Going Forward and Looking Back
A striking 12ft sculpture in galvanised steel, created by Owen Cunningham and designed by A-Level student Sarah Ward, marked the start of my 630-mile walk along the South West Coast Path.
The SWCP as it’s affectionately known, is England's longest waymarked National Trail. It starts in western Somerset and moves to North Devon before crossing into Cornwall, where it completes the county’s whole coastline; it then enters South Devon and finally ends at Poole in Dorset.
Shortly after clambering uphill out of Minehead, the beauty of Exmoor National Park began to unfold before me. I opted for the higher of two routes which took me over the tops via Selworthy Beacon. These routes later converged at the base of an almost vertical hill at Hurlstone before taking me into picturesque Bossington, a tiny village that sits behind Porlock Bay’s shingle ridge.
Over 20 years ago Porlock’s high shingle ridge was breached by the sea, behind which fields were flooded by seawater. Today, it’s possible to see the remains of trees that were inundated and continue to be overrun at high tides. Above the high tide mark I came across a memorial to eleven American servicemen who lost their lives when their Liberator Bomber crashed in the marshes in October 1942. One crew member survived, and I wondered if he went on to play his part in the D-Day events in Normandy, just under two years later.
Although we don’t have a television in the Victory Van, we do make use of the radio. On 6 June, 2019 we made time to listen to the emotional 75th anniversary commemoration events that were taking place in Normandy. I think many people were moved by the words of our Prime Minister who highlighted the sheer scale of sacrifice made by so many young men.
Those words stayed with me that morning as I left Porlock Weir to walk through some of Exmoor’s oldest oak woodlands on my way to Culbone’s remote church. This is claimed to be the smallest parish church in England and can seat about 30 people. Perhaps what made that morning walk more poignant was meeting a policeman and his search dog trying to locate a missing person: a suicide note had been found in a woman’s car nearby. I thought the sacrifice made in 1944 by those young men, with their lives ahead of them, was at odds with a distressed person wishing to end her life early. Such a tragedy.
Later in the day I crossed into Devon and had a wonderful walk along high cliff paths bordered by brightly coloured rhododendrons. Before one of my last climbs of the day, I came across a ‘Honesty Café’ placed beside the cliff path. A table, two chairs, an array of mugs, a cool box and a hot water flask had all been neatly laid out with a handwritten note. The cool box trustingly contained fresh fruit, crisps, chocolate bars, packs of biscuits, cans of drink and fresh milk. Its positioning was ideal, and I made use of this thoughtful facility, noting that others had done so too. I placed my money in a tin, writing a note of thanks in the Comments book – also stored in the cool box. Faith and trust is alive and well.
High on Countisbury Hill I was rewarded with stunning views towards Lynmouth and its twin town Lynton. I overlooked the village of Countisbury where in days of stage-coach travel, six horses were reputedly required to pull coaches up the village’s steep hill. This will give readers some idea of the gradients I’ve been tackling this week! These were apparent again when I stood on Lynmouth’s Esplanade looking 500 feet directly upwards to Lynton. The town’s famous funicular cliff railway opened in 1890 and is the highest and steepest totally water powered railway in the world.
Water is something Lynmouth knows well having suffered devastating floods in 1952 when thirty-four people lost their lives, following a cloudburst on Exmoor. Next morning when I returned to Lynmouth to start my walk to Combe Martin, another cloud burst above me. Even before I left the lower town, pavements and footpaths were awash with surface water. Knowing I couldn’t be retrieved by the Victory Van on this walking leg I had no choice but to push-on to Combe Martin. There wasn’t a hope of taking any photographs, which was a shame as this section offers some of North Devon’s most dramatic coastline, including the Valley of the Rocks. Instead, I sloshed along carefully watching where I trod on uneven paths overflowing with water and debris. I couldn’t afford to take another tumble . . .
The ascents and descents through Lee Bay, Woody Bay, Heddon’s Mouth, East Cleave and Sherrycombe to name but a few, certainly tested the Victory Walker in the foulest of conditions. Later, when I just had to stop to eat, I was reminded of one of the Royal Marines’ original core values - ‘Cheerfulness in the face of adversity’. With rain lashing down in stair-rods, no shelter and nowhere to perch, I started to laugh!
Retrieving a sandwich from my rucksack, I tried to protect its contents from getting soaked. All was in vain. As I leaned forward, water streamed off the peak of my waterproof jacket, straight into the pack and my food resembled pulp. Meanwhile, I poured hot coffee from my flask into a lid, only for the rain to overfill and cool my drink. That was when I stopped laughing. It was a relief to reach Combe Martin and leave Exmoor behind me.
Next day, the sun shone when I entered a bustling Ilfracombe, where Lundy Island’s supply ship, MS Oldenburg, was moored close to Damien Hirst’s ‘Verity’ sculpture. This statue holds a prominent position at the harbour mouth and takes the form of a heavily pregnant woman holding a sword aloft. Ilfracombe is a lively town built on steep slopes and I wandered into High Street where I met a former Wren, Jill, and her husband Mick who kindly fed me at their cafe. I seem to have done a lot of eating this week! Later, when I reached Woolacombe we had a personal delivery of home-baked chocolate buns by another ex Wren and close friend visiting the area – a lovely surprise.
Woollacombe, like nearby Croyde, Saunton Sands and Braunton Burrows all played a key part in D-Day rehearsals for thousands of American troops. Today, this area is a surfing mecca: people of all ages clad in wetsuits, wandering around with boards or riding the waves, mingled with young families carrying buckets and spades. Passing through Braunton I noticed that it is home to the Museum of British Surfing. Today, this entire area would be totally unrecognisable to those GIs of 1944.
Braunton was where I joined the Tarka Trail, which also doubles as the SWCP: the Tarka Trail was inspired by Henry Williamson’s novel ‘Tarka the Otter’. Making use of the former Barnstaple to Ilfracombe railway line, the route led me alongside the banks of the River Taw into Barnstaple. Later, I followed another disused line down the opposite Taw bank, through Fremington and Instow where, had the tides been right, I could have caught a small ferry across the river Torridge to Appledore. Instead, the expanses of sand told me I’d have to continue down to Bideford, where I crossed the Torridge to end my walking week, clocking 4,800 miles.
I was able to celebrate this achievement with the Royal Marines at Instow who kindly allowed us to stay at their base. My Support Team is delighted to be back among Green Berets again!
See Photo Album Numbers 77 – Going Forward and Looking Back
PLEASE NOTE: Earlier Photo Albums numbered 1 - 23 are currently not available on the website. This fault is being investigated.
Levelling with Somerset
Renowned hills, an approved school, drainage ditches, traditional seaside resorts, land reclamation, three nuclear power stations, acres of mudflats and indiscernible paths sum up a hot and fly-ridden week.
Waved off by staff based at the Naval Regional Headquarters, I began by walking through Portishead, a town very definitely of two halves: an older part with elegant houses and parks, and a newer part of large housing estates acting as an annex town to nearby Bristol. With its heritage in fishing and as a commercial port I wasn’t surprised to come across the former National Nautical School overlooking the Bristol Channel on the town’s outskirts.
Created in 1869, the Nautical School was initially a training school for young boys from Bristol aged between 10 and 15. The school could take 350 pupils, many of whom came from poor or delinquent backgrounds; the courts often assigned boys to the school. The idea was that it would be classed as a school to provide training and a stable home for youngsters. Initially afloat in HMS Formidable, many of its pupils went on to join the Merchant Navy, while others opted for the Royal Navy.
The school latterly moved ashore in 1906 to a purpose-built building opened by Princess Helena, Queen Victoria’s third daughter. During the rest of its lifetime its role changed more than once, including being an approved school, before its ultimate closure in 1983. Designated a Grade II listed building at time of closure, the National Nautical School was subsequently converted into luxury apartments within a gated community, now known as Fedden village.
Continuing down the coast towards Somerset’s traditional seaside resorts, I’d the limestone Mendip hills to my left, while ahead further south, the Quantocks rose up to greet me. In between lie the Somerset Levels, through which the rivers Axe, Brue and Parratt flow – all would subsequently be riverside walks for me. The Quantock hills were the first site to be designated as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty in 1956. This AONB consists of heathland, oak woodlands, ancient parklands and agricultural land.
Descending the hill into Clevedon I saw the town’s elegant pier before me. Described as ‘the most beautiful pier in England’ by Sir John Betjemen, it celebrates its 150th anniversary this year. My next resort of Weston-super-Mare has two piers: Birnbeck which has fallen into decay and the Grand Pier which was rebuilt after fire ripped through its pavilion in 2008. Nearby, despite a chilly wind blowing, donkey rides were proving popular with children on half term. I didn’t join them!
Later, walking around the river Axe banks, I clambered up onto Brean Down from where I’d lengthy views of Brean and Berrow Sands towards Burnham-on-Sea. Burnham also boasts a pier building but I was more interested in finding the mouth of the Brue, from where I headed upstream to cross at Highbridge. Still in the bowl of the Somerset levels, criss-crossed by drainage ditches, the Brue banks subsequently took me back seawards, this time towards the mouth of the adjoining River Parrett.
The River Parrett disgorges its chocolate milkshake-coloured water twice daily out into Bridgwater Bay, close to Burnham-on-Sea. I’d not been looking forward to this part of the walk but knew thick, sticky grey mud would not let me cross the Parrett’s mouth, measuring barely 22 metres across. Instead I’d no choice but to take the long route around – 23 miles!
My monotonous 23-miler saw me traipse along seawalls, grazed banks, and later grassy banks where I fought through waist-high thistles, grass and nettles. Although not particularly enamoured with my tedious walk up to Bridgwater and back down the other side, only an agile crocodile would have dared venture across those 22 metres of thick mud.
My return riverbank led me out onto the Steart Peninsula where the seawall was deliberately breached in 2014 with the aim of returning 260 hectares of reclaimed land to its natural state. With the first extra high tides of the following year, the whole area was flooded; waters deposited silt over the original marshes creating new mudflats which have become a haven for wildlife.
Within 6 months of flooding oystercatchers, curlews and other birds were recorded as feeding back in these once dry areas. Wildlife habitats have been restored and this carefully planned piece of engineering will ensure nearby communities are protected from flooding. The Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust has since provided viewing points for the many birdwatchers who visit.
Walking westwards the huge outline of Hinkley Point power station site loomed ever closer. Knowing that a new station (Hinkley C) is currently being built, I was aware there would be diversions ahead. Hinkley A station is being decommissioned but Hinkley B, which I passed, is still operational. Only as I neared the end of my diversion did I see the extent of building works for Hinkley C – the size of 240 football pitches!
Heavy machinery, groaned, clanked and churned through the excavated land. Those excavations alone will produce enough soil to fill 1,300 Olympic size swimming pools. Earlier I’d seen the newly built eco-friendly accommodation campus, which will soon become screened by a massive tree-planting project. The site also comes complete with its own Bat House!
Ahead lay West Somerset’s undulating coastline, leading me towards Minehead. En-route I crossed mud-like beaches and climbed up and down many slopes, passing through Blue Anchor Bay and on into Watchet, approached from Splash Point. Below I could hear Dave Milton, the local town crier in full cry announcing Watchet’s Flea Market!
While wandering through the town I learned that artist JMW Turner had visited the town in 1814 while working on a commission to do drawings that would be engraved and placed in a book entitled ‘Picturesque Views on the Southern Coast of England’. His completed sketches of early Watchet are held in the Tate Gallery while one of his most famous paintings, The Fighting Temeraire, can be seen in the National Gallery, London.
Later that afternoon I arrived in Minehead, just as the last steam train of the day pulled into West Somerset’s Railway terminus. With a hiss and snort it had reached its final destination of the day, and so had I. After a tough walking week, including three 20-milers as well as maintaining a daily physio exercise regime, I too am looking forward to a rest in the sidings!
I’m now poised to start the 630-mile South West Coast Path - Land’s End here I come!
See Photo Album No 75 – Levelling with Somerset
See Photo Album No 76 - Farewell to Wales (So many memories)
The Severn Crossing
A hot, tiring and satisfying week which saw my ‘bootometer’ click 4,600 miles in Wales, before making my last major river and bridge crossing back into England.
My travels have taken me through some of the great coal exporting ports of Wales, starting with Barry, followed by Penarth, Cardiff and Newport. The wealth that those exports brought to these towns is evident in some grand buildings that have survived: Barry’s former dock offices and the Pierhead building at Cardiff are two fine examples.
No journey would have been complete without a circumnavigation of Barry Island, once home to a vast Butlins holiday camp until its 30-year life ended in 1996. Today, a new housing development has replaced the former camp buildings. Of course, its funfair, beach and numerous cafes survive and were doing a brisk trade when I passed through – but I avoided temptation!
By now Flat Holm and Steep Holm, two nearby islands in the Bristol Channel, were my constant companions as I headed around Lavernock Point towards Penarth. Lavernock Point and Flat Holm helped make history in 1897, when Marconi first achieved transmitting radio signals between these two places, across a small stretch of open sea. A week later he repeated the experiment, again from Lavernock, but this time across the Bristol Channel to Brean Down in Somerset. A plaque at nearby Lavernock church commemorates this piece of history.
Penarth, although another dock town and at that time still separate from Cardiff, managed to remain a more ‘exclusive’ resort than Barry Island. Grand houses overlooking the Severn estuary were built above the town by wealthy businessmen. Below, a fine pier with a pavilion was constructed which, in the past decade, has undergone extensive restoration and now looks very smart.
Today Penarth is connected to Cardiff by the Cardiff Barrage, another impressive piece of engineering which created a vast freshwater lake by sealing off the estuary of the Taff and Ely rivers from the sea beyond. This visionary idea helped rejuvenate some of the disused dock areas, although Cardiff does still have a modern dock complex where containers have replaced coal. My subsequent afternoon walk around this area of security fences and industrial estates was not an enjoyable one.
Around Cardiff’s revitalised waterfront an eclectic mix of buildings can be found: the old docks’ Pierhead Building; the Senedd, home of the National Assembly of Wales; an old Norwegian Church (now an arts centre) where the best-selling author Roald Dahl was baptised; the former BBC Dr Who Experience building; and the Millenium Centre which is home to Wales’ national orchestra and opera.
Before being rewarded with my Severn Crossing, I had to negotiate the wriggly river Usk that cuts through Newport. Another town that flourished with coal exports, but one that also had a manufacturing and engineering heritage. My route across the river was to be via the Transporter Bridge, similar to the one I used in Middlesbrough when crossing the Tees.
Newport’s Transporter is the oldest and largest of the three transporter bridges that remain in Britain and was designed with extra height to ensure shipping could pass underneath, whatever the state of the tide. Unlike my Middlesbrough journey when I was transported across in a gondola slung under the structure, my Newport journey was somewhat different.
With Newport’s gondola currently undergoing repairs, I took the high route with Rob, the Supervisor, who kindly agreed to escort me across the upper open-grilled walkway. My journey began with a climb of 270 steps to reach the gantry platform, 180 feet above the muddy river. Thereafter, a dizzying walk of 200 yards across the Usk, before I descended 270 steps to the far riverbank. I’d some great views but if you suffer from acrophobia, then this trip isn’t for you!
After Newport, my onward journey on grassy sea banks up the Severn reminded me of the endless miles I’d walked in Essex. Cattle and horses grazed on the flat fields and saltmarshes, while in other fields there were carpets of buttercups. Ahead, the Severn’s Second Crossing, officially named the Prince of Wales Bridge, which carries the M4 motorway, grew ever larger. Opened in 1996, the bridge roughly follows the same line of the Severn railway tunnel which was constructed by the Great Western Railway over 100 years earlier. Rail travel under the Severn, or ferries across the River were the only means of crossing this vast estuary, until the first Severn Road Bridge was opened in 1966 – this was to be my crossing point.
The newer Prince of Wales bridge was built to accommodate the huge increases seen in road traffic since the 1960s. At the time of building it was decided there should be no pedestrian or cycle access, which explains why I crossed on the iconic 1966 structure. After all the delays, setbacks and difficulties experienced during my Welsh trek, it was an exhilarating moment walking out across the River Severn. For once, I’d bright clear skies and good views to accompany me all the way. Magic!
Stepping off the bridge and leaving the South Wales Coast Path behind me, I immediately joined the Severn Way. This led me down the east side of the Severn towards the vast industrial and port areas of Avonmouth and the Royal Portbury Dock. It was grim walking and a case of just ‘sticking at it’ as lorries and trucks thundered by, raising kerbside dust in all directions. Before heading up and over the foot and cycle path running parallel to an incredibly busy M5/Avonmouth bridge, I had an important date to keep.
Before Avonmouth, I broke my journey at Severn Beach to meet a lively 95 year-old WWII telegraphist Wren. It was an uplifting experience meeting Connie who is full of fun and still drives a car. My Support Team had to prise her out of the Victory Van’s driver’s seat! When I arrived, Connie handed me a bottle of Prosecco to celebrate my arrival back in England. Thereafter she serenaded me with her high-tech keyboard while I enjoyed a refreshing drink. I couldn’t think of a better way to end my 722-mile Welsh odyssey.
See Photo Album Numbers 74
Cities, Steel and Dunes
Dramatic walking, a snake, views from a WI bench, a lifesaving retriever, a Norwegian church, sand dunes, a policeman, heavy industry, clocking 4,500 miles and a trip to London all feature in this week’s extended Victory Log update.
Before continuing my walk around the Gower peninsula and into the sweep of Swansea Bay, I’d a commitment to keep in London. Last year I’d agreed to be the guest speaker at the WRNS BT Annual General Meeting to be held at Trinity House. When I agreed to speak, I genuinely thought I’d have finished the Victory Walk, but of course readers will know various circumstances have conspired against me!
Having found a safe place to park our Victory Van, we boarded the train at Port Talbot Parkway, making a quick departure for London Paddington. My subsequent return visit to Port Talbot via the Welsh Coast Path proved to be far less speedy – but more of that later.
Trinity House is a stunning building which overlooks the Tower of London and river Thames. It was a huge honour to speak to the 180 guests, including the charity’s Royal Patron who is also Patron of the RNRMC, my other chosen charity for the Victory Walk. Thankfully, the audience was most appreciative, and this was reflected in the £331 donated that afternoon.
For us, it was a chance to see and thank key people who’ve provided help for much of our journey – a mixture of veteran organisations, Morrison’s, the Sea Cadets, and the Caravan & Motorhome Club, to name but a few. It was also good to meet up with one of the oil refinery’s first responders who came to my rescue on the day of my February accident. Certainly, a happy but tiring day, after which we returned to Carmarthenshire to collect the Victory Van. A former Wren communicator (who was one of the first to serve at sea) had kindly provided safe custody for our vehicle.
Back on the Gower, I was rewarded with some glorious sunshine as I walked through Whiteford Dunes, passing the disused cast iron lighthouse on my way. Looking seawards, the distinctive shape of Worm’s Head, which can only be reached at certain states of the tide, became a familiar sight as I circled Rhossili’s wide sandy bay. Thereafter, I crossed a series of grassy-topped, high limestone cliffs, regularly intersected by steep valleys.
Port Eynon’s long beach followed as I made my way to Oxwich. It was on this section of path that I almost trod on an adder sunbathing. Anyone who knows me well knows I’ve a real fear of snakes, so after the initial shock, I made myself follow it as it slithered along in front of me before it slinked off into the undergrowth. Rather than having a ‘hissy fit’ I took slow deep breaths and gave its exit route a wide berth.
The lofty cliffs and bays that followed Oxwich were certainly some of the Gower’s best. A string of sandy beaches and smaller pebbly coves took me ever closer to Swansea Bay. Above Three Cliffs Bay I ate my lunch on a sturdy WI Centenary bench and looked across the Bristol Channel: north Devon’s undulating coast was clearly visible. Popular Caswell and Langland bays followed before I reached the charmingly named Bracelet Bay, by Mumbles Head and its lighthouse. Ahead of me lay the wide arc of Swansea Bay where I clocked 4,500 miles.
Mumbles lighthouse witnessed a shipping disaster in January 1883 when the lighthouse keeper’s two daughters, Jessie Ace and Margaret Wright, went to the rescue of the Mumbles lifeboat crew. The lifeboat was responding to an emergency, when it foundered. The two sisters managed to save 2 crewmen, but sadly another 4 perished. Jessie and Margaret are remembered by a blue plaque placed at the end of Mumbles pier. As I walked into Swansea, I came across another lifesaver memorial to ‘Swansea Jack’, a retriever dog. During his short life of seven years, Swansea Jack is credited with saving the lives of 27 people in the Swansea dock and riverbank areas where he lived with his owner.
Reaching Swansea was a good feeling: I was about to start the final push to the Severn Bridge by moving onto the South Wales Coast Path. I took time to wander past Swansea’s Barrage, Marina and its Norwegian tin church. The church originally served Norwegian sailors in Newport (Gwent), who found themselves away from home delivering wooden pit props for Welsh mines and taking coal cargo back to Norway. Later, in 1910, when trading business was moved to Swansea, the church was relocated there, and it survived as a place of worship until 1998. By then it had become a listed building and had been moved again owing to redevelopment schemes in Swansea Docks. It then had its final move in 2004 and is now used as a nursery and gallery.
With the picturesque part of the day’s walk over, I knew my route would then be less scenic. I pushed through paths in woods which had a sinister feel about them, before they opened out a little to take me by a disused canal. More fun was to come, walking beside a very busy main road which lead me up towards the M4 and its predecessor, the A48. A convoluted route of twists, underpasses, turns, and overpasses eventually saw me emerge near Briton Ferry. Here I crossed the River Neath and headed down its other riverbank towards Aberavon Sands and Port Talbot.
Ahead, I could see Port Talbot docks where the repossessed giant Sertao deep-water drilling ship, capable of drilling to a depth of 40,000ft, has been docked since March. It’s now up for sale as its owners have gone bankrupt. That night we parked at the Sea Cadet unit, TS Resource opposite the steelworks complex.
Refreshed, I stepped out next morning convinced I had an easy day ahead of me. Wrong! I soon found myself hopelessly lost (or, as a pilot would say – temporarily unsure of my position!) as I struggled to locate cycle paths and tracks squeezed between all manner of roads, in and around industrial estates.
To make matters worse, it soon became obvious that many route signs had been meddled with, reversed or vandalised. As a child I was told, if you get lost, ask a policeman, but we all know they are much harder to find these days. Wrong again! Just as I was beginning to despair, incredibly a police car pulled up in the street ahead of me and with their help I was sure of my position once more. I also think it’s true – policemen are much younger these days!
Finally, I managed to skirt the huge steelworks, stopping for lunch by the shunters and sidings on the site’s east side. Then, another foray into dunes at Kenfig Burrow before rushing on to meet sea cadets from TS Dragon later that afternoon. It was a small but incredibly friendly unit whose cadets made a generous donation to the Victory Walk.
After Porthcawl I started to walk the Glamorgan Heritage Coast. This began with yet more dune walking through Merthyr-Mawr Warren, before reaching the Ogmore river. These dunes gained fame when some scenes for the 1962 ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ film, starring Peter O’Toole, were shot there. Although there was no sign of Lawrence’s camels, I saw many horses being galloped in the area and on the nearby beach. Despite a low tide, the strong flow of the Ogmore River required me to walk upstream to cross at the pretty village of Merthy-Mawr, before coming down the other side.
After this, the extended week rounded off with some excellent clifftop walking: more rises and falls, and closer views of the opposite coast I’m soon to tackle. Accompanying more dramatic limestone cliffs were beaches covered in huge slabs of rock the size of football pitches. Nash Point with its two lighthouses came and went leading me to Llantwit Major.
Here we met an 82-year old Royal Military Police veteran who stopped to talk to us and spontaneously produced a £20 note for our collection pot. Ivor understood the difficulties and needs of other former servicemen and women less fortunate than himself. He was happy to help the Senior Service and gave us a smart salute as we left!
See Photo Album No 73 – Cities, Steel and Dunes
Victory Walk Resumed
Since the last update ten days ago life has been very busy: more trial walks and the Physio confirming I was fit enough to resume the Victory Walk. Thereafter, it was all about getting ‘back on the road’, joining the Pembrokeshire Coast Path again and trying to remember routines which before the accident had been expertly mastered.
Decanting ourselves from our spacious waterside apartment and repacking belongings into our compact Victory Van took a day. Then there were goodbyes to be said to many people who we’d met and supported us over the past two months or so. Although desperate to get going again, it was with a sense of sadness that we left Milford Haven. However, I was greatly energised by the kind words of encouragement received from three remarkable sportswomen – sailor Dee Caffari MBE, and athletes Dame Kelly Holmes and Jo Pavey MBE.
Our first night back in the Van saw it shaking with the full force of Storm Hannah. To complete the picture, the roof sprung a leak and water flowed down the wires by the fuse box and poured from one of the lights. Our first ever leak, but why that night of all nights?! Next day, Saturday, was spent pleading for assistance from a manically busy motorhome service centre. With their generous help we got the problem fixed.
Walking mileages have remained modest while I rebuild strength and get used to carrying my normal rucksack again. My first task was to complete the Pembrokeshire Coast Path (185 miles). Trial walks over the previous week had seen me reach Tenby, after which I clambered over to Saundersfoot and on to Amroth where I began the Carmarthen Bay and Gower Coast Path (131 miles): this path will lead me to Swansea.
It didn’t take me long to cross into Carmarthenshire, where the coastline became more rugged and I peered through low lying cloud. Somewhere ahead of me were Pendine Sands, famous for land speed record attempts by Malcolm Campbell, who broke the 150mph barrier in July 1925. Two years later, he set a new record of 174mph. English aviator Amy Johnson also began her nonstop transatlantic flight to America from these Sands in 1933.
Shortly after Pendine the first of three long estuary walks began. Heading up the River Taf towards St Clears, I passed through Laugharne with its huge derelict, yet majestic castle. The town, once home to the writer Dylan Thomas, is proud of its heritage: plaques announce his former homes and I walked by his preserved ‘writing shed’ (a converted garage) which has wonderful views down the Taf estuary.
Next came the river Towy, with woodland paths carpeted in bluebells, wild garlic and other Spring flowers – these paths took me up to Carmarthen via the waterside village of Llansteffan. Had my luck been in I could have caught a small ferry straight across the water to Ferryside, saving me 17 miles. Sadly, my luck was out, and so was the tide! The plus point was that in Llansteffan I met entrepreneur Jamie, a former RN chef, who now runs an excellent local shop, bakery, and licensed café.
Coming down the other side of the Towy I walked through Ferryside (ferry still broken!) and towards Kidwelly, before circling a MOD Danger Area by the former WWII RAF Pembrey. This station had had many roles during its lifetime, including being host to Fighter Command and, later, a Polish Fighter squadron. It was also a gunnery school. Today, part of the airfield is home to Welsh motorsport, providing racing for cars, motorcycles, karts and trucks. I could hear the constant whine of motorcycles as I walked along the nearby Cefn Sidan Sands.
These Sands stretch for miles, giving me my first proper view towards the Gower peninsula and led me to Pembrey Country Park, an area that used to be covered by an enormous Ordnance factory. In recent years this land has benefitted from huge investment. One of the initiatives has been to develop a National Closed Road Circuit for cyclists; created as a premier cycling track in Wales. On the day I walked through there were no competitions taking place, but it’s clear how popular the facility is.
Later on, an obelisk signified that I was in the Millenium Coastal Park, where heavy industry once dominated before it was transformed with the UK’s largest land reclamation project. Burry Port, with its distinctive stubby lighthouse, and once the home port of copper and tinplate works, now offers a new marina within this Coastal Park. Shortly after Burry Port I had a chance encounter with Beth Wickes, who is aiming to walk around the UK in the opposite direction. I’d read about her and it was lovely to meet a kindred spirit.
Not long after our farewells I spied a blue plaque to another aviatrix at Pwll, a small coastal village. This plaque commemorates the spot where, in June 1928, Amelia Earhart landed her plane in the Loughor estuary. She was the first woman to complete a solo flight across the Atlantic Ocean. Looking out across the flats I admired her immense courage and skill as I continued circling my third estuary of the week, leading me past Llanelli and up to my bridging point at Loughor.
While all this sounds as if I’m back into my old routines, it is misleading. I’m still required to do almost two hours of daily physio exercises, complicated by a lack of space in the Victory Van. With few options, I find myself getting up even earlier, to lie on the floor of a toilet block in a campsite. The hard part is explaining what I’m doing when someone walks in and finds me!
Finally, turning south again, I started to walk the Gower Peninsula where at a village called Pen Clawdd I was intercepted by a former Royal Marine. ‘Royals’ are always keen to pose for a camera, and Dennis was no exception! His warm greeting also reminded me why I’m persevering with the Victory Walk, wishing to raise money for naval veterans. Dennis remains fit and healthy, but others are not so fortunate.
See Photo Album No 72 – Victory Walk Resumed
Keeping Busy in Milford
After another visit to the physio, I’ve been kept very busy doing 18 different exercises repeated at regular intervals each day. This was also the week I ventured out for some trial walks to see if I could move a little more freely. Still resembling an American footballer, I found my shoulder brace and the cross-body backpack worked well. Amazingly my feet knew what to do too!
One of my trial walks returned me to emergency exit Gate 7 of the Valero Refinery where I again met Peter, my rescuer. Last week when we met he was pushing a trolley in a local supermarket, this time he delivered the Victory Walker back to the point where he’d found me in a crumpled heap in February. I cautiously retraced my steps to the spot of my accident, feeling goose-pimples as I identified the place, before quickly moving on.
Back at our apartment, waterborne activity continues to fascinate. Diagonally across the Haven we have a clear view of the Angle lifeboat which has been kept active responding to various calls over the sunny Easter period: today alone, it has been launched twice. By contrast, during Easter 1943 when the weather was foul and Angle lifeboat was undergoing repair and couldn’t be launched, a tragic disaster unfolded.
Two Landing Crafts (numbers 15 and 16), manned by RN personnel and full of Royal Marines, were being battered by a ferocious gale lashing the Pembrokeshire coast. En route to Falmouth, both Landing Craft had recently received a poor and incomplete conversion in Belfast. As LCTs, originally designed to transport tanks, they had been hastily converted to LCGs to carry guns in preparation for the pending invasion of Sicily; unfortunately too much of the decks had been left open to the elements.
The storm worsened and both craft had already taken on water before becoming separated and totally overwhelmed by the terrible conditions. Meanwhile, a passing escort ship, HMS Rosemary, saw one of the stricken landing craft, LCG16, but being unable to pass a line to her, HMS Rosemary’s Captain called for six volunteers to man the ship’s whaler. Shortly after the whaler had been launched it was engulfed by waves and all six sailors lost their lives as did the occupants of LCG16. Those aboard LCG15 suffered a similar fate when pitched into the sea near Freshwater West; they drowned or were fatally injured when thrown up on nearby rocks. In all, 73 personnel from the two Landing Craft lost their lives (only 3 survived), together with the 6 sailors from HMS Rosemary.
I came across the memorial high in the dunes at Freshwater West Bay, and there’s another in Milford Haven’s Cemetery where many of these sailors and marines were laid to rest. Several bodies were never found and the sea became their grave.
Royal Marines also featured for Frank (Support Team) this week when he went to meet a 94 year-old D-Day veteran who’d landed on the Normandy beaches with 41 Commando. Having also served in 41 Commando (but not at D-Day!), Frank went to meet veteran Ted Owens who has just had a book published about his wartime service: ‘Ted, the ‘Welsh Goat’ Hero. Unfortunately, I was unable to attend as I was out doing another trial walk – this time out near St Govan’s Head, where rock climbers swarmed thicker than nesting gulls!
Meanwhile, directly opposite our balcony we continue to watch the skill of local pilots and tugs manoeuvre and turn gigantic LNG tankers. Last night we saw four tugs carefully escort ‘Duhail’ downstream, before ‘turning her on a sixpence’ and point her seawards. Dame Margot Fonteyn could not have pirouetted more gracefully!
See Photo Album No 71 – Keeping Busy in Milford
Movement in Milford
Enormous tankers and gas carriers continue to move up and down Milford waterway and the Victory Walker has finally been allowed to move (a little) too.
Rather than ‘climbing up the wall’, this week has been marked by the Physio Team giving me permission to ‘walk up the wall’! Ordinarily, walking your fingers up a wall would be a simple task for anyone, but not for those who have suffered bad soft tissue damage after a shoulder dislocation.
In all, I’ve been given seven further mobilisation exercises: these are religiously being done three times a day. Some of that time is spent playing ‘Incy Wincy Spider’, in which I’m attempting to make my right hand move up the wall. Like the spider, my progress is painfully slow; I often find myself dropping away.
