of course, the vehicle will also be a write-off after being drowned in salt water! The safe crossing time may also be shortened in stormy weather.
Rosemary and I had looked at the tide tables, and worked out our earliest crossing time, but when we arrived, we were still too early. We went back along the road to a large farm tearoom and enjoyed a coffee, as did lots of other people! The safe crossing times were prominently posted on a blackboard, and there was a mass exodus at the start of the safe time.
Cappuccino and a latte while we waited for the tide
Parking near the village, in very typical British fashion, isn’t near. It is also about double the cost of most Northumberland County car parks elsewhere, for the privilege of parking in a muddy field. It is about 300 yards to the village, and then quite a bit further if you want to visit the castle. Rosemary and I were more interested in the photography opportunities at the harbour, the priory ruins, and the various village attractions, so we didn’t bother joining all the people trekking to the castle.
Lindisfarne, one of the boat sheds and the castle in the distance across the harbour.
Lindisfarne is very much a working harbour. There are plenty of fishing boats, workshops, and boats out of the water for repair or restoration. An interesting feature is a few large former fishing boats that have been turned over, set on a concrete base, sealed, and fitted with doors to create storage sheds. There is a suggestion that the practice dates back to the Vikings, who may have used upturned boats as temporary dwellings.
You can see how the upturned boats have been made into storage sheds. The practice is thought to date back as far as the Vikings.Lindisfarne harbour work area
After a turbulent history on the island before the Norman Conquest, a priory was built in 1093. This continued and thrived until Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries, and it was closed finally in 1536. Today it is a picturesque ruin, but the village is still occupied, and while it is very much a tourist destination, there is a small permanent population. Pilgrims continued to visit the island after the priory closed, and organized pilgrimages continue to the present day. Following the dissolution, the village saw occasional use as a military post, and during the 19th century there were lime kilns and quarrying on the island. There is also a long tradition of making mead on the island. In the past, we have enjoyed an interesting ginger wine from the Lindisfarne Distillery, but mead is not generally to our taste, so I can’t comment on it!
Lindisfarne PrioryLindisfarne priory from above
The Lindisfarne Gospels were made in the 8th century, an illuminated manuscript in Latin of the four gospels. The manuscript is still in existence and can be seen in the British Library. Later, an English translation was added to the text. The illuminations (illustrations) are considered to be some of the most important surviving examples of Celtic, Germanic, and Roman fusion art. I remember studying and being required to write papers on the Lindisfarne Gospels when I took Art History 101 at university.
We enjoyed walking around the harbour and the views from the promontory, and then we descended into the village in search of a tearoom. Naturally, all the other visitors to the island had the same thought, but we managed to get in just ahead of the rush to a well-regarded eatery. The offerings seemed somewhat strange, but Rosemary tried what purported to be a cheese scone, while I tried a slice of vegan coffee cake. Both were extremely odd. The cheese scone was a rather violent orange, that I suspect owed more to an excess of turmeric than actual cheddar content. The coffee cake had substituted a great deal of sugar for any fat or dairy content, and only copious applications of butter (fortunately normal, salted, butter from Cumbria) made it remotely edible. The coffees were decent.
Coffee cake and so-called cheese scone
Refreshed, we stopped in at the distillery with the idea of possibly buying some ginger wine, as it can be difficult to find in my local shop. For some reason, the marketing has changed the label, and I have a feeling they have altered their product as well. In addition to the ginger wine, they now have a variety of fruit wines, as well as a large selection of different kinds of mead. Tastings were offered, so I tried the ginger wine, and it seemed much stronger and more like liqueur than wine, so I resisted and did not buy any. We had a quick look in a couple of other shops, but there was nothing of interest.
Lindisfarne distilleryAnother Lindisfarne shop offering Good Booze and Good TimesBullrushes in a drainage channelA final picture of Lindisfarne harbour and castle
We returned to Beadnell and enjoyed another supper of the thawed dishes I had prepared.
The next morning, we set off on a tour of several local attractions. We thought that Alnwick might have some interesting shops in the town centre. We went first to a so-called farm shop on the outskirts, but it was very disappointing, with almost no produce, and the offerings were mainly a meat counter. The town centre was as unprepossessing as it was when I last visited 12 years ago, so we carried on towards the town of Warkworth
Highland cattle at a small craft shop called Eleanor’s Byre
This is a charming location, with a very steep main street leading from the River Coquet to a picturesque castle at the top of the hill. Dick and I visited the castle some years ago, so we didn’t bother on this occasion, but we parked in the town centre and had a look around the shops and along the river.
Warkworth village main streetWarkworth gateWarkworth gate and the old bridgePretty house across the Coquet River in Warkworth
From Warkworth we drove north again to Bamburgh. We had planned to have dinner at a highly recommended seafood restaurant. That morning, I had tried to make a reservation, and something went wrong and instead of getting 6pm, the booking ended up being 4pm. There was also a £5 deposit required. I absolutely understand why restaurants have to do this now, but because the restaurant was dealing with Open Table, there was supposedly no way to change the reservation to the next day (and the preferred time) without losing my deposit. Sometimes, a restaurant’s procedures and advertising just irritate! Their website said they were open all day, so we decided that we would arrive some time after 3pm, and that might give us time after the meal for photography in afternoon light if the weather was cooperating. As it happened, we got there at 3:30, so only had to wait half an hour before being allowed to order our meal. The website does not mention that no food is served between 2pm and 4pm! At the end of it all, Rosemary’s choices were quite good, but mine not so much. My scampi in white wine had some sort of strange, breaded stuffing that simply got soggy and unappetizing in the wine, while the shrimp were somewhat overcooked. No need to return to that particular restaurant.
Bamburgh castle from across the fields
Earlier in the afternoon, our exploration of the town of Bamburgh and the area around it was a lot more enjoyable. In Anglo Saxon times, Northumbria was the largest and most powerful of seven kingdoms, and the huge outcrop was chosen to be the royal capital, called Din Guaydri. In 1095, William Rufus, son of William the Conqueror, arrived at Bamburgh, and it became an important border garrison. A strong Norman castle was built, and it is that fortress that remains at the heart of the current sprawling building. Bamburgh was a Lancastrian stronghold during the Wars of the Roses in the late 15th century, and it became the first castle to be severely damaged by gunfire. By 1610, the English Crown was tired of the expensive upkeep of obsolete fortifications, and the castle was given away and then allowed to fall into ruin. A hundred years later, funds were set up to begin restoration of the castle, now in private hands, and by the late 18th century, the castle had been somewhat restored and turned into a Coastguard Station. In 1786, the first ever lifeboat was launched at Bamburgh. By 1894, the castle was again becoming impossible to maintain, and it was sold to a wealthy industrialist. William Armstrong was an inventor, a scientist, engineer, and environmentalist. His manor at Cragside, inland in the same county, was the first house in the world to be lit by hydroelectricity. Although he began the full restoration of Bamburgh Castle, he did not live to see it finished. After he died in 1900, his nephew completed the restoration and made the castle into a family residence. Although parts of the castle are open to the public, it is still owned by the Armstrong family, and they still live there.
Bamburgh castleBamburgh villageBamburgh village housesButcher shop in BamburghA raven guards the parking area above Bamburgh beachAn interesting bench looking out to sea. The lighthouse is just to the north, and in the far distance you can see Lindisfarne Castle.
The next morning, we set off for Edlingham. The castle is a romantic ruin, down in a valley, with an interesting Norman church. Most of the castle has fallen down, but the former solar tower remains. A solar was often built in private castles and large manor houses to provide private living and sleeping quarters for the family. It was usually in a tower, and may have been named from the latin, solaris, because it was likely to be the brightest and sunniest room. Here the ladies of the estate would gather to sew and to chat. Access to the castle is down a muddy lane, and the light was very flat for photography of ruins, so we contented ourselves with a visit to the charming small church.
Only the solar tower remains intact, most of Edlingham Castle is in ruins.The interior of the Norman church at EdlinghamThe churchyard at Edlingham
From Edlingham we drove north to the estates of Ford and Etal, a pair of villages in a working farm estate in the valley of the River Till. It has been owned and managed by the same family for 100 years, and is still a private, going concern. A few years ago, I drove through the area, and was somewhat underwhelmed, but on this occasion, we were in search of a tearoom, and we discovered something wonderful, Lady Waterford Hall.
Louisa Anne Beresford, Marchioness of Waterford, was an accomplished artist and philanthropist. When she inherited the Ford estate, she redesigned the village, built a school, and founded a temperance society. She spent 22 years decorating the school building with a series of inspirational watercolours on paper, which were applied to canvas and mounted on the walls and gables of the school hall. The school was in use until 1957. There was a lot of information about Lady Waterford in the tearoom, and my recollection is that not only was she concerned with the welfare of all of her tenants, she was also very interested in educating and encouraging girls and women. Her watercolours were well received, although not displayed in galleries until the 1870’s, long after she had been widowed. Queen Victoria was said to have enjoyed her style, and bought some of her paintings.
Lady Waterford HallA closer look at some of Lady Waterford’s murals
We had some coffee and some very nice (normal) scones, and then after a small walk around the village we drove on to Etal, for another short look around.
Attractive homes in the village of FordBelted Galloway cattle graze in the fields at Ford. Oreo Cattle!Etal Village HallThe Black Bull pub in Etal
Our last day in Beadnell had been forecast to be overcast all week, so the plan was to visit a waterfall, as that is the best kind of light for photographing moving water. I had concerns about slippery access, so Rosemary set off on her own. It was sadly a wasted trip. She could see that there was very little water going over the falls, and there was no safe path to get down to see it. In the afternoon we drove the short distance to the pretty and historic town of Seahouses.
Our destination was a smokehouse that had been recommended by friends. Just as well, because it is not located in the middle of town and there would have been no way we would have just stumbled across it.
Swallow Fish at Seahouses. You can see the smoke coming out of the smokehouse.
Apparently, a guidebook for Northumberland from 1888 described Seahouses as “a malodorous place, where fish-curing is extensively carried on.” Herring was the main catch, and the harbour was full of fishing boats. Today there is still an active fishery, but there are also a great many tourist boats that carry passengers out to the Farne Islands and on dolphin and whale-watching excursions. The fish were unloaded from the boats and taken to herring sheds, where gangs of “herring lasses” would clean the fish and pack them into brine for shipment. In 1843, six thousand barrels of herring were shipped from this harbour. The herring lasses followed the fishing fleet, starting in Shetland and Orkney in spring, and working their way south along the coast to finish in Lowestoft and Yarmouth in autumn. They slept in dormitories above the herring sheds. They could earn as much as ten shillings a day, which was a lot of money in those days.
Have you ever tried that quintessential English breakfast fish, smoked kippers? You would know if you had. In fact, you would know if anybody in the dining room was indulging, as they are extremely powerful smelling! The meat is tasty, but absolutely full of tiny bones, not a happy mouthful. Seahouses claims to be the location where the kipper was invented. The story goes, that some split and cleaned herring were left overnight in a shed where a fire had been lit for warmth. In the morning, the accident was discovered, and all the fish were thought to be ruined. Some brave soul decided to taste it, and the kipper was born! It was such a popular dish that many of the herring sheds were converted to smokehouses. We were visiting the last remaining of the original smokehouses, Swallow Fish. Smoke was billowing out of an upper window. Inside, we bought some smoked salmon and smoked prawns, as well as some delicious salmon pate. I see that while the business is rooted in the past, they are modern enough that you can place an order for their various offerings and it will be shipped to your home anywhere in UK overnight.
Fishermans’ cottages in Seahouses. Part of the harbour at Seahouses at low tide
After a quick exploration of the old town with its fisherman’s cottages and a look at the harbour, we popped into a very nice small speciality food shop and picked up some cheeses and beautiful strawberries to accompany our fish purchases for supper.
We enjoyed smoked prawns, salmon spread, Brussels pate, and Boursin cheese for our supper.
