Tuesday, 12 December 2023

Cannock Chase: Shifting Tectonic Plates. The (N + 12)th Annual Fish and Chip Walk

Unwelcome Developments and an Extremely Damp Walk on Cannock Chase


Staffordshire
Nothing in the title should be taken to suggest that the island of Great Britain in general, or Cannock Chase in particular, has abandoned its customary geological stability, this is not Iceland. But there are things in life we treat as permanent, though we know they are not. When change comes, the consequences are not entirely unearthquakelike. (That tortured sentence reminds me of a sign I saw in a North Macedonian hotel: ‘Do not use the lift in case of earthquakeake or fire.’)

Rifle Range Corner to the Sherbrook Valley

We set off a little later than our 9.30 target from Rifle Range Corner. The Corner, a sharp turn on minor road from the A34 to Rugeley, has often featured in these walks, but we have never started here before – a ripple from the edge of a shifting plate.

We walked towards the remains of the WW1 army rifle range, which gave the corner its name, then turned left and right.

Alison (half hidden) and Anne at the front (and they need to turn left, now), Brian and Lee, Mike, I am just behind with the camera

Unlike every other Fish and Chip Walk – on this blog since 2010, but older than that – Francis was not out in front. Indeed, Francis was not there at all.

I read through the (N + 11)th walk in 2021 before starting this. There were clues in the report, though I missed them at the time. Francis was a meticulous planner. The South West Odyssey, a 12-year walk in 36 sections from the Cardingmill Valley in Shropshire to Start Bay in Devon was his idea, he chose the routes, booked the B&Bs and led the way metaphorically and very often literally. He was the navigator who (almost) never made a mistake. But (N + 11) was not like that, he appeared to have no plan, his confident decision making had gone, the route became a ramble and we finished too early for lunch.

(N + 12) had started in the dry, but it would rain on and off for the whole day…

Anne's rictus grin says that she WILL enjoy this, Alison T looks like she wishes she was somewhere else

….and found our way to a path named as Marquis Drive on the map, though it is separated from the better-known section we would meet later.

Brian and Lee on a section of Marquis drive

By June 2022, the signs I missed had become obvious symptoms. The man who thought 20km a day was lazy, ground to a halt after 2 with a loss of balance and muscular co-ordination. Francis said he had ‘recently gone downhill very quickly’ but was putting a lot of faith into a series of physiotherapist appointments. It was obvious, though, that physiotherapy was not the answer, I could see clear similarities between Francis and the problems of Lynne’s late father.

Our path took us to the eastern edge of the Sherbrook Valley.

Looking down into the Sherbrook Valley

It then starts to descend gently, along the ridge…

Along the edge of the Sherbrook Valley

…but takes its time about it, eventually reached the brook a little upstream of the stepping stones. Lee was responsible for working out the route, and had built in optional short cuts to ensure we arrived for lunch on time. We took a zig-zag down the valley side..

This could be a zig..... or maybe a zag

… and crossed the stream at the bottom.

Across the Sherbrook. Anne is still smiling - and that is the nearest to a smile that Brian gets

Up the Sherbrook Valley

There was no Fish and Chip Walk in 2022, Francis was in no position to organise one. The tectonic plates had twitched and they would not twitch back, but it did not yet feel right for anyone else to step in. In spring 2023 he was able to travel to Australia to see his son, daughter-in-law and his three grandchildren, meeting the youngest for the very first time. Good as this was, his problems were not going away.

We walked upstream on the western bank…

Walking almost beside the Sherbrook

…which at one point takes a loop away from the brook. I thought it might make a pleasing photo.

Winter trees - the picture was a disappointment, definitely not worth getting left behind for

When you are at the back and pause to take a picture, everyone walks off and leaves you behind. I caught up, but was glad we soon stopped for coffee.

Now I have to catch up

We drank our coffee sitting in a concrete trough built across the brook years ago for a purpose no longer obvious. I was too interested in a sit and a restorative beverage to bother taking a photo, but we used the same spot in 2020.

Coffee in 2020, Sherbrook Valley

This was the year of Covid, social distancing (almost complied with), Boris’ ‘rule of 6’ – not that he bothered much – and Tier 3 restrictions. There were many people on the Chase in 2020, it was a dry, mild, Saturday and there was nowhere else to go. On a wet Tuesday in 2023, we had the place to ourselves.

I usually start these accounts with a group photo. With startling originality, the first photo in this report consists of five rear views. Fortunately, at this point Anne took a group selfie.

Anne's group selfie (thank you, Anne), l to r Anne, Alison T, Mike, Brian, Lee, Me (did I spill my coffee or is that rain?)

Sherbrook Valley to Slitting Mill

Alison C, Francis’ ex-wife (and until recent problems, walking companion.) took on responsibilities she need not have accepted (though knowing Alison, that was no surprise). She organised his medical appointments and after tests and consultations Francis, like my father-in-law, had a diagnosis of vascular dementia. Alison does not live particularly close, but in collaboration with their son in Australia and daughter in Oxfordshire, she saw to it that he received the help he required..

