Welsh rare bits

Still we are finding interesting things to do in Wales. We called in at Devil's Bridge, a site we first visited some thirty five years ago, before it became barricaded from visitors. Today, it is barred and gated with ugly turnstiles requiring coins be dropped before you are able to pass to see the bridge. Another of the hazards of tourism. The tale of the bridge draws tourists even today. 

Across a very narrow gorge three bridges have been built one on top of the other from three different time periods: a walking bridge from the 11th century, a fragile packhorse bridge from the 17th century, and a lightweight carriageway built in the 19th century. 

The 11th century bridge is set low, deep into the gorge, and is said to have been built by the Devil. The tale goes that an old woman had a cow that found its way across the gorge to the other side. In order to get him back she had to make a deal with the devil who promised to build her a bridge overnight in exchange for the first living thing that would cross it on the morrow. 

The old woman returned in the morning to discover that the devil had built the bridge as promised, and that her cow might now easily cross once her part of the pact had been fulfilled. Wily, was the woman. She did not cross the bridge herself as the Devil was expecting. From her apron she drew a handful of bones and food scraps. These she tossed to the other side. The dog with her immediately bounded after them, and became the first living thing to cross the bridge. Her pact was complete. The devil must still be gnashing his pitchfork. 

We called in at Castell Henllys, an Iron Age Village with a difference. This site has been completely reconstructed, with advice from archeologists and professors, using even the exact post holes and sizes originally used by the Celts of the Iron Age whose housing was being recreate

The entire complex gives an excellent overview of what life must have been like some two thousand years ago in such a village with its large and small roundhouses functioning as living quarters, granaries, smithy, chieftain's house, and a communal kind of meeting house, somewhat like a covered African kraal. It is easy to imagine a small fortress like this filled with people busy at their daily tasks as woodsmoke from the central slate hearth wisps high to perfume the thatched roof above. 

The village was built near a stream, surrounded by earthen ramparts and, at one time, strengthened by a protective palisade, fortified further on one side by an intriguing chevaux-de-frise, a cluster of pointed stones lethally imbedded into the earth, designed to slow any oncoming attackers. As they attempted to negotiate these tripping stones intruders were more accurately sighted by the defending archers. A very clever defensive strategy. 

After years and years of work the archeological dig at Castell Henllys is now complete and the findings are soon to be published. So, even more interesting detail awaits us when that is ready. 

On a narrow back road tight with hedgerows, following a sign for morning coffee, we found a functioning woollen mill in a little hamlet called Solva. We love these surprises. We were so early that we were able to see them start the overshot watermill for the day - which operates their equipment.

The mill is in the process of being thoroughly renovated to full functioning working order by a young couple with a big passion -- and one hopes, a big budget. They have set up a coffee-cum-giftshop that displays their products, woven in a coarse weave: carpets, runners, table mats, and suchlike, tho' their machines are capable of producing fine quality wool weave. They have viewing windows which allow access to various parts of the operation of the tiny mill, making it all the more interesting. 

We watched coloured yarns being threaded from cones onto bobbins by a cone winder. Today, the weaver was continuing work already started on a long narrow carpet length for a stair or hall runner, and as the loom throws the shuttle some 90 times a minute he was kept busy refilling the shuttle with fresh bobbins from the cone winder, and repairing thread breakages. 

Solva mill have recently received commissions from as far afield as America where they have been called upon to weave replacement runners and rugs for a rather grand building being funded by the government in the States. Lovely to see them doing so well. 

Another gorgeous afternoon we spent exploring the ruins of the religious community at St David's on the Peninsula where once a Cathedral, Bishop's Palace, and the remnants of many other 12th century religious buildings still stand in what once have been a massive religious pilgrimage complex. 

The local stonework on the Bishop's Palace was particularly beautiful: all pink and lavender and grey then finished off with more formal black contrasting with white arches. The colours really glowed in the sun. 

The cathedral, itself, had beautiful nave and side altars. Amazing the money and craftsmanship that could be found in days long past for such detailed and exquisite work. Try building something like this today, and finding not only enough funding, but, also, craftsmen skilled enough to complete the work in such a remote corner of the earth. 

We are constantly intrigued by the actual logistics of how all these things might have been commissioned in times long past. And how long they took to be completed. Amazed, we are, about how much money used to be floating around for religious buildings; yet, today, there seems to be so little in any money pot for necessities even, like roads. 

