Category: Reader’s Travel Tales

A RIGHT ROYAL TICKING OFF

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It was a bleak day in Belfast in the spring of 1981 when I opened a smart-looking envelope with a Royal crest. The writer said, in rather formal language, that His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales had asked whether I would be prepared to be an usher at his forthcoming wedding to Lady Diana Spencer? I guess it was one of those offers in life that one could not refuse. In fact, I was thrilled to be asked and delighted to accept and it put a spring in my step for days to come. Years before I had the honour to serve as an equerry to the Prince of Wales which is why I was called back for this special occasion. An equerry is historically an officer of the household of a prince or noble who had charge over the stables. These days an usher is more of an executive assistant, though officially he is an officer of the British royal household who attends or assists members of the royal family.

It was a couple of months later that I was asked to attend a rehearsal in St Paul’s cathedral. There were many of us present as there were going to be 3500 wedding guests attending and there was going to be a good deal of organisation and ushing required on the big day. We were shown which part of the magnificent cathedral we would be responsible for and exactly what our task would be. It was an added pleasure that my wife had been included as a guest at the wedding and she took pleasure in choosing a suitable dress, hat and shoes to wear for the day.

A second invitation, printed on the thickest of white card with a gold rim, had arrived inviting us to attend a grand ball to celebrate the marriage. This was to be held in Buckingham Palace two days before the wedding. The dress for men was “White Tie” and I had never worn that before in my life. So it was off to Moss Bros where I could hire the full suit which is the most formal in traditional evening Western dress codes. For men, it consists of a black dress coat with tails worn over a white shirt, Piqué waistcoat and the eponymous white bow tie worn around a standing wingtip collar. To ensure we were fully prepared for this special occasion we even went to ballroom dancing classes to brush up on skills which in my case were very lacking.

The reception and ball were certainly very grand affairs. I remember that after a fine glass of champagne on arrival we joined a line to be introduced to Prince Charles and Diana, and how radiant she looked. We then walked on and found Kenny Ball and his Jazzmen were playing in one of the staterooms and that music certainly appealed to the younger generation, while a small orchestra was playing waltzes for the more sedate guests in the main ballroom. Dinner was a magnificent buffet laid out in a few of the rooms and, given the numbers, there was no formal seating so one sat at any table and you could be sitting with the leader of a Highland clan or a gamekeeper from a royal estate. The decorations for the party were breath-taking and included some helium balloons with the Prince of Wales Feathers. As we were thinking of leaving, I noticed some people taking down balloons as souvenirs. With the best of wines inside me, I dared to join them and soon I was holding four balloons. At this point, the Queen passed by me and remarked that “four was a bit greedy”! She was quite right of course, but I said they were for the others in our small group. I felt properly admonished by the highest authority in the land!

The wedding itself was a stunning occasion of pomp and pageantry. With three choirs the cathedral was full of wonderful singing and the elegant guests I was responsible for all turned up and sat where they should. My mother watching on TV at home in Cardiff was as proud as punch that I was on duty and was convinced that she saw me in my blue uniform and crimson sash. We drove home later that day and our children were delighted with the fancy balloons we gave them.

 

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Teacher Adventures: School Trips

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“Would you like to accompany 30 children to Madagascar on their French language trip?” asked the French teacher at the school I was working at in Kenya.

“Oui, merci,” I replied, rapidly recalling my GCSE francais! The French teacher assigned to the trip was ill, so fortunately for me, I was drafted in as a last minute replacement.

Two weeks later, 30 very excited students gathered at Jomo Kenyatta airport in Nairobi, for the flight to the capital of Madagascar, Antananarivo. The trip was an opportunity for the students to practise their French (both Malagasy and French are both official languages of Madagascar) and to experience a different culture and way of life. Madagascan culture is renowned for its colourful fusion of influences drawn from seafaring Borneans and Bantu Africans, Arabic and Tamil traders, and French colonisation (unlike the British colonisation in Kenya).