Time was short, so the coffee break was shorter. I have few photos of the next section, it was raining and my camera was wet and threatening to seize up so I left it in the dry for a while.

After a further kilometre beside the brook, we turned uphill on a path that would have returned us to our starting point had we not veered right on unmarked paths. Lee chose a deer track which petered out in long, wet grass, those further behind gained from his experience.

We crossed the minor road a little south of Rifle Range Corner, found our way to Flint’s Corner and then down a familiar section of Marquis Drive. Approaching the visitor centre, Marquis Drive is tarmacked, but later becomes a foot path descending to the A460 Rugeley to Hednesford road.(N + 8) went that way in 2018, but this year we turned left a kilometre above the road.

Just turned off Marquis Drive

The path descended through damp and desolate countryside.

a wet and miserable place

It cheered up when we reached some trees, then after turning right by open fields and passing a stable, we reached the road to Slitting Mill. Rather than walk with the traffic, we took a familiar detour along a stream behind a row of houses. At the end house someone is always slouched on a chair beside the stream, but I have not seen before in his work clothes.

Is this where the real one lives? He might not be a North Pole resident after all

The stream is higher than the path which is higher than the field. I assume this unnatural arrangement is connected to the provision of water power to the slitting mills that gave the village its name.

Stream (to the left) higher than path, higher than the field

Further along Mike took the path off to the left which climbs to a dam below a pool now used by anglers. I remember trying that some years ago, but there was no way through, so I went the long way, expecting Mike to catch me up after his detour. I was wrong, there is a short cut.

Slitting Mill and the Horns

Alison was looking after Francis from a distance, but others rallied round. Lee, a near neighbour, heroically mowed Francis’ lawn all summer and did other odd jobs, Mike gave lifts and sorted computer problems and we all met up with Francis for short walks on the Chase preceded by coffee or followed by lunch. When this became difficult, we took to meeting up at Francis’ local coffee shop. Some months ago, in consultation with his family, Francis decided to move to sheltered accommodation nearer to his daughter. This will probably happen early in the new year.

A slitting mill was a watermill that slit iron bars into rods as part of the nail making process. The first slitting mill was built here in 1611 and was followed by several others. The mills are long gone, but the village has appropriated their name. Slitting Mill today has 250 inhabitants and looks a pleasant place to live.

We have visited The Horns on several walks, but this is the first time it has featured in the Fish and Chip Walk. For the meal – fish and chips of course - the walkers were joined by Lynne, Hilary and, most importantly by Francis.

Lunch at The Horns, Slitting Mill
Left front to back, Lee, Brian, Francis, Mike, Alison T. Right f to b Hilary, Me, Lynne, Anne

The Horns did us proud, serving up nine portions in no time, the batter was crisp, the fish fresh and the smaller ‘lunchtime’ portion was more than ample.

Back to Rifle Range Corner

During our coffee shop gatherings there was talk of the Chip Walk, but nothing was done. Chatting with Lee after the last get-together we agreed action was urgently needed. I volunteered to organise the social side, fixing a date, booking a meal and so on, and Lee took on responsibility for designing a route. And so, this walk has come to pass. Lynne and I also invited Brian and Hilary to stay so Brian could take part. He was one of the original Chip Walkers until moving to Torquay in 2015, and walked the whole of the South West Odyssey, which by a convenient coincidence moved closer and closer to his new home with each passing year. I saw the walk as being a tribute to all Francis has done over the years, and the lunch as a farewell. It would have been incomplete without Brian.

It had been a long morning, almost 13km, and a longish lunch. The afternoon walk would be short because Lee needed to be home to do some tutoring and because there was little daylight left and, most importantly, because we wanted it to be. ‘Just 3km to make the 10 miles’ he said, mixing units with uniquely British flair.

We retraced our steps, crossing the bridge whose existence I had earlier doubted,...

Bridge over the Slitting Mill waterfall

...walking along the back of the houses, past Santa onto the road. Then, up the lane to the stables and back into the woods. To make our return journey as direct as possible we then turned right, crossed Stony Brook stepping stones…

Mike crosses the Stony Brook stepping stones

…and swung left past the Fairoak Pools.

The final Fairoak Pool

After the last pool there is a steepish climb up to Fairoak Lodge, it was the only real climb of the day, though the camera flattens it out (well, that is my excuse, anyway).

Up to Fairoak Lodge - steeper than it looks

As I laboured upwards, I saw Lee looking at his watch. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to run off,’ he said as I arrived. He left, as did Anne, the only person – in the absence of Francis – capable of keeping up with him.

It was not a long walk from there to the (unsurprisingly) deserted Tackeroo campsite and then down broad avenues back to the start. We reached the end at 4 o’clock, sunset had been 3.55, so we just had enough light to find the cars. According to Brian’s ap we had walked 10.54 miles in 4¼ hours, sticking to a steady 24mins per mile throughout.