Another foggy morning coffee hunt brought us to Saundersfoot in Southern Wales. This looks and feels more like an expensive village in France than Wales, with its small street filled with stylish boutiques, freshly baked chocolate croissants, and decadent rich espressos. We have been missing France this year, so loved this coffee stop which allowed us a little boutique hopping as well. 

A little further along and still hugging the bay is the touristy town of Tenby. This, too, feels very French. In fact, it is walled and has cramped medieval streets overlooking a wonderful sandy harbour, with an island tucked just a low-tide walk away, and looks for all the world like an English version of St Malo. Which made us even more homesick for France so we stayed for lunch and dawdled the day away just chatting to folk in town. 'Twas lovely. So, we didn't get far that day. 

Then, deeper into Southern Wales we drove, which really becomes more an endless conurbation of sad looking buildings and dwellings, many of which are For Sale. Certainly not the most beautiful part of the country. How green are my valleys is grimly contradicted by how desperate is much of the housing. It made our spirits shrivel so we didn't stop much. 

On to the Folk Museum at St Fagan's which is undergoing renovation over the next few years, and really needs a proper identity focus as its name is different on every piece of literature we have. Sometimes it is called the National History Museum of Wales; sometimes the Welsh Folk Museum; sometimes, just St Fagans; and so on. 

It is a collection of authentic buildings and structures that have been moved from various parts of Wales, reconstructed on site and set up not only to preserve history, but to be educational. Really great aims. And a good idea, but overall, the whole 100 acres looks a little underfunded. Some of the exhibits could do with a deal of spit and polish, and the surrounding yards and gardens need a trim and tidy. 

Surprising, too, in this electronic age to see so many full-time staff spending their days wandering around some of these major buildings, looking slightly weary and bored, waiting to offer advice to any who seek it, when an iPod loaded with the information they have could offer the same thing. The staff could then be freed up and put to better use around the complex. Still, the place is currently undergoing a revamp in the administration section, so maybe some of that will eventually happen. 

We enjoyed the exhibits, and were delighted by the more unusual ones: the historic urinal, for instance. In Victorian times attempts were made to reduce the squalor by building outdoor public loos. At the time it cost a penny to use one, hence the phrase: "to spend a penny" became synonymous with visiting the loo. 

Many, like this, were built of cast iron and were open at the back, like pissoires, in Europe, so, most were for men. During the second world war, though, the cast iron used on these loos was needed for the war effort so many had to be dismantled and recycled. This excellent example, relocated here from LLandridod Wells, survived. 

This communal oven came from Merthyr Tydfil and was one of three that had been originally built into the ends of rows of terraced houses for baking, before separate ovens in separate dwellings became commonplace. 

Tenants of the terraces were allocated a specific day to do their baking, and oftentimes one of them would be in charge of the oven for the community for the day and might receive a penny a loaf for their effort. Some of these folk became expert bakers and were later able to set up their own ovens and became commercial bakers. The door on this oven would have been stone and would have been sealed shut with cow dung used like putty to keep in the heat. 

This little row of terraced homes came from another street in industrial Merthyr Tydfil upon demolition. The row was built at the beginning of the industrial revolution, when iron workers, who were quite well off, enjoyed living here. As iron demand depleted and coal demand increased these became the homes of coal workers. The sheer volume of workers needed in Welsh mines meant that housing was short and these tiny terraces came to house large extended families, often in cramped and unsanitary conditions. 

After several cholera outbreaks in the 1850s, and many tragic deaths, improvements were made to the water supply and drainage, and fixed windows were opened to let in fresh air. Outdoor loos were provided in front gardens, as well. But still, not sufficient, and the row of terraces was eventually condemned in the 1930s, but it was not until the slump of the 1970s, that they were demolished, and their inhabitants all relocated. 

Today each cottage have been dressed in each of its different eras: mirror-image cottages show the changes through the ages: it really is quite fascinating. 

Around the grounds we particularly enjoyed how the life stories of the very real folk who actually lived in these dwellings were recreated on interpretive panels. That is a lovely human touch that adds an pleasing element of authenticity and excellent research. 

