UK Archives - Page 3 of 5 - Woman on Her Way

August 9: Carlisle

We should have taken the 8:50 A.M local bus to Carlisle. Instead, we tried to take the National Express bus from the P & O ferry port in Cairnryan, but it was full. So we took a taxi to Stranraer, a port city (left), then a bus to Dumfries, and then a train to Carlisle, England, where we arrived six hours later. If only we had known!

Carlisle is a town, with a large modern shopping center that even has a Merry-Go-Round. We bee-lined to the Visitor Center to buy a guidebook for Hadrian’s Wall, get a city map, and make accommodation plans.

The houses in this area are all made of stone, with slate roofs, and multiple chimneys, all with several flues.Can’t you see the chimney sweepers dancing on the roofs as in Mary Poppins?

Though No. Ireland, Scotland, and England all use the pound, merchants only want “proper money” and frowned on our Ulster (No. Ireland) bills. I don’t know if it a political thing or what, but each country’s currency has the same value. We may have to go to a bank to exchange the bills.

Tomorrow we will bus to the start of Hadrian’s Wall, and then walk back to Carlisle–about 12 miles. Since we will only have a light pack, it should be a good way to get our legs prepped for the rest of the journey. It will be cold and overcast…I hope we get some good pictures.

August 8: Cairnryan

We said goodbye to our hosts, Tim and Ethy at the Abbeydene House B & B. Tim is a collector of single records of songs that made the top one hundred list; music memorabilia is scattered throughout the manor. I will miss the wonderful breakfast conversations with Tim and his deliciously creamy porridge.

After visiting Dennis’ Aunt Ethna, we took the ferry to Cairnryan, Scotland–a new country for me. It is amazing how different English is pronounced just a short 2-hour ride from Ireland. I asked if there were a sidewalk into Cairnryan. Puzzled, the person responded, “There is a wee path there.”

We arrived into the “wee village” and settled in at the B & B just before it started raining.

Tomorrow we will make our way to Hadrian’s Wall (a Roman divide between Scotland and England), and then start an eastward trek, 73 miles from sea to sea. Since we will be stopping to visit forts, ruins, roman towns, and museums, I don’t know how long it will take us to complete the relatively short distance. Click to see map.

August 6: Giant’s Causeway Day Tour

We decided to take the Allen’s Tours excursion to Giant’s Causeway, in County Antrim. The bus driver, Ian, was a wealth of information, Irish “craic” (jokes and enjoyable conversation), and “useless bits of information.”

Our first stop along the coastal drive, was at Carrickfergus Castle (left), a 12th century Norman structure and the place that King William III of Orange (aka King Billy) first set foot on Irish soil. This was a photo shoot stop, so we did not tour the interior.

Further up the coast, we stopped at Carrick A Rede where we crossed a death-defying rope bridge 98 ft. above the ocean rocks. It was bouncy and you had to time your pace so you wouldn’t fall; I managed to do it without holding the rope rails, a personal point of pride. According to Ian, no person has fallen from the bridge, only a dog. Now the bridge has two sides and dogs are prohibited from using it.

As we drove towards Antrim, Ian told us about the “Guinness Cows” that munched on grassy hillsides. These black and white cows are Belted Galloways; someone on the bus said they looked like Oreo cookies.

We passed through the nine glens of Antrim. A glen is a valley, typically one that is long, deep, and often glacially U-shaped, often with water running through it. As we admired their rich beauties, Ian regaled us with diverse and magical stories, combining the colorful history, myth and the traditions of the communities within the glens. There were several waterfalls and even a vanishing lake. Lake Laughareema is a “chalk ‘plug hole’ bunged up with peat.” In times of heavy rain, these block up and the lake fills, only to empty again in a matter of days.

The Giant’s Causeway is known for its 40,000 polygonal and interlocking basalt columns, stone formations that resulted from volcanic eruptions 60 million years ago.