Nearly there, though the sun is setting

I was exhausted, but it had been a good day, the Chip Walk Tradition had been upheld in robust fashion. It was also a sad day, Francis walked his last Chip Walk two years ago, though nobody realised it at the time. With his move this will probably be his last Chip Walk lunch, The tectonic plates have moved, the Walk is in new hands, though in my case not younger hands. It is up to Lee, Mike, Anne and me to ensure that new hands are safe hands.

Update: At the end of March 2024 Francis moved to sheltered accommodation in Didcot, near to his daughter, Heather. In June his son Matthew came from Australia on a long planned visit, bringing his two older daughters to see their grandparents. Some days after they left Francis suffered a heart attack and died peacefully in hospital on the 25th of June 2024 attended by Alison and Heather. A sad and rather premature end to a life well lived. Rest in peace, Francis.

See also Francis Crane MBE, January 2012

The Annual Fish and Chip Walks

The Nth: Cannock Chase in Snow and Ice (Dec 2010)
The (N + 1)th: Cannock Chase a Little Warmer (Dec 2011)
The (N + 2)th: Cannock Chase in Torrential Rain (Dec 2012)
The (N + 3)th: Cannock Chase in Winter Sunshine (Jan 2014)
The (N + 4)th: Cannock Chase Through Fresh Eyes (Dec 2014)
The (N + 5)th: Cannock Case, Dismal, Dismal, Dismal (Dec 2015)
The (N + 6)th: Cannock Chase Mild and Dry - So Much Better (Dec 2016)
The (N + 7)th: Cannock Chase, Venturing Further East (Jan 2018)
The (N + 8)th: Cannock Chase, Wind and Rain (Dec 2018)
The (N + 9)th: Cannock Chase, Freda's Grave at Last (Dec 2019)
The (N + 10)th: Cannock Chase in the Time of Covid (Dec 2020)
The (N + 11)th: Cannock Chase, Tussocks(Dec 2021)
Dec 2020 - no walk
The (N + 12)th: Cannock Chase, Shifting Tectonic Plates (Dec 2023)

Wednesday, 15 November 2023

London (1): Pictures and an Unusual Lunch

The National Portrait Gallery and Pick & Cheese

No Longer Neglecting London

I have been writing this blog since 2010 and have, so far, produced 548 posts covering 50 countries across four continents. Although I love foreign travel, I have not neglected home territory, 166 posts have a UK label, but until now, not one has involved the national capital.

London is 200km from home (as the crow flies), so much nearer and easier to get to than Shanghai or Mexico City, but they both have blogposts and Mexico City (Nov 2017) was some years after my nephew’s wedding, which occasioned my last London visit. I probably would not have gone now had not our daughter, Siân – who lives within the London commuter belt – suggested that Lynne and I join her for a jolly on her Wednesday day-off.

Nobody with an alternative would drive into London. Siân lives with her husband and two children in a village near Tring, so our journey started at Tring Station.

On Tring Station

Tring is a pleasant small town 50km north west of central London. It is undoubtedly the best English town named after a sound effect, less scary than Aaargh, livelier than Zzzzz and classier than Ding-a-ling (I blame Chuck Berry). It takes 40 minutes to reach London Euston where we dived into the underground and popped up a little later at Charing Cross.

City of Westminster
I like to head my posts with the flag or coat of arms of the place I am visiting, but Greater London, uniquely among England’s 48 Ceremonial Counties, has neither. However, each of its 32 boroughs has a Coat of Arms and we have just emerged in the City of Westminster - not just a borough but a city as well.

Greater London with the City of Westminster and Borough of Camden marked

Trafalgar Square

Charing Cross Station is by the bend in the river (by the 'r' of Westminster above). Also within the City of Westminster are the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, a couple of hundred metres upstream, and Buckingham Palace a similar distance west. They were not our targets for today, but the attractions of central London are closely packed, and just round the corner we found ourselves in Trafalgar Square, with Nelson’s Column straight in front of us.

Nelson's Column, Trafalgar Square in November sunshine

Sticking somebody on a column so high (52m) you can’t see them properly seems a strange way to celebrate their achievements, but building columns was popular in the 19th century.

The lions, designed by Sir Edwin (Monarch of the Glen) Landseer, guarding the bottom of the column are rather better.

One of the lions guarding the column (plus Siân and me)

I cannot remember when I lasted visited Trafalgar Square, but it was full of pigeons. There were once stalls selling pigeon food, but that was stopped in 2003 when Ken Livingstone also employed a hawk as a deterrent. There were undoubtedly too many, but are there now too few?

Disclaimer

The rest of this blog is about art or cheese. I have tried to ensure all facts are correct, but it would not be my blog if I did not occasionally offer my opinion. My qualifications for having opinions about art are zero. I do like looking at pictures, but any judgements I make, though thoughtfully considered, are dragged up from a deep well of ignorance.

I have no formal ‘cheese education’ either, but I have eaten a huge variety of cheeses from Oaxaca in the west to Yunnan Province in the east where the Yi ethnic minority make China’s one and only cheese - a hard goat’s milk cheese not unlike Ribblesdale. I must have learned something on the way

National Portrait Gallery

One side of Trafalgar Square is dominated by the vast bulk of the National Gallery, but we have all been there, Lynne and Siân quite recently, so we continued along Charing Cross Road to the back of the National Gallery where the National Portrait Gallery lurks like a poor relation. I am ashamed to say I had never been there before, but it is a fine place.

