South Wales

For our next outing we chose Mid Wales but we were going to take the pretty route to get there. Our first night was spent on The Long Mynd in Shropshire. It's a beautiful mountainous area the highest point being Brown Clee Hill at 1771 feet asl. There are some wonderful walks beside streams that have cut valleys into the hillsides and one in particular that we enjoy, starts at Little Stretton and climbs onto the Mynd. This time of year the fresh green of the trees against a backdrop of the dead bracken is a colour match made in heaven. The Spring flowers cover the roadside banks on the lanes and everything is fresh and vibrant.

We took a short stroll along one of the many easy to follow footpaths across the top of the Mynd, well I wanted to see what was over the horizon - more moorland hillsides as it turned out, and it only made me want to walk further but it was getting late. I did notice on the wooden post near our campsite that the 'shuttle bus' stopped there. What a great way to have a walk, park at the bottom, catch the shuttle to the top and have an easy, lazy walk down no maps needed, just follow the arrows.

Anyway, not this trip, we have other destinations. It was low cloud when we woke next morning and so we instructed flossie (GPS Navigation) to get us to Pontypool by the quickest route, yes Pat's kite manufacturer lives in Pontypool and he's set his heart on an XFS Delta. Looks like my camera's going to get another trip into the wide blue yonder in the name of Kite Aeirial Photography.

Bev and Dan Leigh are a lovely couple and despite the kites being made in their spare room, Dan is a world renowned designer and manufacturer of Delta kites used in Falconry as well as for pleasure. He's experimenting at the moment on some new ideas and designs. We were lucky, he had made three of the X type for an Arab who then decided he didn't want them so we got the blue one.

After a couple of hours, where we not only put the world to rights but travelled most of it in our talk and stories, we got on our way. As we were so close to Blaenavon where The Big Pit is, a coal mine, I said I'd like to make another visit. It's part of the 'National Museums and Galleries of Wales' and a tour down the pit is free and well worth the visit.

Our guide was Peter, the same one who took us around 2 years ago. He's a typical Welsh coal miner, his sense of humour is only outshone by his extremely good looks, he'd agree and have a laugh at that comment. Ours was the last tour of the day and there were only 7 of us so we all got a good view of everything. They have two tours now the New mine and the Old mine. As we had seen the coalface last time, Peter took us on the old tour. This meant stepping back in time to when the mines were first opened and children as young as 8 years as well as women worked down the mines.

First of all we were kitted out with battery belt and a tin water bottle like thing which in fact was a lifesaver. If there was a problem with methane or smoke this tin thing could save your life and in fact during his 20 years, Peter has used one once and he's still here to tell the tale. It has a clamp for your nose and a torturous protuberance that goes in your mouth. Inside the tin is some powder that takes out the poisonous bit of carbon monoxide leaving carbon dioxide and of course there is some oxygen in there and you can get to safety. It lasts about an hour but that's long enough and apparently it's the most uncomfortable thing to use.

Tin hat in place and then it's highway robbery, they come round you all with a sack and you have to drop all your equipment that uses dry cell batteries into it as well as lighters and smoking equipment. This is called contraband and OK perhaps there's no danger of methane in an unworked mine but it's still part of the tour. In the real days of mining one miner had to pay 10 shillings (50p) fine as well as apologising to the miners and the owners by way of a printed notice, for taking his pipe down. Ten shillings would have been a fortune to him but it shows how important it was that the rules were obeyed.

The cage is next and for a pit it's a big one, that's how the pit got it's name 'Big pit' from the size of the shaft not the depth. We were only going down 90 metres instead of the sometimes 1000+ metres and the speed had been slowed down to 2 metres per second for us 'wussies',( Peter is definitely asking for trouble here), instead of the miners usual 4 metres per second.

We saw how the coal face was sectioned into seperate tunnels and a team of three would work each section, two men digging out the coal and a boy loading the truck. The tunnel needed to be propped up as they went along and it must have been a terryfying experience opening up the tunnel and having unsupported roof above your working area.

When loaded the truck had to be marked with each individual gang's number and then pushed to where it could be hauled to the surface. Each truck was checked and wages were docked for anything other than coal ie stone or slag. It must have been a terrible life, working 12 hours a day after having walked to work, sometimes over rough moorland. Miners would arrive home black from the coal and Peter was telling us that his Aunt could remember when his Grandfather, father and Uncle all worked down the mine and the rule was the first home got the clean water, so the two boys would be in the yard fighting each other to get in for the first bath and very often Grandad would sneak past them and pip them both to the post. It must have been a housewife's nightmare, can you imaging trying to get that much hot water ready on an open fire every day!

