Category: Reader’s Travel Tales

Traavel Articles submitted by various contributers

Covid 19 Repatriaton Saga

THE FIRST….HOPEFULLY THE LAST

I’ve never been repatriated before but then I’ve never been in the middle of a pandemic before. COVID 19 was already in Britain before I left. Going abroad didn’t seem like a good idea but as the holiday company hadn’t cancelled, I went. Even getting there was a trial, with an hour and a half spent standing in a hot and frustrated queue of people waiting to get a health and temperature check before being allowed onto Cape Verde. Just 7 out of the 15 of us had decided to brave it.

The first couple of days meant more travel. An internal flight to a smaller island, walks, dinner, a ferry the next day to an even smaller island and all the while the group discussing how long it would be before trouble struck. On the third day of our trip we experienced a glorious full day walk in the Cape Verdean sunshine. Think the Great Wall of China meets the terraces of Machu Picchu. Our homestay was in a remote village; beers bought from the one shop that services the small cluster of houses and food wonderfully fresh and local. We finally found ourselves in a proper holiday mood. Another day’s walking in the striking scenery meant we settled in for dinner with some optimism that we might actually get a holiday. Cape Verde is a delight for walking and our island felt removed from any of the worries and stresses of our everyday lives. The mood was chilled as we shared dinner and chatted about the days behind us and the experiences shared. When we fell quiet for our briefing on the next day, the news came as if never expected. Cape Verde had closed its borders and we were being repatriated.

The first question was how to get home from this beautiful but remote destination. There is a vague plan to fly us through several European countries. We are all instantly subdued.

Both the ferry port and the airport are busy with overseas visitors heading home. We desperately try and spend some of our local currency and get a good meal whilst we can. We land on a God awful flat salt plain of an island, popular with tourists for its sandy beaches and clear seas and at least our resort has lovely bars on the waterfront for a few beers in the sun. The hotel we stay in hosts us and one other couple. The local guide tells us that we should expect to fly to Luxembourg the next day and then Heathrow via Paris the day after. It sounds like a plan but worryingly, we have no paperwork to support these travel arrangements. It’s a really uncomfortable feeling and the stress levels are clear in all of us but we put on a good show of dealing with it. I think we are all comforted by knowing that we are in this together and we trust that we will look after one other. The experience is bonding.

Several phone calls the next morning get us through to a lady from our travel company called Emily and she quickly responds to our request and sends us the flight details, airline locator number and flight numbers and using the hotel Wi-Fi we manage to check in on-line for the first flight and book ourselves a hotel for the night in Luxembourg.

There is a strong hope that we don’t get stuck there; the budget would be severely stretched by the cost of a lockdown there. The airport in Sal is chaotic. The staff are in masks and gloves, the travellers are edgy and arguments at the check-in desks add to the heated atmosphere. The departure lounge is full. No-one is able to settle for long ,wanting to be first in the queue for their flight in case the plane is overbooked. Bizarrely, when we queue for the plane we are asked to keep 2 metres apart, everyone fully aware that once on the plane we will be rammed in like sardines. In spite of all the stresses, we are delighted to be on the plane and on our way to Europe. The flight goes without incident and also without food; the planes are only carrying water and some biscuits.

In Luxembourg, the total insanity of the whole thing continues as our taxi to the hotel gets lost. In the other taxi, they break down twice and have to get out and push! Once at the hotel the nice young man at reception tries to deal with the difficulty of 7 rooms all booked in the same name having been rejected by the computer, processing our passports and getting us our room keys whilst the hotel manager berates us for all standing in the reception area. ‘Only 3 people at a time’ he says ‘or the police will arrest us’. He cannot believe that those rules were not in place where we came from or in Britain. We are too tired to argue or to move; the priority being getting to bed for another early start.

Next day we arrive at an eerily deserted airport. Outside, it starts to snow. The whole thing is beyond surreal. Unexpectedly our flight boards on time and is full, of people but no food. We sit on the runway as they de-ice the plane for take off, watching the snow through the window and feeling very thankful that this country is not brought to a halt by a sprinkling of the white stuff. Next stop Paris and an equally deserted Charles De Gaulle airport. We have 8 hours to kill here and even though there are still no guarantees of the next flight, we all have some hope of actually getting back home. The departure board reads a long list of flights cancelled but ours slowly creeps round. With a tangible surge of relief we board and the last leg of our epic journey gets underway. I’d love that to be the end of the tribulations but of course there is always more.

We make it home but our bags don’t so we queue in Heathrow to fill out lost luggage forms and say our farewell to each other. Hugs all round are well deserved but we make do with elbow bumps and I waste no time getting a taxi back to the hotel where my car has been sitting for 7 days. The gravity of the situation at home hits me as I find the hotel where my car is parked in complete lockdown; 6 burly security guards on the front entrance. Stopping on the way home for a coffee and a break would be sensible but I drive straight back and fall into the house for the glass of wine that has had my name on it for the last 3 days. Two days later we are in lockdown.