Madagascar is an island country in the Indian Ocean, approximately 250 miles off the coast of East Africa. Madagascar is the world’s second-largest island country and the nation comprises the island of Madagascar (the fourth-largest island in the world) and numerous smaller peripheral islands. We were to be based in a hotel on the east coast of the island. Days were planned to include French lessons in the morning, followed by a swim and snorkelling in the Indian Ocean or swimming pool; excursions were organised for the afternoons to allow the students to experience some of the historical, cultural and artistic attractions of the island.

The students loved visiting the capital, Antananarivo, known locally (and considerably simpler) as Tana. They had the opportunity to admire the beautiful colonial architecture in the old Haute-Ville area of the city, visit one of the art galleries and museums and to spend their money in the open air market stalls at Analakely. Other trips were planned to see the truly alien landscapes of the limestone karsts in north western Tsingy de Bemaraha National Park and the Avenue of the Baobabs, where 25 baobab trees over 100 feet tall are strung out along the Tsiribihina dirt road.

Undoubtedly the highlight of the trip was the visit to see the lemurs. As a result of the island’s isolation from neighbouring continents, Madagascar is home to various plants and animals found nowhere else in the world. Approximately 90% of all plant and animal species found in Madagascar are endemic. There are many bizarre and wonderful creatures to be seen on the island, but lemurs are the creature most closely associated with Madagascar. The students, and staff, were thrilled to find and see these charismatic primates in the forest and their saucer shaped eyes were peculiar, but strangely endearing. All agreed they were an amazing, very special sight.

 

Near the end of our week’s stay, our idyllic routine was severely interrupted. In Madagascar, the combination of south eastern trade winds and north western monsoons produces a hot rainy season with frequently destructive cyclones. Unfortunately, tropical cyclone Kamisy coincided with our visit. Kamisy was considered the worst tropical cyclone to affect northern Madagascar since 1911 and winds reached up to 105 mph. Throughout Madagascar, a total of 68 casualties were reported, and 7000 buildings were destroyed, including 1020 schools and 450 hospitals. Following the storm, emergency food and medical supplies were supplied to the nation from French rescue missions.

For our Nairobi students, a cyclone was a novel, and frightening experience. Confined to the hotel they could watch from the windows of their rooms as the trunks of trees were blown to 45 degrees, as the sea was whipped up to a frenzy, as the sand billowed uncontrollably along the beach and as the swimming pool water was thrown against the dining room windows. Lights flashed on and off as the electricity supply was interrupted and hotel staff were unable to arrive at or leave the hotel as roads were covered with fallen trees.

We were confined to the hotel for the final 2 days of our trip. We could not travel across the island as roads were blocked. The pool was out of bounds due to damage caused by the cyclone and the landscape in the gardens of the hotel had changed completely: debris from trees was scattered everywhere and some trees swayed perilously after the storm.

A change of programme was necessary. French lessons continued in the morning and in the afternoons it was my responsibility to provide entertainment…..Fortunately I had packed some dance tapes and spent the afternoons teaching an assortment of dance routines to very eager, enthusiastic and excitable students, who soon forgot they should have been enjoying the delights of Madagascar! The high spot was, remember this, FLASHDANCE…the routine was repeated innumerable times, in pairs, in trios, in fours, as a mass dance….all that was missing were the leotards and leg warmers!

After 2 days we were allowed to leave the hotel to travel to the airport. We could see the destruction caused by the cyclone as we travelled through the countryside: buildings destroyed, houses without roofs, vegetation uprooted. It was a gloomy, depressing sight. We had some wonderful memories of Madagascar, but also realised that the people who lived on this beautiful island sometimes had to endure, at times, some very unforgiving, harsh conditions.

 

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FIRST ABSEILING EXPERIENCE

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I really miss climbing but sadly I am no longer flexible enough or have sufficient strength in my hands and forearms. There are residents in Wenvoe who are far better placed to talk about climbing than me as there are some amazingly skilled young climbers from Wenvoe!

