Day 27: Come to Marlboro(ugh) country.....

.... in Wiltshire that is.  We are now ensconced in our last cubby before returning home  - Buckerfield Barn in Ogbourne St George, 3 kms from Marlborough. We'll be here till next Saturday. It seems very comfy and well-appointed, and Camp Dad gave us eggs, butter, a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine by way of welcome.


This is the view from the kitchen and sunroom.
The barn owners also run a plant nursery.

And...we have a proper shower cubicle! Again!  Can't believe our luck.

We left Tavistock in Devon earlyish this morning after a Skype with Susanna and Rebel. Always reassuring to know all is well on the home front.

We liked our smart digs in Tavistock, all very shiny and new with an utterly charming mine host, but it really was very small. Two steps from my side of the bed to the ensuite.  A good thing Geoff and I weren't on our first date.

En route to Marlborough we detoured, at Geoff's insistence, to a donkey sanctuary at Sidmouth.
The sanctuary has nearly 6000 donkeys in its care at a number of different places.




Oh, it was lovely!   Geoff's chatting here with 11 year old Sue.  She was quite receptive to pats and attention but her boyfriend Casper-Skipper, a young and narcissistic stud of 7, was less interested in attention and spent his time snorting and ee-awwing and farting, like most blokes do.                                              

Casper-Skipper (left) lets rip.

Apparently donkeys like to have a special donkey friend. I don't think the friend's gender matters and these ones are all desexed anyway.  But it was nice to see that when a donkey needs hospital treatment, their special friend accompanies them and stays with them while they convalesce. This aids recovery. 






I will be handing over to Geoff imminently. Our millions of blog readers will be delighted to know that he is largely recovered from the 'ailment' that afflicted him last night and which created a new level of intimacy between us.

Looking forward to revisiting Avebury stone circles tomorrow (a spit down the road), where my bronze age Wiltshire ancestors heaved rocks, sacrificed goats, carried spears and, significantly, knew the meaning of 2*pi*r ......

My 'ailment' has actually been much exaggerated, but in the spirit of charity I'll let it pass.  Anyway, feeling much better thanks very much.

We loved the Donkey Sanctuary, and what a good cause it is, looking after needy donkeys that would otherwise go uncared for.  They all looked pretty healthy to us, even those who were in the 'hospital', recovering from medical or dental treatment.  Anyway, for all you donkey lovers (and who isn't?), here's a couple more photos to savour.

 

Who is that bloody woman?

 

The fellow in the last pic resisted all efforts by others to come over for a cuddle until Anne turned up, whereupon he bolted for the fence with gay abandon.  And he knew he wasn't going to get a feed, because there are signs saying you're not allowed to, and he can read.

The trip to Ogbourne St George was largely uneventful except for our luncheon stop at the Bridgewater Services, near Taunton.  Some of you will be familiar with the concept of the English motorway services, meaning fuel, dunnies and the worst food this side of Berwick-on-Tweed (the most northerly point of England, so a useful place to start).  They are uniformly bad, but this one took the cake for us.  From the exit from the M5, you are directed (following a couple of roundabouts, each with 6 exits, just to make it a challenge) via a one lane narrow road to a multi storey car park reminiscent of the Belconnen Mall (I'm not kidding).  Once you find a park, you then hike for about 10 minutes to where you get your plastic sandwich, hamburger or pork pie, following which you then retrace your steps, hoping you can find your car and then the entrance to the M5, hopefully heading north, not south (if not you're in big trouble, and I don't even want to go there).  All in all, a truly dreadful experience, not to be repeated if you possible can.

Anyway, things can only look up from here, hopefully starting with Avebury tomorrow morning, weather permitting.  Oh, and the local in Ogbourne St George is called the Inn with The Well (all with capitals), which surely can't be all bad.

Love to all. XXXX

Day 26: In heaven in Devon.....

A splendid night in our stylish BnB in Tavistock.  It even has a proper shower recess. Mind you it has the usual levers, crankshafts, pistons and controls that British showers are famous for, but what a novelty not climbing into and out of a bath!  This reminds me that when we were in our Cumbrian house, one of the owner’s instructions read: “Stopcock.  This is in the utility room and is an overhead red tap attached to the pipes. This has been marked out to assist you.”  Thankfully an occasion never arose where we were required to actually deal with the stopcock. Its purpose remains a complete mystery to us.

