Day 73: Plymouth and Beyond

Plymouth has a very rich history.  It is on the south coast of Devon between the mouths of two rivers – the Plym and the Tamar. To get from Cornwall to Plymouth yesterday I had to cross the impressive  Tamar Bridge to reach the station in time to meet Ros.

In 1620 the Pilgrim Fathers left Plymouth for America, and the photo of Ros between the pillars on the dock in yesterday’s blog are the steps they descended as they boarded the Mayflower. It has always been an important port both for passengers and trade, particularly the export of copper, lime, arsenic, tin and china clay from Cornwall.

It was also a hugely important naval base and ship building town going back to Francis Drake, who was town mayor in 1581 and 1593. According to hearsay and popular legend, he insisted on completing his game of bowls on The Hoe before going off to rout the Spanish Armada. Ros my dear sailing friend says he could have afforded to do that as he had to wait for the tide to turn.

Because of its naval importance, in World War 2 Plymouth  was particularly targeted by the German Luftwaffe in a series of series of 59 bombing raids. Must have been terrifying for the residents and surprising that any building are left at all let alone buildings of note. Much of the original town was destroyed.

The day started well. We were lodged in a guesthouse near the Barbican and had an excellent breakfast. The landlady was fascinated by my trip and made several suggestions for a must see must do:

• The Barbican and the Hoe
• Via Ferry from the Barbican to Royal William Yard – old naval administrative centre of Plymouth
• Second ferry to Mount Egdcumbe to visit the stately home there with lovely grounds, museum and orangery
• Tavistock in the afternoon

The sun was shining and we went to the Barbican through the twisty little streets to catch the first ferry. We had missed it.

Plymouth has the National marine Aquarium at the Barbican. It is probably wonderful but quite expensive and we decided not to splash out on visiting it. Instead  we sauntered into the shop to pass the time and look at the fishy motif souvenirs.

A few steps away from a ‘treasure chest full of gemstones for just £2 a pouch “I saw what I took to be a ‘taster’ fish tank intimating the delights inside the aquarium.  Naturally I went to take a look.

 

How lovely. Then I saw another and went to look at that.

Meanwhile Ros had no idea where I had disappeared and came searching for me.

By now I was on tank three when I realised to my horror I was in the actual aquarium and there were no taster tanks! I had gone in through the exit. No-one had stopped me, staff had not challenged me and now both Ros and I were being dragged along in the hectic wake of about 120 teenagers and their teachers on a workshop day out in the place. Definitely echoes here of my being swept up by the French coach party being mistaken for a French woman and being bought a ticket to the Clan MacDonald exhibition on Skye!

Ros was very sang froid about it as a year previously she and her friend had bought year passes to the same aquarium. Thank goodness! If challenged we had passes for two people – not here admittedly, but at least she had them. 

The National Marine aquarium was built on reclaimed land in the city and apart from being a tourist attraction, it also promotes research and education.  Hence the teenagers trialling an educational day long workshop. We had now missed the second ferry and a passerby suggested it was only a walk of twenty minutes to the second ferry so why wait? We could be at the second one even before the first one arrived. Good thinking - so we set off along the seafront.  Ros is one for frequent coffee stops so after about nine minutes walking, past the lighthouse on the Hoe

Coffee was calling her and we stopped in a beachfront cafe and had a coffee before continuing.

The night before we had noticed a building close to the sea that looked as though it was being demolished. We had to stop again to watch in fascination as a crane delicately as a fish, nibbled at the top and side of the skyscraper hotel  while a man on a sort of fireman’s ladder,  hosed down the crane to prevent the heat of the action starting a fire.

So our "just twenty minutes" stretched to almost an hour and a half by the time we arrived at The Royal William yards impressive Georgian buildings still home to modern naval barracks and administration.  It is also becoming a visitor spot with cafes and galleries but we had no time to browse.

The Cremell Ferry to take us to Mount Egdcumbe was ready and waiting to depart all the way back into Cornwall. It took less that ten minutes.

Mount Edgcumbe is an ideal wedding venue folks. It’s beautiful. It has beach, rolling lawns, castle ruins and a stately pile all in one place. Great for photo opportunities.

