Tuesday, 24 June 2014

Dublin (2) From the Book of Kells to Dublin Castle

Including Merrion Square, Temple Bar and the Ha'penny Bridge

Across the Liffey to Trinty College

Ireland

Dublin

On a promisingly warm morning we strolled down O'Connell Street, crossed the Liffey and took the short walk to Trinity College. The sensation of encountering one of the great groves of academe - Trinity was founded in 1592 and is one of Europe's oldest seats of learning - was rather spoilt by the extensive road works going on outside. It was originally the university of the Protestant Ascendency, but became open to Catholics and Dissenters in 1793, though professorships, fellowships and scholarships were for Protestants only until 1873. Catholics got a fairer deal than women of all religions - they were not admitted until 1904.

Crossing the Liffey on a promisingly warm morning

Once through the gate we were in an area of quiet squares, grassy quadrangles and a mixture of sober old buildings and the glass and concrete structures characteristic of universities everywhere.

Inside Trinity College, Dublin

The Book of Kells and Other Gems

Quieter it may have been, but despite the students being absent for the summer we hardly had the place to ourselves; the Book of Kells, housed in a section of the old library, pulls in visitors by the thousand. The old library opens at 9.30 and when we arrived at 9.25 the queue stretched round two sides of the quadrangle. We had bought tickets online before leaving home, but any thought that this might save us queuing were quickly dashed.

The Old Library, Trinity College, Dublin (photographed at 10.40 when the queue was much smaller)

The queue moved relatively quickly - we were inside in 20 minutes - but that meant it was crowded. The preliminary exhibition, a general introduction to early illuminated manuscripts, the techniques for their production and specific information about the Book of Kells itself, the Book of Armagh and the Book of Dimma would have been good if it had been better planned. Following the crowd round one side of the room was simple, but to see the other half of the exhibition we had to fight our way back round the other side against the flow. We were also surprised that although audio guides were available in a variety of languages, the written information was in English only.

We almost missed the Book of Dimma, a remarkable 'pocket gospel' produced in the 8th century in Tipperary by a scribe called Dimma. Much of the text has survived and a little of the illumination.

The Book of Kells is in the next room in a cabinet the size of a pool table with a generous flat metal surround so there is somewhere convenient to put your hands.

The book is a richly illuminated copy of the four gospels written on velum and bound in four volumes. 'Is it in English?' asked a Japanese tourist next to me, who clearly knew as little about medieval European manuscripts as I know about their Japanese equivalents. In Latin, and based on the Vulgate text, it was produced in the eighth century by at least three scribes, at one or more of the Columban monasteries. It was kept on Iona until Viking raids made its movement to Kells (a small town 65km north of Dublin) advisable where it later survived more attention from the Vikings. In 1654, when Oliver Cromwell’s cavalry were quartered in Kells Church, the town’s governor sent it to Dublin for safe keeping. It found its way to Trinity College in 1661 and has been there ever since.

Two pages were on display; the highly coloured drawing of St John, which is the frontispiece of his gospel, and chapter three of St Luke's gospel. Also in the cabinet was a page from the Book of Armagh - a ninth century manuscript of the gospels also containing information concerning St Patrick and some of the earliest examples of written Old Irish - and its damaged wooden binding.

St John, Book of Kells (picture from Wikipedia)

They are all magnificent, but the Book of Kells with its deep, rich colours, engaging illustrations and masterful calligraphy is a marvel. It is larger than I had expected – roughly A4 size – and designed to be placed on a lectern and used in services.

Sadly, the management of the scrum about around the display table left something to be desired. Various unofficial voices urged clockwise circulation while an Italian tour guide with a sizeable group monopolised pole position for longer than was reasonable.

The Long Room, Trinity College Old Libary

Once the circulation got going, we cheated and went round twice before heading upstairs to the Long Room of the old library.

The Long Room, Trinity College Library, Dublin

By one of the many quirks that followed the separation of Great Britain and Ireland, Trinity College library is a ‘deposit library’ both for the Republic of Ireland (i.e. it has a copy of every book published in Ireland), and for the United Kingdom.

The Long Room (and, at 65m, it really is long) is a retirement home for 200,000 of the library’s oldest volumes. If I was a book this is where I would choose to spend my declining years, nestled beside the elegant metal library ladders, and guarded by the busts of the great and the good. I doubt if anybody opens these books any more, but somebody has to dust them occasionally, and I am glad that somebody is not me.

