26 June 2016 - Chertsey Club Site, Surrey

Our departure from Knight’s Folly Farm was uneventful, despite the soft ground of our camp. We travelled north east on roads travelled when we visited Dyrham Park a few days ago, joining the M4 a little to the north of that park, then proceeded eastwards as far as Reading where we intended to pull into the Motorway Service Centre to pass some time and lunch before entering the outer reaches of London and arriving at our next camp after midday. 

Alas we overshot the entry to the caravan parking space and found ourselves heading even further east on the motorway, not having had the opportunity to answer the calls of nature or anything else. This was a major dilemna for a number of reasons, not least the call of nature for The Chauffeur, whose health and comfort should always be paramount, when on the road, that is. Fortunately I had a rescue plan; we exited via the next junction, just less than a couple of miles away, turned back the way we had come and pulled into the Service Centre on the other side of the motorway from that called into too briefly. Needs were duly met, the newspaper scanned and lunch consumed, then we resumed the route heading back toward South Wales, exiting at the next junction, again less than two miles on, and turned again to resume the eastward journey. Crisis over and no more was said.

Historical Chertsey Bridge viewed from camp

All I can say is that it was very fortunate that Reading had three junctions to the south that allowed for such navigational faults. One can travel on the M4 for many many miles before an opportunity to exit.

We turned south on to the A322 skirting Bracknell, then east again on the M3 on to the M25, where we found ourselves in the thick of slow Sunday traffic. Fortunately we turned again after a mere two miles eastwards to Chertsey, soon finding our Camping & Caravan Club camp on the banks of the River Thames.

After dealing with a week or more’s laundry, we headed to the Information room, and here learned little as regards how to travel by public transport to the destinations we have lined up for the four touring days we have here. Signing off here tonight, I must immediately apply myself to the internet in an attempt to solve this problem, and try to contact my mother whose eighty fifth birthday it is today. June is quite a month for us; it was our middle grand-daughter's seventh birthday yesterday, actually it still is today British time.

25 June 2016 - Knight’s Folly Farm, Bitton, near Bristol, Gloucestershire

We woke to similar erratic weather as yesterday, and the political situation no less volitile. We hung about to follow updates on that stage, to establish the weather situation and to ring Chis’s brother at a sociable hour.

Chris suggested that heading west to Bath with a view to undertaking a walking tour, something we had discussed last night as having been most enjoyable last year, would be as vulnerable to the dodgy weather as it was then. So it seemed that my Plan B, a drive to the west to explore the settlements on the eastern shores of the Bristol Channel would be best. And so we set off with more speciific plans than that woolly idea.

The first was to visit the Clifton Suspension Bridge Visitor Centre, a very vague spot on the local tourist brochure, not appearing on our navigational device and not to be found as we drove in the general direction seeking the appropriate sign posts.

So we carried on to Portishead, the settlement just to the south of the mouth of the River Avon. We arrived at the centre and searched for signage to take us somewhere significant, frustrated by the lack of signage here as well, ending up in residential areas and none the wiser. Frustrations were voiced by The Chauffeur, none of which could be sensibly allayed by The Back Seat Driver / Navigator, so we headed south along the B3124, further frustrated by the Saturday leisure cyclists. So far this had not proved to be a Fun Day Out. 

The Clevedon Pier

On arriving at Clevedon, we were correctly directed to the seashore, and there found a parking spot near the Clevedon Pier, opened in 1869 and is England’s only Grade I listed pier, complete with a Victorian Pagoda. 

Instead we wandered up the street past a number of residences perched on the cliffs above the coast, all undergoing substantial renovation. From here we could see a great dark weather band rolling south to greet us so high tailed it back to the car. We could see little point in staying longer so decided to head toward home and drive over the Clifton Suspension Bridge since there seemed little else a tourist could do.

Chris asked which route we should take; return via the cyclist ridden route or … ? I suggested we may as well take the faster M5 just to the west. Alas, on entering the motorway, we found ourselves locked in a four lane traffic jam and took a long time to travel the five miles before the next junction where we turned into the Service Centre, that which we had hung about in some days ago en route to Bristol from Dulverton. There we sat in the car and ate our lunch, people watching, and watching dog owners walking their desperate dogs on a grassy bank whereupon the canine relieved themselves and the humans ignored the resulting deposits. We called into the Centre to buy a paper and marvel at the massive facilities which we made use of.

