The bus I took to Taunton last Friday was a single-decker one. On the way home the 29 was a double-decker, and I was fortunate to get an upstairs front seat.
Allowing plenty of time at the bus stop, as it was only a two-hourly service, I had seen the Market House, a Grade II listed building now housing a variety of bodies,
and that the Dragon would be visiting Taunton this weekend.
Once we had left the outskirts of the town, I couldn’t resist taking a few photos with my phone. The majority of the route was across the moors, along a road that had been closed because of floods – a not unusual occurrence – a couple of weeks ago. Traffic has to go a longer way round by motorway when that happens. But now it was a pretty, if mostly dull weather-wise, journey across the Somerset Moors, through countryside and villages.
Given the grubby state of the windows, and the fact that the bus was moving, I am amazed that the photos are this clear.
East LyngBurrowbridge in the distanceThe bridge goes over the River Parrett, and Burrow Mump is behind.
The Somerset Moors (the correct name for most of what are commonly called the Somerset Levels) abound in ditches, rhynes and canals, not to mention remote-controlled sluices, all part of the water management system. The initial drainage was by the Romans, much extended by mediaeval monks, and continues to this day. It’s when nature wins that roads are closed.
The Polden Hills, the lowest range in Somerset, coming into view.
The bus passed nearby starling roosting grounds, and this is just a part of the flock which flew across the window at 16.20, on its way to join millions of other birds converging for the night.
Not too far from home now, the pimple of Glastonbury Tor coming into sight.
In complete contrast to my visit to the Museum of Brands the previous day, the main purpose of my short visit to London last week was to visit the Cézanne exhibition. Mary and I went on the Overground to Blackfriars station, from where I took this picture, looking down the Thames to Tower Bridge.
Zooming in to our right, I saw some mudlarking (for definition if necessary see later) swans, humans and pigeons. No not really mudlarking; Mary tells me that the swans are fed regularly at this spot.
Arriving exactly at 10.00, we entered the Turbine Hall with the gathered crowd,
and made our way to the café for the obligatory refreshment, from where I zoomed in on the two towers of St Paul’s Cathedral.
I love an audioguide, and the bonus this time was that it was free. Opening the Cézanne exhibition (if you see what I mean) was the man himself.
Paul Cézanne, (1939-1906) early self-portrait
Given his proclamation about Paris and an apple (see heading), it was hardly surprising to find them everywhere, though the selection here does not reflect the extent of their proliferation.
The Basket of Apples, c 1893
And indeed it was not apples everywhere.
The Murder, c 1870The Battle of Love, 1879-80Auvers, Panoramic View, 1873-75The Conversation, 1870-71Madame Cézanne in a Yellow Chair, 1889-90 Portrait of the Artist’s Son, 1881-2, considered to be unfinished. I rather like it like that. A clear resemblance between him and his motherThe Bay of Marseille, seen from l’EstaqueStill Life with Plaster Cupid, 1894-5Man in a Blue Smock, (recently identified as a farm worker called Pere Alexandre, but I think it looks like Mark Rylance), 1896-7Mont Sainte-Victoire, 1902-6Bathers both male and female. I didn’t get the dates.Still Life with Apples and Peaches, 1905Seated Man, 1905-6Mont Sainte-Victoire, seen from Les Lauves, c. 1904Two of his last works, described as ‘ominous compositions with skulls’ by the curator
Returning to the Turbine Hall, I was struck by the serendipitous artistry of this view.
It was not yet time for lunch, so we went along the South Bank for a while, hoping the forecast rain would keep away. While I had walked along the other bank many times, and much of this, I had never in my entire life seen the sights along this particular stretch before, to my own and Mary’s surprise, though I do recall singing a concert in Southwark Cathedral, half a century ago.
Looking back to Blackfriars station, from which I had taken the first photo. The swans are still there, though the tide has mounted.Virtually all that remains of the Great Hall of (the Bishops of) Winchester Palace, ruins rediscovered in the 19th century. The Shard behind.Full-scale replica of The Golden Hinde, the first English ship to sail round the world. The Shard and Southwark Cathedral
We found this attractive pub, The Mudlark, right by the Cathedral, to have a bite of lunch in. It was very noisy and crowded inside, so we opted to eat outdoors.
Here’s the definition of ‘to mudlark’.
We sat first here,
then here, seeking the least windy spot.
(Perhaps my decision to drink Guinness was influenced by the museum exhibit the day before.)
We walked on, in the odd spot of rain.
“The Queen’s Walk is a promenade located on the southern bank of the River Thames in London, England, between Lambeth Bridge and Tower Bridge. The creation of pedestrian access along the south bank of the Thames was seen as an integral part of the creation of the Jubilee Walkway to mark the Silver Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II in 1977. However, the last section was not established until the completion of construction of London Bridge City c.1990. In 1996, the Walk was recognised as a foundation for establishing the Thames Path national trail through London.” Wikipedia.
It was a pity some of the buildings opposite (I wasted no pictures on them) were so hideous. Looking at you, Cheese Grater.
The Tower of London, HMS Belfast, and Tower Bridge.