The food hunt in Wales has been a little like searching for food in Scotland: you really do need to go the extra mile to find the good stuff, as the ordinary stuff can be dead ordinary.

Blackberries are ripe on the hedgerows here now. Mind you, as fast as we see them, they are also being pruned. It is that time of the year: September through to March: the only time of the year the hedgerows can be trimmed: which is a small protection for the birds who use them for nesting during spring and summer. So, we are quite chuffed when we find any ripe berries at all at this time of the year, but they are always lovely. 

One day we found fresh dressed crab and lobster pulled right from the sea water where we bought them at St Bride's Bay, near Newgate, so had delicious crab on crusty bread for lunch, followed by lobster and lemon butter linguine for dinner. We were disappointed we didn't see more enroute, but it took our fisherman four hours in a morning, then four hours in an afternoon to check his lobster pots on days he went out; and this after a long day in construction, so you really have to be keen to put shellfish on offer.

It has been foggy and cool enough most days to want soup for lunch. One memorable soup on offer at an otherwise unremarkable pub we visited happened to be roasted parsnip, apple and cider. This soup was so supreme we cannot wait to get home and attempt it ourselves. 

We have skipped though Wales faster than anticipated, as the weather, while fine temperature-wise most days, is foggy. In the north the early morning fog started lifting around lunch time, but down south it seems set in for the season. Add that to the housing stock and it becomes gloomy. So, with visibility down to a car length, photography in the fog is not so much fun, so we point the motorhome towards to the West Country, hoping for better views.

A devilish bridge and tale

Stylish Celtic roundhouses

Comfortable interior set up like a meeting kraal

Spacious, warm. What more can one want?

Surprising how little water is
needed for an overshot wheel

Cone winder

A woollen rug partly woven

Love the detail of the stonework

The pastel colours are brilliant in the late sun

Exquisite detail and craftsmanship

Cosmopolitan Tenby

So like St Malo

Historic loo

The door would be daubed shut for firing

Terraced rows in museum

Historic home in folk museum

Dressed crab for lunch 

To market, to market

We are following a book that is taking us through some of the most scenic parts of Wales, but the routes are clinging to the coast, in the main, so we get nowhere fast, which is fine with us as we're not in a hurry. The roads are narrow and built for slow driving, but not as in dire need of attention as most of Scotland's roads. 

Wales is so tiny that if you come across a spot where walkers or tourists congregate, parking is well nigh an impossibility. In places like Betws-y-coed and New Quay we didn't even attempt to park. Which is just as well, as we used to love Betws-y-coed when we lived here, we came often, but now it looks distinctly unappealing on a quick pass through. Which is the trouble with special places: along come the tourists, quickly followed by the intrepreneurs who invest in cheap, ugly buildings, then fill them with cheap, ugly product, determined to grab the tourist dollar, and set about spoiling the unique thing about that place that visitors once valued. One just has to think of Venice. So sad. 

As we drive, coastal Wales continually reminds us of Tasmania: economically, it appears to be living close to the edge. Most villages are heavily decorated with For Sale signs. Sometimes every second or third cottage is For Sale. And sometimes, an investor appears to have bought a large complex, spent time and money developing the outbuildings, and surrounding buildings as Holiday Lets, but now has the entire complex up For Sale. Adding to the proliferation of signage. A worry if you are an investor hoping to make a profit -- much too much competition on the market. 

We notice, too, the large number of Holiday Cottages for Let. And though it is still fair-weather September as yet, these cottages are mostly vacant. Sadder to say, some villages seem to consist of only Holiday Cottages, and give the distinct impression that not too many folk live here all year round. So more than likely most of these Holiday Cottages sit for much of the year untenanted. Which can't be good for what village life is left. 

One publican told us that his pub business was now virtually finished for the year. In early September. What he made this summer, and luckily for him it has been a gorgeous summer, has to tide him across until next spring. As business from now until then is slow going. What happens, though, in the years he has a bad summer? How much longer can small village pubs like this even stay open? So many close daily. 

And where to shop? Even small Convenience stores, as in Scotland, are so few and far between. Not all villages have one, which makes it difficult for any older folk, who are still around in some of these towns, to buy even a loaf of bread, as those who don't drive have to take a bus. 