The next morning, we packed everything up and said our goodbyes. I made careful notes so that I could drive back to Hawes across country. I set up both the car GPS and google maps on my phone with directions. There was an amusing interlude when both GPS/Satnav ladies tried to take me down different single lane tracks to correct a mistake when I followed their instruction to “continue straight” where I was apparently meant to follow the road around a sharp bend. Eventually I found my first destination, Corbridge.
Corbridge is a nice little town in the middle of Northumberland, located in Hadrian’s Wall country. Some years ago, Dick and I explored an extensive Roman excavation of the Roman town of Coria, today’s Corbridge. I have stayed in the town at a very pleasant vacation rental located above two shops in one of the town’s two main squares. There used to be several very interesting stores, and I had planned to park and explore as well as have lunch.
The vacation rental we have stayed at several times in Corbridge is above the shops.The church in Corbridge
Parking is free for the first half hour, to encourage people to come into town for their shopping. Sadly, the machine and I had something of a falling out. I read the directions, and then put in first a 1 pound coin, and then a 50 pence coin, expecting to get a 2 hour ticket. Instead, just the first, free, half hour was printed. Muttering, I pushed the coin return and was rewarded with the return of my 50 pence. Nothing I could do was going to get me the rest of my paid time on a ticket, so I muttered some more, put the ticket into the car, and crossed over to the tearoom hoping to at least get a coffee before my time ran out. Sadly, it was lunchtime and there was a huge crowd, clearly nothing was going to work out. I availed myself of their facilities, bought an interesting looking package of biscuits and some mushroom pate, and returned to the car.
Not enough time even for coffee at the Corbridge Larder
My next stop was far more successful. We have visited the Mainsgill Farm Shop on several occasions, and it just goes from strength to strength. As I arrived, I experienced a “huh???” moment, as I saw two camels and another not very English herbivore grazing in the field. After parking, I investigated the open sheds, where last year Dick and I had admired some cattle waiting for milking. Now these sheds have been devoted to goats, pigs, Shetland ponies, and Alpaca.
Camels and a not-so-English herbivore, an unexpected sight at Mainsgill Farm ShopAlpaca at Mainsgill Farm Shop.These alpaca must be a different breed from the ones I am used to seeing!Who can resist a litter of piggies?
After watching the animals for a bit, I went into the farm shop, which is already bringing in some of the speciality items for Christmas. I found smoked meat, some really nice cheeses, more of the gorgeous strawberries that Rosemary and I had enjoyed, and a few goodies for taking away with me over the next few weeks. I also picked up a bottle of our favourite Kin Toffee Vodka, delicious as an after-dinner drink, but also a prime ingredient for tiny, chocolatey, and very decadent pots de crème.
Mainsgill Farm ShopA selection of smoked meats and fish at the farm shopFruits and vegetables at MainsgillOf course you can choose from a wonderful selection of sweets to take home or enjoy in the tearoom.
As I turned off the main road and onto our local highway and saw the hills of Wensleydale silhouetted in the late afternoon light, I felt a wonderful sense of homecoming. The house was warm and welcoming, and I looked forward to a week at home before setting off on my travels again.
When I got home I made delicious, decadent pots de creme from the toffee vodka
The Shropshire Union Canal, Wales and Chester, a two-boat odyssey
In 2004 we planned our next adventure. We decided to explore the Shropshire Union Canal, taking two weeks and with two boats in convoy. Mum and Dad would host one boat, while Dick and I would be hosts on the other. Rae and George, a Canadian couple who had participated in our Coast to Coast walk across the north of England in 1999 decided to join us for the full two weeks. An American couple who I knew from working at Brookhaven National Lab in New York would come for one week, and cousins Angela and Richard from Calgary, would be with us for the first week. We decided that it made the most sense for Rae and George to be on the boat with Mum and Dad.
Two boats, Dick driving ours, and our companion boat behind.
Unfortunately, it was not a happy pairing. Dad was not physically able to operate the locks, so we had assumed that he would do most of the driving. Unfortunately, George only wanted to drive and insisted that it should be shared equally. He was a poor driver, with no sense of how the boat handled, which made everything worse. When he was at the helm things tended to fall off shelves, and everyone on board had to hold on tight or be dumped onto the floor. The close quarters of a narrowboat proved to be rather too confined for all concerned, and instead of enjoying some happy evenings playing cards, they all retired to their respective rooms immediately after dinner. Dad told me that he could hear the laughter coming from our boat (as we played cards and pick-up sticks) and felt very envious!
Angela and Richard, my cousins, were great boating companions. Dick and I had spent time with them when we were at university, and we had also lived in Calgary, so we have always been close. We managed to gather all our crew and embarked on the two boats on time. As we arrived at the first lock, I was surprised to see everyone on board jump off the boat and race up the hill to the lock. This left me with nobody to untie the bow of the boat, not to forget that at 69 feet long it is also very helpful to have someone on board at the bow to signal when we are close to the upper doors and centered in the lock. After that initial slight glitch, the whole operation went well, and we were also able to get into a routine where Dick and Richard operated the locks for Dad and Mum’s boat as well, with some help from George.
One evening we tied up in a large basin in the town of Ellesmere. We all went off to have dinner at a nice pub on the other side of the basin. Partway through dinner, a man came into the pub and was clearly looking for someone. He caught sight of Dick and came over to our table. He explained that some yobs had untied one of our boats, and were hoping to see it float away downriver, but he had managed to catch the lines, and it was safely rafted to his boat. He told us to take our time and finish our dinner, and when we came back, he would help us untie it and get it back in place. As we made our way back to the boats, we could see a group of young men hanging around watching, clearly hoping that we would panic and rush about and provide excellent entertainment. They were of course disappointed. Prewarned, we all calmly set about getting situated again, and we thanked our benefactor. He told us that he saw us arrive and Dick is quite distinctive, and he had been confident that he would be able to find us in the pub to give us warning!
Our two boats, tied up at Ellesmere Basin
The highlight of the trip into Wales was the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct. From the Shropshire Union Canal, you turn into the Llangollen Canal and proceed northwest to the town of Llangollen. The aqueduct was completed in 1805. It is 12 feet wide, constructed of stone and cast iron, and is the highest canal aqueduct in the world. There is a towpath running along one side, giving brave souls an opportunity to enjoy the view of the river valley 127 feet below. The aqueduct was planned to be part of a major canal construction linking Liverpool with the Severn River, but after completion of the aqueduct the rest of the project was never finished.
Pontcysyllte Aqueduct
As the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct is only 12 feet wide, there is no room for narrowboats to pass each other, so it becomes necessary to take turns crossing the aqueduct. There was quite a lot of confusion and a bit of a wait before we could go across. I am very unhappy with heights, so I simply took the helm and tried to watch the side of the canal that had the towpath and not look down! Dick, Richard, and Dad all enjoyed getting out, walking along beside the boats, and peering over the railing at the river below.
Pontcysyllte Aqueduct, Richard showing no fear of heights!Angela poses with Dick on our boat, Dad heads across the towpath.
Once across the aqueduct you reach a large basin that was originally the terminus of the canal. A feeder canal to the town of Llangollen was added later, using the River Dee. This means that the Llangollen canal is one of the few canals in the system that has a current. A current of two miles an hour doesn’t sound like much, until you realize that the maximum allowable speed on canals is 4 miles an hour. Wherever the canal narrows, for instance as it passes under a bridge, or goes through a tunnel, the flow of the water is increased. This means that travelling against the current you need extra power, and then suddenly you find your boat leaping forward and you have to quickly back off the engines. Travelling with the current can be even more of a challenge, especially when exiting tunnels, because you tend to pop out at speed and have only a short time to react (and go into reverse to stop motion) before hitting something. The current was a major cause of problems for George when he was driving. This canal is very popular and gets crowded with boaters experiencing their first narrowboat holiday. It takes time to learn how to steer with a tiller, and it also takes time to learn the right touch on the engine, when to back off, and when to reverse. Inexperienced boaters are as much of a hazard on these canals as the expected challenges of locking and docking.
Llangollen Canal, Dick driving, the second boat is behind.
Eventually we reached the incredibly pretty town of Llangollen. Unfortunately, even then it was a very popular destination (and what I have read suggests that it is an absolute nightmare today). We could not find anywhere to tie up, and had to turn around and head back down the canal for quite a distance before we found an open place. The reason why that spot was still open quickly became abundantly clear. High weeds obscured the bank, which was steep at that point. We managed, with great difficulty, to get in and tied up, and had to use a gangplank to get on and off the boat. Here is a quote from a current canal guide that describes the challenge:
>>As night approaches you’ll see boaters with anxious faces hoping there’s still a berth near town—and you might be one of them.<<
We spent time exploring the town, and we also took a boat trip on a horse-drawn narrowboat. It was interesting to experience canal boating as it was before engines provided the propulsion!
The return from Llangollen included the excitement of arriving at speed in the basin above the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct, and then having to avoid several boats captained by newbies, that were bobbing around, trying without success to dock and generally impeding traffic from both directions.
Group picture in a pub, first week
We returned to the boat hire base, and changed crew on our boat, with friends Marilynn and Winkie arriving, and Angela and Richard departing to visit relatives. We also arranged to drop off the TV sets from both boats. These were tiny and sat on a high shelf above the dining table. There was nothing to watch anyway, and the sets had proven to be rather too lively… that is, they had a disturbing tendency to jump off the shelf when the boat stopped suddenly. Fortunately, no damage had been done, but we decided that it would be better to remove the risk for the rest of the trip.
Passing a fishing competition on the canal. The fishermen have to lift their rods out of the way to allow boats to pass. They were Not Best Pleased!
We set off north towards the historic town of Chester. Marilynn and Winkie slipped straight into the routines of locks and bridges and were great companions.
We arrived in Chester, which has long been a favourite destination for Dick and I for shops, restaurants, and even an excellent zoo. The canal goes right through the centre of town with the Roman wall forming part of the cut. In the middle of town there is a three-lock flight. Arriving at the top of the flight, we were surprised to see a group of about 30 children, all in school uniforms and about 7 years old. Their teachers were delighted to see us, as they were on a day trip to learn about the canal, and had not expected to be able to see an actual boat transiting and operating the locks. After a nod to the teachers, I suggested to the children that perhaps that man over there (Dick) would appreciate some help in moving that heavy arm to open the lock doors. Hands shot up and there were cries of “Me please Miss, me please!” We managed to accommodate all the children who wanted to participate, since there were three locks and two boats. Everyone was delighted with the adventure.
A few days later, we returned through Chester, and were amazed to find another group of children waiting patiently at the locks for us. The teachers explained that the earlier encounter had been so successful that they had made a guess at when we would return and brought another class in hopes of seeing us. They were very lucky with timing!
The terminus of the canal is at Ellesmere Port, where the canal joins the Manchester Ship Canal. There is a large wharf with an outstanding canal museum, which we all enjoyed tremendously. The museum has taken over many of the old buildings that were warehouses in the heyday of canal shipping. A section that I particularly enjoyed was a number of rooms that had been set up as homes of the different decades of the canals. The earliest had stone floors and few comforts, and the story progresses until the last one could have been my grandmother’s lounge in the early 1960’s.
Ellesmere Port
Our return to base was mostly enjoyable and uneventful, with pretty scenery and nice villages and pubs. It was somewhat stressful for me, because relations between my parents and their crew on the other boat continued to deteriorate, so I worried about them and also had to offer a suitably sympathetic ear as tales were told and resentments detailed. Mum even took to hiding the bananas because she thought George was eating all the fruit! Our own boat was stress-free, as Marilynn and Winkie made great boating companions. In due course we returned to the boatyard and everyone went their separate ways.
Sunset on the canal, tied up for the night while we head to a nearby pub for dinner.
I was surprised to realize the other day that this trip was in fact Dick’s first on a narrowboat. He certainly enjoyed the trip, and today if you ask him, he will wax lyrical about the pleasures of canal boating in UK, but back then he was not so sure. I found a quote from our Christmas letter that year, “I still prefer my adrenaline rush from sea spray over the rails rather than from cranking up lock paddles, pushing open gates, and struggling with manual lift bridges…”
Kennett and Avon Canal, a second trip
In 2006, friends from our Prague days, Deanna and Bill, joined us for two weeks on the Kennett and Avon Canal, along with my Dad. We made the usual arrangements to meet the day before at a Bed & Breakfast near to the boatyard. In the afternoon we got a phone call from Bill to let us know that due to a snowstorm, their flights had been delayed. They managed to get out of Denver, but ended up being rerouted, and would not arrive in UK until the next morning. This was proof that staying overnight locally allows a contingency cushion, especially when participants are arriving from overseas!