We would have gone right up to Tower Bridge, but underfoot were some beautiful slates. Not so beautiful to walk on when wet. So we turned back, and in Hay’s Wharf sought the coffee we’d not had with our lunch, In the event it was accompanied by some delicious lemon drizzle cake.
It was time for me to be making for my train home. In order to get the Circle Line round to Paddington – and en route to pick up my overnight bag from Tate Modern – we walked back to Blackfriars Bridge, just yards beyond the station, where this caught my eye.
Needless to say, my train was delayed, this time by 25 minutes because of points trouble. The day before it had been damaged overhead electricity lines. But it had been a most enjoyable mini-break. Thanks to all concerned.
Saturday 2nd July. When I woke up, my knees reminded me that they had made quite an effort the previous day, perhaps the Frenchman’s Creek walk, or maybe the Minack Theatre steps, most likely a combination of both. So, a late breakfast, some photos,
The swan
The gang (of Canada geese)Little egret
and a very early lunch in the restaurant of the place I was staying, the Old Quay House. Good old fish and chips. Very early because I had decided to rest my legs today, and after lunch to take a circular bus ride on the hop-on hop-off Land’s End Coaster, an hourly service.
Here’s a tourist map of the far tip of Cornwall that I was given during my 2021 holiday in Penzance.
The Hayle estuary and St Erth, where I got on the bus, are half way down, over on the right. I chose to take the anticlockwise route, which went northwards to St Ives, along the north coast westward towards Geevor, southward to St Just, then continued south, diverting to Sennen Cove, back to the main road, and out to Land’s End and back, then down, and on another detour, to Porthcurno (the home of the Minack Theatre, though the bus necessarily turned back before that), inland to St Buryan, across to Newlyn, then to Penzance, Marazion (St Michael’s Mount), and northeast back to my starting point. The bus ride would take four hours. It takes 15 minutes to get to Penzance from Hayle, where I was staying, by car.
I sat upstairs in the open-air part of the bus. It was very blowy – and for most of the time, especially along the north coast, and as the previous evening, I wished I had more clothing with me. People got on and off at regular intervals. I think I was the only person not using the bus as a means of getting from A to B. And I was able to use my senior’s bus pass.
Photo just for the record. The holiday village was in fact much nearer to where I was staying that to the town of St Ives.St Ives harbourWesleyan chapel turned theatreThe beginning of the blustery conditions, along the north coast. Most people sat in the sheltered front part of the top, or downstairs.The Gurnard’s Head hotelEvidence of former miningThe cows wonSt JustA Land’s End Coaster from the other direction. These two passed fairly easily, but there were other encounters which were much more tricky on the narrow Cornish roads (though of course, it’s the vehicles which have got wider). Usually we won by sheer size, but once we had to back up for quite a distance. No doubt the drivers are well used to it.Sennen CoveMany people got off at Land’s End, and many got on.I was not the only one who had been intrigued, as we neared Land’s End, by the banners,’Rat Race’. I took this photo as we passed on the way back up the road. I think it may have been this, the location of the start of a run from Land’s End to John O’Groats, though children were running races on site as we went by.I had been intrigued also, the evening before on the way to Minack, by this Museum of Global Communications at Porthcurno. Definitely something to visit next time I’m in Cornwall.Turning back on to the main road from the coastal dead endNewlyn HarbourSt Michael’s Mount, from Penzance
I took no more photos from then in, Penzance, through Marazion and back to St Erth/Hayle.
Back at my lovely patio for the evening, the tide was well out.
It was samphire, I think, that flourished in the twice-daily washed mud.The swan with its adopted family of shelduck
One full day in Cornwall left. And no, I didn’t see my friendly gull this day.
Tuesday, 28th June. The first full day of my holiday, and the weather forecast for Cornwall, especially for the afternoon, was awful. But I’d known this for days, so was well-prepared not to do much.
It was high tide at 5.45 a.m.
I zoomed in to the cranes – of the mechanical kind – way across the water, to the north.
And went back to bed. By the time I was ready to have the breakfast awaiting me in the fridge, the tide was well on its way out.
Feeling I shouldn’t stay in all day, and with the weather forecast only for possible showers in the morning, I decided to do a little exploration locally, and just to take a walk into Hayle town, along a tiny part of the South West Coast Path (SWCP). As I set off, the play area of The Old Quay House was to my left. (My room is furthest away, behind the smaller tree.) The weather was definitely not such as would encourage other residents to sit out.
The SWCP route took me along The Causeway, beside the estuary. This was very busy, and I remain puzzled as to why so many would take it, as it leads through Hayle town, when the A30 bypass was so near. They can’t all have been wanting to end their journeys in Hayle can they? Fortunately there was a footpath all the way along, even if it did mean crossing the road a couple of times. Plenty of wildflowers along the way, including these orchids.
I was amused at the footprints left by the Shelduck.
‘Heyl’ means ‘estuary’ in Cornish.
I learned later in the week that Hayle has a very interesting history, and I must find out more, perhaps by visiting its Heritage Centre, if – hopefully when – I return to the area. This Wikipedia entry confirms!
The SWCP leaves the main road leftwards, briefly to take a path by Carnsew Pool, said to be of ornithological interest. (This map shows much of my walk.)