Wales looks to have reached super-saturation point with its Holiday Cottages. There appear to be more available than are warranted. We wonder if investors actually do any kind of needs analysis before they renovate yet another empty cottage to put in the thick Letting Catalogues to then stay empty most of the year. Madness. 

It is not just the Cottages For Sale or the Holiday Cottages To Let that are an indication of difficult times; the gorgeous coastal scenery is terribly blighted, these days, by the explosion of static caravan sites. Site after site after site. A seemingly endless array of them. Which, like the cottages, are also likely to be vacant once school holidays are over, so again, a surfeit. Such a worry. 

Yet the hills and the valleys are lush and green, and thick with woolly lambs that bleat out over the hillsides, so year-round farmers do live here and appear to be busy. Which is good. But, there are so many lambs dotting these hills that we wonder why the supermarket price for lamb is still so exorbitant. How does that work? Surely the more lamb you supply the cheaper it gets at market; yet some locals we were chatting to claim that New Zealand lamb is cheaper here than Welsh lamb. So these things about Wales we simply do not understand. They make little sense to us.

Tourists love the sunsets from the Welsh coast

Like the geese, tourists are seasonal 

Static caravan heaven.  Or hell.  

Who eats all the Welsh sheep?

Ferry 'cross the Mersey

From the Wirral across to Liverpool is but a metro ride under the Mersey. Or, of course, Gerry and the Pacemaker's famous ferry crosses the Mersey. We decided on both, just for fun, then organised ourselves another three hour Sandelands walking tour, which gave us an excellent overview of the city. 

Liverpool is interesting. Five hundred years ago there was a population of 500 people living in Liverpool. Today, there are well over 500, 000. It has some great population growth catalysts as part of its history. Firstly, slaves. We had never associated slaves with Liverpool before, but slaves, literally, made Liverpool rich. 

Starting in the 17th century merchants from the city started developing the docks, building large ships, and loading these with goods to take to Africa: cotton, and suchlike. On African shores they offloaded their cargo then reloaded with black Africans, sailing them, often in chains, to the West Indies and the Americas to work as slaves on their sugar plantations there. In the Americas they loaded their boats with sugar, then completed the triangular route back to the Liverpool docks from where they started. 

To store and distribute their imports, and to run their shipping interests, these same merchants built some of the most beautiful buildings in the world. That are there to this day. Liverpool, like Chicago, is famous for its extraordinary architecture, and many of its buildings clustered along its docks are World Heritage listed. 

The Three Graces, for a start. They make up the Pier Head and consist of the Liver Building with the mythical liver birds atop it, the Cunard building--shades of the Titanic disaster; and the Port of Liverpool. These buildings are classical, symmetrical and stunning; and are among the most beautiful waterfront constructions anywhere. 

Just a short walk away is the Albert Dock which looks as if it was built yesterday in sharp-edged red minimalist brick, but was actually built in 1846. Albert Dock the largest collection of Grade 1 listed buildings anywhere in Britain today, though now, on all sides, it has been converted into smart art galleries, restaurants and museums so we were able to escape the wind that was ripping across the water that day, and have a lovely relaxed lunch and an afternoon at the Tate. 

Another population grower was trade. Given the development of these excellent shipping and docking facilities, the 19th century saw 40% of the world's trade passing through Liverpool. Dock workers were needed urgently. At the same time, across the pond, blight attacked the Irish potato, and thousands upon thousands of Irish men boarded a boat which brought them to Liverpool to work. So many, that by 1851, one quarter of the population of Liverpool were Irish. Which makes sense, then, of the soft and musical accent of today's Liverpudlians. 

We, of course, paid a quick visit to The Cavern Club in Mathew Street, which is in a slightly different location than the original site the Beatles played in, but, well below ground level. The drinking and dining cave is again laid out as it once was, even using bricks from the original site. One of many very viable music venues that keeps Liverpool buzzing until the wee hours of each morning. 

Liverpool leaves you with the sense of being both grand and incredibly friendly and accessible: it is a city that appears to know how to have fun. Its architecture -- the mix of classical and modern constructions, was such a joy -- and what we likely will always remember first about the city. 

