Steaming and Walking through the Cotswolds

Another weekend around Bristol and after a bit of research we headed for a Steam Train museum in Swindon.  When I was doing the limited research I usually do before we decide on our adventures I thought that the museum looked as though it was a museum with a difference - a little bit like Te Papa - and it turned out to be just that!  It is housed in the workshops of the Great Western Railway along with an outlet shopping centre which occupied more than half of the workshop buildings.
Back then working on the railways was a life style choice and not just a job and we found out a lot more about the types of work people had to do and the conditions they worked under than we knew before. The Great Western Railway was the beginning of the National Health Service - workers paid 8 pence a week for free health care, dental treatment and lots of other necessities chucked in as well including some housing.  If you were unlucky enough to get a hand or foot cut off by the machinery you could get a wooden replacement and some rehabilitation before heading back to the machinery.  And for all that for you and your family, you  had to work a 12 hour day for 6 days with a shorter day on Sunday, had a lunch break and were allowed to clock in for a daily 10 minute trip to the loo any time you liked.  "Once a railwayman always a railwayman - working on the railway was more than just a job it was a way of life" (my cynical side thinks it would be hard to get out of it with the perks once you were in it). We wandered through rooms where administrators (pay clerks, bosses etc), storeman (if you needed a new broom you had to return the handle to ensure it wasn't stolen), welders, wood turners, pattern makers etc all  worked - all those that were needed to build a new train just like the Caerphilly Castle (which sat proudly in one of the old workshops - originally designed by Charles Collett and noted for its excellent perforamnce as these trains could cover 77.25 miles from Swindon to Paddington at an average speed of 81.68 mph start to stop - a world record for a steam train at the time).

We wandered into the room where the railway was operated from - the signal room - where I got a certificate that said I had 'successfully operated the signal levers in Uffington Signal Box at STEAM and qualifed as a GWR Signal Man' (I would like to think they could tell I was a woman but ...).  Anyway for this honour I had to put a local train into a siding and tell the driver to stop, let the Royal train go through at high speed and then reopen the siding for the local train to pass by. All this successfully done without any chips to the paintwork or derailments.  

Brunel (that clever guy who built the suspension bridge in Clifton) called the drivers a "species of machine who had to be able to respond to the sounds and the feel of the engine".  He thought a firemen was "a human shovel keeping tons of coal burning in the firebox". I hope that our current employers don't think of us like that!!  The driver and the firemen could spend many nights away from home. They were known as 'double homers' having two places where they rested their weary heads.  Plus they were on call all the time - no EU working time directive that says you have to have a rest for them.  Then there was the guard who had a list of duties that sort of differed depending on whether they were a guard on a  passenger or goods train.  But they did have some common responsibilities like keeping a full record of every journey, carrying instructions, time table, rule books, watch, whistle, flags, lamps and detonators.  Then there were the Navvies who did all the hard work building the railway.  They lived in shanty towns along the way and were often paid in tickets which could be exchanged for goods at the 'truck' - a caravan owned by the contractor - sort of like a mobile dairy.  I felt sorry for these guys - as I got the impression it would be hard to save to get themselves out of this lifestyle if they wanted to and would end up with nothing more than when they started with the job.  It is estimated that in 1851 the Navvies spent the equivalent of  £1000 on beer for every mile of railway built - the contractors who owned the mobile dairy/pub must have been rubbing their hands in glee.  There were the same stories we've heard before of women working during the war, not wanting to give up the job when the men returned and the employer wanting to keep them on as they often did a better job.  And another story about the inventor of the modern ticket.  We have Thomas Edmondson a station master, to thank for this useful tool of exchanging a service for our money. While having time to think as he ran the Newcastle and Carlisle Railway he devised the idea of a new type of railway ticket: a small piece of cardboard, pre-printed with journey details rather than a hand written piece of paper with the details. The tickets were numbered and when purchased had a date stamped across them. He made his fortune by developing a machine to print the tickets with serial numbers - patented it - and then charged a royalty to railway companies which in those days was lots of money - ten shillings per year per mile of the railway track owned by the company. And last but not least we admired the railway cups and tea cakes that looked very similar to those sold at many a NZ station - the steam train puffed its way through the countryside - stopping at lots of little stations along the way - poured the passengers train - out flowed the tea from the tea pot and back onto the train. There's the story of the caterers at Swindon Refreshment Room - a fairly typical story about how the Great Western Railway train stopped for 10 minutes at Swindon, with such a short stop the passengers hopped off, bought a cuppa and cake and hopped back on. The food was so bad, and probably the tea and coffee so stewed that the place became known as Swindleum - but look at the coffee pot - how could you complain with your coffee coming out of that! And if you hadn't made the railway part of your life you could make it part of your holiday - with routes built by the Navvies all the way from London to the Cornish Riveria - escape the smog to Cornwall where 'The Ozone laden breezes come straight from the broad atlantic'. Couldn't resist this last little bit...To finish off this little tale here are the 1894 words to the song we know so well...

