Sunday 5 May 2013

Over the Mendips to Wells: Day 17 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.

It may have rained overnight, but the morning mist cleared early and we prepared to set out in bright sunshine.


Preparing to leave the Seymour Arms, Blagdon
I took a short walk over the road to look at Blagdon Lake which, like its larger neighbour Chew Lake, provides drinking water for Bristol. It was formed in 1891 by damming the (Congresbury) Yeo one of thirteen River Yeos in Somerset and Devon.

Augustus Toplady was the curate of Blagdon from 1762-64. During this time he had cause to shelter from a thunderstorm under a large cleft rock in nearby Burrington Combe and was inspired to write the hymn ‘Rock of Ages’. The hymn was definitely written in 1763, the rest of the story is probably apocryphal though a metal plaque marks the spot where he may not have sheltered.


Blagdon Lake and the Rev Augustus Toplady's church

Back in Bishop Sutton we set off through the village and then up what the landlady of the Seymour Arms had described as ‘Cardiac Arrest Hill’. At 174m, 125m above the level of the lake, Burledge Hill does require a little effort, but to describe it as a threat to health was a bit over the top. Our plan had been to follow the minor road winding round the highest part of the hill, but it seemed pleasanter, if longer, to take a footpath that climbs straight up the side and then continues to a fort.

The hillside is designated as a Site of Special Scientific Interest, ‘nationally important…,’ according to the citation, ‘…for a wide variety of species-rich unimproved neutral grassland communities…’ There is a list of plants an expert could have spotted, but we were happy to settle for several banks of wild primroses.


A bank of primorses on Burledge Hill
The fort, an Iron Age hill fort constructed early in the first millennium BC, was a disappointment. We had not expected to see much, but a great deal of imagination was required to turn a few bumps in the ground into earthworks. It probably shows up well from above, but no one had a helicopter in their pack. My photograph, showing only a bush and a field, is too dull to reproduce, so here is close-up of the primroses instead.

Primroses, Burledge Hill

We crossed the top of the hill to the road, turned south and a kilometre later entered Whitehill Lane. Someone had clearly been ignoring the ‘unsuitable for motor vehicles’ sign and I was glad when we reached the end of the muddy and deeply rutted track at a viewpoint on the edge of Widcombe Hill.

The views of the lake…..
Chew Valley Lake from the Widcombe Hill viewpoint

 ….and the northern scarp of the Mendip Hills were good…


The northern slope of the Mendips
… though the view of the assembled company involves a more niche use of the word ‘picturesque’. Alison had an impressive app on her iPad which showed exactly where we had walked and informed us, to two decimal places that I cannot now remember, that we had covered some 4.5 km at a respectable 3km/h.


Some look at the view, others don't

From here we walked round the hill to the village of Hinton Blewett before descending the grassy slope back into the Chew Valley. We paused for coffee by the lower of two small reservoirs which had recently been emptied for repair work and had just started refilling itself.


Coffee by the Coley reservoir

A heron flew up from the river, landed in an adjacent field and stood staring at the grass as if wondering where the fish had gone. Mike observed that it looked indignant. Sometimes I lie awake at night wondering just how large a range of emotions herons can display.

Our return to the Chew Valley was brief. We walked past the reservoirs towards Litton, turned down Stoneyard Lane, which, despite its name is more of a dry stream bed than a lane, and started the climb up onto the Mendips. At Wooten Hall at the top of the track the stile was equipped with a length of rope to make the ascent easier. We climbed across farmland and just beyond Greendown we joined the Monarch’s Way.


Over the wall at Wooten Hall

The Monarch’s Way is a 990km waymarked trail following the wanderings of the future Charles II after the Battle of Worcester in1651. Worcester to Shoreham-by-Sea, from where he fled to France, is roughly 250km, so he hardly took the direct route. We had walked part of the Monarch’s Way previously, notably on Day 10 in 2011 (Andoversford to Perrott’s Brook) and this time we would follow it, with the odd deviation, for the rest of today and much of tomorrow morning.

Back on the Monarch's Way

Once we had climbed the slope it was a long haul over a grassy upland. We passed the summit of Eaker Hill, at 290km one of the highest points of the Mendips, but rising only 20m from the surrounding grassland.