The Giant’s Causeway is steeped in myth and legend. Some say it was carved from the coast by the mighty giant, Finn McCool who left behind an ancient home full of folklore including Giant’s Boot, The Wishing Chair, The Camel, Giant’s Granny, and The Organ (below).

There are four stunning trails around the park, but since we were time-limited, we visited the odd-shaped stones, the organ, and then climbed 162 steps to the cliffs. I can see why this geological wonder appeals to so many people with its breathtaking views of jagged cliffs and bays lashed by wind and waves.

Without a watch, I was in a hurry to get back to the bus, not wanting to miss it. Dennis was lollygagging, taking pictures, and enjoying the view. I could not imagine why he was not in a hurry…it never entered my mind that we had plenty of time (15 minutes). When I got to the car park and couldn’t find the bus, I was upset and angry at Dennis for making us miss the bus. Joke on me…but bad karma for rest of day. Dennis must be a saint!

Our last stop was at the Bushmills Distillery. This was basically a photo shoot and tourist attraction, selling Bushmills whiskey and paraphernalia. Dennis and I shared a dram of 12 year old reserve. Since we don’t normally drink whiskey, we could not determine if this was better than others, but it helped improve my mood. Some people purchased a sampler (five shots of various blends). Within about 10 minutes, they consumed the drinks…I wonder if they were able to differentiate between the different liquors.

Below are additional pictures of the Giant’s Causway; it was so spectacular.

August 5: Belfast

We walked into Belfast from our B & B along the coast for 5 miles, and then through the industrial area into the city center. Because of the paved roads, shade, and not wearing backpacks, we managed to hoof it in 1 hour and 40 minutes.

Dennis wanted to see the place his mother was born; the street is now gone. The slaughterhouse across from his mother’s home is now the Castle Court shopping center. The nearby 19th century Smithfield Market is renovated and contains various shops and a cafe.

We went to the library so Dennis could research his father’s stay in Cookstown prior to the Normandy invasion. As luck would have it, he was able to find information. The library had a beautiful rotunda.

We also visited the NI War Memorial, There were exhibitions about the Blitz, the Home Guard, and women during the war effort. Artifacts included the war rations, gas masks that used asbestos, and uniforms that you could try on. The curator was very interesting.

August 4: Belfast

Guest blog from Dennis R. Blanchard: (Photo left caption: “today’s plan is already yesterday’s – the streets that were there are gone.”)

Snipers were shooting at my father. This wasn’t World War II, it was Belfast, Ireland, 1969. I was doing my military duty in Germany and took leave to ride my BSA motorcycle over to Ireland to be with him. My brother, Tom, had been killed in action in Vietnam the previous year and my mother thought it would be good therapy to get away for a while.

I was on Oranmore Street, Belfast, where my aunt lived. It was just after dark and while standing in her entry way, I witnessed a fellow getting hit by a sniper’s shot. The poor fellow was just trying to get across the street to get home. I ran out and grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the doorway, out of harms way. He was screaming in agony, and begging me to tell his wife that he truly loved her and regretted that things ended this way.

There was no visible blood, which puzzled me. I ripped open his shirt and found a huge welt on his chest. It was then I realized that the bullet had ricocheted from a building and hit him. He had actually somersaulted through the air from the impact, and I suspect the crash-landing on his back on the cobblestone street may have hurt even more! Although, in pain, he was going to live.

It was then I spotted my father at the end of the street, walking with my Irish grandfather. I yelled for my dad to take cover and unbelievably, he retorted, “They didn’t get me in World War II, they won’t get me now.” As if by some miracle, he and my grandfather, walked boldly down the street and arrived safely. I can’t explain it.

Later that night, I volunteered to go act as an unarmed guard at the new schoolhouse they had built next to the Clonard Monastery. (Right: The school is no longer at the end of this street.) The Catholic community there had just built it, and they were concerned that someone might try to burn it down. I had ridden to Belfast, Ireland with a fellow American GI, George, and the two of us volunteered. We were joined by a young Irish lad of 13, and a man who I would estimate was about 70. We took up our positions at the four-story schoolhouse and stood guard.

