Exploring Alney Island

Last Monday morning I had a routine hospital appointment in Gloucester, so studied a map to find somewhere nearby for a walk in the afternoon. That's how I came to discover Alney Island, which I must have driven past dozens and dozens of times without realising it was there.

Using my clever(ish) PhotoStudio app, I've shaded the island in green on this 1960 OS map, which shows the old configuration of roads and railway lines.  In the intervening 60 years the Over Causeway has been realigned and the railway line to the docks has passed into history.

The River Severn splits into two at Upper Parting (though that name isn't shown on this map) and reunites about 2 miles south, at Lower Parting. Both channels used to be canalised, with weirs and locks at Maisemore and Llanthony. 

These days the whole island is a nature reserve. It was the lower half that interested me, especially the road bridge over the West Channel near the hospital and the railway bridge at the bottom, near the weir. 

Wandering around this part of Alney Island it was hard to remember that I was less than half a mile from Gloucester city centre. Rather than take the direct route along the old railway line, I kept to the West Channel river bank and soon arrived at my first objective.

Over Bridge (which some of my friends pronounce Oover) was built by Thomas Telford.  It opened in 1830 and, until the Severn Bridge was opened in 1966, was the lowest point downstream that the Severn could be crossed by road. It remained in use until the A40 was rerouted over a new bridge (visible through the archway) in 1974.

Telford based his design on one by the French engineer Jean-Rodolphe Perronet who, in 1774, came up with the idea of sloping the arch sides to minimise turbulence when the river flooded, which it frequently does. This feature is known as corne de vache (cow's horn). They must have exotic cows in France. 

The bridge isn't really curved, but I'm rather pleased with this photo, taken using the panorama feature on my smartphone. 

Here's the view from the top of Telford's bridge, looking south. The railway bridge carries the main line to South Wales and is a 1950's replacement for a bridge designed by Isambard Kingdom Brunel. Here's an article about it from the Railway Gazette.  Isn't the Internet wonderful!?

However, that bridge, dear reader, is not one that attracted me to Alney Island.  It was time, therefore, to trek down to the southern end.

On the way, I passed between two high walls. Whether due to the heat or the onset of lunacy, I cannot tell, but at the time the walls meant nothing to me. I just pressed on towards my second objective – Llanthony railway bridge.

I'm therefore indebted to bloggers Ian and Helen for this photo of what is clearly the old Llanthony lock. 

Here's the lock a few years after it ceased operation, with the railway bridge on the right.  According to a BBC website —

It remained in use until 1924 when the incredibly high walls of the lock (required to cope with the flood level) began to move inwards towards each other. Engineers prevented the walls from collapsing by inserting baulks of timber across the lock but a proper repair was considered too expensive and the lock was never used again. Don't worry though, it's perfectly safe today - most of the lock has been filled in leaving just the very top of the old walls visible.

 

At long last I made it to Llanthony railway bridge.  Sadly, it's no longer possible to get onto the bridge, but here's my photo of it, followed by an old black & white one and another taken after the railway had closed.

So why all this interest in a rather nondescript bridge?  Well, back in 1995 the BBC televised a mini-series based on Joanna Trollope's book The Choir. It was filmed in Gloucester and stared (among many others) Anthony Way as the choirboy Henry Ashworth, and Peter Vaughan as his granddad. 

In the last episode they stand on a disused railway bridge, within sight of Gloucester Quays... and now, 25 years later, I know where it was.

The Bambleweeny pond filter

I have my friend Bridget to thank for calling time on our green pond water.  During the second phase of lock-down, when we were permitted to meet one other person outdoors, I invited her round for a barbecue. Bridget complimented me on the excellence of my barbecued spare ribs, but not on the state of the water in my garden pond.

Algae proliferate in sunny weather, turning the pond water green. Until recently my solution has been to treat it with AlgoRem, which makes the algae floculate, then sink harmlessly to the bottom of the pond. Unfortunately, during the prolonged sun-blessed days that we enjoyed in April and May, the water was turning green again within a couple of days of being treated. The time had come to take drastic action.

The best solution appeared to be a pressurised pond filter that included a UV light to kill the algae. After trawling through several Internet sites, I settled on this one from Bradshaw's – the Pondcraft 4000 at £79.99. My plan was to connect it between our existing pump and the ornamental waterfall.

One thing that the Bradshaw site didn't mention was the size of the Pondcraft 4000, but it looks small enough, does it not?  Probably rather larger than a jam jar – say the size of a large tin of paint. Imagine my surprise, then, when a huge parcel arrived and inside it a monster of a filter, about 2 feet tall and 15 inches in diameter. Ahhh!

Fortunately, most of the filter could be buried in the earth, so from where we sit on the patio it's hardly visible. The black pipe in the foreground comes from the underwater pump.  A nice feature of this design is that the filter can be 'back-flushed' and cleaned by turning that big round knob through 90°. The dirty water then squirts out of the nozzle nearest the camera.

