Awake at 7 and off for a walk by 7:30. I decided to take a stroll up to Whitcliffe and into the Forestry commission land above it. The weather, though grey, was actually dry. The first part of the walk which follows the river was alive with dog walkers but otherwise I didn’t see anyone else.

The walk was very steep, leading further up, the tracks squishy underfoot after yesterdays rain. The trees were alive with birds and everything smelled brand new, the River Teme burbled away to my right. Delightful morning for a walk – apart from the lack of sun, of course.

Whitcliffe Forestry Commission

Eventually coming out at the forestry commission office, I sat at a bench and weighed up my options. I decided – it having taken me an hour to reach this point – to head back down a back track. And then I found it! The first fossil I’ve actually found in the wild, as it were. It’s a small slab of limestone with little shells in it – well, the shape of shells in it.

Where I found my fossil

I was carefully looking down at my feet as I walked because the ground was sloping away and was littered with bits of limestone, making it quite slippery when I saw what I thought was a fossil of a fish. I bent to pick it up – it was a scratch – and right next to it was the piece with the shells! A fantastic bit of serendipity! Or just plain luck. It’s from the Silurian period and is around 415 million years old. I carefully put it in my back pocket so it couldn’t rub – limestone is very fragile – and cheerfully tramped on.

I ended up back at the cottage at around 9.30. Mirinda was still asleep. I worked on my experimental archaeology essay.

We left at around midday to visit the castle. Built sometime prior to 1138 when it was first mentioned, Ludlow Castle has been used by many people including royalty. When Edward IV, son of the Duke of York, was crowned in 1461, the castle became royal property. It remained as such for 350 years. Arthur, older brother of Henry VIII spent his wedding night (to Catherine of Aragon), in one of the turrets and Mary, Henry’s daughter spent a few years in the castle. Also the little princes who were supposedly murdered in the Tower of London, also spent a few nights here.

Ludlow Castle main entrance

Now it’s mostly in ruins, like all good castles, but there’s still lots of bits to clamber over and climb up. All the various kids love that. We each took an info stick but the narrative was very condescending and the sound quality was pretty dire. Which is a shame.

Within the keep there are the remains of a lovely round church – the chapel of St Mary Magdelene. There are only a few round churches in England, apart from this one. The most well known is Temple Church in London but, of course, that other great example is in Cambridge and NOT Oxford, as my father well knows.

Of course I had to climb up all the spiral stairs I could find, including a long spin up to the castle keep which afforded an excellent view of everything…including Mirinda sitting under a big tree.

Unfortunately the keep also housed a rather annoying family from somewhere up north where their accents are particularly ugly. In the halcyon days of this castle, such people would have either been clearing out the gaderobes, tilling the fields or living underneath the castle in some small dank cell. Instead, they now swarm like those big flies we have out west in Australia. One of the younger ones decided he’d like to get a better view of the ground so he lay across the stone wall and leant out, 75 feet up. A sudden yell of “Liam! Get off there!” from his father saw him fall back to his feet. Pity, I had the perfect opportunity to give him a gentle little push.

So we’d heard about the Great Green Parade, scheduled to process through Ludlow’s streets at 1:30pm bank holiday Monday. We were looking forward to seeing the cars pushed by people, lured by the promise of zero CO2 emissions – this is what was promised! So we lined the street with lots of others, jostling for position along the tiny main street. Cars kept coming as we stood and waited, eating our cold pastry treats from de Greys.

Finally a police car appeared, slowly advancing in front of a brass band which seemed to take an awful long time appearing. The police car sat with its engine running, emitting CO2 all over us as we waited for the band. After what seemed like an hour of choking, the police car gradually moved away as the band hove into sight. A bright spangley band came marching, people with buckets peeling off from all sides, looking for donations. So far so good.

Then came the parade princess…or spring princess…well, some sort of princess and her attendant maidens, waving to and generally delighting the crowd. But what is this? Directly behind the royal party there appeared a Jag, just like the one Morse used to drive through the tiny Oxford streets. It drove slowly, careful not to squash the princess walking in front of it. Seated in the back was a strangely dressed pixie looking sheepish but warm and comfortable. The Jag managed to emit a bit of nasty air on us as well. (We later found out that this pixie was in fact a dancer who did her thing once the parade reached its end. I assume she was concerned about wearing out her points.)

It was at this point that we figured the zero emissions promise was completely hollow. This was further strengthened by the trucks full of the Wizard of Oz characters, the ambulance and the fire engine, which was particularly smelly as it belched in front of us.