By Sue Hoddell

A Walk Leader’s Adventures

WALK LEADER’S ADVENTURES

Returning from a Kenyan safari in 1932, Ernest Hemingway had many trophies including buffalo hides and rhino horns. Four years later, in ‘The Snows of Kilimanjaro’, Hemingway described the summit of Kilimanjaro as ‘wide as all the world, great, high and unbelievably white in the sun’.

 

With no Living with Cancer or Carers walks to report on, attention turns again to the youthful experiences of this Walk Leader in ascending Mt Kilimanjaro – a dormant volcano in Tanzania. It is the highest mountain in Africa and the highest free standing mountain in the world at 5,895 metres above sea level. For this adventure 12 teachers, two 18 year old past pupils and the Head Teacher’s son made up the group.

An essential part of any venture outdoors is to ensure you are well prepared. On Kilimanjaro, the trekkers had a hard job collecting the down jackets, thermals, boots and woollen socks that were necessary for the trip, as living and working in Mombasa required little more clothing than shorts, T-shirts and cool cotton clothes to teach in. Most of the party begged or borrowed equipment from visiting relatives who were asked to add socks and bobble hats to their luggage of sandals and sunhats!

The convoy of three cars rattled and rolled along dirt tracks from Mombasa to the border. Here the guards took a particular interest in the cassettes we were playing and made it clear that the price of crossing the border was to ‘gift’ a large number of these cassettes to them! We arrived at our hotel just outside the Kilimanjaro National Park and excitedly planned for an early start the next day.

Day 1. We met our porters and guides at the Marangu Gate, the entrance to the park. The porters would carry our food, water and cooking gas whilst we would carry day packs with essential items: drinking water, snacks, spare clothes. The hike to our first stop, the Mandara Hut, 2,715m, would be about 5 hours through montane forest. The forest trail followed a stream, and we spent most of the trek in a thick mist under trees.

Porters

The main advice for high altitude trekking is, ‘GO SLOWLY’ or ‘Pole, Pole’ in Swahili. For the fitter, younger members of our group this proved difficult, even though they had been told to walk slowly and enjoy the scenery. Coming from 0 metres in Mombasa, the altitude was always going to be a challenge, so there were constant reminders to slow down: the slower you walk the more time is given for the body to acclimatise.

The Mandara hut was a welcome sight; the party settled down for the night. Everybody had made it.

Mandera Hut

Day 2. We set off to the Horombo hut, at 3,705m. We walked through a short section of forest before emerging into moorland. Here we could see the giant lobelia and giant groundsel. In the distance we could see, tantalizingly, the peak of Kibo.

Moreland Walk

At the Horombo hut, the trek, unfortunately, finished for one member of our group. David, a very fit and active sportsman, who had followed all the advice was showing symptoms of altitude sickness. He had a splitting headache, was nauseous and felt exhausted. The guide advised he should descend immediately, as a drop in altitude is one of the most effective treatments. Reluctantly, we said goodbye to David, as he set off down the mountain with a guide.

Horombo Huts

 

Day 3. We set off on the 9km trek to the Kibo hut, 4.730m, all agreeing to go at a snail’s pace. We were now in an alpine desert. We all arrived at the Kibo hut and looked towards the peak. The summit was another 1,190m away and we were going to make the ascent that night. We went to bed around 6pm and were woken at 11pm.

Kibo Hut

Day 4. The path to the summit zig-zagged up the mountain on stone scree. All I could see were small patches of light ahead and behind me as our group’s head torches bobbed in the darkness. All I wanted to do was sleep. I had a headache. I felt sick. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to sit down. Everybody felt the same. We encouraged each other to stumble, shuffle and struggle upwards. The sun rose….we were on the top of the mountain. It felt like we were on top of the world. And unbelievably, in the distance we could see Mt Kenya.Feelings of nausea and exhaustion subsided. Elation, exhilaration and excitement took over. Photos were taken and then the descent. We were to walk to the Horombo hut, a total of 15kms and a day’s total walking of 14 hours. The descent seemed like we were walking on air; the effects of the altitude subside as you descend. The Horombo hut was a very welcome sight and we sank into the bunk beds.

Day 5. Back the way we came. We were welcomed by a disappointed but healthy David, who joined in with the celebration beers.

Physical and mental stamina helped us to the summits of Mt Kenya and Mt Kilimanjaro. Cosmeston and Barry Island strolls may not offer the same extreme physical and mental challenges as these mountains, but the companionship, the sense of achievement and pleasure and enjoyment from being outdoors will be the same.