The end of the Long Room, Trintiy College library, Dublin

The library also contains the so-called ‘Brian Boru’ Harp, though it was made in the 14th or 15th century, while Brian Boru died in 1014. Facing left it is the heraldic symbol of Ireland and appears on the coinage, among other places; facing right it is a trademark of Guinness and adorns their beer bottles and cans.

The Brian Boru Harp

Molly Malone is on Holiday

Leaving Trinity College by the Nassau Street exit we crossed the road to the more mundane realm of Costa Coffee. Duly refreshed, we set off south for Merrion Square and ‘Georgian Dublin’, but first we took a short detour to see Molly Malone - or the 'Tart with the Cart' as the locals call the statue (see also The 'Queer with the Lear' later this post, the 'Floozie in the Jacuzzi' (yesterday) and the 'Prick with the Stick' (tomorrow)). Every child knows that sweet Molly Malone pushed a trolley through streets of varying widths vending fresh shellfish, but we could not find her. We did, however, spot a sign saying that she had been in the way of the new tram system, and had been removed. After cleaning, it said, she would reappear in mid-June outside the tourist board office in Suffolk Street. We walked to the end of Suffolk Street and although we thought the 24th was past ‘mid' June all we found was construction work on what may have been a plinth.

Merrion Square and Georgian Dublin

Merrion Square, a few blocks south, is a beautifully preserved Georgian square. The house on the first corner – not the finest building - was the childhood home of Oscar Wilde and a plaque commemorates both Oscar and his father, Sir William Wilde, a leading surgeon.

The childhood home of Oscar Wilde, Merrion Square, Dublin

The Queer with the Lear and Father Ted

A well wooded park occupies the centre of the square making it difficult to view the whole thing. Inside the park and opposite his old home, Oscar leans louchly on a boulder - a statue known localy as the Queer with Lear.

Lynne and Oscar, Merrion Square Park, Dublin

We walked through the park looking for the memorial to the wonderfully named Bernardo O'Higgins, the liberator of Chile, but instead found a throne commemorating comedian and satirist Dermot Morgan (Father Ted) who died in 1998 at the sadly early age of 45.

'Father Ted's' throne, Merrion Square Park, Dublin

The Pepper Canister and WB Yeats

Outside the park I attempted to photograph the Georgian square, but with only partial success, it is too big and there is too much park. St Stephen’s Church, known as ‘The Pepper Canister’ was built in 1834 to serve the Anglo-Irish protestant elite who lived in this area.

St Stephens aka 'The Pepper Canister'

Walking to the end of the street we passed the house of W B Yeats, who was born into the Protestant Ascendancy and became a nationalist (and, of course, a Nobel Prize winning poet).

The home of WB Yeats, Merrion Square, Dublin

Kildare Street

We walked down to St Stephen’s Green before turning up Kildare Street which has Leinster House, home of the Oireachtas – the two houses of parliament and the presidency – on one side…..

Leinster House, Kildare Street, Dublin

… and the home of Bram Stoker on the other – you cannot go far in Dublin without tripping over a major writer.

The home of Bram Stoker, Kildare Street, Dublin

Temple Bar

Working our way through the Grafton Street shopping area, we emerged into the Temple Bar district which is full of tourist shops and restaurants.

Temple Bar, Dublin

After a little shopping - including the inevitable fridge magnet – we dropped into The Old Storehouse for lunch. Like every other pub we visited in Dublin the building was interesting, the staff charming and the Guinness excellent. So was the soup which came with the same pleasingly chunky brown bread we had eaten at breakfast. Had this not been a quick lunchtime stop we might have investigated the crab claws or the mussels, but this was, surprisingly, the only seafood we saw on a menu in three days.

Dublin Castle

Continuing westwards we rather stumbled across Dublin Castle which is set back from the road on the edge of the medieval/Viking area.

The back of the 'Justice' Gate, Dublin Castle

We entered a Georgian courtyard dominated by the Bedford Tower, home of the Irish crown jewels – before they were stolen in 1907. The tower is flanked by two gates surmounted by ‘Fortitude’ on the left and ‘Justice’ on the right.