As we were having breakfast, a somewhat bedraggled Deanna and Bill arrived, with only their carryon luggage, and dressed in the clothes they had put on 40 hours earlier. Showers and naps were much appreciated, and there was plenty of time before we collected the boat in mid-afternoon.
Luggage was a different problem. Bill spent a great deal of time on the phone trying to trace it, and eventually learned that some of their checked baggage had gone to Heathrow, and the rest to Gatwick. The airline delivers late baggage, but the challenge was explaining that we were on a boat and moving, so we could not simply give a hotel address. We needed to know exactly which day the luggage would be delivered, in order to provide an address. Ultimately, they would not accept a canal location, so we had to give the address of the pub where we had reservations for dinner. As we sat down, I explained to the landlady that suitcases would be arriving (and why). She was somewhat surprised, but took it all in stride, and in due course Bill and Deanna were reunited with their possessions.
One of the many pubs we stopped at for dinners.Dad and Dick keep Bill company while he is driving.
The Caen Flight was again a highlight of the trip. On this occasion, we were able to find another boat to go up with, but they did not have the same skillset as my previous experience, and they ended up taking turns to enter and exit each lock. We still had the advantage of multiple helpers for the paddles and gates, and Dad thoroughly enjoyed being at the helm for the flight.
Dick and Bill opening the lock gatesThe Caen Flight, from the top, Dad loved being at the helm for the locking marathon.
We continued along the canal, planning to stop and turn around at Newbury. The plan was to return through the Caen Flight and proceed to Bath, and possibly Bristol, before returning to the boatyard. As we set off for dinner in Newbury, Bill caught sight of a notice on a board that said that the Caen Flight was closed. That certainly got our attention! The next day we made phone calls and learned that it had indeed closed shortly after our transit. Someone had slammed into one of the lock doors so hard that it was damaged and the whole flight had to be shut to await repairs.
Our boat tied up in NewburyWeavers Cottages, Newbury
The situation caused great difficulties for the many hire boat companies, who ended up with their boats trapped on the wrong side of the flight, and for private owners, who also could not move. Hiring a company with a suitable vehicle and crane to lift boats out of the water and put them back in on the other side of the broken lock was possible, but ruinously expensive, so most owners had to just sit and wait.
Our boatyard set up a complicated arrangement whereby their guests would be collected by van, with all their luggage and food, and transported to another boat past the damaged section of canal. It was agreed that we would simply continue our rental and complete our two weeks above Devises. They would collect us at the end and return us to our vehicle at the boatyard.
We returned later to see the damage to the lock door on the Caen Flight.
The sudden re-jigging of my carefully arranged plan was a surprise, but we enjoyed the trip regardless. We were able to get into the Thames and head south as far as Henley, and it was a very interesting trip. The weather was kind, and we had blue skies and perfect temperatures. Newbury, Hungerford, and Sonning were highlights, as well as seeing all the rowers on the Thames at Henley.
Dick and Bill open a swing bridgeDad takes the helm to drive the boat into the lock while Dick and Bill operate the gates.Side of the Kennet and Avon Canal near a lock. You can see how the canal is constructed.The locks are deep! And the lock walls are slippery and dirty, all of us wear gloves.Footbridge over a weir on the Kennet and Avon CanalAn interesting shop in HungerfordDeanna prepares to open a lift bridge. The arm will stop traffic on the road that crosses the canal. Most lift bridges are manually operated, but when road traffic must be stopped the mechanism is electronic.The famous White Horse at Pewsey is visible from the Kennett and Avon Canal.Sonning, this restaurant is on the banks of the Thames RIver.A Tudor manor house.Thatched cottageBill, Deanna, and Dick (red shirt) are operating the lock this time.
Cliveden House is visible overlooking the Thames past Maidenhead. It was built in 1666 by the Duke of Buckingham, as a gift to his mistress. For over 350 years it has been a magnet for powerful personalities, iconic parties, and scandalous affairs. It was destroyed twice by fire, but always rebuilt with even more luxury and ostentation. In 1893, the house was purchased by William Waldorf Astor. During World War I, the house was offered to the government for use as a hospital, but it was rejected as being too difficult to convert. Undaunted, Waldorf Astor offered it to the Canadians, who created a hospital in the covered tennis courts and the bowling alley.
Between two World Wars, the house was visited by many famous people from all walks of life, including President Franklin D. Roosevelt, Charlie Chaplin, and George Bernard Shaw.
Cliveden’s most famous affair began in 1961, on a hot summer day, when 19-year-old Christine Keeler, was cooling off (naked) in the new swimming pool. She was attending an exclusive party hosted by Lord Astor. Another guest was John Profumo, an up-and-coming Secretary of State for War. The two began an illicit affair, which was later denied by Profumo in a statement to the House of Commons in 1963. A known Russian spy, Captain Yevgeny Ivanov, was also suspected of having an affair with Christine, and attempts were being made by MI-5 to turn him into a defector and double agent. Soon after Profumo’s statement to the House of Commons, a police investigation proved that he had lied, and the resulting scandal forced the Prime Minister to resign and brought down the Conservative government.
Today Cliveden is a very expensive country house hotel. I visited a few weeks after this trip with cousins, or rather, we visited the gardens and the tea rooms. From the cars parked in the courtyard, Rolls Royce, Bentley, and Maserati, if you have to ask, you can’t afford to stay here!
Cliveden House overlooks the Thames
We all enjoyed that trip tremendously, so 6 years later, in 2012, Dick and I planned to do the Grand Round with Deanna and Bill.
Grand Round, second trip
We met as on the previous Grand Round in Stoke Bruerne. On this occasion there were no problems with flights or luggage, so everyone was in place and ready to go when we collected our boat.
I had some difficulties with the planning of this trip. In 2003, the Grand Round was quite simple to schedule for a 13-day itinerary, but this time, when I put the dates and other criteria into Canal Plan it didn’t work as expected. Essentially, the suggestion was that the full circuit needed at least 14 or 15 full days of travel. The reason for the extra time was the increasing popularity of the canals, and the number of boats that are permanently moored. You have to slow right down to pass moored boats, so the time to transit the canals is much increased. I worked the plan and eventually came up with an itinerary that would get us back to our starting point in time to hand over the boat. Keep in mind that of the four of us, I was the only one who had previous experience with this circle. Dick leaves all the canal trip planning to me, and as far as he was concerned, the timing had worked before so it would work again.
Well, my crew came perilously close to mutiny! If I could have set them to walk the plank I might have done! Dick was the main instigator. He was not yet retired, and even on vacation he always needed to keep up with his job. His normal routine at the time was to get up fairly early (6am) and spend at least two hours with his computer. In fact, this is still his normal routine, but these days he is not having to deal with work issues! Then there needs to be breakfast. We were taking this trip in early October, so sunrise was about 7am, and sunset 7pm, giving us 12 hours of daylight. Knowing how pushed we were going to be, I tried to persuade the crew to be ready to set off at first light, but I was entirely unsuccessful, with Bill and Deanna following Dick’s lead in refusing to move out early. We managed to make up some of the time, because we were all very experienced with locks and bridges, and we finished each day with time to relax with a beverage before dinner. I had made reservations at each stop, so all our dinner plans went without a hitch. In fact, by the beginning of our second week we were well into the Thames and slightly ahead of schedule.
The Grand Union CanalA beautiful canal side house on the Grand Union CanalMisty morning on the Grand Union Canal, Rickmansworth. Narrowboats are moored alongside the towpath and the sun rises behind the trees.Tesco (supermarket) overlooks the Grand Union, and has mooring bollards for you to tie up and get your groceries.Lock operation is hard work!
We stopped at the public mooring at Hampton Court. Dick stayed on board to catch up on work, and Deanna, Bill, and I paid our entry to the palace and enjoyed a wonderful half day of exploration.
Hampton Court was transformed from a country house into a palace fit for a king by Cardinal Wolsey, who planned to entertain the king and his court there, as well as diplomats and even monarchs from across Europe. He invested huge sums of money, and was so successful in impressing his king that Henry eventually decided to take Hampton Court for himself. For 15 years Wolsey was Henry’s closest advisor, and was responsible for much of his diplomatic success. However, by 1525, after being married to Katherine of Aragon for over 20 years, it was clear to Henry that she would never bear a son to be his heir. Wolsey was charged with arranging the king’s “Great Matter”, a divorce, so that Henry would be free to marry Anne Boleyn, who had arrived at court and attracted the king’s interest. Katherine refused to accept her fate and retire quietly, and Wolsey was unsuccessful in persuading the Pope to grant an annulment. By 1529, a disgraced Wolsey turned over his palace to the King and retired to York. He was later accused of treason and died as he travelled back to London to face charges.
Henry VIII, from the portrait by Hans Holbein
Henry VIII was the second son of Henry VII, the first Tudor king. A diplomatic and dynastic marriage was arranged for Arthur, Henry’s older brother and the heir to the throne. Katherine of Aragon was 15 years old, a pious, orthodox Catholic princess, when she was sent to England with a huge dowry to marry Arthur. Shortly after they were married with great pomp and circumstance, Arthur died. There was, and still is, a question of whether or not the marriage was ever consummated. Katherine, to the end of her days, said not. If the widowed princess had returned to Spain, as would have been expected, not only would the second half of her huge dowry not be paid, but the first half would have to be returned. Her father-in-law hated that idea (as he was the one reaping the benefits of all that cash, lands, and incomes), so he decided that a solution would be to have Katherine marry Henry, now the heir, who was six years her junior. A Papal dispensation was required, and by the time she was 18, Katherine was once again betrothed, to a handsome, precocious boy of 12. They were married in 1509, as soon as Henry became king, and were married for nearly 24 years. After the birth of a daughter, Mary, there were only still-births and a boy who lived just a few weeks. By the time Anne Boleyn arrived at court to be one of Katherine’s waiting women, Henry was desperately looking for a solution and a way to marry someone younger who could give him a son. Katherine refused to accept divorce, not only because it would mean telling the world that she had lied about her marriage to Arthur, it would also make her daughter Mary illegitimate.
When Papal permission was not forthcoming, Henry declared himself Supreme Head of the Church of England, diverted money that was formerly paid to Rome into royal revenues, and declared his marriage annulled. He married Anne Boleyn in a secret ceremony in 1532, and in 1533, once she had become pregnant, they were married again in London. Anne was crowned Queen in June, 1533. Elizabeth was born shortly after, and accepted by the King as a promise of a son to come in the future. When Anne miscarried a son, late in her next pregnancy, her fate was sealed. This time, instead of a divorce, Anne was accused and tried for treason and was executed in 1536.
There are very few portraits of Anne Boleyn, Henry ordered all traces of her destroyed after her execution. This is one of the few remaining.
All six of Henry’s wives spent time at Hampton Court, and a visit brings their stories to life.
As we made our way around the palace, we heard the sound of loud argument approaching. Shouting over her shoulder, a gorgeously dressed Anne Boleyn rushed through the room and out of the other door, closely followed by Henry VIII, who was calling out, “Why won’t you just stop and TALK to me?” We were completely surprised, and the tableau was so well done, it really seemed as though we had been transported back to1535. Later we came into another room to find Henry surrounded by courtiers, having a serious discussion about policy. Several young boys (visitors) started creeping towards Henry and trying to touch his sleeve. One of the courtiers stepped forward and said very loudly, “Do not touch the King!” The boys were quite startled and scurried away!
Since that visit I have been to castles where attempts have been made to dress up students to pretend to come from the period of the castle heyday, but unfortunately, summer students with minimal costume budgets don’t manage to be believable, and the whole effect is just silly.