The Group

 

 

Lynne Frugniet

 

 

The Norfolk and Suffolk Broads

The Norfolk and Suffolk Broads

With our movements restricted to home these past weeks, I have been reminiscing about days gone by when holidays were very much on our minds at this time of the year. The excitement of picking and choosing our next vacation was taken for granted and in particular my mind was drawn back to our family visits to East Anglia and in particular the Norfolk Broads.

The Norfolk and Suffolk Broads, more commonly known as the Norfolk Broads, became part of my life as far back as 1976. Following a discussion with two married friends, my wife and I were invited to join them for a cruising holiday along with our two young children then aged just 6 years and 3 years. A handful you may ask – what with six of us on board a 6 berth cruiser with water all around us, and never having experienced this type of holiday before?

Challenging, yes, but with a whole two weeks of fine weather, in an area of the country teaming with wildlife, we fell in love with East Anglia and its flat terrain and endless skies. We found so much to do with navigating our way around 125 miles of inland waterways, walking the footpaths, visiting the small villages and hamlets, not to mention entertaining and supervising two young children. This love affair, 300 miles from home has lasted for the rest of our lifetime and we returned to ‘The Broads’ many times over the ensuing years. Culminating with my wife and I, purchasing a Broads cruiser and owning it for 10 years. Before I expand on these many visits and our own cruiser, let me give you some insight into the history of The Broads and what they actually comprise of.

The Broads are a series of large lakes and 7 rivers that navigate through eastern Norfolk and Suffolk. They were the result of flood surges over the centuries, but closer inspection by conservationists determined that the lakes were actually manmade peat diggings going back to medieval times. In those days East Anglia was the most populated part of England with many large monasteries and abbeys supporting the spread of Christianity. There were in fact over 150 churches and Norwich was the second most populated city after London. Indeed records at Norwich Cathedral, taken from that time show that in one year alone, 400,000 divots of peat were delivered from these cuttings to the Cathedral. Since that time the diggings have flooded thus creating the large lakes or Broads that we see and use for leisure and wildlife preservation today. There are over 60 Broads altogether, many non-navigable and the preserve of conservationists with a wonderful selection of wildfowl, insects and birds.

The navigable Broads are of various sizes, some as large as four miles long and over a mile wide. Many are the home of local sailing clubs and Regatta’s are part of the sailing calendar every year. A sight to behold is the annual August bank holiday Regatta at Barton Broad on the river Ant. Observe a sea of sails, with yachts racing and tacking to arrive first over the finishing line. These Broads, however, remain open to visitors and hire craft. It was on Barton Broad that Admiral Lord Nelson learnt to sail, having been brought up in Burnham Thorpe.

As well as The Broads, the navigable waterways consist of seven rivers: four main rivers, the Bure, Yare, Waveney and Wensum and three smaller tributaries, the

Ant, Thurne and Chet. The Norfolk Broads are landlocked and not linked to any other of the English inland waterways. All are tidal and the effects of the tides are quite significant, particularly the closer you are to the estuary at Yarmouth. Here you can enter the North Sea, not recommended for inland cruisers and prohibited to hire craft. There are no locks to navigate but good use of the tide times depending on your location can result in a quicker passage from place to place and save on time and fuel. There is one lock at Oulton Broad near Lowestoft that affords access and egress to Lowestoft and again the North Sea. Again this is also out of bounds to hire craft.

The two largest navigable rivers are the Bure and the Yare. Both these rivers enter the North Sea at Yarmouth and are the most tidal. You can navigate the Yare right up and into the city centre of Norwich, where it joins the river Wensum. You can moor at the Yacht Station less than 200 yards from Norwich Cathedral, with just a short walk to the city centre and its market and main shopping areas.

The river Bure gives access to the main tourist area of the Norfolk Broads, its many boatyards, Broads, moorings and hostelries. Head on up to Wroxham, the capital of the broads where many tourists start and finish their cruising holidays and where the largest number of boatyards are located. Wroxham is a village with a variety of shops supplying everything you could possibly want. The majority of them are owned by ‘Roy’s of Wroxham’, a company set up in the village in 1931. Today you can visit its many outlets from the supermarket and department store, to the smaller chandlers, DIY store and many others all trading under the name Roy’s of Wroxham.

The two other larger rivers are the river Waveney and river Wensum. The Wensum joins the river Yare just outside Norwich and gives you access to the city of Norwich, whereas the river Waveney affords navigation down to the Suffolk Broads, and up as far as Beccles, a popular market town, again with its many shops and hostelries. Beccles has an outdoor swimming pool, a great favorite of ours and a must on warm Summer days. A couple of miles above Beccles is Geldeston, the end of navigation of the river Waveney. Visit the Geldeston Lock Inn, again a popular mooring serving hot food and some traditional Real Ales. It is a typical isolated mooring, ideal for those who prefer a quiet location.