The Bedford Tower, Dublin Castle

Unusually Justice is not blindfolded and instead of looking towards the people she faces inwards to the castle, an arrangement taken by some to be symbolic.

The statue of justice, mark well her station,
Face to the castle and arse to the nation.

The fully functioning scales of justice were also usually tilted towards the castle. This was due less to perfidy than to rainwater collecting more in one scale pan than the other and was solved by drilling holes in the pans.

The guided tour started by leaving the state apartments, and the Georgian square. Standing in what had once been the moat we paused to look at the Record Tower, the sole survivor of the four towers of the Norman castle, before disappearing through a door on the other side of the courtyard and descending into the past.

The Record Tower, Dublin Castle (photograph taken from what was once the moat)

There may have been an earlier Gaelic village, but Dublin first came to prominence as a Viking stronghold. The Vikings built a wooden defensive wall on a stone foundation at the confluence of the Rivers Liffey (now moved north) and Poddy (now underground) beside a black pool (Dubh Linn) which gave the settlement its name. The Normans arrived in the 12th century and King John ordered the construction of a stone castle in 1204.

The base of the Powder Tower perched on Viking foundations, Dublin Castle

Beneath the modern ground level we saw the base of the Norman Powder Tower standing on the Viking foundations. We also saw where the old city wall met the tower while below water still seeped up from the invisible River Poddy.

Where the old city wall meets the Powder Tower, Dublin Castle

The Norman castle was severely damaged by fire in 1673 and was rebuilt as a palace which, at independence, was handed over to the Irish Republic. We returned to the state apartments and made our way upstairs to the State Drawing Room, now used for receiving visiting dignitaries, but in the absence of anyone dignified they let us in.

State Drawing Room, Dublin Castle

They no longer have much use for a Throne Room, but it is still there with the throne built for the visit of George IV and a footstool specially made for the vertically challenged Queen Victoria.

The throne, Dublin Castle

On top of the canopy are gilded heraldic carvings. On the left is the unicorn of England, on the right the lion of Scotland, both are leaning on the harp of Ireland. ‘Perhaps that is what they thought of us,’ the guide suggested. The Irish may grumble, but as a Welshman I might point out that at least the harp is there – leeks and daffodils are entirely absent, but do we ever complain? Well, maybe, sometimes.

The unicorn and the lion leaning on the harp

Irish presidents are inaugurated in St Patrick’s Hall, which is also used for major state dinners. Queen Elizabeth dined here with President Michael Higgins in May 2011. If her maj did creep quietly into the throne room for a regal sit down, just for all times sake, nobody is saying.

St Patrick's Hall, Dublin Castle
An American delegation had just been entertained to lunch, hence the American flag flying with the Irish tricolour

After the guided tour (and thanks to Siobhan for being informative, amusing and even handed) we walked round the back, crossed the gardens - site of the original ‘black pool’ -...

Dublin Castle across the garden

..to the coach house where there is an exhibition of paintings by Seaver Leslie and glass cylinders by Dale Chihuly (who has apparently been stalking us since we first encountered his work in his hometown of Tacoma, Washington back in 1998) based on the events in James Joyce’s Ulysses. It was interesting, but I am sure we would have got more from the exhibition if we had actually read the book – but who has? It is the greatest unread novel of the 20th century.

The Coach House, Dublin Castle

The Chester Beatty collection is in a purpose built museum next door. As much a bibliophile’s delight as the Book of Kells, this collection of ancient manuscripts from all the world’s main religions is absolutely free (donation requested) and contains so much to marvel at.

Christ Church Cathedral

Leaving the castle and venturing a little deeper into the medieval/Viking quarter we paused beside Christ Church Cathedral. A quirk of history provided Dublin with two medieval cathedrals - the other, St Patrick’s is only a kilometre to the south. When Henry VIII broke with Rome, both cathedrals became Church of Ireland and served the Protestant Ascendancy. Although Dublin is an overwhelmingly Catholic city, it has no Catholic cathedral; the seat of the Catholic Archbishop of Dublin being St Mary’s Pro-Cathedral off O’Connell Street. St Mary’s has not been promoted to a full cathedral as the Vatican still claims Christ Church as its own.

Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin

We did not go in as they were charging €6 entrance and Lynne objects to paying to enter a church. Had it been free, we would have made a donation as we did at the Chester Beatty Library.

