Old houses

How many shades of green are there? When we thought about it on our drive into the Welsh countryside on Saturday we weren't sure but decided that during our trip we had seen almost all of them. The sun shone down upon our little yellow car and our heads (as the sun roof had a rare opening that day) and on the countryside, trees, canals and lakes.  It was one of those 25 degree days that we will treasure as we know there won't be many. Our destination was an 18th century house known as the Hall at Abbey Cwm Hir. We arrived a bit early - we had left in plenty of time as we were unsure how long it would take us knowing that we often get distracted or lost.  So with the owners permission we sat outside in the chairs eating our picnic and talking to Rosie our guide. After lunch Rosie took us to the walled garden - running ahead, turning and looking around for us, coming up for attention, or looking slightly miffed when we took a bit too long or decided that the path she wanted us to follow was more suited to her four little legs than our two. She amused us without that incesssant chatter you get from some guides while she took us through the walled garden overlooking St Mary's Church (5 years of growing with lots more to do), past lots of spring colours in the woodland (blue bells and rhododendrons), and to the green, peacefulness at the old ruined 12th century Cisterian abbey across the road.

The house was built in 1834 by Thomas Wilson - it took a few more decades to double its size and then add a snooker room. It is hard to describe the house as it is today. The words 'history in the making' came to mind when we were told that the house was being renovated to the tastes of the owners rather than to past residents.  These talented interior decorators and gardeners have turned a Gothic house into a house with 'lots of other eras' with its beautiful plastered ceilings, architecture and tiles. Each room and there are 52 of them have their own character and reflect something of the personality of the owners. As we wandered from room to room I was reminded of Snowshill Manor - there are similarities - lots of collections with no one interest a focus (royal doulton china, books, chess boards, cycles, motor bikes, kitchen utensils, paintings, indonesian furniture, bed linen, hats, knitted cup cakes, white ware and furniture). We can imagine the number of paint brushes and pots used, metres of wall paper and trips to shops and jumble sales to search for the right item - this house has dominated the owners life for 13 those years - what a difference to our current lifestyles. The interesting thing though, is that in all the other places we have been to the owners are dead or ancestors are living in part of the house not open to the public (and the building has been done up to reflect what it was like when the dead were living). At this house the living are creating something to pass on to generation after generation (if they want it and can afford to keep it with the enormous inheritance taxes one has to pay over here). We were allowed in every room - even where the owners slept, cooked or showered. Nothing was secret - well not quite. Half way through the tour I began to wonder how they organised themselves so that the kitchen looked pristine (the stove had arm chairs in front of it and there wasn't a toast crumb anywhere).  Imagine, having to put your book back exactly at the right angle after reading a chapter, or putting your wet towel in a cupboard because it can't be folded just right over the edge of the bath, or folding your dressing gown every day so it can lie just so on the bed. And where were the tins of paint, paint brushes, overalls, sewing machine, left over scraps of material and wool etc etc.  We can only summise - was there a cellar, or some cupboards we didn't look into. I could imagine 200 years later people (just like us) will probably come and look at this creation and wonder the same things as us, delight in the same creations as us, and think about the number of people who lived like this back in 2010. The answer is obviously not every one - cos we don't - all we will leave behind is this blog!! A lot of old houses have masterpieces hanging on the walls - sometimes too many to be able to appreciate each one individually. The house did not have paintings by artists painted centuries before. But it did have its own artist. Robert Parkin has painted the hall in a number of different centuries and seasons. The paintings are all about how he envisaged it back then -  a personal gift to the house and its owners and descendants. We were particularly taken with two of the paintings  "Home before the Storm" and "The Gathering". Robert is a local artist and I enjoyed reading about his background and some of his quotes provided an interesting insight to his creativity....

"When I'm working on a large canvas I'll often leave it, sometimes for weeks, waiting for an idea to develop, or perhaps a certain light one morning to inspire a change to an already completed section… To me, paintings evolve. You should never be rigid enough to deny your instincts". 

He grew up in an industrial area - you know the one iron, coal, grey smoke lifestyle that is less evident today but still around.  But he managed to see beyond that ...

