We were away promptly from our caravan site at Tredegar
House this morning, even before the office opened, having topped up with water
and dumped our grey waste. This had been our first taste of official Caravan
Club sites and we were most impressed. The site had been immaculate, the heated
bathroom amenities complete with hairdryers beyond our normal experience,
however in return, certain precise behaviour is demanded of the patrons.
Caravans or motorhomes must be parked exactly so, no temporary clothes lines
may be erected despite the fact that there was only one washing machine and
dryer to serve all seventy or so sites.
Behaviour all round is very prescriptive, however that does not stop the
British in typical canine mania to bring their one or more dogs camping with
them. We paid 12.05 GBP for this particular site (equivalent to NZ$24.10 more
or less) whereas a caravan park in New Zealand offering the same would cost at
least NZ$35 for a couple. However having said that, we normally frequent NZMCA
sites which offer secure parking, sometimes rubbish disposal facilities, often
water and rarely waste water or sewerage dumping facilities, and never power, for
a fee of NZ$6. None of this is about comparing apples with apples; touring in
New Zealand is an entirely different cup of tea from Britain. It should be
noted here that we had paid 12.50GBP for our site just out of Hinton Charterhouse
where there was power, rubbish disposal and liquid disposal facilities, but no
bathroom facilities. There seems to be no consistency and because of this we
have given away any attempt at budgeting for our accommodation.
Despite the morning work traffic, we made good progress
along the motorway, this time joining the M4 and then turning on to the A449
north toward Monmouth, through the avenues of litter that has been prevalent on
all major roads travelled since we arrived nearly three weeks ago. The Usk
River, so very ugly near Newport, was far more attractive further upstream, and
we crossed over it when we turned west near the village of Usk, continuing
through to the A4042 which we had missed earlier and proceeded on to
Abergavenny, the refrain of a well-remembered Beatles song, one sung over and
over on a bus trip to the Waingaro Springs on a day trip from boarding school
over forty years ago; strange the things one remembers!
We pulled into this town of about 13,500 people, a market
town with a long history of the same and for its tanning and weaving developed
from the sixteenth century. We entered the town on foot from the south and
passed empty buildings, many in a state of poor repair, poorly dressed people
and decided that this was a town in its death throes. But as the morning hours
progressed, the number of shoppers grew, the shops seemed more vibrant, the covered market in the turreted Victorian Gothic town hall busy
and bustling; we retracted our negative comments but did still wonder why the
Beatles had been so intent on going to Abergavenny.
Chris mentioned a conversation he had had with his sister
just a week ago about a disaster that occurred in this area when he was still
at school; she had insisted he had been older, the argument had been left unresolved.
We checked our map and found that Aberfan was within our reach, albeit a detour
from our planned route, so we set off westward across to Merthyr Tydfil and the
surrounding country, once part the Wales’ southern industrial centre, churning
out coal and iron ore throughout the nineteenth century and half of the next
until the Unions and Maggie Thatcher came to loggerheads. Nowadays some mining
still goes on as was evidenced today as we passed a massive coal pit just south
of the town, however the area is plagued more by unemployment these days than
the hazards of mining. In fact the unemployment rates here are among the
highest in Britain. The landscape through here is not at all attractive.
We found our way to Aberfan about ten miles south of
the larger town of Merthyr Tydfil, and to the memorial garden mentioned in our travel bible. On
Friday 21 October 1966, one hundred and forty four people were killed when the
coal tips from the Merthyr Vale Colliery slipped down the mountain and buried
Pantglas School, twenty houses and a farm in the village. Chris was in fact
eighteen when that happened; his sister has a better memory of such matters
than my dear husband does!
Of those killed, one hundred and sixteen were children, most
of them between the ages of seven and ten. Despite the desperate rescue mission
that followed, just a handful of children were recovered alive from the rubble.
About half of the children from Pentglas School were killed, along with five of
their teachers; it was the last day of school before the half term break. Just
imagine the incredible grief of the parents and the village as a whole!
The collapse of the tips was caused by a build-up of water
in a stream running underneath the tip itself. At the Tribunal Inquiry for the
Aberfan Disaster, responsibility for the disaster was attributed to the
National Coal Board, claiming that the disaster was a result “not of
wickedness, but of ignorance, ineptitude and a failure of communications”.
The Aberfan memorial garden now stands on the site of Pantglas
School. In the cemetery further along the path above the village lie the
remains of the victims, marked specially with two lines of white arches, a
poignant reminder to all who visit and to all those who can never forget.
From here we headed directly north up into the Brecon
Beacons National Park, the dry barren landscape now more attractive, here part
of more mountainous scenery rather than that raped by man. The National Park
covers an area of 520 square miles , straddling southern Powys and northern Monmouthshire
from west to east. Today we passed between the central Brecon Beacons , Pan y
Fan (2,907 ft) and Corn Du (2,863 ft), the parking spots for keen climbers
beside the road, and then descended down to Brecon on the banks of the River Usk,
a charming town founded in 1093.