However, the path was very tricky at some points, due to erosion, especially for someone whose balance is less sure than it used to be, and who had not bothered to take her walking pole with her.
I resolved to stick to the road on on the way back – the sighting of one solitary Little egret not being sufficient enticement to risk the path again.
The SWCP returned to The Causeway, which itself went right then immediately left under the mainline railway viaduct.
South Quay
Along the quayside, there followed a sequence of indications of Hayle’s past innovative and industrial importance.
I now had the choice of following the SWCP, along North Quay, or turning right along the main road. I decided on the former, but now know I made the wrong choice. Following the road would have taken me to some more mudflats and the possibility of seeing some more waders and other birds.
Between South Quay and North Quay was East Quay.
Cornwall voted Leave in 2016.
In deciding to follow the SWCP, I had basically decided sadly to walk alongside what turned out to be a huge building site, the controversial North Quay Development. (Incidentally, looking at various estate agents’ windows during the week, I was horrified at property prices in the area. No wonder local people have such a housing problem.) I walked along it for about 15 minutes, but it was clear that there was to be nothing of interest for a while more,
so I turned round, given also that time was passing.
View as I turned round
When I got back to East Quay, I noticed a footpath to Hayle Station. Reckoning that this would be much quieter than the main road, that the station would not be far from the viaduct, and that there must be somewhere to get coffee near the station, I took it.
Other than this panel, I saw no evidence of this project wittingly.
There was coffee. In a place which also sold second-hand clothing and tourist trinkets. A bit noisy as behind me there were two pairs of women, each putting the world to rights (in ways which I would have disputed) rather loudly. But there was coffee.
I retraced my steps back to The Old Quay House, entirely along The Causeway this time. Not too many photographs – the rain promised for the afternoon (it was indeed by now just midday) was starting.
The Old Quay House left, thewhite gable my room
Back in my room, I looked out across the estuary. The building works are scarcely visible in this zoomed photo through the teeming rain.
I ventured out again in the rain, first to a nearby wine shop – I had forgotten to buy a bottle at M and S the day before – and then to The Old Quay House’s dining room for a seafood kebab and a lemon cheesecake.
The afternoon was spent tucked up in my room, watching Rafa and Serena (her last Wimbledon appearance?), while simultaneously knitting, or listening to Steve Richards’s latest ‘Rock&Roll Politics’ podcast. (I found that triple-tasking was beyond me.)
I did just peek out of the doors around 3 p.m., to see Great black-back Gulls and Herring Gulls looking pretty miserable.
By the next high tide, around 6 p.m., the weather was beginning to clear up.
Black-headed gullHerring gull, as the tide starts to go out again (it seemed relentless!)The gang of Canada geese
OystercatcherCurlewLittle egretAnd to my delight a family of Canada geese. The babies must be pretty young. They soon start to resemble their parents…
At 8 p.m. all was calm, presaging a much better day tomorrow – and that was very important to me. I had grand plans for it …
After a pleasant ‘first Friday’ walk with my friend Zoe, starting and finishing in the village of Wrington in North Somerset,
on Sunday I visited Milton Lodge Gardens, just north of England’s smallest city, Wells. It is open to the public three times a week, but this time it was in aid of the National Gardens Scheme.
The weather was lovely, and the outing was popular, so I had to use the overflow car park, from which this was the view, with Glastonbury Tor, whence I had come, a pimple on the horizon.
Right near where I had parked, was this curious depression, explained in a note nearby to be a ‘triple entry pond’, unique to Mendip, and likely to date from the late 1700s. It was constructed to capture naturally draining water from the Mendip Hills, and used to channel water underground to nearly stock fields.
According to Wikipedia, “Milton Lodge was built by Aaron Foster in 1790 and descended in his family until it passed, by marriage, into the ownership of the Tudway family in the mid 19th century. The Tudways had lived nearby at a house, known as The Cedars, which was built in the 1760s by Thomas Paty, and had bought up much of the local land. In 1909 Charles Tudway moved the main family residence to Milton Lodge, with The Cedars being used during World War I as a military hospital and later by Wells Theological College and Wells Cathedral School” [which it still is].
The same source goes on to say that, “The garden was laid out in 1903 by Capt Croker Ives Partridge of the Alfred Parsons garden design company for Charles Tudway. It consists of a series of terraces planted with mixed borders including a collection of roses and climbing plants. The terraces include Yew hedges, ponds and fountains.[4] The traditional English vegetation is supplemented with Mediterranean plants which are able to flourish due to the microclimate of the site. The upper terrace includes four canons from the Napoleonic Wars are on display.”
Wells Cathedral can just about be made out middle left.
My Candide app suggested that this, of which there were several examples in the Gardens, might be a Flowering maple, (which is not a maple at all but an abutilon), but I’m not quite convinced, while failing to find a better suggestion…
The Gardens go just beyond the big hedge.
As I had walked from the car park, the way was lined with wild garlic, ransoms. I did not take a photo, but need not have worried about there being no further opportunity.
I was tempted up this tiny path to my right, (the terraces being to my left),
and was rewarded with this.