"The natural world offered a window I found impossible to ignore; it provides the inspiration for all my work".
"I was lucky, and inspired, to discover the Derbyshire Dales and Peak District National Park, practically on the doorstep, at a very young age. There, the stone framed fields and age-old industrial and agricultural workings held a fascination for me. I have always been intrigued by the way that, what seem to most people untouched wild places, have in fact been shaped by generations of people; all with their own unique knowledge and skill. For me, landscape art must capture that. Constable knew it, and although his work is often criticised as being over sentimental and romantic, for me he is the greatest ever true English landscape artist".

Having seen where Constable lived and painted we would tend to agree. 

"Look around and see what really matters. Often it's right on the doorstep in simple things that generations before have toiled to achieve. Look at the fields that still show the ‘ridge and furrow’ of agriculture from the Saxon age - a misty brook flowing alongside a water meadow. Don't put a price on their future". 
All this and more from http://www.robertparkin.com/biography.html

And then Sunday it was back to Longleat to see the bits we had missed the last time.  Our last visit was all about wildlife and daffodils - the season has changed and this time we were struck with the wisteria and birdlife. We wandered around the house - it was quite a quick walk through as the only thing that really grabbed me was the range of wall papers in the rooms (leather, sheets of chinese, heavily embossed) and the sun was beckoning us towards another picnic in the warmth outside. 

Merthyr Tydfil

It didn't start off as a good week.  We decided to go for a long bike ride after work and while passing a group of teenagers one decided to step out in front of me without looking and I stopped quickly so not to hit them and came off my bike.  Thankfully, I landed on grass and my helmet took the impact instead of my head but I have a number of bruises that only I can see - and a sore and bruised nose which everyone else can see but actually doesn't look as bad as it feels.  Anyway, at least I am around to tell the tale and could ride back to the house up a hill in second gear and take my bike to the shop the next day for repairs.  During the week I was well enough to give Harry lessons in "How to show sympathy with Sincerity" and now think that I am well equipped to write a book for those who are unfortunate enough to have a partner who came off their bike.
And then it was another weekend.  I can remember booking our weekend away at Merthyr Tydfil - and we wondered 'What is there to see and do in and around Merthyr Tydfil?'   We never have any problems finding something - onto the web we go and what did we find.  The Taff trail, a castle, an island that isn't really an island and some dinosaur footprints.  We'll start with the Taff trail just right for a bruised biker!!
"The Taff trail is a 93 km waymarked route for walkers and cyclists from the market town of Brecon to the City of Cardiff.  The trail links parts of the historic transport network to form a continuous route.  Over half of the Taff trail is a traffic-free or on quiet access roads with the remainder on country lanes and minor roads offering pleasant cycling on gentle gradients with a few short, steeper sections.  The surface varies from tarmac to prepared dust and good-quality forest track...The Taff tail passes through some of the most beautiful and varied landscapes in South Wales..."
We started our ride at the hotel car park and rode along the cycle path beside the river with the first stop being the remains of the old iron works - huge opportunity and employment for the town locals in its day.  It is now a big patch of broken concrete with the decaying furnaces at the back slowly being hidden by nature.  We then rode along the old railway track, over the viaduct and up the gentle rise - so far so good.  A few stops for photos, sips of water and surprised exclamations about the weather (cloudy and then sunny - off and on all day rather than the heavy rain of the night before).  A number of 'hellos' and 'mornings' to and from locals on their bikes or walking with their dogs and the occasional 'thank you' as they reined their dog or child in to let us pass and onto the road to take us to Pontsticill.  Here we rode along the edge of the reservoir and over the dam (which is where Anne and us had walked a while back when we had caught the Brecon Mountain railway to the same spot).  Up a hill and then onto a forest track - what ever happened to that "good quality forest track"?  It was o.k. at first - a bit bumpy (both our bikes are not made for this sort of thing) - and then a lot bumpier - down a steep drop which I ended up walking down (near vertical it was) and up an even steeper hill (nearer vertical it was) which I also walked up.  Then down again onto a road where we found a nice spot to sit on little sharp red stones and eat our lunch beside the reservoir (there was a picnic table and chairs a few metres around the corner but we didn't know that did we?).  We invented a new sandwich as we munched our way through cheese, gherkins, bread rolls, snax and marmite, wait for it "pineapple wedged between two pineapple lumps" - you should really try it - a bit messy to eat but well worth it!!  Then back along the road only to discover that we really could have avoided that "good quality forest track" and ridden along a quiet country sealed road all the way.  The Red Cow seemed a good place to stop for a cup of tea (with a few locals speaking Welsh and their kids and dogs) and then back across the dam up the hill (where two people were washing their cars in the middle of nowhere using the cold water from a little overflow pipe - we are sure they had a good reason but couldn't work it out) and back along the path where we looked to see if the little puppy who had looked lost and sat at Harry's feet  as we stopped for a photo was still there but he wasn't.  I think it is likely we might do more of the Taff trail in future as we really enjoyed it - and there are after all 93 kms of the trail to explore.

