The Stone Circle (1): Swynnerton to Fulford

The First of Three Sections of a 60Km Circular Walk around the Town of Stone

Staffordshire

Stafford Borough

Over a thousand stone circles survive in Britain and Ireland from the Neolithic and early Bronze Ages. This post is about none of them.

This Stone Circle is a 60 km circular walk centred on the Staffordshire town of Stone. We are indebted to Stone Ramblers, who designed and way-marked the Stone Circles Challenge, though Francis has planned occasional variations from their route to arrive at an appropriate pub at lunchtime or pass through an area of particular interest. Unintentional variations may crop up later, but navigation in Part 1 presented few problems.

Alison, Francis, Brian, David and Mike preparing to set off, Swynnerton

Swynnerton to Tittensor via Beech

Despite my protestations and offers of help, Lynne insisted on cooking us all bacon and eggs, then we donned our boots and set off towards Beech. From the upper lane out of the village (sometimes known as Stabb Lane, for reasons lost in the mists of time) it becomes clear how exposed Swynnerton is, with no higher ground to provide protection from the prevailing westerlies. Unsurprisingly, we endure a dank and chilly microclimate. On a bright day the views are extensive with the Wrekin, 20 miles distant, in the fore ground, and the Long Mynd, and even the Berwyns 50 miles away in mid-Wales clearly visible. So why does my photograph show Alison, Francis and Brian looking at Swynnerton’s Millennium Topograph rather than the view itself? Because on a clear day you can see all these wonders - on Saturday we could just make out a blurry lump in the mist where the Wrekin ought to be.

Looking at the topograph, not the view, Swynnerton Millennium Topograph

The path to Beech starts as a green lane between fields still bare in early March, though the hedgerow broom was beginning to flower. A flock of fieldfares wheeled beside us; according to Francis they should have already left for their summer residences in Scandinavia, but they had clearly not read the textbook. A pair of buzzards quartered the same field watching for small careless mammals. As the path dipped into the woods a flash of colour signalled the first of several jays we would see in the day.

Beech is small, even for a hamlet. We turned east down a metalled lane to approach the M6 bridge. Mike questioned if it was the right motorway crossing. ‘Shouldn’t we have gone through Beach first?’ he asked. It really is that memorable.

The M6 Staffordshire

We crossed the M6. I post the picture above merely to put it alongside that of another road also designated as the M6 in its national classification. This M6 is the main road connecting Gyumri and Vanadzor, the largest towns in northern Armenia. And we complain about potholes.

The M6, Gyumri to Vanadzor, Armenia

We emerged on Winghouse Lane outside Tittensor by a large private duck pond. I have driven past it many times, but never stopped to look. Brian and Francis excitedly identified teals, pintails, tufted ducks and mandarins. When Francis spotted a smew joy was unconfined. Smew sounds like an ailment in a Victorian novel (Aunt Glegg, being severely discomfited by as nasty a case of the Smew as ever…), but is, apparently, a particularly handsome duck. I spotted none of my favourites, confit, Beijing and à l’orange.

Tittensor, Barlaston and on to Downs Bank

Reaching Tittensor via a more natural but less well-populated lake, we enjoyed an unnecessarily long meander through the houses to locate and cross the A34. Beyond the village we descended to a footbridge over the River Trent. It is hard to believe this insignificant stream becomes one of England’s largest rivers. Mike said he once canoed the Trent from above here to past Stafford. On a warm day with the high banks restricting visibility, he said it reminded him of the Dordogne. I closed my eyes and squinted; I flooded the area with mental sunshine, but eventually had to admit that Mike has a better imagination than me – either that or he is delusional.

The Trent (or is the Dordogne?) near Tittensor

Across the water meadows we reached Barlaston and paused for coffee by the Trent and Mersey canal. The local mallards were doing what mallards do, which in spring is gang rape. I am sure no cultured smew on a duckpond would ever do such a thing.

The Trent & Mersey Canal, Barlaston

Modern lines of communication, like the M6, power in and out of the Trent Valley at their pleasure, but the eighteenth century canal and the nineteenth century railway run side by side along the valley bottom. Walking a kilometre up the canal towpath took us from Barlaston Station to Wedgwood Station where we crossed the canal bridge and then the railway. The Wedgwood factory moved from Etruria to its current, somewhat improbable, parkland setting in 1940 and Wedgwood station was opened the same year. There are fewer workers now and those that remain never come to work by rail as no trains stop at either Wedgwood or Barlaston – though oddly neither station is officially closed.