I returned to the main path, went down a few shallow steps, and found a few more ransoms.
Into parkland.
A clearer view of Wells Cathedral
As I said, the Gardens go down to just beyond the big hedge.
At the end of this path was a large area of wildflowers.
My app identified this as Camass, of which I am more confident
On the edge of the wildflower area was this knobbly tree, which I have failed totally to identify,
even given the clue of its leaf shape.
Just by the tree was a bench, one of several in the Gardens. I partook for a minute or two, surveying the lowest terrace
As I stood up, something made my eyes turn skywards, and I was thrilled to see this red kite. It is now some 30+ years since they were reintroduced into the Chiltern Hills. I had seen some in Scotland in 2011 following their reintroduction there, and I knew that they had spread westwards from Oxfordshire into Somerset. But this was the first I had seen here.
I walked through the tea area to explore the middle terrace.
Turning round I spotted a bench hidden on the other side where I thought it would be nice to take a cup of tea.
It’s hidden!‘Olivia Rose Austin‘
Tea and cake duly bought, I found ‘my’ bench still unoccupied, with this to my left,
this to my right,
and this ahead.
As I returned to my car, it was all too tempting to take an arty photo of the Cathedral, where I shall be singing at a memorial service in a week’s time.
Several months ago, I had seen publicity for a Klimt ‘Immersive Experience’ – whatever that might be, but it looked interesting – to take place at a yet to be declared venue in London. I toyed with the idea, but with no idea of where in London it might be, and therefore how long it would take me to get from my arrival in the capital by train or bus, I decided against. However, when I saw, a few weeks later, that there was to be a Van Gogh ‘Immersive Experience’, also at an unknown venue, but somewhere in Bristol, that seemed more doable, so I booked for last Thursday. When the venue became known I was very pleased, as it turned out to be near to Bristol Temple Meads railway station, so not only doable, but doable direct by one bus from near my home.
Not that near though. I should have allowed 20 minutes to walk to my bus stop. As it was, I left 3 minutes later than I meant, but I would still have got to the stop on time. The bus overtook me when I was still three minutes’ walk from the bus stop. I ran, and ran, and ran, very cross that it seemed to have arrived early. I made it, even having to wait for a couple of minutes while people in front of me paid their fares. The bus left exactly on time, so I couldn’t really complain. (It took seven minutes for my breathing to return to normal, so unfit am I.)
Still, I then had 80 minutes to just sit and enjoy the countryside going by. I got off at Temple Meads, and went into the station to buy a sandwich, passing this statue as I went.
Isambard Kingdom Brunel
It was rather less controversial than another statue in Bristol, now in its more rightful place in a Bristol museum. (That one was mentioned by Neil McGregor in a lunchtime slot on BBC Radio 4 a few days ago, and also came up in questions at a talk by David Olusoga that I went to in Street recently. He pointed out that statues – of whoever – were rarely put up because the subject was widely admired at the time. They were erected by a few of his (sic) rich friends. And the historian Mary Beard had told him that the Romans regularly just changed the head on statues to reflect changing interest.)
The venue, called the Propyard, was located about half a mile, 0.6 km, away, in what was clearly a former industrial part of the city. To get to it I had firstly to walk along Cattle Market Street alongside the station, which led into Feeder Street. I noted a rather clever traffic/illegal parking management scheme there, of particular interest because Bristol have been advising my local authority on a somewhat similar scheme to be installed in Glastonbury.
A very wide pedestrian pavement, a wide, two-way cycle lane, and a one-way vehicle way.
I also noticed (interesting) graffiti all the way along. The Propyard’s Facebook page calles it an art trail.
Here, to my left, three waterways converge. To my left, the River Avon (New Cut). Ahead of me, from where a pleasure boat is emerging, the Floating Harbour (the original course of the Avon until 1809 as this article explains), and to my right, a cut opened at the same time, called The Feeder.
I walked along Feeder Road, The Feeder canal to my left, and was pleased to see after not too long a big ‘PY’ on the side of a building which turned out not to be the Propyard, but immediately beyond it.
This is the Propyard, a former warehouse, once used by the MoD for testing torpedoes! It opened as ‘a space for contemporary arts, music, food, and culture’ in July last year.
To be honest, for the first half hour, I could not see what all the fuss about this ‘experience’ was. Panels of straightforward facts about, and analysis of, Van Gogh’s life and work, obviously no originals, with just more modern touches, like the ability to download the panels onto one’s phone via an app. I felt a bit sorry for the young children around. And the constant noisy music was annoying me.
This short film was interesting. It was about Van Gogh’s liking for and use of bright colours. It concluded with the theory that he was colour blind, and needed bright colours to be able to distinguish between one tone and another. I have looked into this since, and found a number of articles dating from 2012, about a Japanese artist-philosopher, Kasunori Asada, who has applied his Chromatic Vision Simulator to Van Gogh’s work and reached the startling clour-blindness conclusion.
A fair chunk of the exhibition was devoted to discussion on VG’s many versions of sunflowers in a vase.
There were a couple of dioramas of his works. The child in this one is real, and her brother joined her a few seconds later, when they proceeded to romp on the bed. Something for children at last!