Over time things obviously improved and he showed us what was left of the engine that was used to winch the wagons up or down inclines. It was necessary for the winchman to know when to start and stop and a simple system was devised. Two bare wires were strung along the tunnel sides about 4 inches apart. When you made a circuit by touching both wires with a metal rod a bell would ring in the winchman's cabin, simple as 3 2 1. 3 rings to come, 2 to go and 1 to stop.

This system produced sparks and in 1913 caused a massive explosion (unfortunately I can't remember which mine) and resulted in the death of over 400 miners, most of them died from carbon monoxide poisoning but the blast was so great that an engineer on the surface was decapitated by flying debris.

This was the point when the two wires were covered and the contact point was inside a covered box. Now all the miners had to do was to pull the wire or press the green button on the box and I was allowed to press the button - such importance!

The stables were still in tact with all the ponies names on each stall, this could have been for the benefit of the tourists though. The ponies were well looked after and well fed and had to be mucked out every day, they couldn't afford to have methane creating horse muck down there. The ponies never went to the surface until the unions managed to get an annual fortnight's holiday for the miners. The ponies were then taken to the surface for their holiday but it was difficult job getting them to back in that cage.

We took the old mine route back to the bottom of the shaft and part way we all had to turn out our lights. It was real blackness and no matter how close I held my hand to my face I couldn't see it. Underground is the only place you'll ever experience true blackness. It is quite scary.

Back at the surface we retrieved our contraband and cameras, it's a real pity that you can't take photographs down the mine but it's well worth visiting.

Peter’s last words were ‘If ever you two visit again, please let me know’ so we waited for the sting and sure enough ‘and I’ll have a day off!’ such a lovely chap.

He advised us all to run up to the Gallery building for the last showing of a video about mining. It was an informative video of about 10 minutes and when it ended and the lights came up a voice suddenly boomed out ‘Please now go through the door behind you, and that means you missus, yes go on now through that door’ . There’s a monitor in the corner and a video of a miner pointing and glaring at you. He follows you through the display on other strategically placed monitors and loudspeakers. It was cleverly done and added to the enjoyment. Instead of trying to read all the information boards as is usual in museums these days, he explained it and as he talked about the various pieces of equipment they were lit by a spotlight

It’s the nearest you’ll ever get to being down a real working mine and hearing the noises and the chatter of the miners. We enjoyed the whole show. The museum was closing for the night so we wandered down to the gift shop and exit.

It was still a glorious sunny afternoon and we wandered off looking for a place to spend the night. In Talybont forest we found a peaceful pull-in for the night and the prospect of a fine day to come.

East-ish !

Decision made we headed for Spurn point. It’s a fascinating piece of coast line. A spit of land made up from sand and shingle washed down the coast, it extends into the Humber estuary 3 ½ miles. It’s narrow and in places is only 200 feet wide so it’s easy to keep dashing from the seaward side to the estuary looking for ships and birds.

It’s owned by the Yorkshire Wildlife Trust and of course they charge parking. I remember one year we decided to have the laugh on the Trust and walked along the seaward side of the spit. It took us ages and was a lot further than 3 ½ miles, you see we walked along the outer edge of the curve! I’m not sure who had the last laugh!

It’s a good place to go bird watching especially at migration time. If the weather is bad out to sea and blows migrating birds off course they can end up landing on the first bit of land they see - Spurn.

At the end of the spit there is a large area of Sea Buckthorn, a deadly vicious plant with huge thorns that tear at you. If you can fiddle a way through there are a lot of old WW2 buildings amongst the sand dunes. It was an important area during the war and heavily guarded. There are also some WW2 buildings and gun emplacements on the cliffs at Easington which are being undermined by the sea. Each year we visit, more of the buildings have fallen onto the beach and the sea is attacking the concrete structures.

There’s been a lifeboat station on the point since the early 1800’s and it’s the only station in the country that has a fulltime paid crew and they have to live on the point. The crew have to be available 24 hours a day when they are on duty and cannot leave the point during that time. This means that the wives and families have to do all the errands, shopping, taking the car to the garage, going to the post office, taking the kids out for the day or to the pictures. It must be difficult for them and we have total admiration for both the crew and their families.

I do enjoy a walk on the beach here but it’s certainly not a pretty place and the mud coloured water does not invite paddling!