Norman doorway, Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin

the Ha'penny Bridge

It was a long but pleasant walk back to the hotel. We made our way down to the Liffey, crossed the Ha’penny Bridge and proceeded back to O’Connell Street. Constructed in 1816, the cast iron Ha’penny Bridge was built at Coalbrookdale in Shropshire, (as was the world’s first iron bridge which still spans the Severn at..er.. Ironbridge - see Cowpat Walk 1). It was officially called the Duke of Wellington Bridge and is now the Liffey Bridge, but has always been known as the Ha’penny Bridge after the original toll. The name stuck even when the toll rose to 1½d before being abolished in 1919.

The Ha'penny Bridge, Dublin

Dinner in O'Connell Street and a Short Walk

In the evening we toured the north end of O'Connell Street reading menus, before finally arriving back at Madigan's where again the welcome was warm, the Guinness gently chilled and the steak rare. Actually Lynne had fish and chips which, being classic chip-shop style cannot be considered seafood.

Madigan's 'Drinking Emporium', O'Connell Street, Dublin

We lingered over our dinner and with sunset around 10pm we took a stroll in the last of the daylight before returning to our hotel. Circumambulating a sizeable block we passed substantial Georgian houses, most converted into offices or split into apartments. A few have become hostels, some frequented by backpackers others having a somewhat ‘rougher’ clientele.

Approaching a pub we saw an old man being decanted into the street to join his swaying friend. As we passed he slurred 'spare a euro?' Dublin has many beggars - far too many for a European capital, and Ireland remains relatively prosperous, even after the recent financial dramas. Despite encountering numerous beggars during the day, I was still surprised to be tapped for cash by an elderly man who clearly had ample euros to spend not very long before.

'Sorry, no,' I said as we navigated round them. 'What did he say?' the failed beggar asked his friend. 'He said ‘sorry, no,'’ was the accurate if thick-tongued reply. 'Oh,' said the first man and then, louder 'Why don't you go home?' I waved - there was not much else to do and it is difficult to take offence at anything said in a Dublin accent, however slurred the words.

Dublin (1) First Impressions
Dublin (2) From the Book of Kells to Dublin Castle
Dublin (3) Famine and Plenty (of Guinness)

Monday, 23 June 2014

Dublin (1) First Impressions

O'Connell Street, The Liffey and Irish Pubs

Dublin: Making a Start

Ireland

Dublin

We have done more than our fair share of travelling over the last forty odd years, first driving round Europe with a tent in the back of the car, then venturing further afield - North Africa and North America - and more recently we have become fascinated by India and the Far East. In all this wandering we had never taken the short trip to Ireland. Now we have put that right and Ryanair took less than an hour to fly us from Manchester to Dublin for a three day mini-break. 'There are better places to visit in Ireland than Dublin,' the girl sitting next to us on the plane said. She was a Dubliner, and maybe that coloured her judgement, or maybe she was right, but you have to start somewhere and for us Ireland started with a ride into town on the airport bus.

The quality of the light, the short green grass and the wheeling seagulls made it clear that we had landed by the coast. Beyond the airport, and after a short ride on Ireland’s M1, the bus dived into a lengthy tunnel and emerged into the city. The route passed the docks before turning to follow the Liffey into the heart of Dublin and then zig-zagging through streets, some broad and some that appeared far too narrow for a double decker bus. We hopped off near our hotel at the top of O'Connell Street.

A Short Walk from the Parnell Memorial to The Dublin Spire via Moore Street Market then Down to the Liffey

Charles Parnell

After checking in, we strolled past the Parnell monument. Charles Parnell (1846-1891) was an unusual Irish nationalist in that he was a member of the Anglo-Irish elite, and a land owner and landlord who fought for land reform. A man of great charisma he was politically damaged by a scandalous divorce and died of a heart attack aged only 45. It has been speculated that had he survived, the birth of an independent Ireland might have been a lot less bloody.

The Parnell Monument, Dublin

The rotunda behind the monument dates from 1757 and was the world's first purpose built maternity hospital.

Moore Street Market

From Parnell Square we turned into Moore Street where the legendary Molly Malone plied her trade. Maybe we were too late in the day but it seemed a rather half-hearted market. We were amazed by how few Irish voices we heard. There were plenty of tourists, and we were adding our non-Irish tones to that, but there were also many non-Irish non-tourists. There were brown and black faces in abundance, the hotel reception staff were south Europeans, Vietnamese and Koreans ran the restaurants round the corner, the Moore Street stall holders seemed to be mostly Chinese, while the street also has a Polish café and supermarket.