Reaching Red Quarr Farm (‘quarr’ is an old version of ‘quarry’), we turned right, spent too long on a busy B-road then turned left into a large apparently nameless area of woodland.


Nameless woodland on top of the Mendip Hills

The wood was pleasant after the farmland, dry and springy underfoot, pleasantly shaded overhead. Emerging from the forest, we crossed the road into the Priddy Mineries nature reserve, an area of open heathland. As it was lunchtime and there was no lunchtime pub we briefly paused here to not have lunch. We then set off, halted while I went back to attempt to fetch my glasses case (which had actually been in my pack the whole time) and set off again.

At not-lunch Alison’s app was telling us we had walked 500m in the two hours since the viewpoint. We began to wonder if it was all it was cracked up to be.

Across the Priddy Mineries to Fair Lady's Well

The heathland was also pleasant to walk over and we soon passed Fair Lady’s Well and continued through an area with grassed over spoil heaps and small patches of what is known locally as ‘gruffy ground’. Sparkling in the sun, they looked like surface coal deposits, and when Mike found an adit in a small ravine we jumped to the obvious, but wrong, conclusion. The North Somerset Coalfield, I now know, consisted of deep mines in the valley and these mineral deposits are not coal. The Priddy Mineries were lead mines which were worked from pre-Roman times until finally closing in 1908. The land is too contaminated for agricultural use, and is now a nature reserve. Clearly unfazed by the lead, twenty species of dragonflies and all Britain’s native species of amphibians (except the Natterjack Toad) breed here in profusion.


'Gruffy Ground' Priddy Mineries

At the end of the mineries, a quick right and left along a quieter B-road took us into another area of pasture. After a kilometre and a half of this featureless grassy farmland it was easy to forget that we were actually on top of the Mendips. We reached the edge almost without warning and a huge view opened up across the Somerset levels, with the distinctive outline of Glastonbury Tor in the hazy distance.

Down to Wookey Hole

The descent was grassy but steep.  At the bottom we reached Wookey Hole, a village of no great charm tacked onto the edge of the theme park that Wookey Hole Caves have become. Francis seemed to be expecting a twee little place offering a choice of tea rooms with home made cakes. He was disappointed, but the Wookey Inn was open and offered an opportunity for a belated glass of lunch.

The suntrap of a garden was surrounded by plants usually only found indoors, or much further south, and we sat in the unaccustomed warmth and enjoyed a couple of pints of Cheddar Brewery’s Potholer, by far the best beer of the weekend. We had another look at Alison’s app, which had now concluded that we had walked too far and had resorted to drawing straight lines across the map. It had been free – sometimes you get what you pay for.


Francis leaves the Wookey Inn
From Wookey Hole a few hundred metres along Lime Kiln Lane brought us to Underwood quarry.  Screened by trees it was difficult to see, but we suspected the quarrying had rearranged the land shown on the map - it was certainly a long walk round.

A friendly local who had walked up the hill to sit in the sun accompanied us into town. The path through the Blue School grounds gave us an excellent view of the Cathedral, then we rounded the less scenic soon-to-be-completed Waitrose before finding ourselves the old streets of England’s smallest city.


Into Wells

There was some discussion about whether Wells really is England’s smallest city, Francis championing the tininess of Ely – well, he does come from Cambridge. Having googled it, I can report that Ely has a population of 20 000, Wells just half that, so the argument is settled. Both, however, are megalopolises compared with the Welsh cities of St Asaph (pop. 3500) and St David’s (1800).

We arrived at the excellent Glengarth House B & B to find Lynne and Hilary already ensconced.

Wells remains small enough to be dominated by its cathedral, as all medieval cities were, and before dinner we popped into the cathedral precinct. The first church on the site was built in 705 but most of what we see today is from the late 12th and early 13th centuries. The Gothic façade, one of the largest and finest in Europe, does produce an involuntary intake of breath as you walk under the arch from the Market Place, even though, as Mike observed, the towers at either end look like they need something on top of them.


The facade of Wells Cathedral

We dined in the Crown Inn from which William Penn once preached to a crowded Market Place, though it now seems prouder of its role in the film Hot Fuzz.