It was built in the 1500’s and was home to the Earls of Mount Edgcumbe. Although it was tudor, it was so badly damaged in the War, that when it was rebuilt the inside is totally post war in design.

However, if we were to go to Tavistock before dark, we did not have time to saunter.

Luckily, a chap in a golfing buggy offered us a lift through the grounds to the top of the hill for a charity donation of 50p. We took it. 

We did have time for lunch – just – in the stables cafe, while trying to see how far Tavistock might be from our current location. It was very windy – not really conducive to eating outdoors or map reading!

The rest of the day was like a speeded up movie. Back on the ferry, onto a bus back towards the Barbican. Then to where we had left Gloria, and scooting through the late afternoon traffic down the A368 and towards Tavistock.

Why?

The oldest medieval pannier market in the UK. What? All the way to Tavistock to see an indoor market? Apparently.

What else was in Tavistock? We had no idea but were about to find out.

Tavistock is a market town in West Devon. It was about 16 miles from Plymouth. It is on the river Tavy (at which we had thought to stop, find a pub and sip something delicious and cold - but we never found the river) and on the edge of Dartmoor.

In 1105 King Henry I awarded the town a market charter. The market known as the Pannier Market is still there.

We liked the market with its many stalls of ordinary everyday essentials and its of variety of  crafts and crafting materials.

Obviously a crafty place – even this statue in the town square had been knit -bombed!!

Failing to find the river, we made our way back to Plymouth via a pub in Whitchurch where we did manage to find something cool and delicious, and learned that the river had been behind a hotel in Tavistock all the time.

Back in Plymouth and once more on the search for food near the Barbican We fetched up at the same place as last night for good food and convenience – The Glassblowers. I am aware that this blog makes it look as though Plymouth is an olde worlde town with not a modern thoroughfare in sight. There is in fact a large and bustling modern city centre – we just never went there.

Tomorrow we move on to another Mouth – Dartmouth. 

Day 71: Lafrowda and Falmouth via Penzance and St. Michael’s Mount

Last night was good fun. In the centre of St. Just there is an odd shaped turfed depression with raised sides creating something a bit like a doughnut. It also resembles a shallow amphitheatre. In Cornish they call it a Plain-an-Gwarry, and in medieval times it might have been used to perform mystery plays. This tradition has been revived, and the community at St. Just gather here for all sorts of events. Last night it was a barbecue and Ceilidh which turned out to be outdoor country dancing to a great little band and with a very enthusiastic caller. The food was supplied by locals, including a farm who were doing a great line in Burgers and hot dogs. People not dancing sat on the raised banks with drinks and food.

Lafrowda Festival is now an annual event that began as a music festival in the late 1990’s and has expanded to become a two week community arts festival. The name Lafrowda is the ancient name for the church lands where the village stands today. Next weekend, the festival culminates in three spectacular processions. 

 

Helen took me to see the workshop where they are making the lanterns to carry in the procession. Everything is made of withies and tissue paper and lit up at night. Everything has to be manually portable – no lorries or trucks allowed.

This year’s theme is Fast and Furious. 

Only 4000 people live in this village. It punches well above its weight in terms of community engagement. When I think of a carnival this is what I think of, rather than endless lines of badly decorated lorries that pass off for a carnival in many much bigger seaside towns including my own. I find it creatively very frustrating.  Google La Frowda Festival 2016 and you will see what I mean.

Before I left Helen showed me a You Tube video of the St.Just Womens’ Institute Rag Rug exhibitions. The work is amazing and would be fabulous displayed in any art gallery of National Trust property in the country.

Today I am heading to Falmouth via Penzance. I passed the bank in St. Just.

And then saw this one in Penzance.

But at least they have banking facilities at a time when banks are becoming restaurants and everyone is expected to bank on line. All well and good as long as you get the internet, and as I have discovered so many coastal towns and mountain areas do not.

I liked Penzance. For a small market town it has a blend of branded high street  shops and individual ones too. It’s known to be the most major westerly town in Cornwall and is known as the capital. I think Prince Charles and Camilla are due here for a visit next week.