Then on we continued east toward Bristol, soon crossing the Clifton Suspension Bridge after paying the required £1 for the privilege of doing so. We were delighted to find a parking spot up the hill not too far away from the exit road, and we walked back down to the bridge to admire this great engineering feat. 

In 1829, a competition was launched to find someone to design a crossing over the Avon Gorge. After a second competition, the first having been unsuccessful, twenty three year old Ismabard Kingdom Brunel was appointed as project manager. The bridge took thirty three years to complete, the initial funding for the bridge was generated in 1754 by Bristol wine merchant William Vick who left £1,000 in his will to go toward the construction of a toll-free stone bridge across the gorge.

Brunel died in 1859 aged fifty three before the work was completed. With financial help from the Institution of Civil Engineers, work resumed on the bridge in 1862 under the supervision of Sir John Hawkshaw and William Henry Barlow, who modified Brunel’s original plan by widening the roadway and by increasing the suspension chains from two to three on each side. Construction was completed in the summer of 1864. Although originally designed to cater for horse-drawn traffic, the bridge today serves as a crossing for more than four million vehicles every year. Today it is a Grade I listed building; it was a day for Grade I viewings.

The Clifton Suspension Bridge

Here too we were plagued by rain, but set off anyway, clad in raincoats and under umbrellas. As we sheltered from a particularly fierce storm, we fell into conversation with a couple of Australian girls, both from Sydney, and currently working in London. We discussed a number of issues including the very recent referendum, which interestingly they had registered to vote. They, like 75% of their age group, between eighteen and twenty four, (or 56% if we were mistaken and they fell in the twenty five to forty nine age group), had voted to remain. It would seem, after listening to the television reports tonight and reading the newspaper tonight, over 52% of the population in total would have voted similarly if they had thought through the consequences of their protest vote. Too late now!!

We were home soon after 2.30 pm. Early enough for me to cook up a big pot of bolognaise sauce for freezing, and to watch two soccer games played in France; Switzerland versus Poland, and Northern Ireland versus Wales, the second team of each the winners. More interesting was news that the All Blacks had slaughtered the touring Welsh team in New Zealand, and the English rugby team had slaughtered the Wallabies.

The rain storms have continued all afternoon; we just hope they will have abated by morning as we pack up camp and head toward London.

24 June 2016 - Knight’s Folly Farm, Bitton, near Bristol, Gloucestershire

We sat up late last night, absurdly late, to the point I was nodding off and the first of the refendum results were still to be reported. It was after midnight we relented and went to bed. The media had better stamina, staying up all night and looking better than we did when we woke this morning before 7 am to learn that the British had voted to leave the EU.We were disappointed, even though we have no business to be.

There will be turbulant times ahead, not least because the Prime Minister, David Cameron, has given notice, which could then lead to an early election, a second referendum for Scottish Independence, a call from the right in both France and the Netherlands to follow Britain’s example, and goodness knows what else. On an even more personal level, I suspect that the proceeds of the eventual sale of our caravan and car will be negatively effected by the damage to the currency exchange rates.

We finally tore ourselves away from the commentary by mid-morning and headed for Dyrham Park, about eight miles north east of Bitton. We knew little about this National Trust property apart from the fact it was near, it offered gentle entertainment for the exhausted and the weather looked as if it would be more dry than wet.

It was therefore quite a surprise to arrive and find the carpark quite full; the park was obviously a popular spot. We flashed our membership cards and then set off on foot down the grassy tree dotted slopes toward the house, an easy walk of three quarters of a mile. Deer grazed on the far slopes and soon the house appeared in front of us.

We joined a conservation tour which took us up to the fifth floor of the house, through rooms crammed with boxed and labelled furniture and household effects. The problems of conserving such objects as well as the structure itself were explained to us; the dichotomy of preserving historical places for the future and from further decay, and the need to show it all off to the paying public to raise funds to provide for the conservation.

One of the volunteers told us how last year the house was encased in scaffolding so that the leaking roof could be replaced. This was part of an urgently needed £3.8 million conservation project, during which time the house was able to be kept open throughout, with a fully accessible rooftop walk in the scaffolding leading to a record breaking year for the Park. More than 200,000 people visited Dyrham Park in 2015, the highest number of visitors ever, with 100,000 visiting the rooftop walkway, to watch the 160 stonemasons, slaters, lead workers, carpenters and scaffolders. It took five scaffolders three months to build the 500 tonne structure to enable workers to replace the roof, and the same time to dismantle it; no wonder it was such an expensive project. The building work had the reverse effect of what had been feared; entry fees proved to be even more of a much needed income source than budgeted.