Having zigged up the canal, we zagged back across the fields past Barlaston Hall. The Hall was built in 1786 as a manor house and was later home to the Wedgwood Memorial College. The College moved out when the building was seriously damaged by mining subsidence. After threats of demolition, the house was sold in 1981 to SAVE British Heritage for £1. Now restored it is again a private residence.

Barlaston Hall

Given the eccentricity of our route and the village’s elongated S-shape, we should not have been surprised that two kilometres after passing Barlaston station we found ourselves re-entering Barlaston. A quick stroll round the boundary at the cricket club took us out into the fields again where we deviated from the Stone Circles route, turning south towards Downs Banks.

Downs Bank, Oulton and up to Moddershall

We reached Downs Bank only after wading through a kilometre of country odours, first pig effluent then silage. The 67-hectare glacial valley was donated to the National Trust in 1950 by John Joule of Stone’s long defunct but still missed Joule's Brewery. A pleasing piece of countryside, it functions officially as a nature reserve, and unofficially as a dog-walking facility.

From the end of the valley we climbed to the village of Oulton with its collection of attractive brick buildings - Oulton Grange, Oulton Hall and Oulton Abbey - all hiding behind equally attractive but not so photogenic brick walls.

After a couple of pints of Timothy Taylor’s ‘Landlord’ and a bite to eat at the Wheatsheaf we descended to the Stone/Meir Road, and climbed up the other side toward Moddershall. It was a stiff climb, the last part under the watchful eye of a young but sizeable bull who allowed us to proceed unmolested once he realised that we were not interested in any of his ladies.

Mike and Brian climb towards Moddershall

Past Idlerocks, Over Stallington Heath and on to Fulford

By the Boar Inn we entered the Idlerocks defile. There is nothing obviously indolent about the local geology, but the path at the valley bottom is narrow and the drainage ditch deep. Foot watching seemed important, but we did not miss the deer on the skyline observing our passing.

A Deer watching us from the skyline, Idlerocks

At the top of the defile the valley opens out and a moment’s map consultation was called for before proceeding up to Stallington Heath.

A moment's map consultation

Stallington Heath greeted us with a large padlocked gate labelled ‘Danger – do not enter’. Next to it was an open gate and a ‘public footpath’ sign. We followed the footpath through deciduous woodland, the floor carpeted with last season’s leaves. What was ‘dangerous’ about the larger parallel track was not obvious, unless the inhabitants of Fulford have taken to mining the approaches to their village. Our path became narrower and muddier and we found eventually ourselves pushing past rhododendrons just coming into bud.

Stallington Heath

Reaching a minor road, we strode into Fulford where Brian’s car had previously been parked.

It was a pleasant day’s walk with perhaps a little more tarmac and housing estates than the ideal, but warm enough for early March and, most importantly, dry (almost) all day. We walked some 18 km, though finishing less than 12 kilometres from where we started. That is the first third of the Stone Circle completed. Part 2 will be on the 9th of April.

The Stone Circle

Part 1: Swynnerton to Fulford
Part 2: Fulford to Sandon Bank
Part 3: Sandon Bank to Swynnerton

On the Current Troubles: Libya

The Great SPLAJ – the ‘Great Socialist People’s Libyan Arab Jamahiriya’ is a very different country from Egypt. It is twice the size but has one eighth as many people, and the presence of oil has ensured that those people are, on average, four or five times wealthier their Egyptian cousins. The Egyptians are almost all Arabs, while the Libyans are a much intermarried mix of Arabs and Berbers - along with a few Tuaregs and minority groups.

The Waterfront, Tripoli

We visited Libya in 2006, flying to Tripoli and on to Benghazi before driving back to Tripoli along the coast, then south to the oasis town of Ghadames. Ghadames is 300 km south of Tripoli; another 1000 km of desert lie beyond. Most of Libya is uninhabited and uninhabitable, with the vast majority of Libyans living in cities along the coastal strip.

Cyrene

Our trip concentrated not on politics but on the remarkable remains of the Greek cities near Benghazi, - Ptolomais, Apollonia and Cyrene - on the Roman remains near Tripoli - Leptis Magna and Sabratha – the Berber towns of the Jebel Nafousa and the oasis of Ghadames. But politics can never be completely ignored.

Migrant workers await employement while the Colonel looks away, Derj

Libya’s relative wealth drags in migrant workers, few of them legal. In 2010, on the Egyptian coastal road through Mersa Matrouh and on to Alexandria, we saw many packed minibuses, their height doubled by a precarious stack of newly acquired household goods, bringing Egyptian workers home from Libya. In Zliten, a distinctly edgy town 200 km east of Tripoli, we sat discreetly on a park bench beside a roundabout and watched a hundred or more migrant workers, mainly from south of the Sahara, squatting on the pavement, the tools of their trade before them. Occasionally a Honda pick-up would drive round the circle, blowing its horn. Men ran towards the truck, a lucky few would be selected and taken away for a few hours much needed work. Libya has no minimum wage and these were desperate men willing to work for almost nothing; unemployment among Libyans is high.