At last the Experience began to kick in. After the fairly conventional exhibition, one walked through this small room…
into this huge one.
I recalled the publicity, which has people standing around in a large space surrounded by Van Gogh themes on huge walls, phones in their hands. I took dozens of still and moving pictures; here is a tiny selection. I also just sat and watched for long periods. The whole show, which seemed to go through the various phases of his life, lasted perhaps 25 minutes.
Now I understood why music had been present throughout the earlier stages of the event. And normally kids’ running around annoys me, but here they enhanced the experience. At last something to engage and entertain them.
I looked immediately to my right to see this, but it was also diametrically opposite.
I left when the show reached where I had come in, and in the next room decided not to accept the invitation to create my own masterpiece by crayoning in between the lines.
Nor to buy anything in the very well-stocked (and to my mind expensive) gift shop. But I did recognise the right-hand painting as being on a jigsaw I had given at Christmas.
The way out was through the bar. Ah, I hadn’t needed to buy a sandwich at the station – but then I wouldn’t have seen Brunel’s statue.
When I had been researching how to get to the venue, Bing Maps had told me that I could get off my bus a stop early, and walk alongside a waterway to get to Feeder Road, so that seemed like a good idea for my return journey. This was how it began.
Having gone under this bridge I looked back. The River Avon is low, the tide being out (or the waterway being managed – I have no idea).
Spoiler alert, I should have crossed this bridge to get back to the main Wells Road and my bus stop, but it didn’t even occur to me, it came so soon.
I was enjoying my rural urban walk.
I thought that this moorhen was pulling up some weed, but closer inspection reveals that it is scratching itself with its green leg.
‘This must be my bridge’, thought I, ‘I hope there are some steps up to it.’
There were, but I came out not on the main road as I expected, but a short side one, leading on to it. ‘Nice new flats’ I thought, ‘Don’t remember seeing those from the bus, but then I was sitting on the other side and looking out the other way.’
I looked for a bus stop, and when I got there, I didn’t see my number bus listed. Fortunately I had brought my book of Bristol street maps with me. And found that I had clearly come out not on the Wells road, but that for Bath. The two had diverged some way back. I hoped there was a short cut through for pedestrians.
There was.
Followed by this.
Followed by this.
And the climb hadn’t finished yet.
Nearly back at the Wells road, I looked down a side street. The first bridge I had passed under as I went along the river can just be seen in the very middle of the picture – if your screen is big enough.
A minute or so later, at 15.47 precisely, having tottered up all that way, I was at the bus stop at Totterdown. The timetable said the bus I wanted was due at 15.47. I saw no bus disappearing into the distance and very much hoped that it was just late, otherwise there would be a 30-minute wait. It was, and five minutes later I was able to rest my weary legs for another 80 minutes.
An interesting day! I wonder if some of those graffiti artists are colour-blind?!
Last Friday was the first of the month, so was the day for Zoe and I to meet for a walk and pub lunch. My time to organise, and I had long had this one in mind, but had put off for a bit as it was said to be extremely muddy.
I was a little late to our rendezvous. My satnav took me on neither of the routes I had thought likely, but across the Somerset moors on single track roads and droves. I had been following a slow lorry for ages, unable to overtake it, when it just stopped. A brief toot on my car horn to tell them I was there produced an irascible reaction and the ‘loud assertion’ that they had the legal right to stop for 20 minutes, though they would only take a few minutes, but if I weren’t careful they’d take longer.
I texted Zoe to say I would be late and why, and when I looked up I saw this through my windscreen.
As they finished the particularly rude man came over and apologised. I think his companions must have had a word. We went on to have quite a civilised brief chat.
I was further delayed by; an old man whose delightful King Charles spaniel just would not obey him and move over; a kamikaze pheasant; and then a flock of swans. By this last I was on a normal road, but just had to stop for a photo.
A woman leaning on a fence watching them said that there had been as many as 50 swans there, and that this was just a few of them. I would have loved to have stayed longer just gazing – especially as we were on a bridge over a waterway – but I didn’t want to keep Zoe waiting any longer.
We met at Aller Church, which is, according to the notes, ‘the historic site where Alfred the Great and Guthrun the Dane signed a treaty to end the Viking rule in Wessex in AD 878’. (Oh yes, I’d been further delayed by the fact that the church is out in the countryside, well away from the village centre, which threw me.)
The walk turned out not to be at all muddy, was very flat, and in plan roughly a triangle. The day was sunny and cold, with at times a brisk wind. The first leg followed the Middlemoor Rhyne, down to the Sowy River.
Zoe is the arbiter of whether to walk by cows is safe, and she deemed this lot to be fine.
All waterways on the Somerset Levels and Moors are heavily managed.
It so happened that just a day or so later I saw on local social media a reference to, and an explanation of, tilting weirs. It comes at about 43 minutes into this BBC ‘Countryfile‘ programme.
We arrived at the River Sowy and crossed over.
It was tranquil today, but with evidence of much debris come from the east in more violent times.
Research since implies that this structure is named a throttle because it is indeed designed to meet this Wikipedia definition of the word. ‘A throttle is the mechanism by which fluid flow is managed by constriction or obstruction.’