Indoor climbing is all very well, but what I loved was climbing outdoors and was fortunate to go to some incredible places in Wales, the wider UK and even overseas. One of my favourite places was climbing in Pembrokeshire on the sea cliffs – to be stood on a ledge above the waves crashing onto the rocks below, watching sunlight sparkling on the water, gulls, cormorants and even seals below me was absolutely magical. Outdoor climbing is largely weather dependent as it isn’t safe to climb in the wet, so the weather was always as Wales can be – glorious warm sunshine!

Pembrokeshire Sea cliffs

Abseiling is the technique used to perform a controlled descent usually on a rock face. When climbing indoors, your climbing partner ‘belays’ you and is therefore in control of your descent from the top of the wall, when you lean backwards and literally ‘walk’ down the wall. A belay device is used to control the descent. These can either be a ‘manual device’ or an ‘assisted braking device’. I always used a manual device.

When climbing sea cliffs, someone far more experienced than me would set up a belay point at the top using various pieces of protection, or gear, to fix a rope in place. You would then abseil down the cliff to the ledge below from which the lead climber would lead a route up the cliff placing various pieces of protection as they went which would break their fall should that be necessary. The second climber would pay out the rope as they went using their belay device to control the rope (and break their fall in the event that should be necessary). Once the lead climber was at the top, they would make themselves safe and the second climber would then climb the route and remove the protection as they went. All very exhilarating!

But to my first experience of abseiling outdoors.

I was by no means an experienced climber and felt very much out of my depth as all my companions were very experienced and as is often the way in such situations, there was an unspoken assumption that I too knew what I was doing. And I was too shy to expose my complete ignorance! I knew the principles of abseiling having climbed indoors and therefore abseiling down a cliff in theory is similar to an indoor climbing wall where you ‘walk’ down the wall, the only difference is that you are in control of your own descent.

So, picture a perfect Pembrokeshire day, good company and the prospect of a pint of beer at the end of it. We were climbing at Saddlehead along from St Govans. The belay was set up and it was my turn to descend to the ledge below from which we would be climbing. I gingerly lowered myself over the edge of the cliff, my heart pretty much in my mouth as it takes some courage to step backwards over a cliff edge while tightly holding onto the right part of the rope to lower yourself, at the same time desperately hanging onto any piece of rock or clump of grass, while trying to look cool as though you know what you’re doing. Then very slowly as your feet get lower, you bravely let go of solid earth and inch by inch start to walk down the cliff face, heart pounding, all the while paying out the rope hand over hand which only you are in control of. It begins to feel as though you are getting somewhere as the top of the cliff moves further away on the odd occasion that you are brave enough to look anywhere.

Then to my shock and horror, there was suddenly nothing under my feet! Absolutely nothing! What had gone wrong? No-one had thought to tell me that there was an overhang where we were abseiling, in other words, the cliff went in at that point. And so I found myself suspended in space, attached to a rope which fed through my belay device, connected to my climbing harness and I was supposed to continue to control my descent with nothing under my feet to walk down when I had no idea at that point if there was indeed anything solid beneath me at all! Not easy to continue to look cool but then, there was no-one to see me in any case or to hear my frantic talking to myself that all was sure to be well. To this day, I don’t know how I managed not to just let go of the rope in my panic and descend to the rocks below at breakneck speed with inevitable disastrous results!

I did manage to somehow keep my cool though, and did make it to the bottom with very, very shaky legs and proceeded to really enjoy myself, watching the sunshine sparkling on the sea and the gulls and cormorants below me and there was even a seal checking out this new climber who began to look as though she knew what she was doing!

But the dressing down I gave to my climbing partner at the end of that day for having made the assumption that I knew what I was doing made me feel marginally better. A lesson learnt that whatever the situation, never assume that other people are familiar with what is and will be involved and required.

Nicola

 

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Teacher Adventures: School Trips

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When adults reminisce about their school days, memories of school trips are often at the forefront of their minds. School trips for children are often their first chance to be away from family and to have extended sleepovers, to have pillow fights, to have midnight feasts, to eat lunch on the bus before it has left the car park, to sing the same songs over and over just to wind staff up!