There are many bridges crossing the various rivers, some large and some small. The smaller bridges can restrict headroom to 6’ 5” at high water, so some tidal planning has to be taken into account when negotiating the lower bridges. Two of the low bridges are arch bridges at Wroxham and Potter Heigham, but the assistance of Bridge Pilots are available during navigable times, compulsory for hire craft, and a small fee is charged. I recommend the experience of passing through these bridges, sometimes negotiated with inches to spare. Have your camera ready but watch your head.

The type of holiday you choose can vary from family to family. Our choice was to cruise each morning for a couple of hours and choose a mooring for lunch and

 

couple of hours and choose a mooring for lunch and visit the local villages to top up with provisions. We did the same in the afternoon selecting a mooring for an overnight stay, sometimes near civilization and other times just out in the middle of nowhere. Moorings are everywhere on The Broads, most of them are free for 24 hours, but sometimes a fee will be charged where facilities such as water are available or alternatively limited mooring space outside one of the many riverside pubs. All these hostelries offer good lunchtime and evening meals so cooking on board is not a necessity. Knowing our way around The Broads afforded us the luxury of choosing our meals in a local hostelry or taking advantage of the locally sold produce to cook aboard. Every hire craft has a fully fitted Galley. Many villages have vegetables, fruit, eggs or other such produce for sale outside their houses with ‘honesty boxes’ and we often took advantage of this fresh produce.

After our first visit to The Broads in the mid 70’s we returned many many times for what was in those days our main and only annual holiday. On a number of these holidays we were joined by my sister, brother-in-law and their two children and spent many a fortnight cruising our beloved waterways in sister boats named Master Peter and Master Paul. These were old traditional wooden Broads cruisers, 6 berth, quite basic, but enjoyed by one and all. As our children grew older, they enjoyed many experiences, some of which they discuss even today. Indeed when they became independent young people and arranged their own holidays, the first place they returned to with their friends was The Norfolk Broads.

During 1988 my family and I moved back to Wenvoe, and have remained in the village ever since. We had resided in Wenvoe in the mid 70’s when I was stationed in the old police house carrying out my duties as village constable. We had moved two years later due to a career move but loved the village so much we were determined to return someday and came back as I say in 1988.

At about this time my wife and I began to take holidays further afield to the usual sunny destinations abroad. Even so, we invariably booked at least a week visiting Norfolk hiring smaller craft, with just the two of us. In 2003, having retired from my career in the Police Service, I set up my own business and was able to schedule my work with holidays to suit us both. Following a visit in June of that year back to The Broads, we were loath to return home, and we started to discuss the possibility of buying our own cruiser. During the ensuing weeks and months, I returned to Norfolk on two weekends, staying in B&B and spending the time plying the length and breadth of broadlands chandlers and boatyards, searching for an ideal craft.

By this time private ownership of older hire craft had become very popular as well as enabling the cost of these boats to be available to the pockets of the everyday working couple. It actually took three visits to find our ideal cruiser; a glass fibre traditional broads design ‘Broom Ocean 30’ with the name ‘Rambler’. She began her life as a hire craft but had been sold to a private buyer when only 4 years old and clearly had been lovingly maintained over the years. She was for

sale at a boatyard in Wroxham and when I first set eyes on her I knew she was exactly what we were looking for. Thus began a 10 year love affair with what I described as my ‘pride and joy’.

She was 25 years old when I bought her. This made her affordable to us and with a full survey arranged, we took her over in September, 2003. We did consider changing her name but was informed this could be unlucky so we stuck with the name ‘Rambler’.

From that time on, we spent at least a week, sometimes two weeks on our cruiser during each month from April to October. The fact that she was berthed 303 miles from home was no barrier to us and every time we set out to visit her, the excitement never waned. We upgraded and modernized ‘Rambler’ over the years, with my wife renewing the internal furnishings and fittings whilst I concentrated on replacing worn or broken deck fittings and upgrading and maintaining her single diesel engine and the on board gas and electric systems. It was a learning curve, and we both learnt many new skills.

The annual costs for maintenance, mooring fees, insurance, river license and general running costs was approximately the same cost of a 2 week holiday abroad, so by maintaining her ourselves, it made the enterprise of owning our own cruiser manageable. Each year we would spend at least 10 weeks cruising our favourite waterway at a relatively low cost. We never tired of Norfolk and although we sold her in 2014, we still visit the Broads from time to time and relive those exciting adventures on board our very own cruiser.

The Norfolk and Suffolk Broads, offer a healthy, relaxing and enjoyable holiday. Hire craft today offer all modern conveniences such as wi fi, satellite TV, mains electricity and they are fitted to a high specification. There are cruisers of all ages for hire that would suit most pockets.