(Why do people feel the need to vandalise such signs?
In fact the River Sowy is totally artificial. And recent. It’s a 7.5 mile (12.1 km) flood relief channel to take overflow. From the Somerset Rivers website: ‘Construction of the river commenced in the mid 1960’s with completion in 1972 and was designed to relieve the flooding of the River Parrett at Langport and Aller Moor. A pilot scheme to test the feasibility of passing water from the Parrett to the Kings Sedgemoor Drain was undertaken in 1951 with the construction of the Langacre Rhyne. This followed the lines of a similar relief channel recommended in 1853. After the floods of 1960 a new scheme was proposed but rejected as being too costly. However a revised scheme, the existing Sowy River, was approved in 1963.1
“References: 1. The Draining of the Somerset Levels – Michael Williams” I have this book. It’s fascinating.
This is the Sowy, looking west, our intended direction.
The River Parrett was just yards/metres further on from the Sowy, and we walked along its embankment. Sadly, it was impossible to get the two parallel rivers in one photo. The Sowy is just over to the right, and somewhat lower.
The Parrett meanders. Oath Hill to the right.
This (real) river also is much managed. It is also one of the few in the UK which you can walk from source to sea, along the River Parrett Trail.
The notes said to cross back over the Sowy by a footbridge. We wondered, nattering as we had been, whether we had missed it, but a rather unexpected style of bridge hove into view in due course. As we went up the steps we reckoned it was the steepest part of the walk thitherto.
At the other side was a rather exaggerated waymark.
But we were pleased to be able to see the next one, even without arrow, as the route was far from clear. And, while the terrain here was not muddy, it was definitely boggy.
The ‘bridge’ over the rhyne there was decidedly dicey.
The next one, over the Durleazedrove Rhyne, was even worse. We put no trust in the handrail. Zoe took it all very gingerly, as did I after her.
Behind the village is Aller Hill.
No wonder we had not been able to see the church for which we were meant to head.
Lunch at The Pound Inn in the village rounded off a pleasant morning, enhanced by those pretty puffy clouds which never seemed to put us in the shade.
First Friday of the month, so it was time for my next walk with Zoe, and her turn to organise. She chose the nature reserves and environs of Uphill, which is just south along the coast from Weston-super-Mare. For uninteresting reasons my camera was hors de combat for most of the time, so these photos were taken on my phone, with one exception. Despite apparently threatening skies, the weather was kind to us, not too cold, not too windy, and the sun even came out for a short while.
From where we had parked our cars, we set off across a not very interesting golf course, and arrived at the beach. Despite my September holiday in Cornwall, I couldn’t actually remember the last time I had been on one, (though in fact I had crossed one at Marazion, as I walked back from St Michael’s Mount). We looked north to Weston.
We looked out to see the sea. Which we couldn’t, but saw Brean Down,Steep Holm, (owned by the Kenneth Allsop Memorial Trust) and, faintly in the mist, Flat Holm (which I’ve just learned is part of Wales, and managed by Cardiff Council).
The sign says DANGER, SINKING MUD. Many a life has been imperilled along this coast by those ignoring the warning.
And we looked, and then walked, south.
At about the level of Brean Down we left the beach but continued parallel to the sea.
You’d think that the mound ahead gave the area its name, but “The manor is recorded in Domesday Book as Opopille which derives from the Old EnglishUppan Pylle meaning “above the creek”.[13] The Pill is a tidal creek which joins the River Axe near where the river flows into Weston Bay to the north of Brean Down. The Pill is connected to the Great Uphill Rhyne which drains the moors to the east of the village.” (Wikipedia)
Whatever it is called, there is somewhat less of the hill left now. The sun came out as we reached the old quarry…
… and the old limekiln. The panel explains that this was a particularly fine example of the species, which were mainly built between 1780 and 1850, and that at the time lime was used for liming acid soils, as a basis of mortar, and for whitewash.
The nineteenth century powder house was considerably further on. Its explanatory panel told us that explosive stores were usually situated well away from quarries, in case of explosions caused by sparks or other sources of flame there.
At one point I looked back over my right shoulder to see Brean Down, now well behind us.
Ahead the sun was low and bright, almost too much for the eyes, as it reflected off the briefly tarmac-ed path. I mused on the fact that you would never have taken a photo straight into the sun at the time of my grandmother’s Brownie 127.
In the course of our relatively short walk we found ourselves on at least three different nature reserves: Uphill Hill, Walborough and Bleadon Levels. At this last, we turned right in the direction of the sea, for a hundred yards – or metres – or so. Had we continued south at that point we would have taken this path.
It would have been foolhardy to attempt to cross the saltmarsh to get nearer the sea.
We started northward again toward Brean Down.
Taking great care to avoid puddles – specially as I had forgotten to put my wellies in the car – it was nevertheless possible to raise one’s eyes to look inland from time to time, and to see Uphill Hill, the quarry, the Old Church of St Nicholas, and a beacon lit for various national celebrations. It is what remains of an old windmill, and probably 18th century, says Wikipedia.
Ahead lay the dock area which we had passed on the way out.