The best bit of the parade was the people dressed in red netting, playing some sort of funky, tribal type music. And that was about it really. I’ll not add anything about the odd display called ‘Shop Till You Drop’ or the shopping trolley dragons because they were just too bizarre. In fact, we left after the fire engine made breathing very difficult. This was also the end of the 12 minute parade. We decided to go and visit Angel Gardens.

And then we spotted the house with no windows. Obviously convinced the Window Tax was still in operation, the crazy owner had just not put any in. What a dim house this would be! Good luck selling it, buddy. Unless The Count is in town.

Windowless house, Ludlow

There being no parking at the cottage (something Mirinda was not amused at), we collected Sidney from the council car park where she sat, abandoned by us, in the company of lorries and coaches, and took off for Angel. The brochure claimed the sign off the main road was easy to miss so we turned down every left hand road we found, just in case. Eventually we found the correct one and pulled into the car park. Here we were met by, I assume, the owner.

Some garden near Ludlow

He asked the usual questions (“Have you come far?“, “Ah, Ford Ka eh? Nice car. My daughter drives one“, etc) then gave us each a ticket after I passed some paper across his palm. We started to stroll down through the very small borders. Not having a guide book meant we had to make everything up. Anyway, it appears to be quite a young garden in a fantastic spot. Our first stop (after the short sit in the semi-circular hedge layout which we are going to steal for our own garden) was the tea room, which is a big garden room on the side of the very big pond.

The coffee was foul, as you’d expect but the 457 choices of tea would cover any tea lover’s repertoire. As we sat enjoying the tranquil beauty of the rain drops as they started falling, we couldn’t help but observe the absurd rituals being enacted around us. Politeness gone mad, I’d call it, as each new couple that entered tried their best to out-polite the last. Ok, I exaggerate, but it did seem most peculiar when the guy brought in the wicker chairs for no reason other than it was raining. At first I thought he must have known the owners.

Just a short laugh at this guy. At one stage he produced a perfectly ironed copy of the brochure and, handing it to his companion, instructed her to put it between two stiff cards so it didn’t get creased. I figured he must collect brochures. And we think Nicktor is odd with HIS collections.

Suitably refreshed (well Mirinda was anyway) we started strolling around the garden. As usual I was flicking away with my camera when suddenly, like some avenging angel (from Angel Garden) I was told to desist! “We don’t allow cameras, I’m afraid” the man who took our money explained. So, I stopped taking photos. We couldn’t work out why there was no sign to that effect when we first entered. Like I couldn’t figure out why there wasn’t a guide book. And like I still have problems figuring out why you can take photographs at some of the biggest gardens in this country but not the Angel Gardens, Ludlow. So, be warned. I’ll also not include his garden as a search item on my site. That’ll learn ‘im!

And with that pleasant little exchange, we hopped back into Sidney and departed once more for Ludlow. It had been a wholly unpleasant day (apart from the fossil find) so we decided to return to the cottage and watch The Parent Trap – the remake with Lindsay Lohan. Compared to the rest of the day, this was excellent and not at all a waste of time. To be honest I thought it was real twins and nothing is going to convinced me that there aren’t two Lindsay Lohans.

Dinner was a very tasty but extremely expensive Indian meal. Because it was SO expensive I’m damned if I’m going to give them a plug for the quality of their food…which was quite high.

According to the much lorded poet John Betjeman, Ludlow is ‘probably the loveliest town in England’. In 1943, Christopher Hussey said of Ludlow that ‘the whole place is a national monument’.

A lot has happened in this part of Shropshire, this close to the Welsh border, which is why we chose to visit. Also because we’d never heard of it and it felt like a good idea at the time.

Geologically, the area is rich in calcareous limestone laid down around 400 million years ago. This means the place is alive with fossils – if such a thing is possible! In fact Ludlow gives its name to a period of geological time, as does the nearby Whitcliffe. Although Whitcliffe is a tad older, being 415 million. Suffice it to say that with all this geological activity and given the last ice age, Ludlow is atop a big hill.

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Rain! Miserable day with grey breaks in the grey clouds. Went out for more important supplies then sat in the cottage typing up the holiday so far. Then worked on my essays.