Little did I know that when I set off on the Victory Walk I’d be returned to my childhood games - all in the cause of building up shoulder mobility and muscle strength so that I can counter balance in windy conditions, heave myself over gates, pull myself up over stiles and use my walking pole again.
In the hope that I may soon be able to have a ‘phased return to the walk’, and with the physio’s approval, I have acquired an adjustable shoulder brace and a one shoulder cross-body backpack. The backpack is being used when I get out for short walks or when visiting the local shops. It’s now a case of getting that complicated right shoulder joint and supporting muscles working properly again.
I’ve also had a couple of trips out this week.
Firstly, it was a privilege to meet Welsh soldier Barry John MBE, who set up his first VC Gallery in Haverfordwest. An artist himself, he recognised that art can help people overcome various difficulties, including those suffering from PTSD or other mental health issues. More recently another VC Gallery has opened in Pembroke Dock. Both Galleries focus on working with veterans, older people, children and anyone in the local community who feel they need time out to express themselves through art and creativity. It was a pleasure to give an informal talk about the Victory Walk and spend an enjoyable evening chatting to members over a mug of coffee and biscuits.
Secondly, on a recent supermarket trip I recognised a familiar face pushing his trolley in the aisles: it was Peter, the man who came to my initial rescue all those weeks ago. He assured me I looked much better than the day he found me calling for help. That was good for morale and it just proves that my ‘Incy Wincy Spider’ exercises are working!
See Photo Album No 70 – Movement in Milford
Over the past week Pembrokeshire has enjoyed glorious sunshine - ideal walking weather for those who can. Sensing ‘cabin fever’ was about to hit the Victory Walk Team, we took the opportunity to catch a train (well 3 to be precise) bound for Devon.
There the sun shone brightly too, but at least it was an opportunity to attend some meetings and catch up with friends. With careful manoeuvring and not carrying any bags I survived the journey unscathed. It was only later back in Milford Haven that I suffered a blow to my right arm while in the supermarket – I gritted my teeth and headed to the bakery counter for ‘chocolate cake consolation’!
My enforced ‘rest’ and inability to move freely has given me time to reflect on why I’m doing the Victory Walk. I’m sure that I’m not alone when I admit to having probably taken my mobility and ease of movement for granted. Now, the usually simplest of tasks, such as pulling on a sock, needs careful thought: and it’s tiring because it takes so much longer to achieve. For me, I hope this testing period will eventually pass – but for others it has become a way of life and some seek charitable assistance.
Recently the WRNS BT charity, one of the two naval charities that will benefit from Victory Walk donations, helped a former 80-year-old Wren and Second Officer who still lives in her own fishing village cottage. Long widowed and suffering reduced mobility, she was having difficulties using her ancient bathroom in her home which required some refurbishment. Unable to obtain a government funded grant, it was the WRNS BT (and other naval charities) that covered the cottage renovation and bathroom upgrade costs. As she said in her note of thanks to WRNS BT - “Thank you for the very generous gift towards my new, ‘age-friendly’ bathroom; it’s lovely to walk into a roomy shower and at least be able to turn around as I get out”! This was a salutary reminder and incentive for me to get back on the coastal path as soon as possible.
Currently I’m forced into ‘marking time’, watching ‘Tanker TV’ on Milford’s waterway and taking occasional strolls down to the port. It was on one of these outings that I met ‘Bertie’. Created by local sculptor Gideon Petersen, ‘Bertie the Bass’ measures 14 feet in length and glistens in the sunshine. Constructed of numerous plastic bottles of all shapes, sizes and colours, he has been designed to highlight the gravity of plastic pollution in the sea.
As part of a wider UN initiative, the Port of Milford Haven is a key member of the Wales Clean Seas Partnership in which all members are striving to reduce plastic pollution. Having walked vast swathes of the UK coastline, I’m not surprised to learn that it’s estimated that the equivalent of a dustbin lorry full of plastic enters the world’s oceans every single minute. Nor am I surprised to read that up to one million sea birds die each year as a result of eating pieces of plastic; many fish, dolphins, seals and whales suffer the same fate too. I hope ‘Bertie’ manages to educate and help ‘turn the tide on plastic’.
Outside I can hear some seagulls who’ve not yet succumbed to plastic poisoning, probably because they survive on ice-creams snatched from unsuspecting tourists. Now there’s an idea – I’m off to mobilise my right arm by holding a cone!
More next week and hopefully better news from the Physio Team.
See Photo Album No 69 – Marking Time
Milford Haven’s Memorials
If you look hard enough, there’s always a silver lining to any cloud. I found that precious lining this week, when I watched Storm Gareth’s huge black clouds roll into Milford Haven. For once, I had a ringside view from the apartment balcony and never felt a drop!
With my ‘bootometer’ remaining stuck at 4,329 miles I continue to be confined to Milford Haven. On my potterings around the place I’ve been struck by the town’s array of memorials. The first I encountered was close to our apartment: the Belgian Refugee Memorial, dating back to the first World War.
During WWI the UK was home to at least 250,000 Belgian refugees and convalescing wounded Belgian soldiers. While here, many refugees became involved in the war effort and in some instances Belgian ‘colonies’ were created where they all lived together. Dame Agatha Christie is reported to have based her fictitious detective character, Hercule Poirot, on a Belgian refugee she met in her home town of Torquay.
Milford Haven also played its part in hosting over 700 refugees from Ostend, together with the crews of 24 Belgian fishing boats and 2 steam trawlers. The local fishing industry had already created century-old links with the West Flanders area of Belgium, so there was at least some common ground between the locals and incomers. During their stay in the town, Milford had a Belgium primary school solely for the refugee children; this situation was not uncommon in other parts of the UK too.
The Belgian Refugee Memorial was presented to residents of Milford Haven by steam trawler owners and people of Ostend who had found a safe haven at Milford. Erected as a token of gratitude it reads ‘Erected by the steam trawler owners and people of Ostend who were resident in this town during the Great War 1914-1919, as a mark of gratitude to the British nation in general and to the people of Milford Haven in particular for the hospitality received here during the period of exile from Belgium.’
Nearby, a memorial overlooking the waterway commemorates those early Milford fishermen who brought wealth to the town. On one side it reads ‘A tribute to our fishermen’ and on the other are the words ‘Thanks to them Milford Haven flourished.’
In more recent times it has been the energy businesses of oil and gas that have dominated the local skyline and remain one of the area’s core industries. A striking ‘Flame’ memorial sits overlooking the waterway, and when the evening sun is setting, we’ve noticed how the red/orange sky reflects on the Flame memorial. It looks just like a burning flame (known as a Flare Stack) from an oil refinery chimney. The memorial is also a tribute to four Pembroke Oil Refinery workers who died in a 2011 explosion.
Unsurprisingly, Milford Haven has a prominent War Memorial. Its presence is testament to the importance of Milford Haven and its neighbour, Pembroke Dock, during both World Wars. I was particularly struck by the sheer number of names suffixed by RNR inscribed on the memorial’s granite face; many of those named had been crew members of armed trawlers, minesweepers and other naval vessels.
I noticed a much more recent name and date had been added to the War Memorial’s base: Sgt Edward W Collins of the 2nd Parachute Regiment, who had been killed in September 2007 while serving with the SAS in Iraq. He is also remembered in the nearby Memorial Gardens where a ‘poppy bench’ has been erected. In those same gardens Milford Haven proudly remembers the town’s only Victoria Cross holder: Hubert William "Stokey” Lewis VC (1 May 1896 - 22 February 1977) who was lucky enough to return home safely after his heroism.
While on the subject of war service, it would be remiss of me if I failed to mention members of the (then) Empire who came to assist Britain. Close to the town’s War Memorial I came across a much smaller memorial on which the names of six Australians from the Royal Australian Air Force are listed. Flying in a Wellington, they all lost their lives when it crashed in Milford Haven’s waterway in July 1942.
Less than two years later, the town and surrounding areas played its part in the preparations for the Normandy Landings on D-Day. Those veterans have not been forgotten – a Normandy Veteran Association plaque has been placed in a commanding position over the waterway. With this year marking D-Day’s 75th anniversary, I’ve no doubt wreaths will be laid here in June.
Not far from the NVA memorial I spotted an old naval mine, one of thousands that can be found in numerous seaside towns around the coastline of Britain. This one is being used as a memorial to commemorate the workforce who had worked tirelessly in the local RN Mine Depot and also the crews of various HM fast minelayers that had used those mines manufactured at the Depot.
Towns are always keen to mark Royal visits, and Milford Haven is no different with its George IV listed memorial. Perhaps what I’d not expected was to see such a forlorn looking memorial marking the landing of George IV in September 1821. Originally erected on a warehouse near the steps where he landed, it was later moved to a bridge toll house, then moved once again when that bridge was demolished to make way for a new one. From the parts that I could read, I gathered His Majesty came for a visit, departed, but was forced to return to port because of awful weather. During his enforced stay in the town ‘thousands of his loyal subjects flocked to see him’; all of this was covered in an elaborate and fulsome description on an eight-foot high memorial tablet. For such a visit today, a newspaper headline would probably do the job!
My inactivity has continued, and although I thought I’d ‘slung my sling’, the Physio Team advised me otherwise. At least it’s no longer a bed-mate and its use has been reduced for when I’m out and about. I now understand the extent of the soft tissue damage to my shoulder and am limited to a few joint mobilisation exercises. Strengthening comes later. Therefore, in Naval parlance, I’m on ‘very light duties’ for the next few weeks with my Support Team doing all cleaning, linen changes, bag carrying and cooking. It’s not a bad life – for me!
See Photo Album No 68 – Milford Haven’s Memorials
Healing in Milford Haven
In the past week I have continued to adapt to my immobile state. On the afternoon of my accident, on a pain scale I’d shot from zero to 100 in a few seconds. Conversely, on an activity scale I’ve since plummeted from 100 to zero. This has been a tough period of readjustment with all previous Victory Walk routines thrown into abeyance. From putting on my own walking boots each morning, I’m now forced to ask the Support Team to tie my shoelaces!
Waiting for swelling, bruising and soft tissues to heal is a slow process. Thankfully, our waterside apartment balcony has commanding views of Milford Haven’s bustling waterway so there is always something to watch. Fishing boats, gas carriers, tankers, tugs, pilot launches and the Oscar Wilde ferry working the Pembroke Dock to Rosslare route are all ‘regulars’ plying their trade. Directly opposite, the Valero refinery jetties are always busy: as I write four tankers are either taking-on or discharging fuel.
During my less painful moments I’ve ventured into Milford Haven’s town and Marina. I’ve decided that having the Victory Walk abruptly interrupted here isn’t such a bad place after all. In my ‘armless’ predicament I soon realised I was in the exalted company of Admiral Lord Nelson who features around the town. I took myself off to the Lord Nelson Hotel where I began to wonder why this famous Admiral had connections Milford.
Milford Haven’s initial development was conceived by nobleman Charles Francis Greville and his uncle, diplomat Sir William Hamilton. Through his first marriage, Sir William inherited estates and land in south Pembrokeshire, including Milford, on the death of first his wife in 1782. Already established in Naples as an Ambassador, Sir William returned to Pembrokeshire to bury his wife and discuss estate business with nephew Charles.
Between them they formulated a plan to design Milford on a grid pattern and develop it as a whaling centre and shipyard. Whaling never prospered and in time the town decided to concentrate on fishing – it became Wales’ principal fishing port. The shipyard was leased to a private company that went bankrupt in 1800. Afterwards the Navy Board was persuaded to lease the site for building warships; that arrangement remained until the Admiralty developed its own Royal Dockyard across the water in Pembroke Dock in 1814.
Sir William is probably better remembered through his second wife, Lady Emma Hamilton, famed as Admiral Nelson’s mistress. Emma had previously been Greville’s mistress before being passed on in 1786 to his widowed uncle who had continued in his Ambassador’s role in Naples. Emma eventually became Sir William’s mistress before they married five years later. The meeting between the Hamiltons and Admiral Nelson after his Battle of the Nile success in 1798 is well documented, as is Nelson and Emma’s affair that subsequently developed.
In 1800 Sir William indicated he wished to retire and return to England. The ménage à trois travelled together back to England and lived in close proximity to one another. Among pursuing his numerous interests, Hamilton devoted more time to his Pembrokeshire estate matters. Meanwhile, in August 1802 it was Greville who shrewdly invited Nelson to speak at a banquet at the New Inn, Milford Haven on the fourth anniversary of the Battle of the Nile.
The banquet was held in honour of Sir William and Lady Hamilton and Admiral Nelson. Who better to endorse the benefits of Milford Haven, the dockyard and assist with Milford Haven’s development? On that visit Nelson is reputed to have said that “Milford Haven was the finest natural harbour in the Northern Hemisphere.” Besides, having wooed Sir William’s wife, it was the least the Admiral could do in return!
Following Nelson’s visit to the New Inn, its name was changed to The Lord Nelson Hotel. The affinity between one of Britain’s most heroic figures and the town has lasted. A letter written by Nelson from HMS Victory in 1804 is held in Milford’s parish archives, and after Nelson’s untimely death in 1805 the town continued to honour him. The development of Milford Haven appears to have been a ‘family’ affair with street names such as Charles, Francis, Trafalgar, and Greville all used, although I’ve found no direct reference to Emma.
Old steps leading down from Hamilton Terrace to the harbour on Nelson Quay bear the name Nelson Steps, and new Marina buildings have been called Temeraire and Agamemnon after ships that fought at the Battle of Trafalgar. With its grand views overlooking the Haven’s waterway, the Lord Nelson Hotel built in Hamilton Terrace could be regarded as the ultimate cuckoo in the nest!
The healing process has required me to keep a low profile, but others have stepped forward to provide support. Invitations to Sunday lunch, a hospital taxi service, lifts to the supermarket, and the arrival of a beautiful bouquet of flowers have all helped raise the Victory Walker’s spirits. And if these were not enough, donations have also continued. This includes a generous cheque from members of the Pembrokeshire Branch of the Association of Wrens who I was able to meet in Haverfordwest. Our sincere thanks to everyone who has rallied round.
STOP PRESS: Good News. I revisited the hospital today where I was told I can start physio on Wednesday and can sling my sling – yippeeee!
See Photo Album No 67 – Healing in Milford Haven (Only a small selection of photos as I am still unable to use a camera comfortably)
A Severely Disjointed Fortnight!
From my last entry readers will know I’d rounded St David’s Head and was making good progress along Pembrokeshire’s coast path. And then it went quiet . . .
Probably, you incorrectly assumed, I was celebrating Wales’ victory over England in the Six Nations rugby, or that I was preparing for St David’s Day by picking daffodils and eating Welsh Cakes. The latter could be true, but the truth is the Victory Walk came to a stumbling halt. I hope this extended Log entry will update you all.
The week began well, seeing me walk into the much photographed, picturesque and narrow harbour of Solva. Now on the south Pembrokeshire coastline, I knew I was in for a treat walking undulating cliffs, passing sandy coves and huge beaches popular with surfers. I was making my way round the vast St Bride’s Bay, a popular tourist area passing familiar place names such as Newgale, Nolton Haven, Druidston, Broad Haven, and Little Haven.
Until I passed an old chimney which was part of a former colliery engine house, I had not realised that this area of Pembrokeshire once had coal mines. I also came across an eco-building, known locally as the ‘Tellytubby House’! Built at great expense by a former labour MP and barrister, Bob Marshall-Andrews, I thought it more resembled a tank on manoeuvres on Salisbury Plain.
Later I reached the village of St Bride’s Haven, overlooked by a mansion that used to be known as Kensington House. Today it’s probably best known as St Bride’s Castle and features in a Holiday Property Bond advertisement, fronted by former tennis player and BBC Wimbledon presenter Sue Barker. The building has had a chequered history and at one stage was used as a hospital specialising in treating young children with tuberculosis. In the nearby churchyard of St Bridget’s, I came across some simple headstones of children who had died in the hospital from this illness.
The night before I headed off towards St Ann’s Head lighthouse, we parked above the beautiful Marloes Sands which I walked by early next morning. Later, I smiled at sheep grazing on what was once a naval airfield known as HMS Goldcrest, and saw ponies grazing near the remains of HMS Harrier at Kete. Having recently met two ‘wrens’ who had served out on the Dale peninsula, I chuckled to think how things had changed since their day. That evening I visited sea cadets at Milford Haven where it was good to see that their unit, TS Harrier, is proud to retain a name associated with that wartime station.
After St Ann’s Head I found a stone with a plaque which stated Henry VII had landed nearby, gathered his army and headed for Bosworth Field where he defeated Richard III in 1485. Richard is probably now better remembered for his body being rediscovered under a city council car park in Leicester. His remains were subsequently reburied in Leicester Cathedral in 2015. Meanwhile, Henry VII is best remembered for being the last King of England to win his throne on a battlefield. He was also canny enough to marry Richard III’s niece, Elizabeth of York!
After circling St Ann’s peninsula I walked into Dale village where I saw some restored lime kilns: these stone structures have been a feature all along the Pembrokeshire coast. The intense heat in kilns converted limestone rock into powdery quicklime used to improve the acidic soils of Pembrokeshire. Kilns were traditionally built adjacent to harbours, enabling ships to bring in assorted cargoes and take out quicklime for use elsewhere. Lime was also used in building and construction.
I’d pushed hard towards Dale because I wanted to beat the incoming tide and walk across Pickleridge causeway before the low footbridge became submerged. I made it with time to spare but knew I couldn’t beat the tide at my next crossing point, Sandy Haven. That afternoon in woodland, I came across my first spring flowers – primroses, snowdrops and catkins hanging from branches. Later, as expected, the stepping stones at Sandy Haven were nowhere to be seen: there was no option other than a road walk round to Herbrandston.
Approaching Herbrandston I noticed the words ‘a doubly thankful village’ under the village road sign. I’d heard of ‘Thankful Villages but had never come across the term ‘doubly thankful’. Thankful Villages, sometimes referred to as Blessed Villages, are those that do not have a WWI war memorial because all the local men who left to serve in the Great War arrived home safely. A Doubly Thankful Village is one where all residents who joined-up survived both World Wars; researchers believe there are fewer than twenty Doubly Thankful Villages in the UK.
Back on the cliffs, views and surroundings were soon to alter. I was now heading towards Milford Haven waterway, kept busy with ferries, oil tankers and LNG (Liquefied Natural Gas) carriers. This area of Wales plays an important role in the UK’s energy sector, and South Hook LNG terminal is one of the biggest in the world; the site had previously been an Esso oil refinery. A little further upstream towards Neyland I passed the Dragon LNG terminal built on a former Gulf Oil refinery site. Between them, these terminals provide approximately 20% of the UK’s current natural gas needs.
The South Hook terminal is part of a fascinating logistics chain whose story begins in Qatar’s gas fields in the Arabian Gulf. From here gas is piped to a Qatar processing plant where impurities are removed and it is cooled to an incredibly low temperature (-160C), which turns it into liquefied gas. Once in this form it’s stored in specially insulated tanks. Those low temperatures must be retained throughout its 18-day sea journey of 6,140 nautical miles from Qatar to Milford Haven.
On arrival in the UK the process is reversed (known as regasification) before the natural gas is piped out of Milford into the gas national grid network. Although I wasn’t lucky enough to see the latest Q-Flex LNG ships on the waterway, I did see the Arctic Princess LNG carrier, with its distinctive gas holders resembling gigantic scoops of red ice cream!
My interesting afternoon continued. Ahead of me I could see the Cleddau Bridge spanning the estuary between Neyland and Pembroke Dock – another place full of Naval history. For over a century ships were built at the Royal Dockyard, ranging from Royal Yachts to RN ships, with the final ship, RFA tanker Oleander, being launched in 1922.
The Dockyard closed four years later, though the area took on a new lease of life when the RAF made Pembroke Dock its flying boat base. During WWII it was home to Sunderland flying boats and was reported to be the largest operational flying boat base in the world. Two flying boat hangars have survived and can still be seen in the town. I finished the day’s walking at Pembroke where I found the Victory Van waiting in the shadow of Pembroke Castle, birthplace of Henry VII.
Next morning, I returned to Pembroke to resume my ‘energy sector’ walk past Pembroke’s ultra-modern natural gas-fired power station: opened in 2012 it was built on the site of a redundant oil-fired power station. My route then took me through fields adjacent to Pembroke’s vast oil refinery, where young bullocks grazed. This refinery, now owned by Valero, was previously owned by Regent, Texaco and Chevron respectively.
Walking my waterside route, it struck me as odd that this prominent refinery is such a feature in Pembrokeshire’s National Park. The next thing to strike was a small rock hidden in the grass; in a split second I tripped and was thrown downhill where I lay screaming with pain. I knew my right arm and shoulder was in serious trouble. My first concern was to see if the curious bullocks were going to venture closer, but my yells killed their curiosity! My second thought was to get to my feet, but sensing how sick I felt, I realised I’d have to take my time. Thirdly, with no phone signal I knew it was up to me to get back through the fields and summon help from oil refinery staff somewhere inside the perimeter fence. It was pure mental grit and adrenaline that saw me drag myself back up the hill - it seemed to take forever.
A combination of oil refinery staff – the first response team and the refinery’s ambulance - managed to help me in that first excruciatingly painful hour. Later, having been transferred into a county ambulance I was stabilised before being taken to the A & E department of Haverfordwest hospital. In all, seven hazy and very painful hours passed by with the A & E team trying to solve the problem. Unable to take any more pain, I was eventually admitted to theatre under general anaesthetic. Once there, my severely dislocated and chipped right shoulder was manipulated back into position. Exhausted I was kept in overnight while Frank slept in the hospital car park in the Victory Van.
We both knew it could have been worse, but I also knew the Victory Walk was now ‘on hold’. My right shoulder joint and its chipped bone need time to mesh together, after which the damaged soft tissues need to heal before physio can start. My entire right arm is as yellow as saffron rice and as purple as damson plums. Incredibly, there’s not a scratch, cut or bruise anywhere else on my body.
Having been told my arm must stay immobile for 3 weeks it was clear that living in the Van would not be practical. For the next four days I remained in shock and continuing pain. During this time all our efforts were concentrated on finding a suitable holiday let which could also provide parking for the Victory Van. Ironically the waterside apartment we finally found looks directly across Milford Haven waterway towards the Valero refinery and surrounding fields - the very scene of my accident. There’s nothing quite like rubbing salt into a wound!
I’ve since had another X-ray which confirms shoulder and chipped bone were successfully married-up. Healing time has begun: my main challenge now is remaining patient and not becoming an impatient patient!
See Photo Album No 66 - A Severely Disjointed Fortnight
St David’s Head Ahead!
Starting at Cardigan, I managed two days on the Pembrokeshire coast path before Storm Erik took his turn at disrupting my walking schedule. With 55mph winds and driving rain, it made no sense for me to be out alone on remote cliffs.
In addition to some tough walking on a dramatic coastline, animals, ocean liners, transatlantic communications, the patron saint of Wales and the last attempted invasion of Great Britain have all played a part in my disjointed week.
My first day was a long, tiring 17 miler of wild, rugged and strenuous walking on the North Pembrokeshire coast. I was lucky enough to find a small sheltered bay – not always easy to do - for a lunch stop before pushing on to the Witches’ Cauldron. The footpath led me over a tapered land bridge with water on either side. The inner chasm has been created by the collapse of a sea cave’s roof. Beneath the footpath a narrow sea passage connects the cauldron with the sea. Keen not to end up being stirred by a witch, I made sure my feet weren’t distracted!
That evening we were kindly hosted at Dyfed Shire Horse Farm where they have bred drum horses for the Household Cavalry and the Royal Cavalry of the Sultanate of Oman. These magnificent and muscular animals were so much larger than the ponies I met later in the week being used to assist with conservation grazing.
I continue to see sheep who regularly believe ‘the grass is greener’ on the other side of their fence. One afternoon I encountered a young ewe who had got her head stuck in mesh fencing. Judging by her agitated state and the amount of wool stuck to the fence, she’d been there for quite some time. Removing my rucksack, approaching her slowly and talking quietly, I managed to calm her before helping to release her head. Churlishly she ran off at speed without a backward glance of thanks.
My second day on the path took me to Fishguard along another equally dramatic piece of coastline. From Dinas Island (which isn’t an island at all but a wedge of land divided from the ‘mainland’ by a glacial channel) I had wide views back to Newport Bay and ahead to Fishguard. It’s easy to see how weather has ravaged the coastline over the centuries: I saw the remains of St Brynach’s 12th century church at Cwm-yr-Eglwys which suffered its first bout of severe damage in the Great Storm of 1859. On that same night 114 ships were also wrecked along the Welsh coastline, including the clipper Royal Charter carrying a cargo of gold bullion.
Fishguard is a fascinating place and we were fortunate that the local Sea Cadet unit, TS Skirmisher, in Lower Town could accommodate the Victory Van. Housed in an ancient warehouse, but modernised inside, the unit’s facilities are quite outstanding. The cadets’ enthusiasm was also evident judging by the number of competitions they have won. A great place where we enjoyed a lively evening!
Fishguard’s Royal Oak Inn is famous for the French surrender, following a failed invasion attempt in 1797. Although I didn’t venture into the pub, on my walk out of Fishguard to Strumble Head, I did see the Carreg Goffa memorial which marks the place where the French troops landed. The invasion is also depicted in a pavement mosaic at Goodwick, Fishguard’s neighbour.
Goodwick had initially been a port for steamers travelling to Ireland, but by 1909 the lengthy North Breakwater had been built with the intention that Goodwick would become a terminal for ocean liners too. Cunard’s flagship, Mauretania, called for the first time in 1909 and the Great Western Railway helped transport passengers in and out of the town. Nearby, the Fishguard Bay hotel also operated by GWR, provided accommodation for wealthier passengers before they embarked on their sea journeys. The start of WWI, harbour silting and Cunard deciding to base its fleet at Southampton all led to the ocean business being abandoned. However, ferries still run to Ireland, the railway link has been retained and the hotel has survived.
Walking the cliffs out to and beyond Strumble Head there were yet more interesting things to see. The lighthouse, stuck out on a tiny nodule of land, was hidden from view for most of my approach but was clearly visible for many miles afterwards as I headed towards St David’s Head. Later, I came across the Cable Hut at Aber Mawr. Now a holiday cottage, this stone and corrugated iron hut once housed the first telegraph, later telephone, lines laid across the Atlantic in the 1860s. These were the technological marvels of the age, just as our satellite communications are today.
Continuing on my route, I could see how the Irish Sea has caused cliff erosion, natural arches, jagged rocks, caves, and much more – all of which I’ve noticed during my hours on the paths. I’m always conscious of cliff overhangs, so when I overheard seals below me, I was cautious in my approach. Below I saw over 30 seals of various shapes, sizes and colour sprawled across a shingle cove. From a distance they resembled those speckled Belgian chocolates made in the shape of seashells!
Turning the corner at St David’s Head was a very special moment for me. Ahead lay the expanse of St Bride’s Bay and I’ve been told that the South Pembrokeshire coastline is easier walking. Ramsey Island and Sound with its strong tidal currents were clear to see. The walk by Whitesands Bay was wonderful, and above me a friendly drone recorded a happy Victory Walker striding towards St Justinians and onward to St Non’s, reputedly the birthplace of St David. I felt as if I’d reached the pulse of Wales.
See Photo Album Numbers 65
Three Down – Three to Go
Another long estuary tramp, being forced to seek temporary shelter, more assorted donations, an ancient university town, a sweet shop with over 600 jars on display, and savage terrain have seen me reach the end of the 132-mile Ceredigion coast path. I’m now poised to start my fourth Welsh path – the Pembrokeshire Coast Path.
With no sea bridging-point at Aberdovey, it was a two day walk to go up to Machynlleth and down the other side of the Dovey estuary. Those two days could not have been more different. The route upwards took me onto a ridge overlooking Happy Valley in bright sunshine before more rolling hills appeared as I began the ‘Panorama Walk’ with glorious estuary views too. I briefly dropped down into a valley before striking up again through forests, later descending almost vertically into Machynlleth.
Here I was dwarfed by the town’s famous landmark clock. Funded by public subscriptions, the clock was built in 1874 to celebrate the 21st birthday of Viscount Castlereagh: I just hope he appreciated the generosity of his neighbours and that he was always on time for any future appointments!
Next morning began grey and cloudy but strong winds soon blew in heavy rain, later turning to sleet. Despite walking in a dense forest I could get no proper shelter to turn my map. Being in a remote area, habitation was scarce so it was with relief that I came across a lone farmhouse. For the first time since the Victory Walk began, I was forced to knock on a door to seek assistance. Kate, the owner could not have been more helpful, inviting me in for a coffee while we removed the map from its cover and turned it; if I’d done this outside it would have become one soggy mess. She also provided a photocopy of a further section, placing it in a plastic wallet. I was now equipped for the rest of the day. Such a generous and thoughtful lady.
Later that day I was to meet another kind, helpful person. Yvette had joined the ‘Wrens’ as a communicator and been one of the first women to serve at sea in HMS Brilliant. Seeing my bedraggled state she helpfully made a chicken casserole for us to eat on that wild evening in Borth, followed by her mouth-watering bara brith cake. Next morning she arrived with a box of free range eggs before waving me off to Aberystwyth.
Regardless of the weather, walking conditions have certainly tested my resolve on more than one occasion. I experienced some roller-coaster cliff walking on my way to Aberystwyth and again towards New Quay further along the coast. The climbs have been severe, followed by plunges into deep ravines, before yet another ascent and the sight of more hills ahead. Windswept cliffs tower over remote coves, jagged rocks and mighty falls if I slip on the muddy paths strewn with hailstones. Treading carefully requires a reduced walking speed, which in turn affects distances covered and timings.
Arriving at Aberystwyth was certainly a landmark moment. An ancient market town and holiday resort, it is also home to the National Library of Wales and a university with interesting roots dating back to 1860. Then, there was a movement to establish a national University of Wales. People from across Wales made contributions, large and small, and by 1867 £10,000 had been raised to purchase the former Castle Hotel.
Known then as University College Wales, it opened in 1872 with just 3 staff and 26 male students. Twelve years later women were admitted, although initially the men and women students were not permitted to socialise or talk to one another. Today there are approximately 8,500 students at Aberystwyth University’s new campus but I was lucky enough to walk by the Old College buildings and also witnessed the local custom of someone ‘Kicking the Bar’; this is reputed to have originated from the university’s early days.
This tradition involves people walking the length of the promenade and kicking the railings at its northern end. There are two theories about its origin. Firstly, male college students used to ‘kick the bar’ to attract the attention of female students lodged in nearby Alexandra Hall, once a female only college hall of residence. The other story is that all students were encouraged to walk the length of the Promenade to ‘kick the bar’ to get fresh air and exercise in order to reduce the spread of tuberculosis in the college. I believe the first story is more likely!
Recognising that the coast path guidebook has been written with terrain and local amenities in mind, I have continued to follow the suggested walking legs in the knowledge that the Victory Van can retrieve me at the end of each day. What hasn’t been so easy is finding suitable overnight stops, as most campsites remain closed at this time of year.
As before, we have received practical assistance from various sources including the RNLI and Aberystwyth Sea Cadets, where we ended up staying an extra night – all thanks to the predicted snow which never arrived. Morrison’s store at Aberystwyth was also kind enough to make a donation to the Victory Walk coffers, as did the lovely Wrens who later cheered me on at Aberporth.
Walking into Cardigan was a great moment, knowing I’d conquered my third Welsh Coast Path, the Ceredigion. I’ve now only three to go. The best part of the day was walking into the Yum Yum sweet shop which has 600 jars of sweets on display, a further 300 choices in pic ‘n mix, and a 4 metre display of chocolates – reputedly the longest in Wales. I couldn’t leave without clutching a bag of sweeties and I think I might never leave Cardigan!
See Photo Album Numbers 64
Dodging the Snow in Snowdonia
Well-wishers, slate, turning south, snow, a 4,000-mile service, heritage railways, an Italianate village and ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ were all on this week’s agenda as I moved from the Llyn to the Ceredigion Coastal Path.
Shortly after leaving the peace of Pwllheli Marina, I met with a former Wren, Jeannie, who made last minute arrangements for us to park the Victory Van in a large barn. Safe from a wild storm, we sheltered in peace, eating delicious cream cakes that Jeannie had kindly delivered to the Van. Once a Petty Officer Cook, always a PO Cook!
As I approached Porthmadog it seemed that people had received advance notice of my arrival. Noting that the local Police Community Support Officer, Paula, had also served in the Royal Navy, I sensed local intelligence was very well informed! At Borth-y-Gest well-wishers waited in the chilly air to make some Victory Walk donations, and the local café came out with a steaming mug of much needed coffee for me.