On the way back we took a little detour into Merthyr Tydfil.  We tied our bikes to a post outside a fish and chip shop where people sat and ate chips from cone shaped paper and went into the Tourist Information Centre. The young man told us about the Castle and Joseph Parry's house and then said "that's about all really".  So, armed with that information we wandered down the main street and found a local market where we bought a pair of shorts for Harry, and some high viz tee shirts for us both and listened to the fruit and vege sellers competing for the shoppers coins."Seedless grapes 2 punnets for a pound" yelled one in a strong Welsh accent as he took the money from a woman who looked as though she wanted to hold her ears while paying for the strawberries and holding shopping bags.  Another yelled "brocolli for £1 pound elsewhere £1.50", "strawberries £1 punnet" in a similar broad accent - at least the latter had a bit of variety.  There were no gaps in the tirade and amused we continued on through the crowd to find a quieter place for a coffee in the sun.  Then energised by caffeine we biked up the hill to the castle.  Cyfarthfna Castle sits on a hill overlooking the valley and isn't that old as it was built in 1824. It is known as the "the most impressive monument of the Industrial Iron Age in South Wales".  We wandered down to the basement where we read about a history of Wales, iron, coal mining, railways and canals, with a bit of music, unions and china thrown in.  Here we read another sad story about a Welsh mining town - Pantglass and the Aberfan Disaster.  It's a quote cos rewriting it would not add anything to this touching story. In early October 1966, a ten-year-old Welsh schoolgirl named Eryl Mai Jones had something important to tell her mother.
"Mummy," she said, "I'm not afraid to die."
"You're too young to be talking about dying," her mother said. "Do you want a lollipop?"
On October 20, Eryl Mai woke up after having a memorable dream.
"Mummy, let me tell you about my dream last night," she said.
"Darling, I've no time now. Tell me again later."
"No, Mummy, you must listen," she said. "I dreamt I went to school and there was no school there. Something black had come down all over it".
Her mother thought nothing more about the dream. After all, they lived in Aberfan, Wales, a poor coal-mining town. Perched high on a hill overlooking Aberfan was a coal tip, where waste from the mining process was dumped. The Aberfan coal tip caused many residents of the town to worry for their safety. So when Eryl Mai's mother heard her dream, she may have concluded that her fear of the ever-present coal tip had provoked it. Eryl Mai went off to Pantglas Junior School that day as usual. Nothing unusual happened. The next day, Friday, October 21, she did the same. But at 9:15 that morning, the coal tip gave way, sending tons of coal sludge, water, and boulders onto the village below. The avalanche mowed down everything in its path, including stone houses and trees, and swept toward the Pantglas School, where it crushed the back of the school. In all, 144 people were killed, most of them children at the school. Eryl Mai Jones was one of the victims".   There were people at the top of the mountain that had seen the beginnings of the tragedy, but the telephone cable had been stolen - a frequent occurence -and the alarm could not be raised - although later on they think a warning may not have saved any of the school children.