Moore Street Market, Dublin

Henry Street, Admiral Nelson, The Floozie in the Jacuzzi and the Spire of Dublin

At the end of Moore Street we turned west along Henry Street, a long pedestrian shopping street; much of it looking a little sad and down at heel.

Turning back towards O'Connell Street we found ourselves heading straight for the Spire of Dublin. Had we been here in the early 60s we would have been walking towards Nelson’s Pillar. There had been much rejoicing when the news of Nelson’s victory at Trafalgar reached Dublin. The city fathers were quick off the mark and perched the admiral atop a 40m high pillar over 30 years before London erected his column. Although a third of Nelson’s sailors at Trafalgar had been Irish, the pillar was the brainchild of the Anglo-Irish protestant elite and after independence there was much discussion about whether it was an appropriate monument for the capital of an independent nation. Discussions came to an end in March 1966 when the IRA, with their usual preference for bombs over democratic process, blew Nelson up.

In the late 1980s the site was occupied by Anna Livia, a sculpture by Éamonn O'Doherty, better known as 'The Floozy in the Jacuzzi.' Many Dubliners grew to like her, but the authorities wanted something more 'appropriate' and she was removed in 2001. After ten years in a crate she was repositioned in Croppies Memorial Park, appropriately beside the River Liffey - Anna Livia Plurabelle was James Joyce's embodiment of the river in Finnegan's Wake.

Henry Street pointing straight at the Spire of Dublin

As part of the 1999 redevelopment of O'Connell Street a competition was held to find a suitable replacement, and The Spire was the winning entry. If this was the winner I dread to think what the losers looked like. The architects describe it as having an ‘elegant and dynamic simplicity bridging art and technology.’ It has won several international prizes, but to me it looks like the wrong monument in the wrong place - though the ‘right place’ for a 120m steel knitting needle eludes me.

Down to the Liffey past the Post Office

We continued towards the Liffey, passing the Post Office which played such an important part in the 1916 Easter Rising. The poorly organised rebellion was launched, with German help, while 200,000 Irishmen were voluntarily fighting in British uniforms against Germany. The rising failed to generate momentum and was quickly put down. As if determined to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, the British authorities put the leaders in front of firing squads and turned them into heroes.

At the end of the street, we crossed the road to the O’Connell Bridge and had a stare at the Liffey. A line of beggars sat on the bridge, crouched on the pavement below the parapet at 10m intervals, each silently holding up a plastic cup. Business seemed poor. Their light brown skin and the women's long dresses suggested they were not Irish, perhaps they were eastern European Roma, but as they are the default whipping boys for all sorts of social ills, I will refrain from jumping to conclusions [and we came across beggars in the next two days who were genuinely local].

The River Liffey, looking downstream from O'Connell Bridge

Daniel O'Connell

We turned to face the O’Connell monument. Daniel O’Connell (1775-1847) trained as a lawyer and became a politician. He fought tirelessly for Catholic emancipation and was an important part of the successful campaign to permit Catholics to sit in the Westminster parliament. His battle against the 1801 Act of Union that merged Great Britain and Ireland was less successful, but he was a man of great principle (he never advocated violence) and charm and he was widely admired on both sides of the Irish Sea.

On the whole I am not keen on nationalists, people who would kill or die for what Kurt Vonegut called a granfalloon - a collection of people with a label who believe that gives them something in common, but O’Connell was, by all accounts, an admirable man. It was a shame, then, that a pigeon was semi-permanently stationed on his head, but perhaps he would have seen the funny side.

Daniel O'Connell and his resident pigeon

Back up O'Connell Street

O'Connell Street is wide, reputedly the widest street in Europe, and has plenty of room for a line of statues, from O’Connell at the bottom to Parnell at the top. Some are of worthy citizens, like the 1879 statue of Sir John Gray who greatly improved Dublin’s water supply, while others, predictably, are of nationalists William Smith O'Brien and Jim Larkin.

William Smith O'Brien (front), Sir John Gray (behind - and that wretched spire

There was also Father Matthew, the apostle of temperance. A well-meaning man, no doubt, but fighting an uphill struggle, we thought as we turned into a side street and headed for Branigan's Beer Emporium.