We spent the first night a little further up the coast and next day had a walk along the beach. The cliffs were still of boulder clay and being washed away at a terrific rate each year. There are very few pebbles or shells but I did my best and ended up with one pebble and a piece of sea washed wood that looks just right for Ikbana.

After the warmth of the last 2 weeks it felt really cold in the wind and we couldn’t decide where to go. We were getting bored sitting in the van so went to Burton Agnes where there is a craft shop, a Norman Manor House and of course Burton Agnes Hall. We didn’t feel any great wish to look around the Hall’s gardens on account of the cost and anyway we prefer wild and natural gardens. If you like Guinea Pigs this is the place to visit with the kids in the summer. There’s an enclosed area where kids can play and there must be about 30 or 40 ‘pigs’ all running loose, a lovely little corner.

We bypassed Bridlington and went onto the North York Moors. At this time of year the grassy roadside banks are beautiful, covered in Primroses, Violets, Stitchwort and other Spring flowers. I love to see them, better than any formal gardens!

We did drive through Whitby but it was so busy and all the parking was full, we should have known really, it was Saturday and the weather has been so good that all of the North of England had descended on the town. Instead we went to Sandsend, a mile further North for my obligatory walk on sand and paddle.

The boulder clay cliffs in places are 100 feet high and we scrambled down onto the surprisingly empty beach. It’s a lovely beach, wide when the tides low and sandy with heavenly pockets of pebbles. The pebbles have been washed out of the boulder clay and vary in size and colour. The clay forming the cliffs was deposited by glaciers during the ice age. As the glacier moved slowly along it collected the ’boulders’ and dragged them across the underlying rock, so some of the pebbles have a lovely flat side to them making them perfect for pendants. I live in the hope that on one of my forays I’m going to find something spectacular, well you never know what’s hiding in the clay, I could be the next Mary Anne what sit!

I had a happy hour or two trying to find the perfect pebble and collecting some pretty pendant shaped ones for polishing. I’ve got a small tumbler and it’s lovely to end up with a pot of polished pebbles from our travels.
This coast is constantly being eroded from the rain as well as the sea and wind, and barriers of huge chunks of rock are being built up along the foreshore. It’s especially so at Whitby beneath the Abbey and we noticed that the barrier is being extended along the beach towards Sandsend. I must admit it’s very dangerous to get too close to the cliff , a mudslide could occur at any time.

Next day we woke early and were walking around Hutton Le Hole on the North York Moors before the milkman! It’s a very pretty village with a stream running through the middle and beautiful cottages with olde worlde plants running riot in the gardens and over the walls. It’s a perfect place for kids to grow up, stream to go stickle backing or paddling, a lovely green to play tag or games on, not very good for the typical football or cricket though on account of it’s gradient, all nestled in a quiet valley, I’d love to live there for a year.



We followed the road back to civilisation and again the grassy banks were coloured with the Spring flowers, if ever I get a lot of money I shall buy some land and have my own lane built and planted with Violets and Primroses and Bluebells and, well you get the idea.

Helmsley was our next stop, we remembered some craft shops that were interesting. It’s a nice town and does have some lovely crafts and we visited the local craft show in the town hall. I get disappointed with some of the goods on sale as crafts. Where the pieces are bought and just put together I can’t see them as true crafts. Crafts to me are where the raw material is bought and the item made by yourself so cards would be painted or pressed flowers arranged, jewellery is made from wire, or beads made from clay, buying the pre-faceted stones and then just sticking them in pre-cast mounts is not a craft. I like to see them and indeed make them myself but I can’t see it as a craft!

I’ll get off my soapbox now and tell you that we were both horrified when we saw the top of our van through the first floor window of the craft show. It was green, that’s got to be the first job when we get home.

We had a stroll through Helmsley and along the stream, all the towns and villages hereabouts have a stream and they’re really lovely, life in the town. I found a wool shop with a sale! But it was only 9.50 am and I thought it might open at 10 am but much to Pat’s delight it was Sunday and it didn’t open at all.

By now it was raining and we headed South. Passing Borough Bridge I noticed the ‘Devil’s Arrows’ 3 huge stones around 20 feet high and dating back to 2000 BC. Apart from the type of stone and sizes nothing is known about the stones, so here’s a good chance to get the imagination in gear, who knows, inspiration might strike.

The rain followed us for another few miles and we headed for home, a bit of a disappointing few days, perhaps we have outgrown the East Coast.