Teachers who are tasked with organising a trip often focus on the angst and anxiety brought about from paperwork and policy procedures, managing the students at airports or train stations, hotel rooming mix ups and the lack of chips or pizzas to fill up hungry pupils! However most teachers realise that school trips are a unique and special opportunity for encouraging pupils to engage with people and places in a new way and continue to plan them! Some of my school trip experiences did make me question the reasons I kept planning them!

Teaching Geography in Mexico, 5 night field trips were organised to cover the GCSE course requirements. On one trip, 35 excited year 10 pupils and 2 teachers, including me, were waved off as we set out for Zitacuaro, a 4 hour coach ride away. Zitácuaro, officially known as Heroica Zitácuaro, is a city in the Mexican state of Michoacán, which lies at the extreme eastern side of Michoacán and borders on the adjacent state of México.

The pupils worked hard at collecting river data (with no mishaps!), completed an urban survey by collating information on use of buildings (with no mishaps!), carried out a traffic survey on a new by-pass (with no mishaps!) and were amazed at the spectacle of millions of Monarch butterflies (with no mishaps!). Monarch Butterflies migrate annually from points east of the Rocky Mountains, travelling thousands of miles to hibernate in Mexico, in Zitacuaro, in the oyamel fir trees that are found there. On the final morning, we were extremely fortunate to view the astounding spectacle of thousands of butterflies huddled on tree branches. Then it was time to return to Mexico City, with a tired and contented group after a very successful, calamity free trip.

Teachers always make the mistake of believing that after a school trip, exhaustion, from sleepless nights and full days, will take over and pupils will sleep on the return journey. This never happens! As the bus meandered through small villages, it became apparent there was a hold up in front of us, which meant we were proceeding at a snail’s pace. At a small village when we were at a standstill, the pupils asked if they could get off the coach to buy some refreshments from a roadside shop. We were going nowhere fast and it seemed a good opportunity to stretch legs. With everybody suitably energised and enlivened by an intake of chocolate and coca cola, the coach rumbled forward. 90 minutes later, Jose (yes I remember these specific details..) came to the front of the coach and said, “Miss, where’s Marianna?” I told him to go and sit down and stop fooling around. He persisted. I got up and looked down the coach. There was no Marianna. This is the nightmare scenario of any school trip.

There were no mobile phones at this time, AA telephone boxes, local police stations or service stations. I had no option other than to ask the coach driver to turn around and drive us back to the tiny Mexican roadside village we had stopped at. Now there was complete silence in the coach! The pupils were as anxious as I was. It seemed to be a very long 90 minute return journey. As we approached the village, (cliché alert!), my heart was in my mouth……..and there, sat on the roadside was Marianna! There were wild cheers from the pupils in the coach. The coolest, calmest person was Marianna. As a fluent Spanish speaker, she had assured the concerned Mexican villagers, there was nothing to worry about! Marianna said she knew we would come back for her! “I knew you wouldn’t leave me here, Miss,” she said to me with a wry, but winning smile as she climbed aboard the coach! As she took her seat on the coach, I felt a huge sense of relief and counted everyone on the coach three times to make sure everyone was there!!

And for every school trip I organised after this I counted pupils once, twice….and never lost (or left behind) another pupil again!! That didn’t help during the cyclone on our school trip to Madagascar…but that is another story.

Lynn Frugtniet

 

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A SURPRISE SUPPER

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It was a balmy evening in late summer, and I was flying home after taking part in a military exercise in Northern Germany. We had been on manoeuvres for a few weeks and I was looking forward to getting home for a good hot bath and a meal with my family. I was lucky to be given a front seat in a small army helicopter called a Gazelle belonging to the Army Air Corps.

The Gazelle is a fast sleek machine used for aerial reconnaissance but it can be lightly armed with machine guns or rockets for use in conflict. It has two front seats and behind that, there are either 3 passenger seats or a stretcher when used for casualty evacuation. On this day the pilot was sitting on the front right seat and I was on his left. We had one passenger sitting behind us.