Rounding the corner into Porthmadog, I noted that snow had fallen on the hills and mountains above me. It looked beautiful but it was a relief that it hadn’t affected my walking plans. That night we parked in the grounds of Snowdon Lodge, at nearby Tremadog. The Lodge was the birthplace of TE Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia) who was born here in 1888. He became famous during WWI when he led the Arab uprising against the Turks, later immortalised in a film in which Peter O’Toole took the title role.
Before starting the Ceredigion coast path from Porthmadog, a local osteopath with Naval connections, Anja, kindly offered to give my body an MOT and full 4,000 mile service. I’m delighted to report that I passed my MOT and was able to leave Porthmadog next morning with a spring in my step!
Porthmadog, referred to locally as ‘Port’, was developed for shipbuilding and the international export of slate brought down from quarries at neighbouring Blaenau Ffestiniog. Although slate is no longer exported, some harbour buildings have survived, as has the railway that was once used for slate transportation.
Wales is famous for its ‘Little Trains’ and the narrow-gauge Ffestiniog line which terminates at Porthmadog harbour is probably one of Wales’ best known lines. The train track crosses a mile-long embankment built across an estuary, known as ‘the Cob’. Sadly, there were no steam trains running on the morning I crossed the Cob to begin my journey to the unique village of Portmeirion.
Portmeirion’s architect, Sir Clough Williams-Ellis, began creating his village in 1925 with his work spreading over a fifty-year period. Sir Clough was a man of immense talent who brought together his skills and passion for colourful architecture, town planning and rural preservation; amongst other things he pushed for National Parks and helped draw up Snowdonia’s National Park boundaries. Resembling a Mediterranean village, and with a micro-climate to support similar trees and plants, I found Portmeirion to be a charming, albeit slightly eccentric enclave. No wonder it’s been used in various film and TV sets over the years.
Many people will also be familiar with Portmeirion Pottery which was founded by Sir Clough’s elder daughter, Susan, in 1960. One of her most famous designs, ‘Botanic Garden’ is sold worldwide, along with other Portmeirion pottery items. Although the actual pottery is based in Stoke-on-Trent, the producers state the spiritual home is Portmeirion village, in North Wales.
Later the same day, having circled and crossed the Dwyryd estuary, I was able to catch sight of the quaint village across the water before I walked into Harlech. Our overnight driveway stop was high above the famous castle with its far-reaching views. Next morning as I set off to walk miles of deserted sands, I could see why Harlech Castle on its almost vertical cliff-face, was such a fought-for prize. In 1647 it was the last Royalist castle to fall to Oliver Cromwell during the English Civil War.
Arriving in Barmouth I was stuck by vast areas of beach with its sand bar. Shipbuilding was the town’s heritage, but in more recent times it has become a busy seaside resort. Barmouth lies on the river Mawddach’s huge estuary, has steep hills towering immediately behind and Cadair Idris mountain is the larger neighbour. We parked overnight alongside Barmouth’s new purpose-built lifeboat station; this houses both an all-weather and inshore lifeboat, and it was fascinating to learn how lifesaving has changed and advanced over the past two centuries. Barmouth is now preparing to accept the latest class of all-weather boat, the Shannon, at its station.
For me, leaving Barmouth required almost a half mile walk across the much photographed Barmouth Bridge over the Mawddach’s fast-flowing waters. This was easier than the Support Team’s 14-mile road trip on narrow roads, up and around the estuary. Barmouth’s Bridge takes the single-track Cambrian Line railway, together with a planked path used by foot passengers and cyclists. For this privilege I paid my £1.00 fee at the Troll Booth before stepping onto the bridge!
I usually have ‘a head for heights’ but confess to feeling slightly unnerved as I stood on single layered and weather-beaten green planks, looking through the gaps at the ripping current below. During my crossing I saw workmen on a float fitted with scaffolding being manoeuvred into position by a jet-ski, and it was plainly evident how strong the tidal flow was.
Making my way further south, I’ve regularly run parallel to and criss-crossed the Cambrian railway – this appears to provide a very regular service, up and down the coast and into nearby cities. Occasionally, the path takes me further inland and up steep hills where I see little, other than sunken lanes, lots of sheep and miles of stone walls and enclosures.
On one of these forays I entered the old Goleuwern slate quarry, high on a hill overlooking Fairbourne. The sheer height of the worked slate faces and the ancient superbly constructed slate walls were a real marvel. At one point I ventured through a tunnel, with old rail tracks still visible, to discover a water-filled quarry. Known as the Blue Lake with its petrol blue waters, I understand why so many people venture up to see these workings.
Arriving drenched to the skin at Aberdovey, I was reminded of many soakings I had when doing an Outward Bound course here approximately 40 years ago. If nothing else, Welsh weather is consistent!
See Photo Album Numbers 63
Rounding the Welsh ‘Land’s End’
Using forgotten leg muscles, clocking 4,000 miles, following in the footsteps of Pilgrims, discovering granite quarries, a Royal fortress and an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, have all come my way during a week of varied walking.
Leaving Caernarfon, I was struck by Caernarfon castle’s grandeur with its commanding views over the Menai Strait. Like Flint and Conwy castles I’d passed last week, Caernarfon’s fortress was another initiated by Edward I in a vain effort to keep the Welsh under English domination. Much of the original town remains encircled by ancient walls, and in 1969 the investiture of Prince Charles, as Prince of Wales, took place within this Castle.
The mastermind behind the Prince’s investiture was Lord Snowdon (Antony Armstrong-Jones, 1st Earl of Snowdon), the then husband to HRH Princess Margaret. By chance, I came across his grave with its simple slate headstone in the isolated churchyard of St Baglan’s, at Llanfaglan. Buried in the family plot, his grave stands in the shadow of the Snowdon mountain range and is not far from Caernarfon.
Further on, walking into the tight-knit village of Trefor, it was easy to see how the local granite quarry had once dominated the inhabitants’ lives. Some old quarry workings could be seen high above on the slopes of Yr Eifl, and the harbour still bares evidence of where granite was once shipped away. Next morning, my legs, heart and lungs worked hard as I toiled up 1,000 feet towards the Bwlch Yr Eifl (the pass) that took me up past redundant quarry buildings and through a high saddle. Just as I reached the highest point, rain and mist snatched the hoped-for views from me!
Descending the other side, conditions improved enough for me to catch glimpses of the secluded valley of Nant Gwrtheyrn below me. Known locally as ‘Nant’, the settlement looks out to sea and is bordered on its remaining three sides by vast disused quarrying workings in and around Yr Eifl slopes. In the 1860s there were three quarries based in ‘Nant’, together with a chapel, and purpose-built terraced houses for the quarrymen and their families. Over 2,000 people lived in this remote community stuck at the bottom of a deep valley serviced by a steep zig-zag road.
The roadbuilding demands for granite setts placed by expanding cities lasted until the 1920s, but by the start of WWII the quarries were all in decline. After they closed, people remained living in ‘Nant’ until 1959, after which the village was left deserted until the 1970s, when hippies from the New Atlantis Commune moved in. Eight years later they too moved out, leaving the vandalised village to rot.
It was the vision of a local GP, Dr Carl Clowes who wished the Welsh language to be retained, that revived ‘Nant’s’ fortunes. By seeking funding to purchase the derelict village from the quarry owners, he and many other Welsh people ensured ‘Nant’ survived. Today, the Welsh Language and Heritage Centre is based here. It’s a thriving concern where the old houses and chapel have been restored and people once more live in the valley which is now serviced by a new road.
I continued walking the Llyn coastal path which in parts also acts as the North Wales Pilgrims’ Way. The 130-mile long Pilgrims’ route links ancient churches dedicated to saints of the 5th and 6th centuries; starting near Holywell it crosses North Wales and ends at Bardsey Island, passing churches along the route that would have provided shelter. On my travels I paused at the tiny St Beuno’s church, Pistyll and St Hywyn’s church at Aberdaron, the final stop for pilgrims before they took a boat to Bardsey Island.
I was able to gain my own views of Bardsey Island at the tip of the Llyn peninsula only after more tough walking and clambering up three mountains: Carreg, Anelog and finally Mawr. In between, it was frustrating to lose all the height gained when I was forced to plunge down a valley, before climbing up again. It’s easy to see why this wild, rocky and quiet Llyn peninsula is classed as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty.
Arriving at the top of Mynydd Mawr I wasn’t disappointed with the views and understood why the tip is nicknamed ‘the Land’s End of Wales’. I must admit to being daunted by the views south - a seemingly endless ribbon of land disappeared down the Ceredigion coastline towards Cardigan and beyond. This is terrain yet to be walked by my two poor feet!
Sights along the way have included the former RAF Llandwrog airfield (now Caernarfon airport), used during WWII for various training, including gunners, navigators and night-time flying. Nearby, I stood on an Iron Age Fort, Dinas Dinlie, which provided spectacular views back to Anglesey. Close to Morfa Nefyn, I came across the famous Ty Coch Inn, nestling under the cliffs by the sandy beach at Porth Dinllaen: it’s reputed to be in the World’s top ten beach bars. Works of ‘art’ observed have been a wrought iron fish display swamping a small cottage garden and the Tin Man sculpture overlooking Llanbedrog bay.
This week I was really pleased to see my ‘bootometer’ click 4,000 miles. Fittingly, it happened as I passed by the Welsh Language and Heritage Centre - I celebrated with a coffee and toasted sandwich! This big milestone produced a flurry of very welcome donations (thank you), but as I’m sitting at only 23% of my target, I will be hoping for many more over the next few months. Along with the cash donations our overnight stops have seen the Victory Van parked outside the houses of some very kind people and by a lifeboat station. Truly, there has been ‘a welcome in the hills’ for the Victory Walker!
See Photo Album No 61 – BFBS Radio Interview with Hal Stewart, Jan 2019
See Photo Album Numbers 62
Back to Work!
My feet valued our Christmas break in a northern Wales holiday cottage, as did the Victory Walker and Support Team: we made one New Year’s resolution, namely to finish the Victory Walk.
During our ‘feet up time’ we worked on a plan that will see me walk the Wales Coast Path. Since 2012 the country has had a continuous path of 870 miles around its entire coast, from the River Dee at Chester to the River Severn at Chepstow. As I’m not walking around Anglesey my mileage is expected to be about 750 miles.
Although called the Wales Coast Path, it is in fact seven long distance paths that have been linked together. I returned to the North Wales path and have since started walking the Llyn Peninsula path. Unlike Scotland that required me to navigate through 66 OS maps, Wales looks slightly easier with a mere 18 OS maps and a bonus of 6 guide books!
Our first week back on the road returning to a routine has taken some adjustment. Overall, the weather has been fine and that helped our ‘shake-down’ week immensely. I’ve eased my feet back into the task, hoping that the recent rest will avoid any further setbacks. The feet worked, but the brain didn’t; I made some stupid navigational errors – all because I wasn’t concentrating.
The nature of the walk has been split into two definite sections – industry and tourism. I began by completing my walk along the River Dee banks where I saw how Deeside’s power station at Connah’s Quay dominates the skyline. Nearby, Tata Steel works, much reduced from its former British Steel heyday was also evident. Airbus is a large local employer whose factory manufactures wings for its aircraft range, which are then moved to France and Germany for final assembly.
At Mostyn docks further down the Dee, major works were undertaken to build special terminals and berths to handle these vast shipments overseas. With the navigable channel requiring constant dredging, Airbus has now made alternative arrangements by introducing its own aircraft transporter, the Airbus A300 ‘Beluga’ plane. Meanwhile, Mostyn port has diversified and provides a service to the offshore wind industry which was very evident during this week’s trek.
Industrially, the reputation of Wales was built on metals, coal, slate and stone – all of which I’ve witnessed during my travels. Bagillt has an impressive iron dragon beacon, one of a number of different beacons created at the time the Welsh Coast Path opened. Nearby at Bettisfield, I caught sight of the colliery’s former engine house now looking rather sad for itself; the colliery closed in the 1930s.
At the Dee’s mouth, Ayr Point colliery suffered the same fate, although it did survive until 1996. The mine workings extended far out to sea, with miners toiling about 1,000 feet below sea level. Little remains at the site, though I did notice some bollards where cargo ships used to come alongside to transport the coal away. A wood carving of a miner with his pony struck me as being rather poignant.
Talacre lighthouse at Ayr Point was built to mark the start of the Dee estuary. It was here that I changed direction to begin walking towards the resorts of Prestatyn, Rhyl, Pensarn, Abergele and Colwyn Bay. Concrete sea defences protecting acre upon acre of static caravans is not my idea of enjoyable walking, but I can usually find something of interest. Before reaching Colwyn Bay I noticed a huge aggregates quarry towering above me, inland from the busy A55 dual carriageway. There was a complicated zig-zag conveyor belt system that brought the stone down the hillside, under the main road and straight down the jetty to be loaded onto ships.
Colwyn Bay was a pleasant lunch stop and as I walked out towards the Little Orme I noticed a plaque which stated that a secret BBC studio was built here in case of invasion during WWII, but was only discovered in 1996. Before climbing the steep slope of Little Orme where I’d some excellent views back up the coast, I came across the minute and well cared for St Trillo’s Chapel at Rhos-on-Sea.
I descended from Little Orme into Llandudno with its elegant houses along the sea front and Wales’ longest pier. I walked the pier, from where I’d good views out to the Great Orme headland and saw how the nearby Grand Hotel had been constructed on bare rock of the shoreline. Later during my ascent of the Great Orme, a magnificent towering limestone headland, thick mist and rain reduced visibility to nothing. Luckily the rain blew through before I reached Conwy Castle, one of many castles that I know I’ll be seeing in Wales! Down on the harbour front I spied a minute house which is said to be the smallest in Great Britain.
Before reaching Bangor I passed through Penmaenmawr with its enormous granite quarries dwarfing the miners’ cottages and beach below. I was transfixed by the engineering brilliance of routing not only a busy dual carriageway road and railway line, but also a cycle and footpath through and around the sheer rock face of Penmaen Mawr.
Continuing towards Bangor, slate began to feature. I came across old quarries and noticed slate fences constructed around properties and fields. Further on I saw my first slate milestone, with the town names and distances beautifully carved on its face. Bangor also has an elegant pier, the second longest in Wales, which reaches far out into the Menai Strait, giving me good views towards the Menai suspension bridge. Like the Conwy suspension bridge, the stunning Menai bridge was designed by Thomas Telford and links Anglesey to mainland Wales. Unsurprisingly another mighty castle was soon to appear on the horizon – Caernarfon – my finish line.
Although I’ve found the walking hard, my first week back on the road has been made considerably easier by the kind people who have helped us by providing home comforts and secure overnight parking. We thank them all.
See Photo Album No 60 – Back to Work
‘I’m Dreaming of a Welsh Christmas’!
Glasshouses, bronze sculptures, asparagus, Storm Deidre, maritime history and podiatrists have all played a part in my final walking week before I came off the road for a Christmas break.
The Ribble Way led me out of Preston, beside the river’s very muddy channel where I skirted the estuary before picking up the Sefton Coastal Way. I was surprised to come across acres of glasshouses and numerous plant nurseries. Hesketh Bank is sometimes called ‘the salad bowl of Lancashire’ although horticulture is not something I’d ever have associated with this ‘red rose’ county.
It was fascinating to find a place full of growers – each offering their unique selling point. One specialises in year-round glasshouse lettuce; another sells bedding plants on an industrial scale to outlets such as B & Q; others have opted to grow and supply every conceivable type of salad food. I think my favourite was the company that produces giant vegetable seeds, no doubt helping enthusiasts to win the largest marrow or onion competition at their local village fete!
Sefton’s Coastal Way took me towards Southport with its wide streets, large sandy beach and Grade II listed Pier, which is currently undergoing major restoration. Reported to be the country’s oldest iron pier, it’s also the second longest pier after Southend-on-Sea. Sadly, I was unable to walk its full length owing to parts of it being cordoned off for refurbishment. Unlike other seaside piers, Southport’s is unusual because it doesn’t start on the beach or promenade. Instead, it starts near the town and spans a busy main road, under which a steady stream of traffic flows.
Ainsdale, at Southport’s southerly end, was my RV point to enjoy frothy coffees with some former ‘Wrens’ who’d travelled in from Manchester. Meeting in the ‘whacky’ café-cum cycle shop (MeCycle), it was good to be in the warm where I received Christmas gifts and a Victory Walk donation from the Association of Wrens, Manchester Branch. Meanwhile, on the same day, Skegness Branch of the Royal Naval Association presented a £750 cheque to the Victory Walk, kindly collected by Commander Glynn Johns on my behalf. There have been other donations too, for which I’m always most grateful and I hope Santa brings more at Christmas!
Overnight, Ainsdale temperatures dropped suddenly resulting in a hard frost. Next morning, when heading towards Formby, I found myself walking over frozen sand dunes. It was a strange sensation and any hope of seeing local natterjack toads and sand lizards faded. Instead, I made another discovery while following the quaintly named Asparagus Trail. Before World War II, Formby had been a large and important asparagus growing area, with Liverpool Port enabling growers to export their delicacy worldwide. The National Trust has now reintroduced asparagus to the area, but not on its previous massive scale.
Continuing my coastal journey towards Liverpool, as dusk descended on Crosby, I became aware of life-size statues, spread along Crosby beach – some on the sand, others standing in the sea. It was an eerie sight. This area, known as ‘Another Place’, has been transformed by Antony Gormley’s 100 bronze sculptures, all looking seawards. I’d encountered a similar Gormley statue in Folkestone Harbour last year; that one was named Harbour Watchkeeper.
Next morning, I took the full force of Storm Deidre as I battled bitter gale-force winds and driving rain. As I got closer to Liverpool’s famous landmarks, I found myself being blown backwards down Bootle’s Dock Road. My head was on fire and my sore throat felt full of razorblades. This final heavy soaking resulted in the Victory Walker reporting ‘sick’ next morning, but for one day only.
During my fight to reach Liverpool’s Pier Head I felt, smelt and saw the city’s great maritime history unfold before me. Ships were alongside in several docks, articulated lorries and fork-lift trucks bustled around, rubbish swirled about my path and large decaying warehouses were visible. Elsewhere, it was clear regeneration had begun. At Stanley Dock in Liverpool’s old port, North Warehouse has been converted into the luxurious Titanic hotel. Next for redevelopment will be an ancient Tobacco warehouse. These sites have contributed to Liverpool being designated a UNESCO World Heritage Maritime Site.
Liverpool’s docks were used for worldwide imports and exports, during which time it became known as ‘The Second City of the Empire’. During the 1700s it overtook both London and Bristol in the slave trade. Later it became a key departure port for migrants setting out for a better life in the New World: it is estimated that 9 million migrants sailed from Liverpool. Liners also plied their trade from here and evidence of Liverpool’s maritime wealth can be seen in the 3 iconic buildings at Pier Head. Known as ‘Three Graces’, the Royal Liver Building, Cunard Building and Port of Liverpool Building are testament to the port’s success.
During World War II Liverpool became the Command Headquarters for the Battle of Atlantic campaign, from where planning and operations were controlled. It was here that Admiral Sir Max Horton, Commander-in-Chief Western Approaches, initiated ‘support groups’ of additional warships to supplement regular convoy escort groups. Support group ships had authority to break away from a convoy to search independently for enemy submarines. One of the most decorated and successful support group commanders was Captain ‘Johnnie’ Walker, whose skill in detecting and destroying U-Boats was legendary. His statue can be seen at the Pier Head.
Today, it is planned to erect an International Memorial for the Battle of Atlantic on Liverpool’s waterfront, and fundraising has started. It will be given International status because, in addition to the UK, other countries including Norway, USA, Canada and the Netherlands all contributed and suffered losses during the Battle of Atlantic. Figures vary, but is estimated that 3,500 merchant ships, 175 warships, 36,000 sailors and 36,000 merchant seamen were lost. Liverpool’s proud links with the Merchant Navy are also remembered in a MN Memorial, at the Pier Head.
Ten years ago, Liverpool was made the European Capital of culture, and it’s easy to see why. The City has an array of museums and art galleries, and during the late 50s and early 60s it witnessed the birth of many bands and solo artists. Undoubtedly the most famous of all Mersey bands was The Beatles, but others included The Searchers, Jerry and the Pacemakers, Swinging Blue Jeans and The Merseybeats, while solo artists included Billy Fury and Cilla Black. Along with many other UK singers and bands, they all feature in the British Music Experience housed in the former Cunard Building. It’s a far cry from this majestic building’s original use!
Stepping off the Mersey’s famous passenger ferry into Seacombe, I joined the Wirral Trail which took me towards the river mouth. Along the promenade, memorial plaques mark where merchant ships were lost, and a notice outside Wallasey’s imposing Town Hall recalls when it was converted to a 400-bed military hospital during WWI. Approaching New Brighton, the Wirral’s seaside resort, I noticed an extraordinary art installation called ‘Black Pearl’; it’s a community-built and maintained driftwood pirate ship. Further on, I rounded a corner near Hoylake and caught my first sight of Wales and the River Dee which acts as a border between England and Wales.
Plodding on in torrential rain towards Neston and MOD Danger Area on Burton Marshes, I became aware of an increasing pain in my right foot. Despite this I was determined to reach Hawarden Bridge which crosses the River Dee; for me this was my official exit point from England. Suddenly, out on the Marshes, I spotted a sign I was hoping to see: ‘Welcome to Flintshire’. I’d crossed into Wales as planned. Much later, as another day of very wet walking ended, I accepted the need to get my foot examined. The outcome was that I was told to rest for the remaining 3 days of the walking week. It wasn’t a Christmas present I wanted, nor expected.
Downhearted, we drove ahead to a Welsh holiday cottage we’ve booked for a Christmas break. However, looking on the bright side, this time last year I’d reached Sittingbourne, Kent having walked a mere 288 miles; this year my ‘bootometer’ reads 3,894 miles and I’m in Wales. I’m happy with that!
See Photo Album No 59 – I’m Dreaming of a Welsh Christmas
‘Resorting’ to Lancashire
As the country continued its Brexit deliberations, my last day in Cumbria proved to be extremely grey, muddy, wet and miserable. I’d trudged up and around the long Kent estuary and neither side provided any memorable views of Milnthorpe Sands – just a wet skyline merging into acres of grey mud and sand.
Crossing into Lancashire brought further and equally bleak views. On the cliffs above Bolton-le-Sands I stumbled across the Praying Shell sculpture overlooking the place where at least 21 illegal Chinese immigrants lost their lives to an incoming tide in 2004. Perhaps it was the dreadful weather, but I found this spot very depressing and was glad to move on.
By now I’d joined the Lancashire Coastal Way, a 66-mile route that incorporates three large rivers: the Lune, Wyre and Ribble. Of these, two had to be walked – the Lune to Lancaster and the Ribble to Preston. Thankfully at its sea mouth, the Wyre provided me with a convenient ferry from Knott End-on-Sea across to Fleetwood.
Before beginning my river journeys I headed into Morecambe. I don’t think I’d ever been so wet, so there was a certain irony in seeing the wonderfully life-like Eric Morecambe statue, which reminded me of the duo’s song ‘Bring me Sunshine’. Why was it that Morecambe’s classic railway posters all depicted perpetual sunshine? It wasn’t true that day. I huddled in a bus shelter, trying to make my flask balance on a tilting seat as I ate soggy sandwiches.
I’d first seen the unmistakable shape of Heysham’s vast nuclear power station when at Grange-over-Sands in Cumbria. The station is a distinctive coastal landmark and on the day I walked past it, I thought it would never disappear from view. Whilst walking through one of Lancashire’s many static caravan parks it seemed to tower above everything.
I’ve been surprised to find how low-lying and flat Lancashire is. More than once I’ve thought myself back in Essex (thank goodness I’m not!) because grassy sea banks and concrete walls are also regular sights in Lancashire. Recent heavy rainfalls have made many of the fields and huge wetland areas extremely waterlogged, slowing my progress considerably. In addition, strong winds have created very high tides causing the coffee coloured sea to churn in even further over the mud flats and marshy areas.
On another day I saw the tide speed working in reverse at Sunderland Point’s tidal road. The small community there is at the mercy of tides and winds, spending many hours cut off from neighbouring villages. I arrived when its tidal road and road markers were both completely submerged. Sitting on a wall I watched the tide race outwards, wondering if I’d know when it was safe to set off. Suddenly cars came into view ‘wading’ along the road with water either side of them. It was quite simply ‘the parting of the waves’. Heaving my rucksack on, I began my walk into the watery desert towards Overton and onwards to Lancaster.
Glasson, with its canal basin and marina, came after I’d walked down from Lancaster. That night it again blew 60mph winds, making me wonder if I’d be able to stand next morning. Luckily the winds had eased but the rain hadn’t. Next day on my rain-lashed walk I came across a big notice that read: “No Trespassing. Violators will be shot. Survivors will be shot again”. I decided that I wouldn’t mind if someone took a pot-shot at me; I was past caring. My soggy map began to disintegrate and my over-trousers weren’t waterproof anymore!
Suddenly things changed.
I left Fleetwood in very strong winds accompanied by bright sunshine. Anglers were out in force, strung out along a beach being pounded by thundering breakers. Glancing up into a curiously designed leaning Watchtower, I could see its watchkeeper regularly scanning the shoreline and sea walls for people in trouble. Simultaneously, squinting into the sun I could see Blackpool’s famous tower teasing me as I walked along Fleetwood’s promenade, past Rossall Point, through Cleveleys, on to Bispham and then to Blackpool’s North Shore.
There followed a string of Blackpool’s famous sights: its three piers, trams, sea shelters, the Tower, rock shops, the Pleasure Beach with its amusement park and the more recent addition of the ‘Comedy Carpet’ by the Tower. Created by artist Gordon Young, this incredible work of art features over 850 writers and comedians and uses over 160,000 granite letters set into a paved area. It contains numerous jokes and catchphrases made famous by British comedians through the ages. I could have spent all afternoon reading and chuckling at the words beneath my feet!
My Wet Week ended on a sunny note when I met up with some former Wrens from the Lytham St Anne’s Group. Stopping in a local hotel, we enjoyed coffee and biscuits with them before I headed off again into sunshine. Their generous donations to the Victory Walk pot have been complemented by other help received this week from Morecambe’s Royal Naval Association, the local Royal British Legion, and Sea Cadet units at Fleetwood, Blackpool and Preston. This has lifted my morale during a tough week of weather.
Crossing into Wales before Christmas is still in my sights!
See Photo Album No 58 – Resorting to Lancashire
Battling to Barrow
This has definitely been an extended ‘Curate’s Egg’ walking week – some good parts, some bad. Irritations have been ongoing problems with my right foot, poor signage, a frequent retracing of steps, and bad weather leading to revised routes and schedules. Positives have certainly been meeting submariners at Barrow, and huge levels of support given by kind people we’ve met – all keen to make our winter journey easier.
My week began at the red sandstone cliffs of St Bees, well known as the start point for the 192-mile Coast to Coast walk which crosses England, passing through 3 National Parks, before ending at Robin Hood’s Bay. My Support Team ruefully observed that although we’d completed this walk together in 2011, this time I’d done it by the daftest route imaginable!
Not long afterwards Sellafield loomed into view. Beginning its life as an Ordnance factory, it switched roles and subsumed the original nuclear sites of Windscale and Calder. The vast site became a repository for radioactive waste but is now slowly being cleansed and decommissioned. It continues to be a big local employer, many of whose employees live in the nearby dormitory town of Seascale. It was here I noticed ‘Good Luck Victory Walker’ wishes stuck on the window of a seafront house.
Nearby, Eskmeal Range had red flags flying which meant I veered inland to Drigg, towards Holmrook. I discovered Holmrook Hall had been requisitioned during WWII and commissioned as HMS Volcano: a good name for what was a bomb disposal training establishment! One of the students is said to have been Cdr Lionel ‘Buster’ Crabbe who led the underwater bomb disposal unit in Gibraltar during the war. Decorated for his services, he subsequently disappeared in suspicious circumstances in April 1956 at Portsmouth Dockyard. Having retired from the Royal Navy, it’s alleged he was undertaking a covert reconnaissance mission around a Soviet cruiser berthed in the harbour.
Until I studied the Cumbrian maps, I naively thought my days of walking up and down inlets were over. Not so! The coastline has varied considerably this week, ranging from cliffs, to vast banks of pebbles, marshland, fields and a collection of long estuaries thrown in too. The Cumbrian Coast and Furness rail routes cling to the coastline with viaducts frequently criss-crossing water courses. As I found to my cost, not all pedestrian rail bridges take walkers over railway and water – despite what the map shows.
I was luckier with some attractive packhorse bridges, one of which dated from 1772. Waymarking has proved to be poor and in some places non-existent. Evidence of newly constructed gates and stiles for the English Coastal Path are clear to see, but the accompanying signage to advise route direction are missing. Having passed through many older gates, what struck me about the newly installed ones is how much wider they are. Today’s walkers are obviously better fed!
Moving down the coast, my first estuary tackled was Ravenglass, above which Muncaster Castle stands sentry. Alleged to be haunted, it can’t be too intimidating as visitors regularly flock to this local attraction. My second estuary hike began at Haverigg which marked the start of my route up the wide, long and beautiful Duddon estuary. I began by walking Haverigg’s outer barrier which encircles a vast lagoon before heading upstream towards the market town of Broughton-in-Furness. After this it was a long road slog before hobbling into its much larger neighbour, Barrow-in-Furness, late the following evening.
Next morning, I headed for the historic Barrow shipyard which over the years has built numerous ships for the Royal Navy. Today, it’s managed by BAE and the new ‘A’ Class and Dreadnought class of submarines are being built here. It was good to see a bunch of submariners from HMS Audacious and HMS Anson waiting to greet me at the Crow’s Nest Gate. We later moved round to Michaelson Bridge where I had good views of the huge construction sheds and dock area. Sailors’ humour always amuses and that morning was no exception: in the collecting bucket one cheeky matelot had donated the princely sum of two navy-blue pusser’s buttons!
Leaving Barrow, the weather quickly deteriorated; storm-force winds and rain lashed my route and I’d no choice but to abandon walking on safety grounds. I returned to push on up the enormous Ulverston channel, eventually leading me into the genteel seaside town of Grange-over-Sands with its Grade II listed railway station. On the way, points of interest included ‘the Needle’ at Rampside village. Built as a leading light to help Masters bring their ships into Barrow in the 1800s, it’s the only one to survive. Having seen stormy weather raging around that spindly beacon, I’m amazed it’s still standing.
Ulverston was an interesting place too. Not only is it the birthplace of Stan Laurel (Laurel and Hardy comedian duo), on its outskirts it also plays host to an International Centre for Modern Buddhism and Temple for World Peace. This comes complete with a Meditation Centre and Buddhist Temple.
The town of Ulverston itself is dominated by the 450ft Hoad Hill, on top of which stands a monument of the same name. Built to commemorate Sir John Barrow who was born in Ulverston, it was modelled on John Smeaton’s famous Eddystone Light. However, Trinity House never permitted the monument to have a functional light, so although it looks like a lighthouse, it isn’t! Highly accomplished, Sir John Barrow was, among other things, a founder member of the Royal Geographic Society and Second Secretary to the Admiralty with responsibility for running the Royal Navy.
As Storm Diana howled about me, I was rewarded by the sight of a Sticky Toffee Pudding factory shop. Cartmel, a little inland, is reputed to be where this classic pub dessert was first created. I didn’t stop for a taste as the delights of a windswept and deserted promenade at Grange-over-Sands beckoned me. Among its classic Edwardian buildings, I noticed a vast former Working Men’s Convalescent Home, built in 1914, and now a brightly pink-painted Care Home.
At the start of this blog I mentioned numerous acts of kindness shown by strangers during a demanding week. Not only have I received unexpected and generous donations, I was also presented with a plaque by the Treasurer of the Royal Naval Association Millom and District at the end of a long day’s walk. Local members had congregated to watch and wait for the presentation, which eventually took place in the dark. It was one of those days when I’d been forced to retrace my steps, more than once and was late.
We’ve also benefitted from free nights at some camp sites where owners were keen to show their support for Naval charities. Another night we parked at Barrow’s Sea Cadet Unit, and we’ve also been hosted on private driveways with an electrical hook-up supplied. All this practical assistance makes life simpler and more bearable when the weather is so grim. Someone else provided me with a taxi service to get my foot looked at and gave us lifts to and from local shops - this saved Frank battling through heavy traffic in the Victory Van. And finally, some delicious gingerbread, homemade scones and damson jam were given to us to enjoy.
If this continues, I’ll be glad of those extra wide walkers’ gates!
See Photo Album No 57 - Battling to Barrow
After reaching Gretna we gave ourselves a couple of ‘rest’ days which allowed time to catch up with personal admin as I waited for a boot delivery. How easily a credit card can replace worn-out boots; I wish it could do the same for my worn-out feet!