http://www.raypoole.co.uk/swales.html

And then there were the strikes in the "worldwide capital of iron" that seemed to run through out the decades well into the 1980s when unemployment was rife as more mines closed.  It was here that many miners were on strike for weeks and months but to no avail - the war time boom demand for iron and coal dwindled and so did jobs. But during this period something came to the area that offered some hope - no not Father Christmas. Hoover - opened just over 60 years ago and closed its doors last year amidst some more lost hope.  The company was described as the 'shining beacon to a glowing post-war future' and turned black and grey into bright and white.  The company has had its ups and downs but somewhere in that company was an imaginative and misguided enthusiastic marketer who didn't do enough research into customer behaviour before turning ideas into action.  This was during the time when cheap imports from China came flooding into the market and Hoover decided to diversify into things like futuristic motorised transport.  In 1992 the company offered a free flights promotion in which customers who purchased £100 of Hoover products were promised free airline tickets - 2 round trips to Europe and then the USA.  What they didn't reckon on was that customers started buying Hoover products even if they didn't want them - the price of a ticket to the USA was two or three times more than the £100 of appliances.  I can imagine the scene - people proudly parking their car outside while garages were piled high with white ware - or a laundry stocked with 3 washing machines - or a hall cupboard with 10 vacuum cleaners.  As friends come round you could open the door and say "this is what I paid for my holiday". The company just recovered from the demand for air fares and vacuum cleaners and the $48 million debt from court cases but good things come to an end and Hoover moved out of the Welsh countryside last year. We didn't get to Joseph Parrys house (Welsh composer who lived in the 1800's) because we sat in the sun and wind at the castle for a while reading a newspaper before we realised we had a puncture to repair. That took a while - cos I needed to do it in case I ever get one when Harry isn't around (we only have one puncture repair kit that Harry carries but that is beside the point). But we peered through the window into a little cottage similar to many others we have seen - the home of a worker and in those days absolute luxury. Close by was a plaque to Jack Jones who lived in the later 1800's and must have known Parry as a youngster because this Welsh novelist and playwrite wrote about Parry.  Then back to the hotel for a shower, and then to an Asian buffet restaurant within walking distance of the hotel - food was edible though with little spice and flavour.  We took some magazines and newspaper to read and while we took time between courses we noticed tables changed eaters sometimes up to 3 times while we relaxed over food and conversation (it is really hard to spend time between courses when it is a buffet meal).

To get to Sully Island we drove through Barry (this is a famous leisure town just south of Cardiff where a tv take-off of the Welsh way of life in a progamme called 'Gavin and Stacey' is set - a bit like 'Kath and Kim').   I couldn't resist 'We're going through Barry, Harry' and once I had started I couldn't stop - not like me not to tell when the joke is wearing a bit thin. 'What do you think of Barry, Harry?' got a little smile, 'Well that's Barry, Harry' got a grimace, 'Let's stop at Barry, Harry' didn't even get a response.  I think Harry was pleased Barry wasn't that big and that it didn't take long to drive through 'Harry, Barry is a little place isn't it?'.....actually I was quite surprised I wasn't left there!!
Sully Island - one of the largest tidal islands in the world - its a bit like visiting an island when it isn't an island.  We arrived about 90 minutes before low tide (we had looked up the timetable before we left just to be real organised) and wondered if at first we had read the timetable wrong.  It seemed like a lot of water had to leave before we could walk across to the island.  So, we sat at a picnic table, supping our cup of tea and watched the tide go out (a tad more exciting than watching paint dry!!).  We both marked spots which we would watch and eventually more rocks began to appear and then some local fisherman with rods and buckets began to wade across the rocks - keen to get to the otherside. Us with our walking shoes on, waited a little bit longer until the water had dropped another metre and began to get trapped in puddles.  If I was a poet, it would be a great opportunity to write about receding waters uncovering seaweed and leaving limpets high and dry to be spied by seagulls and waters cascading down rocks forming miniature waterfalls and waves meeting across a stone path. But I'm not so will leave it at that.  The path across the island slowly formed and we carefully negotiated seaweed and slippery rocks to the other side - losing all sight of the keen fisherman.  Like Kapiti Island, the off shore side of the island is very different - and through a field of reeds we wandered to some steep and unforgiving cliffs to see where the fisherman went with their rods and buckets. We walked to the top of the island - which might sound exhausting after yesterdays bike ride but it was a gentle climb of only a few metres.  There we surveyed the uncovered walkway and wondered if we were on an island or not and viewed the rusting hull of a ship now lying desolate on the shoreline soon to be covered again for a further 12 hours. The island has its own history including a dark past of 13th century smuggling and pirating, Roman and Viking habitation, illegal immigration, farming, drownings through people trying to beat the tides and ship wrecks (the boat could have been the Antarctic survey vessel, the SY Scotia, which was wrecked in 1916, but others say not as the keel is too short). Guess what the island is for sale (or it was last year). Any person who wanted to buy the 14 or so acres for £1.25m can't live there as they wouldn't get consent for a house, but there is a possibility of opening a tourist attraction - just a thought!