National Portrait Gallery

The Tudors

We started, almost by accident, among the Tudors. I love the painters' precision; they are almost photographic - though photographers are now rarely content with anything so literal. Many of the painters are unknown, indicating perhaps that they were thought of as craftsmen rather than artists. They had absorbed many of the technical advances of the Italian renaissance, but the cult of the artist was not yet so well established; it was the subject that brought prestige to the picture, not the painter.

Queen Elizabeth I

Many of them are familiar – they are the illustrations from school history books, and books all use the same pictures, because there are so few of them.

The portrait of William Shakespeare is by John Taylor (probably), and was painted from life (possibly). The less sophisticated likeness beside Shakespeare’s grave in Stratford was (probably) carved by Gerard Johnson who (perhaps) worked from a death mask.

William Shakespeare

There were some acknowledged artists, Hans Holbein the younger painted a portrait of Thomas Cromwell, Henry VIII’s chancellor - until his execution - now in the Frick collection in New York. The National Portrait gallery has an ‘after Hans Holbein’ copy.

Thomas Cromwell

I was disappointed not to see Hilary Mantell peaking over his shoulder. How could she have understood Cromwell so well without time travelling to Tudor England?

These are the best likenesses of Tudor people that exist, though they are not as precise as, say, 19th century paintings of botanical samples. The sitters were clients, whatever the status of the painter, they held the purse strings, and so expected to be flattered. One might wonder how much, if anything, Hans Eworth was paid for this portrait of Mary Neville and her son Gregory Fiennes, the 10th Baron Dacre.

Mary Neville and he son Gregory Fiennes

The Rest

Later paintings that caught my eye include, Kitty Fisher (1741-67) by Nathaniel Hone 1765

Kitty Fisher was a courtesan, launched into high society as a teenager by a client, though which client is disputed. Famed for her beauty and wit, she had affairs with several wealthy men, and had her portrait painted by Joshua Reynolds (as well as the lesser-known Nathaniel Hone). We ‘met’ her at Croome Court where, aged 17, she became the mistress of the owner, Lord Coventry (aged 57). She enjoyed a spirited rivalry with Maria Gunning (Lady Coventry) whose career was not that different, but being the daughter of an impoverished aristocrat she had been able to marry her conquest. Both women died in their 20s, Maria Gunning poisoned by the arsenic in her makeup, Kitty Fisher from tuberculosis or smallpox – or maybe also of arsenic poisoning. Is this picture more than just a celebration of child abuse?

Kitty Fisher. He has caught some sort puckish vivacity
and I like the visual pun of the cat fishing in the right hand corner

Erasmus Darwin (1731-1802) after Joseph Wright of Derby 1770s

Doctor and polymath, Erasmus Darwin was a member of the Lunar Society of Birmingham, an informal dining club and learned society which met regularly from 1765 to 1813, sometimes in Darwin’s house in Lichfield (we visited 2017). His writings discussed the possibility of different animals evolving from common ancestors, an idea his grandson, Charles Darwin, would pick up and run with.

Erasmus Darwin

George Chinnery (1774-1852) self-portrait c1840.

Born in London, Chinnery left for Chennai in 1802 aged 28 and spent the remaining 50 years of his life in Asia, the last 27 in Macau. He painted portraits of the rich and powerful, both Asians and Europeans and as the only European painter resident in Southern China in the mid-early 19th century, his depictions of the life of ordinary people and the landscape of the Pearl River Delta are especially important. His paintings can be seen in the British Museum, the V&A and various galleries in the USA, Hong Kong and Macau. We first 'met' him in Macau, where he is among the more notable residents of the Old Protestant Cemetery.

George Chinnery

Siân takes a selfie with ‘her boys’ from ‘GCSE Lit context’.

Siân and a couple of her 'boys' (Locke, Hobbes and crew)

Marcus Rashford (b1997) photographed by Misan Harriman 2020

A couple of years ago, when footballer Marcus Rashford was one of my Christmas heroes, for his successful free school meals campaign, I had difficulty finding a photograph I was free to use, so here he is now.

Marcus Rashford

In Tudor times, images were rare and treated with reverence. Today they are cheap and easy to make – and everybody knows what the subject looks like anyway - so the photographer plays with us by hiding half of his subject’s face.

Seven Dials


Camden
From the gallery we took a short walk into the Borough of Camden and the interesting – and to me previously unknown - Seven Dials district. Seven narrow roads converge on a small square where an obelisk supports 6 (not 7!) sundials. Next to the theatre district, this was once the place theatregoers strayed if they wished to encounter a cutpurse (much more romantic than a ‘mugger’) or contract a sexually transmitted disease.

The sundial column was erected in 1684 but demolished in 1773 to "rid the area of undesirables." There is nothing new about tackling a problem from the wrong end!

