New Legs for Barney

This is Chuffy the Cornish Chough. He was knitted by my mum and is usually to be found sitting on my bedside cabinet (which hardly ever looks as tidy as it is here).  He always seems very content, but I did sometimes worry that he might be a bit lonely. 

Back in July, when the sun seemed to shine every day, the Ukes of Azzard were invited to entertain the crowds at Soudley Village Fete. During a break in our stirring performance I wandered around the stalls, chatting to stallholders and hoping to find some memento of the day. One stall was especially interesting as it was displaying a fine collection of knitted birds, just like the ones that adorn mum's home. I wish I'd taken a photo of them all; they were a splendid sight.

It occurred to me that this was a chance to bring home a friend for Chuffy. Unsurprisingly, there were no choughs, so I bought him a big, fat, brightly coloured blue tit.

Five months later Barney the Blue Tit was not in the peak of health. As you see, his long legs were no longer able to support his obese body, even when Chuffy was around to lean on. Fortunately, though, help was on hand, for mum was spending Christmas with us and she'd brought along her dicky-bird knitting pattern book.

Mum carefully inspected the sick creature and concluded that Barney's legs were too near the back of his body, and that shortening them would also greatly improve his health.  The necessary surgery took place over a couple of days, with Chuffy looking on anxiously from the lounge sideboard.  

I'm delighted to report that Barney has made a full recovery. He's very pleased with his 'new look', not least because he no longer towers above his friend. But I do think that he needs to go on a diet!

FUN in Gloucester

FUN stands for 'Friends Ukenited' - an informal group of players drawn from ukulele groups in Gloucestershire and beyond.  They've featured several times on this blog, but this was the first time I'd been able to join them since lockdown. To my delight, I was greeted like a long-lost friend, with hugs and kisses.

It was cold!

The guy on the right with his festive red jumper and low-slung ukulele is our amazing leader Terry, who somehow keeps us all playing and singing in time and in tune.  "We never practice together," he explains to the small group of onlookers. "Perhaps you can tell!" I'm on the far left - playing, singing and gradually freezing.

Many of the FUN events either take place far from my home, or on days when I have other commitments, but when this one appeared on the group's Facebook page I immediately put it in my diary.  

Being Christmas, we rattled through our Winter Songbook with old favourites such as Jingle Bells, Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree, Frosty the Snowman and (of course) Merry Christmas Everybody.  I also found myself singing a little Hawaiian (Mele Kalikimaka), Italian (Dominic the Donkey) and Spanish (Feliz Navidad).  Next year, Cornish maybe?  "Is there a good one?" I ask myself.

My only disappointment was that that there weren't many people in King's Square to hear us. Quite why the local Rotarians (the business folk of the city?) set up their stand in a place where there were no shops is a mystery to me, especially as buskers were playing to large crowds in nearby Eastgate. 

There's a Fairlie at the bottom of my garden

For our first week's holiday in Wales we rented a delightful bungalow near Porthmadog that had an unexpected bonus - a grandstand view of the Ffestiniog Railway running past the back garden.

I soon learned when the two morning trains were due and amused myself waving to the passengers and seeing how many waved back. 

Our enthusiasm for the Ffestiniog Railway rekindled, we booked our place on a morning train for a trip to Blaenau Ffestiniog.  Unfortunately, we were obliged to return to Porthmadog on the same train, so wouldn't be able to hop off at one station, walk to the next one, then board a later train - a favourite pursuit of ours.  That was a pity, not least because the best way to photograph a train is not to be on it, and there's a nice footpath between Tan-y-Bwlch and Blaenau Ffestiniog that runs close to the line.

To make up for our disappointment, on another day we stopped off for coffee and cake at Tan-y-Bwlch, and also spent some time sampling the cuisine at Porthmadog Station. 

Our morning train arriving at Porthmadog Station. On the left, the 'WHR' engine is getting ready to travel the Welsh Highland line, which runs via Beddgelert to Caernarfon. I would love to have travelled on the WHR but the only train running the full length of the line during our week in North Wales was fully booked. 