I would suggest, as holidays go, there is no better way of recharging the batteries and getting out in the fresh air once again. So when planning your future holidays, why not give the Norfolk and Suffolk Broads some thought. You can research the various hire boats on line, have a look at Hoseasons Holidays or Blakes Boats. It is a holiday for all ages and for families in particular it is an ideal choice. Good luck and enjoy, but most importantly, stay safe.

Terry Ewington.

A School Group Up Mount Kenya

A School Group Up Mount Kenya

As a Valeways walk leader, I have had the privilege and pleasure of leading coastal and countryside walks for the past 2 years. As there are no Living with Cancer Strollers or Carers Walk this month, due to the coronavirus, I thought I would share some of my adventures as a walk leader further afield….

As a young teacher in Kenya, I decided to take a school group up Mount Kenya. This is the highest mountain in Kenya and the second highest in Africa, after Kilimanjaro. There are 3 peaks on Mount Kenya and walkers head for the less technical trek to Point Lenana (4985m).

My school party consisted of 25 pupils and 10 teachers. We had guides to take us through the breath-taking scenery: tarns, glaciers, dense forest, a vertical bog and to point out the wildlife: including mongoose, hyrax (evolved from the elephant) and duiker. Fortunately, we didn’t spot the rarely seen giant forest hog or bongo!

There are various routes up the mountain and the climb takes 3 days. After acclimatising at Naro Moru, we spent the first night on the mountain at the met station. All was well. The next day we set off through forest and high-altitude equatorial vegetation to reach Mackinders Camp with the dramatic peaks of Batian and Nelion looking down on us. Tents were set up for us and the head of the school cooked a high energy pasta dish, which very few people ate. Altitude sickness had struck…not something that my walkers around Cosmeston or Barry Island have ever experienced!

Headaches and sickness took over a large number of the party so only a few emerged from their tents at 2am to head to the summit. Heading off at 2am meant the scree and the glacier at the peak were frozen and more easily walked on. After a long trek we reached the top and watched the sunrise.

On the descent, one pupil, slipped on the ice and started to head towards the tarn….luckily a guide stopped him. Not a sight that is easily forgotten. On reaching Mackinders Camp, where we had left a large group of sick individuals, we were greeted by happier and healthier pupils and teachers; the British army had arrived for a training session and had provided lots of hot tea and biscuits.

So …… at Cosmeston and over at Barry Island, if you join us when the social distancing finishes, you can feel confident that you are in safe hands….as long as there are no frozen tarms to fall into or great heights to be scaled….

Lynne Frugniet

 

 

75 Years at Wrinstone Farm

75 Years at Wrinstone Farm

Aubrey Rees of Wrinstone Farm first encountered Gerry Crump when he gave the young 12 year old a lift home from the Sheep Dog Trials at Brynhill Farm, Barry. Little did they realise then that within a few years Gerry would have embarked on a career at Wrinstone Farm – one that was to span an amazing 75 years!

Early 1945 saw Gerry and his brother Ted strolling in the direction of Wrinstone Farm one Sunday afternoon. Gerry had always wanted to work on a farm. He had heard from Mr Thomas of Tarrws Farm that there was a possibility of a job at Wrinstone Farm. He was delighted when Aubrey agreed to employ him and shortly after that day Gerry started work on the farm.

Aubrey Rees lived with his wife Hilda, daughter Eileen (5) and 2½ year old son, Gwyn. Gerry soon became part of this happy farming family, sharing in their happy times and sad times over the decades. In fact Gerry’s mother always referred to Hilda as his second mum.

During the 1950’s Aubrey invested in a dairy herd. By now Eileen was busy working on the farm and when Gwyn left school he eagerly joined in with the farm work. Some years later Gwyn’s youngest son, Gareth, was also delighted to leave school to become a farmer.

Milk was taken in churns to the end of the lane, where it was collected, until about 1970 when a tanker started coming to the farm to transport the milk to Britton’s Dairies.

There are many examples of Gerry’s dedicated service to the Rees family. One special example was when he trudged across the fields to work and back home again, every day for 6 or 7 weeks. This happened during the severe weather and sub-zero temperatures of 1963 when the lane to the farm was blocked with snow drifts for many weeks.

Over the years Gerry has seen many changes on the farm. Rubber wheeled, large powerful tractors have replaced a Ford Standard tractor with steel wheels working alongside 3 horses (Punch, Jewel and Violet). There has been great advancement in farm machinery and long summer evenings pitching small hay bales are a distant memory!

Cattle numbers have increased gradually since the

dairy herd was sold in 2010. However, some things remain unchanged. Wrinstone Farm has always had field potatoes, cattle, chickens, a flock of sheep and, of course, sheep dogs!