It was time for the cider investigation postponed from yesterday lunchtime. Draught Thatcher’s Gold has a light, clean apple flavour but is too bland and too sweet for my palate. At 4.8% alcohol it tastes remarkably like a soft drink, wherein, maybe, lies its danger. Only Brian persisted after the pre-prandial pints; ‘drink local’ is a fine concept, but I am afraid I took refuge in Chilean Merlot.

The menu was above the pub average and flirted with ‘pretentious food’ (see Dandly’s personal, idiosyncratic,unscientific and deeply prejudiced food classification system) but my slow roasted belly pork with a black pudding sausage was pleasing enough to easily qualify as ‘good food’. I cannot speak for other people’s choices.



The South West Odyssey (English Branch)

Saturday 4 May 2013

Along the Chew Valley: Day 16 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.

Eleven months after Day 15 (this year’s Odyssey is slightly earlier) we reassembled in the same Swineford picnic site. Brian and Hilary had joined Lynne and I in Saltford the previous evening. We had been less than a kilometre away from start as the crow flies but roads are not built with crows in mind. A 7 km drive via Keynsham was required to get round the hill and over the river. On the plus side, we had to pass Keynsham station so we picked up Francis and Alison on the way. We also picked up one of the waifs and strays that Alison sometimes seems to collect; a young man requiring a lift to Bitton station. It was only a couple of kilometres and we drove right past it, so it would have been churlish to refuse. Bitton is on the Avon Valley Railway, three miles of track (all that survives of the former Mangotsfield and Bath branch line) owned and run by steam enthusiasts. Mike was already at Swineford when we arrived.

It was a cool morning with a hint of rain in the air but the forecast promised improvement. After the freezing conditions of late March had carried on into April, recent signs that spring was at last arriving were something of a relief.
Getting ready at Swineford
(L to R) Mike, Francis, Brian, Alison, Hilary and Lynne (with their backs to the camera)
Saying goodbye to Lynne and Hilary, we set off down the lane. Emerging from the picnic site onto the main road we disagreed about which way to turn. Francis said left, everybody else said right. Looking at the map as I write this, Francis is clearly wrong, but on the ground he turned out - as (almost) always - to be right.

Joining the Avon Valley Trail, we strolled along the north bank of the river. The (Bristol) Avon is one of England’s four Avons and the second of this Odyssey - we crossed the (Stratford) Avon back on Day 7.


Along the Gloucestershire bank of the Avon
We soon passed under the Mangotsfield and Bath Railway, though this section is a cycle path rather than a big boys’ train set.

The river here is traditionally the boundary between Gloucestershire and Somerset. Although we had entered the land of BANES (Bath and North East Somerset – a unitary authority carved out of the short lived County of Avon) last year, we found ourselves briefly back in Gloucestershire as we walked westwards along the northern bank for a couple of kilometres of sunshine and showers.

The River Chew joins the Avon just north of Keynsham and our plan was to turn left and walk up the Two Rivers Way beside the tributary. That is exactly what we did but I have no idea how. Reaching the confluence, Francis walked confidently up a spit of land between a weir and lock. Even Francis can’t walk on water (well not in those boots) so having proved he was fallible we turned round, headed for the main road across the Avon, then turned south through side streets, a small housing development and a riverside park. By good luck, or inspired navigating, we ended up walking south beside the Chew.
A sidestream enters the Chew through a mill race
Keynsham

Keynsham is not a big town, but beside the river we hardly knew we were in urban surroundings. Beyond the town we paused for coffee. As we sat down, a thin shower swept across us. When it had passed the sun came out, and stayed out for the rest of this year’s walk.


Francis and Alison take coffee beside the Chew

Compton Dando is a kilometre further south, but we turned west to follow the river just before reaching the village. Somewhere here we crossed the Wansdyke (Woden’s Dyke), a 33 km earthwork fortification dating from the dark days after the Romans withdrew. The eastern Wansdyke is, I am told, quite impressive, but we crossed the western Wansdyke without noticing it.

West of Compton Dando the river takes a swing to the south, but we took the direct route up through Park Copse and over the hill the river goes round. The climb up a woodland path lined with bluebells and wild garlic was short but steep enough to raise the heart rate.


Upwards through Park Copse

We crossed the summit, if a 70 metre high protuberance can have a ‘summit', and made a more gentle descent through the broom to the village of Woollard.