My first steps taken back in England were in dry, bright conditions, but accompanied by a chilly wind. Initially squeezed between the hectic M6 with its multitude of lorries on one side and the mainline railway on the other, it took me a little while to adjust. I soon knew I was in the old county of Cumberland when I saw their distinctive black and white striped signposts, crowned with a circle showing the local village name.
Later, I joined the National Trail along Hadrian’s Wall. In 1987 UNESCO designated World Heritage status on this wall which runs 84 miles from the banks of the Tyne to Bowness-on-Solway in the west. Unlike the more famous parts of the wall between Newcastle and Carlisle, my section was a mere embankment, and at other times the wall had been replaced by a farm track. Even so, it’s still impressive and those Roman Empire fortifications kept me company down the Solway coast in the form of other sea defence forts and towers.
Acres of mud, sand and flat marshland intersected by water channels followed me as I walked towards Bowness. With the land lying so flat, it made it almost impossible to take any meaningful photos. At Port Carlisle, I stumbled across remains of the old sea port and canal which ran 11 miles, from the Solway Firth up into Carlisle. Short-lived, it was replaced by the age of steam, which in turn fell under Beeching’s axe in 1963.
Before turning a gentle corner to see the Cardurnock Flatts I sat on a bench looking at the remains of the Solway viaduct which had once linked England (Bowness) with Scotland (Annan). Built for freight, it was damaged by storms in 1881 and rebuilt over a three-year period, but by 1921 was again considered unsafe for use. Unofficially, some Scots used it as a footbridge on Sundays to escape ‘dry Scotland’ and enjoy a drink in the ale houses of Bowness!
The route bordering Cardurnock Flatts took me past Anthorn Radio Station which had begun life as a WWI air station for the Royal Naval Air Service. By WWII the RAF briefly used the airfield before it became RNAS Anthorn, commissioned as HMS Nuthatch. The grass runways were upgraded, and it was here that newly manufactured aircraft were received to have radios and weaponry fitted. Now long closed, I think pilots who flew from here would shake their heads in disbelief at the sheep grazing on their precious runways.
I circled yet more marshland heading towards Skinburness and had hoped to follow the Cumbria Coastal Way marked on my map – only to find it has been withdrawn. In the process of being reinvented as the English Coast Path, its removal has left waymarking in a confused state. I also had difficulty with a cycle path in Workington which came to an abrupt end with a barrier of security fencing.
As I retraced my steps, crossing the River Derwent on the Northside Bridge, I saw a plaque set in the footpath: PC Bill Barker 642 – Honoured and Privileged to Serve. This was in memory of a road traffic officer swept to his death during the Cumbria floods of November 2009, when the former road bridge crumbled and collapsed as he helped people to safety. I was reminded how often members of the Police Service regularly put themselves in danger and it was tragic that PC Barker was killed on the eve of his 45th birthday.
This week, I’ve lost count of the times I’ve come across signed paths, only to discover them blocked, unsafe or re-routed. Adding 40 minutes to a walking day may not seem much, but with already short days and light beginning to fade by 1530, there have been some unexpected twilight walks. Walking into Maryport my eyes adjusted to the gloom: the glow from the salmon pink and pale blue sky lit my way along the sea wall; beside me, down on the sands, I could hear the rustle of the sea as the incoming tide gently edged its way up the glistening beach.
I arrived at Whitehaven in similar circumstances, but next morning made time to soak up the town’s mining heritage. Above the harbour stands an impressive chimney, known locally as ‘The Candlestick’. This had once been a ventilation chimney for the Wellington Pit where fresh air reached miners working up to 4 miles below ground and out under the sea. This Pit was the scene of a terrible disaster in May 1910 when 136 miners lost their lives. The youngest boy to lose his life was just 15 years of age and no bodies were recovered until September of the same year. A memorial stands on the harbour wall which also recognises 64 miners awarded the Edward (King Edward VII) medal for their attempts to rescue fellow workers in the aftermath of the tragedy. I had always thought of Whitehaven as a fishing port, not a mining town, so all this came as a surprise.
Shortly after entering Cumbria, we enjoyed our first taste of English kindness, and what a taste it was! A gorgeous homemade chocolate cake was delivered to the Victory Van. A deep, rich cake decorated with white chocolate mini-buttons and covered with lashings of delicious chocolate icing, it was a Real Beauty. It lasted 68 miles before going the way of all good cakes, but its memory still lingers!
See Photo Album Numbers 56: The Cumbria Coast; Feeding Time; Dusk Walking; Chilly Cumbria
Galloping to Gretna
Who’d have thought so much could happen in a week. Milestones, Nelson’s grave, Remembrance, a drowned piper, a savings bank museum, the ‘Devil’s Porridge’, a flypast and an embalmed heart. Standby for an extended read!
A large military training area pushed me onto roads after Kirkcudbright and although not ideal, I was regularly distracted by the beauty of autumn colours. The scent of nearby England also taunted me; shortly before walking into Auchencairn village I stopped at a compass viewing point and got my first real view of a grey looking Solway Firth. The viewing-point plaque advised me that St Bee’s Head in Cumbria was a mere 24 miles away. Alas, without wings I know it will be slightly more for my poor feet!
Shortly afterwards I began my first of two detours inland to Dalbeattie, to avoid the wide delta of three bays and Urr Water flowing into Rough Firth. It gave me a chance to see parts of Dalbeattie’s beautiful forest before dropping back down to Kippford on the other side of the Firth, from where I joined a proper cliff path at Castle Point. It was here that I found Nelson’s grave. In 1791, The Ann was shipwrecked with the loss of all hands, including Joseph Nelson from Whitehaven. Buried where he was found, his wife later had an inscribed stone placed upon his grave.
The cliff walk was all too short. I was soon on my second detour heading towards Dumfries through a wide, extremely flat river Nith valley. Bounded by acres of sand and mud which house large nature reserves, it was hard to see beyond the fields bordering the roads. Poor weather didn’t help visibility either - for much of this week I’ve been clad in full waterproofs. It seemed endless, but an important milestone was reached on the way – I clocked 3,500 miles.
We’d two overnight stops on the Nith river, with our first being at New Abbey village on the long hike up to Dumfries. Parked by the impressive remains of the 13th century ‘Sweetheart Abbey’, I learned how it had acquired its unusual name and its connections with one of Oxford University’s oldest colleges, Balliol. In 1269 the college’s founder, John de Balloil, died leaving his grieving widow Dervorguilla heartbroken. She had his heart embalmed and always kept it with her in a specially made casket – her ‘sweet silent companion’. Four years later she founded the Abbey where husband John was buried. Later in 1289 when Dervorguilla died she too was buried in the Abbey with the casket ‘clasped to her bosom’. The Cistercian monks named the abbey in her memory - Dulce Cor - Sweetheart Abbey.
Entering Dumfries it’s very evident that this university town is proud of its links with Robert Burns, the ‘Ploughman Poet’. Buried in Dumfries, ‘Rabbie’ spent his last years here with his long-suffering wife, Jean Armour, who bore him nine children, though only three survived. There is now an extensive Heritage Trail which guides Burns enthusiasts to significant places in Ayrshire and Dumfries & Galloway.
Tramping in heavy rain down the Nith’s eastern bank, large notices regularly appeared warning people of ‘Fast flowing tides and quicksands’. Maybe, if these signs had been there on 21 March 1859 I would not have encountered a simple circular memorial to Angus MacKay, a former piper of ten years to Queen Victoria, who drowned in the river’s dangerous waters.
Further downstream in fading light and rain, I witnessed an incredible sight of thousands of flying geese following the opposite riverbank. For as far as I could see in the gloom, this huge black ‘train’ of birds flapped and honked its way down river. I stood mesmerised for many minutes watching and waiting to see the end of this ‘train’.
At the estuary mouth I again ran parallel, though some distance from, the Solway Firth. Farm land, nature reserves and numerous drainage channels kept me on minor roads away from the shoreline. During this section I passed the flooded Brow Well where Rabbie Burns came to take its waters and sea bathe in the Solway shortly before his early death. The chalybeate spring with its natural iron-salt rich water was believed to have special healing qualities
It’s often said that Scots are canny with their finances and perhaps I now understand why. I walked into Ruthwell, a tiny village, where I discovered the Savings Bank Museum. It was in the Museum’s single storey dwelling in 1810 that the Rev. Henry Duncan founded Ruthwell Parish Bank; this bank is considered to be the first self-sustaining savings bank in the world. I enjoyed my thirty minutes there and particularly liked the display of piggy-banks!
Back on track I skirted an industrial-looking area, which I later learned formed part of a complex explosives production area for WWII at Powfoot. Moving on, I walked into Eastriggs which describes itself as ‘the Commonwealth Village’. All its streets have Commonwealth names such as Delhi, Canberra, Halifax and Hobart. The reason later became clear when I visited the ‘Devil’s Porridge’ Museum.
This part of the Solway coast had been crucial to both World Wars in the production of explosives. Lack of ammunition in 1915 set a requirement for increased production. Within a year, two new townships at Gretna and Eastriggs were built, new production facilities constructed, and a workforce (of which a high proportion were women) was increased to 30,000. This was further supplemented by workers from Commonwealth countries.
In all, the explosive production and storage area stretched over 9 miles from Dornock, through Eastriggs and Gretna, out to Longtown. Known as HM Factory Gretna, these sites produced cordite propellant which fired the soldiers’ bullets and shells. Different parts of production took place at the separate sites. The initial chemical process of mixing acid with waste cotton in huge circular stoneware basins produced a crude paste, nicknamed ‘the Devil’s Porridge’ – hence the Museum’s strange name.
Shortly before I visited the museum, I’d walked through Annan with its town square. Here I’d seen some Army cadets cleaning the town’s war memorial in preparation for the Remembrance event the following morning. Next day when attending a Remembrance Service myself, I reflected on the immense effort made to produce explosives, the damage suffered by all nations involved, and how each would have mourned their losses. The worldwide Armistice theme of reconciliation seemed very apt.
Leaving the Museum I’d barely five miles to walk into Gretna. I wasn’t interested in the Old Blacksmith’s Shop anvil where eloping couples had previously married, but in the tiny River Sark that marks the border between Scotland and England. Since crossing into Scotland at the end of April, I’d walked 2,183 miles around Scotland and was finally eloping myself - back into England! You won’t be surprised to learn that it was raining again – but I didn’t care. Just as I reached the border I looked up to see hundreds of geese doing a fly-past in my honour. Who needs the Red Arrows?!
See Photo Album No 54 – BFBS radio interview with Hal Stewart;
See Photo Album Numbers 55
Big Bays, Small Towns
As the alarm sprang into life I groaned when I heard yet more rain hammering on the Victory Van roof. This has been a week of weather extremes: cold, very wet and sometimes sunny. Harsh frosts brought out our thermal vests as well as our thermal window screens, and we woke to chilly white mornings. Leftovers of Hurricane Oscar also blew in over a two-day period, when we experienced incredibly strong winds and torrential rain. Despite all this, the Victory Walker has continued to push closer towards England’s border.
Having got to Scotland’s most southerly point last week, it was a case of joining the Mull of Galloway Trail to head north again! It seemed a long way back up the other side of this peninsula to begin circling Luce Bay, passing through Drummore, Ardwell, Sandend, Glenluce, and Stairhaven settlements. Luce Bay is vast with much of it still marked as a MOD Bomb Range Danger Area. Although no red flags were flying, a cock pheasant was; as with last week’s pheasant, I was again the chosen target! On the Bay’s far side I was routed down another headland known as the Machars, taking me out to the Isle of Whithorn.
Hugging the Machars coastline, I paused at Port William to lean on a rail with Andrew Brown’s sculpture of a leaning man. Beside me was a distance signpost that showed it was only 352 miles as the crow flies to Land’s End. If only that were true for me! Further on at Monreith, home of author Gavin Maxwell who wrote Ring of Bright Water, an otter monument has been erected in his memory. Maxwell’s Otter has wonderful views overlooking his beloved Monreith Bay, with wider views across to the Mull of Galloway.
Moving on towards the pretty Isle of Whithorn village, my path took me through rolling green countryside where fields are bordered by beautifully constructed long stone walls. Many of the dairy farms in Wigtownshire proudly display a ‘Quality Assured’ sign as they supply their milk to the Caledonian ‘Seriously Strong’ Cheese factory in Stranraer. I made the acquaintance of what seemed to be an entire farming family on quad bikes, whizzing along to move stock down the road. I was just in time to get out of their way!
Reaching the Isle of Whithorn village, I walked along its main street consisting of pretty pink, red and blue cottages. I later realised these cottages were built along a short causeway linking ‘the Island’ and its small harbour to the mainland. I could have sat happily by the harbour sipping coffee all afternoon but knew I’d another 8 miles to cover before ending my walking day at Garlieston. I’m glad I did make a move as the driver of a passing car stopped, wound down the window and donated £5.00 to the Victory Walk.
This kind gesture has been one of many we’ve experienced this week. Not only have we received numerous similar donations, we’ve also been helped in other practical ways. People have invited us to park on their driveways supplying mains power to the Van, offered the use of private showers and toilets, and we were even treated to a delicious 3-course meal. Finding fresh water to top up our tanks has become more difficult because many campsites have closed for winter. Luckily, it seems that kind people always pop up just at the right time to offer whatever help we need. This is what makes the Victory Walk so special for us.
From Garlieston I circled Wigtown Bay before heading into Newton Stewart, a market town lying south of Galloway Forest. Initially following an arrow-straight road out of Garlieston, with numerous blind summits and blackthorns constantly threatening to rip my waterproofs, I arrived in Wigtown. This town is designated ‘Scotland’s Book Town’.
That afternoon, my minor road walk bordered miles of flat salt marsh plains, home to a wealth of wildlife. Fed by the River Cree that flows south from Newton Stewart, it took until the following day for me to appreciate the size of those plains. By now, walking on Cycle Route 7, an old railway line above sea level, I was able to look back over the sheer scale of Wigtown Bay and its Nature Reserve.
Keen to reach Kirkcudbright (pronounced ‘Kirkoobree’) before taking a rest day, I pushed on around Fleet Bay with its small ‘Islands of Fleet’ that nestle along the coastline. Later, while sheltering from a storm in the area, we were surprised to encounter a 1950s Gloster Metoeor jet fighter serving as a campsite gate guardian. Frank, a former private pilot, was entranced and my supper was late!
My walking week concluded in an extremely wet and windy ‘Kirkoobree’, and I was mightily relieved to get there. My walking kit is now being dried out, ready for another watery week…..
See Photo Album No 53 – Big Bays, Small Towns
A Year on the Road
A long and memorable week celebrating anniversaries, leaving the Ayrshire Coastal Path, passing more harbours, rounding lighthouse headlands, traipsing round another vast loch, and walking down yet one more peninsula to reach Scotland’s most southerly point.
Conditions underfoot have seen me slopping about in dung-filled marshy areas, tramping on rutted tracks pot-holed by cattle, swivelling on large beach pebbles, and sliding along steep slopes on a muddy cliff path. Overhead, the weather allowed me to wear a T-shirt on just one day; I wasn’t so lucky for the remainder.
Trafalgar Day (21 Oct) marked our wedding anniversary and a year since leaving HMS Victory in Portsmouth, during which time I’ve walked over 3,300 miles. The RNA branch in Skegness very kindly proposed a rum toast to us on 21 October, while we enjoyed ‘sippers’ of tea in the Victory Van!
To some, my progress over the past year might seem slow, but when I look back there have been many disruptions. After starting the walk, five weeks were given over to the final WRNS100 events in the Autumn; we had a 2 week break at Christmas; a further 6 weeks were lost to the unexpected (bad weather, a wedding, a funeral, route planning and injury); and finally, my weekly rest day. These have all affected my schedule - not that I am making any apology for completing a mere 3,300 miles!
Castle ruins have featured this week at Dunure and Dunskey, but it was the magnificent Culzean Castle, that caught my eye. Formerly the home of the Marquess of Ailsa, to avoid inheritance tax the property was gifted to the National Trust of Scotland in 1945, but with a stipulation. The apartment at the top of the castle was to be given to General Dwight D. Eisenhower, later 34th President of the United States, in recognition and thanks for his role as Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces in Europe.
I was reminded of the 45th President of the United States when I walked by Trump Turnberry with its vast hotel complex and golf course! It seemed almost incongruous to find a lighthouse at the end of this course and a war memorial sited on the course itself. Formerly an airfield, Turnberry’s history dates back to WWI and the memorial commemorates men of the Royal Flying Corps, as well as Australians and Americans who also served here in WWII.
The Marquess of Ailsa also owned Ailsa Craig, a tiny island about ten miles off the Ayrshire coast. Apart from being home to thousands of puffins and gannets, the island, shaped like a chocolate bombe dessert, is famed for its granite which is considered to provide some of the best curling stones for Scotland’s ancient sport. The Craig’s unmistakable shape kept me company for many miles as I walked down the south Ayrshire coastal path, along Loch Ryan’s Coastal Path into Stranraer, up the other side of the loch and around Corsewell Point bordering the Irish Sea.
Up in the hills on the Ryan Trail, where I crossed from South Ayrshire into Dumfries and Galloway, I was slightly taken aback by the huge expanse of Loch Ryan. In the distance, I could see the pimple of Stranraer at the loch head. Below me, P & O ferries were leaving from Cairnryan bound for Larne, and Stena Line ships heading to Belfast. In 2011 Stena moved its business down the loch to Cairnryan from Stranraer. Their new port is situated close to the former WWII military port and on the same site as the old concrete production works, where parts of the D-Day Mulberry Harbour were constructed.
With a long walk ahead of me up the other side of the loch I didn’t linger in Stranraer. I will probably remember the town for its beach of shells and the derelict Stena terminal, alongside the delipidated harbour railway station where train services have recently been withdrawn.
I could have cut across a neck of land from Stranraer (6 miles), avoiding a much longer walk up, round and down a peninsula shaped like a hammer-head, but of course that would have been cheating! I elected for the longer route (64 miles), aiming for the hammer’s claw at the far end of an area known as The Rhins. Ultimately, I was aiming for the lighthouse on the very tip of the Mull of Galloway.
Walking up the western shore of loch Ryan I noticed a large concrete slipway. Here, flying boats were hauled into RAF Wig Bay’s maintenance sheds before and after WWII. Stranraer was one of the RAF’s largest flying boat training bases and two massive hangars were built as flying boat workshops. All that remains of the huge Wig Bay facility are some concrete blocks once used to secure flying boats in their pens and the concrete hangar floors, one of which is being used as an off-road driving instruction area!
Just past the mouth of Loch Ryan I turned the corner, past Corsewall Point, heading for another lighthouse at Black Head where I picked up the first part of the Southern Upland Way. My route into the picturesque harbour of Portpatrick was over springy green turf, bordered by bracken and gorse. The coastline could easily have been mistaken for Devon or Cornwall, as could the rolling green hills covered in herds of dairy cows and beef cattle.
Making my way along tracks and minor roads I frequently felt like the Pied Piper of Hamlin. Scores of young bullocks looked inquisitively over a fence, kicked up their heels and decided to keep pace with me as I walked nearby. This happened time and again. As well as livestock I was struck by the sheer number of game birds, particularly pheasants, that flew ahead of me, scurried into the undergrowth, ran across fields, or made me jump as they erupted from hedges.
Nor had I anticipated being taken hostage by one particularly handsome cock pheasant after I’d stopped to remove my waterproof jacket. Initially seemingly friendly, his manner soon changed and made my next 15 minutes extremely tiresome. I was trapped while he herded me as if I were a flock of sheep and he the sheep dog. At every attempt I made to pass, he came at me flapping his wings, trying to peck my legs, and hands. No amount of talking or cajouling had any effect. The matter was finally resolved when I found an old stake which I used to keep him at bay. Eventually he decided he’d had enough fun and let me continue on my way to the Mull of Galloway. Arriving at the Mull, Scotland’s most southerly point, we could see Northern Ireland and to the south, the Isle of Man. I celebrated reaching this landmark with a well-earned coffee and cream scone in the café – delicious!
That night we remained parked alone in the lighthouse car park and as darkness fell watched the lighthouse giving its single flash every 20 seconds. It was an eerie sight on a dark, cloudy night and I was glad it wasn’t Halloween!
See Photo Album Numbers 52 – Sippers at RNA Skegness; Mull of Galloway Trail; A Year on the Road
Storming into Ayrshire
The south bank of the River Clyde was viewed on a mild, sunny day from a mix of the Clyde Coastal Path and National Cycle Route 75. Formerly a railway track, Route 75 was certainly suffering from ‘leaves on the line’, but it didn’t stop the Victory Walker in her tracks! Nicknamed the ‘High Route’, this Greenock to Glasgow line was a popular route with sailors during WW2 who found themselves waiting for sailing orders at Greenock.
Historically Glasgow, the Clyde and Greenock are all steeped in memories of shipbuilding, wealth, merchant trading and a vast naval presence during WWII. This area, known as Inverclyde, still describes itself as ‘Export Capital of Scotland’. Noting how busy its Container Terminal was that afternoon, I can understand why. Added to which, the area has actively marketed its Ocean Terminal where cruise ships cross the Atlantic to make regular visits to see Scotland’s stunning west coast.
I rounded the corner into Gourock whose origins were as a seaside resort overlooking the Firth of Clyde. Today it’s very much a residential area, but ferries still bustle back and forth to various destinations including Dunoon across the Firth. Thick mist obscured Dunoon, but on my walk towards Inverkip I was still able to see Cloch lighthouse ahead of me on a road bend. This struck me as a very unusual traffic light!
My lasting memory of Inverkip will not be of Kip Marina, but of its unusual war memorial placed on a headland overlooking the Firth of Clyde. The memorial doesn’t list the men by their Service, nor does it give their age. Instead the three sides listed names under the following headings: At Sea; Of Wounds; In POW Camp; On the Western Front; At Gallipoli; In Palestine; In Mesopotamia; At Sea; On Home Service.
Further down the coast I arrived at Wemyss with its pier and station which act as Scotland’s main gateway to Rothesay on the Island of Bute. Wemyss station is the terminus on the Inverclyde Line and in recent years has clearly undergone a major refurbishment, as has its wide covered walkway leading passengers down to the pier and CalMac ferry.
Wemyss is all but joined to Skelmorlie where I knew I’d pick up the Ayrshire Coastal Path – a route of 100 miles that will lead me south to Glenapp, near Stranraer. The first leg took me on a back route to Largs. Gaining height on a quiet rural route, had it not been for the mist, I should have had excellent views across the Firth to Bute, Great Cumbrae and back over other peninsulas I’d previously walked.
My first views of Largs were also dismal, wet and grey. It wasn’t until I got down into the town did I appreciate its wide esplanade, art deco café and its links with the Vikings – something the town is very proud of and celebrates each year. In October 1263 a battle took place between the kingdoms of Norway and Scotland. Bad weather caused the Norwegians to lose many of their longships on Largs’ shore, thus ensuring a Scottish victory. It took until 1912 for the aptly named Pencil Monument to be built to commemorate that victory.
Bad weather in Largs struck again in 2018 in the form of Storm Callum. We were fortunate enough to be offered a safe place to ride out the storm within Largs Yacht Haven. Rain and wind howled in overnight and continued throughout the following day. It was during this spell that we learned that the ‘Rest and Be Thankful’ route which I’d walked through less than two weeks ago had been closed owing to a landslip caused by Callum’s torrential rains. I am thankful that I walked through when I did.
Frustrated at my grounding in the Yacht Haven, I ventured out and managed half a day’s mileage, only to receive a further drenching the following day as I squelched towards Stevenston. Here, the path circled a vast area dominated by former explosives and chemical factories once owned by Nobel, then ICI. It was a depressing walk that continued next day down by Irvine harbour where I spotted ICI’s old terminal.
Irvine town and harbour used to be one of Scotland’s busiest ports, once on a par with Glasgow. In the 1700s coal was brought by carters from nearby collieries and loaded onto small ships. The Carter and Horse memorial on the harbourside is a tribute to the forerunners of today’s hauliers. For many years the Ayrshire Dockyard Company was a shipyard on the river Irvine. Initially involved with shipbuilding, its focus changed: one of its claims to fame was that it manufactured fittings for other ships including Cunard’s Queen Elizabeth 2.
I know I’m still in Scotland as golf clubs along the coastline have suddenly reappeared. During a walking distance of 50 miles I passed a dozen: West Kilbride, Ravenspark, Auchenharvie, Irvine, Glasgow, Dundonald Links, Kilmarnock (Brasserie), Troon Welbeck, Troon Portland, Royal Troon, Prestwick and St Nicholas. Beat that!
The first on this list, Gourock, kindly provided us with an overnight stop to get us off the road, and at Prestwick I saw a simple stone cairn that marks where the first ever Open Championship tee shot was struck 158 years ago on 17 October 1860. And to coin a phrase – ‘the rest is history’. Meanwhile, I’ve added another errant ball to my Round Britain collection of golf balls. There will be more!
See Photo Album Numbers 51 – Arriving South Beach Ardrossan; Ayrshire Coastal Path; Storming into Ayrshire
Crossing the Clyde
Owing to an extended walking week, Victory Log entry Number 39 has been split into two parts. This second Log entry takes the reader from Faslane, across the River Clyde and into Bishopton where one of four Erskine Homes is situated.
After so much time on the road it felt strange to be walking into Faslane, HM Naval Base Clyde. A warm welcome awaited, accompanied by coffee and a large plate of ‘sticky buns’. If that wasn’t enough to bring a smile to the Victory Walker’s face, the presentation of a bunch of flowers and boxed bottle of ‘bubbly’ made me smile even more! Presented by the Base Warrant Officer, WO1 Wayne Burbury, on behalf of the trustees from both naval charities – WRNS BT and RNRMC – it was good to receive long distance congratulations after clocking 3,000 miles last week.
Everyone was most hospitable and I enjoyed the change from my usual solo routine. Despite the rain, people in Faslane came out to support me and over £300 was collected by gym staff zipping about with buckets. Thank you. The resident Naval Base piper also appeared on the roadside to pipe me out of the Base, bringing the morning to a musical conclusion. After that I rejoined the A814 to listen to the music of traffic!
Entering Rhu I could just about see across to the Rosneath peninsula; this marks the place where Gare Loch leads into the River Clyde. Today, a large caravan park is situated on an area where Rosneath House once stood: a grand residence built by the Duke of Argyll in 1806. He and the Duchess, who was Queen Victoria’s daughter, Princess Louise, lived here for some while. During the early part of WWII the house was requisitioned for military use but it latterly fell into decay before being demolished in 1961.
At Helensburgh, it would have been possible for me to catch a ferry across the Clyde to its south bank at Gourock, saving myself a walk of 30 miles. However, as I’d agreed to visit the Erskine Home I ignored the ferry terminal, instead focussing my attention on the bust of John Logie Baird, the television inventor. Nearby, a beautiful granite needle commemorates another famous Helensburgh resident, Henry Bell. As a local hotelier he had the idea of getting a steam powered ship to bring trippers up the river Clyde from Glasgow to fashionable Helensburgh. The paddle steamer, Comet, was launched in 1812 for this purpose and later the service was extended out to Scotland’s west coast by making use of the Crinan Canal.
Following the banks of the Clyde, I passed through a somewhat depressed looking Dumbarton before picking up Cycle Route No 7. The section I walked had been created from an old railway line which led me to the boat basin at Bowling and its lock gates on the Forth and Clyde Canal. Opened in 1790, the 35-mile canal route enabled small seagoing ships to cross from one side of Scotland to the other, by linking the Firth of Clyde to the Firth of Forth. Leaving the towpath, it wasn’t long before I clambered up onto the Erskine bridge and found myself crossing the Clyde river. To my left, a regular stream of planes flew in and out of Glasgow’s airport, beyond which Glasgow’s skyline was clearly evident. Although my walking route didn’t take me into Glasgow city, the following day we travelled into the centre where the Duke of Wellington’s famous statue in Royal Exchange Square still wears a traffic cone - probably not what the Italian sculptor Carlo Marochetti would have had in mind in 1844!
The walking week concluded at Erskine House, Bishopton, where we were given permission to park up for a few nights. The Bishopton site is the largest of four Erskine sites. Hosted by the fundraising team we found our Erskine Home tour extremely informative. With its origins dating from WW1, when Scotland recognised it needed a hospital to treat those who had lost limbs in the Great War, its own specialist hospital was proposed. Initially called the Princess Louise Scottish Hospital for Limbless Soldiers and Sailors after its first Royal Patron, the hospital was located in Erskine mansion and estate. This had been loaned for the duration of the war by its owner Thomson Aikman. Amongst the influential businessmen who offered support to the hospital during its infancy was Harrold Yarrow from the nearby family shipyard; his workforce helped to create and develop artificial limbs. Later, Sir John Reid provided the funds to buy Erskine mansion and estate outright, thus securing the hospital’s future.
The original estate was built on vast proportions with no expense spared. Examples of this can be seen in the large, beautifully constructed piggery and luxurious stable block. Today, the stable building forms part of the Reid Macewen Activity Centre, where veterans can try their hand at different past-times such as painting and woodwork. Not only has it proved therapeutic, it has also highlighted the fact that some veterans have a latent creative talent. Veterans who do not reside in the Home can also make use of these facilities.
No longer undertaking medical operations or called a hospital, Erskine provides cottages, assisted living apartments and has a separate site for veterans with acute dementia. Outside, the gardens are wheelchair friendly and beautifully landscaped, and residents’ apartments are built to favour views across these grounds. Once the domain of male soldiers and sailors, today Erskine caters for men and women of all three services, and their spouses. The RNRMC has provided grants to Erskine, thereby ensuring that RN, RM, RFA and former ‘Wrens’ will benefit from the home’s facilities if admitted. The 180 residents all know how fortunate they are to be in such a superb home.
See Photo Album No 50 - Crossing the Clyde
Leaving Campbeltown behind, it took me a further three days to complete the Kintyre Peninsula. During that time I walked north beside Kilbrannan Sound with views across to the Isle of Arran and passed through the delightfully named village of Grogport, past Crossaig beach, visited Carradale harbour and parked overnight on Claonaig jetty. Bound for Tarbert, I’d to complete one final section of cross-country walking on the Kintyre Way which I joined at the tiny village of Skipness. Here I found its primary school had recently been closed and boarded up; seeing its empty playground and redundant swings moving idly in the breeze was a forlorn sight. Incredibly, a little further down the road, I discovered a small shop and Post Office that provides a daily counter service to residents.
Along the Kintyre Way forest views, woodland tracks, together with swathes of wind and rain accompanied me for almost my entire journey to Tarbert. I noticed some croft remains but apart from this I saw no sheep, cattle or deer – just acres of trees. Much later, when leaving the forest track to begin a steep descent into Tarbert, I came across Tarbert’s colossal Millenium Cairn, built by a proud uncle when twin nephews were born in year 2,000. I wonder if the babes, now adults, appreciate their uncle’s spectacular effort?! Further down I’d good views over to Tarbert and below I could see a CalMac ferry that would soon transport me across Loch Fyne, and also mark the end of my 120 mile walk round the Kintyre Peninsula.
Having crossed Loch Fyne, we were given permission to park overnight amongst the boats in the incredible Portavadie complex which offers marina facilities, restaurants, self-catering apartments, spa, cottages and much more. The site was originally created in the mid-1970s when it was planned to build concrete oil rig platforms for the North Sea industry. A dry dock was created and a nearby 5 star village called Polphail was built for the intended 500 workers. As so often happens, circumstances can quickly change a plan: OPEC oil prices plummeted and steel platforms rather than concrete were regarded as the way to go, so the yard received no orders.
Despite many alternative ideas being put forward, Polphail was never occupied and the ghost village was only finally demolished at the end of 2016. Part of the Portavadie dock area briefly became a fish farm, but it wasn’t until the Bulloch family came with a new vision that the old dry dock area flourished in its new life. The dry dock now forms the basis of a marina, and the other facilities have been created around it. This is an incredible transformation which is clearly doing well and offers local residents good employment.
Loch Fyne is one of Scotland’s longest sea lochs and as I made my way up its eastern shores I followed the old road with its distinctive finger mileposts. Upgraded and called the West Cowal Timber Route, the road passed through mile upon mile of forestry plantations. Where winds had blown over the conifers there were walls of uprooted trees whose root disks resembled stranded spider crabs. My two day trek up the loch was in weather of complete contrasts: passing through Otter Ferry white horses and rain ripped up the water, but later at Lephinmore, Lachlan Castle, Garbhallt and Strachur the sun shone through the autumnal golds, yellows and oranges.