Looking up the Colonel's nose, Al-Kabir Hotel, Tripoli

Unlike Hosni Mubarak, Colonel Gaddafi set out to generate a personality cult. He intended to make his little green book as ubiquitous in Libya as Mao’s little red book once was in China. He failed, but every Libyan city has its quota of banners bearing his image draped down the sides of buildings. His stance is invariably ramrod straight with his head held back and his nostril flared, reminiscent of Mussolini (Libya was ruled by Italy from 1911 to 1943). No doubt, he believes the pose exemplifies nobility and power, I merely wonder why he wants me to look up his nose.

Gaddafi is unstable and erratic, which is perhaps why his personality cult never took off. The people fear him, with good reason, but we saw plenty of evidence that they do not respect him. When we started joking about the images of Gaddafi, 'A' (our much travelled Berber guide whose experiences included a spell cooking pizzas on Tyneside) was quick to join in. T-shirts bearing the colonel’s image are widely available, but I never saw anybody wearing one. When I bought one the stallholder was well aware that the purchase was made in a spirit of irony rather than awe, and made no effort to hide his contempt for Gaddafi. One floor of the otherwise excellent Jamahiriya Museum in Tripoli is dedicated to Gaddafi memorabilia; his green book translated into many languages (and unread in most), his 1957 Volkswagen, and more photos than even his mother could bear to look at. M, who showed us round Tripoli, sneered as he told us about it. When we got there, the gallery was closed. The museum official charged with conveying that information seemed embarrassed that it existed at all.

The Berber town of Kabaw in the Jebel Nafousa

The Libyan people are largely good-natured and philosophical. They have never had much say in who their rulers are, so they merely shrug their shoulders and get on with it. Many laugh at Gaddafi behind his back, but opposition is neither easy nor safe, so they have tended to work round the problem; that was until last week.

Hosni Mubarak was a bureaucrat whose regime became old and sclerotic, Muammar al-Gaddafi is much more of a classical tyrant. He will fight back harder than Mubarak, and with fewer scruples but, as we have already seen, he cannot rely on personal loyalty. It is time for the Libyan people to consign this monster to the dustbin of history. As A might say, Haway the Berbers.

Lynne at the mudbrick fortified granary of Qasr al-Haj

Cairo Before the Revolution (which might as well have never hapened)

Explanatory Note

This post was written during the 'Arab Spring' about a visit in August the previous year (before I started blogging). Nobody yet knew that the revolution would remove President Mubarak and there would be free and fair elections and a new regime. And that would be where the good news stopped.

Most demonstrators were (I think) hoping for a new liberal, secular Egypt, but that view made little impression at the ballot-box and they got Mohamed Morsi, leader of the Muslim Brotherhood. Morsi never stood a chance, the levers of power remained in the hands of the military and the Americans wanted another 'strong man' they could deal with. He was deposed in July 2013 in a military coup. General Abdel Fatah el-Sisi became president and regularised his position with the usual fraudulent election. The Revolution was over; everything had changed, and nothing had changed.

Return to Cairo - First Impressions

We spent a week in Cairo last July. It was hot, dusty and crowded, but there was no sign of a revolution. Not since 1980 have we spent more than a day or two in the city, so we saw many changes, some expected, others more surprising.

The 6th of October Bridge

The Cairo of 2010 is a much tidier and neater city. It has far to go before it gleams like Seattle or Guilin, and you still need to watch your feet to avoid falling into holes or tripping over protruding cables, but at least it no longer resembles a building site after a typhoon. The traffic is calmer too, though a first time visitor might find that hard to believe. The standard of driving has improved little, but modern road systems impose their own discipline, and the donkey carts that roamed the streets following a set of rules entirely of their own, have (almost) all gone. You no longer see the foul-smelling heavy green rubbish carts, pulled by tired horses and driven by boys as tired as their horses and malodorous as their cargo. I do not know how modern Cairo deals with its waste, but I hope the sons and daughters of these rubbish boys are now at school, where they ought to be. Dress has changed, too. In 1980, my memory claims that only a minority of woman wore headscarves and there were no veiled faces. Now headscarves are almost universal, while veils are not uncommon. Men, on the other hand, have overwhelmingly taken to western dress, while thirty years ago about a quarter wore Arab costume.