Once breakfast was done and dusted today, we were off early to Dartmoor National Park where we spent a very memorable couple of hours last time we were here, at the Merrivale Standing Stones.  It was a simply magical experience last time as we had the place to ourselves – I was worried that this time every man and his dog would be there, being a Saturday in spring, as opposed to a weekday in winter. 

 

 

 

But we were lucky!   We were there early enough that it was jist us!  So we were able to walk slowly down the avenue again, conscious of its history as ancient, sacred ground. 

Even better was the fact that we were not strapped for time today.  Looking south from the standing stones we could see a single menhir (longstone) about 200 metres away. 

 

 

 

 

 

So we walked towards that and suddenly found a small stone circle. Not as impressive perhaps as some but it certainly gave me a thrill, particularly as we missed it last time.               

 

And everywhere there are  the remains of Bronze Age round-houses and burial mounds.  It was simply fabulous to be among all this ancient history.   There are known to be over 5000 pre-historic round house remains on Dartmoor (35  of them are at Merrivale) as well as 75 sets of stone avenues.  The place is very poorly sign-posted and we think that may be deliberate.  You have to really want to find something - it sure ain't handed to you on a platter.  We spent a fruitless hour on a search today for a site called Grimspound - a prehistoric enclosed settlement containing the remains of round houses.  There are actually 490 of these enclosed settlements  in Dartmoor but not all are accessible. Grimspound is supposed to be accessible but alas, not to us!  We did see plenty of other ancient cists and cairns and tors while looking for it though.  

4000 years ago the climate in Dartmoor was much milder and what is now moorland was arable. It was well-populated for a couple of thousand years but as the land's fertility declined, so did the population, who moved elsewhere.  Because the moorland soil was considered inferior, it was left untouched and much of this evidence of bronze age and iron age settlement just sat there languishing.  If the land had been arable, of course, all the glorious stone avenues and circles  and cairns would have long gone.  The Victorians actually vandalised a great deal of stonework, but the sheer vastness of it ensures much survives.  Thank heavens!

 

   A trip to Dartmoor is never complete without a picture of a Dartmoor pony.  This one's looking a tad shabby but I think he's losing his winter coat.

 

We also saw heaps of sheep, many of which lie down and sun themselves in the middle of the road.    There are signs warning drivers of this. We had this experience twice today.   

 

 

Postbridge

After lunch at Moretonhampstead (delicious!) we drove to Postbridge (still in Dartmoor National park) and had a wander there up to the top of a moor.

By this time the teeming multitudes were all out and about.  I'm so glad we got to Dartmoor very early.  It was quite cold and very windy then but the sun came out eventually and I'd say the temperature reached about 15 degrees - certainly no more than that.  Well, the poms were all out in their shorts and t-shirts like it was a heatwave - hardly anyone was as rugged up as us.

As a finale to our day we went to the Dartmoor Prison  Museum.  A most peculiar place and not very illuminating.  I think their curator is actually just a prison guard who types up explanatory cards to accompany not-very-interesting exhibits in his lunch hour.  eg Caption on card beside a pair of handcuffs: "Handcuffs."

And finally, drinks and dinner again tonight at the Cornish Arms. Geoff had a couple of St Austells pale ales. Sorry boys, but he's crook as Rookwood this evening and unable to come to the keyboard.  I'll send him your regards.

A few more pics from today:

A menhir or 'long stone'

 

Another one!

 

Ancient stone fencing for holding livestock

Baa baa black-faced sheep....

 

Ee-yore!!!


 

Marlborough in Wiltshire tomorrow for six days, then we're a-comin' home!  xxx

     

 

                     

Day 25: Knock knock knockin' on Devon's Door....

Before we begin: font is all over the place like a mad bloke's breakfast.  Sorry.

Today dawned gloriously warm and sunny – probably the best day, weatherwise, since our arrival over 3 weeks ago.  What a pity we had to spend it driving.  It took us seven hours to get to Tavistock, Devon (located in stark and mysterious Dartmoor National Park) almost one hour of which was spent heading in the wrong direction, relentlessly west, towards Wales.  It was only the signage  (Croeso i Cymru!) that alerted us. 

I will get back to Tavistock in a minute but must first return to Liverpool. As mentioned in my whiny, hastily re-cobbled post last night, all of my, and all but a couple of paras of Geoff’s contribution, simply disappeared.  When re-writing my bit, I left out a couple of things that have suddenly come back to me today.  So we will revisit them now!  First! Congratulations to Geoffy, who came up with the name of that post, after 24 days of having his suggestions rejected by the blog Editor, whose decision is final. An HD for “You'll Never Walk Alone on the Ferry 'Cross the Mersey".