The statue outside the bank is the town’s most famous historical figure Sir Humphrey Davy who was the scientist who also invented the Davy safety lamp. It was just what miners needed ,so that the flame would not ignite any gases underground.

Don’t you just love the seagull on his head? I seem to remember that my photo of Captain James Cook in Whitby weeks ago, also had a seagull on his head too.

Chapel Street in the old town is full of interesting buildings but this one looks very odd and rather flamboyant. It has an ‘Egyptian’ facade  and a royal coat of arms presumably to remind us that we are actually in Britain not Cairo?

Apparently it was commissioned at a time in Europe when people were fascinated by all things exotic and particularly exotic Egypt. Its architect was John Foulston of Plymouth and it was intended to be a museum of natural curiosities. Today it belongs to the Landmark Trust and it has retail premises on the ground floor, and the top two floors comprise of holiday flats available for renting.

Penzance has singing pirates I believe but I never saw or heard any. (Sorry I couldn’t resist - attempt at a bad joke.)

My real reason for visiting was to get close to St. Michael’s mount, a small island in Mount Bay. Failed miserably as Marazion was so crowded I couldn’t park there at all.

At low tide one can walk along the causeway in Marazion to reach St. Michael’s mount but today the tide was well and truly in so it was off limits to me as I would have had to take a boat. The National Trust are responsible for the upkeep of the gardens, the castle, and the medieval church on the island. I think this landmark and the Minack theatre are the most famous of the Cornish landmarks and the most recognisable. Visiting this one will have to be another time and definitely not in July.

I liked Penzance but I LOVED Falmouth.

It’s on the river Fal on the south coast of Cornwall and I thought it was quite beautiful. One of my favourite places I think. To begin with I could park there!

It’s winding streets had a wonderful variety of shops and good foodie places.

It is home to the National maritime Museum on the waterfront

It has a castle called Pendennis Castle built by Henry the Eighth, and great walks along the estuary.

While I have been away Eastbourne Council was proposing that a new restaurant planned to replace the Wish Tower Restaurant was going to be run by Rick Stein. How odd. How can he be in two places or even three places, at once?  Falmouth and Bridport have Rick Stein restaurants.

  

In Falmouth I stayed with a lovely lady who was far more travelled than me. An intrepid backpacker there were few places in the World where she hasn’t set foot. Charlotte travels with a small black dog called Sacha, and I had been in her home less than twenty minutes when she was encouraging me to undertake the coast of Ireland!!  She had a VW transit van with windows inserted and a normal sized bed in the back. That had served her well for years all over the place but she has bitten the bullet and tomorrow she becomes the sheepishly proud owner of a small neat Ford motor home with all mod cons.

We drank a bottle of good red wine to celebrate.

Mmmm food for thought. At least it is small and neat and a Ford – unlike my bête noire the Monster Camper vans and if I were to do Ireland sometime.......

Day 64: Wirral to Wales

Not sorry to leave the Wirral. Fortunately as soon as I crossed the Welsh border there was a warm welcome in the hillside in the form of an American style diner where I had a great breakfast.

How odd to be in Britain and not to be able to understand a single word being spoken around me. North Wales is the place where English is the second language!

When I first met my husband to be, we went to Wales for a week so I could meet his Welsh family. We stayed in a small guest house in Rhyl where the landlord put us up in the attic in two adjacent rooms with a lot of nudging and winking! Well it was 1975 and sex before marriage was called living in sin! The Welsh family were, and still are, delightful people. Welsh is their first language too. My husband’s cousin taught Russian and French in a secondary school through the medium of Welsh. Imagine that.

Wales is a bilingual country. Welsh is the oldest language in Britain dating back 4,000 years but due to the population shifts and the industrial revolution, and the fact that it was deliberately suppressed in the 19^th century when schools were ordered to beat children for using it, fewer people spoke it.  

Since 1999 it is compulsory to learn Welsh in school up to the age of 16, which is a good thing as it is part of their heritage and culture. Not so easy for tourists who haven’t a hope in hell of being able to pronounce the places we are visiting.