During his long working life Gerry has always had great respect for his employers and their farm. He has maintained machinery with great care and has looked after the animals as if they were his own. Gerry has strived continuously to achieve high standards in all aspects of farm work and has always made his employers feel proud to have him.

Great commitment was rewarded when a long service medal was presented to Gerry in 1987 at the Royal Welsh Show. And he earned an award at the Vale Show in 2010 for 65 years of Service to Agriculture.

Gerry has now decided to take a well-deserved rest from farm work, but he will surely be spending many happy hours in his garden and with his wife, Phyllis.

Undoubtedly readers will agree that this story is not only special and remarkable – it is unique. Sadly Gwyn passed away almost two years ago, having spent many happy hours working with Gerry. He would certainly be so proud to have been able to share these congratulations to Gerry, on such a wonderful achievement. How many people do you know who have worked for the same family for 75 years, covering 3 generations of that family?

 

 

A Cherry Orchard – A Real Boy’s Own Adventure

A Real Boy’s Own Adventure

 

In the Second World War an English officer, Major Paddy Leigh Fermor, parachuted into Crete to capture the German officer commanding the occupying forces, General Heinrich Kreipe. The mission was a success and the general was marched over the mountains to a waiting British boat and taken back to the Allied HQ in Cairo.

This was real “Boy Own Adventure” stuff and I had read about that daring raid when I was young. Now some friends and I were looking for an excuse to hike a long and interesting route and ideally one with a narrative. So we read again “Ill met by Moonlight” the book about the abduction written by the other British officer involved, Captain Billy Moss.

The year was 2005 and our general idea was to follow the route taken by the captors. I wanted to ask the advice of Paddy who was then aged 90 and living in a house he had designed and built in Greece. It was rather more difficult getting hold of him than I expected. After some fruitless attempts, I contacted his publisher John Murray who suggested I contact Artemis Cooper, Paddy’s biographer, and she kindly gave me his telephone number in Greece. I couldn’t wait to see if he would reply and so I called that night and sure enough, the great man answered straight away. I explained that we were going to follow his footsteps across Crete and he seemed rather pleased and kindly offered to send me his original wartime maps.

Just days later the maps arrived in a plain brown envelope with Greek stamps. His landing place was marked with a small parachute and a boat was drawn on the coast where they departed with General Kreipe. This was enough to spur me on and in no time, I had assembled a group of friends and we flew to Crete. Although we went in the spring the days were hot as we walked across the arid slopes following closely the path taken by Paddy in 1944.

One morning we were deep in the countryside, walking along a rough unmade road when we heard a commotion ahead of us. As we approached we could make out singing in Greek and soon we came to a site where several families had come together to celebrate a religious feast day. They pressed us to join them and soon we had glasses of wine or ouzo thrust upon us. The children were chasing dogs as some men were roasting goats, split in two, and hung up on wooden stakes beside a massive open fire. The meat was going to take another hour or more to cook so we thanked them for their hospitality and walked on.

Later that day we arrived at the Anogia, the largest village in Crete and the scene of a dreadful massacre in August 1944 when, in retaliation for the killing of a German officer, a decree was issued by the German high command that every male in the village, and any male caught within a kilometre of the village, would be killed. In a matter of days, 117 men of the village were murdered and every house in the village was blown up or set on fire. When we walked into the village we paid our respects at the war memorial, listing the names of the dead, and sat in the square to relax and have a drink. We were soon introduced to the mayor of the village who insisted on buying us beers and, in turn, we told him about our walk and how we were inspired by Paddy Leigh Fermor. The mayor became very interested and knew all about Filidem, which was his Greek nickname. It occurred to me that Paddy would love a live update about our progress and in no time I called up Paddy on my mobile phone and, after explaining where we were, I gave the phone to the mayor whose face lit up as he realised he was talking to the man himself.

So our days continued, walking in the heat and in the afternoon looking for a place to spend the night. One particular day the four of us came across a high wire fence, built to keep goats out. It ran as far as the eye could see in both directions and was about six foot high. Surprisingly our small party had split up and I soon found that the others had somehow crossed it to the far side. But I could find no way over it or around it and the more I ran around trying the hotter and crosser I became. Finally, I saw a small gap at a post and, pulling the wire away, I managed to squeeze through. By now I was hot, sweaty and very fed up. I had no idea where the others were. So I walked on and came to a grove of cherry trees. There was a rusty pickup truck and its two occupants were up makeshift ladders collecting cherries. They had some black umbrellas upside down, hanging from the branches by the handle. Into these, they were lobbing ripe cherries. They asked me to help myself and so I lay down in the shade of a tree and dropped cool cherries into my mouth until my temper and temperature cooled down. Those were the juiciest and tastiest cherries in the whole world and I have never forgotten their flavour.