Down to Woollard through the broom

Woollard is little more than a hamlet but it has more than its fair share of listed buildings, including Paradise Row, a line of four estate cottages built in 1782.


Paradise Row, Woollard
This year’s Odyssey was too early for wisteria, but the magnolia was in full blossom and we left Woollard down a magnolia bedecked lane.


Leaving Woollard beneath the Magnolia
Following farm land above the river, we passed the hamlet of Publow, then crossed the river and took a direct path to Pensford.


Long Horn cattle near Publow

The existence of the North Somerset Coalfield is a largely forgotten piece of English industrial history. Pensford may not look like anybody’s idea of a pit village, but it was. I was surprised to learn that one colliery had remained in production until 1959.

Acker Bilk (Somerset royalty to rank alongside Adge Cutler and the Wurzels) lives in retirement here [Acker Bilk died in hospital in Bath on 2nd of November 2014 aged 85] in a village blessed by having two functioning pubs. At first we could find only the one that had not been recommended, but a friendly local directed us to the Rising Sun in the old heart of the village across the A37.

Being in cider country we - well Brian mainly, but I offered cautious support - were tempted by the range of ciders on hand-pull and in cask on the bar. Eschewing the more cloudy beverages the locals seemed to enjoy, we had settled for the hand pumped Thatcher’s when we noticed it was a sturdy 6%. A couple of pints of that at lunch time seemed foolhardy, so the experiment was postponed.

Rehydrated with moderate strength beer, we left the village and passed under the Pensford Viaduct. Built in 1874 the viaduct was closed after the 1968 flood, though it had carried no trains for some time and no passenger trains since 1959. The railway has been dismantled but the viaduct is a listed building. If anyone suggested building a huge viaduct across a rural valley there would be serious protests, but after it has been there a hundred years or so people campaign to save it. Strange things, humans.
Under the Pensford Viaduct

Under the viaduct we found ourselves back in the water meadows beside the River Chew. Twenty minutes later we turned south away from the river and through the village of Upper Stanton Drew. Had we passed through Stanton Drew itself (actually a smaller village) we might have caught a glance of the Stanton Drew stone circle, the second largest in England, but we missed it.
 

The River Chew
A further kilometre south and we climbed through Curl’s Wood.....



Approaching Curl's Farm

.....dropped down to one of the Chew’s feeder streams and then climbed up to Moorledge where we had our first view of Chew Valley Lake. The 5 square kilometre lake was formed by damming the River Chew in the early 1950s to provide drinking water for the Bristol area.



First sight of Chew Valley Lake

The gentle descent across farmland from Moreledge to Chew Lake took us past some of the regions newer residents. I have photographed the occasional llama on our walks, not to mention the Penkridge emu, but these were the first alpaca we have seen.


A rare sighting of the North Somerset Alpaca, long thought to be
extinct in the wild
Our path did not quite take us to the lake, but turned south along a lane leading into Bishop Sutton. Like Pensford, Bishop Sutton was also once a mining village, the first shafts being sunk in the early 18th century and the last colliery closing in 1929.


Sheltered from the wind, whose biting edge had stayed with us even after the rain disappeared, we sat in pleasant sunshine on a bench opposite the church. Minutes later Lynne and Hilary arrived to whisk us off to Blagdon where bed and breakfast were booked at the Seymour Arms.

The Seymour Arms, Blagdon


The South West Odyssey (English Branch)

Friday 3 May 2013

Bath

A Perfect Georgian City (and the Roman Parts are Good Too)

Somerset
Bath

Parking in Bath can be difficult so we took the bus, it was almost a door to door service from our Saltford B & B - and we used our newly minted bus passes (how did we get so old we could have bus passes?).

We alighted at Kingsmead Square. Bath is a small city, the centre neatly crooked in a bend in the River Avon, and from here we could easily walk everywhere we wanted to go.

John Wood (The Elder) Queen Square to The Circus

We strolled north to Queen Square. Born in Bath in 1704, John Wood (the elder) was an architect and entrepreneur who set out to restore his home town to ‘its former ancient glory’ and Queen Square was his first project. Renting the land from Robert Gay, a doctor and Bath MP, he designed the frontages and then sublet the plots behind to individual builders. His plan was firstly to provide a place for ‘polite society’ to parade and secondly to get rich. He succeeded on both counts. Wood chose to live on the south side of the square, which he believed gave the best possible view of both the square and the central obelisk, erected by Beau Nash in 1738 in honour of the Prince of Wales.