Almost immediately, we came under small-arms fire. Petrol bombs (Molotov Cocktails) flew at us constantly. We plugged up all the drains for sinks in the building and let the water run onto the floors to hopefully keep the fires from spreading, all the while, dodging bullets. We tried to stay on the higher floors so that the bullets would come up from the ground level at such an angle that they would miss us. This worked well, but we had to run downstairs often to put out fires. This went on all night. After sunrise, we made several attempts to evacuate the building, it wasn’t worth dying for. However, each time I would go down to check the exit door, the only one we could use, I would poke my shirt out, on the end of stick, and somebody would fire at it. Being able to take a hint, I would run back up the stairs.

Eventually, around two in the afternoon, I heard somebody down on the first floor. I peeked down through the stairwell and could see a man working his way up the stairs; he had a rifle. I grabbed a two-by-four with a nail in the end that I had prepared earlier and waited. I had a good position to take him out when he reached the top of the stairs. I waited. I could hear my heart beating and I don’t think I breathed at all.

As he neared the top he called out softly, “Are you okay? I’ve come to help.” I didn’t know whether to trust him, or take his head off, but finally decided that he was there to rescue us. He was a young man, a total stranger to me, with a WW I Springfield rifle and ten rounds of ammunition. I took a chance and greeted him. He told us he was there to get us out. The IRA (Irish Republican Army) had sent him. He fired several shots, the first fire that had been returned since being there. Why nobody came and killed us during the night, I’ll never understand.

He told us to go down and try to escape. I went to the door that previously was a shooting range and when I stuck the shirt out, nobody fired at it. One at a time, we ran from the doorway, up the street and dove through a small opening in a wall behind the Monastery. I was the second to last one out, and as I flew through the opening, not having a clue where it went, or what I would land on, I landed in front of a priest with a silver tray and he asked me, “Lad, would you care for some tea?”

The family that lived next to the schoolhouse had to be evacuated, so George and I went back to help them move their things out. It was evident that their house wasn’t going to survive. Everyone was grabbing whatever they could and hauling it up the street. We had met with the family the previous day and they were terrified. As George and I were going up one side of the street with some things, a shot rang out behind us and the family’s 15-year-old son, just across the street from us, Gerald McAuley. fell dead, carrying a mattress from his home. I’ve never understood why he was killed and not George or I?

I’ve had many close calls in Belfast. I was caught there at the worst possible time: July, 1969. There we many other hair-raising experiences, but these were the most vivid.

Today, Jane and I revisited where many of these events occurred. Many of the streets are gone, as is the schoolhouse. Looking back at it all, I can’t really understand it. Civil wars are crazy situations. All wars are terrible, but somehow, I think people from very similar backgrounds killing each other, are the worst. I was pretty choked up emotionally walking around there today, it seemed so surreal. It brought back so many memories, some good ones, but so many that I wish I could forget.

Somehow, I didn’t expect this backpack trip across Europe would come to this.

The streets may be gone, but the memories are not.

August 3: Belfast

If only we had known that we could not get to Belfast from Clifden, we could have saved over €70 by buying the cheaper round trip bus tickets from Clifden to Galway, and then Galway to Dublin where we took the train to Belfast.

We arrived in Belfast around 7 PM. There were no city maps in the station and the Tourist Center was closed, as were most restaurants and cafes in the area. Without an internet location, we could not search room availability.

If only we had known that Belfast was hosting the World Police and Fire Games, we might have made alternate plans. With over 10, 000 participants, many with friends and relatives, the city’s accommodations were nil– we got the last room in the city for a whopping £130 ($200). For that price, you would expect a clean fully functional room and free WiFi. What a rip off!

On our way to the hotel, we passed St. Anne’s Cathedral (of the Church of Ireland) with its Spire of Hope (pictured above, left). Dennis commented that it looked like the world’s biggest lightening rod. Across from the street is Writer’s Square (left). There are quotations from 27 deceased Northern Ireland authors inscribed in stones around the square. Dennis and I are glad to note that our names are not in there, especially since we are not deceased, even if we don’t qualify as Irish.