During our picnic stop we asked a local for directions on how to find the dinosaur footprints - it was a bit vague on the net.  The local said 'drive down to the roundabout, turn into the industrial estate and keep driving - you will think you are going nowhere but stop at the end of the road.  Somewhere on that beach you will see a long thin piece of concrete and the footprints are in red stone just round there.  You'll think you see them and then wonder if that is them, but then when you do see them you will know'.  And we did - thanks to his good directions.  Someone has put white arrows on the rocks and white circles around them which helped to locate them.  Somehow this felt like desecration of a special site.  To think we were treading somewhere where millions of years ago something quite different lived - what a different world it would have been back in those days - it is hard to comprehend. The dinosaurs had toes - we could see them.  And  if you are wondering about size - most of them were about the size, or a bit smaller than a horses hoof.

Harrys wallet got washed with his trousers Sunday night so he gently unravelled all his papers and cards which took a while.  He should be grateful as a tissue needed a wash as well!! He is now spending laundered money. I gave him a little bit of sympathy but not much but I was sincere (I think!!).

Bowood

This is our 200th blog - it is hard to believe that just under 3 years ago Mike said 'write a blog' and that is what we have done.  And this blog has been written during a fascinating week in English history.  A hung parliament (which I watched being created during the wee small hours on a Thursday night).  Though not without controversy.  Some people were not allowed to vote as the polling booths closed at 10 pm even though they had been waiting 1.5 hours, some booths ran out of voting slips, and some people with ballot papers weren't on the roll.  A few days later Gordon Brown announced his eventual resignation (he would stay on till September and negotiate a Labour Liberal coalition with lots of smaller parties for confidence and supply), Nick Clegg (opened negotiations with Labour as soon as Brown resigned), David Cameron (offered electoral reform and a few more tantalising policy commitments to get the Liberal Democrats back on side).  But then the next day Gordon Brown resigned with immediate effect, David and Nick become political friends and allies and the UK has a formal coalition - the first since World War ll.  I hope it goes well for the sake of the countries.  But then if things couldn't get worse for the airlines Unite the union which many British Airways staff belong to have called 20 more days of strikes - turning travellers holidays into nightmares at the same time that the EU is helping to bail out Greece with millions and millions of Euros. So, all that in one week - never a dull moment in the lives of the news broadcasters.  
And our week...besides the election (I was a bit tired on Friday and so were others after staying up late). On Friday we watched Bristol beat London Welsh at the local ground (two Wellingtonians in the pack once again).  Saturday dawned cold and cloudy but we headed off for our trip to Bowood.  This place had been on my calendar in the first week of May for a long time - rhododendron season and get this bluebell season as well - not to be missed. First we stopped at Bowood house,surrounded by another Capability Brown landscape which included teetering topiaries - could these have been trimmed by a one eyed, limping gardener?  If so, the trees have been trimmed all crooked-like since 1990 as inside the house we saw a painting of the garden 20 years earlier.  I did try and find a  little history about the shape of these topiaries but came up with nothing except topiaries are a 5th century art where gardeners traditionally did things by sight (my theory could be proved right after all) rather than using the measures and instruments one can use today.  The house was little compared to many large mansions - there had been a larger mansion but this had been demolished not long after the war as it needed rather extensive maintenance to keep it in a liveable condition.  During the war the house was lived in by the Westonbirt school girls (having had their school not far away commandereed for the war effort).  Now it is home to the 9th generation of the Lansdowne family.  The 8th generation retired in 1972 to a home somewhere else and said to his offspring ‘You may find maintaining the house and estate quite a challenge.’ They rely on visitors (like us - but not many others on this May Saturday) to help fund the maintenance of the buildings and grounds - and they've done a great job. There is a display of what happened to Bowood during the war. While losing two sons in action, and providing a home for mischievous school girls there were other battles to fight.  The war effort cut down the trees, allowing cattle to wander freely with no effort to replant (another reason why this country has so few trees and forests), the Cherhill white horse (that we had to climb up and see) was covered during the war, and the monument to the ancestors of the Lansdowne had to be taken down (as it was so tall it could have been easily seen from the air) brick by brick and then put up again in the same order.  It was in this house that Joseph Priestley discovered oxygen (it defies my imagination how you can discover something that can't be seen - but I guess the same can be said about God and that doesn't defy my imagination at all). Joseph Priestley was around in the late 1700's and was well known for being a theologian, dissenting clergyman, natural philosopher, educator, writer and political theorist. He somehow discovered oxygen by isolating it when it was a gas - but he is not the only one who is claiming to be the first to discover "dephlogisticated air" thats O2 by its proper name.