I failed to take a photograph of the modern 7 Dials, so here is George Cruikshank's 1836 view

It was a place of appalling poverty where misery clings to misery for a little warmth, and want and disease lie down side-by-side, and groan together, as Keats cheerily put it.

Seven Dials was tarted up in the 1970s and became a conservation area, a new pillar being unveiled in 1993.

In one of the seven streets is Seven Dials market which describes itself as a chic multi-level food court with dozens of micro-restaurants & bars. Our destination was Pick & Cheese, which might indeed be a micro-restaurant.

Pick & Cheese

As my father discovered to his chagrin, our children are their own people, not clones of their parents. Armed with that knowledge I happily accept Siân’s interest in manga comics and Studio Ghibli films and her dismissal of competitive physical endeavour as ‘sportball.’ But it would be odd and dispiriting if we had nothing in common and cheese is one of our areas of mutual interest. We both enjoy cheese and like to seek out new and different examples – Siân refers to ‘curating a cheese board,’ and I now shamelessly borrow the expression as if it were my own. Ironically, my father would have enjoyed this experience, too, while my mother, who regarded all cheese with horror, would not have come through the door.

Pick & Cheese uses a conveyor belt like those more usually found in Japanese restaurants to serve up endless plates of British (and one Irish) artisan cheeses. Each has its accompaniment ranging from predictable (tomato chutney with Keens Cheddar) to ‘are they serious?’ (fudge with Cornish Gouda). The odd plate of charcuterie aside, that is all they serve. Siân had visited before with a ‘birthday voucher’ and thought that her parents would enjoy the experience.

Here comes the cheese, Pick & Cheese

The colour coded plates cost between £4 and £5.50 and you can quickly run up a sizeable bill. To avoid this, we had bought 'bottomless plates' giving unlimited access to the cheese for 1hr 15mins, they are not cheap, but we would have spent far more without them.

Lynne and Siân drank a glass of tawny port each while I enjoyed my Jurançon from the foothills of the Pyrenees. It is a sweet, golden wine focussed by a refreshing streak of acidity.

The Cheese

What follows is just a taste of the tasting. I have photographs and comments for every cheese I ate, but I realise not everyone is as invested in the Adoration of the Fromage as I am, so I will confine myself to five favourites. In no particular order they are:

Dazel Ash

One of two cheeses on the conveyor belt made by Chris and Clare Combes for Rosary Goat’s Cheeses on the edge of the New Forest in Hampshire. They use the milk from their own herd of British Saanen goats.

Dazel Ash with rosemary honey and shortbread

Dazel Ash is a goat log made from pasteurised milk and rolled in ash which matures into a crinkled edible rind. The slightest drizzle of rosemary honey brings the best out of this lovely soft cheese.

Truffled Baron Bigod

The five Barons Bigod (two Hughs and three Rogers) were Earls of Norfolk from 1095 to 1306. Their fiefdom included the land near Bungay where Jonny Crickmore’s Fen Farm now stands. He uses milk from his own Montbeliard herd to produce a cheese based on Brie-de-Meaux which he calls Baron Bigod (pronounced by-god). To produce Truffled Baron Bigod a thin layer of truffle-infused Fen Farm mascarpone is inserted. The cheeses mingle as the mature Bigod oozes, resulting in lingering flavours of warm earth, farmyard and mushrooms. This is as sumptuous as cheese gets.

Truffled Baron Bigod

Achari Spiced Salami

Taking a break from the cheese: 2011 Master Chef finalist Tom Whitaker and 2014 winner Dhruv Baker make artisan charcuterie at Weybridge in Surrey where they butcher, ferment, cure and age all their products.

Achari is spiced with fennel seeds, Tellicherry black pepper and fenugreek. Fine salami with the fennel’s gentle liquorice overlay proved an excellent refresher before more cheese.

Achari Spiced Salami

We passed through Tellicherry (or Thalasseri) while driving down the Malabar Coast in 2010. Pepper grows like a weed throughout Kerala and I was unaware that Tellicherry pepper was any different from the rest.

Spenwood

Spenwood is a hard sheep’s cheese inspired by Sardinian Pecorino. Anne Wigmore started Village Maid Cheeses in 1986 in Spencers Wood, near Reading and Spenwood was her first product.

Spenwood with mushroom duxelles

Like Pecorino Spenwood, is firm, nutty, sweet and salty. Lovely stuff.

Yarlington

Yarlington is a collaboration between King Stone Dairy in Chedwoth, Gloucestershire, and Yarlington Mill cider. During maturation the forming rind is periodically washed with cider.

Yarlington with candied peanuts

The better-known Stinking Bishop is made similarly, though using perry instead of cider. Yarlington may be less pungent, but it resembles the odorous prelate in its surprisingly well-mannered flavour. It is a fine cheese, though pairing it with candied peanuts seemed…well… odd.

At this stage Siân took a photograph. Apparently, Lynne thinks I have had enough cheese…

Someone thinks I've had enough

…but I was not finished yet....

Lincolnshire Red

Simon Jones started making Lincolnshire Poacher on the family dairy farm beside the Lincolnshire Wolds in the early 90s. Now working with his brother Tim and cheesemaker Richard Tagg, almost all the milk from their 230 Holstein Frisians is used for cheese.