I been wukkin' on de railroad

All de livelong day,

I been wukkin' on de railroad

Ter pass de time away.

Doan' yuh hyah de whistle blowin'?

Ris up, so uhly in de mawn;

Doan' yuh hyah de cap'n shouin',

"Dinah, blow yo' hawn?" ...

And then onto Lechlade on Thames where we were going for a walk over 7 stiles and along the Thames - but forgetting ones coat on a February Saturday afternoon is not a good idea so we gave that one away for another day and headed back to Bristol.  Oops - distraction came in the form of a brown road sign that said 'Canal tunnel inn'. I said "That means there must be a canal tunnel" and Harry secretly thought "That means there must be a inn where we can sit and watch Wales play Scotland" and we were both right. After a quick wander down to the disused tunnel and canal we settled ourselves down with a number of Welsh supporters (including a very vocal dog that got excited every time Wales did something worth watching which was not often in the first half).

On Saturday night we went out for dinner with Tessa and Colin - we started off at a place which prompted us to ask more than once "Why didn't we bring our cameras?" They took us to the old Lido swimming pool now converted to an upmarket swimming pool, sauna, spa and restaurant - but more about that in a later blog cos in a couple of weeks we are going back for a meal (you get a free swim, sauna and spa chucked in) and next time we will take our camera.  We then wandered around some parts of Clifton we hadn't been too before (Tessa grew up round here) and filled up on Italian before heading back to bed in preparation for Sunday.
Spring is just around the corner - there are snowdrops in the spring and the daffies are just beginning to flower.  We saw all this on our big day out on Sunday.  It was our first 'official' ramble (we had a choice of that or going to hear the Society of Recorder Players!). With about 40 others we wandered 9 miles around the Cotswolds, chatting to lots of the other ramblers as we rambled through muddy paths, up and down slopes, across grassland, over stiles, to the nearest pub for a drink and rest.

St Govan's Head

It was another weekend without alot planned until Thursday night.  Harry had had a busy week what with working one night, playing skittles another and going to "It's Complicated" one evening (the new Meryl Streep movie - good film - it managed to put a bit of humour into a story that would have been too realistic for many of us without the occasional laugh).  By Thursday night I gave Harry the ultimatum - here is a list of things we could do - choose one!! So, the choices were a 30 mile bike ride around the Cotswolds Water Park, a visit to an old house up Gloucester way, a walk up the Brecon Mountains, a visit to an old castle or a walk around the coastline of St Govan's Head.  They all looked really interesting (according to me) and all required a certain amount of energy and so he settled for the walk around St Govan's Head to Stack Rocks in South Pembrokeshire.  So on with the walking boots...
The walk took us from St Govan's Head to Stack Rocks (oops already said that) and through some of the most spectacular seascapes we have seen (coming from two Kiwis who live on a small island with a magnificent extensive coastline that is saying something).  There was the little St Govan's Chapel - for some reason built between two rocks and down a steep flight of steps.  We walked down, through the chapel and down to the rocky beach.  Here waves crashed onto the shore and with the sun shining on only the higher parts of the cliffs this would have been a very cold and lonely place to live.  During medieval times this place was known for curing eye diseases and lameness.  Not sure why only those two problems (but certainly the access would have made it difficult for those with seeing and walking difficulties - so I guess it was only the believers that made the trek).  It was built in the sixth century and the healing waters were drawn from a little well in the chapel.  No-one really knows who St Govan was but there are a few stories hanging around - but since I had heard nothing about any of the legends I won't bother repeating them.

