The Waters of Minnoch, but no dead bodies

I was determined to do one reasonably long walk during my holiday in Galloway, and this was it. We started at a bridge over the Water of Minnoch, near Bargrennan, where a dirty deed was once perpetrated, though thankfully not a real one.

Yes, once more I'm treading in the steps of Lord Peter Wimsey, the super-sleuth of Dorothy L. Sayers' novels, for it was somewhere around here that the artist Campbell's body was found. It looked like an accident. The poor fellow had surely stepped back to admire his painting, slipped and fallen in the drink... and it would have been accepted as such had not a tube of flake white paint been missing from the scene. If you wish to unravel that one, I invite you either to read Five Red Herrings or look for the BBC's adaptation on YouTube or Amazon.

Here's the view from the same bridge but looking upstream. From here we followed the Southern Upland Way, which sounds as if it ought to be challenging but in truth was easy going as we stayed close to the river most of the time.

Fungi thrive in the damp forest. This rather fine specimen was growing near the wonderfully named Auld Wife's Stank. I bet she did!

Joking aside, the Dictionary of the Scots Language defines 'stank' as a pond, pool or small semi-stagnant pool of water. See, I grow a little wiser every day, though I do wonder how it got its name. What did the auld (old) wife do in her stagnant pool? Fall in?

Soon after this the rivers divided – The Water of Minnock to the left and The Water of Trool to the right. We went right, still following the Southern Upland Way. According to a nearby notice board, there used to be stepping stones just above these falls. You can just see distant rocks in the river, but I'm very grateful that there's now a bridge here.

Finally we arrived at Lock Trool, which was a very good place for a picnic. I say 'finally' but, of course, there was still the trek back to our starting point.

I didn't plot the outward journey as the only map we had of this area was the one on my phone and I didn't relish finding our way if the battery went flat. But there was still 80% remaining as we turned to head downstream, so here's the second half of the ramble plotted on my new Memory Map app.

In the steps of Saint Ninian

Ninian is believed to have brought Christianity to southwest Scotland in the 4th century. The Whithorn Trust wisely describe him as a shadowy figure in history; consequently separating fact from myth is nigh-on impossible. What is known is that by the 7th century the cult of Saint Ninian was big business and by the 9th century a large abbey had been established in Whithorn. Pilgrims flocked to the area, believing that the long-dead saint still had power to cure their ills.

It's a story that can be repeated in countless 'holy' sites throughout the kingdom, not least in Cornwall – 'The Land of the Saints'. At some point in the story the saint's bones will often have been 'rediscovered', adding further credence to the cult. It's those pilgrims, and the church's efforts to cater for them (and profit from them), that have left their mark today.

Such goings-on sit uncomfortably with my own Christian beliefs, but I don't live in an age when medicine was rudimentary and pilgrimages were seen as a way of winning God's favour and smoothing ones passage into the afterlife. A pilgrimage to Jerusalem was tops but twelfth century Pope Calixtus II declared that two to Rome or three to St David's in Wales were just as beneficial. Calixtus omitted to mention how many times you'd have to visit Whithorn!

Little remains of Whithorn's abbey, whilst the churches that took its place failed to impress me, so I headed for the Isle of Whithorn to see St Ninian's Chapel.

Again, there's no evidence that Ninian worshipped on this spot. However, I can well imagine hopeful pilgrims beaching their craft on the tiny beach and pausing at this chapel to give thanks for a safe sea passage before pressing on to Whithorn Abbey.  The building is 14th Century, on the site of a 12th Century one.

The last stop on my Saint Ninian Trail, and the one I was most looking forward to seeing, was Saint Ninian's Cave, a few miles along the coast. I like this review on Trip Advisor by 'Tim H' even though, again, there's no proof that Ninian came here:

"No information signs. No gift shop. Just a pebbly beach, blue sky and sea and a small cave in a rocky outcrop, accessed by walking down a woodland path for about a mile. It doesn't sound much but the place still felt special and I can understand why St Ninian used this spot as a place of retreat, contemplation and prayer. You still get a sense of that today - you just need to go there in the right frame of mind."