Lincolnshire Red and chilli green

While most British artisan cheesemakers look towards France or Italy for inspiration (Lincolnshire Poacher owes something to Comté as well as Farmhouse Cheddar) Lincolnshire Red has a local inspiration being based on the traditional Red Leicester recipe. Matured for 6 months, Lincolnshire Red has a moist creamy texture, a delicate buttery flavour and a clean, lingering finish. It went well with the lower two thirds of the chilli, but no cheese on earth could have coped with fiery top third.

Cheesy Afterthoughts

There is a limit to how much cheese can be eaten at one sitting. I gave up after 45 mins of our allotted 75, Siân had also had enough by then, Lynne would have stopped earlier. Tasting this array of artisan cheeses was a wonderful experience, but despite the variety of styles, it is all cheese and after 45 minutes the palate tires.

There were 25 numbered plates on the menu (though I am unsure if all were available). One was a plate of pickles, three were charcuterie, the other 21 were cheeses. Of these 1 was Irish, the other 20 British - 12 from the south of England, 6 from the Midlands, 1 from the North and 1 from Wales which may show regional bias, or maybe it is just that London is in the south.

16 were made from cows’ milk, 3 from goats’, 1 from sheep and 1 cow/sheep combined. I imagine this roughly reflects the traditional British breakdown.

Factory cheesemakers use pasteurised milk, artisan cheesemakers have the freedom to use unpasteurised (raw) milk. I have eaten some excellent unpasteurised cheeses over the years and have come to assume the best always come from raw milk. That may not necessarily by true, 13 of these were made from pasteurised milk, 7 from raw and 1 used ‘thermised’ milk (pasteurised light). The debate is complicated and Formaggio Kitchen has an informative blog on this subject.

And so, we headed home, the rail links worked perfectly and Siân was in plenty for the necessary child collections.

Finally, a big ‘thank you’ to Siân for thinking up and organising this day out for us. I liked the art, even though I know little about it, and I loved the cheese. I also rather enjoyed being in London, perhaps we should go there again. I have called this post London (1), so maybe there will be a London (2).

Thursday, 28 September 2023

Serpa

A Tiny Alentejo City with Several Layers

So Where are We, and Why are We There?


Portugal
Serpa
As has been our habit for some years, we headed north for a couple of days in the less touristy Alentejo as a prelude to our regular fortnight in the fleshpots of the Algarve.

This year our chosen destination was the small city of Serpa, the population centre of a municipality of the same name which lies between the Spanish border and the regional capital of Beja (visited 2018). Many readers may never have heard of Serpa, but Serpa cheese is one of only a dozen or so Portuguese cheeses with Protected Designation of Origen status, and for a committed turophile, that is reason enough to visit.

Southern Portugal
Serpa can be found half way between the regional capital of Beja and the Spanish Border

As ever, we landed at Faro Airport and once through the formalities and equipped with a hire car we joined the A22 Motorway (Autoestrada/Freeway etc) heading east. After 50km, just before the Spanish border, we turned towards Serpa, 80km north as the crow flies. We followed the main road for much of the journey, but eventually that veers off towards Beja and we took a more rural route to our destination.

Serpa: The Basics

The Municipality of Serpa covers 1,000km² but has a population of only 13,000 at the 2021 census, an 18% decrease in 20 years. The City of Serpa has 6,000 inhabitants, maybe more a small town than a city, you might think, but city status was granted in 2003. Many modestly sized Portuguese towns have become cities in recent decades, the criteria for the upgrade are deliberately vague and allow plenty of wiggle room. The intention is to boost the local economy and self-confidence, though city status means little more than a change of letter head.

The area is largely agricultural, and although Portuguese farms were slow to mechanise in the middle of the last century, they have been busy catching up, with the inevitable decline in agricultural employment. On the plus side Serpa is two hours’ drive from Lisbon and is a popular location for well-off urbanites' second homes.

During our time in Serpa we found it was a city of layers, like an onion, so instead of going through our stay in chronological order, I intend to peel Serpa, removing the newer layers one by one until we find evidence of Roman occupation.

Peeling the Serpa Onion: (1) Surroundings

My clever analogy almost falls apart at the start. No-one peels an onion by first examining the soil around it, but cities and onions are products of the soil, so it important to look around.

Like most old settlements Serpa is on a high point, which was useful for photographing the surroundings. Serpa sits towards the eastern edge of the vast Alentejo plain, the bread basket of Portugal throughout recorded history. The land is beginning to change here, but wheat grows to the north and west, and like every other Alentejo town, Serpa has its grain silos.

Serpa grain silo, with Beja on the horizon on left

On the next major rise it is possible to make out the white buildings of Beja, some 25km northwest.

Looking south and west the crops being to change, with the muted green of olive trees and the brighter green of oranges replacing the cereals.

Olives, oranges and distant vines, serpa

On the gentle slopes beyond are the vineyards of the Encostas de Serpa, not (yet) a protected name, the wine is designated Vinho Regional Alentejano, but the use of the name suggest ambition.