Queen Square, Bath

We walked up Gay Street towards The Circus. Gay Street, the next part of Wood’s plan, was started in 1735. We passed Jane Austin’s house (No. 25) and No. 40 which is now the Jane Austin Centre, before reaching The Circus which Wood designed in 1750.

Doorway, Queen Square, Bath

When John Wood died in 1754 building had hardly started and the Circus, a circle of elegant town houses surrounding a green space, was completed by his son John Wood (the younger). Circular roads, as I discovered at Connaught Place in New Delhi, are difficult to photograph satisfactorily.

The Circus, Bath

Wood was a mason. He decorated many of his buildings with masonic symbols and designed the whole development of The Circus, Gay Street and Queen Square in the shape a masonic key.

Street map showing the 'key' shape of Queen Square, Gay Street and The Circus, Bath

John Wood (The Younger), The Royal Crescent and the Assembly Rooms

Bath’s most instantly recognisable set of buildings, The Royal Crescent, starts just a 100m west of The Circus. Faithful to his father’s vision, John Wood (the younger) constructed what is often described as the finest piece of Georgian architecture in the country – and who am I to disagree? The Royal Crescent Hotel occupies the central section, and nowhere can there be so discreet a five star hotel. There is no sign, just an open door and a menu to tell you it is there.

Lynne and the Royal Crescent, Bath

We wandered the length of the crescent and photographed it from every angle but never quite managed to do it justice. The pictures above and below are the best we could do.

Royal Crescent, Bath

The museum of Georgian life at No 1 closed in April. It will reopen on the 21st of June as a newer, bigger, grander museum, and will probably be well worth visiting.

Austinland

Returning to The Circus and crossing it to Bennett Street, we arrived at the Assembly Rooms.

The Assembly Rooms, Bath

Also the work of John Wood (the younger), the Assembly rooms are where the glitterati of Georgian Bath hung out. The ballroom alone could accommodate several hundred. With an orchestra at one end, tiered seating along the side and four substantial fireplaces, it would not pass a modern fire inspection. Characters from Northanger Abbey and Persuasion danced here, as did many real people who also used the Octagon room, the Card Room and the Tearoom (now a National Trust café).

The Ballroom, The Assembly Rooms, Bath

As National Trust members, a look around cost us nothing. We could have paid for the fashion museum downstairs, but as fashion and I are hardly on nodding terms – in this or any other era – we did not bother.

Assembly Room ceiling, Bath

Lansdown Road and Pulteney Bridge

From the Assembly Rooms we walked down Lansdown Road to Broad Street and paused for a morning cappuccino - with our bus passes and National Trust Membership, it was the first time we had to put our hands in our pockets. The sun shone and we sat in the courtyard outside the café enjoying the unaccustomed warmth.

Lansdown Road, Bath

Passing the Victoria Art Gallery we reached Pulteney Bridge. It has shops across the full span on both sides (one of only four such bridges in the world according to Wikipedia) and we were half way across before we realised we were on it. At the far side is the Bath Rugby Club shop and as it has been worrying me for some time that my grandson has reached the age of two without ever seeing a rugby ball, I popped in and bought a suitably sized ball. [I am happy to report that it has subsequently proved popular].

Pulteney Bridge, Bath

Completed in 1774 to a design by Robert Adams, the bridge has seen many changes. It was widened in 1792, partly rebuilt after the floods of 1799 and 1800 and then the shops were enlarged and cantilevered out over the river. Attempts were made in the 1950s to return it to something like its original appearance.

The best view is from the Grand Parade. The weir system which controls flooding dates only from 1972, and it was here that Tom Hooper filmed the suicide of Javert in the 2012 film of Les Misérables (so I am told – I have not seen the film).

Pulteney Bridge, Bath

Bath Abbey

Having reached the city centre after our wander through Georgian Bath we jumped backwards in history by visiting the abbey. Bath Abbey has had a chequered history since it was founded in the 7th century and saw the crowning of Edgar as the first king of the English in 973.

John of Tours became Bishop of Wells and Abbot of Bath about 1090. More interested in wealthy Bath than poverty stricken Wells, he set about rebuilding the abbey as a new cathedral. It was finished in 1156, long after John of Tours was dead.

