Wednesday, 3 February 2021

Barcelona (1) La Rambla and Barceloneta

A Brief Whinge from Someone with no Real Problems

I am fed up with the Rona (who isn’t?) but, as I admitted in Swynnerton: A Village in Lockdown last April, we have it easy. Many, probably most, are having a more difficult time than us so, as the saying goes, mustn’t grumble. But I will, anyway. While grateful for our relative good fortune, I yearn to go places, do things and meet people. I am seventy, I do not want to go wild, I just want some reassurance that I am still alive.

The lockdowns have had another strange, personal consequence. It takes me a year or more to complete the posts for a long journey, six months for a week’s break. Since 2010 I have permanently been working on a backlog of two, sometime three trips. I was happy with that, the backlog would disappear, I thought, when the problems of old age stopped us travelling, and I was in no hurry for that to happen.

Barcelona

But we are well, and and the backlog has gone. Becoming bored with tarting up old posts and dragging together portmanteau offerings on diverse topics like mosques and puddings, I am now resorting to historic travels. We enjoyed a city break in Barcelona at Easter in 2008; I have photos, all nicely dated and timed as digital images are, and with these, my memory and a guide book I can reconstruct our trip. And Lynne’s diary provides another invaluable source!

Barcelona Intro

Everyone knows where Barcelona is, but here is a map anyway, showing the city is at the northern end of Spain’s Mediterranean coast.

Spain
Catalonia

The city’s origins are obscure but a Roman castrum constructed in 15 BCE grew to become the Roman colony of Barcino. The Romans left and the Moors arrived but were eventually chased out by Charlemagne and Barcelona became capital of the County of Barcelona – a buffer state between Carolingian lands to the north and the Moors to the south. In time the county became the Principality of Catalonia and by the 16th century Barcelona was the largest city of the ‘Crown of Aragon’. In the Civil War, Catalonia was staunchly Republican but Barcelona was the scene of much fighting between rival Republican factions in 1937. In January 1939 the city fell to the Nationalists and Catalonia lost much of its autonomy during the 35-year dictatorship of Generalisimo Franco.

Spain

With Franco days a distant, if bitter, memory, Barcelona is now a cultural, economic and financial centre, a major port and tourist magnet and was host of the 1992 Olympics.  It has 1.6 million citizens and is the centre of a metropolitan area of 4.8 million making it the second most populous city in Spain, and the capital and largest city of Catalonia (I have carefully used the English spelling to avoid choosing between Spanish and Catalan and thus inadvertently making a political statement).

The Districts of Barcelona (the map has been turned, the coastline actually runs SW to NE)
The work of Vinals Reproduced under CreativeCommons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0

25/03/2008

We arrived at Barcelona’s El Prat Airport (Catalan for The Field) just after midday on a cool and overcast (Lynne described it as cold) Tuesday. The suburban railway station was closed for engineering work and the city Metro would not reach the airport until 2016, so we took a taxi to our hotel in the Cuitat Vella (Old City) - see map above. We could even see the medieval cathedral square from our bedroom window – well a bit of it anyway.

A Corner of Barcelona's Cathedral Square from our hotel room

The Cathedral

As it was just round the corner our first visit was to the Cathedral of the Holy Cross and St Eulalia.

I did not bother to photograph the outside as it was covered by scaffolding. The exteriors of Catalan churches are traditionally plain; the cathedral's elaborate (if hidden) façade was a 19th century neo-Gothic addition to the 14th Cathedral.

The interior, though basically a huge stone barn lined with chapels, is lavishly decorated. Lynne’s diary records that she was impressed by the quire and its carved misericords, and amused by the coffins of a medieval count and his wife marooned on a shelf half way up the wall. We were both winced at some of the paintings, the torture and martyrdom of the saints being depicted with, we thought, unseemly relish.

Inside Barcelona Cathedral

The story of St Eulalia, Barcelona’s co-patron saint is typical. Tradition states the Roman authorities punished the young Christian virgin by having her exposed naked in the public square. When God sent a miraculous spring snowfall to cover her nudity the enraged authorities put her in a barrel with protruding blades and rolled her down the road. I suspect that story tells us more about the pre-occupations of the early church than St Eulalia.