Despite the wording on the third coach, this little engine was about to haul The Woodland Wanderer on the Ffestiniog Railway to Tan-y-Bwlch.

As you may know, Porthmadog used to be called Portmadoc, for the very good reason that its port was developed by a guy called Madocks.  It was he who had The Cob built across Traeth Mawr to exclude the tides and create much valuable farmland. It also gave a route for his railway to cross the estuary. Here's the view from the train, looking towards the hills of Snowdonia.

The most picturesque station on the line is surely Tan-y-Bwlch. Here, The Woodland Wanderer has offloaded its passengers into the station cafe. Now it awaits the passing of the Blaenau Ffestiniog train before heading back to Porthmadog. 

Blanche's engineman and fireman are deep in conversation. "Do you think they'll miss us in Porthmadog if we stay here, Dewi?" "Nah, Rhys, Blanche knows her way home without us!"

Coincidentally, here's Blanche again at Tan-y-Bwlch, this time when I saw her during my honeymoon in 1970.  Fifty two years later the love affair continues - with North Wales, with steam railways and (of course) with each other.

And here comes the afternoon train to Blaenau, hauled by one of the line's strange Fairlie double-ended locomotives - precursors of modern double-ended diesel locos, I suppose. 

Back in 1970 the Ffestiniog Railway terminated here, at Ddaullt Station. The old route from Ddaullt to Blaenau Ffestiniog had been lost when the Central Electricity Generating Board flooded part of the track bed for their new reservoir at Tanygrisiau. It took the Ffestiniog Railway's volunteers 14 years of hard work to carve out a new route, which included a tunnel and a spiral at Ddaullt so that the line could pass high above the power station.  I took this photo as our train passed over the line from Tan-y-Bwlch.

Rounding the tight curve above Ddaullt on our way back from Blaenau Ffestiniog.

The cause of the deviation: Tanygrisiau reservoir and its 'pumped storage' power station. During off-peak hours water is pumped from Tanygrisiau up 350 metres to Llyn Stwlan.  When demand for electricity rises, the water is released back down the mountain to drive turbines and produce electricity.

Finally, a couple of photos of Blaenau Ffestiniog station; not the most beautiful of places, but a necessary objective for an ambitious little railway called The Ffestiniog.

The Highest Woman in Wales

I've recently returned from a lovely fortnight's holiday in Wales. I won't fill this blog with accounts of everything I got up to; suffice to say that many happy hours were spent on steam railways. However, I was determined not to ride on one particular railway - the one that transports its passengers to the summit of Snowdon. No no... to my mind there's only one way to conquer Wales's highest mountain and that is on foot. 

The Visit Snowdonia website lists six routes to the summit. I chose the 4½ mile long Llanberis Path, which is the longest of the six, but also the easiest. However, 'easiest' is a relative term since all six routes are classified as Hard/Strenuous. A 3-3½ hour slog lay ahead of me before I could stand at the summit and proclaim myself The Highest Woman in Wales.

The first part of the 'path' lies along a quiet but quite steep country lane, but before long it leaves the lane and strikes out across open countryside.

Throughout the climb I rarely lost sight of the lovely Llanberis Lake (Llyn Padarn). A nice little steam railway runs along the far side of that lake.  I recall my late father-in-law describing how, as part of his army training, he had to walk underwater in Llanberis Lake, carrying full kit and breathing through a length of tubing. No wonder we won the war!

The Snowdon Mountain Railway keeps close company with the Llanberis Path all the way to the summit. Here the little engine propels another carriage-full of whimps up the mountainside. 

Dear me, that's dreadfully unkind of you, Angie! I'm sure they're really lovely people, though (if they haven't already realised it) they're in for a disappointment, despite forking out £45 a head for the privilege of climbing Snowdon the easy way. Read on.

For over 2 miles after leaving the country lane the path climbs quite gently and I made good progress. This was easy!

However, as it approached Clogwyn Station the path steepened and my pace slowed - 40 steps... rest... 40 steps... rest.  This was hard going!  High above me, the little train cautiously made its way back down the mountain. 

