Cheltenham Racecourse, Gloucestershire

The weather forecast for the next three days, according to TV’s weather girl, was for rain, rain and more rain, none of this good news for The Tour Leader, yours truly. We juggled our schedule to suit the best possible scenarios, and set off westward, across the top of Gloucester and the River Severn, before heading south down the western shore of that wide river, then westward again into the Forest of Dean. Again we had travelled through this too a couple of years ago, although my memories of real forest were scant. However since then I have learned more about the definition of “Forest of” in this country, that they are traditional hunting grounds for the rich and powerful of old, and not necessarily an area of dense bush or trees. 

The Forest of Dean is an area covering 42.5 square miles of mixed woodlands in west Gloucestershire, on the eastern border between England and Wales, one of the surviving ancient woodlands in England interspersed with cultivated exotic forest which is still being milled today. Unsurprisingly it was reserved for royal hunting before the Norman Conquest of 1066, and remained as the second largest crown forest in England after the New Forest in the south east of the country.

We were interested to do walks in the area, and yesterday had been delighted when the young man in the Information Centre in Gloucester had printed off a pamphlet available on line. Quite frankly peering into the screen of a smartphone at a map or route description, and then only if one has internet reception, seemed beyond us, or rather, an unattractive proposition. There are still some sympathetic types out there in public roles, and for this we are most appreciative. 

So today we chose a couple of the twelve walks described  as “easy”, the first titled “Speech House” and the second, “Cannop Ponds”, each of about 2 ¼ miles in length. We walked through a variety of landscapes, through new forest and old, an Arboretum, along dry roads and tracks, along narrow muddy old tramways, frequently encountering other walkers, couples or families more often than not accompanied by their dogs, or packs of dogs. Truly the English are quite potty about their dogs, and oblivious to the fact that some people choose to be wary until they are familiar with their canine companions. 

We lunched near the Cannop Ponds, a popular spot for cyclists and walkers, the lower of these created in 1825 to supply water to a waterwheel at the Parkend Ironworks a little south of here, and the upper pond added in 1829 to supplement the unreliable flow. We walked up to an old mine, and saw the monument to the men who died in the Union Colliery disaster in 1902. Then later, soon after we drove north of these walks, I spotted a small herd of wild deer through the trees which did alleviate some of my disappointment of not having seen any other wildlife whilst out walking through the forest. In fairness to the wildlife, why would they dare to show themselves with so many dogs about? 

It was still only mid-afternoon when we returned to Cheltenham and found our way to one of the Tesco Superstores, the traffic heavy having been diverted away from the city centre as preparations are being made for the Half Marathon to be run tomorrow. And because of this event, we are not able to drive in or out of the racecourse between 8 am and 1 pm. We considered leaving the car outside the complex overnight to enable freedom of movement for the day, but have since decided we will stay put and venture out when the roads are reopened. It looks like Sunday will be a relaxing fudge-out day. 

Cheltenham Racecourse, Gloucestershire

We woke late this morning and as a result we were late arriving at the Park & Ride on the Cheltenham side of the M5. This fact alone, the location that is, made me doubt whether this was a transport hub for Cheltenham or for Gloucester, our choice of destination for the day. After much conversation with waiting passengers and the driver of a bus that was not ours, we established we could indeed catch the #99 and duly be delivered to the centre of Gloucester. This is the bus that travels between the two hospitals, the one in Cheltenham and the one in Gloucester, for which we paid the grand sum of £2 for us both.

Alighting from the bus in the city, home to just under 130,000 people, we stood in front of a map board on a nearby street and were soon taken in hand by a couple of slightly more senior years than ourselves. Mrs Samaritan turned out to be a city guide and her husband equally affable and knowledgeable. They took us up into the centre of the city, each of them giving each of us a running commentary on the wonders of their home as we went, and left us outside the Information Centre which we had been seeking. What a double bonus so far; the low fare and the amazing welcome!

Two years ago we had called in to Gloucester when we were rushing about the country in a hired motorhome and been restricted with time and parking. Then we had visited the Waterway Museum and driven around the Cathedral; today we wished to give these more attention. So our first port of call was the Cathedral.