Father Matthew, the apostle of temperance, O'Connell Street

Irish Pubs

The world is full of ‘Irish pubs’ and I carefully avoid such folksy fakes whether in Portugal, Laos or anywhere between. The sole exception was PJ Murphy’s in Hong Kong where we were dragged by our daughter with a cry of 'Melted cheese!' Living in mainland China, where cheese is unavailable, she had come to Hong Kong as much for a toasted cheese sandwich as to meet her parents.

Branigan's Beer Emporium

Branigan's really was like an ‘Irish pub’, folksy, but for once totally genuine. In the late afternoon it was hardly busy, but the barman greeted us like friends and eventually brought us some Guinness - it does not pay to be in a hurry, Guinness needs time to settle.

I have often been told that Guinness is better in Ireland. I was sceptical, but it did not take me long to agree that it is certainly different. The strongly burnt/bitter flavour of highly roasted barley is absent and it is a softer, creamier more approachable brew. And does that make it better? I tend to believe that anything that is easier to eat or drink, anything that panders to the common denominator is dumbed down and hence inferior, but I am not totally consistent - I do not lunch on dung sandwiches, and I prefer honey to beeswax like everybody else. My conclusion? Irish Guinness is rich and creamy and in every way lovely, while Guinness in England in harsher and more bitter, and if that is the general view I will happily go along with it.

Madigan's Drinking Emporium, O'Connell Street

Madigan's Dinking Emporium

In the evening we walked down O'Connell Street to Madigan's a self-described drinking emporium - Dublin is full of emporia. It was another typical Irish pub with dark panelling, fancy woodwork and many alcoves. Again the welcome was warm and the Guinness good, but unlike Branigan's, the clientele was cosmopolitan. Our alcove contained three Irishwomen, a Dutch couple and two Germans as well as us. A party of Dutchman sat by the bar in orange football shirts, talking to some English lads and pretending to be sympathetic about their team’s very different fortunes in Brazil.

Madigan's Drinking Emporium, O'Connell Street

The food was not art. My Irish cottage pie differed from its English counterpart by having 'strips of slow cooked Hereford beef’ as well as mince. It was saved from being unpleasantly dry by the pot of gravy served with it. Lynne’s stuffed Gaelic chicken breast gained little from the promised whiskey in the sauce but benefitted greatly from being stuffed with well-flavoured wild mushrooms. It was all comfort food, but none the worse for that and reasonably priced.

And what have we learned from our first venture into Dublin?

1) We have always thought of the Irish as being a people who emigrate, and indeed they have made major contributions to the populations of English speaking nations around the world – even the Prime Minister of Papua New Guinea is one, Peter O’Neill. But equally Ireland, or at least Dublin, is home to many immigrants.
2) Guinness in Ireland really is different – indeed it really is better.
3) Irish pubs are extraordinarily welcoming, and the bar staff exude an effortless charm that has to be felt to be believed.
4) I am not going to escape from Irish nationalism for the next three days. No resentment is aimed at me personally, so I’ll just have to suck it up.

Dublin (1) First Impressions

Dublin (2) From the Book of Kells to Dublin Castle

Dublin (3) Famine and Plenty (of Guinness)

Monday, 5 May 2014

Into the Quantocks: Day 21 of the South West Odyssey (English Branch)

The South West Odyssey was a long distance walk.

Five like-minded people started in 2008 from the Cardingmill Valley in Shropshire and by walking three days a year finished at Start Bay on the South Devon Coast in May 2019.

[With updated text and photographs 21/09/14]

It is always pleasing when the B and B is the finish of a day’s walk and you start the next day by simply walking out the door. So it was today – but not for me.

Leaving home on Thursday I picked up my boots and felt a hard piece of the casing protruding inwards. An attempted repair was, at best, ineffective, at worst counter-productive and by mid morning on the first day a blister had already formed and burst.

Blister pads kept me going, but once the damage is done they can only slow the deterioration. By the end of the second day the inside of my right heel was an angry mass of raw, red meat. Despite medication (Ibuprofen, red wine & Famous Grouse) the pain woke me around four o’clock and I made my decision: I could not possibly manage another day.