That night we parked the Van at St Catherine’s village with our head barely inches off the A815 as lorries trundled through the night. The walk on this newly surfaced road with fresh chippings in torrential rain is not one I’d wish to repeat. At my Hell’s Glen junction I discovered the Tinkers’ Heart – a meeting place where travelling tinkers and gypsies met and married. Recently restored, it is a reminder of how people used to travel to make a living. After a steep climb away from the ‘A’ road I plunged deeper and deeper into Hell’s Glen, a steep sided wooded valley with Moses’ Well near the bottom. The moan of the wind in the trees sounded like approaching traffic, fooling me more than once. Inevitably, the drop came before an equivalent hard climb up another valley, to a junction aptly called The Rest and Be Thankful, where I did just that!
This spot was given that name by weary soldiers with a sense of humour, who in the 1740s built the old (military) road that rises up Glen Croe. Here, they placed a stone with The Rest and Be Thankful inscription on it at the head of the Glen. Although the original stone became damaged, it was replaced by another in 1768 which can be seen at the Glen’s viewing point. Today’s main ‘A’ road runs high above and parallel to the military road, but I opted to take the old deserted military road as I pushed on to Arrochar sited at the head of Loch Long.
Next morning it was yet another very wet walk down Loch Long before crossing over to Gare Loch. I was on target to walk into Faslane, HM Naval Base Clyde, the following day. Forty-nine weeks earlier I’d left HM Naval Base Portsmouth to walk 3,124 miles to this Scottish Base. There has to be a quicker way to travel!
See Photo Album Numbers 49 – Walking Loch Fyne; Destination Faslane
Clocking Three Thousand Miles
Storm Ali hit us while we were parked on a site overlooking the sea. The sky glowered and then the flashes and crashes began. Extremely high winds caused the Victory Van to shake and creak like an old sailing boat, but it was the ferocious heavy rain that made us wonder if we’d survive the night. Peppering the van so heavily, it sounded as if ball-bearings were being lashed at us. It was so deafening we couldn’t hear one another speak.
Next morning I ventured out, even though the winds remained strong and intermittent torrential showers blew in. Arriving at West Tarbert, where the lengthy Kintyre Peninsula starts, I was faced with a professional dilemma: do I take a 1-mile walk across the top of Kintyre to Tarbert, or a 120-mile route down and round the Peninsula which resembles a long pointy finger? On its eastern tip, at the first finger joint lies Campbeltown, famed for its whisky and strong naval connections. Not for the first time I elected for the long route option!
Walking south, at Clachan I joined the Kintyre Way - another of Scotland’s Great Trails which covers 100 miles down to Kintyre’s fingertip. Owing to its meandering path I would not use it all, but it set me off alongside the Sound of Gigha with its Island occasionally visible through driving rain. Along the way I passed through places such as Tayinloan, Muasdale, Glennbarr, Bellochantuy and eventually Machrihanish Bay, where I circled Campbeltown’s Airport. Formerly a military airfield, it has seen changing fortunes during its lifetime.
Originally created for the Royal Naval Air Service during WWI, it initially had one small grass runway. During WWII the Royal Navy built four concrete runways and the air station was commissioned as HMS Landrail. It was reported to be one of the UK’s largest air stations, used by both the Fleet Air Arm and Royal Air Force before closing shortly after war ended.
The airfield enjoyed a renaissance during the Cold War of the 1960s, when a lengthy 10,000-foot runway replaced the four RN runways. By now the RAF was firmly in residence and further investment was made in the late 80s and 90s to enable NATO usage too. Used by the RAF’s unmistakable Vulcan bomber force, it was also certified to accept the NASA Space Shuttle had it needed to make an emergency landing in Europe. By 2012 the MOD sold the entire site: today part of it is a business park and the rest remains as Campbeltown’s airport.
Leaving Machrihanish I could look back over this vast area with such a rich military history. Ahead of me lay one of the toughest walks yet on another section of the Kintyre Way. Recent wind and rain had made conditions over this already difficult terrain very much worse. En route I enjoyed a solitary lunch break overlooking a picturesque valley before being routed to the cliff edge, followed by a lengthy steep climb away from the sea.
Below me at Innean Cove I saw the Sailor’s Grave which dates back over a century. In May 1917 a lone shepherd found human remains washed ashore. Assumed to be a sailor, the remains were buried in the cove, since when passing hikers and locals have kept a watchful eye on the grave’s maintenance.
The Way led me inland from the coast, but as I was keen to go out to Mull of Kintyre’s lighthouse, there followed a 14-miler out and back; we’d assessed the roads were not suitable for the Victory Van to come and retrieve me. In between squalls I had clear views across to County Antrim in Northern Ireland, twelve miles out to sea. My outward route to the lighthouse was on a single-track road through open moorland and forests, uphill all the way from sea level to 1,148ft. Once there, I lost all that height as I made an almost vertical descent to the lighthouse at the base of the cliffs, only to clamber all the way up again afterwards!
On the way I made a detour to a memorial placed to remember the 29 lives lost in a tragic Chinook helicopter crash on 2 June 1994. As well as the 4 crew members killed on that dreadful evening, 25 intelligence experts from the Army, MI5, and the Royal Ulster Constabulary (now called Police Service of Northern Ireland) also lost their lives. One of those killed was Tony Hornby who had served with Frank in the Royal Marines before deciding to transfer to the Army. Standing on the spot made me shudder to think what the first rescuers would have seen as they raced up the hill to the accident. I was glad I made the effort to walk out to the Mull to see the lighthouse and this memorial.
Returning to the Kintyre Way I walked around the fingertip overlooking Davaar Island, then on up alongside Campbeltown Loch. The sun was shining, which added to the satisfaction of ‘clocking’ 3,000 miles on the approaches to this town. I couldn’t have chosen a better place for my special moment. That evening I was invited to attend Training Ship Campbeltown’s biannual Royal Naval Parade, where the staff and cadets also celebrated my milestone event by giving me a warm welcome and making a generous donation to the Victory Walk. Thank you Campbeltown.
Since then I’ve sat quietly and contemplated what my 3,000 miles means. It’s the equivalent of walking across the United States of America – I find it hard to believe.
See Photo Album Numbers 48 – Storm Ali at Loch West Tarbert Part 1; Storm Ali at Loch West Tarbert Part 2; On the Kintyre Way – Lunch Stop; Innean Cove on the Kintyre Way; Clocking 3,000 Miles
As each day has passed in Argyll I feel as if my feet have become more web-like and I quack rather than talk. I’ve sploshed along, trying to take photos between frequent drownings.
After Oban the latter part of this week’s route has taken me through Knapdale, a vast rural area in Argyll & Bute. While idling away my time I came across a sign announcing the World Stone Skimming Championships! Were you aware of such a thing? They’ll take place this weekend on Easdale Island, a tiny inhabited island of the Inner Hebrides. Started in 1983, and resurrected in 1997 after a fallow period, there are categories for male and female contestants, children and adults, including the humorously named ‘Old Tosser’ category for those men and women aged over 60!
Dead-end walking continues too and as always these have been interesting: each of the peninsulas has its own very definite character. Before heading out to Craignish Point I walked through the tastefully designed Craobh Haven, a purpose-built village, resort and marina created in 1983. Later that day I pushed against winds to reach Craignish Point, beyond which is the world’s third largest tidal whirlpool, known as the Corryvreckan Whirlpool. Was it the head winds making me dizzy or was I feeling the effects of the whirlpool?!
Moving inland, Kilmartin Glen offered ancient, more modern and current points of interest. Overlooking the Glen, the roofless hollow shell of Carnassarie Castle, the home of Bishop Carswell in the 1500s, dominated the skyline. The Bishop had translated John Knox’s Book of our Common Order into Gaelic. This was the first book printed in Scot Gaelic, the language of the Highlands. Although highly regarded for its architecture, the castle has remained a ruin ever since Royalist forces set it ablaze in 1685.
From its vantage point the castle overlooks Kilmartin Glen, famed for its numerous prehistoric monuments. These include chambered cairns, standing stones and rock carvings. My route took me past Nether Largie South burial cairn, which is believed to have been built over 3,500 years ago, as well as the standing stones at Temple Wood. By contrast I also walked by a working gravel pit which was somewhat of a blot on today’s landscape.
Hurrying on, I knew I’d entered Knapdale (the land of hills and fields) district when I reached the Crinan canal. The canal marks one of the borders of the Knapdale district. I crossed this canal over a swing bridge at Bellanoch. Built for the old steam ‘puffers’ that moved goods and people between the Clyde and Scotland’s west coast settlements, the canal enabled ships to travel from Glasgow out to the Sound of Jura and the isles of the Inner Hebrides, without a long detour round the Mull of Kintyre. After next week, I suspect I may discover how long this detour can be when I head down to Campbeltown!
Since crossing that swing bridge I’ve clambered up numerous hills and walked by a multitude of forests. Another dead-end saw me battle foul weather close to Loch Sween as I tramped out to the very remote hamlet of Keillmore. Here, I found a charming old stone pier and a few scattered houses - nothing more! Next day I made my way down the other side of Loch Sween, towards the Point of Knap, before veering away around yet another Loch. It wasn’t long before I was dropping down towards the beautiful Ellary Estate where Autumn colours are beginning to appear in the trees.
This makes me aware of the passage of time and the subtle change of seasons. Sunset happens now at 1930. whereas a seemingly short time ago we watched it set at 2230. All these things, as well as the rain, turns my mind to the gradual approach of winter – my second on the Victory Walk.
See Photo Album No 47 – Approaching Autumn
Aiming for the Buoys!
Seeing a sign outside Oban, warning ‘Dumb Dumpers’ that they risk being fined £40,000 if caught fly-tipping jolted me - my Highlands Honeymoon was clearly coming to an end.
After leaving the green shores of Loch Sunart earlier in the week, I trekked through Morven, another sparsely populated area where remote farms cling to hillsides. Morven’s western shores are bounded by the Sound of Mull which took a time to reach, only for heavy rain to obscure any views on arrival. There seems to be a pattern emerging with Scotland’s summer! On the Sound’s shores, the small village of Lochaline has a CalMac ferry link to the Isle of Mull, its own shop and fuel pumps which provide for Morvern inhabitants strung out along the dead-end road to Drimnin.
As I made my way along the shore of Mull Sound, skies cleared and I came across the arched Wishing Stone and made a wish of my own: more donations - please! At the final hamlet of Drimnin, I noticed a cairn erected to the memory of Charles Maclean who lost his life while leading the Macleans at Culloden in 1746.
After Morven I continued to follow a string of two-pronged metal mileposts which had initially counted me out to Drimnin. Later, I followed them as I was routed across the Kingairloch area, down towards a hamlet of the same name. The mileposts are helpful, but if feeling weary they never seem to come quick enough. Some have sadly been damaged or lost, and when that happens it’s a good feeling seeing the numbers unexpectedly jump in your favour!
We parked-up near Kingairloch village for a night where we found ourselves dwarfed by two vast mountains. Seen from afar, their dominance was much more noticeable as I walked away next morning aiming for Loch Linnhe. I spent a good part of a day walking up this beautiful Loch, before catching the busy ferry at Corran Narrows. Nearby, a new road bypasses Clovullin which had once been the route to the ferry. It was here in this small village I came across the local Registry Office – someone’s house where the owner works her hours ‘By Arrangement’.
Having crossed Loch Linnhe I began my walk down its southern shore past Onich and on towards North and South Ballachuish, once only linked by a ferry. Today, a road bridge links the two and I had excellent views down Loch Linnhe, and up Loch Leven towards Glencoe too. Until 1966 South Ballachulish used to have a railway station that linked the town to Oban via this branch line. Not only was the line used for passenger traffic, it also provided a means of getting slates from the Ballachulish quarry to builders in the growing cities of Edinburgh and Glasgow.
The old branch line now serves as both the Caledonian Way and Route 78 on the Sustrans Cycle network: I was glad to free myself from the nearby main roads and make use of this excellent route. In many places the old trackbed was too overgrown to be reused as the cycle route. Instead, some new sections were cut, and these often run parallel to the old railway line. As I walked Route 78 there were still clear reminders of the old railway with platform remains, deep cuttings and arched bridges which navvies and masons would have toiled over for many years. I found another reminder of the line at North Connel where its old cantilever railway bridge spanning Loch Etive now carries the A828.
The Macleans mentioned earlier are not the only clan who feature this week. Still in sight of South Ballachulish I came across a gloomy glade where a memorial to James Stewart (also known as James of the Glen) had been erected. James was a senior member of a leading Jacobite clan, who had been hung for the murder of Colin Campbell – the Campbells were keen Hanoverian supporters.
James Stewart had always proclaimed his innocence in what has become known as the Appin murder. Regarded as one of the great unsolved murders, Robert Louis Stevenson used it as a basis for his novel Kidnapped. It’s not for me to comment on Scottish Clan history, but it would seem the odds were heavily stacked against James of the Glen. He was held in a prison and denied access to his solicitor, the jury consisted mainly of Campbells and the Judge was Chief of Clan Campbell. Poor James didn’t have a chance. In more recent times his descendants have campaigned unsuccessfully for James to be pardoned.
Having been hung in November 1752, his body remained on public display under constant military guard until April 1754 as a reminder to all Jacobites. That’s not a guard duty I’d have fancied!
Along the Caledonian Way heading towards Oban I met Matt, a young farmhand from Cornwall. He’d decided to walk Brown Willy, the highest point of Bodmin Moor, before walking all the way to Scotland where he planned to go up Ben Nevis, Scotland’s highest mountain. We met during yet another wet day, but he remained committed to raising funds for a cancer charity. Unlike me, he was carrying his ‘home’ on his back; I admired his spirit, fortitude and fitness.
After all the tiny settlements I’ve passed this week, my arrival in Oban seemed like stepping into a big city port. The CalMac ferries, which operate a lifeline from Scotland’s mainland to numerous islands can be seen regularly steaming in and out of this busy port. Above the town, McCaig’s unfinished Tower, based on Rome’s Colosseum, dominates the skyline. Designed by John Stuart McCaig, a wealthy philanthropist, he intended the memorial to be both a lasting monument to his family and provide much needed work for local stonemasons.
My ‘bootometer’ clicked 2,800 miles as I entered Oban, where we are parked for the weekend in the Northern Lighthouse Board’s operational base. I’m surrounded by so many buoys of all shapes, colours and sizes, that I can’t tell my port from my starboard!
See Photo Album Numbers 46 – Walking Loch Linnhe Part 1; Walking Loch Linnhe Part 2; Aiming for the Buoys!
Way Out West
Reminders of volcanoes and ancient oak woods, the Jacobite Rebellions, the first ever Commando Training Centre, five more lochs and a village twinned with Mars are among the many things that I’ve encountered this week.
Following NASA’s naming of a geological feature on Mars as ‘Glenelg’, the small Scottish community of the same name decided to twin itself with its Mars namesake. The twinning partner is proudly proclaimed on its village road sign! I noticed this as I left the village to start the climb up and over the Ratagan Pass through vast areas of worked forests. Originally built as a military road after the first Jacobite rebellion, this road was used by the garrison stationed in the now decaying Bemera Barracks in Glenelg.
On reaching the Ratagan summit, imagine my surprise when I saw two Christmas trees at the edge of the forest already bedecked with baubles and tinsel. Will they do that to the whole forest, I wonder?! Dropping down from the 1,100ft summit to the next valley I was lucky enough to see loch Duich, the first of my five lochs, laid out before me with the Five Sisters mountain range behind. Later, as I walked Duich’s shores I looked across at the famous Eilean Donan Castle that regularly appears on Christmas shortbread tins.
Having exhausted the accessible parts of the coast in this area, we made our way back onto Skye where I joined the dots of last week by walking down to Armadale. Here it was a quick ferry crossing to Mallaig, chased by squally showers. As a working port, Mallaig was bustling with ferries, lorries, fish boats, tourists, and the Jacobite steam train hissing in its railway station, giving it a very crowded feel. Looking out to sea, the volcanic remains of Rhum, Eigg and Ardnamurchan Point were all evident – with the latter being my target for later in the week.
The route from Mallaig to Inverailort was a mix of coastal and main road walking. The main road had been constructed across open moorland, woods and through deep cuttings. Busy and noisy as this road was, I was amazed to find a lone male walker asleep on the verge just yards from car wheels whizzing by at 70mph. He looked happy enough, so I quietly stepped over him and continued!
As the day cooled I reached a stretch of water where the Prince’s Cairn stands proudly on the shoreline. This marks the place where ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie’ is reputed to have fled to France in 1746 after the Jacobite Rebellion and his defeat at Culloden the previous year. Later, when walking the shoreline of Loch Ailort, I saw another plaque commemorating the ‘Seven Men of Moidart’ who had landed with the Prince at the start of the rebellion.
A variety of overnight stops in the Victory Van have been enjoyed this week in remote parts of Moidart, and Sunart. We’ve overlooked a valley, shared a hill with sheep, spent the night by a level crossing, slept by a loch, snoozed by a cemetery and nodded off by a fish farm at Inverailort! It was here that we learned the fish farm imports its eggs from Norway for hatching. The salmon are then taken to pens at sea until they are big enough to be collected by special ships and taken to Mallaig’s processing plant.
Prior to being a fish farm this site at Inverailort had been the very first Commando Training Centre during WW2. The unit had trained many nationalities in commando techniques, had housed an Intelligence unit and was supported by a detachment of Wrens. Who’d have thought that a place for teaching commando skills would end up as a place for teaching fish to swim!
Heading further south, the shores of Loch Shiel were followed by those of Loch Moidart, with its ruined Castle Tioram built on a beautiful tiny island. By way of contrast, I found the bare peat bogs of Kentra Moss rather gloomy. A huge open expanse, ringed by mountains and hills on all sides, it resembled nothing I’d seen before. It led me towards the flats of Kentra Bay where sheep lazily grazed on this vast expanse of marshland.
I finally began the long walk out to Ardnamurchan Point, the most westerly point of UK mainland, by initially following Loch Sunart’s shores. To begin with I passed through the ancient oak woods of Sunart. As much as I love trees, I found them overbearing, forming a gloomy green tunnel ahead of me. I was glad to emerge on the remote Ardnamurchan peninsula into open country.
The highlights of the week came when I rounded a series of ‘S’ bends, saw the Ardnamurchan lighthouse at the UK mainland’s most westerly tip, and clocked 2,700 miles all at once! I made it just in time to celebrate with tea and cakes (and an unexpected £20 donation) before the lighthouse café closed.
See Photo Album Numbers 45 – Funnies of the Week; Radio Interview with Hal Stewart of BFBS; Way out West
Spring-Boarding From Skye
Quite a memorable week, for all the wrong reasons!
It began with a ‘horror movie’ scenario when I was suddenly swarmed by thousands of midges as I walked towards Loch Torridon. Whilst battling to don my midge net by the roadside, I could feel the devils in my ears, on my face and up my nose. It wasn’t pleasant. Passing traffic must have wondered if a woman in a high viz vest had gone mad as I thrashed about in all directions!
The battle had ceased by the time I reached Loch Torridon, where a magnificent view of the Loch presented itself before I began the afternoon’s dead-end walk. Initially at sea loch level, a nine-mile narrow switchback road, with fearsome climbs and dives, finished back at sea level in the remote settlement of Little Diabaig. That night we stayed by its small harbour, both wondering if the Victory Van would make it up the village’s steep hill next morning. Thankfully it did.
I was returned to Torridon in our Van, from where I kitted-out in full waterproofs before heading-off in another direction. An easy first mile lured me into a false sense of security before I rounded a bend and saw another ‘teeth-gritter’ hill zig-zagging upwards ahead of me. This and wet, windy weather became the pattern of my walking week, only lightened by my clocking 2,500 miles at Applecross. From Applecross I took another dead-end route south to Toscaig. This tiny hamlet seemed desolate and lacking purpose, having lost its ferry service to Kyle of Lochalsh some years ago.
Incredibly, walking to dead-ends has proved to be more memorable than going over the high historic ‘Pass of the Cattle’ (Bealach na Ba), which rises steeply from Applecross over to Loch Kishorn. As Scotland’s third highest road, I’d been looking forward to seeing far-reaching views from its 2,054ft summit. It took exactly two hours of constant grinding uphill in strong cross winds, mist and driving rain to reach the summit’s viewing platform. Once there, I could barely stand upright in the wind or see more than 10 paces ahead. On the road somewhere below, I knew hairpin bends switched to and fro up severe gradients to the summit – but I saw nothing. I descended the other side feeling slightly aggrieved and without a single photograph!
Some miles further on, the picturesque village of Lochcarron lies beside a sea loch bearing the same name. Nearby a ferry used to run across its waters to a place called Strome Ferry, but services were withdrawn after a new road was built. This was bad news for the Victory Walker, as it required eleven miles of main road walking, watching out for fast moving traffic and tackling more hills. At times the road ran parallel to Loch Carron and the Kyle of Lochalsh railway line. Both the rail and road routes were constructed at the base of sheer rock faces, and I was made conscious of potential rock falls by many warning notices and having to walk through an avalanche shelter. When I got to Strome Ferry we were lucky enough to park overnight near the old jetty, beside Strome’s small railway station.
The following morning I set off, first for Plockton – a pretty holiday destination – and then on to the town of Kyle of Lochalsh. Famous for its links to Skye, originally by ferry and now by bridge, we had decided to revise my route and cross over to Skye.
In Scotland, sticking as close to the coast as possible is proving to be a logistical jigsaw puzzle. For those who have been following the blue line on the Victory Walker’s map (http://victorywalk.uk/index.php/follow-the-route) it is clear I’ve not been able to reach all parts of the coast. This is either because they are inaccessible, or potentially dangerous for a lone walker. Common sense and safety must prevail. Therefore, we will use Skye as a springboard, to get me past large parts of inaccessible mainland coastline and avoid lengthy inland detours on main roads.
Fortunately, I was blessed with fine weather and clear views from Skye Bridge when I crossed onto Skye, before heading towards the tiny hamlet of Kylerhea. Another dramatic walk took me down to the shores of Kyle Rhea and the Sound of Sleat, where I caught the unique Kylerhea Ferry back to the mainland. Vehicles drive from a slipway up onto a turntable, which in turn is swung round and aligned with the flat motorised barge underneath. This ferry is now the only one in the world that still makes use of a manually operated turntable.
Once back on the mainland at Glenelg I picked up my walk again and did my final dead-end walk of the week to Corran, just beyond Arnisdale. Dwarfed by mountains, both tiny settlements are reached at the end of another steep and twisty ten-mile road. These seemed even further removed from civilisation than the other dead-end destinations I’d already visited. Accessible only by sea or via the roads described, these tiny hamlets miles from civilisation are a complete puzzle. I’m always left wondering what convinced the original settlers to build houses there in the first place!
High points of the week have been seeing two statuesque stags in classical pose on a high heather covered bank, and the spontaneous kindness of people who have knocked on the Van door to give us generous donations.
See Photo Album Numbers 44 – A Stiff Climb En Route to Diabaig; ‘Spring-Boarding From Skye
‘Loching’ In to Naval History
It’s been a week of dramatic skies displaying clouds of all sizes, shapes and colours, ranging from deep purple to fluffy white. Some have hung over the peaks like wafting bonfire smoke, while others have made the mountains look like gently simmering volcanoes. Many of the bruisingly-dark clouds could not contain their rain any longer, releasing squally deluges in my path. Others have dazzled in bright sunshine or turned golden in the rays of a setting sun.
Arriving at Aultbea on the shore of Loch Ewe I was immediately struck by the tranquillity which would have been at complete odds with significant naval events there 77 years ago. Today, that episode is recalled in the Russian Arctic Convoy Museum which I visited. It naturally concentrates on the bravery and fortitude of sailors from both the Royal and Merchant Navies who bravely sailed the 2,500 mile Arctic Ocean convoy route. Their job was to resupply Russia (who was fighting off Germany) by delivering all manner of provisions and munitions to the northern Russian ports of Murmansk and Archangel.
Being a sheltered deep-water sea loch which links to the Atlantic Ocean and is also close to the Arctic Ocean, Loch Ewe was a natural choice to base the Royal Navy’s Home Fleet: from here the ships could make a quick departure in either direction. With its tiered levels of sea and air defences, the Loch also provided protection for merchant ship convoys that assembled here, together with their naval escorts.
By 1941 HMS Helican, a shore establishment, was commissioned at Aultbea and the Royal Navy, supported by the other Services, moved into the town and its surrounding areas. Remains of that era can still be seen. Aultbea Hall, built in 1941 to serve as a cinema and recreational facility for the servicemen and women, still exists and is used as a cinema today. A little further out at Mellon Charles, a large depot was created for the maintenance of the submarine boom defences that were laid across the Loch: some of the boom net anchors remain visible. Here ‘Wrens’ were employed to repair the anti-submarine net hoops.
On my walk down the Loch’s eastern side to Poolewe, I passed the refuelling jetty which continues to be used by British and NATO ships. I also spotted the place where barrage balloons had once been tethered to deter German bombers. Heading up the other side of Loch Ewe I noticed traces of anti-aircraft emplacements at Firepower Bay and found remains of some coastal gun batteries at the Memorial headland. Here, the Russian Arctic Convoy Memorial commemorates all those sailors, over 3,000 of them, who sailed from the Loch but never returned to home shores. Their terrifying deaths in those icy Arctic waters are unimaginable to me.
For the quiet and remote crofting community, the arrival of such an enormous influx of military personnel in the Loch Ewe area must have been daunting, almost intimidating at the outset. The Forces outnumbered the local crofters by 3-1, but everyone soon adapted. During an awful winter storm on 25 Feb 1944, it was crofters who initially went to the aid of the few survivors thrown onto rocks from the Liberty Ship SS William H Welch, wrecked close to Loch Ewe’s entrance.
Following Loch Ewe the shores of Loch Gairloch were my next destination. Gairloch itself is another small village which provides for the more remote hamlets on its peninsula. At the furthest point the Rubha Reidh (meaning Smooth Point) lighthouse rests a little above sea level on rocks that slope gently to the sea. It was built in 1912 and like so many other lighthouses, all the building materials were brought in via sea, after a small jetty had been constructed nearby. Scotland's lighthouses owe much to the design and engineering skills of the Stevenson family; the designer of Rubha Reidh light, David Alan Stevenson, was from the fourth generation of Stevensons. Automated in 1989, the Lighthouse’s original Fresnal lens together with fog horn are now on display at Gairloch Museum.
Gairloch’s other shore took me through equally remote settlements which included Shieldaig, Badachro, Opinan and Redpoint. Out to sea were the coastlines of Skye and its distant neighbour Lewis. Sometimes, the only clue to there being a hamlet ahead is a line of telephone or electricity poles planted across the secluded landscape. As bus services are non-existent, these isolated places, once self-sufficient, now require all inhabitants to own a car or a good pair of walking boots. I for one can vouch for the walking distance to their nearest village store!
See Photo Album No 43 – ‘Loching’ In to Naval History
Mountains, Mist, and Midges
Shortly after Lochinver I crossed back into Ross and Cromarty making my way towards the Coigach peninsula. Full of tough hills through which narrow roads wind, I walked from one small settlement to the next, passing through Achnahaird and Reiff to name just two. Looking seawards the panorama of the Summer Isles unfolded before me. This archipelago consists of approximately 18 islands, with only the largest, Tanera Mor, inhabited on a regular basis.
Continuing down the shoreline to Achiltibuie, I took what is referred to as ‘the postie’ cross-country route around the coast to Ullapool. Apparently this eleven-mile route had also been previously used by school children of secondary age: they would depart on foot on Sunday afternoon to arrive in Ullapool much later that evening. Here they would stay in arranged accommodation, attend school until Friday and then tackle the return walk home for the weekend.
I was fortunate enough to walk this route (now waymarked in places) on a clear, bright day with glorious views out to the Summer Isles and ahead to Ardmair and Loch Broom. The path was far from clear, with heather and ferns concealing much of the way. In many places the trail made use of stream beds or the numerous rocks and boulders that were strewn before me, with their ledges providing irregular footpath steps. Being a very hot day, and having recently seen a small adder, I was careful when pulling myself up onto the warm rocks and mindful of my steps into dense undergrowth. In some areas one wrong step or a trip could have been a disaster with a sheer drop to rocks and sea below. There were many boggy areas too which, in wetter conditions, would have made for miserable walking. If this was a route for postmen and school children, they must have bred ‘em tough in those days!
Ullapool in Easter Ross was humming with tourists and visitors. A cruise ship, Oceania Marina, was anchored-off and the ship’s tenders were doing a brisk trade ferrying passengers to and fro. Ashore, a queue of coaches took the ship’s visitors to various nearby landmarks and sights. With over 1,000 passengers disembarking, local coach companies were kept busy - I could vouch for this as I met many on my unpleasant main road walk away from Ullapool down the shores of Loch Broom. Unfortunately, the little ferry that used to run across Loch Broom is no longer in operation, so for me it was a long trek round before I headed over the hills to Little Loch Broom and the Dundonnell Estate.
This 33,000-acre estate and its three storey mansion was once owned by the Mackenzie clan, but since 1998 has been owned by the lyricist, Sir Tim Rice. It’s an impressive place reached via a narrow stone bridge which the Victory Van driver did well to negotiate. The area is towered over by An Teallach (The Forge) mountain rising to over 3,400 ft. This dwarfed me as I walked along the main road beside Little Loch Broom heading for another string of villages, including one charmingly named Durnamuck! Regrettably, heavy rain and low cloud marred all the best views.
After the recent heatwave, heavy rain has descended on the Victory Walker for the latter part of the week. Because of this, streams, rivers and waterfalls have suddenly sprung into life again, cascading spectacular volumes of water towards the sea. Meanwhile the humid weather has brought the midges out with a vengeance. Changing my walking speed, weaving an evasive course, swatting them with my stick and shouting at them has done nothing to deter the little blighters. What I need is a cunning plan!
See Photo Album No 42 – Mountains, Mist and Midges
Following my tendon injury, I returned to walking with some trepidation: help would not be available at Cape Wrath if anything were to happen.
I took the small ferry boat across the Kyle of Durness before disembarking and starting the eleven-mile walk up to Cape Wrath and its lighthouse. What remains of the road built by the Northern Lighthouse Board (Scotland’s equivalent of Trinity House), now resembles a pot-holed track with patches of old tarmac. Probably the things that have survived best is one of the original narrow bridges constructed for horse and cart, and eleven granite mile markers, each with a number etched into it. As I made my way across barren moorland, punctuated with the odd loch, these milestones counted me down to mainland Britain’s most north-westerly headland.
Along the way I passed just three isolated cottages and a further one adapted for Ministry of Defence use. Since 1933 Cape Wrath has been used as a naval gunnery and aerial bombardment live firing range - thankfully no red flags were flying on the day I made my gradual climb towards the Cape. My only company was a large herd of deer seen silhouetted on the nearby skyline.
On reaching the lighthouse built in 1828, I could see that a large settlement once existed there. Vast walled gardens surrounded the Light where keepers’ families would have grown their vegetables and kept their own chickens and animals. Automation saw the lighthouse community depart: today the permanent population of the Cape is two, a father and daughter, who run the small café and bunkhouse at the lighthouse. I saw the area on a relatively calm day so was able to venture to the cliff edge, look back east, before turning and making my way south over open, untracked, rough moorland towards Sandwood Bay.
At times the going was tough, bog-hopping, clambering in and out of peaty stream beds and wading through high rain-soaked grass. I knew I’d also have to cross several streams and two rivers, and after heavy rainfall two nights previously I anticipated getting my wet feet. On a couple of occasions, it was a case of finding the safest place to wade across, using my walking pole to balance and counter the strong currents.
Eventually Sandwood Bay came into view – a welcome sight of a sandy beach backed by a loch and sand dunes. From the south it is only accessible on foot along a four-mile rough track across peat and heather. Regularly used by wild campers, Sandwood’s unspoilt nature owes much to its remoteness. Having emptied my boots and wrung out my socks for the third time, I took that track south to Blairmore. Thankfully, I’d survived the walk without any further injuries.
On entering the fishing port of Kinlochbervie we found ourselves mingling once again with North Coast 500 tourists. My route kept me with the NC500 through Rhiconich, Laxford Bridge, the Tarbet peninsula, Scourie and alongside the magnificent Loch a’ Chairn Bhain (often referred to as Loch Cairnbawn). At Kylesku I discovered the futuristic road bridge opened in 1984 by HM the Queen; before this bridge was constructed drivers followed a long circuitous route that involved the use of a small car ferry.
Kylesku also has a naval connection, recorded on a small memorial cairn sited in the bridge viewing car park. During 1943 crews of two-man chariots (human torpedoes) and four-man X-Boats (midget submarines) trained in the nearby loch. The midget submarines of the 12th Flotilla then went on to attack the German battleship Tirpitz hiding in a Norwegian fiord.