When it was time to climb aboard, I put my rifle and rucksack on the back seat and secured them with a seat belt. As I climbed aboard the pilot carefully reminded me to keep my feet away from the dual pedals that were there on the floor in front of me. Once settled in the jet engine was started and as we waited for it to warm up the pilot went through his pre-flight checklist, which only takes a couple of minutes. The three of us had fastened our four-way seat belts and the pilot turned around and gave a thumbs up to the passenger in the rear, and to me, and we returned a thumbs up to him to confirm we were strapped in and ready to go.

It was always a thrill to fly by helicopter and especially the small ones where you really can see in all directions through the bubble of a front screen. On this day the sky was clear with just the odd wisp of cloud as we flew west towards the setting sun and the airfield which was our destination. It was going to take about forty minutes to get there. We were flying at a height of about 2500 feet and at a speed of 150 miles an hour, which is a good economical cruising speed. It was interesting to see the German plains stretching out below us; small hamlets, large farms and forests with lakes dotted about.

I was warm and comfortable and I might have dozed off if it was not for the constant chatter in my headphones from other aircraft and air traffic controllers who were monitoring our progress by radar and warning us of other aircraft in our vicinity. Suddenly there was an almighty bang, the aircraft shook and the large instrument panel in front of us lit up with many coloured lights – most of them red and amber – and the noise of a horn came abruptly over the headphones and did not stop. It was, of course, an alarming, and rather frightening experience and it seemed to me that we were likely to crash, though I had no idea what had happened.

After a few seconds, the horn was turned off and the pilot in a shaky but reassuring voice announced to his two passengers that we had suffered a birdstrike and that the jet engine had stopped as a result. We were now dropping without power and he was going to make a “controlled crash landing”. I later learnt that helicopter pilots practice this and the technical term is “landing with autorotation”. In simple terms that means the pilot leans the aircraft into a forward angle and drops the lever which controls the pitch of the rotor blades. That allows the blades to keep spinning, like the seeds of a sycamore tree, then as the helicopter is close to the ground the pilot applies maximum pitch to the blades which effectively lifts it up just before it hits the ground.

Our pilot was quick, and his immediate action resulted in our fast descent momentarily stopping just as we were feet above the field he had chosen to land in. Our landing was just a big thump, a hard landing is the technical term, but we were all uninjured and climbed out to see if the helicopter had been damaged. It seemed fine to me with an untrained eye, but of course, it was not going to fly away as the engine was badly damaged. The large bird, something like an eagle, had unusually flown, or been sucked straight, into the turbine.

The pilot had put out a quick distress call on his radio as we dropped out of the sky but once we were on the ground the VHF radio was no use and this was before the days of mobile phones so we were unable to tell our destination airfield what had happened. As we climbed out I thumped the pilot on the back in thanks for saving our lives and warmly shook the hand of my fellow passenger.

Over in the distance just a few hundred metres away there was a typical Westphalian country farm. It was very isolated in the middle of arable fields with no village or town within sight. A rough track led from the farm to a tarmac road a mile or two away. I suggested that we wander over to the house to ask if they had a telephone which we could use to inform the airfield that we were safe but in need of collecting. This seemed as good an idea as any so we walked to the house, leaving our weapons locked in the aircraft so as not to frighten anyone.

The farmer must have heard our noisy arrival for he strode out to meet us in the yard and greeted us in German. I responded in his language and explained the situation as best as I could and soon he was beckoning us into his home. Feeling a little uncomfortable in our rather muddy camouflaged uniform we entered the large rustic kitchen where the farmer’s wife was busy with pots on the large wood-fired stove. We were offered coffee and while enjoying that the two teenage daughters of the family came in and joined us. We asked to use the telephone and explained the situation to our headquarters and were told that a vehicle would be sent at once to collect us, but it would take a couple of hours to arrive.

It was clear from the kitchen activity and the plate laying in the adjacent dining room that the evening meal was about to be eaten. The table was laid for four but we noticed that a fifth-place was being prepared. I overheard the wife saying to the daughters that they would eat later as the new guests would eat first. Before we knew it we were being seated in the girls’ places and a marvellous meal was put in front of us. Such generous hospitality was remarkable and looking back it has always remained in my memory as an example of the natural goodness and kindness of humans which can be found all over the world.