I was unhappy watching the others set off without me, but there was nothing I could do. [In September I returned in the company of Francis and did the day's walk. We could not have picked a better day; bright sunshine, warm but not too hot for walking] Also galling was that after seven years of the Odyssey, this was the first day I could not blog from first-hand experience. However, others rallied round, and with their assistance Day 21 is not going unrecorded.

Leaving me behind at West Monkton

Francis wrote. ‘Today we actually started from the B and B, Springfield House, something I always like, and walked up the lane towards Walford House stopping to admire its well-used dovecote.

Dove Cote, Walford House (Pic: Francis)

The lane took us round a U-curve and into West Monkton village…past the main door and through the garden of the pub where we had dined the night before….

[Francis and I dined there again and this time I ate the zebra. Before ordering I asked another diner about his zebra experience and he said 'Well it's just a big slab of horse, really.' I disagree, Zebra has its own distinctive flavour and it was also gamey in taste and texture - I suspect it requires long hanging to make it tender enough to eat (unless you are a lion). Having walked to the pub on Saturday evening, we felt justified in starting from there on Sunday. When paying for our meal we had asked the landlord if we could borrow a space in his car park for the day. He agreed immediately and thanked us for having the courtesy to ask. Apparently a lot of people don't. They should.]

Francis strides past The Monkton

Shortly we met two alpacas in a field. The owners of the West Monkton Inn clearly must be unaware of their existence or else they would have them on the menu! (on the specials board with the zebra, ostrich and crocodile.) [The alpaca had gone, whether it had starred on the menu or just moved off we do not know]

Not our first example of the rare Somerset Alpaca
(Pic: Francis)

Along with the alpacas, Alison noted a glamping site with 4 yurts, and Francis photographed a fine horse chestnut which looks more at home in this environment.

Horse Chestnut, West Monkton (Pic: Francis)

The route followed the West Deane Way (we had encountered the East Deane Way yesterday) to Hestercombe House. Alison noted …A few ploughed fields, but the soil was much more friable than the clay of the Somerset levels, and it was only muddy in parts, with ways round possible. There are over a quarter of a million words in this blog, but this is the first time ‘friable’ has made an appearance. I am delighted to welcome it. I had to look the word up, and for those as ignorant as I am, it means ‘apt to crumble.’

A field full of remarkably friable soil (Pic: Alison)

Hestercombe House is a sixteenth century country house with a chequered history including being the headquarters of the Devon and Somerset Fire and Rescue Service until 2012. The Gertrude Jekyll designed gardens are open to the public.

Francis writes enthusiastically We climbed through fields and bluebell woods enjoying our return to more hilly country after two days on the Levels, Alison is a little more laconic A noticeably hillier day than the previous days.

The Vale of Taunton from Hestercombe (Pic: Alison)

After descending into and out of Gadd’s Bottom.....

Down into Gadd's Bottom (pic. Alison)

Francis admitted they arrived a little late in Kingston St. Mary for a coffee break. We found a bench in the churchyard which served our purpose only to discover, after leaving, a nicer one in a better, more sheltered location in the village.

Coffee break, Kingston St Mary (Pic: Alison)

[The descent to Kingston St Mary's involves glimpses of the village through trees and gaps in hedges. It is a delightful place and I could not help comparing the soft lushness of southern England with the desolate moors and windswept hills we had crossed on our approach to Hadrian's Wall ten years ago. If humankind could not organise a comfortable and prosperous life for itself here then it had no hope anywhere. And this area did grow rich, mainly on the wool trade which is why a small village could afford such a fine church.

St Mary's, Kingston St Mary
Mostly 13th century, though the tower is 16th century

Benefitting from experience we went on to the second bench in the village. The oak tree was planted to celebrate Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee in 1896, the bench was added to commemorate the Millennium. We drank our coffee leaning back on wrought-ironwork depicting the village past, present and future.

Millennium Seat, Kingston St Mary

And then the route…took us up through the extensive grounds of Tetton House from where Alison observed we could see the main climb of the day, Cothelstone Hill, ahead. [I looked at Cothelstone Hill and said 'that's not much.' 'Wait til you get to Ball Lane,' Francis said ominously]

Cothelstone Hill looking less than imposing from Tetton House

Tetton House was built in 1790 but largely remodelled between 1924 and 1926 by H S Goodhart-Rendel, architect, writer, musician and all round clever clogs – though I am sorry to say I had never heard of him before.