Encostas de Serpa Syrah
A soft, fruity wine for convivial swilling

(2) The Onion Skin and First Layer

The skin of the onion is made up of the N260 which by-passes Serpa on the east and north side and the Circular Interna da Serpa which, despite being named ‘Interna,’ largely follows the edge of the built up area to the south and west.

Lining the Circular Interna are schools, the stadium of Serpa Football Club, two supermarkets (Intermarché and Lidl), an open-air 50m swimming pool and a couple of factories. On the N260 there is a car wash.

The first layer is fatter and juicier on the southern/western side. It includes a modern municipal market. We reached Serpa too late for the market on our first day, but took the opportunity to rehydrate at the café.

Rehydrating at the municipal market, Serpa

Serpa Cheese

One room is dedicated to a display about Serpa cheese. There is little see, but plenty to read, so here is the essential information:

Serpa cheese information room, municipal market

Like most Alentejo cheeses, Serpa is made from unpasteurised sheep’s milk, curdled using an extract from the cardoon thistle. It is a semi soft cheese (amanteigado (lit: buttery) in Portuguese) with a pronounced tang. For more see TheAlentejo: Eating and Drinking 2024.

Queijo de Serpa

Jardim Abade Correia de Serra

A short walk away is the Jardim Abade Correia de Serra, a pleasant garden opened in 2017 with winding paths, shady trees, a pond or two….

Jardim Abade Correia de Serra, Serpa

…and a surprise cactus grove.

Cactus, Jardim Abade Correia de Serra, Serpa

It is a good place to sit in the shade, switch on ‘Merlin*’ and find out what birds it hears. Many are familiar, but it in Serpa I logged my first Green Sandpiper (they can be found, in the UK, but not by me – yet), Short-toed Treecreeper and Spotless Starling.

(3) Outside the Walls

The ancient olive trees opposite the garden’s entrance hint that we are on the edge of an older layer of town. Amongst the olives is a statue of JosĂ© Francisco Correia de Serra for whom the garden is named. Born in Serpa in 1750, he was a scientist, diplomat and polymath. He made important contributions both to botany and geology, played a crucial role in the creation of the Lisbon Academy of Sciences, and served as a diplomat in the United States, 1816-20.

José Francisco Correia da Serra

Some parts of this layer are characterised by small squares with roads branching off at all angles. We stayed at the charming Hotel Beatriz in one such square, Largo San Salvador. Small and family run (I think) the interior was bright, modern, spotlessly clean and comfortable. I have borrowed a photo from their website as I failed to take one myself….

Hotel Beatriz, Serpa

…but I do have a nighttime photo of the church across the square.

San Salvador

Finding the hotel was a problem, partly because the satnav misplaced it slightly (corrected now), but more because the road arrangements are not satnav friendly. ‘In 50m turn half-right’ sounds straightforward but when you get there and survey the collection of roads and tiny passages, you wonder ‘which is half-right? We failed twice, the road system spitting us out onto the Circular Interna.

Elsewhere in this layer we encountered long, straight roads like the Rua dos Lagares (Street of Wine Presses), where orange trees shaded the pavement…

Rua dos Lagares

…and dogs watching from balconies.

Dog on a balcony, Rua dos Lagares

While roads off to the right seemed to narrow once they had passed through an arch. We were clearly walking along the boundary of a, walled city.

Street into the walled city from Rua dos Lagares

The Aqueduct

The wall turn turns right at the end of Rua dos Lagares, and behind one of Serpa’s fine old olive trees, suddenly turns into an aqueduct.

Lynne, an olive tree and the Serpa aqueduct

Above a spring on the street corner, a pump once lifted water up to aqueduct height…

The pump, Serpa aqueduct

…and fed it across a series of arches and past two towers….

Through two towers

….and into the Palácio dos Condes de Ficalho (Palace of the Counts of Ficalho).

Serpa Aqueduct enters the palace

Sources agree the wall is 11th century, some say the aqueduct is, too – but that seems unlikely. The authoritative looking Structurae dates the construction to 1690 which looks right.

Most aqueducts, the Evora aqueduct being the closest, bring water from a distant source into a city for the benefit of all. This expensive and ostentation stonework built by the Melho family, later Counts of Ficalhio, brings water 200m from a spring to their own house. I would like to think it was, at least a ‘workfare’ project, but I can find no information on the matter.

(4) Within the Walls

Inside the walls is an unreliable grid of narrow streets, many pedestrians only.

Serpa: inside the walls

Most wandering will arrive at the central square, home to the Camara Municipal and the Restaurant O Alentejano where we dined twice – once on purpose and once because nowhere else was open.

Serpa Camara Municipal

Our third evening meal (at MolhĂł Bico) was nearby so many of my photos were taken in the dark. Our Serpa dinners are discussed in The Alentejo: Eating and Drinking.

There are places where wandering narrow alleys late at night is asking for trouble. Serpa, its streets bathed in sodium yellow light, seems almost misty, but utterly benign.