 

And speaking of, here she is!  The 'Snowdrop'.  We were a little disappointed that this was actually a tourist ferry, rather than a commuter one, and the pre-recorded, on-board commentary was DELIVERED FOUR TIMES AT 20,000 DECIBELS, with a couple of loud, scratchy, distorted bars from Gerry and the Pacemakers' seminal hit to top and tail it.  Never mind.  A ferry ride is a ferry ride and I'm always happy about that, even if it was very cold and windy and the River Mersey was a less than appealing shade of taupe.

 

The Liverpool dockland area was rather nice, if a bit touristy.  And we saw yet another enormous seagull which was probably not a seagull but some other type of gull.

                                                              

A gull nevertheless. Geoff has previously described such gulls (in this blog and our previous one) as being the size of a small Jack Russell and (more recently) as having the proportions of a medium Yorkshire Terrier.  I disagree.  I am of the opinion that this gull here is roughly equal in size to a well-fed but diminutive and possibly cross-bred Kelpie. 

 

 

 

 Another highlight of the Liverpool Docks was this tribute to '60s rocker, Billy Fury:

 I don't remember a great deal about him (being jist a sprog in his heyday)  but always thought he had an excellent name. So I was disappointed to learn yesterday that his real name was Ronald Wycherly.  He died in his early 40s in 1983 and one of his fans later had this monument installed on the waterfront but facing the street, where he will be thrusting his nether regions at the passing traffic for decades to come.

I liked Liverpool - it helped that we stayed in a nice part of town I guess. We visited the Maritime Museum but eschewed any Beatles stuff. What more could there possibly be to learn about the fab four? Although a guy on Hoylake beach did tell us Paul McCartney had family in Hoylake. Probably a third cousin once removed.

But back to Tavistock  – it’s a beautiful old town - we were here briefly two years ago and vowed to come back, both to see the town and to further explore Dartmoor, which captivated us last time - Dartmoor ponies (that Geoffy named Misty, Dobbin and Neddy) and the fabulous, 5000 year old avenue of Merrivale standing stones.  Today we had just finished marvelling that Sat(an) Nav actually did a pretty good job (our detour to Wales was human error) when, close to the Tavistock CBD, she suddenly and urgently demanded we turn right up a 3-feet wide, pot-holed goat track which went for 4 kilometres, with no possibility of exiting.  Of course, it was two-way traffic and yet again, only Geoffy’s superlative driving skills enabled us to come out the other side successfully.  The really annoying thing is, we travelled to Tavistock down the same A-road last time using a proper, old-fashioned road map  and we managed to go right around the mulberry bush without ever once ending up on a goat track.  Furthermore, we could have stayed on that same A-road and reached our destination today quite effortlessly – a left turn at a roundabout and then 10 metres up the hill.  Not the first time this spawn of Satan, this whore of Babylon, has lead us down the garden path and up the creek without a canoe.

 

See that winding narrow goat track in the top half of the pic? It's two-way. And it's like that for 4 kms! Sat(an) Nav loves setting us challenges like this.








Over now to Snorkypants for his take on the day:





I have to confess that last night's loss of most of what we had composed was my fault, although I still don't understand how.  One of life's little mysteries really.  The only thing to add about Liverpool, and Hoylake where we stayed, is to marvel yet again about the beach at Hoylake.  Absolutely extraordinary, and not to be missed next time you’re in the vicinity.

Our hotel was a Marston’s, which is a chain (like Wetherspoons and the like) that seems to specialize in family friendly atmosphere and hearty pub fare.  Maybe a bit better than pub fare actually.  Anyway, we quite liked it, even though we agreed that one night was enough.  This might have had something to do with the fact that Thursday night was quiz night, that started at 9 and went til 11.  We know this because we heard most of the revelry from our room.  And then heard some of the revellers staggering back to their rooms next to ours.

Here in Tavistock, we’ve already discovered the Cornish Arms, which has some decent beers, from the St Austell brewery in Cornwall (we stayed there last time). [In St Austells, not in the actual brewery - Ed.] I had an IPA and pale ale, if anyone’s interested – both excellent.  We also enjoyed some pub tucker which we thought was just about the best we’ve had anywhere in England.  And better still, it’s dog friendly, like a number of other English pubs.  Here’s Meg, the Labrador-Pointer cross, who was celebrating her 5^th birthday.  We helped the celebrations as best we could.  And you can see a happy patron the background enjoying himself greatly. 