Ferry 'cross the Mersey

Face looking out of smashed building

Mythical liver birds

 

 

Symmetrical, beautiful 

Stylish Albert Docks

John, looking cool on Mathew Street

The Cavern Club as it is

Eleanor Rigby

There are more than 200 of these statues throughout Liverpool

  

  

Merchant's dreams

We took time out to visit Biddulph Grange gardens one wet afternoon in our last month. This is not far from where we were spending the night at our 'home base' in Cheshire before we again headed off to spend a few weeks in Wales. We came this route, really, to go to the doctor. Along the west coast of Scotland I began experiencing pain, deep internal side pain, at a consistent time very early each morning, which started depriving me of sleep. I then developed an angry red blotchy rash and the Emergency staff at the Edinburgh Hospital were flummoxed by the symptoms as perhaps the rash was not well developed at that time. Here, though, it was quickly and correctly diagnosed as Shingles and handfuls of painkillers were the solution as it was too late to attempt the quick cure for Shingles. 

What a joy Biddulph Grange gardens turned out to be. We are not easily enthused by gardens. We've visited many, including the famed Monet's garden in Giverny, and were unimpressed. Made solely for tourists, we thought. Little about that garden would have given Monet much joy or inspiration. 

Biddulph Grange garden, though, is a different beast. It was built by James Bateman, a contemporary of Charles Darwin, and gardens, at the time, were all the rage, probably thanks to Darwin and his publications, as well as his collection of exotic seeds. James took a different approach. He made his garden joyful, whimsical, even frivolous: he was not interested, solely, in the biological aspects of the plants. 

So, his garden is first and foremost eclectic. He has gathered diverse plants and not been afraid to put them all into the one garden. Today, landscape designers talk of gardens as an extension of the home. They use the term 'rooms' to refer to parts of gardens that have different functions. But James beat them to it. His gardens are laid out in quite discrete 'rooms', amazingly distinct, yet wonderfully secreted from each other so that one does not intrude on the other: Egyptian, Oriental, Italianate and, even, English Rose. 

Occasionally, you are able to peek from one to another, into a piece of garden either below or above you, as is typical in Eastern gardens. Or, through a wee frame that gives you just a hint of what is to come if you go that way or uncover that section of the garden. 

And unravelling the garden really is an exercise in exploration. It is somewhat like peeling an onion, there are so many layers and delights. How many hours he must have spent designing it. And enjoying that design process. 

We loved it. We viewed it in the rain, which meant we had it virtually to ourselves, and that made it extra special. The Grange, itself, is private: not for viewing. A developer bought the home and turned it into nine high end apartments. 

Technically, the gardens are separate from their dwellings, but their setting is impossible to move. So, after the tourists have gone of an evening, owners of these apartments must surely take their wineglasses into one of these special places, and consider it their own. And thank James Bateman for his passion and creativity in designing such a glorious spot. 

Another day, and not 15 kilometres away, we visited Quarry Bank Mill after slowly negotiating a call to hunt that was going on in one of our back streets at the time, filled as it was with horses, hunters, and dogs in a chaotic mill. We cannot understand how we missed visiting Quarry Bank in all the years that we lived, studied and explored this area when the children were young, but are so glad we found it this time.

Quarry Bank Mill was founded in 1784 by young Samuel Greg, when he took over his uncle's cloth merchant business, and set about expanding it. He dreamed of, and built, a mill powered by a water wheel turned by the fast flowing Styal River. This was built in order to quickly spin coarse cotton yarn for the booming cotton industry. Up till then spinning had been done by hand. Samuel didn't stop at building his mill, but built housing for all his workers, along with an Apprentice House for the young children he used in the factory. 

Child labour was all too common at the time of Samuel's mill, as were slaves.  Samuel, a typical merchant of his time, also owned a sugar plantation in the West Indies, so he had enslaved Africans as well as unpaid child workers. But he was an educated man, a religious man, even a visionary, and he had this yen to build an efficient factory, which he set about doing, and luckily, he was open to his wife's softening and humane influence, so as Quarry Bank grew, conditions there became better and better for the employees. 

Samuel built houses for his workers that were two-up, two-down dwellings, each had a cistern and a good sized garden where they were encouraged to grow their own fresh vegetables. And the children, the ninety unpaid apprentices, lived in a dormitory house which had its own privy. Amazing for the time. 

The children came from workhouses, had no parents, and were given an education at Quarry Mill, so their lives were probably better than most child workers, given the time, though there is no doubt they worked long and arduous hours: carding, combing, spinning, weaving. 