I obliged my camera into action to zoom in on these very small ducks which flew into our view. They are teal.
Beside us in due course appeared the creek (right to left) used, when the tide is in, by boats wishing to leave the dock. That silty mud, swept down the River Severn from the Welsh mountains, is why walking on some parts of the beaches in the area is so dangerous.
This sliding wall of concrete beyond the dock is explained …
… by its label.
We stopped at a café by the docks for a coffee, and in my case a custard tart as well.
It was a 15-minute walk back to our cars through the village, during which this pretty bridge from road to a private garden caught my eye.
On my drive home across the Somerset Moors (Levels), trying in vain to avoid a long detour caused by a road closure, I noticed first an enormous erect pillar, with further bits bits lying on the ground by it, which I assumed was to end up as a new wind turbine – nice and blowy I thought in that vast open space. I couldn’t stop to take a photo, but as I went along I saw more of them, more elaborated, and it became clear that, while they were indeed to do with the generation of electricity, they were not some new design for producing power by centrifuge, (I’ll patent that I think), but a new model of electricity pylon.
In due course I was able to stop for a photo.
More information, by the National Grid, about these new T-shaped pylons can be found here, including a two-minute video of one being erected. It shows how monstrous they are in size – though they are apparently a third less tall than the traditionally lattice shaped pylons. They will carry electricity produced at Hinkley Point C Nuclear Power Station.
Not meaning the way Glastonians do things, (that’s way beyond my comprehension!) but a waymarked walking route created a few months ago, with finance from the Towns Deal, and expert contributions from Glastonbury Town Council, Mendip District Council, (soon to be abolished, as Somerset County Council becomes unitary) and a host of volunteers.
My friend Zoe and I have done it in two parts as our first Friday walks in September and November, and I thought I would write the two walks up in consecutive posts. (It was Zoe’s turn to organise our October walk.)
The Way starts at the information office in the centre of town, but it suited us to start from my house on the edge, and to pick it up somewhat before Point 2. (The Way’s Facebook page of the Way is headed by a map. There are two sets of numbers, mostly coinciding but not always. I think the alternative set is something to do with the ‘mystical’ side of Glastonbury, which does tend to escape me. My references are to those preceded by ‘B’,which I think stands for ‘board’.)
As it happens, we walked back to my house after lunch past the official starting point at the Information Centre, and here is Board 1. A plan of the walk is bottom left, and that day we did (most of) the western circuit.
The walk is described in some detail in an app, (‘The Glastonbury Way’) which also gives all the information supplied on the boards, in writing and aurally.
We joined the Way at Wearyall Hill, (sometimes written as Wirral). The origins of the name are unknown, possibly coming from the legend that Joseph of Arimathea came to Glastonbury bearing the chalice used at the Last Supper. He is said to have arrived by boat (Glastonbury then being an island, or perhaps a peninsula, in the middle of marshy, swampy land) and, weary, he planted his staff in the ground, which became the famous Glastonbury Thorn, of which a sprig is given to the monarch on Christmas Day to decorate her breakfast table.
Looking back over right shoulder to the town. The towers of St John’s Church and St Benedict’s Church, and the Abbey ruins can just about be made out.Looking directly back, to the Tor and, somewhere in there, where I liveLooking right, due north, to a small retail park
At the end of the ridge which is Wearyall Hill we came to Board 3.
At useful, and usually rather scenic, points along the Way there are welcome seats.
Down from Wearyall Hill, you can still see the Moors (aka Somerset Levels), the fairly recently opened Premier Inn to the right, and on the left the old Morland (‘Bauhaus’) factory, now known locally as the Zigzag building, which is in the process of renovation and new purposes.
Some features on the Way have been around for a long time.
We then took:
though it’s not even straight.
Pomparles Bridge crosses the very busy main road linking Glastonbury to Street, It’s name is a mutation of Pons Perilis, assumed to mean bridge of peril, (though if it does, it must be a mediaeval abbreviation of the classical latin word, ‘periculis’.) The app tells us that ‘Its name is related to Siege Perilous, the seat at King Arthur’s Round Table kept for the knight destined to find the Holy Grail but fatal for any other occupant.’
The River Brue was incredibly low that September day. I have never even seen the grasses above water level, let alone laid down like this.
Nor have I seen elsewhere any sign saying in effect ‘beware of the badger works’! This was after we had crossed the busy road at, fortunately, a lights-controlled pedestrian crossing.
‘Bride (pronounced ‘Breed’) was one of the most widely worshipped goddesses in Celtic Britain.’ Archaeology shows that there was a small chapel on the site of Bride’s Mound, and also a cemetery dating from Romano-British times. 12th and 4th century writings say that St Brigid of Kildare visited Glastonbury in 488 AD, and spent some time here.
At this point we were following the river bank, and theoretically we should have been able to follow signs right, across to Bride’s Mound, subsequently retracing our steps, but we couldn’t find those signs. Pity, because in 10 years, I have not yet seen the Mound.
It was extraordinary to see the banks of the Brue so deep, due to lack of water. Water levels across the entire Somerset Moors and Levels are incredibly closely managed by the Somerset Rivers Authority.