 

 

I think that was the pale ale being enjoyed at that particular moment.  And we also walked through a church yard in the centre of Tavistock, that has a small section of the remains of an Benedictine abbey that dates from 1318.  We’ve included this because we haven’t displayed any ruined abbey photos for at least 2 days, and we know you’re hanging out for more.

And that's all from him.  I'll just have he final word by posing the question:  Guess who destroyed the abbey?  If you said that fat Tudor bastard you'd be right!

Day 24: You'll never walk alone on the ferry 'cross the Mersey.....

Sometimes the perfect blogpost can be drafted and then it disappears into thin air, as has happened tonight.  I blame the Abbott government, the Cameron government and also bloody buggery BlogSpot.com, which I will never use again because they are as rubbish as TomTom satnavs, which will send you hurtling over a cliff if ever you make the mistake of taking them seriously. So, starting again from scratch.....

We said goodbye to One Fern Cottage, Back Passage, Lindale, Cumbria early this morning.

It had a lot of quirky                                                         
features, not least of which were the door frames            

which were ideal for anyone under 5 feet 6 inches,  bad luck for anyone taller.  Geoff got quite good at negotiating them,   
managing not to biff himself once on either doorframes or extraneous 17th century timber protuberances after the first day, when he concussed himself 12 times.

My only issue with Fern Cottage was the steps down and up to various rooms.  The bathroom was a challenge because once you'd stepped down into it, the floor sloped at such a steep angle that you sprinted towards the toilet whether you wanted to or not.  Handy on some occasions, less so on others.







We loved Coombria and we loved our cubby in Back Passage, Lindale. We grew very fond of our neighbouring rescue Greyhound, who we called Rowdy, and who greeted us everyday with nose boofs and tail wags.  We made a donation to the UK Retired Greyhound Trust in honour of Rowdy and I think his foster mum thought we were a bit of all right.   We thought she wasn't a bad old stick either.  Stupidly we took no pictures of Rowdy. But just imagine a lovely, chocolately, lean, muscular, blokey Greyhound.  That's him. He only came off the track a month ago.  In Australia he'd have had a bullet in him by now.

There's a big chunk I wrote that I can't now remember - you will just have to trust me that it was witty and insightful, and possibly worthy of some sort of literary award.  Ah well. It's gorn now.   But we did find this extraordinary beach at the end of our street in Hoylake, Liverpool.  The sand is fine-grained and not dissimilar to a Sydney beach and if you walk along it towards the water for at least half an hour, you will eventually come to the Irish Sea. 

We met these delightful Staffy crosses (sibling rescues) being given the once-over by a poofy Schnauzer. There were heaps of dogs having a splendid arvo on the sand, that just went on forever.





Not a great pic but intended to give some idea of how the sand goes on forever.  A local told us it takes half an hour to walk to the water. Not visible in the photo are at least a hundred wind turbines out in the Irish Sea.  Top job, Liverpool! Love your work. xxx


Tired and ready for bed now. Not even going to read Geoff's bit, which was miraculously unscathed whereas mine all disappeared into the ether.  Expect to be more sparkling and jolly tomorrow!                                                             













And another (this the building that defines the Liverpool docklandsscape (I just made up this word):

 

We wandered around Albert Dock, which is the centre of the historic part of the port of Liverpool.

 

 

... and did part of the Merseyside Maritime Museum, which had a number of interesting exhibits including the history of migration from Liverpool to the colonies, notably Australia.  We thought it was really interesting, and well worth a visit.

A couple of things I need to add about the beach at Hoylake, that Anne has referred to above.  It's one of the most extraordinary places I've seen.  The 'beach' is seemingly endlessly wide.  We met a local couple walking their dogs who told us that it would take about half an hour to walk out to the waterline. So we took their word for it.  And in some places the sand is actually quite nice.

Following this modest nature ramble, we did the only sensible thing and returned to our digs at the Green Lodge at Hoylake, where a modest few tipples were enjoyed by all.

Day 23: On the bonny, bonny flanks of south Scotland....