This we found to be surrounded in workers, fences and dust. The entire exterior groundwork is being transformed from car park to expansive paved courtyard and will be wonderful when it is completed. For now it is a little off putting and would have remained so had our experience inside been a whole lot less than that today. As we entered the one door open to the public, we were handed over to our own personal guide, Rupert, a retired science teacher and fount of historical and architectural knowledge about this grand edifice. 

Gloucester Cathedral, previously the Cathedral Church of St Peter and the Holy and Indivisible Trinity, has its origins in a Christian structure dating from the late 670s, however it was William the Conqueror who had a group of Benedictine monks found an abbey here, the work begun in 1089. Again like all such structures, it has evolved over the years, changes triggered by fire and collapse, but none so great as the interment of one of England’s least favoured kings, Edward II, a nasty piece of works, who did manage to father an heir but was otherwise more interested in pleasing his lover, Piers Gaveston, who met with a very nasty end. Edward II was also to meet a similar grisly end at nearby Berkeley Castle in 1327. The King’s body was hastily brought to the abbey church and his son, Edward III, was equally hastily crowned king, his nine year old head still small enough to suit his mother’s amulet as a crown rather than the standard headdress.

Of course the true story of the glorious king’s demise was kept from the masses, and the fact his remains lay in this hallowed ground brought pilgrims from afar, bearing bribes for heavenly prayers and business to the hostelry of the town, all proving that there is often a silver lining to most bad luck stories.

Henry VIII’s dissolution had no ill effect on the abbey church; he realised that it would not be a good political move to desecrate the burial place of his forefather, and instead appointed a Bishop conferring the status of Cathedral on the abbey church.  

There are many wonderful architectural features of the cathedral; the wonderful stained glass window dating from 1350, making it one of the oldest left in the country, wonderful fan vaulted ceilings in the cloisters, these themselves the loveliest we have seen, so very light. These obviously caught the fancy of the scene selectors for the Harry Potter movies, because the cloisters have featured in a couple of these very popular movies. The organ is also an eye catcher, dating from 1666 and is the only complete 17^th century cathedral organ case surviving in the country. 

But much of the cathedral is out of bounds or screened by maintenance scaffolding and would be better viewed next year, if the visitor can wait that long.

After Rupert left us to our own devices, we took advantage of the cleared weather and dined al fresco in the lovely lawn inside the cloisters, before setting off to our next destination, the Gloucester Docks.

The Docks, once the deepest and widest in the world, are home to fourteen or fifteen warehouses built for storing grain following the opening of the Sharpness Canal on the River Severn in 1827, creating Britain’s most inland port. Most have been turned into offices and shops, and the Llanthony Warehouse is now occupied by the National Waterways Museum. Since we visited the museum two years ago, over £1 million from the Heritage Lottery Fund and a Museums & Galleries Improvement Fund has been spent on bringing the museum into the 21^st century. 

While I accept the previous version of the museum, then covering at least three floors of the warehouse, was dated, it was full of wonderful stories of people, families, workers and other related folk of the heyday of the docks and canals. Today we found the museum to have been reduced to two floors, and stripped of at least half of its resources, although those that do remain are tastefully curated in a very up to date manner. I guess the designers were working on the fact that the older littered style of museums creates overload and brain clutter; this is probably true but the reason we had returned for a second visit. 

After spending less time than we had expected within the walls of this renewed temple to the waterways, we wandered along about the docks, watching a narrow-boat make its entrance in the very large lock, a lock that could have accommodated at least twelve times the number of craft. From here we returned to the city centre and called into the Museum of Gloucester, paying the AOP entry fee of £3 each, and I only mention this because quite frankly, it does not deserve an entry fee at all. There is a good little exhibition on the town’s Roman era, and there is apparently quite a good art collection. Alas, the art gallery is currently occupied by an exhibition about dinosaurs, something that did not appeal at all. Covered in the price is entry to the city’s other museum, the Museum of Life aka Folk Museum, and had the hour not been so advanced, we would have walked across to that and probably felt less ripped off. 

But it was time to make our way back to the bus station, which we did passing through the streets, the few market stalls being packed up but the young people now freed of the educational shackles for the day and the place still buzzing. We poked our nose into the New Inn, a pub not “new” at all, originally built as a Pilgrim’s Inn to house those visitors to the shrine of King Edward II. It was rebuilt in 1455, and has seen much activity, history and vibrant trade through the subsequent ages. It is said that William Shakespeare once appeared here when strolling minstrels were popular and plays were staged in the courtyard. The inn even boasted the city’s first tennis court during Tudor times.