Passing Richmond-on-ThamesDocked at Maidenhead
Further along the Thames we stopped at the town of Cookham. The weather deteriorated and we had a lot of rain overnight. The rain continued for the next few days, although, as is typical of English weather, there were periods of sunshine in between the rains. We saw rowers at Henley, and enjoyed exploring the town of Sonning.
The Thames River at CookhamA traditional narrowboat with a restored steam engine docked at Cookham.
The beautiful red brick arched bridge that crosses the Thames at Sonning, was built in 1775, replacing an old wooden bridge. There is some evidence that the Saxons built a bridge over the Thames at this point as early as 1125. The first documented evidence of a bridge dates from 1530, and it was rebuilt in 1604. Dick Turpin, the famous highwayman, was said to have escaped by fleeing across Sonning Bridge. Turpin began life as the son of a butcher, eventually joining and taking over his father’s business. He became involved with a gang of poachers, that later moved on to robbery and violence. When the gang was finally smashed, Turpin turned to highway robbery. During his career as a highwayman, operating mainly in an area south of the Thames, the stories say that Turpin used Sonning Bridge as a route to Oxfordshire to escape capture.
Sonning Bridge is the only bridge to cross the Thames between Henley-on-Thames and Reading, but it is too narrow for modern vehicles to pass each other. Traffic lights are used to control the traffic, and there are large queues in each direction every day during rush hour.
Another look at Sonning Bridge
Our Grand Round was proceeding on schedule, until an officious lockkeeper told us he would not put us through. The currents on the Thames were high due to the heavy rains, and no rental boats were allowed to proceed without specific permission from the boatyard. It was a Friday afternoon, and nobody at the yard was willing to give the go-ahead, so we were stuck for three days. At last, on Monday, I was finally able to speak to a man who remembered me from the initial handover and brief instruction when we collected the boat. He had commented that he had rarely had a renter who was so obviously experienced, and never a woman. We were at last allowed to go on our way.
Our problems were not finished. When we arrived at the lock where the Thames is joined by the Oxford Union Canal, the lockmaster refused to let us go on. He had just put through a narrowboat heading downstream that had nearly gone over the weir above the lock. The boat had been bought by a young man, who was bringing it to London, helped by his father, and neither of them had ever driven a narrowboat before. Going downstream with a strong current means that you have far less control than when you are driving into the current (which we were going to be doing). The two men were terrified, and the lockmaster was absolutely not going to take the risk that we did not know what we were doing. It took several hours and a number of phone calls before we were allowed through the lock.
There is a very sharp turn to get into the Oxford canal from the river above the lock, and even on a good day it would be quite tricky. I managed to time the turn perfectly and slid into the canal without even a nudge on either side. Yes, I was proud of myself!
After that, the trip continued in glorious weather and we enjoyed the stunning Oxfordshire countryside, but we had lost too many days on a very tight schedule. We eventually had to call the boatyard and tell them to come and get their boat. They were, to put it mildly, not best pleased! However, in response to their blustering, we pointed out that they had held us up for three days, and we could not be held responsible. The upshot was that they sent someone to collect the boat, and we were not charged for their costs. On the other hand, they did not reimburse us for the extra fuel we had to use, but that was a relatively small penalty. Dick and Bill took a taxi back to the boatyard to retrieve our car, and our trip was completed.
Bridge 194 and Somerton Deep Lock on the Oxford Union Canal above SomertonBelchers Lift Bridge near Aynho Wharf, Oxford Union CanalAncient pollarded trees on the Oxford Union Canal
Would I do the Grand Round again? Perhaps, but I would want at least 3 weeks to complete it, to make sure of a more relaxed schedule. I would also be booking in September, or even August, since the chance of poor weather increases as you get into October.
The Avon Ring, 2017
Lesley, an Australian friend who we knew in Kuala Lumpur had hoped to do a narrowboat trip for some years. Eventually we were able to put together a trip, with Lesley, Dick, and myself, and we were joined by Jeanne, a friend from Idaho. We decided to do the Avon Ring. This trip started south of Birmingham, and followed the Stratford-on-Avon canal to Stratford-on-Avon, then the Avon River until it meets the Severn River. You turn into the Severn, and follow it north to Worcester and then join the Worcester and Birmingham Canal to return to the starting point in Alvechurch. We chose our favourite Goose model, the perfect size for four of us. What we did not know, is that some of the locks on the canals in this area are slightly shorter than usual. Even the standard 72 feet leaves little space between the doors when you fit a 69-foot boat into the lock. On several occasions we had to push the bumper that protects the bow of the boat to one side to get the doors open.
The length should not have been an issue on the route we had chosen, but there was a problem with our boat. Clearly, over the season, renters had managed to hit the cill (the step at the upstream end of a lock) in the short locks with the rudder, and had damaged it. I noticed that there was a problem as soon as I went out for the initial orientation at the boatyard. I found it very difficult to steer, and while I managed, I was surprised that what had been so effortless in the past was now so hard. The first few days of the trip were all right, but once we got into the rivers I found it increasingly hard to drive and Dick had to take the helm for much of the time. When we returned the boat to the yard, we reported the problem, to be met with shrugs and the comment that they do not pull boats out of the water during the season, even if problems are reported.
Apart from the difficulty of handling the boat, we had a lovely trip.
Dick with Lesley and Jeanne
Dick had prepared for two weeks on a boat with three women by purchasing a t-shirt. It depicts a skeleton, sitting in a bar with a skeleton dog, both with pints of beer. The caption is, “We are going to sit here and drink beer until we understand women!”
Dick bought a special T-shirt to wear for a boat trip with three women!
In the evenings we played bridge. Jeanne had prepared by bringing along a tablecloth with bids and conventions, and we enjoyed our games. The pubs were good, and it was easy to keep to the planned schedule.
Approaching Edstone Aqueduct, Stratford-on-Avon Canal Edstone is the longest cast iron aqueduct in England. It crosses a minor road, a stream, and a field, and a railway line.Dick poses with Red Breasted GooseLesley, and the interior of our narrowboat.The Wilmcote lock flight, Stratford CanalLesley opens a lock gateDick sitting on the arm of a lock, Stratford-on-Avon Canal
Stratford-on-Avon was, as expected, a highlight. We all enjoyed the bustling tourist town. The basin was full of narrowboats, but we were able to find a spot.
The busy Stratford BasinWhite Swan Hotel, Stratford-upon-AvonAltar and stained glass windows, Holy Trinity Church, Stratford-upon-AvonA bakery in Stratford-upon-AvonDick enjoyed looking at the sausages in the window of the butchers!Cappuccino with a Union Jack theme. After all that sightseeing we needed some caffeine!
On the Avon River we stopped in Evesham and were reunited with Peta and Graham, who are friends from when we lived in Kuala Lumpur. Graham took us sightseeing in Evesham and also in Worcester, and we enjoyed dinner in their home.
In Worcester, we visited the museum attached to the factory where Royal Worcester china had been made since 1751. The museum was fascinating, and I even recognized some pieces that my mother used to have. The cathedral was beautiful.
Worcester CathedralTomb of King John, Worcester Cathedral
Once we were back in the canals, we were faced with many locks to bring us back to our starting point. A new experience for us was the presence of volunteers, who are available to help with the locks. One of these volunteers enjoyed Jeanne and Lesley’s company so much that he carried on far past the point where he usually turned around. When Jeanne asked him a question about the village we were passing through, his response was, “I have no idea, I have never been this far before!”
The Tardebigge Flight is a 30-lock flight, just south of Alvechurch, so it was the challenge for our last day on the canal. Our usual routine had been for Dick to operate the locks with help from either Lesley or Jeanne, while I did the driving. It was agreed for this long flight, that Lesley would work the first 10, and then they would switch places, and Jeanne would work the next 10. After Lesley had finished her turn, she went below to have a break. A little later, the volunteers showed up for the day. Lesley came up from below with a cup of tea for me, and the volunteer said to her, “Have you just got out of bed then?” In spite of Lesley’s spluttering and our assurances that she had already put in several hours of hard work, it was clear that he did not believe us. He was heard to tell Jeanne, “Your friend is awake now!”
This was the last narrowboat trip we have taken, as we began the Great Loop on our boat Nine Lives the following year. Now that our Loop is completed, and Nine Lives will go to a new owner, we are ready to think about narrowboats again. There are a few places we would like to explore. The Leeds and Liverpool Canal in Yorkshire, and the Monmouthshire and Brecon Canal in Wales are both of interest. Do we have any volunteers to join us?
Before I continue with part two of our UK boating adventures, I thought I would delve into the history of the canals and give our experiences some context.
The canals and river navigation systems of Britain were built to accommodate new trade routes, at a time when roads were virtually non-existent and the Industrial Revolution was transforming a society based on agriculture into a mechanized, urban economy.
In post-medieval times some rivers had been canalized for boat traffic. Plans for the Wey Navigation were approved in 1651, when permission was given to make the River Wey navigable for boats between Weybridge and Guildford. This required building 12 locks, and 10 miles of artificial cut. Mill owners were generally opposed to canals, because they needed the flowing water to drive their mill wheels, so even in the early days, building navigable waterways was controversial. Farnham Potteries shipped their wares to London on the Wey. Canals are particularly well suited for transport of both heavy materials such as sand and gravel, and delicate, breakable goods such as china and pottery.
Moored boats on the Wey NavigationWey Navigation
The heyday of canal building in Britain took place over a 100-year period beginning around 1750 and ending by 1840, with over 4000 miles of navigable canals and waterways in the network. The first public railway for freight and passengers was opened in 1825, and the railways overtook the canals for freight transport over the next years, quickly followed by better and more efficient road networks. Investment that had gone into building and maintaining canals was diverted to railways and roads, and many canals were abandoned in the early 20th century.
There was some use made of the canals during two World Wars, but the impetus for revival began after the creation of the Inland Waterways Association in 1946. Leisure became more important for use of the canals than freight, and by the 1960’s a growing leisure industry was able to prevent further closures. Enthusiastic volunteers began to restore many of the canals during the 1970’s.
Today the canal and river network is well supported by the Canal & River Trust, and restoration and even new construction are ongoing in spite of chronic shortages of funds. I have read that today there is more construction on the system than there was in its heyday during the 18th and 19th centuries.
The most common freight carrying boats used on the canals were called narrowboats, and were a maximum of 72 feet long and 7 feet wide. Many of the canals in the system are single width, and bridges and locks will not accommodate boats that exceed those dimensions. I have been told by some people that “we call them longboats”, and many others refer to canal boats, but in fact the correct term for the distinctive vessels is narrowboat.
The first narrowboats were barges. That is, they did not have any mechanical propulsion, instead they were towed by horses walking along the towpath. All canals have a towpath on one side or the other, and the design of the bridges that cross over when the towpath changes to the other side of the waterway can be quite ingenious. The goal is to be able to lead the horse over the bridge to the other side without having to unhook the barge and drag it under the bridge manually.
In the early days the barges were operated by boatmen, typically a man to steer the boat, and a boy to lead the horse. The families originally lived on land, but as competition from the railways began to cut into income, a house on land was no longer affordable on a boatman’s wages. The families moved on board, living in the tiny cabin that occupied part of the boat, with the rest devoted to cargo. The families, including women and children, provided unpaid labour for the operation of the boat, only the boatman was paid. Eventually engines provided propulsion, and horses were no longer required.
Two boats were often paired together, one with an engine, and the other, called the “butty” was towed. This allowed for more space for the sometimes large families and also doubled the amount of cargo that could be transported.
By the early 19th century, steam engines were introduced on narrowboats, but they were generally used only for long distance runs, because the engines took up a lot of space that could have been used for cargo, and they required up to 7 men to operate a pair of boats.
A traditional narrowboat, liveaboard, on the Grand Union Canal. This one has a working steam engine for power.
The boatmen and their families initially came from rural and agricultural backgrounds, and were well regarded due to the importance of their work and the hard work required to operate the boats and transport freight. Over time these families became a close-knit, separate culture, and began to be regarded with suspicion by their Victorian land-based counterparts. It was assumed that they were likely to be associated with theft and smuggling. This added to the cultural isolation.