Our walk took us along the line of a millitary firing range - no red flags flying and no sign that said 'Closed due to Firing' so we ventured forth past lots of signs that told us not to pick up any metal objects as they might explode and kill us.  We saw some but given we like what we are doing at the moment we decided to obey orders. Along our walk we were in for a bunch of surprises - and we found ourselves constantly surprised with what appeared to be a flat plateau turning into a precipice - oops watch your footing and hang on to those dogs and children!  There was the Stennis Ford which was a rock that split in two many years ago - a clean deep split from the top to the bottom (we thought about 100 metres) - too wide you can't jump over it, so we had to go around it.  My book (a very good book on Coastal walks in England and Wales of which we have now done 18 out of the 54 walks) describes the ford as a "relatively narrow gap which has impressive precipitous walls descending to a small inaccessible beach and was probably formed by the sea eroding a bedding crack in the limestone to form a cave, and then the ford when the cave roof collapsed".  We could see evidence of this happening all along the cliff tops - holes less than a foot wide sank deep down in the ground and with a thunderous noise the sea came crashing in and the wind blew the long grass as it escaped up the blow hole (good thing we were both wearing trousers).  Deep down the sea would rattle away and then head out again for the next wave and wind chorus.  Then there were the bigger holes many years older (which if you weren't looking you could easily fall the 100 metres to the rocks below - I was glad I had left my little bit of vertigo behind today) where you could not just hear but see the sea below.  Then we stumbled across Huntsman's Leap.  Stumbled really was the right word!  I walked up the hill expected to walk along the flat to the cliff edge but the edge was quite a few metres closer than I expected.  Oops step back, deep breath, take a photo and walk on! Huntsman's Leap is a split in the rock with a deep dive down to the sea below.  We were really standing on a stone bridge as the sea tumbled into the caves below us.  Many years ago a hunter tried to leap across from one side to the other.  He achieved it but then when he looked back and saw the enormity (and stupidity) of his actions he was so shocked he fell over and died.  My book describes it as a "130 feet deep gash in the ground with walls that touch at its seaward end". The area is known for its butterflies (didn't see any), bees (that came around as we picnicked on rock cakes and a cup of tea in the shelter of a hill - Harry had carried that thermos and the food all the way from the car and there was no way we were going to share it with a bunch of bees - rare or not rare).  It was a lovely sunny sheltered spot that we shared with the bees and the sheep dropppings and we could have stayed there quite a lot longer than we did.

And it is a sign of the times that during our walk I said to Harry "Who would win the rugby?" and he said "It would be tough but probably England would have it over Wales" and I said "I was talking about the rugby 7's not the 6 nations". On the way back we decided to stop and have an early dinner.  We managed to find a pub in Pentlepoir which didn't seem to have much going for it at this time of year - but in the summer is probably home to a hive of holiday makers with static caravan and tenting sites and a few bed and breakfasts along the way.  The pub was crowded -we had unknowingly arrived 5 minutes into the Wales versus England game.  Well there were a number of Welsh supporters in red shirts and we discovered as we stole two chairs from a restaurant and a little round table from the dog (the red setter after sniffing our bags and us went back to his pew like chair by the bar without the little round table), quite a number of English supporters who clapped and smiled alot as England raced away to their 30-17 victory, a lone Irishman wearing a bright green shirt who worked in the bar and us dressed appropriately in black.

Old Sarum

It is the 31 January 2010 and this is our 184th blog. Since we signed onto cluster map on 25 August last year there have been 699 hits - though I am pretty sure many of those would not have stayed very long. In someways I am surprised that we have continued this rather long diary of our adventures in England and the continent - probably because it does help us oldies to remember all those little things that happen that otherwise would have been forgotten. Now winter is two thirds over, we hope, and the days are getting a tad longer but there doesn't seem to be a hope for it getting much warmer. On Wednesday night we sat in a movie theatre (having decided to go and see the new George Clooney movie 'Up in the Air' - wouldn't really recommend it) and the air conditioning/heating wasn't working so we were a bit cold even in all our winter woollies. Friday night as I was cycling home it began to hail - well the stones were softish and very white - so I couldn't decide if it was hail or snow - but it turned out to be snow. Chris, Ben and Dan braved the weather and came out to eat our macaroni cheese and play charades so we had a good start to the weekend. On Saturday we headed for Salisbury. We have been through Salisbury a lot lately and stopped there once to have a look at the cathedral on our bus trip when we came over to London a few years ago. I can remember being so disappointed in the cathedral - there is no denying it is a great architectural accomplishment, but it was so dark inside it felt dreary and without the hope that I think a church should offer. Anyway, this weekend we hadn't come to see the cathedral - we'd come to see the site where the first cathedral and castle were built high on the hill above Salisbury.  Old Sarum is not far from Stonehenge and it was first a neolithic settlement and then an iron age fort before becoming a cathedral and castle/royal palace. It is a bit of an unlikely place to build a castle as the 13th-century poet Henry d'Avranches describes it as "a windy, rainswept place without flowers or birds... the bare chalk dazzled the eyes... There was a shortage of water, and a tiring climb to the top of the hill."  But on a day like Saturday you could walk around and see the advantages that might have first been in the minds of the builders and designers. It had a great 360 degree view and now days you can look over Salisbury and the cathedral, the Old Sarum airfield (Harry's eyes were constantly raised to the sky looking at the small planes and parachutists), a free range pig farm which gave the pigs plenty of space to root around in the mud and the countryside dusted with snow. However there were a number of things against the castle and cathedral on the hill.  Back in the 1100's the lack of a natural water supply would have been a never ending problem and the animosity between the monastery clerics and the soldiers just didn't help. According to a reliable source the monks didn't like the soldiers being their landlords and the soldiers didn't like the monks and locals worshipping. So, sometimes they wouldn't let the locals in and one time they locked the monks out. If their intention was to banish the monks to somewhere else it worked, but the demise of the castle was an unplanned outcome. The bishop, Herbert Poore got permission fromt he Pope and King Richard I to build a new cathedral. I would have thought that the locality of the new cathedral would have taken quite a lot of prayer and environmental analysis. But no!  According to legend the bishop decreed that an arrow would be fired from the walls of the keep and the new cathedral would be built wherever it fell. At the appointed time the arrow was fired but a deer got in the way and the deer fled a couple of miles before lying down beside the banks of the Avon - the perfect location for a new cathedral. The new building was built in 1220 using the stones from the old cathedral - impressed that recycling was around even in those days - but now not surprised that we could only walk around the foundations.  The old Sarum (or Salisbury) did continue to have influence way after the cathedral and castle inhabitants left for the more settled climate and easier life style of the avon-side estate.  Old Sarum was a "rotten borough." This was a name given to Parliamentary constituencies that were controlled by a single person. Since the reign of Edward II, Old Sarum had the right to send two members to the House of Commons - this right was maintained by the landowners even though by the 17th century no one lived there. So, the landlords remained powerful as they had a means of voting their representatives into the House of Commons. In 1832 the Reform Act was past which stopped boroughs from being rotten, or I should say stopped rotten boroughs. We enjoyed our walk around the old ruins and along the top of the hill. At one point I saw our shadows walking along a ridge below us. Harry did some star jumps and I snapped a few shots. The man on the other side looked as though he wondered if we should have been allowed out - we weren't worried - we are used to seeing that expression. Harry kept on jumping way after I had finished taking photos.