We met St Eulalia’s Geese in the cloister beside the cathedral. According to tradition white geese (or possibly doves) flew down to the dying martyr. In commemoration 13 geese (Eulalia was 13-years-old at the time) have free run of the cloister.

St Eulalia's Geese, Barcelona Cathedral Cloister

Leaving the cathedral, we wandered the medieval streets, stopped for a beer and eventually returned to our hotel.

Later we dined at a restaurant 15-minute’s walk away recommended by the friendly man on reception. Arriving at a Spanish restaurant at 9.00 is one way to have the place to yourself, but holding out until local eating time is beyond us. Two other customers eventually arrived, just before we finished eating. Lynne’s cuttlefish kebab cooked in squid ink and my ‘baby pig’ with pumpkin chutney were excellent, as were the desserts, a melon soup with lychees for Lynne and for me Mató, a Catalan whey cheese served, as tradition demands, with honey.

Wed 26/03/2008 to Sat 29/03/2008

To treat the rest of our stay in chronological order would require too many geographical jumps. The next post will deal with the delights of the Gothic Quarter, the final one with the Exaimple and Gracia districts – Antoni Gaudi will feature there - but I will end this introductory post with a 'walk', actually pieced together from three different days, round two sides of the Gothic Quarter and down to the beach.

La Rambla

The Old Town, la Ciutat Vella, has three sections. Our hotel and the Cathedral were in the Gothic Quarter (el Barri Gótic) inside the medieval city wall, while the smaller El Raval was without the wall, at least until it was extended in 1377. The third, Barceloneta, is the old fisherman's quarter.

Dividing the Gothic Quarter from El Raval is La Rambla. Once a storm drain and sewer beside the wall its status has risen considerably and Federico García Lorca called it "the only street in the world which I wish would never end."

La Rambla is a dual carriageway, but the roadways are of minor importance, much wider and busier is the tree-lined pedestrian area down the centre. Once churches and monasteries lined the street and it was used for festivals, markets and sport, now its popularity with tourists means it is a place of cafés, kiosks and human statues ever ready, for a small fee, to move or pose for a camera.  It is always busy in the summer, indeed it was busy in March too, when the tourists were very much in the minority. I wonder if Lorca would think it had been spoilt?

Looking south down La Rambla from near the Plaça Catalunya

La Rambla runs some 1,250m from the Plaça Catalunya, where the Old City meets the modernista Exaimple district, southeast to the old port.

Mercat de la Boqueria

About a third of the way down is Boqueria market. A market was held on this site in 1217 and there have been meat markets here under various names ever since. The present all-purpose food market was built in 1840, and for lovers of food markets this is as good as it gets. In the stall below are mushrooms, firm, fresh and inviting, of a dozen different varieties . The next stall has baskets of oysters behind sacks of, perhaps, winkles. The Spanish eat more fish and sea food per head than any other European country…

Mushrooms and sea food, La Boqueria Market, Barcelona

….but they also love their ham.

Pernil, Embotits i Foratge (Catalan: ‘ham, sausages and cheese’), La Boqueria, Barcelona 

We were taken aback by the prices of some hams, €140 per Kg Lynne’s diary notes with apparent shock. We learned more about ham on our 2019 trip to Andalusia where they produce arguably the best ham in the world – and locals would take offense at ‘arguably’. The clearly visibly black trotters are unique to Iberian black pigs, the black label lower down indicates these are free range, acorn fed, pure bred Ibericos - the top quality. As we saw in Aracena, hams like these start at €700 and the most expensive can fetch over €4,000.

Christopher Columbus

The end of La Rambla is marked by a statue of Christopher Columbus, as we would call him, Cristóbal Colón in Spanish or Cristòfor Colom in Catalan. Born in the Genoese Republic in 1451, he went to sea at the age of 10 and became a merchant, seafarer and self-taught geographer. Like most educated people he knew the world was not flat and was not alone in conjecturing there might be a shorter route to the riches of India and the Spice Islands by sailing west rather going round the southern tip of Africa. He persuaded King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella to back his projected trip and the rest everybody knows. The marriage of Ferdinand and Isabella had united the crowns of Castille and Aragon and Barcelona's importance to the Crown of Aragon is, as far as I know, Colombus’ sole local connection.