We decided to venture out around lunchtime. Ludlow was in the grip of festival mayhem so there were plenty of stalls in the Castle Square with all manner of environmentally friendly information and products. We popped into the old Assembly Rooms for a bit of a dance, though I would have preferred a hand or two of whist with that well proportioned Miss Kettleby, but it has long since stopped being a venue of such fun and frivolity. It is now the Ludlow Tourist Information Centre and Museum. We picked up a guide to Ludlow restaurants then went into the museum.

Ludlow market

The rain had driven the kids and other non-museum regulars into the relative peace of the museum. While this should be applauded, it was a tad annoying when I was actually interested in looking at examples of Silurian rocks and had to constantly bat away annoying little heads from in front of the displays. Still, a lovely museum with some great stuff on rocks, something Dawn would surely tease me about.

It was time for lunch when we emerged into the damp. We decided to try De Greys, a famous teashop at the top of Broad Street. Yesterday when I wandered by there was a massive queue, today as we walked in, there was not. We were immediately shown to a table just inside the door. Five minutes later, the queue had started to form and by the time we had our food, the queue was out the door.

It made us think of all the places we’ve eaten around the world – the Grand Hotel in Oslo, the Railway carriage in Flam, that fantastic steak house Jack took us to in New York, the Fork & View in Leura – and the few times we’ve had to queue for food. Rather than queue, we’d find somewhere else. There always IS somewhere else!

Anyway we had weak lattes and a tuna salad roll in a baguette rather than a bap and laughed at the idiots queuing. All very nice and if Bob & Claire ever come to Ludlow, this is the ideal place for them to stay. It is a five star B&B and has this tearoom on the ground floor. Claire could never leave the building.

After lunch we wandered around looking for a brush for Mirinda – she collects brushes like most women collect shoes, every town we go to on holiday, she just has to buy a hair brush. However, we didn’t find one – the girl in Woolworths when asked if they sold hairbrushes said “IF we sell them, they’ll be down the back somewhere.” Why the hell do we bother going into Woolworths?

We were tempted to go and look at the castle except for two things – it was raining and the castle is a ruin and therefore nearly all outside. So instead we opted for the Castle Lodge. Parts of the house date from the 13th century – the mildew will attest for that.

Gaz by Alice door in Castle Lodge, Ludlow

The signs all seem polite and needy enough but when you reach the front door you are presented with a bell and the sign ‘ring to open’. We rang and were eventually admitted by an odd looking chap with a cigarette hanging from his lips. Lurch-like he bade us enter and handed us a sheet of paper while I handed him some money.

According to the piece of paper the lodge has been owned and rented for most of its life. In fact it wasn’t until 1848 that it was actually in private ownership. Apparently the present owners are trying to ‘rescue it from its tragic state’.

The above is very laudable and as you wander through the rooms filled with more and more carpets, it is almost as if the restoration is gradually happening. However, this all comes tumbling down when you chat to a visiting Liverpudlian couple who have been before. Mrs Scouser assured us that it was like a National Trust property when they visited previously and now it just makes her weep to see it.

It is a shame. The wall panelling is truly amazing and the wibbly wobbly floors reminded me of the psychedelic version of Alice in Wonderland but the mildew just attacked Mirinda’s nose and forced us to leave. The inch thick dust on the surfaces didn’t help! We climbed back down the stairs and left tout suit!

We wandered around a bit more but basically had decided to return to the cottage for the rest of the day because of the lousy weather. It was a good decision – the rain is supposed to clear tomorrow for the Ludlow parade, a date on the calendar NOT to be missed!

We watched Mr Holland’s Opus, a film remarkable for its American morals, had cheese and bacon on toast then went to bed.

I awoke with the sparrows, pulled on the hiking boots and took to the hills behind the hotel. There was a circular walk brochure in the room so I set off on this. I didn’t get very far.

St Mary the Virgin’s church on the hill was burned down in 1977 and the body of the church is all that remains…and the many gravestones of course. There’s a lovely view of the Wye River from just outside the church wall so I sat and cogitated for a tad.

St Marys ruined church, Tintern

Then I strode up the very steep hill as far as Penterry Farm then decided I’d best turn back.

Last night I’d more or less decided to go to the Devil’s Pulpit but sleep had driven this memory deep into the long forgotten vaults of my brain and so I went back to room to read The Times and wait for Mirinda to wake up so we could go for breakfast.

The breakfast room was full of recovering wedding guests and the bride – no sign of the groom…again. We were once more served by the pregnant Schumanian who must keep very bad hours. We helped ourselves to a hearty full English breakfast then returned to the room to pack and head out.