July 26: Aberdovey

Glorious day all around. Cloudless deep-blue skies and mild temperatures (mid-60s to start, and then lower 70s) made this the perfect day to explore Aberdovey. As we waited for the bus, a local to Plas Panteidal (where we are staying) offered us a ride into town. I love how helpful people are in Wales. The town is only a five-minute ride away, but the road is so narrow and windy that walking on it is prohibited.

This coastal village is much richer than Tywyn, very upper scale. It has 840 inhabitants, fewer than it had about 150 years ago. A third of the population is retired, and 40% of the homes are holiday rentals or second homes. The shops and restaurants are expensive, as are those in most resort towns. Two pubs and the library have WiFi.(Guess which we picked).

At the pub, I had a tasty carrot and coriander soup with a warm baguette and creamery Welsh butter, so much better than the one at home.

On the pier was an Outward Bound class teaching the students how to jump off the dock. The youngsters wore diving pants and boots since the Atlantic water here is as cold as that at Old Orchard Beach, Maine. This young lady jumped without hesitation, while others needed coaxing and screamed in terror.

After we returned to the cottage, we cleaned and prepared for our departure in the morning, heading to Holyhead to take the ferry to Ireland. I will again be entering a new country.

July 25: Tywyn

Today started off rainy and cool (upper 60s), but ended up glorious. We hoofed the mile to the road, and then waited almost an hour for the bus to Tywyn. (toe-in). This seaside town does not have the charm of Machynlleth, but it did have a few interesting buildings. The Market Hall (left), once known for its great bargains, is a recent construction (1898) and is still used as a market. On the other hand, the Assembly Room (right) is now a movie theater.

St. Cadfan’s Church, originally built of wood, was destroyed during Viking raids, and then rebuilt of stone during the mid 12^th century. In 1692, the tower collapsed, burying the altar and the 13^th century Sanctus Bell, which was recovered in 1811 when the church was fully renovated. Inside the church is the Cadfan Stone; the inscriptions on its four sides are considered some of the oldest written Welsh.

There are two train stations in Tywyn: the commute train, and the Pendre Station, home of the Tal-y-llyn (tal-a-thlin) railway, the world’s first narrow-gauge, steam-engine locomotive; it was designed to carry passengers and slate. This “great little train” is now maintained by steam-engine enthusiasts and is the first railway in the world to be saved and restored for the tourist industry. At one stop, the Cei Tywyn station, a museum houses Britain’s best collection of narrow-gauge artifacts.

Instead of taking this train, we did the Pendre Station Walk, an easy four-mile stroll through the valley. It was quite enjoyable; with the clouds gone and the air warmed to mid 70s, I was able to take off my jacket. This is the weather that Dennis likes–cool and dry, whereas I like it much warmer.

We passed through a “kissing gate”:

We met several anglers along the Afon Dysynni (avvonn duss-unny), but the fish weren’t biting. It was breezy along the river, and a red sailboat glided along on slightly choppy water. We only saw one swimmer, even though it is mid-summer.

There were few walkers along the path. Passing a family of three, I noticed that all were wearing long-sleeves. Since Dennis often kids me about being a chilly-willy, I felt vindicated in that I was sleeveless.

Entering a wood, we came upon signage describing the Ynysymaengwyn (unniss-mine-gwinn) Manor. We asked a local how to pronounce the name. Once it rolled of her tongue, Dennis said “Well, that’s obvious.” We all laughed.

The manor was used by refugees after WWI and as a camp for the Royal Marines during WWII. In 1948, the estate was given to the Tywyn Council. Since it was in disrepair, it was burnt as a exercise for the local fire department, and then flattened by the army.