Christopher Columbus Monument, Barcelona

Google suggests the site has changed since my photo. He now stands on a sizeable traffic island and is further away from the self-important building behind him. He now points vaguely out to sea but in 2008 he gives the impression of pointing back up La Rambla, not the way to India, or the Caribbean – perhaps he fancied some ham

Maritime Museum

Appropriately the Maritime Museum occupies the site of a medieval dockyard opposite Columbus.

Inside, Lynne records, there were copies of old maps, all so inaccurate or vague it was no wonder Columbus did not know where he was, and models of ships. She also mentions trawlers, small fishing boats, canoes, catamarans and plenty of maritime equipment.

Pride of place went to a full-sized replica of Don Juan of Austria’s flagship at the Battle of Lepanto (1571). It was rowed by slaves chained to their seats and was capable of speeds up to 9 knots.

Replica of the flagship of Don Juan of Autria at the Battle of Lepanto, Maritime Museum, Barcelona

John of Austria was born in 1547, an illegitimate son of Holy Roman Emperor Charles V. In the service of his half-brother, King Philip of Spain he was Admiral of the Holy Alliance fleet at Lepanto. The battle was the first major naval victory over the Turks by Christian forces, and with over 400 galleys involved, the last significant galley battle in the Mediterranean.

Barceloneta

The road running northeast beside the ferry dock and the Porto Vell Marina from the Columbus memorial is the Passeig de Colom, which to the anglophone sounds less scatological than its Spanish equivalent. This brings you to the Barceloneta quarter curling protectively round the end of the harbour.

Once a poor and run-down area, the rows of fisherman’s cottages facing the harbour have been smartened up and include many seafood restaurants, those in the first row noticeably upmarket. Restaurants in the rows further back tended to be more modest and we earmarked one offering a set lunch for €12.50, wine included.

Half past one was a little early for a Spanish lunch so we strolled down to the beach. Spain has a long Mediterranean coastline chockful of beach resorts but I had never thought of Barcelona being one, but it is. Used, I would expect, largely by locals it is pleasant enough, though not in March. I took off my jacket for the photograph in the vain hope of making it look warmer.

Barcelona beach

Back at the restaurant, lunching with the locals, we started with paella. Lynne followed this with a substantial sole while I ordered ‘whinting’ from the bilingual menu expecting whiting. What arrived looked more like overlarge whitebait, very fresh, lightly floured and less aggressively fried than whitebait is in the UK. It was basic but wonderful. Lynne described the cheesecake dessert as ‘a very light cake made with some mild curd cheese and chocolate bits served with a light syrup’. I suspect this is what cheesecake was before it became the highly processed article sold at home. The food industry has messed up a simple delight. A bottle of house white completed the set menu.

A beer and a tapa (just the one) were all we required that evening.

Barcelona
Barcelona (1) La Rambla and Barceloneta
Barcelona (2) The Old City
Barcelona (3)Sagrada Familia and the Eixample District

Wednesday, 13 January 2021

Tibetan Buddhism: Buddhist Temples, Monasteries and Buddha Images Part 3

Tibetan Buddhism - not Just in Tibet

The Tibetan Tradition

Buddhism probably arrived in Tibet from India in the 8th century. That makes it part of the Mahayana tradition, but as it includes many tantric practices and elements of Vajrayana, it is often treated as a separate branch of Buddhism.

Tibetan Wheel

I offer the above paragraph in good faith; I believe it to be accurate but I admit to not understanding some of the words. I have, though, observed that in Tibetan Buddhism, as in Mahayana, Buddha images often come in threes, Bodhisattva Maitreya (the Future Buddha), the Buddha, and Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara (The Compassion Buddha). Bodhisattvas are important, as are fearsome images of guardians, but there seems less emphasis on Arhats. Like Theravada, Tibetan Buddhism has a strong monastic tradition. Only Tibetan Buddhists use prayer wheels, praying by rotating a wheel about a sacred text, and prayer flags where sacred texts blow in the wind.

Although Tibetan Buddhism has several independent branches, each having its own monasteries and leaders, they remain closely related. The Gelug (Yellow Hat) is the dominant school - not just in Tibet - and the most influential Gelugpa is the Dalai Lama.