Joining the coast route heading for Lochinver, I entered an area referred to as Assynt country. Scotland is a geologist’s dream: its entire landscape has been shaped by glacial effect. Above me, I’ve seen high rocky ridges decorated with huge boulders which, on the skyline, look like large beads widely spaced on a necklace. Known as glacial erratics, these boulders were deposited there by glaciers as they slowly melted and ground their way seawards about 25,000 years ago. Everywhere I look there are mountains, rocks and lochs of all shapes and sizes, with many of the lochs having marvellous displays of flowering water lilies.
The landscape certainly influenced the way roads were initially built, following routes that meandered, circled mountains and entered valleys. More recently, it’s clear that engineers have just blasted their way through obstructions, but that doesn’t mean Scotland has been ‘levelled’! The dramatic scenery has put my heart, lung and leg muscles to the test many times this week. Coupled with soaring temperatures it has made walking exhausting, but an end of day sea dip has helped keep my cool!
See Photo Album No 41 – Striking South
Living the ‘High’ Life
Before my tendon injury ‘grounded’ me for a few days at Sango Sands, Durness, I was reminded of my childhood in rural Devon as I travelled through the northern Highlands.
Small communities residing in remote villages and hamlets make a modest living from a variety of occupations. Some residents have more than one job out of necessity, others out of choice. It is also clear that a growing number have moved here to experience a less frenetic pace, seeking out ‘the Good Life’. Inevitably this comes with some drawbacks too.
Without large retail parks, petrol filling stations and department stores, residents rely much more on their local village shops. The nearest supermarkets back at Thurso entail a lengthy, wriggly drive and as yet do not offer their on-line shopping facility. Therefore, the general stores scattered across the area provide an all-round service, and although more expensive than chain stores and outlets, local inhabitants are prepared to pay for this service. Internet shopping (which wasn’t around in my childhood!) fills the gaps for larger household goods, and book readers benefit from a travelling library that runs on a three weekly cycle.
Another drawback is that of public transport provision, which is minimal or nil. Owning your own vehicle is essential, but fuel is noticeably more expensive. Most of the general stores sell fuel from 2 pumps sited outside the shop. Interestingly, I’ve seen more electric fuel points than on any other part of my journey. Scotland is already looking to the future and must also make provision for the many drivers undertaking the North and West Highland Tourist route.
Communication of any form is definitely more uncertain. Phone masts have appeared on some of the high summits, but that doesn’t guarantee a signal when down at Lochside level. The once familiar red phone boxes seen in England still regularly appear in the Highlands, some now faded and others are damaged and partly obscured by nearby vegetation. It’s a bit of a lottery as to whether they are still meant to be working. Investigations have shown that some are disconnected, but confusingly the handset remains! In others there is a dialling tone because local residents have fought to maintain a service with the outside world. Use of the internet is widespread, although broadband width and speed are reported to be noticeably slower.
Huge swathes of moorland are given over to sheep farming. I met an elderly man who told me he was a shepherd and had spent the past winter looking after a flock of 1,700. At the other end of the spectrum there are still many people managing smallholdings; a traditional croft homestead would have been about 8 acres, but this is no longer economically viable so holdings have increased in size to at least 20 acres. Much of the land is hard to till but owners make a living by keeping a few sheep, chickens, pigs or goats, for example. Some grow potatoes and the harvesting of peat is a regular sight. Cut in June, the peat blocks are left drying in stacks and are still widely used as a natural fuel source during the winter months.
Walking through some of the more remote settlements I am always struck by the well-maintained war memorials each with its long list of local men who never returned. Often erected alongside the local church or chapel, it is now distressing to see so many closed or condemned places of worship. Speaking to local residents it is evident that some worry about what will happen to their war memorial when the local church is sold off.
Many of the local men who failed to return after the Wars were either involved in farming or fishing. Today, most of the tiny village slipways or harbours are not used for fishing. For the few that do still go out to fish, their method of sale and distribution has changed. I encountered the mobile fish van which, unlike the ice cream van that plays ‘Frosty the Snowman’, the mobile fish shop’s rendition was ‘When the Boat Comes In’. As a child I remember old Mr Lobb delivering fish to our door but without any musical accompaniment!
Without doubt, one of the mobile fish van’s customers in Kirtomy will be the local doctor. By day he runs his surgery, by night he has diversified and runs an upmarket restaurant from his house for three nights a week. The house is the old village school where a maximum of 8 diners enjoy their meal seated in what was once the main classroom!
The doctor is not the only person who has diversified in response to changing demands. Evidence of a village’s reduced bus service is in the clever re-use of its bus shelter. It now serves as a greenhouse (plants for sale), and a shop window for the sale of locally produced wooden chairs and craft items! On the Kyle of Tongue estuary I noticed a large oyster farm where I was told that initial cultivation takes place before they are shipped over to France. Meanwhile, on the shores of Loch Eriboll I spied a large ceramics studio where a potter has built a pottery and sells, among other things, vast glazed balls to the passing public!
Tourists, particularly those undertaking the North Coast 500 circular road route from Inverness, have also helped boost new business opportunities. The obvious ones have been wayside cafes, pubs, new B & Bs, campsites, and bicycle repair facilities. One of the more adventurous enterprises that caught my eye was the Zip Wire Experience placed across a beautiful sandy bay. At £12 per head how can anyone refuse to be zipped!
See Photo Album No 40 - Living the 'High' Life
Plotting, Planning and Plodding
Our planning break in Thurso proved to be anything but restful. A fun fair making its annual visit to the town encouraged the inevitable high-pitched screams of excitement and fear, competing with thumping music that boomed across the harbour. This nocturnal scene was completed by local tearaway drivers roaring around the town until well after midnight, as if they were competing in the Monte Carlo rally.
By day, we laid out batches of Ordnance Survey Explorer maps on the Sea Cadets’ drill deck. Complicated by many of the maps being double-sided, we gradually plotted a route for me and identified intercepting points for the Victory Van. In all, we worked our way through 46 maps, with the route seeing us to Gretna Green, close to our Scottish exit point. This detailed process is now being finalised by the Support Team (of 1) who will break the planned route into walking weeks, overlain with rest, laundry and refuelling points. Once complete, this becomes the schedule we will follow to get us to England’s border.
Walking out of Thurso I noted a road sign which read “North and West Highlands Tourist Route - 150 miles to Ullapool”. I wondered how many miles it would take before I’d walk into Ullapool. With no official coastal path I find myself interweaving between main roads, occasional tracks and taking minor roads out to remote dead-end coastal peninsulas. From sea level there have been some tough ascents into magnificent highland scenery where heather is just starting to bloom. The open moorland is often broken by numerous hill lochs and a few tracks. I briefly enjoy the hilltop views before plunging down into the next valley.
As I make my way along Scotland’s ‘roof’ I have become a familiar sight to some of the daily van and lorry drivers who work this highland route. I am now on regular waving terms with Royal Mail, The Far North Bus, Travis Perkins builders’ merchants, Highland Industrial Supplies, and Menzies Distribution who proudly state ‘Blue Vans Mean Business’!
Added to this mix of commuters are many tourists undertaking the North Coast 500 (see below) route by various means, be it in motorhomes, towing caravans, on motorbikes or by the tougher means of cycling. Some of the ‘A’ class roads are not much better than minor roads with passing places so it’s a case of keeping my ears open, eyes peeled and having to make regular hops onto roadside verges. Another class of traveller encountered this week has been salmon fishermen with their long rods carefully attached to car bonnets and trailing over vehicle roofs. Salmon fishing brings in a lot of business to this area of Scotland, although this year’s dry weather is affecting the pursuit.
Entering Sutherland’s remoter parts has also highlighted the contrasts between urban and rural life. We saw our last Tesco and LIDL supermarkets at Thurso: small communities are now serviced by local shops which serve as post office, green grocer, general store, petrol filling station and anything else it needs to be. Peat continues to be widely used as a source of fuel; I’ve passed areas where peat has been cut into blocks and left out drying in peat stacks. With communications being more problematic, red telephone boxes can still be seen scattered across the countryside, and if you are lucky the phones may still have a dialling tone.
As for my progress this week, it began with walking in thick fog and rain – not much good for taking photos! I’ve walked through Scrabster port; observed Dounreay’s decommissioning nuclear power station; re-entered Sutherland - proclaimed as Mackay country; seen the Portskerra drowning memorial; passed a house complete with naval gun from which the ex RN owner fires potatoes; ate lunchtime sandwiches overlooking a fog-bound Farr bay; met salmon fishermen at Bettyhill; observed an oyster farm being worked; marvelled at the Kyle of Tongue causeway, with Kyle Bay one side and mountains on the other; watched the sun set from Coldbackie; wandered through isolated cemeteries where headstones recall successive generations of sheperds and fishermen; visited the deserted beaches of Torrisdale and Achininver; walked both sides of Loch Eriboll, nicknamed Loch ‘orrible by British sailors and famed for the WWII German U-Boat surrender; parked overnight overlooking beautiful Loch ‘orrible before walking into Durness. Here I was surprised to find a memorial to the Liverpudlian Beatle, John Lennon.
It’s been yet another week of complete contrasts and discovering things you can’t envisage when looking at 46 OS maps!
North Coast Route 500
Launched in 2015 to showcase the Highlands, Scotland’s North Coast 500 route which starts and ends at Inverness has surpassed all tourist board expectations. So popular has this become that many locals living along this internationally recognised route, much of it single track, have become tired of NC500 and its traffic.
Having seen a convoy of 20 motorcyclists led by a tour guide, a cavalcade of 10 motorhomes negotiating the twisty roads, and many other touring caravans being pulled around unforgiving corners, I do sympathise with the Highland population. I even feel embarrassed that my working ‘Victory Van’ motorhome has joined this crocodile of transport.
But for all the locals who tolerate NC500, there are many others who have seized a business opportunity. Wayside cafes, pubs, new B & Bs, campsites, bicycle repair facilities, local shops and more have sprung up along the way.
See Photo Album Numbers 39 - North Coast 500; Plotting, Planning and Plodding
‘Training' for a Wedding!
How would you feel if you’d just arrived at John o’ Groats on foot, only to turn around again and travel all the way to west Cornwall, almost to Land’s End? Like the board game, the Victory Walker having clambered all the way up a Ladder from Portsmouth to John o’ Groats, found herself sliding down a huge Snake to Truro and onward to the Lizard!
This was a family wedding we couldn’t miss, and I’d punched through the winds to be sure of reaching Thurso, end of the line, where we’d board the train next morning.
It seemed a good idea to travel over 2 days by train, allowing the walker and support team to rest-up, look out the window, and spy places they had passed through on foot or wheels respectively. As is often the case, theory and practice can be very different.
We arrived in good time at Thurso station for the 0836 train that would take us first to Inverness, for an onward connection to Edinburgh. The journey would take until 1600, which would then allow ‘Auntie Jane’ time to visit a department store in Edinburgh. With only jeans, T-shirt and trainers on the support vehicle, I needed to buy a suitable outfit and some shoes that would fit my enlarged feet. An overnight stop had been booked at Edinburgh before our 10 hour onward journey to deepest Cornwall the following morning.
All was looking good until we realised there was no train at Thurso, no announcements and a notice which read that staff did not start work until 0930. Another precise notice told us that the toilets opened at 0954 daily! There was no indication that a replacement bus service had been provided for our absent train - everyone was left stranded. As it would be another 5 hours before the next train to Inverness, we gathered our belongings and went off in search of a Stagecoach bus.
Two and a half hours later we were on the Inverness bus and I began to think about the type of outfit I needed for a country wedding. Places whistled by, but suddenly the bus ground to a halt at the end of a long queue of stationary traffic. The A9 had been closed in both directions following a very serious road traffic accident. A nearby diversion was soon to be blocked by yet another accident.
Unknown to everyone stuck on the road, a long wait of almost 5 hours in sweltering conditions was ahead of us. People got out of vehicles to stretch their legs, sat in the shade on verges, talked to one another and gratefully received water from a passing Samaritan who cycled by handing out bottles from her rucksack and panniers. The road ran parallel to the railway line and ironically, that later Thurso to Inverness train we could have caught trundled by. All we and other inconvenienced train passengers could do was laugh and wave!
We’d already missed two connections to Edinburgh and were on the verge of missing a third when the long skein of traffic began to grind into first gear. Vital minutes ticked by as our coach driver did his best to get to Inverness station before 1845. We caught it with seconds to spare. Finally, at 2300 we checked into our Edinburgh hotel and the bridegroom’s ‘Auntie’ was still in jeans, T-shirt and trainers!
Next morning our Cornish train pulled away punctually from Edinburgh Waverley at the start of its long Cross-Country route to Penzance. Familiar views and stations flicked by as we clattered south towards our destination. Departing from Brunel’s famous Temple Meads station in Bristol, the Train Manager announced our train would terminate at Plymouth owing to a lack of crew. Groan!
Timetables were hurriedly consulted before we ‘jumped ship’, opting for a First Great Western train which was also bound for Penzance. By now running late for car hire collection, frustrating minutes were spent trying to contact the company with a phone whose signal rose and fell with each cutting and tunnel.
Eventually, with car keys safely handed over at Truro, we set off in failing light through deep Cornish lanes to locate our smart B & B. For me, having been used to a walking speed of 3mph since last October, it was quite novel to be back behind a wheel again! The journey took forever through unfamiliar twisty lanes, seemingly with every place name beginning with the letters Tre. Eventually, at 2230 we arrived at Tregaddra Farm, and the bridegroom’s ‘Auntie’ was still in jeans, T-shirt and trainers!
Next morning there was no time for an outfit shopping trip to Truro. I’d booked myself into a local salon at Helston for a haircut and other beauty treatments with the aim of smartening-up. I had resigned myself to my fate – ‘Auntie Jane’ would attend the wedding in – that’s right – jeans, T-shirt and trainers.
Enter June, owner and Angel of Tregaddra who generously offered to loan me one of her dresses; a choice of outfits magically appeared in our room after breakfast - one was selected. Another guest kindly lent me a pashmina, and another guided me to a local shoe shop where I later bought some blue sandals. Miraculously I was ‘sorted’ and the rest of day was spent having a hot rocks massage. Chilled at last!
The sun shone as we made our way to the little church to witness my nephew Andrew marry Frances. In true wedding tradition ‘Auntie Jane’ attended in something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue’ – and who would have guessed!
Readers will be mightily relieved to know that the return journey was uneventful. We were soon being reunited with the Victory Van that had been given a quiet holiday at ‘Achies’, a 400 year-old croft settlement near Thurso. Our landlord, a veteran Royal Navy submariner, now runs a smallholding where he has geese, ducks, chickens, goats, makes pork sausages and is renovating his many outbuildings. All this in his spare time as he does shift work as well. Who said sailors can’t multi-task?!
Since our return we’ve found somewhere to take a few days break, spread out our many maps and plan how the Victory Walker will attack the frighteningly complicated west coast of Scotland.
Normal (walking) service will resume as soon as possible!
See Photo Album No 38 - 'Training' for a Wedding
Walking to JoG
This has been a momentous week where my walking pole has continued to be wielded as a machete along the Inverness to John o’ Groats (JoG) Trail, when I left Sutherland and entered Caithness. The 147-mile route is not yet officially recognised, financed or maintained, and this became evident when confronted by continual jungle-like conditions. Coupled with extremely strong offshore winds, this has forced me onto roads for quite a few miles this week.
Entering Helmsdale by road, I couldn’t miss the Emigrants’ Memorial dominating the crest of a hill overlooking the harbour. This memorial commemorates crofters from the Highlands and Islands of Scotland who had been affected by the Land Clearance schemes, and subsequently decided to emigrate in search of freedom and a new life. A dark period during the 18th and 19th century in this part of Scotland, the Duke of Sutherland was one such owner who cleared his land of people to create pasture land and introduce large scale sheep farming.
Eviction of entire families was enforced in many glens, including Ousdale, Berriedale, and Strath of Kildonan near Helmsdale. To their credit, the Duke and Duchess planned a ‘new town’ for their tenants at Helmsdale, where they intended to introduce new employment opportunities. Understandably, many families were unhappy at being uprooted. Others were forced to swap their fertile lands for the rough, infertile, sloping land of Badbea, another ‘new village’ perched on remote cliffs near Berriedale: I walked through both. When it became clear to families that they could not make a living from their new circumstances, many took the brave decision to emigrate.
As I gradually made my way towards JoG I passed through many small harbours, each with their own character and story to tell: Dunbeath, overlooked by a grand castle/house on the clifftops, Lybster, tiny Whaligoe with its 300 steps leading to a narrow inlet, Staxigoe with its Fishermen’s Pole (barometer) and Keiss with its old ice house and fishing store. Far larger than all these was Wick harbour, now looking somewhat forlorn – but a special place for me as I clocked 2,000 miles there since leaving Portsmouth.
Although sunshine accompanied me on the last stretch of cliffs towards Duncansby Head, I spent the entire time fighting the wind, desperately trying to remain upright and on land. Its remoteness was beautiful and saw me walking through acres of white cotton grass, mixed with boggy patches; each step sank my boots, but thankfully they always rose again! By the time I reached Duncansby Stacks I was hiking on springy green turf so could stop to admire these incredible rock formations which resembled gigantic Walnut Whips in the sea!
Turning left at Duncansby Lighthouse to head west alongside the Pentland Firth was a notable change of direction: I had begun to walk across the top of Scotland. For the next two miles into JoG, along the cliffs overlooking white sandy beaches and among flocks of sheep, I felt both excitement and trepidation.
Since my last visit to JoG in 2007, when I walked 1,200 miles to Land’s End raising funds for the Poppy Appeal, the area had clearly benefitted from major investment. For me, the disappointment was seeing the iconic signpost, once strictly controlled, now daubed in stickers and looking decidedly tatty. Leaving the signpost again, my feelings of apprehension were no less than last time because I’m now attempting a longer, more complicated and indirect route to Land’s End.
I continued along the shores of the beautiful, but notoriously hazardous Pentland Firth – I can well understand why the Queen Mother so loved her summer residence at the Castle of Mey. Afterwards, my first significant stop was at Dunnet Head. Billed as the most northerly point of the British Mainland, it has superb views across the Firth to the Orkneys but would have been a rather desolate place to be posted to during WWII. The daytime skies were stunning with a complete lack of jet trails, just wild and varied cloud patterns. Being so far north the hours of daylight are disconcerting by southern standards. We watched a large golden sun eventually disappear below the horizon at 2233, and yet it still seemed light! Leaving the Head next morning there were yet more striking cloud patterns which kept me absorbed until I walked into Thurso for an unusual reunion . . .
On my 2007 JoG to Land’s End walk we needed a new teapot and stopped at Thurso supermarket to buy one. A kind and helpful member of staff, Ruth, apologised for a total lack of stock and offered us her own teapot from home - an offer we gladly accepted. Now, eleven years later we made a special point of contacting Ruth and reuniting her with the well-used and long-travelled teapot. She enjoyed the tea-rrific surprise!
See Photo Album Numbers 37 - Walking the JoG Trail at Berriedale; Walking into Keiss; How Was Your Day?; Fighting Offshore Winds at Duncansby Stacks; Interview with BFBS Radio; Walking to JoG
'Hectored' in the Highlands
The Kessock bridge led me out of Inverness, from where I walked onto what is confusingly known as the Black Isle. It’s not an island, but a peninsula of land within the shire of Ross and Cromarty, an area dominated by agriculture and forestry. I plunged into my first wood straight after the bridge crossing, but soon encountered difficulties: the planned route crossed new plantation areas where high, inaccessible deer fencing had been erected.
Path and routing difficulties are a constant problem. I see no point in hacking my way through forest undergrowth, being shredded by swathes of gorse bushes, or wading over slippery green rocks in muddy estuaries. I do my best to keep as close to the coast as possible, but realise that road walking is unavoidable and will probably increase the further north and west I go in Scotland. This week I’ve frequently found myself amongst chest high soaking wet vegetation in full bloom or wading through knee high nettles and thistles.
I’d already planned not to walk the entire Black Isle peninsula, avoiding the needless circle into Dingwall and Invergordon. Instead, I opted to use the seasonal ferry (permitted within my rules) that runs across the mouth of the Cromarty Firth to the village of Nigg Ferry. Capable of carrying only 2 cars, it’s the smallest car ferry in Britain and resembles a landing craft. My ten minute passage in the rain over a grey Cromarty Firth saved me 42 miles of walking, but immediately presented me with a steep hill to climb. Justice!
During both World Wars the Cromarty Firth provided deep and sheltered water. Therefore, in the 1970s Nigg became an obvious choice to construct and maintain drilling platforms when the North Sea oil business was at its height. Today, platforms are still maintained here but the Global Energy Group facility has diversified into the offshore wind farm business too.
That night at Nigg, whilst parked in the shadow of the Ocean Valiant platform, we felt the brunt of Storm Hector. All night the van was struck by savage gusts of wind - we could hear dustbin lids banging, while their contents of cartons, tins and rubbish were being swirled around the car park.
Next morning I saw the storm damage for myself: grass in fields waiting to be mown had been flattened; branches, twigs and leaves lay scattered in roads; gardens and roadside verges were strewn with an array of broken flower heads and damaged bushes. Although I wasn’t walking into a headwind, the dust and grit being churned along the roads and paths required me to wear protective goggles for most of the day.
To reach my next big crossing at Dornoch Firth I went via Tarbat Ness, a remote lighthouse headland. It required many hours of walking below high cliffs and over beaches full of large stones and boulders before ‘I saw the light’! I’d frequently read that I was in an area where dolphins could be seen, but all I saw that day was a mermaid sitting on a rock: a striking bronze statue at Balintore. As I walked to Tarbat point I passed several disused bothies, and apart from encountering grazing sheep I met no one all day. Its seclusion did not disappoint, but with Storm Hector flinging his final squalls, I eventually arrived at blustery Portmahomack utterly drenched.
In an effort to dry off we booked into a campsite for the night. Run by the local vicar, who was everything from Warden to Mr Maintenance, the site generates income which pays for the upkeep of his vast church. I admired his initiative! Other overnight stops this week have included a fishing lake and parking on private driveways.
The heavy showers continued next day as I made my way along the Dornoch Firth to renew my acquaintance with its bridge: I’d not been there since my 2007 John o’ Groats to Land’s End charity walk. It was here in 2007 that I celebrated my first 100 miles heading south. This time, going north, my Victory Walk mileage had just clocked 1,900 miles as I entered the county of Sutherland.
Since then I spent a long, wet day walking the entire perimeter of Loch Fleet before reaching Golspie, a town whose skyline is dominated by the prominent Duke of Sutherland Monument. Later I passed Dunrobin Castle the family seat and home to Clan Sutherland. With its 189 rooms it is a marked contrast to the tiny bothies I passed earlier in the week.
To conclude, I am now in ‘End -to-Ender’ country, with people tackling the Land’s End to John o’ Groats challenge by whatever means takes their fancy. I’ve already met a cyclist who had just completed the journey northbound and a fellow RN sailor who has just begun his southbound walk. But perhaps the ‘End-to-Ender’ facing a much greater challenge than these two is the man I saw today walking northbound with his guide. He is blind.
See Photo Album No 36 - 'Hectored' in the Highlands
The long-haul walking journey between the Firth of Tay (Dundee) and the Moray Firth (Inverness) continued with a repeating theme of airfields along the coastline of Scotland, most of which are now disused. Since leaving Dundee I’d already passed eight and there were more to come this week as I made way to Inverness.
At Spey Bay, the Moray coastal trail uses a pedestrianised railway bridge over the river Spey, a river which is recognised for its excellent salmon and trout fishing. The Spey is also very important for malt whisky production: Speyside is the largest of Scotland’s five key whisky producing areas. This week I passed my first maltings at Burghead (where the grain is converted into malt by soaking it in water) and saw my first distillery at Forres. Typically, I arrived after distillery closing time!
Reaching Forres involved two long days on the Moray trail beside the Firth. On my first day when approaching Lossiemouth, I spent much of the time outside a forest following an uneven pebble and stone track alongside old WW2 fortifications: a mix of pill boxes and anti-tank concrete blocks nicknamed ‘dragons teeth’. It wasn’t until I got much closer to the town that the terrain changed to fine sand. Looking across the beach I saw remains of WWII anti-glider posts embedded in the sand – these were designed to deter enemy aircraft from trying to land on the beach.
Today’s RAF airfield at Lossiemouth was once home to the Royal Navy’s Fleet Air Arm, HMS Fulmar, playing a key part in aircraft carrier operations. During the past week I’ve been fortunate enough to meet a former Aircraft Handler, a Weapons Analyst Wren, a Meteorological Wren and a WRNS Secretarial officer, all of whom had fond memories of their time at ‘Lossie’. The Aircraft Handler, Les, now in his mid-80s still regards his time in the Royal Navy as some of the best. Listening to Les reminded me of the RN’s recruiting advertisement ‘Made in the Royal Navy’.
My second walking day to Kinloss was equally long, but this time most of it was done along forest tracks, before emerging to see the vast sweep of Burghead Bay close to the former RAF Kinloss airfield. The Roseisle forest dates back to the 1930s and was formed entirely on sand dunes. The Corsican and Scot pine trees were deliberately planted to help stabalise the dunes - both trees thrive on dry sandy soil. At least the walk was cool, although the pebbled path, mixed with sand and old pine cones proved to be tiring for my feet.
RAF Kinloss ceased flying operations in July 2011 and it was somewhat eerie observing such a large airfield so quiet. Signs still exist where spotters could park and watch aircraft from viewing platforms. By chance I discovered that during WW2 Kinloss had a satellite unit with grass runways at nearby Forres. The satellite unit was developed to ease pressure on Kinloss and by 1941 the separate RAF Forres was opened. Here aircrew were trained on Whitley aircraft, preparing them for front line duties with Bomber Command. During those training years 26 Whitley aircraft were lost, together with 55 lives. The airfield also housed Italian Prisoners of War and subsequently displaced units from the Polish Army lived here for two years.
All that remains are a couple of memorials situated by the busy A96, placed in the garden of a long closed and vandalised Little Chef cafe.
Most of my final approach into Inverness had to be done on roads – some peaceful, others not. As I ‘walked the white kerb line’ on a hot day it seemed the hotter the day, the faster the traffic! Before I left the Moray shores I passed the stunning Fort George, with its panoramic views up and down the Moray Firth. Here I came across another memorial, this time to a WWI airfield where seaplanes from Royal Naval Air Station Fort George had once conducted maritime patrols.
Later, when passing Inverness Airport (once RAF Dalcross), I knew that I’d soon be coming into land myself at Inverness. On arrival I was scheduled to meet the Sea Cadets at Training Ship Briton in South Kessock. It has one of the best views you could wish for - the Moray Firth spanned by the Kessock Bridge - my next crossing point.
See Photo Album No 35 - Into Inverness
Another Corner Turned
In a week when I left the shire of Aberdeen and entered its neighbour Moray, I’ve been stung, pricked, scratched and bitten more times than I can count. Foggy and sultry weather has contributed to armies of assorted flies being out in force on my thistley route. In places, with no clearly defined footpath, I’ve gingerly waded through knee high grass wet with dew, barged through thigh high gorse and felt early morning cobwebs break on my face. Walking has been full of the unexpected, including the Crimond church clock face showing 61 minutes!
Arriving in Peterhead I was just able to see a busy fishing port before the Scottish haar (fog) rolled in and blanketed the harbour within minutes. Fishing has been the repeated theme this week and it’s easy to see why fishing communities are so tightly bound; the sea is their livelihood, but for many also their grave. Referred to as ‘fishers’, life afloat can be dangerous and during the week I stumbled across many memorials.
Where Peterhead can claim it’s the easternmost point of Scotland, Fraserburgh is claimed to be the biggest shellfish port in Europe. Walking into the town one senses that its pulse is driven by fish. Full of fishing vessels of all shapes and sizes, the port has numerous supporting services scattered along the quaysides. The Museum of Scottish Lighthouses is also in Fraserburgh where it proudly boasts the 18th century Kinnaird Head lighthouse - the first to be built on mainland Scotland. It sits on top of Kinnaird Castle, built two centuries earlier.
Fraserburgh marked an important turning point for me: I’m now walking in a westerly direction towards Inverness, before my final push north up to John o’ Groats. Since that Fraserburgh turn I’ve passed through many little fishing villages squeezed between high cliffs and a narrow foreshore. The traditional dwellings in these villages have the same distinctive features. Each is a single storey, squat, stone built ‘hoosie’ with a chimney at both ends, a central front door and a single window left and right: plain and tough with the gable end often facing the sea. All look ready for anything the weather or sea might throw at them.
In one such village, Gardenstown, I was reminded of my Royal Naval Reserve roots when I saw that a Victoria Cross plaque had been laid for Joseph Watt, an RNR skipper, who died in 1917. At another village, Findochty, I noted nearly all the names on the WW1 memorial were followed by RNR (T). The (T) denoted that they had been in the Trawler section of the RNR. These men had joined from fishing villages and served on trawlers fitted out as minesweepers for mine clearance operations. Serving at home and abroad, the section suffered heavy casualties and losses.
A complimentary industry to fishing is that of building and maintaining traditional fishing boats. Today, the order books at boatyards in Macduff and Buckie are all reported to be looking very healthy for the next few years. I saw young apprentices refurbishing various trawlers as I walked through Macduff on an extremely hot afternoon. I was glad to sit at nearby Portsoy’s harbour edge, sampling some of the town’s award-winning ice cream. Later, at Cullen, I could have sampled the famous Cullen Skink (fish soup with a smoked haddock base) but decided the two probably wouldn’t be a good mix for a walker’s stomach!
By now I’d joined the Moray Coastal Trail (50 miles) which will take me closer to Inverness. Along the way at Portgordon I learned that the town’s claim to fame was the capture of three German spies. The story goes that they were landed there in 1940, but only got as far as the railway station before being arrested by the local ‘Bobby’!
It was also at Portgordon that I saw my first signpost pointing to John o’ Groats; what it failed to show was the distance!
See Photo Album Numbers 34 - Another Corner Turned; Something Fishy; Lunch Pit Stop; Above Gordonstown
To the Granite City and Beyond
As the walking week began I was presented with a personal dilemma: when is it the right time to step into my two new pairs of size 9 walking boots? I’ve discovered that as my ‘bootometer’ mileage has increased, so too has my foot size.
The sight of hundreds of seals at Newburgh was definitely the highlight of the week. In bright sunshine, I heard them long before I saw them all lying out on a sand bar. Many more were swimming in the water, black heads bobbing up and down all over the place. Noting the number of mouths to feed I did wonder if the local fish population stood any chance of survival.
Thick sea mist (or haar, as the locals call it) hid a lot from view at the beginning of the week. Entering Montrose was a foggy disappointment, although the hospitality of the local Royal British Legion in hosting us and our vehicle overnight was positively bright. Acts of kindness like this continue on a daily basis: the local shop at Johnshaven helped with battery charging, and at Stonehaven we were given permission by the Harbour Master to park overnight on the quay.
The walk to Stonehaven was an interesting one, first passing the vast Dunnottar castle which stands on an impregnable rock, separated from the mainland by a deep ravine. Further along the path I visited Stonehaven’s unusual war memorial. Of a doric column construction, it sits high above the town’s charming harbour with commanding views out to sea and across to the town’s golf course. Here a fleeing German aircraft once jettisoned an unused bomb over the course leaving a vast crater. It’s still clearly visible between the first and second fairway and is now known as Hitler’s Bunker!
On Stonehaven’s old Pier we noted the first signs of entering an area where the oil industry has played such a prominent role over the years. As part of the teaching facilities provided by a sea survival academy, orange lifeboats hung from davits along the quay. Next day, a little further up the coast I was able to see a vast ‘lifeboat graveyard’, where boats currently not in use out in the oil fields are being maintained and retained for future use.
On reaching Aberdeen, often referred to as ‘the granite city’ I learned that the slump in oil price had had a detrimental effect on Aberdeen and its surrounding areas, but things are beginning to improve as the price begins to creep up again. My walk into Aberdeen gave me fantastic views of the busy docks, more training facilities and the new shipping control centre. What interested me most was the proximity of city centre traffic and pedestrians to the busy port. At street level, churches, office blocks, the city’s traffic and gigantic ships appear to share the same space.
Back on the coast, sporadic footpath markings have meant it’s been a case of keeping a close eye on my map. Along the way I’ve had to use some of the disused railway lines which have been converted to cycle paths and walkways. I have done rough walking, beach walking, road walking and spent some exhausting times going up and down narrow twisty cliff paths, in and out of cliff inlets, many with sheer drops below. The cliff views have been stunning, providing you like heights. In some places, lush new grass hides the route and conceals many rabbit holes. Bunnies are currently out in force!