It was at the New Inn in 1553 that Lady Jane Grey heard the news that would lead to her untimely death.  She was manipulated by the Duke of Northumberland who had ambitions to rule the country through her. He arranged a marriage for her to his son and persuaded the twelve year old Edward VI who was dying of tuberculosis, to sign a will bequeathing the crown to her. The young king soon died and it was from the gallery of the New Inn that Lady Jane was proclaimed the new Queen. It was not long before her cause was weakened as support for her rival, Mary, escalated throughout the land. In 1554, Mary, new Queen of England, reluctantly passed sentence on her rival and Lady Jane and her husband were beheaded in the Tower of London. They say ghosts roam the inn; there is nothing like a ghost or two to encourage custom. 

Boarding the bus, we were greeted by a driver with a different attitude to the one earlier in the morning. We were apparently under sold tickets and should have paid £3 each for our fare; he made sure we did for the return, muttering about the slackness of his colleague. Needless to say we were no longer as impressed with Gloucester’s Park & Ride facility.

Cheltenham Racecourse, Gloucestershire

Today we relocated over one hundred and sixty miles south, travelling from South Yorkshire through Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire, Warwickshire and down into Gloucestershire, grazing other counties as we came. The route was a straightforward one following the M1, onto the A42/M42 , joining the M5 south west of Birmingham, remaining on these major roads until the last leg through Bishop ‘s Cleeve to the racecourse here at the northern edge of Cheltenham. 

The Chauffeur takes credit for choosing this camp, a rather gallant claim given that it has turned out less than our expectations. The racecourse is a grand affair, with a gateman and plenty of activity going on even on a day of no events, several large grandstands and a far cry from the racecourses we have stayed in New Zealand. But then no New Zealand racecourse hosts such prestigious races such as the Cheltenham Gold Cup, Champion Hurdle, Queen Mother Champion Chase and the Stayers Hurdle, or has the facility to accommodate 67,500 spectators. 

The camping area here is scattered about one end of the course, mostly on tarmac, and mostly not quite level. While the directory states that gas can be bought here, they have ceased to do refills, most frustrating for us. The laundry boasts one top loading washing machine and one dryer, both demanding the same “fee” as we have been paying for larger front loading machines. The showers look great but are a nightmare when it comes to shuffling bags of clothes, linen and bottles, especially if one is making the most of continuous hot water supply as I did this afternoon to wash my hair and attend to other personal matters more difficult to deal with by washing with a basin of water in a tiny shower compartment in a caravan. I ended up making such a mess that I had to set to and mop up most of the shower area, but then some of that was due to the fact my bottle of shampoo had leaked; bubbles everywhere. Given that I had been so looking forward to caravan club site bathroom facilities, I was greatly disappointed.

But for all my whining, I managed to deal with the bags of laundry and myself, and we are all set to explore the area over the next few days.

Savile Town Marina, Dewsbury, South Yorkshire

After breakfast I lay the travel options for the day in front of The Chauffeur and he chose a mix’n match day just to surprise me.

Firstly we parked near the centre of Dewsbury in the Asda superstore, popping in first to buy a couple of bits to justify our presence in the car park. From here it was a simple matter of walking across the bridged River Calder, through the bus terminal and up to the market stalls. We were surprised to find the streets no busier than when we had visited on Monday, however were astounded to find the previously empty market area crammed with every possible item that could be sold , with special emphasis on ladieswear suitable for the fashion conscience Moslem women. The ladies shopping in the market were nearly all covered head to foot in their camouflage robes of black, dark eyes peering through a narrow head shroud slit and pretty feet peeping out under the hems. We walked through the market, crossing it this way and then the other, then back toward the bus terminal where we encountered a entertaining sight. A swarthy little man of mature years, dressed in loose pants and a long tunic shirt under a fleece jacket, exited the terminal beside his bicycle, a lawnmower on a rope tow. I stopped and gawped in wonder and another chap standing near explained to me that he was a regular of the town, mowing many lawns about the area, always travelling in this manner. “Brilliant!” I exclaimed wishing I had been quicker with my camera.