I packed Sidney for the long haul and we left the car park, crossed the road and drove into the Tintern Abbey car park. After a good stretch from such a long drive, we entered the Abbey grounds.

Fantastic place! We, naturally, took advantage of the audio guides (and obviously bought a guide book) and were transported around the site. I don’t understand tourists who don’t use the audio guides (at the very least). They are generally quite cheap (£1 at Tintern and at other places, free) and they bring the whole place alive. Lots of people just wander round from info board to info board, half reading, half wandering without getting the full benefit of the hi-tech experience. Still, I guess a stroller and three screaming kids, one with a cutlass, is not conducive to listening to some beautifully spoken man intone about the life and times of Cistercian monks.

Anyway, the Abbey. What a lovely place. It’s situated right beside a very busy road and this was cause for concern, but once inside the Abbey remains, the noise abated completely and we strolled around in relative silence (ignoring the kid with the cutlass, of course).

Tintern Abbey, interior

The Abbey was founded in 1131 by the Cistercians who travelled from France and remained a centre for prayer and monastic life for 400 years until Henry VIII dissolved it in 1536 (or 1563 if I am asked, given my mathematical dyslexia). After this, it sat in ruins, waiting for the romantic poets and painters of the 18th century to discover it. Turner painted it a number of times (1790s), Wordsworth wrote his imaginatively titled Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey a few miles above the Abbey (1798) and Charles Heath wrote his best selling tourist guide Historical and Descriptive Accounts of the Ancient and Present State of Tintern Abbey – catchy title that (1793).

In the Reverend William Gilpin’s famous Observations on the River Wye (1782), another best seller, the author claims that though Tintern is ‘the most beautiful‘ scene of all, it would have benefited from a few changes to some of the gable ends with a mallet. I didn’t see any gable ends that jarred so assume this was most definitely a personal opinion.

What most annoyed the writers and artists of Victorian times were the hovels and pigsties sitting next to and near the Abbey. They ignored the fact that these were the houses where the locals lived, being so poor they could not afford anything else.

The Victorians, in their wisdom, removed the pulpitum from the main body of the church as it disrupted the view of the entire church. A shame, as this would have been the only one in existence. Fortunately some smart person took a photograph in 1870 showing the foundations for the pulpitum so at least we know where it was!

Stepping into the church gives you a wonderful feeling. The long aisle with massive windows at either end, the roof non-existent and the floor made of grass, is truly awe inspiring. Of course this is a far cry from what the place would have been like when it was completed. Cold, drafty, quiet, damp, etc and filled with silent, scary monks. The Cistercians were not allowed to talk except in a small room and then only when really, really necessary. This was the parlour and passage beside the chapter house.

Tintern Abbey, interior

Actually they compensated by developing a whole set of hand signals (which was frowned upon). I guess they explained the hand signals when they could talk.

Of particular interest is the warming house. This was the only place (apart from the kitchen and infirmary) where there was a fire. In the whole place! Incredible. It must have been so cold. The monks apparently never undressed, sleeping in their habits. Ok, they did wash in very cold water and I assume they undressed for that but most of the time they just wandered around, not talking, making obscure hand signals, shivering and smelling a lot. Yeah, I can see the appeal in this sort of life. The fire in the warming house was only allowed from November 1 to Good Friday. It was also the spot for shaving, hair dressing and blood letting. Oddly enough, the monks were not allowed to read in the warming house.

The Abbey had a library and two bookcases built into the fabric of the building. Only one book remains, a 13th century bible which is in the National Library of Wales. The monks were expected to read for two to four hours each day (though not by the fire) and would wander the cloister, books in hands.

But enough of the wonderful Tintern Abbey or there’s a risk of boring you all to death!

Outside the Abbey we wandered over to the Abbey Mill. There is no mill there any more, just a collect of buildings that sell odd crafty tourist things and a teashop. We partook of lattes and toasted Welsh Cakes (sort of a cross between piklets and scones) before returning to Sidney for the trip north.

Abbey Mill, Tintern

We had a lovely trip up the Wye Valley to Monmouth then on to Hereford and finally we hit Ludlow.

Lower Broad Street, where Garden Cottage is situated, is a wide Georgian street which narrows to a cars width at the top where the road passes through the last remaining gate into the main town. The road is VERY steep. After an expedition to find water, we met the owner at the cottage at 3pm then unpacked.

Naturally Mirinda had a rest while I went out and checked out the town. I also went in search of supplies and quickly found a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker, a grocer, and oh so many more shops. I also found a sadly lacking supermarket only to discover the next day that a big Somerfields was right next door to it!