Elderly local lady on a mission, Serpa

Mario BeirĂŁo

On a (daylight) wall we found a poem by Beja-born Mario BeirĂŁo.

Poem on a wall, Serpa

My improvement(?) of Google Translate's version reads:

Oh, I do not know how to pronounce the wonder
That bewitches Serpa at night when round
Her walls the past and a choir in waves
Foam and crash at the gates of Seville

Perhaps some punctuation would help in line 3, and the reference to the gates of Seville is beyond me. I lack context and knowledge of Portuguese colloquialisms. Help, anyone?

BeirĂŁo (1890-1965) was a neo-Romantic poet. Although highly regarded by some, he was a supporter of the tyrant AntĂłnio de Oliveira Salazar whose Estado Novo held back Portuguese development from 1932-74.

Museu de RelĂłgio

Two small blocks from the Camara Municipal is the Museu de RelĂłgio, the Museum of Timepieces (RelĂłgio means both clock and watch.)

António Tavares d'Almeida (1933-2021) collected clocks and watches throughout his life. Part of his collection is in the Museum of Time in Évora, but most of it is in Serpa where 3,000 exhibits fill ten rooms of a 16th century nunnery.

There are inexpensive watches….

Inexpensive watches, Serpa Museum

….and more expensive watches.

Seikos can cost £2,000+

I know little about expensive watches, I cannot imagine why someone should pay £30,000 for a wristwatch, which is seen by few, recognised by even fewer and needs to be insured. I wear a cheap Casio, which keeps perfect time for a couple of years (what more do I want a watch to do?), then the strap breaks and I buy another. I aspire to nothing more - except repairable straps.

There are long case clocks and cuckoo clocks,…

Long Case clocks and cuckoo clocks, Serpa

…wall clocks, mantlepiece clocks and more.

Wall clocks and mantlepiece clocks, Serpa

Being in a room full of clocks when they all strike the hour, starting at different times and chiming with different notes and tempos, is a delight – though not one I would enjoy 24 times a day.

Approaching the Castle

Most of the area within the walls lies below the surrounding city, but just north of the central square a set of stone steps takes you to higher ground. Near the bottom of the steps we paused for coffee at a tiny cafĂ© - two tables outside, two more inside. Here a cafĂ© con leite - a traditional Portuguese coffee close(ish) to a cappuccino, though less frothy, rather stronger and much smaller than the travesty of the Italian original sold in swimming pool sized cups throughout the UK and North America - costs 0.70€ (that is £0.60, or $0.80). The touristy Algarve is rather more expensive.

Coffee break Digression over, we continue up the steps past the clocktower…

The Clocktower

…to a small square dominated by the Parish Church of Santa Maria.

Santa Maria, Serpa

Down the side of the church a narrow lane gives access to the innermost layer of the onion….

To Serpa Castle

(5) The Castle

As the previous photo shows, a portion of the keep has fallen over the entrance.

Fallen keep, Serpa Castle

There was a Roman fort on this site, but most existing walls were constructed by the Moors. Serpa is 20km from the Spanish border, so it is hardly surprising the castle was once garrisoned by Castilian forces and the city’s first Foral (charter) was granted by the King Alfonso X of Castille in 1281.

Despite the Christian kingdoms being in alliance against the Moors, they were not above taking a swipe at each other. By the time the Reconquista was completed in Portugal, Serpa was in Portuguese hands and a new Foral was issued by King Diniz of Portugal in 1295.

The castle was strengthened and enlarged, but saw little military action for the next 400 years. It remained largely unchanged, tall stone walls with a keep and tower or two, surrounding a square courtyard.

Serpa Castle from the top of the remaining tower

In 1701 Charles II of Spain died without an heir. There were two claimants and the European powers lined up behind one or the other and went to war. Portugal tried to remain neutral, but geography was against them. In 1703 they were persuaded to join with the Grand Alliance of the Holy Roman Empire, Great Britain and the Durch Republic. The Alentejo became something of a battleground and an engagement in 1707 resulted in the semi-demolition of Serpa’s keep. It has not been repaired, the time of castles had passed and it was quite safe as it was.

There is little to see but you can climb he tower and walk most of the way round the walls.

Walking round the walls

Several views beyond the city were used in Part (1), but there are also good views of the aqueduct….

The aqueduct

…and the church and clocktower.

Clocktower and Parish Church

At the start I promised to peel Serpa starting with the modern town and ending with evidence of Roman occupation. And that is what we have reached.

Decorative Roman frieze, Serpa Castle

On display in the castle courtyard are seeral pieces of stonework and a decorative frieze from a Roman villa in the nearby village of Brinches.

And Finally…

…we arrive at the end of this post. Serpa is a tiny city, it is also a quiet city – it has little to attract a party animal or adrenalin junkie; but for people who take pleasure in the understated grandeur of rural Portugal, Serpa is a gem. And a fine cheese, to boot.

*The Merlin ap is produced by Cornell University and is a free download. Download a bird database for where you are - in this case the Iberian Peninsula - and the ap will record and identify the birds you hear. You can report your findings, and the ap keeps a 'life list' of the birds you have heard,