And finally, I did decide to step into my new size 9 walking boots and am pleased to report that they are a success. I’m considering taking bets on what size my boots might be when I complete the walk. I’m also wondering what to do with 5 pairs of partly used (size 8 ½) boots. Ideas on a post card please!
See Photo Album No 33 - To the Granite City and Beyond
Aiming at Arbroath
The weather could not have been better as I continued along the Fife coastal path, heading towards Dundee. Having cleared Fife’s former industrial areas I’d been promised that beautiful scenery would follow along the northern side of the Forth. I wasn’t disappointed. I was also able to enjoy some good ‘look back’ views of the opposite shore seeing where I’d previously tramped.
My coastal route led me through some charming old towns and villages, each with their distinct character. They included, Lower Largo, Elie, Earlsferry, St Monans, Pittenweem, Anstruther and Crail. When I got to Lower Largo Robinson Crusoe was the last thing on my mind. However, I discovered that this was the birthplace of Alexander Selkirk whose experiences as a shipwrecked sailor inspired the fictional story of Robinson Crusoe.
At Anstruther Easter I saw the unusual sight of someone’s weekly wash hung on poles down by the harbourside. Knowing that Crail once had a large naval air station, HMS Jackdaw, I decided to visit the local church. Here I found a beautifully maintained churchyard within which was a small Commonwealth War Graves section where some of the headstones appear to have been renewed, including one for a 21 year old Wren killed in July 1942.
Walking towards St Andrews I was struck by the amazing rock structures that line the beaches or sit near cliff edges. The cliffs remain ablaze with golden gorse, while bluebells paved the wooded areas I walked through. Named after Scotland’s patron saint, St Andrews itself was busy with tourists being shown the ruins of the ancient cathedral and castle. Internationally recognised as the home of golf, I watched a group of Americans being given a guided tour, and at the same time observed a nearby disclaimer notice about being hit by stray golf balls!
I’ve continued to walk past numerous golf courses, occasionally finding a golf ball mis-hit by its owner. Further north at Carnoustie’s historic championship golf course, preparations are seemingly well advanced for the 147th Open which will take place in July where golfers will compete for the iconic Claret Jug.
I advanced towards Dundee via Leuchars (now an Army base) where I made a pit-stop for a mug of coffee from a roadside trailer café, amusingly entitled the ‘Wurst Stop’! Shortly after Leuchars the coastal path enters the vast Tentsmuir Forest, where the nearby dunes offered expansive views of the Firth of Tay and its river mouth. While in the forest I came across an Ice House built in the mid- 1850s and a forerunner of today’s deep freezers. The Ice House was used to preserve locally caught salmon before it was shipped south. To provide additional insulation around the ice, layers of heather and straw helped to keep the ice frozen.
Today, Scotland is famed for its salmon industry, just as the herring industry thrived in the 1900s and is remembered in the Anstruther Wester Fisheries Museum. The Arbroath ‘smokie’ (haddock) industry continues, though it has declined over recent years. Farming is another large industry in Scotland and during the week I’ve walked by vast potato farms and seen acres of new poly tunnels being erected. On looking inside one set of tunnels I realised I was looking at thousands of young strawberry plants – I couldn’t help wondering if their fruits will be seen at Wimbledon in early July!
Leaving the coastal path and county of Fife behind me, I crossed the Firth of Tay into Dundee and entered the county of Angus. Dundee, once famed for its jute, jam and journalism is now probably best known for Captain Scott’s Antartic expedition ship, the Royal Research Ship Discovery which resides in a dock near the Tay bridge. Meanwhile, the 1824 frigate HMS Unicorn can be seen in neighbouring docks and both ships are key visitor attractions in this busy city.
From Dundee, I made my way along the Tay’s shores through Broughty Ferry, Carnoustie and into Arbroath where 45 Commando Royal Marines at Condor Base kindly agreed to host us for an overnight stay. While there we made time to visit the unit’s Remembrance Garden. The Garden is a wonderfully imaginative creation based on the Royal Marines Globe and Laurel badge, with a huge steel globe as the central feature of the design. It also incorporates huge boulders brought home from countries where 45 Commando has served in more recent years: Northern Ireland, Iraq, the Falklands, Kosovo, Afghanistan, and Norway.
It’s a peaceful place for quiet contemplation.
See Photo Album No 32 - Aiming at Arbroath
Portsmouth and the Forth Bridge
My last entry in the Victory Walker’s log advised readers that I had arrived in Scotland. Since then little has been heard apart from the repeated question “Where have you been?” As I don’t drink whisky I can assure you I’ve not been on a mammoth tour of distilleries - shortbread factories are more my cup of tea!
One of the naval charities I’m raising funds for (WRNS BT) kindly invited me to their Annual General Meeting where the Trust’s Patron, HRH the Princess Royal, was in attendance. Having worked out the logistics I took some days out to travel back to Portsmouth, to attend in my former capacity as RN lead for the WRNS100 Project Team.
It was a very special day when, in her AGM address, the Princess acknowledged the success of the many celebratory events in 2017, and how the WRNS BT charity amongst others had benefitted from the WRNS100 project’s surplus funds. During the follow-on reception, the WRNS100 project team took the opportunity for a final line-up picture with the Princess Royal: she had also been Patron of this centenary project. Later, knowing that the Victory Walk is raising funds for the WRNS BT (and RNRMC), the Princess asked me how long the walk around Scotland’s wiggly coastline might take. My honest answer was “Ma’am, I haven’t a clue!”
Returning to Scotland I pulled on my boots again at Dunbar in East Lothian, my second Scottish county. Dunbar is the birthplace of the Scottish/American explorer and conservationist, John Muir, often referred to as ‘The Father of National Parks’, so it was fitting that I joined the John Muir Way which would lead me into the Firth of Forth, and up towards its famous crossings at Queensferry.
As always, the sights on this part of the journey were interesting and varied. On my approaches to North Berwick I caught magnificent views of the distinctive Bass Rock. White from the guano left by the hundred of gannets that have made this rock their home, the rock is a well-known sight to mariners. Being a busy Bank Holiday weekend, I fled from North Berwick finding almost deserted beaches as I moved away around the coast.
I lost count of the number of golf courses that I walked by and through, but at Cockenzie and Port Seton learned that Mary Queen of Scots was a regular player on the local links. In more recent times Cockenzie had been home to a huge coal fired electricity power station (recently demolished) with the coal coming from nearby pits. Before use and to improve combustion, the coal had to be ground to a fine powder by means of grinding rings and balls. Today, a ‘ring and ball’ installation on the promenade is the only reminder of the town’s links with the energy industry. Coal had also been used to boil sea-water in large pans to enable salt extraction. Prestonpans was one of the key towns on the Forth to be involved with salt production and as I walked through I noticed a fading seawall mural reminding me of its former industry.
The approaches to Leith gave me distant views of the City of Edinburgh which helped me forget my feet that were weary from road walking. It was interesting to see how the vast Scottish Government building has helped to regenerate the dock area of Leith. Nearby the Ocean Terminal shopping complex, together with the former Royal Yacht Britannia have made this a very popular destination. Later the same day I enjoyed a gentle woodland walk up the River Almond before entering the vast and beautiful Dalmeny Estate, which has glorious views up and down the Firth of Forth.
By now I was eager to turn the Estate’s final headland and see my river crossing. When the moment came I wasn’t disappointed: in the foreground the iconic Forth rail bridge, with the Forth road bridge behind it, and then the new Queensferry Crossing. That night we parked under the old road bridge at the local sea cadet unit, TS Lochinvar, where we had superb views of the Forth with its three crossings, and of Rosyth where the carrier (the Prince of Wales) was clearly visible. It was when walking across the old road bridge next morning that I felt my ‘yomp’ around Scotland had really begun: exciting, but daunting. Being greeted by some Royal Navy well-wishers on the north side helped ease my apprehension before I picked up the Fife Coastal Path (117 miles) which will lead me to my next big crossing, over the River Tay.
Before Dalgety Bay I noticed that another naval reservist well-wisher had hung a white ensign from her window (thank you Anne). Shortly afterwards, near Donibristle Bay I was reminded that this had been a Royal Naval Air Station, HMS Merlin, during both World Wars. The walking week continued in good weather with this part of Fife county showing me its industrial past in its towns such as Burnt Island, Kirkcaldy, Dysart, West and East Wemyss and Buckhaven.
It had been a hard week, with over 100 miles walked, concluding at the sea cadet unit (TS Ajax), in Methil. By now my ‘bootometer’ was reading 1,500 miles and due for a service!
See Photo Album Nos 31 – Portsmouth and the Forth & Crossing the Forth
England into Scotland
At long last, having walked 1,367.5 miles since leaving Portsmouth, I crossed the border into Scotland at 1220 on Sunday 29 April: it was a day that I often felt would never come!
By now, walking the Berwickshire Coastal Path, I was blessed with glorious weather in the Borders, with sweet smelling gorse and fantastic scenery that has changed dramatically since my last Victory Log entry written in County Durham. Here I moved from a coal mining area to the rivers Wear and Tyne, once both famed for their shipbuilding yards. The Wear alone used to have over a dozen yards and the Tyne yards had produced many famous ships, including RMS Carpathia whose crew picked up survivors from the RMS Titanic disaster, including my great aunt Edith. Arriving at South Shields I enjoyed a brief bit of sea time aboard the ‘Pride of the Tyne’ as I crossed to the north side of the Tyne, where a huge monument of Admiral Collingwood dominates the skyline.
I entered Northumberland shortly after passing the lighthouse island of St Mary’s and almost immediately noticed another change of scenery. By the time I met up with members of the Association of Wrens, Tyne branch, in Druridge Bay, I’d joined the Northumberland Coast Path. The route offers 64 miles of magnificent landscape: long, sweeping deserted sandy beaches, caves, tiny fishing harbours, stunning rock formations, secluded coves and clear blue seas.
Offshore lie the Farne Islands, a sanctuary for sea birds and seals, and the famous Holy Island of Lindisfarne – a tidal island linked to the mainland by a causeway. Despite a multitude of warning signs about tide times, I noticed a car stuck on the causeway with an incoming tide lapping around the top of its wheels. Presumably its occupants were sheltering in the ‘house on stilts’ making up a convincing story for their insurance company!
The beauty of Northumberland is complimented by many old castles perched on vantage points, and perhaps one of the most majestic is Bamburgh. Its pink stone walls and battlements tower over the small village in which a memorial to Grace Darling can be found in the peaceful churchyard of St Aidan’s. A lighthouse keeper’s daughter, Grace became a national heroine in 1838 after she and her father rowed out to rescue the crew of the paddle steamer Forfarshire.
Although the origins of golf reputedly come from Scotland, Northumberland must have caught the habit too. I walked by at least ten courses and we were also fortunate enough to park-up at a couple of clubs overnight where we enjoyed uninterrupted sleep and good seats for watching early morning play.
Over the centuries beautiful Berwick-upon-Tweed has passed back and forth between England and Scotland, but today it is England’s most northerly town. Crossing the river Tweed on its oldest bridge dating from 1635, I was able to get good views of the town’s two other bridges – the road bridge and the impressive railway bridge with its 28 arches, designed by Robert Stephenson. This was an exciting crossing for me because I knew I was at last within striking distance of the Scottish border.
Victory Log despatches are never guaranteed, and the past week was no exception. When planning a ‘rest day’, we must assume that both a wi-fi and mobile phone signal will be available. Our gambler’s luck ran out last week. Not only did we find it almost impossible to communicate with one another during the day, on our ‘rest day’ stopover we were presented with a set of blank screens!
There’s not much you can do with a blank screen, so we chose to go to the laundrette instead!
See Photo Album No 30 – England into Scotland
Industry and Heritage of the North East
This has been a week of complete contrasts defined by engineering excellence, industrialisation, mining, regeneration and charming little fishing ports clinging to cliff edges.
South of the river Tees along the coastal fringe I’ve witnessed the remains of various mining industries. Alum (used in textile manufacture and tanning), was extensively mined, as was ironstone and jet. Whitby is still famed for its jet gemstone, often regarded as the jewellery of mourners.
I walked into Whitby on a chilly foggy evening. The Abbey remains looked decided ghostly as I walked down the 199 steep steps into the town. It was easy to see how Bram Stoker had gained inspiration for his Dracula novel from this town.
Bright sunshine was with me when I climbed up Boulby Cliffs, at 213 metres it's the highest point on England’s Eastern coast. From this lofty spot I had excellent views back towards several pretty fishing harbours such as Robin Hood’s Bay, Runswick Bay and Staithes.
At Saltburn-by-the-Sea I parted company with the Cleveland Way as it veered inland. Saltburn’s fortunes had been built on the iron trade where it boasted the first iron pier on the north east coast; both this and its renowned cliff railway still exist. From there I walked on to Redcar, known for its expansive beach and race course.
Leaving Redcar’s beach behind me I spent a depressing afternoon walking the first few miles of the Teesdale Way. The Way runs parallel to ancient looking pipelines and railway tracks, channelling me through a corridor of security fences, brambles and rubbish. The sad sight of decaying industries was everywhere. The steelworks on Teeside, between Redcar and Middlesbrough looked forlorn and dejected, its glorious Sydney Harbour Bridge production days long forgotten. Teesport, once used for raw material imports and steel exports has only survived by moving to the container industry.
Arriving in Middlesbrough I was dismayed to see that the historic Tees Transporter Bridge, on which I hoped to cross the River Tees into County Durham, was closed because of high winds. I’d a sleepless night parked-up in the Teessaurus Park wondering if I’d get across the next morning. For once, luck was on my side and I crossed the River Tees on this engineering masterpiece in the Transporter’s gondola. This saved me a six mile walk – yippee!
En route for Hartlepool I took time out in Seaton Carew to enjoy the atmosphere and food of Gladys’ Vintage Tea Rooms. It’s a unique spot themed on WWII, with memorabilia, military photos, and Vera Lynn as background music. Even the toilet is called the (air raid) Shelter and is decked out accordingly!
Long before I reached Hartlepool’s old shipbuilding centre I could see the three masts of HMS Trincomalee poking above the skyline of buildings. She is the oldest naval ship still afloat, something that the older HMS Victory cannot claim! While wandering around the marina area it was good to see one of the Royal Navy’s younger ships, HMS Example bobbing at her berth and I had the good fortune to bump into her friendly CO and crew.
Durham Coastal Path (12 miles) took me along the cliffs through an area that has been transformed. From closed collieries, slag heaps and beaches once covered in filthy colliery waste, the area is now badged as the Durham Heritage Coast and has won many awards. I never knew it as it was before, but talking to local people I’m struck by how proud they are of their mining heritage, and the regeneration that has taken place since the coal mines closed.
Bright sunshine at the end of the week brought my shorts out for their first airing since the walk began. White legs soon became strawberry pink!
See Photo Album No 29 – Industry and Heritage of the North East
Yomping in Yorkshire
The week began at the fascinating Spurn Point and ended in Scarborough with a birthday celebration. In between, it’s been a demanding and hazardous walking week for me, either on roads or on extremely muddy, slippery and dangerously eroded paths, often groping through a blanket of fog.
Favourable tides at Spurn Point gave me a chance to visit this iconic Yorkshire landmark. Following the severe storm and tidal surge of 2013, the 3.5 mile peninsula was breached, and Britain’s newest tidal island was formed. Just walking the central ‘washover’ section makes one realise the importance and vulnerability of this spit of land. Regular signs warn visitors to check tide times, and for those that miscalculate a ‘safe hut’ is provided.
Militarily, Spurn has been a vital point of defence for centuries and many of the WWII coastal artillery remains are still visible. For birdwatchers, Spurn is famed for the vast number of migrating birds passing through each spring and autumn. Commercially, the Vessel Traffic Services navigational system has operated from here for many years, but with access to the Point becoming increasingly difficult, the facility is being relocated to a new Humber Maritime Control Centre in Grimsby.
Until the 1940s an entire maritime community lived at the Point, served by its own school, pub and full-time RNLI crew. Today, only the isolated lifeboat station and quarters remain operational, but I wonder how much longer this can be sustained.
Back on the mainland, badly eroded cliffs forced me onto nearby roads, where I was only able to hear the roar and tumble of the sea in the distance. Wherever possible I weaved a route in, out, and around the many static caravan parks, but even this proved precarious at times. When at sea level, I walked some of the beaches, many littered with rubbish brought in during severe winter storms. Therefore, it was good to meet a group of local volunteers at Barmston Sands doing sterling work clearing their beach for summer.
At Bridlington, before climbing onto the Headland Way, I noted a plaque stating that in 1890 two Hawaiian princes introduced riding the waves (surfing) to Bridlington and the UK. My Headland route took me to Filey, via Flamborough Head, and its chalky cliffs used by thousands of sea birds. I’d been eagerly looking forward to this walking leg but was let down by very foggy weather.
By now the path regularly rose up and down, and all I could hear was the frequent blasts of the fog horn at Flamborough Lighthouse accompanied by the eerie cry and call of sea birds. Such was the poor visibility, I almost bumped into the fog horn station before realising I’d arrived! Later the fog cleared a little and at Bempton Cliffs it was refreshing to see so many young families making use of the excellent RSPB viewing galleries, puffin watching.
Filey provided the over hungry walker with an excellent fish and chip supper! Next morning I encountered ‘Finlay’, the striking steel sculpture which serves as a reminder that Filey was once one of Yorkshire’s primary fishing ports. Above the town, I joined the Cleveland Way which would lead me to Scarborough, again through very thick fog and along menacingly muddy paths. With conditions hampering progress, I was late for a rendezvous with some veteran Wrens, some of whom were to be found taking refuge in the aptly named ‘Mutiny’ pub! Together, we made our way out onto Lighthouse Pier to the SS Aquila memorial bench. This bench commemorates twelve Scarborough based Wrens who were killed on 19 August 1941 when their ship transporting them (and nine other Wrens) to Gibraltar was torpedoed. My walking conditions had not been good, but the veterans’ drive from York and Cleveland had been much more taxing in the fog, and yet they still reported for duty on time in true WRNS tradition. Well done ladies!
Finally, this walking week has aged me considerably: I began aged 60, but by the end of it was 61. I blame the Yorkshire Yomping!
‘Riding’ Into Yorkshire
An extended mixed week of anticipation, apprehension and aggravation.
Just north of Skegness I chalked up my first 1,000 miles since leaving Portsmouth - it was celebration time. At Cleethorpes I treated myself to my first ice cream since the walk began and crossed the Greenwich Meridian for the fourth time. Later, looking seaward, I saw the mouth of the River Humber encircled by the arm of Spurn Point – my distant goal.
Reality soon returned as I began to think about navigating round the large dock and industrial areas ahead of me – Grimsby, Immingham, Killingholme, New Holland and Hull. And there was also the Humber Bridge crossing to be tackled.
Grimsby proved to be straight forward. A town still proud of its fishing heritage, with Young’s Seafood remaining a key employer, rather like the presence of Bird’s Eye in Lowestoft. However, Grimsby has diversified: leaving the town I saw acres of vehicle storage facilities where thousands of new cars are stored.
Heading north, with coastline access restricted, I weaved in and out of industrial estates passing everything from gas terminals, oil storage depots, power stations and sewage works, to chemical factories and yet more new cars. Incredibly, footpaths still cross some very busy dock areas, where containers pulled by tractors charge up and down, and freight rail lines are still in use. I needed to keep my wits about me and was very relieved to get through this part of the walk.
Hull docks proved to be a different story, where having followed a public footpath, I found myself tangled up in dockland on Easter Sunday on the wrong side of the security perimeter fencing. Resisting the urge to climb over and risk arrest, I phoned the Emergency Security number. I was eventually released by Mr Security who said, ‘Don’t worry lass, this is always happening’!
I eagerly awaited my first sighting of the Humber Bridge – it took a long time owing to heavy rain and swirling low mist. It seemed to take forever before I was standing alongside the strikingly graceful single span suspension bridge. At the time of its opening in 1981 it was the longest of its type in the world – a record retained for 17 years.
I soon discovered I was not the only one crossing the bridge that day: I met hundreds of people taking part in the Hell on the Humber (HOTH) endurance challenge (www.hellonthehumber.com). The lack of views was disappointing, but it was good to ‘tick off’ another county (Lincolnshire) and arrive in Hull, the 2017 City of Culture.
Hull’s strong maritime history is apparent everywhere. Docks have opened and closed. Over the centuries imports have changed; timber for coal mining props has stopped but has now been replaced by components for the offshore windfarm industry. Coal is no longer exported but agricultural machinery exports continue: I noticed a large consignment of John Deere tractors waiting to be shipped out.
The city is also famous for its close-knit fishing community. In this, the 50th anniversary year of the Hull triple trawler tragedy, I was moved to see all the floral tributes that have been placed at the Hull’s Lost Trawlermen Memorial. This is a striking 9ft steel sculpture that commemorates over 6,000 fishermen from Hull who have been lost at sea over the years.
The generation of off-shore energy is increasingly evident around the UK coastline and Hull is a major contributor to this new industry. At Alexandra Dock, the Siemens factory manufactures the massive wind-turbine blades and stores other components. One blade is as long as the entire wingspan of an A380 Airbus aircraft, while the height of a wind-turbine equals one of the Humber Bridge support towers. Given their colossal size, it’s no surprise that one of these ‘windmills’ can generate enough power for 5,000 homes.
Northerly winds in excess of 50mph accompanied by strong snow curtailed this week’s efforts for a couple of days. Walking alone on deserted sea banks, miles from anywhere, and with no guarantee that the Victory Van could retrieve me at the end of the day just didn’t make sense. Even so, here are some of my walking highlights before I depart to the west country for a funeral.
I re-joined the walk at the RSPB Frampton Marsh which, after the fierce weather, had seen much of the marsh freeze over. From there, I cried all the way to Boston as I stumbled along doing battle with the strong headwind. Through my wind-watered eyes the local landmark of the ‘Boston Stump’ came clearly into view: St Botolph’s Church tall thin tower is unmistakable and I had been using it as marker from the time I’d begun to circle The Wash.
Reaching Boston I became aware of an unusually large police presence, blue flashing lights, outriders, and sleek Range Rovers. I’d arrived just too late for an official visit by HRH Prince Charles. The same happened when I walked into Skegness - but the Princess Royal just missed me!
Going down the banks of the River Witham I discovered a memorial, on which I learned of the association between the Pilgrim Fathers and Boston. Their first attempt in 1607 to leave the country in search of religious freedom was thwarted; after being betrayed they were tried by magistrates and imprisoned at Boston.
My walk away from Boston continued, when I too ended up in prison - but only for ten minutes! The footpath took me straight through HM Prison North Sea Camp, an open prison where Lord Jeffrey Archer had once been detained. On arrival at the prison stile I was told to “wait there” and a prison officer would come and escort me through the campus. Ten minutes later I escaped ‘over the other stile’.
As the second largest county in England, everything in Lincolnshire is on a grand scale. Huge blue skies above and flat expansive fields full of crops below, punctuated by countless drainage channels. I’ve seen rows of pickers doing back-breaking work in fields of mud, from cutting broccoli to picking daffodils. Here is the heart of England’s growing industry and it’s where I came across the memorial to John and Dulcie Saul who set up a growing company in 1912. The company now farms over 3,000 acres.
Walking frustrations continue. After a long 15 miler the map indicated a footbridge crossing a creek to my finish point. To my dismay I could see the footbridge had a ten foot gate, adorned with spikes and padlock. Reviewing the map I assessed the detour would be another five miles – something I wasn’t prepared to do. Instead, I managed to dig my boots in the grill, scale the gate, almost tearing the seat of my trousers, before jumping down the other side. Job done and not defeated! Next stop Skegness.
Skegness struck me as a place where visitors do nothing but eat. Everywhere I looked I saw burger huts, ice cream kiosks, coffee stops and hamburger stalls. I stopped long enough to visit the Jolly Sailor landmark, based on the LNER advertising poster ‘Skegness is So Bracing’, before quickly moving on – without a mega coffee, king-size ‘donut’, or bag of chips!
Remembering Nelson and Walking The Wash
After our snow-enforced stop, I rejoined the walk at Sheringham, a small seaside town whose origins stemmed from fishing. Today, it boasts two railway stations, one of which is the North Norfolk Steam Railway, also known as the Poppy Line. It was exhilarating to pound across the town’s golf course, high on the cliffs, looking up the coast towards Hunstanton.
However, those feelings of excitement were short-lived. It wasn’t long before I encountered vast shingle banks. With no way of avoiding them, I plodded on for what seemed an eternity, putting one foot in front of the other. By now the Peddars Way had joined up with the Norfolk Coast Path and I was led past Salthouse Marshes into Cley-Next-the-Sea to see its marvellous early 19th century windmill. Today it’s one of the top places to wine, dine and stay.
The route towards Wells-Next-the-Sea bordered large salt marsh areas, all of which form part of a National Nature Reserve. People festooned with powerful binoculars and carrying vast tripods and cameras were a regular feature of each day. Sand dune walking followed ‘Wells’, before many more miles of marshland. Around Brancaster Bay, the miles of sand stretching out to sea looked as good as the Canaries, but the temperature told me otherwise.
Before completing the leg into Hunstanton, famed for its striped cliffs and westerly views over The Wash, I took the opportunity to visit Burnham Thorpe, birthplace of Admiral Lord Nelson. Although the parsonage where he lived was demolished, the church of All Saints where Nelson’s father was rector still stands. The village is incredibly proud of its association with Nelson and the church is well worth a visit.
While at Hunstanton I looked across The Wash and observed the disappearing coastline heading due north. Neither my eyes nor feet liked what they saw! Until 1969 Hunstanton had a railway linking it with King’s Lynn. As the coast offered no official right of way after Snettisham, I made use of some sections of the old trackbed, to get me closer to ‘Lynn’, as the locals call it. I passed through some peaceful wooded areas, finding myself in Wolferton, once home to Sandringham’s Royal railway station. Today, the properties are in private ownership but all have been authentically preserved.
More private estate walking followed before I once again joined the old rail link that took me into the centre of King’s Lynn. That night was a first for us – we slept in the car park at Morrisons and weren’t required to put a £1 coin in a trolley! Next morning, I joined the (Sir) Peter Scott way, out along the River Great Ouse and towards The Wash where King John is said to have lost some of his crown jewels in 1216.
This major geographical feature is made up of acres of marshland, mudflats and sand that reach miles out to sea. Here lies a vast National Nature Reserve which is fed by the Rivers Nene, Welland and Haven, all of which I’ll walk up and down. On one of my walking days, in complete solitude, I crossed into Lincolnshire.
Adjacent to the Nature Reserve is Holbeach Range, an area of 10,000 acres of marshland used as an air to ground weapons training facility. Red flags fluttered the day I walked through, but I remembered not to cross the raised grassy sea bank. I wasn’t going to allow the RAF to ‘get’ the Royal Navy – and they didn’t!
Crossing Another Border
I walked through a wet and eerily quiet Dunwich, well known for its annual Dunwich Dynamo cycle race, before heading through the tranquil Dunwich Forest. With no foot ferry running from Walberswick, again a final and brief Suffolk river walk up the Blyth, before crossing over on the old Southwold railway track-bed.
Heavy drifting rain accompanied me into Southwold, a genteel north Suffolk seaside town with a model yacht pond, colourful beach huts and working lighthouse perched amongst the town’s older houses. The dignified Pier boasts a fascinating ‘The Under the Pier Show’, - housed in the middle of the Pier - an arcade housing an eccentric collection of weird, clanky mechanical machines. A delight!
At the most easterly point of the British Isles the sun shone as bitter winds brought breakers frothing up and over Ness Point. Nearby, remains of Lowestoft’s earlier sea defences were clear evidence of how the town has been continually battered by the North Sea.
Later, on the same day, I picked up a new sign ‘Norfolk Coast Path’ - my 11 day trip through Suffolk was at an end. After weeks of zig-zagging east and west in Essex and Suffolk, reaching Norfolk signalled the start of being able to walk north – at last an opportunity to make the miles mean something.
Norfolk’s coastal erosion was clear from the outset. Along the sandy cliffs I made my may across Gorleston 18-hole Golf Course, heading towards Great Yarmouth. I’m sure a number of holes will ‘go over the edge’ in the coming year! I crossed the River Yare, walking down Great Yarmouth’s South Quay, the heart of the town’s original port. Today, the port provides support to various offshore industries, most notably wind farms. The impressive Scroby Sands wind farm is clearly visible from the seafront.
From Caister-on-Sea there was a long stint of walking in a valley of sand dunes. Houses and caravans were perched on sandy cliffs overlooking the footpath, while on the seaward side a high hedge of dunes planted with marram grass aims to stem the advance of the sea. Paths criss-cross the desert-like landscape and it’s easy to see how people can become disorientated in sea mist.
At Horsey Gap I was lucky enough to see a colony of 20 grey seals lying outstretched on the sands. They could easily have been mistaken for smooth beach boulders. Further up the coast the wind continued to howl, white spume blew off the sea and the shoreline was thrashed. There have also been many recent cliff-falls. The coastal footpath just simply disappears over the edge, so I’ve followed the guidance of keeping a distance of 5 metres from the threshold.
Our overnight stops continue to be varied. On one, we stopped in a farmyard, only to be woken by a crowing cockerel at 5am. By way of an apology, the owner handed us half a dozen beautifully brown free-range eggs. Another stop was at Trimingham’s iconic Pilgrim Refuge where villagers made us feel extremely welcome with a fundraising evening.
The week ended in Sheringham, where the Victory Walker was hit with a stomach bug and halted by the approaching ‘Beast from the East’!
Rambling Suffolk Rivers
It hasn’t taken me long to learn that Suffolk has nearly as many rivers as Essex and at this time of year the ferries don’t run. Therefore, since arriving in this gentle county I’ve tramped down the banks of the Stour, and up and down all or most of the rivers Orwell, Deben, Butley, Ore and Alde. I should have thought to bring my own kayak with me!
Already I can see contrasts between the Essex and Suffolk landscapes. The countryside is less harsh and remote here. Underfoot, clay mud has been replaced by soil with a high sand content which supports two important industries: pig farming and turf farms. The grassed protective seawall defences continue, but they feel far less remote than those that bordered the Essex marshes. Suffolk has much more woodland and my route has taken me through some tranquil spots along the rivers.
Initially waymarking of the Stour and Orwell walk was poor, but since picking up other routes, namely the Suffolk Coast Path, Arthur Ransome’s (of Swallows and Amazon fame) East Coast Walk, the Sailors’ Path and the Sandlings Walk, it’s clear Suffolk has signage cracked.
My first day of walking in Suffolk weather down the river Stour, was particularly wet and cold.
My consolation was walking past the beautiful Royal Hospital School, Holbrook knowing I’d soon be enjoying a hot shower there later that evening. Although it was half-term the school looked after us well. The sad part of that route was seeing the former HMS Ganges, now looking extremely forlorn and derelict. Previous ‘Button Boys’ could never have envisaged how their mast would be allowed to rot away.
I walked up the Orwell with some trepidation, knowing I’d have to face the Orwell Road Bridge which carries the manic A14 across the river Orwell. It stands 141 ft high and is approximately ¾ of a mile long. Well known for its closure in high winds and a place for suicide jumps, the bridge now has the Samaritans Help Line number regularly indicated along its waist-high parapet. There was a strong wind behind me as I ventured onto the narrow walkway, with only a knee-high crash barrier separating me from the traffic whistling by. This walk is not for the faint hearted or those who dislike heights.
The trip down the other side to Felixstowe was a battle against strong head winds, and chilling rain pellets beat my face senseless. Eventually I reached the perimeter of the fascinating container port, crazily busy with containers being moved at remarkable speed in all directions. I was glad to find refuge in a Truckers’ Café where I thawed over a steaming mug of coffee. Later, I ventured out again to complete the leg into the seaside town with its refurbished pierhead building, but a crumbling pier that’s out of bounds. I was relieved!
From Felixstowe, the walking conditions up the Deben were equally testing, but there was a consolation – I hit 700 miles. Chilled to the marrow by the time I reached Woodbridge, it wasn’t until the next day that I could appreciate this lovely tranquil town. My return trip on the Deben’s opposite bank was far more enjoyable: seeing the sunset as I walked into Bawdsey at the river mouth was a superb end to a tough few days.
I meandered around the Butley river, before passing through Orford and covering a long seawall stretch which led me into the river Alde. My crossing point was up at Snape Maltings and from there it was an easy walk back down the north side of the river into the ancient fishing town of Aldeburgh. The place positively heaved with people - a queue of at least 25 stood outside a fish and chip shop! I fled for the calm of Thorpeness and the striking contrast of Sizewell B Power Station.