"Whale oil beef hooked!" cried the Irishman as glorious England gave way to Scotland's special beauty (so chumpy you could carve it) with a modest St Andrew's cross on the motorway. Woo hoo!  But I'm getting ahead of myself.  The day started well with a warmish to hot shower, which we had not experienced since leaving Canberra on 21 April.  Excellent!  As we drew nearer to the Scottish border our excitement knew no bounds, hence this rather lame motorway pic (below right) of impending Scotlandia:  

Before that, we managed today to take a couple of motorway snaps of the breath-taking Cumbrian scenery (that I described yesterday in slightly embarrassing, almost Wordsworthian tones) just before our camera battery suddenly collapsed from exhaustion, meaning the rest of today's pics were taken with my trusty Samsung Galaxy S2 phone.  I apologise in advance for this. 







It looks rather plain in this pic, but with the emerald green paddocks full of sheep and baby lambs,
the Cumbrian countryside is very special.  Honestly!

Before we knew it, we were in Scotland, both for the very first time, and both thrilled to bits to see the border modestly marked by the cross of St Andrew, even if this photograph is really, embarrassingly bad!  But it's our only proof, even if you need a magnifying glass to see it.






Our one and only destination in Scotland was Caerlaverock Castle, built in the 1200s.  In the year 1300, that mongrel king Edward 1 (also known as Edward Longshanks because he was 7 feet tall - see my previous blog, wellspotteddick.blogspot.com.au ) invaded Scotland and Caerlaverock Castle was his first victory, despite the valiant efforts of Laird Maxwell and his minions.

The battle in the year 1300 is quite well-documented from the English perspective as an English poet recorded all the drama as it happened.  He claimed that when the Scots eventually surrendered, having been horribly outnumbered, Edward "Pippy" Long Stockings spared most of the heroic defenders and gave them all new livery.  The Scots believe it far more likely he had them all executed. 






Caerlaverock is quite a magical place and such good value.  Only 4 pounds and a bit to get in.   Also, part of their 'exhibition' includes a 10 minute clip of Tony Robinson (from Time Team and Blackadder) re-enacting the epic poem I mentioned before, and really bringing it alive.

The Maxwell family eventually got the castle back but were warned the English would return and indeed they did in the 1600s, driving out the Scottish owners and installing Anglos.                                            
          



                            

Nothing special about this pic. I just liked the angle and the view through the window. This room (that I'm standing in) was the medieval bakery.  Bread was the staple diet for peasants, which must be the reason why I also eat a lot of it. 









And finally from me tonight, before I hand over to Mr Snorkypants (who will wax lyrical about wonderful Lanercost Priory, even though it was not Cistercian!) check out this clump of dandelions.  The dandelions here are so big and healthy-looking, you'd swear they were actual plantings and not weeds.  I will still hate them at home, but I will have a new perspective. 


************************


My only addition regarding Castle Caerlaverock is that it's triangular, which was supposed it make it more difficult to attack, although Edward Longshanks and his knights of the realm did eventually prevail.  Oh, and the scaffolding you see is quite common these days for roons of this vintage.  It kind of spoils the photo, but on the other hand if it means the difference between it standing and falling down, it's a good job.  A top destination, and we didn't get lost once, which is a first I think.  Our little southern corner of Scotland didn't look that much different to England, although we did hear lots of the distinctive Scottish brogue.  Here's a colonial posing in the front door of the castle, just after you cross the moat.  We have plenty of stuff like this in Canberra of course, but I thought I'd pretend to be impressed just to make the locals feel good.

We then backtracked to Lanercost Priory.  It's actually not that far from the Birdoswald Roman fort, where we were yesterday, but nothing's that far in these parts, which is of course one of its great charms.

Lanercost was built in 1169 for the Augustinian monks and survived peacefully until the 14th century when it was caught up in the uprisings of Robert the Bruce and other sundry Scottish troublemakers.  It was of course dissolved as a monastery in the 1530s, courtesy of Henry VIII [aka 'the Fat Bastard' - Ed].  I say 'of course', since the dissolution has been reported in earlier posts about roons that used to be abbeys.  In a similar vein to Castle Caerlaverock, it was later converted into a stately home, in this case by Thomas Dacre.  Jeez some of these wealthy poms did well, didn't they?

This is the undercroft.  We were particularly taken by the beautifully preserved ceiling.  The other joy about this visit was the weather.  It was sunny and almost warm, in complete contrast to yesterday at Birdoswald fort just up the road.  We actually sat for a while in the sun outside and lapped up the ambience.  We agreed it would be a top spot to lay out your picnic blanket, provided you could be confident that you wouldn't get drowned or blown half way to Manchester.  The other thing we've decided about these attractions is that in the main they are visited by a nice class of pom.  If you can avoid school groups, as mercifully we managed to do today, you'll generally find that you won't be offended by any of your fellow visitors.  In a lot of cases we were among the youngest, a rarity indeed these days.