 

(Editor’s footnote)

“Ill met by Moonlight” is a quotation from “A Midsummer  Night’s Dream. When the book was  published in 1950, it was selected by W. Somerset Maugham as one of the best three books of that year writing,”more thrilling than any detective story I can remember, and written in a modest and most engaging manner”.

 

 

 

The Story Of A Steak Sandwich

The Story Of A Steak Sandwich

It had been another long hot day in central Africa, and I was driving a fast RIB – a rigid inflatable boat – down the river Congo at full speed. We were flying across the water, but I was steering carefully between the floating clumps of water hyacinth as we headed downstream to the capital city of Kinshasa.

We had started early, and I had loaded extra cans of petrol on board as it was a long push from our campsite at the side of the river to reach Kinshasa, but the leader of our expedition needed to be there as soon as possible. There were three of us in the small boat and the floor was literally covered in petrol cans. The cool of the morning soon warmed by the inevitable sun and by mid-morning it was baking hot. The metal petrol cans were too hot to touch, but thankfully the Mercury outboard was pushing us along at about 30 knots, so the rushing air was keeping us reasonably cool.

The first few hours saw us speeding along the calm river. Waves or rapids would have slowed us down but here the river was running deep and the surface was flat. The banks here were jungle and the trees really came down into the water, I am not sure if they were all mangrove trees but there are three types of mangrove and we probably passed them all. It was the same on both sides of the river which in this area was a couple of hundred metres wide. We were making good time.

We drank from our water bottles as we didn’t really have time to stop and make a brew of tea. It would have taken too long to gather the wood to make the fire to boil the water. The problem with our water is that it came from the river and it was best to strain it in a muslin filter to take out the animal and vegetable matter that was present. There were about 20 grains of foreign matter in each litre of water. So we strained the water and then put it in our water bottles along with chlorination tablets to purify it and kill any germs. The good news was that the water was now palatable, but the bad news was that it was like drinking disinfectant. But we needed to drink in that heat to stay well.

Our eyes were always sweeping ahead, partly to avoid hitting an object in the river and partly to see if we could catch sight of any wildlife on the banks such as hippos or monkeys in the trees. At the same time, we would look for landmarks to try and pinpoint our position. About the time we felt we were nearing the city we began to see some high-rise buildings poking out on the horizon above the great moabi, iroko, ebony and mahogany trees that formed the jungle canopy.

After another thirty minutes, we came upon the long dirty brown wharves where wood, palm oil and vegetables were unloaded from the river barges. Then further on we saw the manicured bright green lawns of what turned out to be a smart yacht club, with many small and larger boats bobbing on their moorings. Above the lawns was a single storey clubhouse neatly painted and with bright flags flying from an impressively tall flagpole. This seemed to be a sensible place to tie up and find a vehicle to take us into the city and to the British Embassy who were expecting us.

It was about midday and we had been on the river for over four hours and I was starving. Breakfast had been a rotten plastic mug of tea and some dried biscuits and I was looking forward to grabbing a bite to eat wherever we could. Having secured the boat, we walked up to the Clubhouse and were rather conscious of our scruffy appearance in soiled and sweaty shirts and petrol stained cotton trousers below which were wet boots dripping with river water. We must have looked an odd and unusual sight to the kindly barman who stood on the veranda as we approached. He was a Congolese man of about forty who spoke fluent French and was dressed in smart dark trousers with a white jacket, white shirt and bow tie. I briefly explained who we were in my stumbling French as he ushered us through the doors of Kinshasa Yacht Club into the bar area. Coming in from the strong sunlight my eyes adjusted to take in the fine carpet and comfortable looking armchairs around us but more exciting was the bar promising cold drinks and possibly food? I asked, with some trepidation, if there was anything we could eat for lunch to which I heard the immortal reply “Would sir like a steak sandwich?”. As the barman called the order to the chef in the adjacent kitchen, he poured the first chilled larger into a frosted glass and I was at the gates of heaven. The succulent steak sandwich soon arrived – a tender piece of sirloin steak in a fresh baguette. It was delicious and how hard it was to eat slowly. In no time at all the glass was dry and the taxi was waiting to take us to the Embassy – the spell was broken.

Kindly contributed by a Wenvoe resident

 

 

Tanzania Expedition – Jacob Morgan

Tanzania Expedition – Jacob Morgan

I just wanted to say a massive thank you to everyone in the village who supported me in fundraising for Tanzania. I will be leaving very soon, on February 10th, for my 10 week expedition and I am very excited.

The picture below is of me at the top of Pen Y Fan, after completing it 5 times in one day back in November.

This fundraiser along with the quiz and raffle night held at the pub received huge support from so many of you, and I am very grateful. I am extremely proud to be able to say that the fundraising target of £3,450 for Raleigh International was reached, which is truly amazing. A total of £1,265 of that was raised by you, the generous people of Wenvoe.