Most of the buildings are now in ruins. There remains an eight- or 10-foot high wall with several arched entrances. Inside, is a mowed field about the size of an acre with picnic tables strewn about. We did not explore all the pathways and gardens, but we did pass the dovecote, a building for domestic pigeons (see below). Looking at the building makes me wonder how many birds were kept here.

When I was in Spain, I enjoyed Principe Cookies. I have found a new love, a chocolate ginger biscuit by Border. The box describes the cookie as “The perfect balance of crisp crunchy ginger biscuit and devilishly dark chocolate…If our Dark Chocolate Gingers banged your gong, you can vote for them at …” Guess I will do this, once I have WiFi access.

July 24: Machynlleth

We took the local bus into Machynlleth (mack-unth-leth); the bus drivers are skilled in maneuvering the bus on narrow and winding roads, sometimes skimming the bushes as we passed the on-coming vehicles. I think I have been walking too long; riding in a vehicle seems very fast, almost scary.

Welsh names are difficult to pronounce, even for the English. Recently there was a kidnapping and murder in this town, and the newscasters really messed up the pronunciation, so much so that at least three people told me about it.

The clock tower (77 ft.) is the most imposing structure in town. Constructed in 1874, the tower is a relative newcomer to the town that traces its Celtics origins to 500 B.C., and meriting it the title as the historical capital of Wales.

There are prehistoric ruins, remains of an old circular Celtic fort, Roman roads and bridges, and ecclesiastical references dating back to 1201. The language spoken in town is a modernized language of the Celts and is one of Europe’s oldest living languages. On the return bus, Dennis asked a woman sitting beside him if the 3- and 5-year-old children spoke Welsh, and she replied that they spoke it better than she since she was originally from “down south.”

Celtica (right) was erected in 1653, but it has been refurbished several times and is now a historical and interpretive museum of the history of the Celts, and its archives are available to anyone interested in Celtic history and culture.

Wednesday is market day, and vendors set up stalls to sell vegetables, meat, fish, bara brith (spicy fruit loaves), dishes, clothing, hardware—just about everything. There are also many independent shops selling local food, colorful fabrics, and clothes and several cafes and eateries, a few with WiFi. you can enjoy local lamb, tasty Welsh cheese (mostly cheddar), creamy yogurts, and potent beer.

Since there were marketers in front of the parliament building, we took a photo of the backside. This stone edifice was built in the early 1400s to commemorate the site of the Welsh senedd-dy which convened in 1404 to elect Owain Glyndwr, a Welsh hero, as the leader and is the start of an independent Wales. This was 600 years before the current parliament.

The buildings in town demonstrate the town’s long history. Some buildings are a mixture of the old and new (to the right is the terracotta entrance to the smithy, which is now a private home); old stone buildings abut Victorian shops; and a Georgian style hotel and gentry homes make the town very quaint with its rich architectural variety.

Below are pictures of the two main streets. On the right, you are looking down Hael Maengwyn; on the left, you are looking up Hael Penrallt.

July 23: Aberdovey

I am very grateful to our host for the library stocked with regional maps and books. From these, we planned our itineraries and learned about the local folklore. The bird book helped me identify the various species that came to the bird feeder. I spied the Ménétries and Sardinian warblers, jays, finches, and others I could not name. I’ve never been a birdwatcher, but I can now see the appeal.

Dennis worked on his antennas for most of the morning. When pulling the antenna down from a tree, a small portion of wire often breaks off, making it difficult to tune the radio on the desired Amateur Radio band. He measured and cut two wires, one for 20 meters and the other as an all-purpose antenna, including the 40-meter band he likes to operate for making US contacts. After preparing the antennas, he threw the wires into a tree using a water-filled Coke bottle as a weight and then “tuned” the antenna to the radio. Though this might sound boring or too technical for you, Dennis was in his element, enjoying his 50+ year-long hobby.

Tomorrow we will visit the “Wales central metropolis,” Machynlleth (mack-unth-leth), which has had a weekly market on Wednesdays since 1291. We will take a bus there, about 15 miles from Aberdovey.