This is definitely the way to spend an enjoyable day out in the English and (for today anyway) Scottish countryside.  Just you, the history and the sheep (who are present at every attraction we've visited).  Provided the satnav works, the road signage is helpful and you encounter no other technical hitches, it's an absolute joy.  Oh, and there's the weather and the school groups.  Really, what can possibly go wrong?  Thankfully for us, nothing did today!

Anne sticking her oar in again jist to say this is our last despatch from Coombria. Tomorrow we will be reporting in for just one night from Liverpool!  XXX

Day 22: To the Wall thank you, Hadrian, there's a good chap.

At 10.45 am today (7.45pm EST) as we headed north in search of Hadrian's wall, we briefly raised a middle finger to Sweaty Joe, as we imagined him blustering about at the despatch box, blue tie askew, delivering the federal Budget - still blaming Labor, still propping up the fossil fuel industries at the expense of clean energy, neatly side-stepping issues like superannuation tax breaks for the wealthy and tax avoidance by multi-nationals....would love to be proved wrong but I doubt it.  Will peruse the Guardian's detailed analysis shortly before continuing my biting commentary.  (Just joshin - I'm done!)

Moving on -  this morning, still slightly hypothermic from our luke-warm showers, we braced ourselves for our mission today -  a close-range inspection of the best bits of Hadrian's Wall.  We drove for well over an hour, mostly on the M6, through the glorious Cumbria landscape - the pastures are so impossibly green.  Ancient stone fences dividing paddocks and equally ancient breeds of hardy, wool-shedding sheep and thousands of tiny lambs in all colours - black, brown, grey, beige, spotted.  The huge and seemingly barren Cumbrian hills provide such a starkly beautiful backdrop to all this pastoral glory that it's quite humbling - I feel honoured to have seen it.  And not forgetting for a moment that this is the view from the motorway!  A tad more splendid than the Canberra-Sydney run on the Hume Highway, but I guess we do have our moments elsewhere.

Just after Carlisle we started seeing signage to Hadrian's Wall. Geoff was of the view that we should take such signage with a grain of salt. This worried me, but

                              

I had made two false assumptions: (1) that Hadrian's Wall remains largely intact across the country and (2) that it forms the border with Scotland. I now know that I am a dunce and an idiot, and nothing could be further from the truth. (Geoff, however, went to Opportunity Class whereas I did not.)  This pic on the right was taken en route down a path to Poltross Burn, a milecastle along Hadrian's wall. We had driven up hill and down dale, pathetically grateful for any signage at all, and it was not the bit we were looking for,  but once you find any HW signage and a parking spot in this neck of the woods, it's best to take it and go with the flow. So we did, discovering, during our brisk ramble of about 500 metres, that this was one of over 70 milecastles along the entire wall - they are roughly a mile and a half apart and a number of Roman army soldiers were stationed at each to patrol the countryside. These

Poltross Burn Milecastle

days, those milecastles that survive are mostly on privately owned farms. 

Next, Geoff was determined to find a larger chunk of the wall and a large Roman fortress called BirdOswald.  Again the signposting was really bad, but after we had traversed the same lanes several times with eyes peeled, we finally struck paydirt.  I suspect there are other travellers, not as intrepid as Geoff, who are still meandering between Cumbria and Northumberland, looking for something (anything!) that might resemble a bit of Roman wall.                                                                                  


Before today, I had only ever seen Hadrian's Wall pics that look like this:   >>>>

You'd swear it went on forever.  Alas, it doesn't, and of course not, it's almost 2000 years old! But it is quite wonderful.  This pic, taken just outside Birdoswald Fort, would have been about 4 kms across the paddocks from Poltross Burn Milecastle, that we visited first.

                      

 

Inside the fort at Birdoswald. You will of course recognise the buttressed south wall of the north granary building. I certainly did.

 

 

 

Rictus grin from me at the main south gate of the fort. I have not been that cold since I spent a very unpleasant 45 minutes on Appleby train station earlier this week.                              

                                   
Handing over to Snorkypants now, for more pics of our day at the wall (yawn, but there is a reason!) and an explanation as to why, if we were so damn close, we didn't make it to Scotland. All with the added bonus of sparkling commentary. Hopefully his spacing will be better than mine too.  I have seemingly lost the ability to wrap text.     