Leaving Essex became somewhat of an endurance test. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised because, at 350 miles, Essex has the longest coastline of any of England’s counties. Nor did Essex give up without a fight: yet more cold, wet and muddy walking, making conditions underfoot slow and difficult. Road walking proved hazardous too, with a chipping narrowly missing my right eye. In Clacton-on-Sea I was greeted by snow and ice.
But the weather hasn’t broken the Victory Walker’s spirit. Instead, in this week, the 600 mile barrier was broken and I walked through some delightfully named places: Salcot-cum-Virley, Tolleshunt D’Arcy, Kirby-le-Soken and Fingringhoe.
Ferries proved to be out of vogue at this time of year necessitating many extra riverbank miles. Nothing was officially available from the Ha’Penny Pier at Harwich, (to Shotley or Felixstowe); the kind offers of a special Pilot transfer by Harwich Haven Authority were considered, but politely declined.
With weather affecting schedules I was sad at being unable to spend more time in Harwich, a town full of character. This port was extensively used by the Royal Navy in both World Wars, and our overnight stop was close to NavyYard Wharf. We overlooked the Pilot boats’ dock area, and judging by the throbbing engines heard they are kept busy both night and day.
Next morning, I walked past the MN Memorial, the HQ of Trinity House and spied the separate Trinity House storage depot – full of ‘big buoys’! Yet another former Trinity light vessel (LV18) was moored at Harwich’s Ha’Penny Pier. Being the last manned Trinity Light Vessel, she was restored and maintains her original configuration. As well as being a tourist attraction, she has been used to take part in special radio broadcasting events.
In the evenings, we spent time at various Sea Cadet units – the variety of questions raised never cease to amaze! During the day, two more Pier Walks were achieved in chilly conditions at ‘classy’ Clacton and Walton-on-the-Naze. Walking out of Walton towards The Naze headland, I felt a real buzz of excitement as I looked across the bay to see Harwich, in the foreground and Felixstowe Container port in the distance.
I knew that reaching Felixstowe (in Suffolk) would take a good few more miles of walking, but it also indicated I was nearing the end of the Essex coastline. Without doubt, the high point of the week was stumbling up a very muddy River Stour on the Essex Way and crossing a road bridge in the wet evening gloom to read a sign. It said ‘Welcome to Suffolk’.
Walking was interrupted again with a final WRNS100 meeting back in Portsmouth, after which the Essex escapade continued: walking up and down 3 rivers – the Crouch, Blackwater Estuary and the Colne which was bridged at Colchester.
First, on the narrow River Crouch, for the sake of a channel barely 150 yards wide, where years ago a ferry used to run, the choice was a very cold muddy swim, or a detour. I chose the 7-mile detour which took me via Battlesbridge, the renowned Antiques Centre.
We were fortunate to be offered various overnight stops in marinas, with Burnham-on-Crouch being particularly helpful. During WW2 Burnham-on-Crouch became home to HMS St Matthew, a Combined Operations Training Centre. Today, the name lives on by way of the St Matthew (Sailing) Challenge Cup which is competed for annually by the four local sailing clubs. The cup was presented by the officers, men and ‘wrens’ of the establishment as a way of saying ‘thank you’ to the locals who vacated various buildings in 1943.
After leaving the Crouch mouth there was a long walk-in before reaching the Blackwater Estuary. That Sunday I walked 13.5 miles to church - the ancient Chapel of St Peter on the Wall. Beyond, the Bradwell nuclear power station (decommissioning) was visible for miles, on both the up and down estuary banks.
At the estuary head, Maldon, famed for its sea salt, offered a fine display of preserved flat-bottomed London Thames Sailing Barges; with a shallow draught and leeboards, these were built specially to cope with the shallow waters of the Thames Estuary. Nearby, at Heybridge Basin it was interesting to observe the complicated replacement of the sea lock which links the Blackwater to the Chelmer Canal.
Amongst the more unusual sights seen this week there has been a domed Minefield Control Tower, allegedly only one of two in the entire country – I’ve to look out for the other when I get to Scotland! Nearby, on the Dengie mud flats, old metal Thames barges are now being used to help prevent tidal erosion and protect sites of historical interest. Also observed in the Blackwater Estuary was Merchant Vessel Ross Revenge, alias Radio Caroline. Nearing Tollesbury I came across Curly’s Perch – a vast bench more suited to Royalty. Whoever Curly was, he certainly was held in high esteem.
The seemingly endless grassy (and muddy) Essex sea walls have continued. Meanwhile, Trail names such as Saffron, Saltmarsh Coast and St Peter’s Way are ones that have been and gone. Frustrations have included very strong head winds, being peppered by hailstorms (always at the remotest point!), and Network Rail workmen not allowing me to use a level crossing; this resulted in a long detour which saw me walking after dusk in high visibility clothing, complete with flashing headtorch on a busy main road during Friday rush-hour. Not recommended and not much fun.
Turning my Back on the Thames
Walking away from the ExCel exhibition complex at the Royal Victoria and Albert Docks, I experienced a step-change in my surroundings. Road walking was frightening, and deep rubbish was strewn alongside the roadside, verges and paths. The areas of Barking and Dagenham appeared run-down, with most of the former Ford factory in a derelict state. The huge landfill site at Coldharbour was equally depressing. The terminals and wharves from Purfleet led me into more of the same, with the cranes of Tilbury Docks looming in the distance.
At Tilbury I looked across to the Gravesend ferry: had I taken it I’d have saved my legs 85.5 miles, but even now I wouldn’t change that costly decision. I picked up the Thames Estuary Path in Tilbury which I followed over the next couple of days. A low tide meant that the London International Cruise Terminal was empty on the day I walked past. Close to the sea wall beside the defunct Tilbury Power Station, new office blocks have sprung up yet at the same place I found gypsies’ horses stretched out in the sun. Then followed two beautifully maintained (English Heritage) forts, Tilbury and Coalhouse: the latter had seen Wrens work there during WW2.
Glancing across the Thames I could identify all the places I’d tramped through on the Isle of Grain – quite a satisfying feeling. I soon found that the Thames Estuary Path was going to take me on a game of snakes and ladders in the mud, weaving in and out of various marshes with delightful names such as West Thurrock, Mucking, Fobbing, Vange and Bowers. These detours were to keep the walker inland of the vast London Gateway Port – a land of containers, and refineries. To my right I skirted Canvey island.
The walk-in to Southend-on-Sea seemed almost as long as its World Record length pier. I passed through Leigh-on-Sea where I saw the former HMS Wilton which is now the HQ for Essex Yacht Club. It was a glorious evening with stunning views across the Thames to the Isles of Grain and Sheppey. I pushed on hard to get to the pier before last admission time, but alas I was 5 mins late. I had to return next morning, by which time the weather had undergone a major change – unfortunately for the worse.
For those interested, the Pier is a master of survival. Opened in 1830, it was extended to its world record length in 1929, measuring 1.34 miles. It has suffered 3 fires in 1959, 1976 (repaired in 1983) and a further fire in 1995. In addition, at least 3 merchant vessels have collided with it also causing major damage. Despite all this, it continues to survive and thrive. For those unwilling or unable to walk its length, there’s a smart little diesel train to carry them sedately to the end. I confess I also used the train but, bought a one-way ticket!
Leaving Southend and the Thames estuary behind me, I headed out into rain at Shoeburyness. I found the revitalised old garrison town fascinating. Road walking took me round the military Danger Areas before I plunged back into more muddy marshes. The weather went from bad to worse on the next day – I found myself walking into driving rain, sleet and snow on yet more exposed river banks, sliding about in mud.
Bridging the Miles
By deciding to walk into London via the south bank of the Thames, and then walking down into Essex via the north bank, I witnessed various bridging methods: I chose Westminster bridge as my crossing point. Other options I could have used were:
River Defences, Mud, Regeneration, Waste, and Commerce (Walking the River Thames)
The decision not to take the sensible (!) option of a ferry across the Thames from Gravesend to Tilbury added an extra 85.5 miles to the overall Victory Walk distance – but it was worth it.
It was a fascinating journey, observing the smart, tatty, muddy and smelly parts of London. At times I found it utterly depressing, relieved just to return to my base camp in Abbey Wood on the south side of the river, east of Woolwich Arsenal. As each leg finished I decided on the best way of getting to and from the Victory Van.
The Dartford Barrier, part of the Thames flood defences system, forced some extra miles. To the eye, only a short hop across the Dartford Creek, but for the walker a detour inland, the negotiation of two smaller creeks, and back down the other side. It was the Thames Barrier with its series of vertical silver ‘ships’ bows’ that captured my interest. Sadly, the Visitor Centre was closed for refurbishment.,
The 180 miles of the Thames Path National Trail officially commences at the Barrier, leading you to the river’s source. This Path became my main route into London; at times signs just ‘ran out’, or a diversion for some unknown reason took me away from the river bank. When the acorn sign wasn’t apparent I was often able to pick up the Jubilee Greenway pavement signs instead. The Jubilee Greenway path was completed in 2012 to mark the Queen's Diamond Jubilee and the London 2012 Games.
Evidence of waste disposal and power generation was everywhere. Apart from all the illegal fly-tipping, vast areas of land have been given over to landfill sites. Snakes of lorries waited patiently to discard their loads, before driving away to fill up again. Low level barges, towed by a tug-like vessel, bearing shipments of numerous containers full of waste are also moved up and down the river.
Sewage treatment works are a regular sight. The works at Crossness is one of the largest in Europe handling enough sewage to fill 20 Olympic size swimming pools, every hour of the day. At the Crossness Sludge Powered Generator, dried sewage sludge is burned to generate renewable energy. Before this was introduced the sludge would have been transported in boats, leaving the Crossness Jetty daily and dumping their cargoes out in the North Sea.
My route also led me past many wharves where ships were taking on aggregates. Conveyor belts carried rocks and chippings to the ships, while chutes spurted out cargoes of fine sand. With so much house building taking place products such as these are in constant demand. In contrast to these noisy and dirty industries were the swish, futuristic office blocks of Canary Wharf, or the Shard clad with its 11,000 glass panels. And then there’s the tourist industry, offering the tripper everything from bus trips to a spin in the London Eye – disappointingly it was closed for maintenance on the day I passed!
With London’s constantly changing skyline it’s really good to see excellent examples of regeneration, where old buildings have been given new leases of life. Being a dedicated tea drinker, I think my favourite is Hay’s Galleria. Formerly Hay’s Wharf, built around an enclosed dock, was regularly visited by the majestic tall tea clippers bringing in their cargoes from India and China.
The restoration of other old buildings has given them a new purpose too. Old warehouses now provide upmarket housing, and who would have thought that the former armaments production site at Royal Woolwich Arsenal would become a smart residential area.
This was the London of contrasts I saw when I tramped up the Thames, crossed at Westminster Bridge and walked out along the north bank.
A Cold and Lonely Start to 2018 (Sittingbourne to Gravesend)
The New Year began with the wind punching me backwards and sideways as I pushed out of Sittingbourne, under the Sheppey Crossing bridges, and up alongside the River Swale. It was impossible to hold a camera steady, so few pics available. I eventually pulled into the lovely haven of Upchurch where the Village Hall committee kindly gave permission for us to use their car park.
Kent, is renowned for its orchards: I passed quite a few but nothing to pick. Across the way I could see the Hoo Peninsula (Isle of Grain), the Kingsnorth Power Station building and other industrial landmarks - all waiting to be experienced. And did you know, Gillingham is the home of that engineering masterpiece, the Jubilee Clip, invented by Commander Lumley Robinson Royal Navy who had worked at Chatham Dockyard?
Chatham Dockyard was closed, but I did manage to get permission to visit the old Dockyard Church, now a university lecture theatre. Rochester Bridge, overlooked by its castle, provided my crossing point over the River Medway into Strood. Here I ‘pinged’ a second-hand Russian submarine from the Cold War era moored up.
On the north side of the Medway at Lower Upnor, a memorial remembers the Training Ship Arethusa which used to be moored off from 1933 – 1974. With a low tide I soon learned why my nickname is Hippo, but I managed to wallow through. There then followed a long industrial trek out to Grain. HGVs, various types of power station and a now largely redundant container terminal were all seen in their full glory.
Walking down the north side of the Peninsula gave me my first views of Father Thames. The wind chill factor was a fitting backdrop to this bleak and desolate place: I could have got lost, and never been found. During a 15.5 mile walk I encountered 3 people at the end of the day, otherwise, my only company was a flock of sheep and some ponies.
The last stretch into Gravesend was one of contrasts - Milton with its rundown, vandalised and litter strewn paths was followed by a smart Gravesend: a town proud of its long maritime links and once home to a training establishment for British Merchant Navy seaman. A ferry service across the Thames to Tilbury runs from the Town Pier building. Extremely tempting, but as I’d agreed to walk up the south bank of the Thames (and back down the north), I couldn’t jump aboard.
It will be interesting to see how many extra miles this Thames ramble will put onto the Victory Walk……
Breaking Up for Christmas 2017
Apart from the ongoing north-westerly wind, walking to Whitstable presented a further challenge – weaving between numerous dog owners who, in many cases, failed to control their menagerie of dogs. While I tried to move forward I was often thwarted by different dog families chasing one another. I was glad to reach Whitstable but learned that relying only on council-provided way marked signs was unwise: to avoid getting ‘lost’ always read signs in conjuncton with your map. Guess who didn’t?!
More dyked sea walls to walk on as I passed Seasalter and the Isle of Sheppey gradually came into view. Marshland and Nature Reserves were a constant feature as I made my way up into Faversham along unkempt paths which bordered an untidy creek. The historic town, full of wooden buildings and wide streets, was just packing up a Christmas market as I made my way along its brightly lit streets.
White frosty conditions saw me head off down the Oare Creek bound for Sittingbourne. Much of the walk was beside the flat calm Swale Channel where the derelict munitions factory on Uplees Marshes was clearly visible. Old wooden hulks had been left to rot by the riverbanks and ahead, the Sheppey Crossing loomed out of the mist, and the distant whistle of the Sittingbourne and Kemsley Light Railway could be heard. Turning up Milton Creek, I passed disused oyster beds; it wouldn’t take long to head into Sittingbourne and a Christmas break.
Along the Way – Part 8 (Margate to Sittingbourne)
Last Push Before Christmas 2017
After the final WRNS100 event in London I went straight back on the walk. Into yet more stormy conditions I was reminded of the power of sea and those selfless people who put themselves in danger to save others. On Nayland Rock, a lifeboat memorial stands to commemorate the loss of 9 out of 13 crew members of Margate’s lifeboat who died in December 1897. As the waves crashed over the long sea wall heading towards Reculver I made sure I kept well clear.
On a distant headland I could see a derelict building, the remains of St Mary’s Church, Reculver. Fighting the head-wind it seemed to take forever to reach the site walking along a raised sea-dyke wall. Ten miles out to sea I could see the Kentish Flats Wind Farm, a vast development of 30 turbines providing 100,000 north-east Kent households with electrical power that’s transported ashore by underground cables
After a short break on a grassy cliff path, it was more concrete wall walking into Herne Bay, with the distant clock tower glowing a warm light providing my beacon. Like Ramsgate, Herne Bay was also decorated for Christmas; 32 of its post boxes boast specially knitted Christmas scenes placed on top of the pillar boxes! Organised by the local Craft Club, these have become somewhat of a tourist attraction.
Another female pioneer is remembered in a bronze statue at Herne Bay – Amy Johnson, the young aviatrix. Amy lost her life when her plane ditched off Herne Bay in January 1941 while on active duty. Already a record-breaking pilot and international celebrity, her loss was deeply felt by the aviation community.
Herne Bay is also a town of two halves when it comes to its pier. The seaward end sits forlornly one mile out, separated from its main shoreside structure. After many years of neglect it’s highly unlikely the two will ever be rejoined, despite local petitions. Although much shorter than its original design I did a lap of the pier amongst the Christmas stalls and Santa’s grotto.
Concluding WRNS100 in 2017
At Margate I took myself off the Victory Walk for the final WRNS100 event held in the State Rooms of Speaker’s House, Westminster. A fabulous end to an amazing year, where MPs from all parties came together to say thank you to 100 women who represented women of the past and present Naval Service. It was attended by 50 veterans from each decade since 1940 until the separate Women’s Royal Naval Service was disbanded in 1993, and 50 women serving in today’s Royal Navy.
It was uplifting to see the mutual respect between all those women – the changes of the past century would have seemed inconceivable to the first Wrens of 1917. Every woman there was so proud to represent her individual contribution, her era of service and specialisation. The WRNS100 year could not have concluded in a more prestigious venue.
Dover to Deal
Changing to a northerly bearing I walked up and away from Dover, where the distinctive chalky landscape is managed by the National Trust. I passed the entrance to the restored Fan Bay Deep Shelter; a vast tunnel complex used as accommodation for the gun battery that held a dominant position on Dover’s cliffs during WW2. In the distance I could see the decommissioned South Foreland Lighthouse, one of a chain of Trinity House lights that had been set up to warn mariners of the nearby treacherous Goodwin Sands.
Located east of St Margaret’s at Cliffe, and seen through driving rain, I walked by the Dover Patrol memorial that overlooks Dover Straits. This honours men of the Royal and Merchant Navies who formed a discrete unit during the First World War. Over 2,000 men from the Patrol lost their lives performing such duties as bombarding German land forces in coastal Belgium, escorting troop ships, sweeping for German mines and seeking their U-Boats
Trudging on in the rain I sensed I was entering an area holding strong links with the Royal Marines. A bench displaying a sodden poppy wreath on Kingsdown seafront caught my eye; Sgt Andrews who had instructed Squad 318 back in 1944 was still being remembered in 2017. Testament indeed! When the Royal Marines training depot had been at Deal, Kingsdown range had been where young RM recruits experienced their first live firing of weapons.
In Deal, the presence of Royal Marines still proudly lingers. A local pub has been deftly renamed the ‘Green Berry’ (as opposed to beret) and of course the Deal Memorial bandstand remembers 11 musicians from the RM Band Service who were killed by an IRA bomb in 1989. Home to the School of Music for many years, Deal still welcomes back the RM Band for an annual concert. If they had been there on the day I passed through, only wet notes would have been played! For such an attractive town I could not have chosen a worse day to visit, but I still managed to stagger through the rain to the end of the functional 1950s concrete build pier – another ticked-off!
Turning the Corner
Freezing conditions replaced rain for the walk out of Deal to Sandwich. Golfers on the three Royal courses that ran parallel to the coast grappled to hold their clubs. Stopping would have meant I’d have stuck to the ground. Vast Sandwich estate houses overlooked the chocolate coloured sea and craft looked lost, stranded in the muddy creek gullies of the tidal Sandwich Haven. The charming Cinque Port of Sandwich was followed by some grim walking alongside a very busy dual carriageway before I could break away into Pegwell Country Park.
Pegwell Bay was where, in the 70s, I’d travelled to France for the first time by Hoverlloyds’s hovercraft. The only remains of that era of sea travel is the hoverpad, still visible above the muddy water of the Bay. Shortly after, Ramsgate Harbour came into view, uniquely permitted to call itself a Royal Harbour. The Dock Master offered us a safe haven on the quay for the night. Boats in the inner harbour were adorned with twinkling Christmas lights and the town had a real feel of a working port. Pilot boats and windfarm tugs moved in and out and during the overnight storm we saw a fishing boat struggle in with its catch.
Apart from the weather, the walk out of Ramsgate to Broadstairs was easy – a mix of concrete sea walls and sandy beaches pickled with white chalky rocks covered in green weed; from a distance it resembled bubble-bath foam! I was keen to reach North Foreland where I would ‘turn the corner’ to move in a westerly direction. A famous landmark for shipping, North Foreland has the distinction of being the very last lighthouse to be automated in November 1998. Afterwards, an easy stretch into Margate on a dismally wet afternoon. Everywhere felt gloomy and wasn’t helped by acres of graffiti scrawled on every conceivable sign, bench, building and sea wall.
Along the Way – Part 7 (Littlestone-on-Sea to Margate)
Dungeness led to a long straight piece of walking on beaches, cycle routes and concrete sea walls built to cope with the constant pounding of the sea. Littlestone-on-Sea, St Mary’s Bay, Dymchurch soon passed. By now I was walking in T-shirt, following the earlier freezing northerly winds. Approaching Hythe I could see a red flag fluttering and had heard the constant gunfire on Hythe ranges ahead. Another detour on an A road, so it was good to reach the genteel town of Hythe, famed for its Military Canal and the Romney, Hythe & Dymchurch railway – sadly no Santa Special running that day!
Hythe had also produced Britain’s only male gold medal winner at the 1960 Summer Olympics held in Rome. Racewalker Don Thompson who had won the 50 km walk in 1960 had taught at the nearby Southlands School (now Marsh Academy): he’s commemorated by a plaque set in the seawall beyond the Hythe Imperial Hotel.
The long concrete walk continued past Sandgate and eventually into Folkestone. Again, no cliff railway in service so up the steep steps to see the Step-Short Memorial above Remembrance Hill. A very poignant memorial to First World War soldiers. Looking seaward you realise just how close (and threatening) the French coastline must have appeared during WW2.
Folkestone is full of unknowns, thanks to the Creative Quarter of the town. Exhibits of ‘Folkestone Artwork’ take you by surprise, some whacky, others lifelike. The Antony Gormley sculpture looking out to sea is just one of those. A town still full of character which had seen so much action during WW2. I was sad to leave and make my way up onto the North Downs Way cliff path above the busy port.
Flight, Listening, Freight and Dover
Up on the cliffs I spent time at the Battle of Britain Memorial, dedicated to aircrew of RAF Fighter Command who fought to gain command of the airspace in the summer of 1940. The site of WW1 Royal Naval Air Station Capel was on the other side of the village. This opened in 1915 and from here the Royal Navy deployed spotting airships to patrol the Channel. It is highly likely that WW1 Wrens from the Dover Division would have served here.
En route for Dover, a redundant Sound Mirror used in WW2 came into view above Abbot’s Cliff. During WW2, Wrens who served with the Y Interceptor branch worked at Abbot’s Cliff, passing information back to Bletchley Park. Continuing, Dover gradually grew closer. The trig point on Shakespeare Cliffs indicated that I was standing directly above the Channel Tunnel, the spoils of that construction clearly visible below on the seaward side is the man-made Samphire Hoe Country Park. To my left, the A20 was stacked with freight lorries streaming into town to board the next cross channel ferry: about 2.5 million lorries pass through this port annually.
The noise, smell, rubbish and grime was constant. Hardly surprising the town has a shabby feel about it, though efforts have been made to maintain Marine Parade in seaside fashion. An array of monuments and memorials acknowledge Dover’s varied past. I noticed one to the Royal Norwegian Navy who served here in WW2 at HMS Wasp which was a large coastal forces base that hosted mine layers, torpedo and gun boats. Dover had been a key reception port for exhausted troops returning from the Dunkirk beaches, and Dover based Wrens had worked tirelessly during that dark time.
QUESTION. Has the Victory Walker vanished?
ANSWER. No - she's been too busy walking, with no time for talking. With Christmas approaching and presents to choose, she's slipped off her boots and will send you some news . .
Along the Way – Part 6 (Seaford to Littlestone)
Ups and Downs and Along the Flat Again
Another duty stint in Portsmouth meant a late-night arrival on Seaford promenade. Soon the Victory Van rocked and shook as the Force 10 howled around us. We slept little. The rain pummelled the Van and we woke to more rain, nil visibility and high winds: it was clear Beachy Head would have to wait.
Next day was a complete contrast, cold winds and excellent ‘viz’. The Seven Sisters glared in the sunlight as I made my way down to the storm eroded hamlet of Cuckmere Haven, before joining the South Downs Way and my switch-back trip, via an equally eroded Birling Gap, to the famous Beachy Head. Both lighthouses seemed in appropriately placed: one below the cliffs at sea level, the other in-land following its move a few years ago.
The views were stunning and it’s clear why the memorial to the RAF Bomber Command was placed on the headland – it served as the airmen’s outward and (hopefully) homeward waymark. Other memorials scatter the cliff walk, particularly at Beachy Head on the old Lloyds Signal Station.
Eastbourne boasted distinct sea shelters with thatched roofs with a corporate colour of royal blue used on railings and benches which contrasted well with the golden domed pier. Buildings ranged from historic splendour to shabby residences, eventually followed by acres of static caravan parks. Pevensey Bay produced numerous ‘Keep Out – Private Beach’ signs which made for tiring and disrupted walking. Bexhill, the home of motorsport, used maroon as its corporate colour and will be remembered for the many, many blocks of flats.
Cycle Route No 2 provided a speedy approach to Bulverhythe, followed by St Leonards, then into Pier of the Year (2017) town, Hastings. Despite the bitter weather, I had to spend time looking at this incredible restoration project after fire devastated the pier in 2010. Old Town was equally impressive with evidence of the town’s fishing industry and a superb Winkle Club monument. With the East Cliff Railway closed for winter it was a tramp up the steep cliff path, heading into snow flurries and freezing winds. I joined the Saxon Shore Way which runs 163 miles from Hasting, east to Gravesend. The only way to keep warm was to march along the steep ups and downs of the cliff path to Fairlight, onto Cliff End and out onto Pett Levels.
Another long stretch along Winchelsea Beach heading for Rye Harbour Nature Reserve, before heading up the Rother channel to Rye. Along this stretch I passed the deserted Mary Stanford Lifeboat house. It was left as a reminder of the 17 crewmen who all lost their lives when responding to a call on 15 November 1928. They went to their mission in a 14 oar pulling/sailing Liverpool Class Surf Boat. They had no self-righting mechanism, no motor power, nor modern communications; the lifeboatmen failed to see a recall signal in the frightful conditions and sadly they all perished.
After Rye I made the mistake of arriving at the vast Camber Sands at dusk. Acres of sand but I couldn’t spy the sea. Next morning, after a noisy overnight layby stop I met the reverse view: daylight and little beach in sight. With high water, and although the ranges were not being used, the detour took me on two sides of the Lydd triangle and into a new county, Kent. Soon I saw vast pylons with cables trailing back towards Dungeness Power Station appear out of the mizzle, shortly followed by the Old (1904) all black Lighthouse , now a Grade II listed building. Construction of the Dungeness Power Station, which hid the light from shipping coming from the S West necessitated today’s black and white striped New (1960) lighthouse being built. An eerie place but a very significant landmark for shipping in the Dover Straits, and the Victory Walker who rounded a corner.
Preparing to go
Ever tried moving house twice in a week and deciding what items should go to each house, or be discarded?
What on Earth Have You Been Doing?
This is the cry I hear from above the sound of the sea. A month out from my departure I think it’s about time to start giving you all an update.
Trafalgar Day and our 21st wedding anniversary dawned wet and windy – Storm Brian was buffeting the UK, and HMS Victory: the start of my marathon coastal walk looked shrouded in gloom. It was soon cheered by the first donation of £20 from one of the Dockyard Gate Security Team – good man, and I’m hoping for many more!
After many years thinking about it, following our purchase of the ‘Victory Van’ and six complicated weeks of preparations, we made the Start Line on schedule; hard to believe the moment had arrived. I ‘stepped-off’ from HMS Victory at 1000 and left the Naval Base by Victory Gate. A pause to take a few deep breaths while listening to the Cathedral bells in old Portsmouth – in two weeks’ time I’d be back there on duty for a WRNS100 event.
I moved on to the Sally Port from where Admiral Nelson had started his final journey to HMS Victory and the Battle of Trafalgar 212 years before. I wondered if he knew what challenges had been ahead of him: I know some of mine, but it is like taking a leap of faith into the unknown. Within 30 mins I’d been drenched by the squalls – this was a taste of the future!
Toothache and Teething Troubles
Despite all the planning and checks, initial teething problems are inevitable – most affected the Victory Van, and some me. A bout of toothache began within the first week, as always at the most inconvenient time. I decided the pending Halloween played a part – my ever reliable camera decided to ‘give up the ghost’, shortly followed by the mobile phone failing to hold charge. Frank too was wrestling with vehicle problems – no hot water. Bravo Zulu (naval term) to Daz Sharman the mobile technician who came to the aid of our boiler. A blown light bulb indicated problems with the electrics, and then it was the new Sat Nav, followed by Blue Tooth problems. As each problem presented itself, Frank hurdled the barriers in his former steeplechaser style. But we were not alone. Like Signs Express beforehand, Somerset Motorhomes, Halfords, Mobile Car Solutions and others were all there, helping and willing us on.
Life in the Van
Wherever you are in the Victory Van, you’re in the way. You can never find anything. When you’re looking for something all you’ll find is the thing you were looking for two days ago! Everything takes twice as long because 2 adults are living in a doll’s house! Despite this, we know that as we shed our ‘shake down’ L Plates life will become easier, and perhaps even fun!
Although keen to get away from Portsmouth – we aim to be in north Scotland by April - I knew I’d be required to return on occasion. My commitment to WRNS100 events, the Naval Service and the Project Group continues until the WRNS100 year concludes. Those duties have been like a bungee elastic, pulling me back before firing me forward again.
Project meetings and follow-on actions one week. Next, the Thanksgiving Service at Portsmouth Cathedral, a Reception and unveiling of the Commemorative Stone with 1,000 women (and one First Sea Lord!) This was followed by being the Royal Navy representative in Bristol at the funeral of Mrs Alison Robins, a WW2 Wren who worked for the ‘Y’ listening stations. She passed information to Station ‘X’, much later revealed to be Bletchley Park. I was accompanied by a Phase 2 female communications trainee from HMS Collingwood; it was an honour to be present at the funeral of a gutsy and ambitious Wren who had always been proud of her service in the WRNS. Still to be planned is a Reception in the Houses of Parliament for 100 former and serving Naval Service women.
Along the Way – Part 1
While battling strong winds and driving rain on the southern most tip of Thorney Island (not a soul in sight) I was reminded of the Royal Marines advert “It’s a State of Mind” – is that a sane, or insane mind I asked myself as I ploughed on. But there has been sunshine too. On another part of Chichester Harbour (would the inlets ever end?!) it was time for T-shirt walking as I headed into West Itchenor and an overnight stop, courtesy of Birdham Marina. It was here that WW2 Wrens once worked as maintainers on Landing Craft prior to D-Day.
Along the Way – Part 2
Passing through ‘The Witterings’ and into Selsey Bill which proved to be a disappointment – the Bill was indefinable. The vast loop of Pagham Harbour (which included a tranquil overnight stop at Sidlesham Quay) kept my legs busy for a good few hours before reaching Bognor Regis. Bognor was a mix of old, new and sad – and I couldn’t walk the pier. But a low tide gave me the chance to walk along the beach weaving in and out of the Elmer loops before reaching Littlehampton.
Along the Way – Part 3
Littlehampton was a town of surprises. Its West Beach reminded me of my childhood home, Slapton – both beaches had been used for D-Day rehearsals in 1943. Littlehampton’s former shipyard provided some South Atlantic memories too: the barque TROSSOCH had sailed on her maiden voyage from here to the Falkland Islands in 1877 carrying the very first consignment of Scottish sheep and their shepherds to establish what would become the Islands’ main industry, sheep farming. This small town also has the UK’s longest continuous seafront bench, measuring 1,000 feet/304 metres, while a beach café sign advertises ‘Doggy Ice cream’ ….. with tantalising flavours your doggy will love’!
Along the Way – Part 4
Onward, through the Goring Gap to Worthing where the local ‘Boys in Blue’ kindly took a picture of me approaching Worthing Pier – this time no Storm Brian to stop me ‘doing’ the Pier. The town is a mix of beautiful older architecture, nestling beside acres of modern blocks of flats. The monotony of shingle and groynes continued but was broken by the wonderful view of Lancing College up on the hill, overlooking Shoreham. The airfield, witness to the tragic Shoreham Air Disaster in 2015, was busy with planes constantly flying in and out. Shoreham’s real working harbour was a delight to watch and I spied the former RNR Unit, HMS Sussex, with its commanding view over the water.
Clocking my first mileage century, Hove the quieter end of Brighton came into view, as did the derelict West Pier – it took many steps to get me there and yet more to reach the main Pier where I experienced all the good and bad it had to offer.
Along the Way – Part 5
After an almost flat walk from Portsmouth, the first hills at Saltdean were a rude awakening for the thigh muscles, but worth the clamber. Turf on top of the chalk cliffs was a welcome change to feet and eyes. The Greenwich Meridian memorial at Peacehaven listed both familiar names such as Halifax, Nova Scotia, with ones that have changed: Aden, listed as being in Arabia – now South Yemen. Next port, Newhaven with its sweeping protective breakwater and where thousands of troops departed for Europe. It was depressing to see the railway station a shadow of its former self.