From Dewsbury we headed north through a tangle of roads, through Bradford toward Shipley, none of these very far south of Skipton, and soon arrived at Saltaire, a Victorian model industrial village and textile mill designated UNESCO World Heritage Site status in 2001. The village, still lived in today, covers an area of twenty five acres and was built between 1851 and 1876, modelled on buildings of the Italian Renaissance, designed by architects Lockwood and Mawson and engineer William Fairbairn. Salt’s Mill, is larger than St Paul’s Cathedral in London and was the biggest factory in the world when it was opened in 1853, having a total floor area of 55,000 square yards.

Prior to his grand project, in 1836 Titus Salt was already experimenting with alpaca wool, mixing it with sheep’s wool and angora, creating a new fabrics that kick started the foundation of his fortune. Twelve years later, when running a mill in the cesspit that was Bradford, he became Mayor of Bradford. In this position he was more able to see for himself the overriding horrors of the textile industry and the associated social problems. In 1849 cholera broke out in the town, claiming several hundred lives, and Titus began his plan to save the world, or at least that little part he could. 

Three years later he purchased land adjacent to the Leeds Liverpool Canal and the River Aire, and began construction of the giant mill complex, which brought together all the processes required to turn raw wool into finished cloth. The mill was completed in record time, and initially the workers were transported out to Saltaire on special trains from Bradford timetabled to coincide with shift patterns until the new housing was completed.

Like New Lanark in Scotland, schools and institutes, infirmaries and leisure spaces were all provided for the employees and their families. Titus Salt was another of this rare  species; a rich entrepreneurial philanthropist. When he died in 1876 at the age of seventy three, over 100,000 people lined the funeral route. 

During his lifetime, he had retained sole ownership of the company, but after his death, his family became shareholders. Younger son Titus Junior took over the reins and continued his father’s legacy, however after he died suddenly at the age of forty four in 1887, the business coffers were bled in the pursuit of pleasure by the rest of the family and in serious financial straits, the mill was sold to a syndicate of local businessmen in 1893. It was subsequently modernised and extended and two years later was operating at maximum output.

 

By 1902 James Roberts, one of the syndicate, had bought his partners out, continuing the great works of Sir Titus Salt, and managed to have himself created a baronet in 1909. In 1918 the mill and village changed hands yet again, and muddled through the next decade. Alas, in 1929 when prices slumped after the Crash, the village was sold off. With this capital input the mill was able to carry on all the way through to 1986 when international competition eventually forced the mill to close. All the machines were removed and the building was put up for sale.

Jonathan Silver, who was then about thirty eight at the time, purchased the mill and began immediately to transform the mill into a venue for the arts, leisure and business. Within five months the 1853 Gallery opened, featuring an exhibition by David Hockney, and it is Hockney’s work that fills three floors of the mill delighting the visitor today, no less yours truly and her husband. And most importantly we discovered that Hockney was so much more than paintings of swimming pools; we decided we loved his work and both agreed that he is an incredibly talented artist. I say “still”; he has just celebrated his eightieth birthday. It should be noted that here is the largest retrospective collection of the works of Hockney, Bradford born, hence the connection.

Salt’s Mill was created by a man of great vision and has ultimately been saved by another with a similar passion, albeit with a different end game. Sadly Jonathan Silver died of cancer in 1997 however his family have continued his legacy. Hopefully they will not end up the disappointment that Salt’s descendants turned out to be.

We were delighted to find ample and free parking in the Visitor’s car park, and everything about the Mill even more wonderful. Inside the Mill, there are café’s and art, craft and furniture shops filling the spaces between the gallery walls, a film that explains the history of Saltaire (a combination of the names Salt and the River Aire) and beyond, the Grade I listed United Reform Church and Mausoleum which houses the remains of the Master, and the exterior of the Shipley College, Victoria Hall, the workers cottages and the New Mill, this latter now leased out to the NHS. We checked out the canal and the assortment of narrowboats tied up alongside the towpath, and the weir on the river.

It was mid-afternoon before we left and came on south to Dewsbury stopping by at Asda to take advantage of the wellpriced diesel and to replenish the wine cellar and fridge with fresh provisions.