Our room in the Ramses Hilton faced the Nile, but the other side of the building overlooks the 6th of October flyover and the bus station beneath. Although the main action in the last few weeks has been in Tahrir Square, two blocks south, we have seen many television pictures of crowds milling, or charging, under the flyover, and of tanks creating barriers from overturned vehicles. Never have rooms on the ‘wrong’ side of this hotel been so popular.

Ours was an unusual visit to Cairo as we made no attempt to visit the pyramids. We saw them in 2009 and 1980 (and in 1965, in my case) so this time we looked at some of Cairo’s less ancient – though still old - monuments. We could not, though, resist the lure of the Egyptian museum, just beyond the bus station, and prominent in recent TV pictures. The collection is disorganised but magnificent. Building work has started on a new the museum and after the move I hope it will still be magnificent but better organised.

The Cairo Citadel

Cairo’s citadel sits on a rocky outcrop some 3 km southwest of Tahrir Square. The fortified complex was begun by Salah al-Din (Saladin) in the twelfth century, though its crowning glory, the Mohammed Ali Mosque, was built between 1824 and 1848.

The Mohammed Ali Mosque, Cairo Citadel

The huge interior was filled with tourists, not all appropriately dressed, and has become a secular space.

Inside the Mohammed Ali Mosque, Cairo Citadel

The nearby medieval mosque of Sultan al-Nasir....

Mosque of Sultan al-Nasir, Cairo citadel

....still feels like a religious building and features a magnificent gold and marble mihrab.

The Mihrab and Minbar in the Sultan al-Nasir Mosque,Cairo Citadel

From outside the mosque there is a fine view over Cairo to the pyramids beyond - at least there was on a clear day in 1980, last August the pyramids had disappeared into a smoggy haze, but the view looking down was still good.

Looking down from the citadel at the Sultan Hassan and Al Rifa'i mosques, Cairo

After coffee, where the waiter attempted to pass off an obsolete 25 piastre note (worth 3p) as a 25 Egyptian Pound note (worth £3, if there was such a thing) we inspected the police museum. We saw the cells where the British had once incarcerated Anwar Sadat, and a model of the ‘battle’ of Ismailiya Police Station in 1952, in which Lynne’s father played a small role as a national service squaddie.

The Prison Cells, Police Museum, Cairo Citadel

The Ibn Tulun Mosque

We spent more time haggling over the fare to the Ibn Tulun mosque than we did in the taxi. Built in the ninth and tenth centuries, this massive mosque has an unusual spiral staircase around the outside of its stumpy minaret. The huge central courtyard, open to the sky, is impressive in its simplicity, and also in its quietness – we had the place to ourselves. (For more about the Ibn Tulun Mosque, click here).

Minaret, Ibn Tulun Mosque, Cairo

The Gayer-Anderson House

Built against the outer wall of the mosque, the Gayer-Anderson House is actually two old houses knocked together by Major Gayer-Anderson, a retired British soldier who lived there from 1935 to 1942. He filled the houses with antiques, including several ornate harem screens, and with a little imagination you can convince yourself you are really in seventeenth century Cairo. The roof terrace, which served as a set in the Bond film The Spy Who Loved Me, affords a fine view of the Mohammed Ali mosque.

The Citadel from the Gayer-Anderson Roof Terrace

Cairo's Coptic Quarter

Cairo’s metro is cheap, clean and efficient. The lines were designed to link Cairenes with their places of work and are generally of less use to those heading for tourist sites, but four stops south from Tahrir Square is Mari Girgis (St George’s), the gateway to Cairo’s Coptic quarter.

Mari Girgis

Some 10% of Egypt’s population are Coptic Christians. Pope Shenouda III* has led the church since 1971 and overseen a revival while keeping good relations with the country’s Islamic leaders. The bomb that killed twenty-one worshippers in an Alexandrian church on New Year’s Eve showed that extremists do exist, but the vast majority of Egyptians, Christian and Muslim, favour peaceful coexistence.

St George's Church in Cairo's Coptic Quarter

In 1980 the Coptic quarter was a warren of narrow streets and high walls, with hidden entrances into ornate churches. Now the visitor is greeted by the extensive grounds of the Coptic Museum and the remains of the Roman castle. The excellent museum covers the long history of the Copts in Egypt, while more literally covering the ground that was home to many thousands of Copts for several hundreds of years.

The Coptic Quarter, Cairo

A small area of narrow streets remain and there you can visit the church in whose undercroft the Holy Family stayed after the flight to Egypt. The Nile now runs 300m away, but used to wash the walls of the castle and, by a happy coincidence, the very spot where the original Moses basket was plucked from the bulrushes lies just behind the church of the Holy Family. You may believe all this, if you wish.