Tibetan Monasteries

Tibetan Buddhism is not confined to Tibet, the map above shows the monasteries/temples covered in this post, though there will also be a surprise visit to Beijing. But I will start in the obvious place. We visited Lhasa in July/Aug 2005.

Tibet (officially the Xizang Autonomous Region, China)

Lhasa

Lhasa is an interesting city to visit. At 3,700m (12,000ft) most people suffer some effect of altitude; breathlessness, aching joints, sleep disruption or even a brief collapse. In midsummer the air is pleasantly warm though air-conditioning is not required.

Officially encouraged Han migration has resulted in half the 500,000 population being non-Tibetan. I deplore the destructive Chinese policy of squeezing the culture of ethnic minorities, though from an entirely selfish point of view, the Han presence - and the existence of a Nepali community - allowed us to eat well. Tibetans' own food never quite escapes the distinctive rancid flavour of yak butter.

The Jokhang Temple

The Jokhang Temple is the physical and spiritual centre of Lhasa. In summer the modest frontage on Barkhor Square was permanently semi-blocked by prostrating pilgrims. The interior was dark and the air dense with the smell of wood smoke and burning yak butter candles as devotees jostled to make their offerings.

Entrance to the Jokhang Temple, Lhasa

We escaped to the roof.

Lynne on the roof of the Jokhang Temple, Lhasa

The Potala Palace

From the Jokhang roof we looked across the Square to the dramatically sited Potala Palace the home of the Dalai Lama – though he has lived in exile since 1959.

The Potala Palace from the roof of the Jokhang Temple, Lhasa

Once you have acquired a ticket and turned many prayer wheels…

There are many prayer wheels to turn in Lhasa

…you have the freedom of the palace complex.

Inside the Potala Palace complex, Lhasa

The Drepung Monastery

Five kilometres outside Lhasa, Drepung is the largest monastery in Tibet. At its peak there were as many as ten thousand monks. There are now less than a thousand, and with tight Chinese control the monastery lacks the moral authority it once had, but when we visited in 2005 it seemed a thriving community.

Just Part of the Drepung Monastery Complex

It is a large complex on many levels on the side of Mount Gephel. Climbing from courtyard to courtyard up steps that were often more ladders than staircases was hard work. It was our second full day in Lhasa and the thin air took its toll. Lynne leaned against a wall to get her breath and then slowly slipped down to a seated position. Leaving her in the ticket office in the care of some solicitous and friendly monks....

Solicitous and friendly monks

...I continued alone.

Drepung Monastry

Sadly, she missed the hall full of monks chanting sutras.....

Chanting monks, Drepung Monastery

....the monk's prayer hall near the top of the complex...

Prayer Hall, Drepung Monastery

....and this view of a lone monk standing on a roof, surveying the world. A true son of Tibet, he stands behind the gold encased finials waiting for his kettle to boil.

Waiting for his kettle to boil, Drepung Monastery

As committed tea drinkers the Tibetans make the British look like amateurs. What I cannot understand, though, is why, once they have made a nice pot of tea they always stir in a dollop of yak butter. The advantage of yak butter is that never goes off, the disadvantage is that tastes like it has even when fresh.

Sera Monastery

At Sera monastery back in the city, the younger monks gather in a stony square two or three afternoons a week. The more senior monks test their juniors on points of Buddhist philosophy asking question in an aggressive if stylised manner.

Debating at Sera Monastery, Lhasa

I have heard that important as this once was, it is now just for tourists. Perhaps, but they entered into it with vigour and thought – and occasionally a little humour.

Mongolia

North from the Tibetan Plateau, across several hundred kilometres of dessert are the huge open grasslands of Mongolia, the least densely populated country in the world.

Buddhism was introduced to the nomadic empires of Mongolia in the 1st century CE though in time it faded into Shamanism.

In the early 13th century Genghis Khan united Mongolia and went on to rule the largest contiguous empire ever seen. It fragmented after his death, but his grandson Kublai Khan started out as ruler of most of Mongolia and northern China. By 1271 he had unified China and established the Yuan Dynasty. He introduced Tibetan Buddhism and monasticism into Mongolia, but after the demise of his dynasty in 1368, Mongolia again slowly relapsed into shamanism.