http://www.english-heritage.org.uk/server.php?show=nav.16426

When we had decided to go and visit Old Sarum I had a look to see what else there was along the way.  No point in going for a day out to run out of things to do is there? I found on the web that not far away there is a farm that protects and breeds rare farm animals.  So, I looked forward to this - looking into paddocks reading the information that told us what these rare animals were, where they were from and how rare they were etc etc.  We haven't been disappointed in many things we've visited over here - in fact we can't remember the last time we were disappointed - but this is one of those occasions.  I know it is winter and there is a bit of maintenance going on but the rabbit garage was closed, pens that were meant to house horses housed pigs or nothing at all.  There was one saving grace...down the end of one long path and happily standing in the mud eating his dinner was a Kune kune pig (very fat and round indigenous kiwi pig) called Hamlet.  We talked to him for quite while - he appeared to enjoy listening to our kiwi accents as he grunted in all the right places. Anyway, the background information on Hamlet was pasted to the fence and it said that the Kune kune 'originated from the Maori people in New Zealand'.  Whoever wrote that needs a little bit of a lesson in English writing!!  The theory is that they may have originally come from Asia and been brought by whalers and traders to New Zealand - another theory is that they swam all the way over - without lessons and training that would have been a mammoth effort. By the 1980s only 50 purebred Kunekune pigs were alive but with the help of a breeding recovery program they no longer face extinction.  So, here is Hamlet...

So after that disappointment we had a cup of tea and a piece of apple strudel and then went off to find Woodhenge. It is a Neolithic timber circle monument not far from Stonehenge. In fact they think the Wood and Stone henges were built for religious and rituals probably around death - but Stonehenge survived because it was made of stone.  The wood at Woodhenge had been excavated back in the 1920's and now concrete posts mark the five different circles with the burial site in the centre.  Modern day archaelogists still marvel how the men (and women?) of those times managed to lug the stones and wood around - even a wood pole would have weighed around 5 tonnes they think.

And on Sunday we had a lazy morning and then went to our first rugby game in England. The rugby and football stadium is just down the road and we are always pleased when we arrive back from somewhere when a game has just finished - there are a few long moments to get the last few 200 metres, but there is always a car park in the street - which doesn't often happen (oh for garages with electric doors - we'd even settle for off street parking). Anyway Bristol were playing Plymouth and the home team won 24-14 but to our surprise (shouldn't have been surprised really cos it seems half the NZ rugby fraternity is over here) Jason Spice (ex All Black and Hurricane) and Junior Fatialofa (Wellington) were both playing for the Bristol team. But our biggest surprise is that we couldn't buy hot chips (remember those 9 chip caravans we saw in Great Yarmouth a couple of weekends ago well they weren't here).  We had to settle for mulled cider and cornish pasties - which did manage to warm us up that little bit more - since the thermals and winter woollies weren't managing it all on their own.