Poor old Ninian wouldn't find much solitude here today, with a steady stream of sightseers / pilgrims making their way over the stony beach to his cave. Many have felt the urge to leave their mark and not wishing to be left out, I scratched my name on a pebble.

Finally, as I walked away from the cave, another small pebble caught my attention. It seemed to sum up all that was good in the aspirations of pilgrims who, for all we know, may have been coming here even since Ninian first arrived to contemplate his Maker and his mission. 

I popped the pebble in my pocket, and now it's in my home. 

Garlieston goes to war

Day One of my holiday in Galloway turned out to be special for the little town of Garlieston, where we had our holiday cottage; it was their Military Weekend. After eating a hearty breakfast we went to investigate.

I'm no pacifist and accept that wars sometimes have to be fought to thwart the evil intentions of misguided men, though I confess to feeling a bit uneasy about turning war into a 'fun' event. Nevertheless, I congratulate the good folk of Garlieston on staging a fascinating celebration, with lots of nostalgia for those of us who remember the days when we paid our way in pounds, shillings and pence, television was black & white and very fuzzy, and no-one had ever heard of mobile phones.

Some of the military items were impressive, such as this full-size mock-up of a WW1 tank, but I preferred to concentrate on more 'peaceful' things...

... such as this old Morris with a Cornish registration. Like me, it had travelled a long way to this Scottish field. I was beginning to feel at home.

Nearby was a lovely Austin A30. Mum and dad had one like this, only ours was blue and (of course) had a Cornish registration number – TRL933 – and mum called it "Tra-lah". How's that for a memory? I was struck by how small it was, contrary to my childhood memories, and longed to sit in the back seat and imagine mum at the wheel, but the owner was nowhere to be found.

When we moved into our present house in 1992, one of the first things we did was to dig up the lawn in the back garden and turn it over to vegetables. It never occurred to either of us that we were emulating our parents and grandparents, who had been encouraged to do the same thing during the dark days of WW2. Wisely, this Land Girl and her tea-drinking partner were content for the grass to grow around them.

The design for this field kitchen apparently dates back to the Crimean War and, amazingly, was still in use until the Argentinians sent the last lot to the ocean floor during the Falklands War. The 'modern' version is in the background.

Garlieston has one great claim to wartime fame as it was here that the Mulberry Harbours were developed, that contributed greatly to the success of the Allied invasion in the weeks following D-Day. A model of the famous floating harbour had been set up in the school...

... and this plaque, on the waterfront, records the achievement.

The story of the Mulberry Harbours will feature again in a later post.

Bixlade and Cannop

One week after we moved to the Forest of Dean in 2012 I joined a walking group, and the first walk they took me on was the one I'm going to describe now. Since that day it's become a favourite of mine but I've never blogged about it, so here goes...

The walk begins near The Forest of Dean Stonefirms' works at the southern end of Cannop Ponds and initially follows the course of the former Bickslade (sic) Tramroad, which was used to bring coal and quarried stone down Bixlade. Many of the stone blocks that supported the rails are still clearly visible.

This old tramroad had the distinction of being the last horse-drawn one in the Forest of Dean to close, back in 1946, though a short stretch by the stoneworks stayed in use until 1950.

A little way up the tramroad is one of the Forest's free mines. To qualify as a Freeminer one has to have been born and live within the Hundred of St Briavels, be over the age of 21 and to have worked for a year and a day in a mine within the Hundred. Since the only operational coal mines in the Forest of Dean are the free ones, I imagine that the source of qualifying miners must diminish with the passing years. Perhaps one day they'll change the rules.

Monument Mine

This one is known as Monument Mine because of its proximity to a poignant reminder of the days when coal mining was anything but a safe occupation.

In 1902 the Union Mine flooded when water broke through from some abandoned workings (just as happened in a recent episode of Poldark). Seven miners were trapped and four lost their lives. It is said that when the dead miners were finally recovered, these two brothers, Thomas and Amos James, were found embracing one another.