A tour of the house informed us that it had been planned and built by William Blathwayt, a respected government, military and colonial official, between 1692 and 1702. He drew on his extensive network of friends and associates across the world to source the finest materials for his dream home, much like you see on Grand Designs these days. Roofing slate came from Cornwall, black walnut wood from Virginia, red cedar from Carolina, oak wood from Flanders, deal wood from Stockholm and Carrera marble from Italy. 

The building was actually alteration and extension of an existing Tudor house, half of it demolished for the new work to start. In 1688, the father of William’s wealthy heiress wife, Mary Wynter, died and the Blathways took over the property, then in very poor condition. 

Biographical details of William were scant, as was information regarding the house after William finished his days. We did learn that he served Charles II, James II, William and Mary, and Queen Anne and stood out as one of the most able government administrators of his day. He managed to successfully fulfil the exacting demands of many high profile roles, from surveying and auditing the colonies to Secretary at War, member of the Board of Trade to MP for Bath, at the same time, over many years. Much of that was probably achieved because his wife sadly died before the house construction was begun, and hence he would not have had to worry about his family and social obligations. His sons lived in apartments at the top of the house and were probably left to the care of servants. But I am guessing; there was nothing to suggest whether this was correct, or not.

Dyrham Park

The “building” work included landscaping work, elaborate formal gardens which time did away with. Today the National Trust is attempting to reconstruct the gardens as they were then. The gardens had been very impressive, as shown by many drawings hanging in the house.

Unlike many of the fabulous stately homes we have visited during our travels here in England, this lacked the wow factor. They have been in Trust ownership for over fifty years, and yet if we had learned that they had just been taken over after fifty of more years of neglect, we would have believed it. The brochure we were handed welcomed us “to Dyrham Park as work continues to research, conserve and celebrate the 17^th century world of William Blathwayt”. This seems to confirm that this is some kind of conservation experiment rather than a finished product ready for the public view.

While we were indoors, the rain returned, in bucket loads, and when we finally emerged at 1.30, we decided to hitch a ride on the shuttle bus to the top of the hill to retrieve our lunch. Refuelled, we decided that the rain looked set in, so we came away, returning home to roast a turkey leg and an assortment of vegetables, purchased on the route home. Dinner was delicious.

23 June 2016 - Knight’s Folly Farm, Bitton, near Bristol, Gloucestershire

Just as forecasted, the rain stayed away all day and that was why we had decided to head over the Bristol Channel to Wales for the day. Actually, to a New Zealander, popping across to another country is just mind boggling; such is the mindset of an islander.  But anyway, that is what we did today, set off in the car for an hour’s journey across the Second Severn Bridge, then on along the M5 across the south of Wales, bypassing Newport, and arriving within an hour at the Park & Ride.

The Second Severn motorway bridge is called thus because it came after the first bridge crossing which is situated further up the River Severn. This second bridge was completed in 1996 and is an incredible 5.128 kilomteres long, 34.6 metres (six vehicle lanes) wide and 137 metres high. In researching the above, I was surprised to learn that it is near the path of the Severn Tunnel, which has carried the railway line beneath the river bed since 1886. Neither Chris nor I had realised there was a tunnel. The first Severn road bridge was completed in 1966, and is a four lane suspension bridge.

All three of these crossings are a little upstream of the estuary, although you would not know that when the tide is out as it was when we returned this afternoon. Much of the estuary is just mudflats at low tide, although can be covered by as much as fourteen metres of water at high tide. Here the maximum tidal range of 14.5 metres, the second highest in the world, and during the rising or falling of the tides, has strong currents of up to 8 knots. Construction was not an easy matter, and all the more reason to marvel at these engineering feats today.

Both road crossings are tolled, the Second Severn bridge on the westerly trip and costing £6.60, which must be paid at the booth on crossing, as we did today, or by installing a “tag”, probably similar to that we had in Australia, which covered toll roads all over the country. We thought the system here a little backward, especially given that the Dartfort Crossing in London allows for on-line payment within a set time after use.