Came a point where we were a little perplexed as to where to go, as there appeared to be a kink which did not appear on the plan. But we trusted to the waymarks and all was well.
Now a footpath, this bridge once carried the single-track Somerset and Dorset railway line over the river. It is known locally as ‘Ackidock’, from the aqueduct that was also here once.I know nothing about this, nor does the app/board say anything. On enlarging to a maximum, I can just read, centre-left top, ‘The Royal Bank of Scotland’, which also appears once more in the otherwise illegible text. Please add a comment if you can enlighten.
Willow Walk is well-named.
A lovely spot for a picnic lunch we thought – though we were planning to eat at a pub.
The explanation for the creation of the pleasant spot however was sad.
It was perfectly possible to read Board 8 – but impossible to take a photo of it in its entirety.
We shortly came into a light industrial area, and as we neared the centre of town, we cut a little away from the Way’s official route, to make more directly for our lunch place. We passed my doctors’ surgery.
And ended up at the ‘Who’d a Thought It’, just off the Market Place, where we had a good lunch, and also a discussion with the innocent waitress as to whether it was really necessary to wrap our cutlery and paper napkin in horrid little plastic ties, single use to boot. (I will get around to that Glastonbury Mural Trail some time.)
The walk back to my house took us through the Market Square. The official route, in effect starting part 2, would have taken us up the High Street, off right in this photo. I have blogged on that previously.
The National Trust tour I had pre-booked for the Sunday afternoon of my Cornwall holiday was of the Levant Mine and Beam Engine, in the St Just area on the north coast of the Penwith peninsula. As requested by the Trust, because of the earlier start of the Tour of Britain, I had allowed plenty of time to get there, and, also at their request, parked not at the Mine itself but a 20-minute walk away at Geevor mine, open to the public, but not NT property.
It was a very grey day, with rain threatening all the time.
As I had thought, the Tour of Britain had no impact on access, having passed surely three hours previously – but thank you, National Trust, for having alerted me to it! I had therefore, even allowing for the walk to Levant, some 30 minutes in hand, so I wandered around the desolate landscape for some while.
I was surprised to see how little nature had taken over from the abandoned terrain, but later learned that Geevor had only closed in 1991.
My first, but not last, sight of the South West Coast Path, here going north-east. But I had to go south-west and make my way to the Levant Mine.The name of this valley is Trewellard Bottoms.Arsenic processing buildingsL to R: Compressor house chimney, Stamps chimney and Arsenic chimney
Vince was our volunteer guide, a geology teacher of both aspiring mining engineers and of A level students. (In reply to a question from me, he said that the future’s in lithium, indium and gallium apparently, although the first two are running out, especially indium, essential for our touch screens to work, and that will be all mined out by 2030.) From his style, I would guess that Vince is an excellent and passionate teacher.
He gave us full and fascinating explanations, and was also a mine (sorry) of historical anecdotes. I was very conscious that I would manage to hang on to very little of what he said, which is perhaps fortunate, since this post would be very long if so. But I do recall that he said that mining in this area had started some 4500 years ago. Beaker people from Switzerland had brought the skills here, but it was not known how they had acquired those skills. Here is a full account of mining in Cornwall and Devon.
The only piece of 20th century equipment in the mine, which closed in 1930.So much more protective than a modern geologist’s plastic helmet, this miner’s hat is made of felt and rendered rock solid with resin.
Vince explained about lodes and the way their valuable constituents separated themselves out, into tin, copper, arsenic and silver, and how they went for miles out to sea.
The turquoise reveals the continued presence of copper.The picture shows a pony being lowered into the mine. It would then live there for four years before being brought up, gradually accustomed to the light, and put out to pasture. Apparently the conditions the law insisted on for ponies were much better than those it prescribed for miners.The tools used by bal maidens to break up the rocks. Their conditions were even worse than those of the men down the mines.
After a while, Vince took us to the beam engine, and handed us over to Peter, the engineer, who explained how steam was raised and worked the engine. For various reasons I was able to follow little, and just concentrated on the sheer beauty of the thing, and loved seeing it set in motion.
Entrance to the Beam engine house
The beam from the top.What the wheel turned. I was just outside in time to see them in action.Looking back on the various buildings
Ahead was the Miners’ Dry. a huge room where the miners dried out at the end of a shift. But before that, Vince explained why some parts of the land were so dangerous.
When a shaft was closed, it was just covered with wooden boards which were grown over and just rotted in due course. Tread on one of those areas and…
In its heyday this was the Miners’ Dry:
Just the floor remains now, with the Compressor house chimney beyond.
Next and last we descended to the start of the the man engine shaft. The man engine was an ingenious but very dangerous mechanism for lowering the miners to their working areas. It broke in 1919, killing 31 people, after which mining the lowest levels was abandoned.
Botallack mine (also National Trust, though not part of this tour) was just a kilometre further down the coast. I was shattered, and had a 15-minute climb back to the car park ahead of me, so I decided I would not join a couple who were planning to visit, but returned to my car tired, but very happy, at the end of two excellent days.
I had planned nothing yet for the Monday, but had lots of competing ideas.
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