During the 16th Mongolian cultural revival Altan Khan, a warlord with an eye to reunifying the country made an ally of the Dalai Lama. Tibetan Buddhism returned to Mongolia and was reinforced by the Chinese Qing dynasty in the next couple of centuries.

Ulaanbaatar

In 2007 selecting the southern option of the Trans-Siberian Railway took us to Ulaanbaatar. Mongolians traditionally moved with the seasons, and Ulaanbaatar only settled on its present site in 1789. It is now home to 1.3 million, more than half the vast country’s population

Gandan Monastery

The first buildings of Ulaanbaatar’s Gandan Monastery were constructed in 1809. Buildings have come and gone, but the most impressive, the temple of Boddhisattva Avalokiteshvara was built in 1913.

Temple of the Boddhisattva Avalokiteshvara, Gandan Monastery

Gandan closed in 1938 as Mongolia's client government obediently followed Stalin’s anti-religious line. After the Second World War Stalin decided to make token acknowledgment of traditional cultures and religions across the USSR. The Mongolian government followed suit, reopening Gandan in 1948, though with many restrictions. Since the end of communism in 1990 all restrictions have been lifted, and there has been a resurgence of Buddhism.

(see Ulaanbaatar: Part 11 of the Trans-Siberian Railway)

Bürd Sum

Leaving Ulaanbaatar with a driver and local guide we drove 340 km to the Bürd Sum (district) of Övörkhangai Aimag (province) where we stayed with a local family. The first 50 km of the journey were on tarmac, the rest over open steppe. Övörkhangai is three times the size of Wales but the whole population would almost fit into the Principality Stadium.

(see Across the Mongolian Steppe: Part 9 of the Trans-Siberian Railway)

Shaman Shrine

Next day we visited Erdene Zuu. More driving across grassland brought us to a proper road. At the road junction was a shrine. Mongolian Buddhism has absorbed shamanism, and this is essentially a shaman shrine. We did the proper thing, which is to walk round it three times clockwise and placed a new stone on the top. Most passers-by contented themselves with a hoot on the horn.

A shaman shrine, Ovorkhangai Province

Kharkhorin, Övörkhangai Province

Ghengis Khan built his capital of Karakorum on the site of modern Kharkhorin in around 1220. Not being the settling down sort of guy, Ghengis soon moved on, though the city thrived for a while before being destroyed by a Ming army in 1388. Modern Kharkhorin is a major population centre, by Mongolian standards, with 13,000 inhabitants.

Erdene Zuu

The monastery of Erdene Zuu was built in 1585, using such remnants of Karakorum as were available. The boundary of the rectangular site is marked by 100 small stupas. 108 is the number of attributes of the Buddha, so either 8 stupas have been lost or somebody miscounted during the building process.

Erdene Zuu

The modern city of Kharkhorin sits under the black smoke in the distance - a rare example of Mongolian industry.

Stupas, Erdene Zuu

By the end of the 19th century there were over 60 temples on the site, but in 1939 most were destroyed by the communists.

Surviving Temple, Erdene Zuu

All the surviving temples are open to visitors.

Inside a temple, Erdene Zuu

In 1990 the site was handed back to the monks and Erdene Zuu became an active monastery again.

Monk taking a prayer wheel for a walk, Erdene Zuu

(see With the Mongolian Nomads: Part 10 of the Trans-Siberian Railway)

Buryat Republic, Russia

Our previous stop on the Trans-Siberian had been at Ulan Ude, the capital of Buryatia, one of the constituent republics of the Russian Federation. Buryats are ethnic Mongolians, and so Buddhists, but Buryatia has been Russian since the seventeenth century. Then, Inner and Outer Mongolia struggled under imperial Chinese rule while the Buryats traded with the incoming Russians and enjoyed comparative freedom and prosperity.

Ivolginsk Datsan

Before the Russian Revolution, there were hundreds of Datsans in Buryatia and thousands of monks, but by the 1930’s the Datsans had all been closed and the monks dispatched to the Gulags. In the 1940s Stalin decided it was time for more religious tolerance and so a Datsan was constructed at Ivolginsk, 30 km west of Ulan Ude. It opened in 1947 on a site carefully chosen by astrologers.