After catching the bus into the centre of Cardiff, we arrived at about 9.20 am, even after I had expounded the foolishness of seeing a new city for the first time so early in the day. We were at once impressed with the place, even with the crowds still to arrive. We started our day at the Old Library which our guide book had suggested; there a small museum titled “The Cardiff Story” which is full of the history and details of the features of the city. I became caught up with one of the assistants, perhaps The Curator, given her informed conversation. I asked her how long she had lived in the city, and how it had changed during those twenty years or so.

In a nutshell, she said that in the early 1990s, the city was still wallowing in a depressed state, even long after the mining boom had long gone, the last coal exported way back in the 1950s and the city was in a kind of decay. Then along came the Rugby World Cup in 1999, or the planning for it. Buildings were spruced up, a new stadium built, accommodation created or revitalised, and the spirit of the people was lifted beyond expectation. Since then Cardiff has become a place for events, its university has increased its capacity almost tenfold, and so the infrastructure of the city has responded in an upward spiral. Certainly that is what we saw today.

We spent an hour walking around the vibrant retail areas, the Cardiff Market, the wonderful Edwardian arcades, the wide pedestrianized streets. We poked our nose into the Church of St John, whose altar our guide described as being “floridly pompous”. Perhaps so, although had we called after our visit to the castle, it would have seemed incredibly subdued; even modest.  

Ornate ceilings

Tickets to visit the Cardiff Castle are not cheap, however I was insistent that we should go. It seemed that a visit to Cardiff was not complete without doing so, although this could be said of many of the city’s attractions. We paid for premium tickets which included an hour long tour of the more extravagant rooms within the castle apartments, and we were happy to spend more than three hours within the walls, and then only leaving because there was much more to see outside.

Cardiff Castle has two thousand years of history, the existing walls exactly in the same place as those built by the Romans in the first century AD. There is a gap in its history between the Roman’s departure in about 400 AD and the arrival of the Normans in 1066. The keep is purely Norman and remodelled battlements and tunnels are open for view, and are alone enough to impress, but it is the castle dating back to the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries that leaves a lasting impression. The apartments were extended during Tudor times, the castle changing hands through several families over the decades, then in the mid to late 19^th century, the third Marquess of Bute decided to commission an architect and decorator, William Burges, to refashion the apartments in the most extravagant and fantastical way possible. 

The moat about the motte and castle

This Marquess had inherited a fortune before the age of one, a fortune gathered in part from the mining industry of South Wales. The Bute family instigated new developments on their land, starting with the construction of canals, docks and railway infrastructure, and insisted that all the coal and iron exports used these, hence they were instrumental in making Cardiff one of the busiest ports in the world during that time. They were in fact so stinking rich that any blowouts on building and renovation budgets at the Castle was neither a here nor a there. Anyway, the castle in Cardiff was only a holiday home, used for about six weeks of each year.

The glitz and the glamour of the resulting creations have to be seen to be believed; hand painted tiles and silhouette lanterns in the Nursery, the medieval and mystical imaginary in the decoration in the Banqueting Hall, the Winter Smoking Room, and the Arab Room.  We were told that this house  was the first to have electricity in Wales, and the third in Great Britain. 

Our river taxi

Further down the years, the fifth Marquess gave the castle and quite a swathe of land to the people of Cardiff, and today it is a tourist attraction and used for weddings, royal and international state gatherings.

We decided, or should I say that I suggested, that we catch a water taxi down the River Taff to Cardiff Bay given that we did not have enough time to walk down, explore the place and then walk back. I must have looked tired because Chris agreed at once and so that is what we did. We took a leisurely cruise down river, enjoying the commentary and then the return before wandering up through the gardens and Civic area of the city.

The Town Hall

The Bay is significant; it has become one of the world’s biggest regeneration projects, the downbeat dereliction of the docks having been transformed into a tourist destination.  Here can be found the relocated National Assembly, Y Senedd, the Doctor Who Experience which evolved out of the filming location for that TV series, the Roald Dahl Plass, to celebrate the birthplace of that most celebrated author,  the BBC Roath Lock Studios, the Wales Millennium Centre, cafes, and so much more. 

Here too along the southern stretch of the bay is another phenomenon, the half mile long Barrage, completed in 1999, 7.96 metres high right across the Ely and Taff estuaries, complete with locks, sluices, fish path and stunning views.

We hit heavy traffic on the return journey, just home in time for the news at 6 pm, in time to learn that other parts of the country have had far worse weather than we have seen and that the roads not too far from us, here in Somerset, have been clogged with traffic for the Glastonbury music festival, and once they get there, they are battling mud and mud and even more mud.