Our last full day was spent pursuing one of our favourite
interests here in Great Britain; canals and all things related. Over breakfast
I laid out three tour options, one including a visit to the National Waterways
Museum at Ellesmere Port, at the base of the Dee Estuary. Not surprisingly, The
Chauffeur chose to select just one item rather than racing all around the region
catching up on all the attractions I had hoped we would visit. He is definitely
the practical and sensible one of this touring couple; for that I am most
thankful. Left to my own devises I might well have to be sent home in a casket.
Ellesmere Port is only about fifteen miles north east of our
camp, an easy route accessed via the A55. We arrived at the museum car park
before opening time, all planned in the hope we would be able to track down a
local barber for Chris to have a much needed haircut. We crossed back under the
motorway and headed down what appeared to be the main street of this industrial
town. Our path was strewn with rubbish, and the services on offer were better
suited to tradies or workers heading to work at the nearby factories: a service
station, a couple of puny convenience stores and a few betting shops. Strangely
at the entry to this part of town and further down the street are several
excellent sculptures that would suggest a place of greater aspiration and
class.
We crossed up over the rail to find evidence of past urban
success, but little happening today. I spotted a barber pole up a side street
and here in a barbershop (wo)manned by two scissor sisters, whether related by
blood or interest we will never know, however he emerged after a session in the
chair looking very sharp and ready for the weeks ahead.
Back at the museum, retracing our steps without incident, we
entered to find a most excellent tourist attraction, worthy of the entry fee,
especially when you understand that the Canal & River Trust always struggles
to raise funds to do all the restoration and maintenance on the countrywide
navigable waterways.
Three years ago we called in to the National Waterways Museum
in Gloucester and were then most impressed, but when we returned last year were
seriously disappointed with the layout, obviously revamped by a new curator who
was catering to the lowest denominator or modern minimalism. However today we
discovered that all the wonderful exhibitions we had enjoyed that first visit
seemed to have been relocated or duplicated here, which is probably no
surprise; the two museums are connected and with the entry from this in
Ellesmere Port, a ticket that offers return visits for twelve months, one also
can drop into that in Gloucester.
The Ellesmere Canal was built to connect Ellesmere in
Shropshire with the River Mersey and Liverpool’s docks. Ellesmere Port opened
in 1795 and gave inland waterways a gateway to the sea. The Ellesmere Canal
became part of a three hundred mile network in 1846 owned by the Shropshire
Union Railways & Canal Corporation.
Goods brought to Ellesmere Port by canal were transferred
into sea-going vessels while imported raw materials were taken by canal boats
to factories and mills. For one hundred years, the great warehouses here stored
goods for transhipment: coal, iron ore, china clay, grain, flour, sugar and
pottery were some of the cargoes that passed through the port.
The docks closed in 1956 and over the following twenty
years, the site decayed and buildings became derelict. In 1971, a group of
people enthusiastic about preserving the boats and traditions of the canals
decided to take action. This voluntary group created The North Western Museum of
Inland Navigation and with local authority support, Ellesmere Port became their
chosen location for a boat museum.
In 1978 the museum opened seven days a week during the
summer. In 1999 the Waterways Trust took over the management of the museum,
then seven years later, it became the National Waterways Museum and was
officially opened as such by the local MP. In 2012 the Waterways Trust was
incorporated into the Canal & River Trust which manages the museum today.
That same year, the British Waterways archive collection was transferred from
Gloucester to Ellesmere Port and we took advantage of this excellent resource
centre yesterday to look for great grand-father McNab who had featured on the
Forth & Clyde Canal up in Scotland and whose place of work we had tracked
down last year when we were in Glasgow. The archivist loaded a pile of books
and records onto a desk and I waded my way through them but found no reference
specifically to my family, only interesting statistics and stories about the
times in which he worked.
We spent more than four hours in the museum, or at least
about the spacious complex that makes up the museum. There are almost seventy
boats in the collection, many sundry buildings which all had an important role
in the canal port in the heyday, large weed filled ponds where old boats come
to retire in the company of a pair of white swans and a little family of ducks
and their progeny who were all making their way forward through the surface
vegetation, eating their way through.
It was still mid-afternoon when we tore ourselves away and
headed back to Broughton, shopping adjacent to the Airbus factory before
returning to camp, where Chris washed the car and caravan in readiness for
leaving in the morning.
This morning we hung about understanding our transfer to be
within three quarters of an hour reach, back to the west, this the absurdity I
referred to a week or so ago; the fact that we have doubled back to accommodate
the screw up with the ferry crossing dates. Now, days on, it does not seem so crazy after
all because we have enjoyed the detour immensely, and I am sure we will enjoy
the days that are to come.
Our hosts had arrived back on the farm yesterday, and this
morning the sheep dogs were nowhere to be seen, preferring their owners’
company to that of random camping guests. As we pulled out of the farmyard, Mr
& Mrs Farmer emerged from the barn, obviously busy with dirty tasks, but hospitable
enough to prioritise our departure. We assured them we would stay with them
again when we were next this way; this might happen if we return from Ireland via
Holyhead, although the jury is still out on which port we will use.
Our route was again on the A55, back up over the northern
edge of the Clwydian Range, the traffic dense and slow. Today we pulled into one
of the formal service centres, that just east of Abergale which is not really
geared for anything but the family sedan, however we took over four car parks
and lunched after queuing in the loos, services not really set up to cater for
the thousands of folk stopping by.
The route notes to our camp, especially those on-line, were
detailed and insistent that one’s SatNav should be ignored. We left ours on,
however I was ready to override her instructions at any one time. Surprisingly
she sent us the prescribed route, along narrow steep roads through Mochdre and
back up into the country, along the sort of roads we studiously try to avoid
when towing.
After manoeuvring the tight gateway, we arrived on to the
hill site, high above Colwyn Bay, with glorious views across to Great Ormes
Head and along the coast and possibly north to the Isle of Man. Our hosts,
David and Karen have been so very welcoming but they have had much practice.
This campsite has been operating for seventy years, previously run by David’s
parents.
Chris is happily settled in front of the television watching
the riders on Le Tour perform further self-flagellation and I am cooking up a
pot of curry; seems appropriate in a heat wave. Our travel itinerary is already
organised for the days ahead, although a band of bad weather is forecasted;
hopefully it will not amount to much.
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