Ivolginsk Datsun, near Ulan Ude

The architecture and decoration of the Johkang Temple, Potala Palace and Drepung Monastery in Lhasa are almost identical. Gandan and Erdene Zuu are cut from similar cloth, but the main building at Ivolginsk, 3,000 km north of Lhasa, looks, unsurprisingly, less Tibetan and ever so slightly Russian.

The Temple at the Ivolginsk Datsun, near Ulan Ude

…but from some angles the Tibetan look predominates.

Tibetan style stupas, Ivolginsk, near Ulan Ude

Andre, our Christian European Russian guide was here when the Dalai Lama visited this outpost of his flock in the 1980s. He was very taken by his serenity and almost tangible charisma.

Prayer wheels, Ivolginsk Datsun, near Ulan Ude with Tibetan script (her right) and Mongolian script

(see Ulan Ude (1) Buddhists, Old Believers and an Enormous Head of Lenin: Part 6 of the Trans-Siberian Railway

China

Or, more accurately, China again as Tibet is part of China. Chinese Buddhism follows the Mahayana tradition, but that does not mean there are no ‘Tibetan pockets.’

Beijing

The Dalai Lama fled Tibet in 1959 over his disagreement with the Chinese authorities. He is a man of integrity and peace from whom the Chinese could learn much, but instead they regard him rather like the Americans regarded Osama bin-Ladin. It was not always that way.

Stupa, Beihai Park

Beihai Park, just north of Beijing’s centre was allegedly created by Kublai Khan. The stupa on the artificial island was built to commemorate the visit of a 17th century Dalai Lama to Beijing.

Stupa on the artificial island, Beihai Park, Beijing

(see Beijing (2): Xicheng and Beihai Park. Part 2 of Beijing, North Korea and Shanxi)

Yonghe Gong

The Yonghe Gong was our first ever Buddhist temple on out first ever visit to Beijing. It is a rare example of a Tibetan Temple in the Han heartland, though I doubt we realised that at the time.

It was built in 1649, as a residence for court eunuchs. It then became the palace of Prince Yong, who turned part of the complex into a lamasery when he became emperor in 1722. On his death in 1733 Tibetan Buddhists were invited to take over the whole site. Developments since then have produced buildings which mix Tibetan and Chinese styles.

Lynne at the Yonghe Gong

The temple complex survived the Cultural Revolution and re-opened to the public in 1981. One of the charms of the place is that after so many years of religious repression many would-be devotees do not seem sure of what they should be doing.

Uncertain worshippers, Yonghe Gong

The temple contains a remarkable 18m high statue of the Buddha carved from a single piece of sandalwood.

Maitreya Buddha carved from a single piece of sandalwood, Yonge Gong, Beijing

India

Buddhism has all but died out in the country of its birth, but it is still possible to see dramatic Buddhist temples

Kushalnagar, Karnataka

The Dalai Lama and the Tibetan government-in-exile live in Dharamsala in the extreme north of India. We have not been there, but in 2010 we visited the small town of Kushalnagar in the southern state of Karnataka - as far south of Lhasa as Ulan Bator is north - where the state government has settled 10,000 exiled Tibetans.

Namdroling Monastery

As well as the usual secular requirements of any settlement, there are two Gelugpa monasteries and the much larger Namdroling Temple which follows the Nyingmapa tradition from Eastern Tibet.

Namdroling Monastery, Kushalnagar, Karnatica

As can be seen both from the outside and the interior, Namdroling is well financed. It is known as ‘The Golden Temple’- and with good reason.

Interior of Namdroling - The Golden Temple, Kushalnagar

The temple looks typically Tibetan and even displays a trio of Buddhas - as promised in the introduction. July in Lhasa had been pleasantly warm but air-conditioning was unnecessary, people merely left doors and windows open and allowed in the fresh, if rather thin, air. At other times of the year it can be viciously cold. February in Kushalnagar was hot and humid (it is equally hot, though far wetter in the monsoon season) and the vegetation around the temple could not have been less Tibetan. Namdroling looked like an exotic transplant from a faraway land.