******

Yet again the road signage let us down.  We assumed that it would be easier to follow for what we think is such a major attraction.  I'm sure it's better for more lucrative ventures, like Disneyland in Cumbria (well it would be if there was one).  Anyway, persistence paid off.  On arrival, to say that we faced a howling gale would be an understatement.  You won't see anyone else in our photos, as for most of the time we were the only ones actually outside in the grounds of the fort.

There are in fact sheep in the distant background.  I thought I had a better pic of the sheep, but when viewed, it looks like the photographer was in the process of crashing to the ground when the shutter was clicked, having been blown over by a force 10 gale.  Which is exactly what happened.  But somehow the weather seemed appropriate, and if that kept the hordes of tourists away, so much the better.  By the way, Game of Thrones fans would know that Hadrian's wall is the inspiration for the great wall that separates Westeros (the Romans) from the Wildings (the barbarians).  While the 21st century Hadrian's wall is a little less impressive, you have to make allowances for 2000 years of exposure to the elements.  Not to mention pieces of it being removed over the centuries for use in farmhouse foundations and the like.

Since this was our only attraction for the day, please forgive us one more photo.

A lengthy section of the wall featuring typical vegetation of the area.  'The area' by the way may be either Cumbria or Northumberland.  In our efforts to find it we crossed the county border several times.

The reason we didn't make it to Scotland, or indeed any further today, was an unfortunate failure of technology, namely the exhaustion of the capacity of the camera's memory card.  Theodore Roosevelt said 'speak softly and carry a big stick'.  With apologies to him, today's lesson is 'think laterally and carry a spare memory card'.  What to do when in the wilds of the English - Scottish border and faced with the need to purchase a memory card?  What would the Romans have done?  The helpful woman in the Birdoswald ticket office said we'd get one in Brampton, about 10 miles distant.  We can now report that this is not so.  Brampton turns out to be a depressing village of no discernible merit, where you could probably get your last drink if you were that desperate, but certainly not a camera memory card.

After due consideration, we decided to head for home, in the hope of getting one in the thriving metropolis of Kendal (just off the M6, as most of you will know).  Following Hortense's flash of inspiration to google 'camera shops Kendal', we established a plan of attack, which not only identified a likely shop, but also automated directions via the phone.  So successful that we're considering trading in the satnav on the product that directs you to camera shops in Kendal.

To cut a long story short, we're heading north again tomorrow, complete with newly installed memory card, to seek out the fabled border crossing to the mythical kingdom of Scotland.

Och mon!  Good noight! xxx

Day 21: Squirrel Nutkin and Jemima Puddleduck mess about on Boats...

Another cold and miserable start to the day and not just because of the bomby bathroom shower. Drizzling rain and heavy winds greeted us as we stepped out for the day's excursions, firstly to Lakeland, at the southern point of Lake Windemere.

This is the Tern, built in the 1890s and which ferries sight-seers from one end of Lake Windemere to the other, with an intermission at Bowness, around half-way up the lake.  We braced ourselves and stayed on deck for the trip to Bowness, which took about an hour.

Whenever we go to Sydney (where our preferred mode of transport is ferries) I always say my dream job would be 'deckhand on a Sydney ferry'.  To this I would now add 'deckhand on a Lake Windemere ferry'. 

The scenery is staggeringly beautiful.  Although this building is a blot on the landscape - built in 1790 and called Storrs Hall, its owner between 1806 and 1837 was described 'as a leading figure in local affairs'. His name was John Bolton and he was a slave trader who became obscenely wealthy dealing in greed and human misery. 

The building is now a hotel and apparently its basement still contains the heavy metal chains that were used to harness enslaved Africans.                               




                           

 
Half-time at Bowness, where we had an hour and a half to kill before returning to Lakeland. These swans were enchanting, but when we got around the corner we saw another 150 of them, all seeking handouts from day-trippers, along with rooks, seagulls and some sort of marine geese.

So many dogs too, including on our boat, where a sign said "We welcome well-behaved dogs."   They are so much more civilised about such things here than in Aust.     




The ticketty, docking thingy at Bowness on Lake Windemere.  Bowness is very touristy, as it has been for over a hundred years, and is no less charming for that. 

It was cold and horrible on our return leg, so we went below deck for a cup of Bovril and a jellied eel. All in all a most pleasant way to spend a blustery cold morning. (Apart from the Bovril. And the eel.)