Moving freight is a dirty job, particularly when the boat has a steam engine, and there was a lot of pride taken to show that the families and their homes were spotless. Boats were painted with bright colours and decorated with pictures of “roses and castles”, in a distinctive and highly recognizable style. Women wore spotless white aprons and caps, and their cabins were kept immaculate, in spite of the crowded living conditions.
Roses and Castles, traditional decorative painting on a historic narrowboat
By the 1950’s many canals had been neglected, some abandoned, and some were intentionally closed by British Waterways and the land repurposed. Abandoned narrowboats were collected and sunk in several large basins. By the 1960’s awareness of the canals and their potential began to revive, and over the years most of these boats were raised and restored. You can see them today, plying the canals, some carrying freight, and some with beautifully restored steam engines. It is generally easy to tell the difference between these historic wooden vessels and the modern steel versions, because the old ones have a distinctive high prow. Of course, there were many different types of boats on the canals and waterways of Britain, but the old wooden narrowboats are the ancestors of today’s comfortable steel craft.
The Canal & River Trust, who manage the waterways today, has an excellent website. A diagram of a historic narrowboat and a couple of old pictures are reproduced below.
Today there are still people who live and work on the canals. They may transport heavy or delicate freight. Some small business such as cabinetry, locksmithing, and painting and decorating can thrive on the canals. Some people just prefer to live on a boat. The canals have many places where liveaboard boats can be permanently moored, as well as some that limit occupancy to 14 days and less. There is no money for enforcement, and the limits are often ignored.
Moored narrowboats on the Grand Union Canal. Several of the boats in this picture are working freight carriers. Note particularly the pair on the left side.
Some might find it surprising that we always seem to be able to find a pub for our evening meal at the end of each day’s travel. In part this is because of a lot of hard work in the planning on my part, but it is true that there are often pubs on the waterside, about a day’s journey apart. Many of these establishments date back to the years of horse-drawn barges. They were built at locations about the maximum distance that a horse can pull a barge for a day, and provided stabling, fodder, and often meals for boatmen. Even when the canals were less used, roads brought customers to the pubs, and while there are many pub closures all over the country these days, those on the waterfront seem to fare better, and have been able to stay in business.
Between our experiences of sailing in the Mediterranean and the Caribbean with my parents, and our Nine Lives Great Loop adventure, we spent time enjoying the English canals.
The Big Pigs
Our first venture took place in spring 2000. I had seen houseboats for rent on the Thames River, so as a birthday surprise for Dick, I booked a weekend trip. These boats were a common sight at that time, somewhat resembling a barge with living quarters. They were driven from inside at the front of the vessel, and were quite unwieldy. Even with experience, you tended to fishtail back and forth, as it was all but impossible to maintain a straight line. They were relatively comfortable inside, with decent beds, cooking facilities, and showers, but they were old and most were beginning to look pretty tired!
Dick sits on the roof of the first boat we rented on the Thames River
Dick and I sent off down the Thames towards Oxford. We had never been through a lock before, but fortunately the Thames locks are operated by the lockkeepers, so it was a relatively quick learning curve. We were told that we could tie up anywhere on the riverbank that did not specifically say otherwise. We decided to head towards the town of Dorchester-on-Thames for our first night’s stop. The guide book suggested that we could follow the River Thame most of the way to the town. We found the place to turn into the Thame, but immediately discovered that it was completely unnavigable. Looking again at the book, that I still have, I see that it says the Thame is navigable for “small craft”. Why we thought we were a small craft escapes me. We spent far too much time fiddling around trying to get up the river without running aground, and then we had to find a suitable place on the bank of the Thames to tie up. That accomplished, we set off along a narrow footpath and eventually arrived in the town. It was (still is) a very pretty and historic town, with a picturesque church, medieval buildings, and a wonderful old Inn called The George Hotel. The coaching inn was built in 1495, and still retains many features including oak beams and inglenook fireplaces.
The old Post Office in Dorchester-on-ThamesDorchester-on-Thames churchyardThe George Hotel, Dorchester-on-Thames
We were much later than planned, so no time for sightseeing, but we enjoyed a wonderful meal in the hotel. By the time we were finished, it was dark. Very dark. We set off in the general direction of the river, but we were unable to find the footpath that we had used to get there. Dick cheerfully strode off along the edge of a field, followed by his extremely unhappy wife. I was concerned that we were going to get very lost. Not to mention the possibility of encountering cattle, or falling into the river! After stumbling along the edges of the field, we managed to find a proper path, so Louise’s squeaks of fear reduced in volume and frequency. Eventually we also found the boat!
I don’t think we managed to get as far as Oxford that first trip, but we thoroughly enjoyed it, and soon made plans to rent another, much larger boat for a week with my parents the following year.
Increasing the size of what I have always referred to as a “big pig”, just made the vessel even more unwieldy and prone to heading off in random directions as you tried to steer. We enjoyed the trip, stopping at interesting places along the river. A highlight was Mapledurham Mill, where we were treated to an interesting tour of one of the oldest corn and grist mills on the Thames. Mapledurham was also one of the locations used for filming the 1976 film, The Eagle Has Landed, with Michael Caine, Donald Sutherland, and Robert Duvall. I can still remember the dramatic moment when the waterwheel comes up out of the river, revealing that the men are German soldiers! We explored Windsor, and also Eton which is across the river from Windsor. We found an excellent restaurant in Eton.
Meanwhile, there had been heavy autumn rains, and all that water flows into the Thames from its various tributaries upstream. We were moored to the bank on the Eton side of the river, where there is lots of space and large fields. A representative of the boat rental company stopped by to inform us that we were going to have to cut our trip short because of the strong currents. He offered to come back the next morning and drive the boat for us, but as experienced sailors none of us had concerns and we said we would be fine. Meanwhile, it was suggested that we should put out an anchor at the bow, just to ensure that the current didn’t pull us off our mooring during the night. We fished the anchor out of the locker, dropped it overboard, and thought no more about it. Literally.
Yes, the boaters among my readers are wondering what we were thinking! You do not anchor by just dropping the thing over the side, there are techniques. We knew that, but followed the instructions of the rental guy, just to keep him happy.
River Thames at Windsor. You can see the place that we moored, across the river, on the upper right of the image.
The next morning, after a leisurely breakfast, we were read to depart. A certain amount of manoeuvring was going to be required, because we were facing upstream, and needed to turn and head downstream. Dad was at the helm, and Dick was handling the lines. We got out into the river, and then to everyone’s surprise, the boat stopped responding to the helm. After a lot of fiddling around, a fellow who was watching this from the bow of his boat (great entertainment) took pity on us and called out, “Oi! you’ve got yer anchor down mate!” Oh.
By this point, the anchor was thoroughly dug in, and Dick found it was extremely difficult to pull out. He sat at the bow, and while Dad moved the boat forward over the anchor to loosen it, Dick gradually raised it, a few feet at a time. Back and forth, for quite a while. Did I mention that we were out in the middle of the Thames, watched by half the tourists in Windsor from the bridge that crosses the river just downstream of our position? Generally, when we are manoeuvring in front of an audience, we prefer to be demonstrating our exceptional boat handling skills, rather than being comic relief.
That was the last of the big pigs that we rented, and these days, you seldom see them on the waterways.
Discovering Narrowboats, the Kennett and Avon Canal
2001 was the year of the first narrowboat experience. For several years I had been joining lady friends on European trips to interesting places, and they embraced the idea of renting a narrowboat with enthusiasm. We chose the Kennett and Avon Canal for this first venture. The boatyard is just south of Devises, and you can head north east towards London, or in the other direction towards Bath. I bought a canal guidebook, and selected a suitable narrowboat model. This particular boat proved to be the best choice for groups of four or five, and we continued to choose this same model for years to come. It is 69 feet long. Like all narrowboats, it is designed to fit all the canals, so it is just 6 feet 10 inches wide. If you imagine a railway car, a narrowboat is not dissimilar in space. Typically, there is a lounge/dining room at the front, that can be converted to a double bed. Next is a reasonably well-equipped galley, and then the bedroom spaces (3) and shower/toilets (2) are spaced along the corridors to the back of the boat. A ladder takes you up to the helm from the back, and there are two benches to sit on. The boat is steered with a tiller from the stern, standing up, making it very manoeuvrable once you get the hang of all that length of boat out in front of you!
The Goose class narrowboat that we have rented over the years.
The boatyard we rented from had an excellent training area in the form of a large basin. The owner spent time explaining and gave each of us a chance to drive under his watchful eye. Later we found the best plan was for me to do most of the driving, with Carol as a relief, while Harriet and Dawn operated the locks and bridges.
Louise takes the helm on the Kennett and Avon Canal. I have only this one photo from that trip. We were all too busy to take pictures!
Eventually we were ready, and we set off in the direction of London. We had only one lock to transit that first day, and while I am not going to claim great expertise, we managed it without particular issues and eventually tied up for that first night beside a pub.
Over the years, this became the normal canal boating routine. Breakfast and lunch on board, and tie up at a suitable spot within walking distance of a nice pub for the evening meal. We do occasionally cook on board, but mostly the plan is to eat dinner on shore.
Flushed with success after our first day out, we sat down in the pub’s restaurant and decided to begin with a pre-dinner drink. The young waitress arrived to take our orders. Three of us asked for a glass of wine, but Harriet was in a celebratory mood, and rattled off an order for Tanqueray, 3 to 1 with a slice of lemon. The waitress was mystified, and tried twice to understand the order before she fled to the kitchen and returned with the owner. The nice lady understood immediately that Harriet was trying to order a martini, but not all pubs serve cocktails. She also had to explain that while they did have gin (although not Tanqueray) and vermouth, they could not possibly serve it as requested. All alcohol in UK is measured, by law, so the drink Harriet was requesting would have been 4 ounces of alcohol in that establishment. Leaving aside the sheer quantity, the cost would have been prohibitive! It took a surprisingly long time, but ultimately Harriet understood the issues and sadly chose a glass of wine instead.
The weights and measures act of 1985 set out standards in UK. Part of it deals with serving alcoholic beverages, the objective being to ensure that consumers are not cheated by being served short quantities of beer, wine, and liquor. Unfortunately for the consumer, while this means that dodgy landlords cannot serve short measure, it is no longer possible for them to be generous either! Dick and I find anything other than beer or wine is a ridiculous price at pubs and restaurants, so we save the cocktails for serving at home. Just in case you were wondering, you can certainly order a martini or other cocktail at a cocktail bar in hotels, it is only pubs that generally do not serve cocktails such as martinis.
The highlight of that first narrowboat trip was unquestionably the Caen Flight. This is a staircase of 29 locks, that take the canal up 237 feet in two miles to the top of the hill. It is a daunting prospect! This particular flight has side ponds that are used to pump the water from as needed, so there is room between each section for boats to pull to the side and let a boat that is coming from the other direction go past. Two-way traffic saves water, as well as a huge amount of time. We had pulled over at the bottom of the flight, and were getting ourselves into the right frame of mind, when some people on another boat came over and asked if we would like to go up in tandem. The Kennett and Avon is a wide canal, so all the locks are wide enough to take two narrowboats side by side. The idea for the flight was that we would line up together, and match speed as we went into and then out of each lock. The great advantage for us was that the other boat had quite a few young folks, so it turned out that Harriet and Dawn did not need to do anything more than follow along, all the hard work was done by eager teenagers!
The Caen Flight, 29 locks in a two-mile staircase, picture taken from the top of the flight.
On that trip, we didn’t have the detailed plan that I made for all future canal adventures. Instead, we agreed that we would head east until we reached the halfway mark of our booking, and then turn around and make our way west, passing our starting point and getting as close to Bath as time permitted. We had a wonderful trip, and it was the first of many that I have taken with those ladies and with others.
Cattle graze beside the Kennett and Avon CanalThe towpath on the Kennett and Avon Canal
Trip Planning
The planning that I did (and still do) for narrowboat holidays evolved over the first couple of trips. There are excellent spiral bound guides to the English and Welsh canals. I always buy the most current issue once we know where we will be cruising.
