Moving Home

Llanthony Secunda Tithe Barn

My loyal reader has complained that there have been no new posts recently. Hopefully this will remedy the situation, as well as giving them a nice surprise when they see the title.

Inside the tithe barn

But no, I haven't decided to move home. Rather, this post is inspired by a group of pious gentlefolk who set up a monastic retreat in a Welsh Valley, early in the 1100's. It grew to become Llanthony Priory but wasn't a great success — primarily due to the inhospitality of the locals, who strongly resented the presence of their Norman invaders and raided it frequently. And who can blame them? All that wealth concentrated in a small community of foreigners must have been hard to stomach. The monks wisely retreated to the safety of Gloucester, where they established Llanthony Secunda.

My Aunt Sarah and I enjoyed a day in Gloucester a few weeks ago. After a hearty lunch at Zizzi's, I suggested walking off a few calories by going in search of the Augustinian's 'new' home, wondering what might be left of it. Answer... not a lot. Where church and cloisters once stood there is just a large green lawn.  Beyond that were the remains of an imposing Tithe Barn and some tumbled-down walls that were hard to interpret.  Silly me – if I'd spent a little time beforehand exploring the Llanthony Secunda Trust's website, it might have made the visit more interesting.

The largest and most impressive building still standing is a medieval range, adjoining a Victorian farmhouse. Unfortunately for Sarah and me, the Trust recently landed a £3 million lottery grant to renovate the buildings and make them suitable for community use, and they're currently shrouded in scaffolding and blue netting. I look forward to seeing the end result.

Meanwhile, back in Wales – and two centuries after the old religious community had fled to Gloucester – the priory was re-established in grand style. This time it prospered for the best part of 200 years, before being attacked once more, this time by supporters of the great Owen Glyndwr. Again, most of the monks fled to Gloucester. Then, after another hundred years or so, came the Dissolution of the Monasteries under Henry VIII... and that was that.

I explored the remains of Llanthony Priory in 2014, when it was the starting point for a pleasant ramble down the Avon Honddu valley, then back over Hatterrall Hill and along part of the Offa's Dyke path.

As you can see, the place has fared rather better than its Gloucester cousin. The ruins are quite impressive and the grounds are a great place for a pre-ramble picnic. What is more, there's a car park and access is free.

There remains one more 'Llanthony' to explore. Had I known about it back in 2014 then I would surely have visited.  As it is, Llanthony Tertia will be part of some future exploration of the eastern Brecon Beacons.

By Train from Toddington

Our little diesel railcar trundled away from Toddington, heading north.  My friend Julliette and I claimed seats in the front of the train, right behind the driver. You definitely get the best views from there.

Soon the guard appeared and sat down in the next seat. "Why," I asked him, tongue-in-cheekily, "do you call your line the Gloucestershire Warwickshire Railway when you don't go into Warwickshire?"

"We needed the 'W'," he replied.  And, of course, they did. What self-respecting Heritage Railway on a former Great Western main line would pass on the chance to call itself the GWR?!  The good guard could have added that they will soon earn the right to that 'W', for work is proceeding apace to extend the line over the county border and into the attractive Cotswold town of Broadway.

Our little train crossed Stanway Viaduct and edged cautiously along the newly laid track. "Even I haven't been this far before," admitted our guard. Eventually we drew to a halt, surrounded by open countryside, in front of a large red and white STOP board. In the distance we could see work progressing on the new line.

Our driver went to the other end of the train and soon we were returning to Toddington, then on through Winchcombe to Cheltenham Racecourse.

According to the GWR's guidebook, Greet Tunnel is said to be haunted. Having walked through a few similar tunnels, I can understand how the story originated. Dark... then very dark... rough under foot... water dripping from the roof...!  You can see what I meant, though, about getting the best views from the front of a railcar. The crowds who pack themselves onto steam-hauled trains miss all the fun.

This pretty little station is Gotherington. My photo makes it appear to be devoid of track, but there's another platform opposite this one. I wonder why they didn't lay the track on the 'main' station side?

According to that guide book, Gotherington is a 'terrific' starting point for walking the Cotswolds. Such bold claims just had to be checked out, so when I got home I looked at the Ordinance Survey map. They're right. The Winchcombe Way passes close to the station, and to the south traverses Nottingham Hill and Cleeve Hill. Definitely one to explore.

Ignore the compass bearing, it just records the way my smartphone
was pointing when I took the screenshot.

Julliette and I stayed on board as the train reversed its direction once more and returned to Winchcombe. "They serve excellent food on Platform 1," our guard assured us so, tummies rumbling, we decided to give it a try.  He was right; their homemade cake is superb.

This is Winchcombe Station. Our little railcar is on the right. We waited for the big steam train to make its way down to Cheltenham Racecourse, then boarded it on the way back.

Here's Julliette, admiring 7903 Foremarke Hall. Railway buffs will doubtless notice that the train is travelling 'wrong line'. They didn't wish to smoke out builders who were working on platform 1, I was told.

Back in Toddington, we checked out the 'Have-a-Go Signal Box'. Now tell it not in Gath, but this girl has been let loose in a 'real' signal box on more than one occasion. Feeling devilish, I pulled the yellow distant signal lever whilst leaving the big red one 'on'.  The signal went down.  It's a pity that I didn't ask Julliette to record the event as the railway inspectorate would not be amused.  You're not supposed to be able to do that!   

So what's my verdict on the Gloucestershire Warwickshire Railway? Well clearly an enormous amount of effort had gone into restoring and preserving it and the dedicated army of volunteers can be justifiably proud of their efforts. I wish them every success as they press on towards Broadway.  If my oft-visited friend Lucy ever decides to pitch her caravan there again, I may well arrive in style, and perhaps even drag her off for a brisk hike up Nottingham Hill.

Here, though, I must choose my words carefully. Main Line railways like the Gloucestershire Warwickshire were originally engineered on a grand scale, consequently they lack the bucolic charm of many little branch lines. For instance, the Dean Forest Railway, less than a mile from my home, twists and turns along wooded valleys and pauses frequently as level crossing gates are opened and closed, all of which, for me, adds immeasurably to its appeal. And how about this one – the amazing Tanfield Railway?

But the crowds waiting to board our train as we returned to Toddington bear witness that not everyone thinks like me. Vive la difference!  And yes, one day I would love to return.