It was easy chatting to the family with the girls, who were learning English at school, translating for their parents. In no time at all a Land Rover appeared, and with a soldier who was going to sleep in the helicopter overnight for security. We were soon on our way home rather later than expected, but at least we were all in one piece. The next morning a large Chinook helicopter with two rotors flew in and it lifted the small Gazelle back to base to be repaired

How that would have looked

 

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WHO PUT IT THERE?

John loved this time of year. The summer was long gone and now Christmas was just two days away. The cold crisp mornings looked beautiful. The sun low in the sky shone through winter snow clouds, lighting up the frost along each branch of bare trees and twinkled like Christmas lights. The cold air made breath linger, looking like fog.

It wasn’t easy getting up so early on these cold mornings to do a paper round, leaving behind a warm cosy bed. But John had to help his parents to make ends meet; these were difficult times. His father had suffered a severe head injury at work six months ago, and this had stopped his working life abruptly. Mum had increased her working hours at the local hospital. John aged thirteen was still at school, but he wanted to contribute to the household budget. Each week he would give all his wages apart from £5 to Mum. There was a reason for this – he was trying to save enough money to buy the beautiful model car that stood in the window of the Model Shop he passed twice each day whilst on his rounds. The Lamborghini was silver with such detail it was breath-taking. The shop owner could set his watch by John’s daily visits.

The time was 5.30pm, his paper round was finished and it was payday. As usual, John would open the small brown envelope to take out his £5 and then put the rest safely in his pocket for his Mum.

It started to snow and the little town lights were throwing a misty glow along the busy town centre. People were filled with the Christmas atmosphere. All the shops were staying open until late. John stood a while longer to take in the scene. There was a stall selling roasted chestnuts and the Salvation Army were playing Christmas carols. As John walked through the narrow streets to the bus station, he worked out his savings and knew with today’s money he had enough to buy his beloved Lamborghini. The rest of the money was at home and he would return the following day, Christmas Eve, to buy the car.

The snow had fallen silently all night and by morning there was quite a covering. Buses crunched the fallen snow into clearways for other vehicles to follow; cars inched their way carefully.

John helped his Mum with the rest of the decorations and despite money being short, the house was filled with Christmas cheer. The mince pies and sausage rolls were in the oven and the cake was ready for icing. This was always Dad’s job. He enjoyed putting a Christmas scene made from icing in the middle of the cake. It was a work of art – little snowmen and children making their way down a snow-covered hill in their toboggans. And finally – a beautiful gold band around the side.

The tree was always dressed on Christmas Eve. Tinsel ornaments and twinkling lights carefully draped the tree from top to bottom. Yet another masterpiece! With everything finished, John left for the short journey back into town. He had already

bought Mum and Dad’s presents. So now was the time he had longed for, over weeks of careful saving.

The bus was full of families with young children longing for this day to be over. At the station it was Christmas chaos. Hundreds of people thronged the pavements. John turned the corner into Liberty Square. The model shop was just down the end on the left. He could see the sign just above the door; he would soon be carrying his dream home. As he passed an alleyway John heard someone crying. A small figure of a girl was sobbing; her hands covered her face. John approached slowly, not wanting to frighten her. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, kneeling down in front of her. The little girl looked up at him, eyes wet with tears. ‘I can’t get home’ she said ‘I’ve lost my bus fare’.

John was always a kind lad and the scene of a lonely and frightened little girl stole his heart. ‘Come on’ he said ‘ Let’s get you to the station and find the bus you need to get home.’ He stood up and the little girl put her hand in his. Warmly dressed and well spoken, Jasmine said she had lost her purse and become separated from her friends. John found the next bus to the girl’s village, paid for the fare and saw that she was safely inside.

Making his way back to the Model Shop, John realised that he did not have enough money to buy the car now and when he arrived, the shop had closed. His heart sank. He pressed his face against the window. The Lamborghini had gone! What a Christmas this was turning out to be. He decided not to tell his Mum and Dad about it. He did not want to spoil their Christmas too. So, he put on a smile and when he arrived at the door he sang carols and laughed when Mum arrived at the door carrying a tray of goodies.