Leaving the grounds over a stream, way finding, in the words of Francis, became a little confused.. but it was Alison who saved the day with some clever map deduction and good observation skills spotting a gate with a sign on a high fence that we had all missed. Or as Alison put it I brought us back to the route from which we had strayed. I feel pleased at my improved map reading since leaving Stafford, due to a combination of varifocal glasses, having a map, and practising. Well, having a map does help. Mike saw the incident as Alison frantically pointing out the path across the stream and the gate into the wood which was easy to see by all except Francis who was determined in the direction he was taking (60 degrees to the east of it) and that we were to follow! He goes on, with commendable honesty to admit, I was no use … as I had left day 3 map in my 'van!

The site of the navigation difficulties.

That does look the obvious place to cross the stream and the stile into the woods that only Alison

could see is on the left hand edge of the picture two thirds of the way up.

Francis and Brian had strayed into a field over to the right

Once on the right route it did not take long to reach Ball Lane and to start slogging up its 1.5km ….
[Francis warned me, and he was right. Ball Lane is always just steep enough to feel like hard work, but never quite steep enough to get the climb over and done with swiftly. It is a slog, more precisely, a long slog.]

Ball Lane

Resting after the climb up Ball Lane (Pic: Francis)

…and then a bit more to reach Cothelstone Hill, a dizzying height of 332m, part of the Quantock Hills. Cothelstone maybe considerably lower than Dunkery Beacon, assuming we reach Exmoor next year [we did], but it is the highest point on the walk since the Herefordshire Beacon (338m) on the Malvern Ridge.

View west from Cothelstone Hill (Pic: Francis)

Having reached the top, Francis continued we didn’t hang around up there long as the wind was strong and quite cold and we were running late. He did pause on the way down to photograph the bluebells in Twenty Acre Plantation. I am delighted to say they appear to be the native British bluebell - and looking as good as they get. [It was warm and sunny on top of the hill this time. The view west was the same but the weather conditions gave us an even better view north. Ignoring the nuclear power station at Hinkley Point, we could see the whole sweep of the Somerset coast to Weston Super Mare and beyond, and across the Bristol Channel to Barry and Penarth. What we had no chance of seeing in September were the bluebells in Twenty Acre Plantation.]

Bluebells, Twenty Acre Plantation (Pic: Francis)

Alison observed that we were beginning to realise that it would be another long morning. …There was even another climb up from the bottom of Cothelstone hill before descending to the pub at West Bagborough along the road, as a last minute short cut.

[I understand the need for a shortcut on the third day of three, but we were only there for the day so we carried on, taking a fine path that does not quite cross the summit of Lydeard Hill, though at 350m the path set a new high point for the day. They are proud of their colony of Dartford Warblers here, but Francis did not see one. I might have done, but I have no idea what a Dartford Warbler looks like]

Francis looks for Dartford Warblers on Lydeard Hill

We descended to West Blagborough on a path that was rougher and steeper than Ball Lane. It was redeemed by a) being downhill and b) being shorter.

The descent to West Bagborough

This was intended to be a short day’s walk before the long drive home. The previous evening we had chopped the finishing point from the hamlet of Triscombe to West Bagborough, and now a short-cut was necessary to make West Bagborough in a reasonable time. This year’s instalment of the South West Odyssey (English Branch) ended in the Rising Sun at West Bagborough. Well done! to those who made it. I am sorry I was not there.

[Well I got there, - four months late. We had a very welcome (and, I think, deserved) pint of shandy sitting in the sun outside the Rising Sun]

Wild ponies, Cothelstone Hill (Pic: Francis)

Perhaps we are walking a little slower than we used to, it does not feel like it, but we were all in our forties for 'Go West', we are in our sixties, now. I think these walks were slightly longer than the last couple of years, but then Cothelstone Hill apart it was as flat a three day walk as can be arranged without going round and round a running track. Something to think about before next year perhaps – but there will be a next year, and I will find time, hopefully during this summer, to get down to Somerset and fill in my missing section. Thanks to those who offered to accompany me. I hope to take at least one of you up on it. [Big thanks to Francis who was willing and available on the date I picked]

Thanks to Francis, Alison and Mike for the contributions and to Brian for doing two shuttle runs in the afternoon so that I could go home in the morning.