There is a wonderful online app called Canal Plan. It is crowd-sourced, and has up to date information on times for transit for the entire system. You enter your starting date and location, ending date and location, and the plan then offers you an itinerary with suggested stops. I create an initial itinerary using Canal Plan, but then I spend many hours refining it. The assumption is that one will tie up on a bank somewhere, but our preference is to be within walking distance of a good pub or restaurant. Using the book guides, Canal Plan, and also a guide (usually TripAdvisor) for pubs and restaurants, I adjust the plan each day to meet our requirements. These days I also use Google Earth, so that I can see just how crowded the proposed stopping point might be. Canal boating is very popular, plus there are a great many people who live aboard full time. Although there are designated moorings for short term stops, there is almost no enforcement, so many boats fill up the short-term spaces and do not leave. The final step, once I have the itinerary, is to make reservations for dinner at most, if not all, of the pubs and restaurants we plan to stop at. Over the years I have learned (the hard way) that reservations never hurt and are often essential.
Books and maps to help with planningCrowded canals. Moored boats line both sides of the waterway, slowing down traffic and making it difficult to find a place to tie up overnight.
The Cheshire Ring
The next year, 2002, the same group of ladies gathered in Cheshire and did the Cheshire Ring. It can be more enjoyable doing a ring, rather than a there and back itinerary, simply because you see all new countryside and towns for the entire holiday. We started southwest of Manchester, and made our way south through Middlewich and Sandbach to join the Macclesfield Canal and head northeast. There were more than 35 locks to transit in this section! The Macclesfield Canal goes through beautiful countryside, with views of the Pennines around every turn.
Louise, Carol, and Harriet on our narrowboat, Cheshire Ring, 2002.
At Marple, you find a staircase of 16 locks. This is an old canal, and the lock gates are quite leaky. As I stood at the helm, I found that I was being sprayed as we dropped lower in each lock, so waterproofs and a hat were called for. Partway down the staircase, the water began rushing even more, and I was standing under a waterfall! I looked ahead, and discovered that Harriet had decided that it would be efficient to open more gates, instead of waiting for us to complete the transit of the lock. She never really understood the way locks operate on the canals. If you open multiple doors, the weight of water will prevent them from being closed again, and ultimately it becomes possible to drain the canal! Harriet’s enthusiasm could have been an absolute disaster, but fortunately she heard our shouts and stopped rushing ahead.
This picture was taken at another time and on another canal, but you get an idea of just how much water leaks through the old lock doors on these historic canals.
Very few pictures survive from this trip, but I later returned to the canal at Marple and took a few photos of other boats and the locks.
A boat leaves a lock on the staircase at Marple.Canal Boating on the Peak Forest Canal, MarpleThere is a company that offers instruction on driving canal boats and transiting locks. Here the instruction boat exits one of the locks, with the students operating the lock doors above. Note the water coming through the closed gates behind the boat.Beautiful countryside views from the Peak Forest Canal at MarpleBusy canal at Marple
We knew from the guide book that the stretch of canal that leads to downtown Manchester can be a problem for boaters. It is a somewhat deprived area, and teenage boys have been known to jump onto your boat and ransack the cabin. We carefully locked all the doors and only two of us stayed outside, one at the bow, and me at the stern. We also, as advised, made the passage quite early on a Sunday morning, the expectation being that most of the young yobs would still be in bed. We did have stones thrown at us from one of the bridges, including one that hit me hard enough to bruise, fortunately not in the head. Later we met a canal worker, who gave us good advice for the safest place to tie up overnight.
This spot was in front of a new development of condos. We were across the river from the city, and while there was a footbridge, it had a coded lock, so we could not get through. There was no way to get out of the complex, so we stayed on board and cooked omelettes for our supper. This was the first, but by no means the last time we needed to eat on board when we had planned to go out.
A typical mooring bollard with coiled line beside it.
The next morning, we passed through the centre of Manchester, between high-rise office buildings. It was fascinating. At one lock, a gentleman in a business suit stepped up and assisted Harriet and Dawn with the lock operation. He said that in all the years he had worked downtown, this was the first time he had seen a boat come through the locks. My thought was that he clearly did not look out of the window much, because the Cheshire Ring is quite a popular route! Regardless, it was very interesting and quite a change from the usual open countryside and small villages. We enjoyed the trip very much, but after that the ladies returned by preference to driving holidays in Europe. Carol ceremonially presented me with her boating gloves at the end of the trip. I still have them!
Another of the few pictures of our boat on the Cheshire Ring in 2002.
The Grand Round
An ambitious circle route for narrowboating is the Grand Round. We chose to start on the Grand Union Canal at Stoke Bruerne, and head south to eventually join the Thames River at Brentford, in west London. We follow the Thames all the way to Oxford, joining the single width Oxford Union Canal and heading north to rejoin the Grand Union Canal and return to our starting point. On the route are a number of tunnels, a great many locks, the experience of a short stretch of the tidal Thames, and of course the beautiful and varied countryside.
In 2003 we planned a two-week Grand Round trip. My Mum and Dad were excited about joining us for the full two weeks. Dick could only spare one week, so for the first week it was arranged that American friends would fly over and join us. Just a couple of weeks before we were to begin, Dick realized that work commitments meant that he was not going to be able to take the time off to join us for the second week. I was somewhat concerned, given the ages of my parents (82), as it could mean that I might have to operate the locks on my own. At a social event, we met a couple who had recently returned to UK after a career in Singapore, and they mentioned that one thing that they were hoping to do very soon was take a holiday on a narrowboat. It seemed like a perfect opportunity, and they agreed with enthusiasm to join us for the second week.
As usual, I had planned the trip with great care, and our new friends were presented with a very detailed itinerary, giving all the planned stops and places that we would be eating. I also provided an introduction to canal boating, and it was explained that their accommodation would be the twin bed cabin at the stern. They would have sole use of one of the two bathrooms. As usual, their contribution to the boat rental was based on that single cabin, so one quarter of the weekly rental. Mum and Dad each had a cabin, and I used the fold down bed in the lounge/diner.
On the appointed day at the start of the trip, our friends Cheryl and Randy arrived and checked in to a local Bed & Breakfast in Stoke Bruerne. I always arrange for local accommodation and ask that everybody arrives the day before we get on the boat. This has proved to be a sensible precaution! The town is very pretty and there is a canal museum on the waterfront. The Grand Union Canal passes through the centre of town, and there is a lock directly across from the museum. Randy was looking forward to the trip, and wanted to be well prepared. Cheryl told me that as soon as they had settled in the B&B, he went and sat on a bench beside the lock and spent most of the day watching boats transit the lock, paying particular attention to the mechanisms for the lock gates.
The next day we were all on board, and after a smooth passage through that first lock, we had just a few miles to go before arriving at Blisworth Tunnel. This is over 3000 feet long, the ninth-longest canal tunnel in the world. Construction began in 1793, but there were problems and an unfortunate collapse after three years of work. A new tunnel was started and finally opened in 1805. Until 1871, the only way to transit the tunnel was for boatmen to lie on their backs on top of their boats and push the boat with their feet. This was called “legging”. (And yes, this is the origin of the expression legging it!) Over time the tunnel deteriorated and became unnavigable, but in the 1980’s it was rebuilt, with some sections lined with pre-cast concrete rings. This rebuilding was used to test materials and techniques for the later building of the Channel Tunnel. We passed through the tunnel on this occasion without meeting an oncoming boat, although there is space for two boats to pass in the tunnel.
Blisworth Mill, Grand Union Canal. Blisworth Corn Mill was built in 1879. After a long history of various uses, it is now apartment accommodation for 21 flats. Blisworth Tunnel Narrowboats and Mill Wharf Boat Company are conveniently located on the canal near the famous Blisworth Tunnel.
The first week of the trip went very well, with Cher and Randy being excellent guests/crew. Dad had expected that I would do all the driving, and he and Randy would operate the locks, but it became clear almost immediately that it was not a good idea. Dad was always a fellow who rushed everywhere, and at 82, he was beginning to show evidence of a weak heart. Not enough to be a concern, but enough that he should not be running (instead of walking) back and forth along the canal in addition to the exertion required to operate the lock doors. After the first two locks, we switched, and I worked with Randy while Dad did the driving.
Entering a lock on a narrow (single width) canal
The Grand Round is quite a demanding circle, doable in two weeks, but that requires early starts and long days. One day was particularly long, and we arrived at our stopping point at dusk. We were confident that we would be fine for dinner, because there was a pub just over a nearby bridge. We relaxed a bit after the long day, and then headed out for dinner. We were very surprised to see that the pub had been turned into luxury flats! There was a nearby taxi stand, and we were able to get a ride into the town and have dinner at a large Italian restaurant. Just as well I have no idea of the name of that restaurant. In addition to the incredibly loud music, that they refused to turn down, Dad found a very large shard of glass in his salad. It was clear from the attitude of the management that they thought we had put it there ourselves, to avoid paying the bill! Finally I said, “I would have thought you would be concerned about where the rest of this glass might be in your kitchen and what other food it may end up in!” At that point the manager finally saw the light, and she actually went pale with shock and rushed away to investigate. No discount on the bill was forthcoming.
Cousin Peter joined us on board for a day. Left to right: Louise, Peter, Trevor (Dad) and Phyllis (Mum).Misty morning on the Grand Union Canal, Rickmansworth. Narrowboats are moored alongside the towpath.The Grand Union Canal has quite a lot of commercial freight, even today. Mum painted one of the colourful historic boats on this trip. It is one of my favourites of her paintings, as it brings back so many great memories.
The aspect of the planning that I spent the most time worrying about was the arrival at the junction with the Thames River at Brentford. There is a lock between the canal and the river, which is tidal at that point, but it is dry except for a couple of hours each side of high tide. After passing through that lock, you must get to Teddington Lock, five miles upstream, before the lockkeeper leaves for the day, as there is nowhere for visitors to tie up on the tidal Thames. To make everything even more complicated, the locks are using Greenwich Mean Time, which is an hour different from British Summer Time. I studied tide tables, calculated distances, and fussed over the plan until I felt reasonably confident that I had everything correct.
Well, I got it wrong. We arrived at Brentford as expected, to find that the lock was still dry and we had some hours to wait before the lockmaster would be able to let us through. The big concern then would be arriving at Teddington too late, but the lockmaster kindly consulted his colleague, and it was arranged that Teddington Lock would wait for our arrival.
We pass into the tidal Thames, and what a difference! From the quiet canal waters we were suddenly dealing with a strong tidal current and large wakes from passing commercial vessels. The narrowboat handled the water with great aplomb! I pushed the throttle down nearly all the way, and she cut through the water like a hot knife through butter! Modern narrowboats are steel-hulled, and also have a superstructure made of steel. This means that a typical narrowboat weighs between 15 and 25 tons. The sheer weight of the boat meant that we were not bounced around by passing commercial craft, and we made the five-mile passage easily. The Teddington Lockmaster was waiting for us, and we completed the required paperwork and passed into the non-tidal Thames easily.
Our long day was not quite over. Plans had been made for dinner at a nice local restaurant, but unfortunately, the only place available for tying up was a steep concrete slope leading down to the water. Randy and I were able to get off to tie the boat up, but there was no possibility that either Mum or Cher would be able to jump across and safely climb the slope! Fortunately, we had the ingredients for what I now refer to as the “emergency omelette”, so we ate on board and enjoyed a quiet evening.
The next day we needed a stop to take on water. The canal books are excellent for letting you know where to stop, and we selected a suitable place. When we arrived, there were a lot of boats in the area, and the dock where the water point was had been partly blocked by a cruiser. (We rudely refer to these cruisers as “plastic boats”, and have to give them a wide berth, because 20 tons of steel would do significant damage if we run into one, or even give it a slight nudge!) We got our boat secured on the dock, but because of the cruiser, we could not reach the water point. An elderly couple had set up a table and chairs and were having a picnic right there, so I assumed (correctly) that they were from the other boat. I went over and politely asked them to move, as we could not get to the water point. Readers should note that tying up at a water point for any purpose other than taking on water is absolutely not allowed. The man abruptly told me that there was plenty of space. I explained to him that there was not, and at that point he finally looked up and said, “Oh, you’re one of those dreadful narrowboats that are ruining the waterways for everyone!” Just as he said this, Dad arrived and heard what was said, not to mention the rude manner and aggressive voice. Dad took immediate umbrage and began to argue quite vehemently. I was certain that the two men were about to resort to fisticuffs! I think the wife realized that they were entirely in the wrong, and she calmed her husband down and persuaded him to move his boat the few feet needed to give us access to the water. Given that narrowboats predate cruisers by over 200 years, I thought that the “ruining the waterways” comment was rich!