The next task was to wire it all up.  We already had a flexible power cable running from the kitchen larder, through the wall and a pipe under the path to the pond pump, together with two wires for the electric fence that helps ward off herons and over-inquisitive pussy cats. Now that we had a third item requiring power, the decision was made to move the whole lot into the garden, fed by a new armoured cable.

Like the new filter, this waterproof box has also been partially buried, so as not to be too much of an eyesore. According to Bradshaw's, it's proof against rain, water jets and indeed anything other than continuous submersion – "Ideal for housing power strips, cables, lights, pond pumps, filters, mower cables and more." I hope they're right, for one thing is certain; if water does get in there, not a drop will escape.

It was while helping to connect up the monster filter that I started calling it Bambleweeny. Enthusiasts for The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy will doubtless be familiar with the Bambleweeny 57 Sub-Meson Brain and appreciate the similarity. Since mine is connected to a waterfall, and not an atomic vector plotter, I think my undergarments are quite safe from the laws of indeterminacy.

Here's proof that the Bambleweeny was worth all that effort. Within a few days of connecting it up, the pond water had cleared and we could see our fish. The three posing for the camera are (from left to right) Paintpot, Nimrod and Smoky.  Nimrod is a Sarasa Comet. If you can deduce the connexion then go to the top of the class.

Eager to impress Bridget,  I showed her my Bambleweeny photos.  "Its enormous!" she remarked. "Mine is much smaller." It was then that I discovered that I could probably have managed with a small UV Clarifier, like this one.

It's actually £40 more expensive than the Pondcraft 4000, but would certainly have been much easier to install. I'm not changing it now, though. I've grown to love my hunky Bambleweeny so he stays where he is.

Another Golden Valley

It was Queen Victoria who bestowed the name Golden Valley upon the valley of the River Frome, near Sapperton.  Her reasons are lost in the mists of time, but having explored one Golden Valley on May 18th it seemed a good idea to seek out the other one a week later.

Our ramble began near Sapperton Church which, like the church we visited last week, was firmly locked. I shan't repeat my thoughts about that!  Unlike last week's, though, there weren't even any plants for sale in the porch.

The Macmillan Way is a 90 mile long-distance footpath that links Bath to Banbury, passing through Sapperton on the way.  We planned to follow it for just over a mile. However, shortly after leaving Sapperton our plans were nearly thwarted when we spotted a large amount of Police 'Do Not Cross' tape beside the path and then, about 100 yards further on, this...

Well, if we were not supposed to have walked the path between the two lots of police tape, it was too late now, so we ducked under it and pressed on.  Later that day I searched the Internet for news of some dreadful incident that might have necessitated closure of the footpath, but could find nothing.  Very odd.

A little further along the path we came upon The Beech Cafe, where some enterprising souls had clearly been raising funds for the NHS. Sadly, they'd either sold out or just given up – hopefully the former, or would no-one cross the police line?  

Thoughts soon turned to lunch. In these days of lock-down, with all the pubs and cafes closed, it's either a picnic or starve.  Here I am, swigging peach juice and eating more cheese, crisps and biscuits than might be expected of a Slimming World adherent.

I'm in Pinbury Park – one of the Bathurst family's possessions.  Between 1902 and 1928 they used it as a summer residence and were once visited by Queen Mary. Is it possible, I wonder, whether, a few decades before this, Queen Victoria may have visited and first glimpsed her Golden Valley?

Beyond Pinbury Park the public footpath crosses the River Frome, then emerges onto open farmland. A more interesting route, though, lay through private woodland of the Bathurst Estate, which the nice Earl kindly invited us to use.

Wild garlic in abundance

We emerged from our woodland walk at this old bridge, which spans the remains of the Thames & Severn Canal. I've marked the spot with a blue circle on the map below. Our path was the one that comes down from the top right.

From here, our walk book suggested turning right and following the Thames & Severn Way back to Sapperton, but I fancied making the walk a little longer. If we went down to the next canal bridge (far left of the map) there should be footpath (green dotted line) to take us back to the blue circle.  We searched in vain for it, so instead crossed the railway line, with the intention of recrossing it at a level crossing, about 250 yards along the road.

O dear – here's the crossing! A nearby notice explained that it had been closed in March because of "unsafe and unlawful use, resulting in immediate danger to public safety," which presumably means that there had been a near-miss or two between vehicles and trains. Why it should also have been closed to pedestrians, though, was a mystery, as it looked a lot safer than the crossing we had just used.  

Rather than retrace our steps, we pressed on and crossed the railway line ½ mile further east, close to Sapperton Railway Tunnel. I waited beside the track for a while, hoping to see a train, but nothing came and S- wanted to get on with the walk.

Back on the Thames & Severn Way, we spotted several old canal locks.  These were the Daneway flight of locks, that used to lift the canal up to the 2-mile long Sapperton Tunnel.

The last time I came here was in June 2015, with my lovely friend Lucy. So to round of this post, here are a couple of photos from that visit, and one of the two of us at the other end of the tunnel, where there happens to be an excellent pub.  One day, hopefully, we shall eat there again.