Where Moses was found in the bullrushes (allegedly)

It is sad to see the whole quarter becoming museumised, but it was inevitable. The Copts have chosen to move out of their medieval ghetto - and who can blame them?

Eating in Cairo - Dining with the Expats and Egyptian Middle Classes

Central Cairo offers few eating options, but nobody visits Egypt for the cuisine. Ignoring the overpriced international food at the major hotels, we followed the Rough Guide’s recommendations.

The dimly-lit Estoril, down an equally dingy alley, provided good food at modest prices. The other customers seemed to be expatriate Europeans, while at the brighter Felfela just north of Tahrir Square there was a more mixed crowd of younger middle class Egyptians and foreigners. I can recommend the stuffed vine leaves, spiced meatballs and several variations on the theme of pigeon.

The nearby haven of peace that is the Café Riche serves an older clientele. The future president, Gamal Nasser, plotted the overthrow of King Farouk here in 1952, while last weekend Robert Fisk, the Independent’s Middle East correspondent, retreated to the café from the mayhem outside. Lynne and I used it more than once as a refuge from the midday sun. A waiter in a long blue robe would produce a satisfying bowl of lentil soup and a cold beer, and serve them with a smile.

Sharia Talaat Harb near the Café Riche. Cairo

Eating in Cairo - Kushari and Fuul

All these places serve alcohol but, as Cairo is largely an Islamic city, they are the exception rather than the rule. The restaurants used by most Egyptians are cheap, often crowded, but can be good. At Gad, on 26th of July Street, we walked through the busy take-away and up the stairs to the packed restaurant. I had a long wait for my chilli dusted Alexandrian style liver. It was excellent, but Lynne had finished her fish before I could take my first forkful.

Abou Tarek, which claims to be Cairo’s best kushari restaurant, is also crowded and you expect to share a table. Kushari is a mixture of noodles, lentils and rice topped with caramelised onions. Served with a spicy tomato sauce, the combination of sweetness and carbohydrates makes it the ultimate Egyptian comfort food.

Kushari and fuul are two dishes which should be eaten by every visitor to Egypt, but are often missed. Fuul beans are similar to dried broad beans. Boiled until they start disintegrating they are the breakfast of choice for all Egyptians, whatever their status. Fuul is also popular in Sudan, where for many poorer people it is not just breakfast but lunch and dinner too. In the morning it is eaten with a hard boiled egg or fermented cheese. I like fuul best lightly crushed, mixed with raw onion and cheese and sprinkled with sesame oil and chilli, though perhaps not at breakfast.

Egyptian coffee is always a delight

Words Written Without the Benefit if Hindsight

Hot and noisy, with the continuous blare of car horns, Cairo seemed frenetic but not rebellious, though Egypt is, obviously, a police state. Travelling outside the city involves negotiating regular police roadblocks. Every crossroads has an armed guard with at least one man kneeling behind a heavy metal shield. Parts of Alexandria seem to have more policemen than ordinary citizens. The government is not particularly corrupt, by the standards of its continent, but low-level corruption is endemic. Repression is felt most by the politically aware and Egyptian democracy is not about getting out the vote but controlling the count. With healthy economic growth discontent was muted, but Egypt is not immune to the world’s problems, and people have started to notice what they are missing.

Mubarak will go, he is after all, 82, but that may not happen before September. Egypt may contrive an orderly transition to democracy, or the army may impose their man in the usual fraudulent election.

Harem Screens, Coutyard of the Gayer-Anderson House, Cairo

It is not up to foreigners, or their governments, to tell the Egyptian people what to do, but we should be quietly cheerleading for democracy. The Americans, having bankrolled Mubarak for years, are wavering, reluctant to see the back of a man who brought stability and a pro-American foreign policy. They seem worried by the thought of democracy and in particular by the Muslim Brotherhood; it must be the name, everything the Brotherhood have said over the last few weeks has been a model of moderation. Some American commentators even appear to judge the merit of any potential new government on how good it will be for Israel, not on how good it will be for Egypt.

To support another son-of-a-bitch just because he is ‘our son-of-a-bitch’ would be deeply hypocritical and morally wrong. I think it would also be politically shortsighted.

I hope that when this is over Egypt will emerge with a robust liberal democracy, it is what the people deserve. Whether or not that happens only time will tell. [Yeah, it told.]

*Shenouda III died in March 2012 at the age of 88. He was succeeded by Tawadros II, the 118th man to hold the office which stretches back in an unbroken line to (allegedly) the apostle Mark in the year 33.