Cygnets on the Thames River
The Thames is a fascinating and historic waterway. We passed Hampton Court, and on through Richmond, and eventually arrived in Windsor, where we moored on the Eton side along the grassy bank of the extensive playing fields. Just where we had our embarrassing anchor experience two years earlier! A taxi had been arranged for Cher and Randy the next morning, to take them to the airport, and we expected our relief guests/crew to arrive by 10am. Time passed, and there was no sign of them. Around noon they finally appeared, dropped off by their son, with no apology or explanation for their late arrival. It was not an auspicious start and things did not improve.
Sir Christopher Wren Hotel at Windsor
One of the difficulties we always have when we have guests on board a boat is explaining that every drop of water has to be taken on at a special stopping point. We try to strike a balance by requesting shorter showers and minimal running of water during washing up etc, but until guests have stood and watched the boring task of filling the water tanks, they just do not understand. This lady was particularly obtuse, insisting on washing salad ingredients under running water and washing dishes under running water instead of filling a basin. They also did not like their accommodation. They complained continually that the beds were too narrow, and it was quite clear that they thought that Mum and Dad should give up their beds because they were small people! They also complained that there was an awful smell from their toilet, and no amount of explaining how the blackwater tank works on a boat would convince them to keep the lid of the toilet closed. We had not known that Mike had recently undergone a hip replacement, and while he was fully recovered, he was still being extremely careful about any physical exertion. Over time, both Mike and his wife participated less and less in the locking process, strolling up to offer a token push at the gates after I had done all the hard work. On the last day, with a number of locks and bridges to transit, including a 17-lock flight into Northampton, they stayed on the boat and left me to do all of it.
We are not giving up on sharing our boating experiences with guests, but this certainly stands as a cautionary tale and encourages us to choose wisely before we issue invitations!
Railway bridge over the River Thames in Maidenhead, Berkshire. Man walking two dogs at Cookham, Berkshire. A large field beside the Thames is a favoured location for dog walking.Sonning Bridge over the Thames
It is an interesting passage through Oxford. We tied up and spent a day exploring the famous city. Our next stop was just outside the city, at the Trout Inn, which features in an episode of the Morse TV series. The Oxford Canal is one of the prettiest canals that we have been on, and we enjoyed a peaceful trip.
Bridges on the Oxford Union CanalBelchers Lift Bridge near Aynho Wharf, Oxford Union Canal. These lift bridges are operated by the boaters, and are nearly as much work as lock operation.
Eventually we turned into the Grand Union Canal and handed over the boat and said a heartfelt goodbye to our guests. We did keep in touch over the next few years, and I gather that any frustrations they felt were long forgotten and Mike kept a photo of the boat on his desk.
King’s Sutton Lock at Tarvers Bridge on the Oxford Union Canal.
As I was preparing to write this first post, I consulted with some friends as to whether I should pull 6 cartons of photo albums out of storage and go through them to find pictures to accompany these stories. The answer was, no need to spend time searching and scanning old photos, “A good story will stand up by itself.” No pressure then. So I took a fascinating trip down memory lane, through more than 70 years of photos, ours and many from our parents. I scanned the ones I thought would be interesting, and I am supplementing those faded memories with more recent images taken during our travels.
When I was 8 years old, my parents decided that we would go on a camping trip to Maine. Dad built a wooden box to go on top of the car, and he borrowed a large tent from the next-door neighbours. Tents at that time were not straightforward, light, and waterproof; they were made of heavy canvas and had a ridgepole and guy ropes that pulled out the sides and required hammering tent pegs into the ground.
Mum, being a sensible lady, suggested that we have a practice at putting up the tent in the garden before heading off into the wild blue yonder. Dad scoffed, reminded her that he had been a boy scout, and announced that there was no need to bother with any practice.
Dad was always eager to get going, so on the appointed day, he had everyone out of bed by 4am. We stumbled around in the dark, my 3-year old brother and I “helping” to load all the stuff that had been accumulating in the back hall in preparation for the adventure. Shortly before everything was ready, Mum headed off to have a bath. Yes, really. She felt that baths were likely to be scarce on the trip, so wanted to save hers for the very last minute. After Dad, my brother, and I, had been sitting in the car for quite some time, Dad went back into the house to find Mum pottering around the kitchen. She said she was “waiting” for the rest of us to be ready. This was not an auspicious start, but I will say that it was the normal routine for road trips for all of my childhood!
Naturally, we were now setting off at the same time as everybody else who was taking a vacation, so we spent a lot of time stuck in traffic. In theory, today, it would take about 7 hours to drive from Toronto to Drummondville, Quebec, but by the time we sat in traffic, stopped for breaks, got lost… Oh yes, I forgot to mention that for reasons that still escape me, my parents never had a map in their car. Anyway, we arrived at the campground in Drummondville after dark. It was also pouring with rain.
A site was assigned to us, and Dad proceeded to unload the tent. This was when he discovered that boy scout or not, he had to spend half an hour untangling the guy ropes, sorting out the tent pegs, and figuring out which was the ridge pole and what other poles went where. Clearly, the folks we had borrowed the tent from were not as organized when it came to putting it away as one would have hoped. Eventually the tent was laid out on what seemed to be an appropriately flat part of the site, the ridge pole was slid into it, and my small brother and I were assigned to hold up the upright pole at one end of the ridge pole, while Mum clutched the one at the other end. Dad ran around with a hammer, pounding in the tent pegs. As soon as one side was apparently secured, and he started on the other side, the pegs he had put in first popped out of the ground. It took some time to find the right angles (and the right sequence) to get everything in place and the tent secure. Dad was soaked.
If you have ever been in a canvas tent in the rain, you will know that you must not touch the sides, and especially not the roof, because that creates a place where the water will seep through. I am sure there is a proper scientific explanation for this, I just know that this is what happens, and we had lots of drips inside.
Mum and Dad had given great thought to bedding for this trip. Sleeping bags had been purchased for everyone, and two camp beds were acquired for the adults. The tent had a groundsheet, and that was considered adequate for the children to sleep on. My back hurts even thinking about it all these years later! The camp beds were of a design that folded up, with angled legs that formed a sort of triangle to support the canvas.
Everything was set, trips to the site facilities accomplished, and we all got ready for bed. It was quite cold, so Mum put on a lot of extra clothes plus sweaters and her raincoat before carefully climbing into her sleeping bag. Five minutes later, she decided that another trip to the facilities was required. Of course, Dad had to accompany her. Eventually they returned, and Mum was ready to settle down. Unfortunately, not being an engineer, she did not realize that the design of the camp beds was such that if you sat on one end, the whole thing would flip up, dumping you on the ground and then collapsing on top of you. My brother and I found all this drama very exciting. I suspect that both Mum and Dad used a few adult words, but very quietly, so as not to set a bad example.
After an uncomfortable night, we woke up very early to find that much of the tent floor was soaking wet. The nicely flat area where the tent was pitched straddled a gravel drainage path.
This picture was taken many years later, showing how one is supposed to put away a tent. Note the camp bed at the front of the picture, it is very similar to the ones my parents brought on our first trip. You can easily see that if you sit on one end you will immediately be dumped onto the ground and the bed will flip over on top of you.
The next day’s excitement was a stop at a campground that featured “lean-to” accommodation as an alternative to pitching a tent. This was a large wooden structure, with an elevated floor and a sloped roof, completely open at the front. You set out your sleeping bags etc under the roof, and presumably kept a fire in the fire pit in front, to discourage the local wildlife. Now, Maine is not the western mountains, with resident predators that include grizzly bears and wolves, but there are certainly coyotes and what is described as a healthy population of black bears. True, tents do not keep predators out, but they do provide a psychological barrier! Not to mention small biting insects. I can still remember how terrified I was in that place, kept awake both by the distinctive eeeeeee of marauding mosquitoes, and the absolutely certainty that wild animals were creeping up on our campsite, drooling over an upcoming meal of small children! The night in the lean-to did give the tent a chance to dry out.
There is apparently no resident wolf population in Maine, but I did not know this. There are certainly wolves in Ontario and Quebec!I was quite certain that there would be a Big Bad Wolf creeping up on our lean-to!No wolves, but there is a large population of black bears in Maine. They are omnivorous, happy with nuts and berries (and dandelions), but they are not always fully committed vegetarians.
The rest of the trip went fairly well, as I can only remember bits and pieces. I know that the weather on Mt Desert Island was wet and miserable, and we eventually moved further south along the coast to a place called Hermit Island. That stay was remembered by all of the family as a highlight, and turned a holiday that began with far too many challenges, into a golden childhood memory.
Bass Harbor Lighthouse, Mount Desert Island, MaineSign on a covered bridge in Bath, north of where we camped on Hermit IslandA beaver swimming across a pond in the Appalachians
Fast forward about 12 years, to late August, 1974. By this time, Dick and I were a committed item, and we decided to go camping together, destination Lake Placid, NY. Dick’s brother had just bought a tent, and it was agreed that we could borrow that, as well as his father’s car, to go on our trip. When we arrived at the farm to collect them, the tent was pitched in the front yard. Mum told us that Ed had found it quite difficult to put up. While we were out and about, Ed took the tent down and packed it up. Later, I suggested to Dick that perhaps we should have a practice go at pitching the tent, particularly given the trouble Ed had experienced. With the typical disdain of the eldest for the younger brother, Dick’s response was, “We know it is all there, we saw it when it was up.” Is this beginning to sound familiar?
We set off from Norwood, accompanied by Jesse, the beagle chihuahua cross puppy that I had acquired in the spring. Today the drive would be about 5 hours. I can only assume that we must have been pretty late leaving, because we arrived just before dark. There was also a thunderstorm rumbling in the distance. Leaving Jesse to watch from the car, we unpacked the tent. I brought out the instructions and we began by laying the tent carefully on the ground and then picking out the “first y-shaped pole”. The first inkling that there might be a problem came when the instructions told us to fit the “second y-shaped pole”. There wasn’t one. There were lot of poles, that we tried putting together, but nothing would match that first y-shape. The diagram seemed to have no relationship to the reality of the tent and its equipment. It got dark, and we had to turn on the car lights to see. The thunder got louder. The puppy got restless. Nothing seemed to work.
At this point I was ready to burst into tears. Then I thought about it. We were students, and our money would either stretch to the few days camping that we had planned, or a single night in a motel. I knew that if I started to cry, Dick (who had not at this point been my husband of 40-some years…) would immediately agree that we should abandon our plans and go to a motel. So, I took a deep breath, and suggested that we just try to hold the tent up enough to get into it (with dog and cooler), and then figure it out in daylight the next morning. As soon as we threw away the instructions, everything went together perfectly and logically, and in a few minutes we were all set and ready to prepare our supper on the (borrowed) Coleman stove. There was only ever one y-shaped pole; one assumes that the person who wrote the instructions did not in fact have one of the tents in front of him. Jesse was a bundle of energy after her long ride in the car, and I remember standing apart and throwing a ball back and forth to each other while puppy raced between us.
Dick packs the car for our first camping trip togetherIt’s very faded, but you can just see the tent laid out on the ground, and that’s Dick trying to figure it out.Once we threw away the instructions, the tent went up easily and logically!Cooking supper on the borrowed Coleman stove.Jesse
The holiday was our first together, and we have never lost our enjoyment of travelling, visiting new places, and returning to favourite locations.