By 1848, laws were enacted which prevented such child labour, but Quarry Bank Mill still went on to thrive, producing spun cotton, and later, cloth textile, until 1959, when it finally closed. 

It is now an excellent museum in an extraordinary condition. The architecture of the mill is that stylish minimalist industrial look that continues to look brilliant even today. And the gardens, set on the banks of the burbling Styal, make it not only liveable, but even beautiful. Those worker children may well have found a large measure of happiness here. 

But the gem of these merchant dream places we have visited turned out to be Port Sunlight, over on the Wirral Peninsula. We could have spent days here. Port Sunlight was conceptualised by William Lever, of Lever Brothers, now Unilever, makers of Sunlight Soap and all the other soap products that, traditionally, had been made at their factory at Warrington. 

William determined that a new factory was needed on this flat empty land stretching south of the Mersey, together with a village to house all the employees. It was close to docks for shipping, and inland routes for distribution. it is still a great location, even today. So he set about hiring thirty different architects, giving each a section of the village to display their ideas. So, you might think the village would have an odd look, without any overarching design holding it all together, but, it doesn't. 

Some of the houses are decorated with carved wood and moulded masonry, others are half timbered, while others have twisted brick pepperpot chimneys and leaded glass windows. The housing is lovely. William didn''t stop at building housing for his employers. He and his wife believed that healthy workers were happy ones and they included in the village all that they could to see their vision work: schools, a temperance hotel, public baths, shopping facilities, reading halls and the Lady Lever Art Gallery, a beautiful building that still holds pride of place in the heart of town to this day. 

The whole comfortably wraps its arms around the parts, and this village is quite picture postcard perfect, and utterly beguiling. There is even talk that it might become UNESCO listed. Folk who live there, even today, never want to leave. We are not surprised.

Oriental garden

 

Peeking into another garden

  

Biddulph Grange

The Hunt

Spinning

Threads and more threads

Spinning cotton

Textile art being displayed

Sunlight soap advertisement

Twisted brick pepper pot chimney homes

Port Sunlight soap factory

Lady Lever Art Gallery

Elegant museum in garden setting in Port Sunlight

Bluebird of happiness

This trip is a little like our last trek up this way so we are remembering good times past. We call in at St Bee's Head, the start of the Coast to Coast Walk that we did with a group of friends in 2005, where fat cows are still chomping at the rich pasture overlooking the bay, and the hill start to our walk around the headland and across England looks just as inviting now, as then. 

We wonder if we could do it all over again.  We doubt it, but wouldn't it be lovely.  

We drive up to the Slate Mine at Honiston Pass and are stunned at the critically steep grade of the road.  Yet, on the C2C, we walked down to the Slate Mine from Haystacks.  So very much higher still. However did we do it?  

We keep going to a lot of Ooo-aaaaahs! at the scenery of the Lakeland tho' we have been here more times than we can count.  It  just never wears thin with us.  This is the land that inspired Wordsworth and Beatrix Potter; and writers and travellers throughout the ages have raved about it in superlatives.  We think it is among the loveliest of lands we have ever visited.  There are not many that match. 

We drive down into the heart of it, and have to fight for road space with the tourists.  This is the bad part.  We think we own it, that we have a right to it, that the tourists who are out filling our streets, eating ice-cream, on these sunny days should go home.  Possessive. 

We stop for a coffee on a back road trying to escape the crowds, at a place called Bluebird Cafe, enchanted by the gondola steaming up the water. We only wake up when we look at photos on the wall behind us that this was where Donald Campbell's Bluebird broke all those water speed records, way back; and where he died, attempting to do so one more time.  Coniston Water.  

The only Bluebird we find here today is a kayak.  Manouevred by a lovely man we chatted to on his first day out on the water starting at the top of his brand new very hopeful Bucket List.  He has, only this week, been declared well by his medicos after years of worry, so promptly bought a boat off his neighbour and here he is, today,  out on the water, training for his record. Today is the first day of the rest of his life.    And life simply does not get much better than this.  

Fat cows on the Cumbrian coast

The headland at the back is the start of the C2C

Slate gates at top of Honister Pass

Crummock Water

Hawkeshead

Steam gondola on Coniston Water

Bluebird of happiness