I was particularly keen to see the Monmouthshire - Brecon
Canal which I had read about whilst visiting Gloucester’s National Waterway’s
museum, and while we did find our way to the canal and spend a little time
wandering along the tow path, comprehensive information was not forthcoming. I
do know that the canal was completed in 1812 and was once used to transport raw
materials between Brecon and Newport, but now only a route for leisure seekers
in their narrow boats.
Time poor, we did not linger in this delightful town that
probably could absorb more than a day’s exploration, but started out for a
route immediately to the north of the town, easier said than done. We have
decided that Mavis, the navigational device, so kindly lent to us by Jacky’s
daughter Donna, is out of date and not
very knowledgeable about Wales, a situation that was repeated later in the
afternoon.
Finally we were on our chosen route and drove up through
beautiful farmland, populated by soft fleeced sheep and their new lambs, snowy
white, some with black faces and legs, straight from a story book and so unlike
those seen on our travels through Australia. We missed the turn just beyond
Upper Chapel and came upon a man from Bristol parked up beside the road equally
lost. His navigational device was able to confirm that we were on the wrong
road and so we turned back until we found the route across the Mynydd Eppynt,
tussock moors at elevations around 460 metres ASL, now used as target practice
for the British Army and later discovered on closer scrutiny of the map to be a
“Danger Zone”. The road was devoid of other traffic, narrow but of good
surface, wild and wonderful, however we were glad to descend the heights of
this land to the Irfon River valley at Garth.
A little to the west, we left the road again and headed north
west across the Cambrian Mountains on a road little more than faded lines
on our map. By this time we had given up on Mavis; she kept insisting we “make
a U-turn”. This road through to the tiny settlement of Abergwesyn was very
picturesque, passing through more pastoral country following that same Irfon
River upstream, but after that, the road narrowed even further, was marked as
not being suitable for caravans or large trucks, and climbed steeply up into
the mountains, down again, inclines marked 25% (and that is not 25 degrees, but
percent) and across more wild country, some of it planted in pine plantations
but mostly tussock lands. Fortunately we passed very few vehicles, the drivers
saw us coming and held back in suitable passing spots. The elevation of the
Abergwesyn Pass was not marked but the mountains about, no higher than our
route are shown on the map as being 532 metres ASL and a little less.
We stopped part way across the mountain to read an
information board, a sign indicating our location if we were
unlucky enough to break down. Here we learned that the area has very high rainfall,
providing ideal conditions for a wide range of mosses, liverworts and lichens
on and amongst the rocks and trees. One of the highest oak woodlands in Wales
covers the south-eastern end of the reserve, while typical acid moorland
grasses blanket the more open north-western end. Unusual plants such as the
insect eating sundew, the globe flower, and the fragrant orchid grow in the
damper patches known as flushes, where water seeps out of the ground.
There is a rich variety of birds to be seen over much of
this high mountain area of mid-Wales, including red kite, raven and buzzard,
with warblers and tits in the woodland, and dippers down by the stream.
Chris found the miles very long, and was glad to finally
emerge at Tregaron in the Teifi River valley. It was already mid-afternoon and
we had to be at our camp before 5 pm; such is the frustration of travelling
with booked accommodation.
We decided that we should abandon our plans to do yet
another cross country trek to Devil’s Bridge as planned, but instead take the
more major roads which meant driving on through the coastal town of
Aberystwyth, which surely must warrant more than a speedy drive past, north to
the Dovey River valley and on through Machynlleth, which is also a substantial
settlement. About ten kilometres on up the A489 then east onto the A470, we
arrived here at our camp which has only today opened for the summer months,
although “summer” is definitely a misnomer.
This Caravan Club site here in Mid Wales between Snowdonia
and Montgomeryshire is situated on a wooded hillside, with lovely views across
the valley. If one were to stay more
than overnight, one could stroll the surrounding countryside watching out for
Red Kites or try a spot of fishing at the Llyn, the Clwedog reservoir, or in
the Dyfi River. Here there is an excellent service site with water and dump
facilities, rubbish bins, electricity on each site along with the parking guide
post, but nothing else, however here the tariff is 12.50 GBP; again I draw your
attention to my comments earlier about comparing apples with apples.
We had noted today that spring is even later here in this
part of the world than East Anglia, the lambs and daffodils the only sign of
the seasonal change. Certainly today has been very different to yesterday’s
leisurely layday, and so very full of contrast. I look forward to seeing what
tomorrow brings, although the forecasted rain may cause us to change our
planned routes yet again.
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