We enjoyed a second “I told you so” event during that trip. We decided to take the drive to the top of Whiteface Mountain. As we set off, I suggested that perhaps we should fill up with gas. Dick did not believe then (and still does not), that anything over ¼ full requires a top-up. The mountain is part of the Appalachians, 4867 feet high. It is just 13 miles from Lake Placid, so in Dick’s defence, ¼ of a tank of fuel should probably have been enough. Sadly, he did not realize that the steep road with late summer traffic, finishing with hairpin bends, was going to take a lot more fuel than he anticipated. After we had visited the attractions and enjoyed the views, on our return to the car, Dick realized that we were nearly out of gas. His solution was to turn off the engine and coast down the road on the return. This meant that he needed to keep the brakes on the whole time, and by the time we were at the bottom and able to make it to a gas station, there was a distinct smell of burning rubber! Some time later, on one Dick’s visits home, his Dad commented that he couldn’t understand it, the brakes on the car needed redoing very soon after he had them done in the summer. Dick made interested noises, but failed to offer an explanation, and Dad was left scratching his head…
Dick and I got married in 1977, and there were more camping trips. One year we headed east to meet my parents in Nova Scotia, camping on the way there. They planned to join us at a campground near where they had been staying with friends, but the friends persuaded them to continue to stay with them, and (somewhat reluctantly) invited us to join them. Giving us a bedroom did not, however, convey status as favoured guests. We put the perishable food we had with us into their fridge. The first evening, we all ate the casserole I had made and brought with us. The second evening, Dad took everyone out to dinner at a local restaurant. In the morning, while Mum and Dad were offered freshly made breakfast rolls and the option of a boiled egg, Dick and I were presented with warmed up hamburger buns from our own supplies. It was a strange (and never to be repeated) stay, fortunately only two nights. We carried on with Mum and Dad to one of the great former railway hotels, the Algonquin Resort in St Andrews, New Brunswick. We stayed a few nights there (Mum’s treat), and played golf together on their lovely seaside course. This was the first of many camping and golfing holidays we took, both on our own and with my parents.
I like to include a little history with my stories. Dick and I grew up in Canada, and we learned about the Acadians in high school history lessons. Now generally, the victor writes the histories, and those histories can be quite biased in their favour. Perhaps Canadians are a little different. These are very polite people, who will apologise if you bump into them. (I still do that, automatically. Dick has no need, he is a highly visible individual, and nobody bumps into him.) Canadians also seem to have a penchant for apologetic histories. We were taught about the Acadians from the point of view of stories such as that told in the poem Evangelene, written in 1847 by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
The original white settlement of the lands of the French colonies in the north east of North America began with 60 families from the farming areas of west-central France in the early 17th century. This group increased over the next two centuries, and developed their own distinct culture. They were friendly with the local Mi’kmaq tribes. The British conquered the region in 1710, and over the next 74 years, there were 6 wars taking place in the Acadian region. The Mi’kmaq refused to accept British governance, and, joined by many of their Acadian neighbours, engaged in guerilla warfare, harassment of British troops and fortifications, and disruption of supply lines. In hopes of stopping the conflicts, an oath of allegiance to the British Crown was required of all Acadians. Many refused. It is thought that there was concern that signing the oath would put them in conflict with the Mi’kmac, and that there would be a risk of reprisals. Another reason could have been the fear that they would be sent to fight against France during wartime. There was also the problem that the committed Roman Catholic Acadians could not sign an oath that acknowledged the British Crown as head of the Church. In 1755, 11,500 Acadians ( about one third of the population of the area that is now Nova Scotia) were deported to locations in the British colonies along the eastern seaboard, from New England, to as far south as Georgia. Many of the displaced Acadians quickly returned to their former homes. A second wave was deported to France.
The Spanish government decided that these dispossessed people would make an excellent bulwark against British expansion that might threaten their colony of Louisiana. Many Acadians had already settled there, and they were joined by more of their compatriots. They did not make particularly good subjects of Spain, participating in a rebellion that ousted the Spanish governor and required Spanish troops to put it down. The Acadians developed over time into the Cajun population, with their own distinct culture and language. Today, in spite of the Acadian Diaspora, also called the Great Expulsion, or Le Grand Dérangement, there are still over 300,000 Canadians who identify themselves as being Acadians. The largest group live in New Brunswick, and one third of the people of that province speak French as their mother tongue.
During the 1980’s, we lived in Calgary, Alberta, and the beautiful mountain golf courses beckoned. We continued to camp, thus saving money on accommodation, and played golf all over Alberta and in the mountains of British Columbia. Dick’s sister Betty joined us one year in late August, and had the dubious pleasure of waking up to four inches of snow on the tent and the ground at our campsite east of Banff. That day, after a round of golf at the famous Banff Spring course, we went shopping in the town, and Betty felt the need to purchase a really heavy-duty Arctic rated sleeping bag. I found a thick fleece onesie, complete with booties. Neither the sleeping bag nor the onesie were used again after that trip.
One of the two golf courses at Kananaskis. We camped here with Betty, in August, and woke up to 4 inches of snow on the ground.The second of the Kananaskis golf coursesBighorn sheep on the golf course in RadiumThe Springs Golf Club above the Columbia Valley, Radium, British ColumbiaMoraine Lake, Banff National ParkColumbian Ground Squirrel, a common sight in the mountains.Red Paintbrush, one of the prettiest mountain wildflowers.Skunk cabbage. Pretty, but this bog plant does have an unpleasant smell!
We also joined friends on group camping weekends at special campsites in the mountains. The sites were completely primitive, with no facilities apart from a johnny-on-the-spot. You could swim in the glacier fed mountain stream if you wished. Nobody did. During these trips, Dick perfected his special camping breakfast of steak and eggs cooked on the Coleman stove.
Dick prepares breakfast on a camping weekendLonghorn cattle in one of the mountain valleys
In the late 80’s, on a trip to England, I met a nice couple at a small hotel I used to stay at. They were (unusually in England) ice hockey fans, and a year or so later, Geoff stopped in Calgary on a trip through Canada one winter, going from city to city to attend NHL hockey games. He enjoyed his trip, so he and his wife decided that they would take us up on our invitation to visit in the summer. I asked them what they might like to do, and I suggested a camping trip. Waterton Glacier National Park is an easy drive south of Calgary, and you can travel on the spectacular Going-to-the-Sun-Road across the mountains to Kalispell, Montana and from there return to Calgary. The proposal was met with enthusiasm, even though neither of them had ever been camping, so plans were made. We had recently bought a much larger tent, although Dick had not yet experienced it. We had also kept the small two-person tent, so we were all set to go camping with visitors.
The Waterton Glacier International Peace Park is an amalgamation of two National Parks from each side of the border. The Park was proposed as early as the 19th century, and credit for the eventual establishment is given to Rotary Clubs from Montana and Cardston, Alberta. It was signed into law in the United States in 1931, the Canadians followed a few months later. The original concept of a “borderless” international park is somewhat amusing, as the only way to cross the border without checks is on foot through trackless, rugged grizzly bear country. The most well-known picture of Glacier National Park is taken from the Prince of Wales Hotel, which is in Canada. Not only are the two parks administered separately, they also have separate entrance fees.
The Prince of Wales Hotel, where members of the Rotary Clubs met to plan an International Peace Park. We have stayed there. The location is spectacular, but the food was truly the worst we have ever eaten in a hotel, the rooms were tiny, and the ancient heating and hot water pipes made noisy bangs and gurgles through the night.
The spectacular Going-to-the-Sun-Road crosses Glacier National Park, going over the Continental Divide through Logan Pass at an elevation of 6,646 feet. The highway was completed in 1933. It is a two-lane road with switchbacks and steep drop-offs, and overhanging rocks that also restrict the height of vehicles.
We set off for our first planned campsite in Waterton. On checking in, the lady in reception told us several times that “We do not have any sheltered sites left” and also explained that once we had paid for 3 nights, there would be no refunds. We could not understand the emphasis on sheltered sites and were even more mystified when we drove around to choose our spot. We could see that all the other campers had pitched their tents right beside the toilet blocks. It seemed a very strange thing to do, especially knowing that there would be people walking past your tent at all hours of the day and night! We selected what looked like a salubrious site and proceeded to pitch the two tents. The small one went up easily, but there was some difficulty with the new large one. It was a dome tent, and I had already learned that there was a critical order for putting in the three poles that lifted the dome (because they were three slightly different lengths). I tried to explain this to the engineer, but he was feeling impatient and ignored me. Being pretty strong, he forced the poles into their pockets and raised the dome, except that the result was not dome shaped, more like a slightly melting ice cream. Hungry, and fed up with tents, Dick decided that this was good enough.
As we faffed around with tents and all the other paraphernalia we had brought, the wind, that was already blowing when we arrived, increased considerably.
We set up the little hibachi to grill the steaks, and the Coleman stove to cook the rest of the dinner. By now, the wind was absolutely howling. The steaks blew off the grill, and it was hard to keep the stove alight. Brushing the dirt off the steaks and the meal finally ready, we ate, and all decided that it was certainly not a campfire night, and we crawled into our respective tents. Dick and I were accompanied by our two dogs, Sam, the Golden Retriever, and Hannibal, the English Mastiff. We also had the cooler in the tent with us. Not the wisest idea in Grizzly country, but we didn’t really think that through. Through the night, we could hear the wind start at the bottom of the lake, and increase its howl as it travelled up and then battered our somewhat unstable tent. At one point we felt the tent pegs give way. I suggested that we should step out and hammer them back in, but Dick’s position was that with two adults, two large dogs, and a cooler, the tent was going nowhere, and he was not prepared to get out of his warm sleeping bag. The wind finally died down just before dawn.
Grizzly bears live in this area. Bringing your cooler into your tent is not wise!Upper Waterton Lake. The town is on the right side of the picture, and the campground is just behind the town, completely unprotected from the prevailing winds that sweep up the lake from the far distance.
The next morning, our friends went for a long walk together. I am sure the conversation was along the lines of Mrs wanting to leave immediately, and Mr explaining that we had the cars, and there was no public transportation, and where would they go anyway! Meanwhile, Dick and I had decided that we would give up on our prepaid next two nights in that dreadful spot, and I would carry on to Kalispell with our guests, so they would not miss the wonderful experience of the Going-to-the-Sun-Road. Dick had always planned to return to Calgary from Waterton, and we had two cars with us. So, in fact, our guests could have returned to Calgary with him, but we sold them on the plan to carry on, since we knew that the campground in West Glacier would be far better.
Sadly, the drive was not a success. Our guests were absolutely terrified of the steep road, that winds along the side of the mountain well above the valley floor. My proposal to stop at the welcome centre at the top was met with the question “Do we have to?” Instead of oohs and ahhs of amazement and enjoyment, the drive was punctuated by small squeaks and gasps of fear from both passengers.
Driving south into Montana from Waterton, the scenery is very pretty.Bison in the fieldsChief Mountain, an ancient volcanic plug, is the first of the dramatic features of the approach to Glacier National Park from the north.The view from the spectacular Going-to-the-Sun-RoadWaterfalls tumble down the steep slopes to the valley floor far below.
The trip improved dramatically once we were off the mountain and settling into our new campsite. The dome tent went up as easily as it is supposed to, once the poles were in the correct order, and our meals were delicious. There was no wind, and no rain. The dogs enjoyed it too!
Saint Mary Lake, Glacier National ParkBear grass. In all our years of visiting the Rockies I have only seen it in flower once.Crowsnest Mountain in the pass between British Columbia and Alberta. This is known as the Upside Down Mountain because the Paleozoic limestone top is older than the Mesozoic slopes beneath.
That was probably our last camping trip, as it was around that time that we bought our first timeshares. Just as well, we were getting old enough, especially Mum and Dad, to want a bit more comfort than is available from tents and air mattresses! We optimistically kept the tents for years, and the sleeping bags are still in our storage unit. I honestly can’t imagine camping again, but never say never!
I will finish with some picture of wildlife that you might be lucky enough to see if you are very quiet and look around when you travel around the Rocky Mountains.
Bobcat, Lynx rufusColumbian Ground SquirrelA young MooseMountain Goat kid beside its motherYoung bull MooseCanada lynx, Lynx canadensisA female red-winged blackbird gathers a few bits to add the nest her mate has built.
Scene and Done 