Christmas was wonderful as usual. John could not remember having a bad one. Good company, good food and presents. What more could he ask for ……

Before long it was Twelfth Night and time for the decorations to be packed away. John always felt sad on this day. The tinsel and ornaments were packed in their boxes and stored in the attic. As John manoeuvred the container holding the tree towards the front door, something fell from behind the tree. He looked across to Mum and Dad but they looked puzzled too. John unwrapped the brown paper parcel tied with string. He opened the box and looked – mouth open, eyes wide. Words failed him.

‘What is it?’ asked Dad. John lifted the item out of the box. ‘How did it get there?’ ‘When did it arrive?’ His parents did not seem to have the answers, but that did not matter. The moment was very special. There in all its glory was his beautiful Lamborghini. He would cherish it always.

To this day, John would wonder about that Christmas years ago, still puzzled over that one question – WHO PUT IT THERE?

By Maureen Richards

 

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Offa’s Dyke To Cardigan Bay

In the 1960s, the war correspondent and journalist Wynford Vaughan Thomas was persuaded by the BBC to climb on a horse and ride from Pembrokeshire to North Wales, with no previous experience. He described the journey in “Madly in all Directions” in 1967, with an account superbly interspersed with personal anecdotes from his life and work, and the many people he had met, interviewed and befriended.

I came across the book many years ago, and was fascinated by the idea of riding across Wales, but felt that it would probably be just a life-long dream. In 2020, my daughter and I rode from the English border to Borth in just over 5 days, covering 100 miles, together with three like-minded people, and lived the dream.

We drove from home early on a Sunday morning past Storey Arms, where the car park was already full, and a line of people could be seen on the way up to Pen y Fan. The holiday invasion of Wales during the summer had flooded every popular tourist spot, but still the majority of people headed for the well-known places, and I wondered how busy it would be in mid-Wales. I need not have worried.

There were 5 of us in the group, led by an experienced guide with maps and instructions. We carried all our luggage with us in saddlebags. The route ran from Clyro over the Begwns to Builth Wells, then across the edge of the Epynt, coming down to Abergwesyn. From there we rode over the Cambrians, past Strata Florida to Pontrhydfendigaid, and then to Ponterwyd via Devil’s Bridge. Then we headed west for the coast, staying in Aberystwyth, and rode up the beach to Borth and Ynaslas on the last day. As we left Aberystwyth, a family from London who were there on holiday stared at us in amazement. They had never seen a horse before! We had one rather wet day, but otherwise the weather was superb. Accomodation in country inns had been arranged for us at the end of each day, and the horses were left in a field of lush grass nearby.

Mid-Wales is not really dramatic or spectacular, but it is stunningly beautiful and so peaceful, with only sheep, skylarks, buzzards and kites for company. We rode on all types of terrain, country lanes, grass tracks, rough trackways, old drovers’ roads, under fallen trees, through a lot of water and across a few streams and rivers, and across a railway line. We stopped for the horses to drink from time to time, trying to find nice clean water, although horses are not very fussy about what they drink. Having drunk their fill, they like to splash with their hooves perhaps to cool off their feet? On some steep downhill stretches, we walked the horses for safety and to stretch our legs, and we stopped for a picnic lunch each day. The horses were Welsh cobs, not very large, but known for their strength and stamina, and always incredibly energetic and well-behaved.

The trip was an adventure to start with, but disaster struck on the third day. Our guide had eaten something that did not agree with her and was not well at all, and the stables owner rang us the next morning to say that he was very sorry, but we would have to cancel the rest of the journey. We were extremely disappointed, especially my daughter, but we held a quick emergency meeting, and asked the owner if he would allow us to continue un-guided. To my surprise, he said yes, so we took the maps and instructions from our poor guide, and carried on. Some of the navigation, especially through forestry, was not straightforward, but with great teamwork, supported by some modern GPS technology, we managed to avoid getting lost.

By the end of the ride, we were all friends for life, so we have arranged to do another ride next year!

 

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