When we got back to Lakeland, I found a woman's wallet in the carpark next to our car, containing credit cards, cash etc.  I handed it in at the ferry ticket office and just hope that Sarah Butterworth and her belongings have now been reunited.  I did feel for her.

Next, we were off to Beatrix Potter's summer retreat at Near Sawrey!  (There is also a Far Sawrey down the lane a few kilometres.)  It was damned hard to find and involved more knuckle-whitening traversing of very narrow country lanes with hairpin bends and the odd large truck forcing hedgerow foliage up my nostrils, but Geoff's driving skills, I now think, are on par with any English person's. Quite an achievement, given the poms (with their piddly, medieval streets and two-way-traffic that should be one-way) have been driving a camel through the eye of a needle all their lives. So well done Geoff!  xxx


Near Sawrey was well worth the challenge of getting there.  This is Beatrix Potter's house, bought with the profits of her first five books. She was actually a London gel, from a well-heeled family. When she was a teenager, the family started holidaying in The Lakes district, so it provided her inspiration - the countryside is just so green and beautiful that even I am lost for words.    

The house was mostly built in the 1650s but the bit on the left (with the awning) was built after Beatrix bought it, to house her farm manager's family. 

Even though it was largely used as a sort of retreat/holiday house by Beatrix, she did write a number of her books here - and each room of the house (which is so much more comfy than William Wordsworth's place down the road!) has one of her books open at a certain page, so you can see how the illustrations match that room's actual furnishings, even if that part of the story takes place down a burrow or other animal habitat. 

It was just so enchanting.  A challenge to get there but so worth the effort!  This pic on the right is the view up the hill from Beatrix's little neck of the woods and those sheep, which we see everywhere, are Herdwicks - indigenous to Cumbria and almost lost forever until Beatrix renewed public interest in them. The adult sheep are greyish but the lambs are born black. Beatrix bought a number of farm properties and bequeathed them all to the National Trust.  She was very keen to ensure the preservation of the breed.  God I love this woman!!  She also had a couple of little Pekinese dogs, so bonus points for that.

Geoff was keen to dress up as Squirrel Nutkin and have his picture taken, but they don't do that kiddie stuff at Near Sawrey.  Of course, this meant a huge tantrum, a smack on the leg, and finally an ice cream. Peace restored.  

And now over to Mr Nutkin himself:

I didn't actually get an ice cream, but did get a reward,  more of which later.  My best description of the weather in the north would be unpredictable.  Or maybe changeable.  This morning was bloody awful, but started to turn for the better at about 10.  But by midday things were looking crook in Tallarook again.  And by late arvo it wasn't too bad.  Go figure.  I think the only answer for tourists is:  head on out and hope for the best.  No point in hanging around waiting for things to improve.  They probably won't.  Yet more priceless information for future would-be north of England visitors.  No; no need for accolades -  your undying gratitude is enough.

The lake cruise was indeed a joy.  Here's Hortense on the promenade deck of the MV Tern coyly but unsuccessfully avoiding the camera.

Bowness-on-Windermere is of course a tourist mecca, but I guess it's just what you'd expect of a lake cruise centre on the shore of England's largest lake, which Lake Windermere is.  Still, a pleasant enough couple of hours can easily be put in here.

Anne's excessively kind assessment of my driving skills is appreciated.  I think I've worked out that you just follow everyone else and try your best not to have a panic attack when confronted with a B-double heading straight for you on a road intended for one and a half Morris Minors with a rock wall on one side and a ten foot high hedge row on the other.

This was the state of the road to and from the Beatrix Potter attraction.  As a special reward, I was allowed a modest refreshment at the Tower Bank Arms, the premier hostelry in Near Sawrey, and in the top half dozen even if you take into account Far Sawrey.                     
  

 

The front of the 17th century pub (formerly the Blue Pig) was featured in Beatrix's The Tale of Jemima Puddleduck.  I'm not making any of this up.  If you don't believe me, go there and check it for yourself.  A crackling open fire added to the ambience.  And 'well behaved dogs' are always welcome.  The beverage is a Hawkshead Bitter (Hawkshead being the major nearby town, slightly larger than both Near and Far Sawrey).  Hortense had a Thatcher's cider, which was pronounced eminently drinkable.  She could have had the local Rosie's Pig, which comes in at a modest 7.3%, but decided discretion was the better part of valour.  I would have been very happy with a couple more Hawksheads, but couldn't help thinking about the prospect of the B-doubles on the way home.

 

And that wraps us up for another day, Pick-a-Boxers! Love, Bob and Dolly xxxx