That's Clogwyn Station on the left, ¾ of the way to the summit and as far as trains are going in 2022. The final stretch is a victim of Covid, which prevented maintenance crews carrying out essential work during the winter months. Those travelling by train were thus left with the choice of either giving up over a mile from the summit, or walking the final steep section with no guarantee that there would be room on a train to take them back to Llanberis. 

The path from Clogwyn Station is both steep and rough. Unlike this guy, I felt no inclination to run it.

There's a welcome flat stretch of path before the final assault on the peak.  From here, the views are magnificent.

Looking back towards Clogwyn Station and Llanberis.

The steep path on the left is the Pyg Track. I seriously considered taking this route, but decided that it was just a bit too steep for my ageing limbs.

Here I am at the summit, looking understandably tired but also very, very pleased with myself. More than 600,000 people are estimated to make it up Snowdon every year, and I'm delighted to have been one of them in 2022.

For the record, the 4½ mile climb took me 3 hours, 10 minutes, and the return to Llanberis exactly one hour less. 

Offa's Dyke: Kington to Knighton

I had expected yesterday's route, with it's steep ascents to Disgwylfa Hill and Hergest Ridge, to be hard going, but it had turned out to be a most pleasant walk. The next stretch looked easier - admittedly a step ascent from Kington, but then miles of undulating countryside before the final drop into Knighton.

How wrong I was!  Whether it was down to tired limbs or my inability to interpret the contours on my map, I'm not certain, but I found myself walking slower and slower up the hills. 40 steps... pause... 40 steps... pause... 40 steps... rest a while. But, praise be, I'm here to tell the story. Memories of tired legs will fade; the exhilaration of completing another stage of Offa's Dyke will live on.

This is near the top of the long climb out of Kington, the houses of which are just visible in the middle distance. I'm in the middle of Kington Golf Course, which has the distinction of being the highest 18-hole course in England. I crossed it in safety - not a golfer in sight. Crumbs... if one lost control of a golf ball here, it might roll all the way to Kington!

Ah, there are a few golfers. It's 9-o'clock on Sunday morning and they appear to be having a practice swing or two before setting out on their hilly circuit. I once tried to take up golf but hardly ever made the ball travel in its intended direction. In the end I gave up, donated my clubs to charity and concentrated on rambling.  

Avid followers of my ramblings may have noticed that one thing missing from my Offa's Dyke adventure has been any mention of King Offa's wonderful Dyke. The last I'd seen of it was near Brockweir, in the Forest of Dean. Since then, nothing... until today. Yes, those earthworks up ahead really are the remains of Offa's Dyke.

The enigma of Offa's Dyke.  Click the photo for a closer look.

The Dyke would be our almost constant companion for the rest of the day's walk.  This is remote countryside, with no villages of any size all the way to Knighton - and no pubs either to refresh weary limbs. 

My Trailblazer guide book says that Ditchyeld Old Bridge is good for Poohsticks. It is, and I won both times... which devotees of Winnie-the-Pooh will know is achieved by dropping ones stick in a twitchy sort of way.

These two photos - the first looking south and the other north - show how the dyke was constructed, with a steep bank and ditch on the Welsh side and a gentler slope on the Mercian (English) side. It was probably topped with a timber palisade. 

Photo: Google Maps

Dolley Green: "Little more than a point on a map," according to my Trailblazer guide, but the guide also said that there's a supply of drinking water in the churchyard. We gratefully refilled our water bottles before tackling the next ascent. According to their website, the little well-kept church is thriving.

We lost sight of the Dyke on the climb out of Dolley Green, but soon it was with us again - clearly visible in the photo above. From here it was downhill all the way to Knighton.

Finally, this obelisk, close to the Offa's Dyke path, honours one Sir Richard Green-Price. He was a 19th century Liberal politician who is credited with being the driving force behind bringing railways to the Knighton area. The line through Knighton runs to this day and will prove very useful for getting us back to Knighton when we tackle the next stage of the trail.  We won't be using it for a while, though. This hike from Kington marks the end of our Offa's Dyke Adventure for this year. We hopefully take up the challenge again in the Spring.