So once again I would like to thank all of you for the lovely messages and support I received. It really means a lot to me. I look forward to telling you all about my trip when I am back in the summer.

 

 

A Visit to Puy Du Fou

SHARED EXPERIENCES

A Visit to Puy Du Fou

by Sylvia Harvey

Puy Du Fou is an historical theme park near Nantes in France welcoming over 2.3 million visitors every year.

Throughout the summer on Friday and Saturday nights is La Cinescenie – this is the most amazing spectacle. It is a large theatrical performance held on one of the world’s largest stages. It involves 2,500 actors, alongside 190 horses. There are 80 technicians and it brings together 4,000 volunteers.

It is a beautiful pageant telling a story set in the Vendee region. As each scene unfolds, it just takes your breath away. With the constant action, the lighting, the pyrotechnics, it’s almost impossible to describe.

There are a number of other shows on during the day. Two special ones for me were:

Le Signe du Triomphe: A Gallo-Roman stadium performance in which the 7,000 spectators are divided into Romans and Gauls to watch Gaulish prisoners trying to win circus games in front of the Roman governor. The atmosphere is electric; clapping, cheering, booing, chariots thunder around the arena as lions and tigers prowl among the contestants. WOW!

Les Bal des Oiseaux Fantomes: Another breath-taking experience as 330 eagles, falcons and vultures swoop over the audience, with their wings brushing our heads.

I could write so much more but I am hoping others may have visited Puy du Fou and will share their experience..

 

 

Y Taith Pererin Llyn

Y Taith Pererin Llyn

 

It’s a long way from Wenvoe to North Wales, and a frustrating journey if you are in a hurry, but if you have plenty of time, and the weather is good, it is a lovely drive. Such was it one very cold autumn morning, with a hard frost that had whitened the hillsides, and the sun lighting up the autumn colours, showing mid-Wales in all its glory.

The North Wales Pilgrims’ Way (Taith Pererin) is a 134 miles long-distance path, starting in Holywell and finishing at the monastery of St Cadfan on the island of Bardsey. It had some significance in medieval times, and two pilgrimages to Bardsey were considered as good as one to Rome. The section on the Llŷn follows the ancient pilgrims’ route, and that was our goal.

We started at Clynnog, where there is a huge church dedicated to St Beuno in a tiny village, and a spring or well nearby. People with epilepsy were brought to the well and immersed in it, and then had to spend the night on the cold floor of the church. If they were in fit condition the following morning, they then continued along the coast to Aberdaron, and thence by boat to Bardsey.

We inspected the well, but decided to omit the immersion, on the grounds that we were still quite healthy. We walked from Clynnog to Trefor, hoping to get a cup of good coffee, but this was a bit optimistic, so we had to make do with a machine coffee from a Spar shop. We continued over the mountain of Yr Eifl, which had been a centre for quarrying in the days when granite was highly valued. We walked up an old incline, which would have been used to bring the stone down from the quarries, and had a marvellous view of the Llŷn coast, and across the sea to Anglesey. We then came down to the settlement of Nant Gwrtheyrn, which is an isolated community consisting of three farms and the quarrymen’s cottages. The farms are now deserted, but the cottages have been converted into modern accommodation for the Welsh Language Centre, where people can stay during language courses, or they are rented out for bed and breakfast.

It was a beautiful evening, and we watched the sun setting over the sea. The Nant is a remarkable place, and one of the most peaceful places I have ever been to. I shall have to return one day.

Next day we continued along the coast, pausing at the Tŷ Coch Inn at Porth Dinllaen, well known for its location right on the beach. In fact, there was a long queue for lunch, so we had a pint and walked out to the Coast Watch lookout and chatted to the lady volunteers there, who were keeping a watchful eye on the sea, but who seemed to welcome some company. Further on, there were seals relaxing on

the rocks, and one in the water who looked at us suspiciously and disappeared, only to reappear much closer to us, in order to have a better look.

We stayed that night in the Lion at Tudweiliog, a very comfortable pub with excellent food. Next day we walked a long day along the cliffs, and chatted to a woman going in for a swim. She claimed it was fine once you were in the sea, but we decided to take her word for it. We passed the Whistling Sands, where the sand really does whistle when you shuffle your feet in it, and continued to Aberdaron, having to cheat a bit towards the end and take a short cut, because the light was going fast. The cliff path is no place to be in the dark.

We stayed in a small hotel in Aberdaron, with a marvellous view over the beach, and asked the ferryman if we could go to Bardsey the next day, but unfortunately the weather broke that evening after three perfect days, and the sea was so rough next day that we had no wish to be in a small boat at all. It was a disappointment not to be able to complete our pilgrimage, but this was a superb walk, about 40 miles in two and a half days, and we have good reason to go back one day.

 

 

 

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