After Monument Mine the course of the old tramroad steepens and becomes a pleasant forest path, threading its way between trees and lush undergrowth. Even pulling empty wagons up here must have been hard work for the horses; no wonder they used three of them.

Near the top there are several old stone quarries, including this fenced-off one. Regular readers of my blog will know that I'm rarely deterred by such things, particularly when it's clear that others have gone before me.

Disappointingly, there wasn't much to see at the quarry edge. I could have picked my way along a rough path and descended to the quarry bottom, but thought better of it and recrossed the fence to safety. 

The modern Bixhead quarry is but a stone's throw from here. When I visited with the walking group in 2012 some of the guys clambered up heaps of quarry waste for a closer look, but that was a Saturday when the quarry wasn't operational. On this day I could hear lorries moving about the quarry and so elected to play it safe and resume my walk.

Leaving the course of the Bickslade Tramroad, our chosen path skirted Bixhead and descended to cross a road near another Free Mine – Hopewell. This one is open to the public and will hopefully be the subject of a future post. 

A Rowan imparted a splash of colour to the forest path. A nearby sign warned us to beware of speeding cyclists, for this area of the forest is popular with mountain bikers who love racing down the slopes and performing dare-devil leaps. "Good for them!" I say. 'Tis a big forest with room for us all, though I prefer to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground.

Here is 'home base' for the forest's biking fraternity – Cannop Cycle Centre. One day I think I just might put aside my misgivings, hire a bike from here and pedal the 9 mile Family Cycle Trail. One day... 

I've walked every inch of this trail in the past 6 years but yes, it might be fun to do it on two wheels. I doubt that I'll ever be an avid biker, though. You see so much more when walking.

The cycle way follows the course of the old Severn & Wye Joint Railway and crosses a main road near Speech House. Here used to be Speech House Road Station but not a trace of it remains. Well, perhaps just one little trace, discovered by S--. 

It's too far from the station site to be one of the old platforms. Ah, an invitation for a little research – a beloved hobby of mine! When I got home I went online and looked at the 1903 25-inch OS map.

Clicking the map gives a clearer view. I reckon that S--'s platform is where the crane is shown at the bottom right of the map. It looks like a trans-shipment wharf for the Howlerslade Tramroad, which runs off to the left. 

Shortly after Speech House Road the cycle way runs beside Cannop Ponds. We left the cyclists to their energetic pursuits and walked along a lakeside path. These two lovely ponds were created to supply water to Parkend Ironworks. Now peace reigns supreme and they're home to ducks, coots, moorhens, swans and lots of fish.

Finally, we passed beside the stoneworks that I mentioned at the beginning of this post. It's possible to see almost the whole process from the footpath, from the arrival of the giant quarried stones to the end products.

Eating from our own garden

It's been a hectic eight days, with two trips to Cornwall – one for a wedding, the other for a funeral. I realize afresh how I loathe that long trek down the M5 and over Bodmin Moor. When I lived in the beautiful county of Cornwall I never looked forward to it – it just goes on and on and on some more. Thankfully, though, the last bit of the A30 over the moor has now been dualed, removing the last great summer bottleneck.

What better way could there be, upon our return, than to relax in the garden with a pleasant Saturday evening meal? Despite the near-draught conditions, our little garden has done well for us this year – or more accurately S-- has done superbly well tending it. My contribution has been to share the task of weeding, and of watering it every evening. The courgettes have under-performed and the peas ran their course a little early, but potatoes, Swiss chard and beetroot have been wonderful.

And here they are. The days of bottling beetroot in vinegar are long behind us.  These days we bake it and serve it hot. Delicious... though it's important not to panic when your poo turns red on Monday! Swiss chard is a wonderful alternative to spinach and much easier to grow in these parts, and I honestly can't tell the difference. Only the tenderloin of pork, and the apricots I stuffed into it, came from further afield...  oh and, of course, the plonk. On this occasion it was a very nice bottle of Joseph Castan Merlot. This one won 'best of the show' at Laithwaites' wine tasting in Cardiff, and at £7 a bottle I reckon it's pretty good value for money.

Right now life is good, here at Chez Angie.