Ludlow looks to be a lovely place. It is very famous and contains many old buildings, including a castle! And lots of pubs. Speaking of which, the Wheatsheaf Inn is just a few yards across the street so I thought it only right that I should venture in and sample the ale on offer. A couple of pints of Marsden’s Burton Bitter later and I wandered back to the cottage. Mirinda was once more up and around so we went for a wander around the town, with me as guide pointing out the various sights.

With the exception of the metal clanking goth-ish girl and two ducks snoozing on the bridge wall, we saw few people as we wandered around before returning to the cottage for lamb chops and mash potato. Stuck with terrestrial tv, we decided to plug in the Archos and watched last weeks Desperate Housewives.

Ducks on a bridge wall, Ludlow

Then bed.

Mirinda declared that we were leaving Haslemere at 1pm so we did! An easy run across to Farnham saw our first stop for provisions. Lunch was purchased as well as some fruit from the Castle Street stall. We then drove up to the cricket/golf club carpark and sat under the shade of one of the many Farnham Park trees to eat in peace. We had travelled 12 miles in one hour. Our stats were NOT looking good.

Farnham Park

Our next section saw us zip up to Basingstoke, avoiding the centre like the plague because it feels like the sort of place which is probably good for breeding the plague, and on to Newbury. We had a short coffee/wake the driver stop at Chievelier services and then hit the M4.

Our time was going a good deal better than 10mph until we hit The Accident. The traffic ground to a halt. Ambulances (three at least) and police cars went screaming up the hard shoulder, three lanes of traffic crawled along. I was expecting a massive accident involving at least two big trucks, 15 cars and a helicopter as we crawled mile after mile, passing electronic signs warning us of an ACCIDENT and that we should keep our speed down to at least 50mph – we were doing about 3 at the time.

As we approached the flashing lights of a police car you can imagine my astonishment when all that was apparent were two small cars, one with a dent in its bumper and two young drivers getting a ticking off from two young coppers. One ambulance was standing on the hard shoulder as if uncertain what to do but the others had vanished into some sort of motorway Bermuda Triangle.

Of course, the second we passed, the traffic freed up and we scooted along to the Severn Bridge and crossed into Wales after paying the visa fee disguised as a bridge toll of £5.10!! This was the original Severn Bridge. The last time I was in Wales, journeying to Ireland with Denise, we travelled across the new bridge. One of the delights of the original bridge is you can see the new one in all of its glory. A lovely sight.

In Wales we were but 7 miles from Tintern, our bed for the night and it didn’t take long. When I booked the hotel, I was told the hotel is opposite the Abbey. They were not kidding – it is DIRECTLY opposite the Abbey – you could hit it with a stone. A great spot – although due to the million guests staying for the wedding at the hotel our room has a lovely view of the carpark with poor little Sidney in the furthest corner.

Having managed to find the room following the complicated directions from the front desk, Mirinda settled down for a rest while I went for a brief pint of the splendid local Black Bach then a wander round to get my bearings.

Abbey Hotel, Tintern

An hour later, completely at home in Tintern, I was back and we prepared for dinner – naturally I dressed. Seeing as there was a wedding in the hotel I didn’t want to get mistaken for a young buck of a bridegroom. Actually, although we saw a lot of the bride, the groom was nowhere to be seen. The hotel was decorated in pink and green which, coincidentally, were the colours of the wedding.

We had a pregnant Schumanian waitress, who was excellent – the waiter was a Borg and didn’t pour our wine for us. The food was excellent and the Welsh wine, surprisingly crisp and dry, though it tasted younger than its 2003 date stated – it was a delightful coincidence that this was Welsh Wine Week. After dinner it was a short stroll around the Abbey and Mill and then back to our room to sleep. The band from the wedding reception was directly below our window and we could hear every ear splitting note…but we were asleep very, very quickly.

A holiday report wouldn’t be a holiday report without a moan about the shower. The Abbey Hotel has one of the worst showers I think I’ve experienced. Firstly I stood and waited for ten minutes for it to warm up before realising I had to actually flick a switch, outside the bathroom, to turn the hot water on first! To be more accurate, ‘hot’ isn’t exactly the right word as the temperature never climbed above tepid and that was on full without any added cold! The pressure was about the same as you’d expect from an uphill waterfall and the whole experience was best forgotten. The bath was a good size so I assume the other guests in the hotel just laid in their own filth for a while.