So how was Rhyl? The Blackpool of North Wales? It was certainly as I remembered it. Acres of caravan parks and holiday camps.

My unruly SatNav keeps trying to pull me off the coast road and persuade me to travel on inland motorways. What does she not understand about being part of a road trip called ‘On the Edge Around the Coast’? If I had obeyed her command to ‘do a U turn,’ ‘in 400 yards turn left and left again,’ I would have missed the spectacle of another thing that looks as though it too ignored its navigation aid.

A massive ship The Duke of Lancaster is beached in Flintshire, close to a fabric and craft centre called Abakhan. In the past Wales was closed for business on Sundays. You couldn’t even get a drink in some counties. Today that was not the case. Abakhan was doing a roaring trade.

Meet Keith Howard who is on security here. He is gets bored standing around watching people shopping, and his mind turns to idea generation. I asked Keith about the ship stranded on the shoreline.

At this point in my narrative I claim intellectual copyright on this day Sunday 3^rd July 2016 in the name of Keith Howard for his stunning and creative idea in relation to The Duke of Lancaster which I will be describing in the hopes that Flintshire Council, The Welsh Assembly and any sponsors pick it up and run with it.

The Idea....drum roll please.

The Biggest Ship in a Bottle in the World.

Keith said the ship was once used as a restaurant but again health and safety executive put paid to that on the good grounds that the ship was full of asbestos that can’t be removed. The ship is deemed dangerous and is quietly rusting away. I went to photograph it, so did dozens of other people. Keith’s idea is simple. It could be turned into a wondrous tourist attraction like the Horses at Falkirk in Scotland, by constructing a toughed Perspex bottle to enclose it. Like the Horses, it could have lighting installed to make it look great lit up at night, and in addition it could have some industrial fans around the base and scraps of paper or glitter which would turn it into a superb ‘snow globe’ for celebrations such as Wales winning the footie, or getting independence form Westminster. You get the idea? The Guiness book of records could get involved and it would be a major - safe from asbestos because of the ‘bottle’ – draw to the region. There used to be a busy market three days a week on adjacent land. If the idea were to be taken up, that could be reinstated bringing work to the area as well. It’s a win win. Now all Keith needs is an organisation to action it.

Phew.

A visit to Bodnant Gardens run by National Trust is a wonderful way to spend a Sunday afternoon in the sunshine.

 

Unlike many National Trust properties it does what I have been advocating for years – it has gifts made by local artists rather than just the same old national trust shop central buying goods that you see everywhere else.

Finally Caernarfon on the Menai Strait directly opposite the island of Anglesey.

Caenarfon is a world heritage site, a walled city built round the impressive castle which is possibly the most famous of all the Welshcastles.

It was begun in 1283 by Edward 1^st not only as a military fortress, but also as the seat of Government and a palace. Inside the castle is the museum of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers. Caenarfon castle is enormous and intimidating and almost overshadows the narrow streets. But Edward was not the first to set up a stronghold in the area. The Romans were there 1000 years earlier and the remains of their fort Segontium are still on the hills.

The Welsh Highland Railway, similar to The Jacobite in Fort William, is a steam train journey from Caenarfon to Porthmadog. If trains are not your thing, you can take a boat trip on the Menai Straits instead. I am beginning to sound horribly like the tourist board.

What I had remembered about Caenarfon was that 20 year old Prince Charles was invested as the 21^st Prince of Wales in front of the castle on July 1st 1969. He spent a term at Aberystwyth University to learn some Welsh to deliver his speech. I also remember that many Welsh were very unhappy about the ceremony and saw the investiture as a national humiliation.

It was a long time since breakfast in the American style diner and I needed a fuel stop before driving the last 20 miles to the sheep farm where I was to stay in a village with a name I can barely spell let alone pronounce.

Blackboys Inn is the oldest pub in the town and it served good food.

The village I am staying in tonight is Llanaelhaern. My hostess is a delightful lady called Megan Jones, the farmer’s mum, and she apologised to me for not speaking good English! She had made me a cake and poured me cup of tea seconds after I walked through the door. 

How marvellous.