And then a little drive down the road past the new hotel, spa and golf course to the rhododendron garden.  I mentioned before it was cold and cloudy and the woman at the ticket office said this was keeping people away 'the weather has let us down'. I mentioned that clouds give photos and a garden atmosphere, and secretly were quite pleased that we had the 30 acre garden virtually to ourselves (except for a couple looking after their little grandson).  Photos galore without people getting in the way, admiring flowers and trees without looking around other bodies.  We didn't have to vie for a picnic bench or car park (with only our car in it at the end of the day).  Stunning was the word I used, a carpet of blue bells with a backdrop of rhodos in flower - it only lasts a couple of weeks - so get out there England and enjoy.  Some of these trees were planted as early as 1854 and some of them were enormous - now resplendent in a garden that had reverted back to nature during the Second World War.

At one point Harry told me to look pretty for a photo - huh I thought. And then he spent the next 20 minutes whistling 'I'm so pretty' so I got my revenge by composing a song over some hours to the same tune...(to sing it properly you need a broad scottish gravelly accent just like a rhododendron gardener on tv many years ago)
Rhododendron, rhododendron
Lots of colours
Red, yellow and white
Oh so pretty, Oh so pretty
With the bluebells flowering in Spring
and then later on when he wanted to take another photo of me by a sign (by a sign I ask you) with the Cherhill horse and monument behind he said 'Stand properly' and along came another verse...
Stand properly, stand propertly,
Stand still and straight and smile
Oh so pretty, oh so pretty
With the white horse on the hill behind.
Not bad creativity for a cold Saturday afternoon I thought...

Imagine our delight when driving back through some A and B roads we came across a sign to New Zealand - half a mile to home!!  We raced around the corner to see what we would find.  It is near the Lyneham air base and we initially thought that this little farming community (well a few cottages really) may have been named because of New Zealanders serving there during the war.  There are indeed a few single storey timber clad huts called New Zealand farm that belong to the airbase.  But get this - after quite considerable research we found that in the 1880's it was named New Zealand because of its remote position. It is anything but remote now.

Then in my gmail tonight was an ad from the cheap hotel chain we often stay at..."Mr. Sleep & the Zzz Squad have been out and about talking to customers and have already started to make their mark. Travelodge want you to get a great night's sleep. So after listening to your feedback we have replaced every single pillow with new Cluster Fibre ones (Mr. Sleep and the Zzz Squad's top choice after some very lengthy trials).  So, maybe there is hope that we will get two towels in each room after all - that might be their next achievement.

And on the Chippie packet (yes we had chippie sandwiches for lunch at Bowood) was information on the opportunity to join a chippie fan club.  We wondered how many other fan clubs we could join - a new hobby perhaps?