Namdroling, The Golden Temple, Kushalnagar

Buddhist Temples, Monasteries and Buddha Images

Part 1: Introduction
Part 2: Mahayana Buddhism
Part 3: Tibetan Buddhism
Part 4: Theravada (1) Sri Lanka
Part 5: Theravada (2) Myanmar
Part 6: Theravada (3) Laos, Cambodia & Thailand

Saturday, 19 December 2020

Cannock Chase in the Time of Covid: The (N + 10)th Annual Fish and Chip Walk

Or the (N + 10)th Annual Fish and Chip Walk

The Cutting


Staffordshire
Even the wretched pandemic cannot stop people going for walk, so this year’s participants posed for the usual departure photo in a responsible, socially distanced group. Even in Tier 3 we are allowed to do this, provided we obey the ‘Rule of Six’. Like most glib Johnsonian phrases, it seems to mean something, but doesn’t. What precisely is the rule of six? Six people, yes, but are children counted? What about bubbles? And what account is taken of the Higgs-Fermi effect: whenever six are gathered together in an appropriate quantum configuration a seventh slips into existence from the sub-space envelope? It once caused the Big Bang (as I am sure you know).
Social Distanced in the Cutting Car Park, l to r, Ed, Anne, Francis, Sue, Lee. Mike

We, again, started from the Cutting Car Park, near Milford on the northwest edge of the Chase, though it was a very different photo last year when we crammed together in Anne’s selfie.

What a difference a year makes

Back then nobody had heard of 'Covid', the words 'social' and 'distancing' were hardly acquainted, let alone partners in a bubble, and masks were worn only by bandits.

After a week or two of drizzle, sometimes rain, our chosen day dawned with blue sky, mild temperatures and a dry forecast. Just occasionally something has to go right.

‘Sparrowhawk!’ said Francis suddenly as we moved off. I looked up to see a small raptor-type bird flash past, not far above our heads. I hardly had time to focus, but if Francis said it was a sparrowhawk, then a sparrowhawk it undoubtedly was.

As usual we walked out over the embankment rather than through the cutting - it is so much drier – then dropped down to follow the old railway line.

Along the line of the 'Tackeroo'

From the embankment down to the Tackeroo

The 13 mile long ‘tackeroo’ (nobody seems to know where the name came from) was built in 1914/15 to service the army camps, stores and POW camp on Cannock Chase. The line was built south from Milford Station on the LNWR mainline (now the West Coast Line), climbed onto the Chase through the cutting we had just used, then followed the high ground along the western edge of the Sherbook Valley. At the head of the valley, it turned east, branching out to service the various camps. The southern end ran from the Hednesford colliery siding onto the Chase via Brindley Valley. The lines met a few hundred metres south of the point now known as Rifle Range Corner.

Along the line of the Tackeroo - the western edge of the Sherbrook Valley

I have walked this path dozens of times, but never before noticed the relentless nature of the upward gradient from the cutting. The rise is roughly 70m over 2+km - persistent if hardly steep - and my memory tells me I have previously sprung up it like a gazelle (though memory is a treacherous beast). I would like to blame the exercise I have not had during the recent lockdown but I am also acutely aware of having ‘enjoyed’ a milestone birthday since I was last here ‘Maybe it’s the time of year, or maybe it's the time of man’ as Joni Mitchell pondered in a totally different context 50 years ago. Francis dropped back to walk with me. ‘I’ve slowed down a lot over the last few months,’ he said ruefully.

Down to the Sher Brook for Coffee then up to Rifle Range Corner

Almost as soon as it flattened out, we turned down into the valley.

Starting the descent into the Sherbrook Valley

Cannock Chase is remarkably well drained, as befits a 200m high pile of pebbles, but rainfall has been plentiful of late so it is not entirely mud free, and if your confident stride hits a patch of slippery mud, you can be precipitated onto your backside. Fortunately, Anne is made of stern stuff, and rose as quickly as she had descended, muddied but unbowed.

This far up the valley the stream has largely disappeared, but a bridge – or channel from the Chase’s obscure industrial past – crosses the stream bed between a marshy section and a pond. It was a good spot to pause for coffee.

Taking Coffee across the streambed, Sherbrook Valley

With good weather, and a dearth of alternative entertainment under Tier 3 rules, the Chase was busy with walkers and mountain bikers. A pair of dog walkers stopped by the pond, threw a ball into the water and their charge bounded in and swam across to retrieve it. And repeat. And again, several times. We had a grandstand view; questions were asked about the dog and a conversation developed. I have never liked dogs (I am not the only one, but people rarely admit it) and I thought this continual jumping into cold muddy water to fetch something that had been thrown away, went some way to explaining why.

There was no plan from here (in pre-Covid days Francis always knew where we were going) so a decision was necessary. Walking back along the other side of the brook to the Stepping Stones was universally agreed to be too short, while Lee’s suggestion of walking to Rifle Range Corner, down Abraham’s Valley to Seven Springs and back to the Stepping Stone felt over-ambitious. A compromise of Rifle Range Corner and then finding a route west of Abraham’s Valley was accepted, though no-one claimed knowledge of the paths in that area.

Reaching Rifle Range Corner involved walking further up the valley, then turning left up a well-marked path, initially on the Heart of England Way, to where a minor road makes a sharp bend. This is the closest tarmac to the remains of the First World War rifle range, hence the somewhat grandiose name for an otherwise undistinguished spot.

Rifle Range Corner to Cherrytree Slade

We briefly followed the wide path from the corner towards the range,...

Leaving Rifle Range Corner

...and after a couple of leftish turns found ourselves in unfamiliar territory, even to those who regard the Chase as an extension of their back gardens. A stop and a think was called for. Lee had an opinion, 'left' if the picture is to be believed, Francis had an opinion, the rest of us shrugged.

Lee wants to go left - others look less interested

Once their discussion had coalesced into a single opinion, Francis raised another issue. Pointing to a bird standing on the path we were not taking he asked. ‘Is that a crow or is it big enough to be a raven?’ Lee joined the shruggers this time and we set off down the agreed path. The bird immediately lifted itself into the air, flew over us and croaked as only a raven can.

The path took us onto the ridge between the Sherbrook and Abraham’s Valleys. Despite the number of walkers elsewhere we had the ridge to ourselves though there is no obvious reason why few people come this way. Observing the Sherbrook Valley from the ‘wrong’ side, only the pattern of paths was different making it strangely familiar, yet unfamiliar.

The Sherbrook Valley from the 'wrong' side

Down Cherrytree Slade to the Stepping Stones

At the end of the ridge, Cherrytree Slade led us among silver birches.

Cherrytree Slade

As we descended, the sonorous rasp of the raven followed us into the valley, as if labouring a point. Mike and I wandered along at the back looking at the subtle colours among the bracken and winter trees. The Chase offers a range of muted hues while winter in the White Peak tends to the monochrome.

Beside Cherrytree Slade

The Stepping Stones and to the End of the Walk

We reached the valley floor and a few hundred metres later arrived at the Stepping Stones. After the recent rain there had been speculation that the water might be higher than the stones, but not so. We had seen almost nobody for some time but this point is a magnet for families – small children find the stones and flowing stream irresistible.

The Stepping Stones have featured in most of these walks and I have almost made a virtue out of no longer photographing them, but I should have done this year. Never mind, here is the 2016 picture, little has changed except Lee’s hat.

Crossing the Sherbrook at the Stepping Stones in 2016

Over the brook we took the path to the right which turns away from the stream, rounds Harts Hill and then a left takes you back up to the The Cutting.

And so the walk ended where it had begun. Lee informed us he had taken some 18,000 steps, no doubt a satisfactory total, and Francis later calculated we had walked 12km in not much over three hours - good going for an old git, I thought.

Fish 'n' Chips and a Tradition Observed, More or Less

And finally the matter of fish and chips, central to the concept of this walk. We finished before two, when the nearest chippie closes, so fish and chips could be fetched for those who fancied standing round in a cold car park eating rapidly cooling greasy chips from the paper. Mike and I found that prospect resistible, and as Alison and Lynne usually joined us for the pub lunch we headed for our respective homes promising we would continue the tradition from a distance. The Fitzherbert Arms in Swynnerton is currently closed (the joys of Tier 3!) but operates a weekend take-away menu. In the morning Lynne had placed an order for fish and chips, so later, showered and rested, I strolled up to fetch them. And very good they were too (whisper it quietly, but I am not a huge fan of soggy, chip shop chips*) and we could have a drink as well.

Fitzherbert Fish & Chips at home

But next year in the pub!

*Along with my earlier admission of disliking dogs, this finally outs me as a traitorous remoaner who hates everything British. A firing squad is probably too good for me.

The Annual Fish and Chip Walks

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)