Bath Abbey

Subsequent bishops concentrated on Wells and by 1499 Bath was in poor repair, if not a ruin. Bishop Oliver King set about the work of restoration, which was completed just in time for the dissolution of the monasteries. The church was stripped of lead, iron and glass and left to decay. However, a city the size of Bath needed a cathedral and it was restored between 1580 and 1620. Further restoration was carried out by Sir George Gilbert Scott in 1860.

Inside Bath Abbey

The large clerestory windows - glass occupies 80% of the wall area – allow in much more light than in most Perpendicular Gothic churches and permit a clear view of the fan vaulting, part of Bishop Oliver King’s restoration.

Oliver King's vaulting as restored by Sir George Gilbert Scott, Bath Abbey

The abbey was hosting an art exhibition. Damien Hirst’s St Bartholemew, Exquisite Pain was unsettling – I am unsure if that means I liked it – but sadly I found the other installations rather forgettable.

Sally Lunn's Bath Buns

We ate lunch at Sally Lunn’s, reputedly the oldest inhabited house in Bath and the home of the Bath Bun, or at least the Sally Lunn. Solange Luyon, a Huguenot refugee, brought her recipe for a large enriched yeast bun to Bath in 1680. It is claimed (by the owners of Sally Lunn’s) to be the original Bath Bun, though the name is also used for a sweet roll with currants and sugar crusting. No less an authority than Elizabeth David is wheeled out in support of the Sally Lunn. The other version which she describes as an ‘amorphous, artificially coloured, synthetically flavoured and over-sugared confections’ was developed for the Great Exhibition of 1851 and should, she claims, be called a London Bath Bun.

Sally Lunn's, Bath

Sally Lunn’s was crowded but they found us a table on the first floor. The menu is complicated but I had done my homework online and knew what we wanted, which was more than can be said for the elderly Texan couple on the next table. Tables at Sally Lunn’s are close together and the chances of having a conversation with complete strangers are high.

The large buns are served in halves, the bases being used for savouries, the tops for sweets. We had one of each and shared. With a pot of oolong tea it provided a pleasing light lunch at a reasonable price. The buns are a superior version of their kind but, despite the hype, they are still just buns, and who would make a pilgrimage to Bath just for a bun? The base covered with melted cheese was good enough but the cinnamon butter top, which they consider a speciality, was spectacular; not too sweet, not too cinnamon-y and with the underlying richness of good butter. It alone was worth the trip from Staffordshire, though perhaps not all the way from south Texas.

The Roman Baths

After lunch we stepped further back in time at Bath’s major tourist attraction, the Roman Baths which welcomes over a million visitors every year.

Water falling on the Mendip Hills takes about 10,000 years to percolate down into the depths of the earth before rising under pressure and reappearing in Bath – over a million litres a day at 46ºC.

The Romans arrived to find there was already a shrine here to the goddess Sulis. They called the place Aquae Sulis, quickly conflated the Celtic goddess with Minerva and built a temple and a baths complex. After the Romans withdrew the baths fell into disrepair and silted up. John de Tours (the rebuilder of the abbey) built a bath of sorts but it was not until the 18th century craze for taking the waters that the Bath returned to its former glory. It will be no surprise that the Georgian entrance and the Pump Room are the work of John Wood (the elder).

Remains of the temple portico, Roman Baths, Bath

The Roman bath is still there, though everything in this picture above water level is 19th century. The bath still has its original lead lining, but the green colouration is due to algae that were not present in Roman times as they grow in sunlight and the bath was then covered. Sadly, unpleasant micro-organisms (and the lead plumbing system) mean the bath can no longer be used, though there is a modern bath complex nearby using clean water from new boreholes.

The Roman Bath, Bath

The baths and temples make up a huge archaeological site, much of it hidden under existing buildings, but the museum makes the best of what it is there, with a comprehensive (and multi-lingual) audio guide to the baths, the temple and the many well displayed finds. In fact, the guide is so comprehensive that I doubt that many visitors listen to every word.

Roman gravestone later incorporated into the city's medieval fortifications

Pride of place goes to the gilt bronze head of Sulis Minerva that was discovered in 1727 during the digging of a new sewer system. She does look scarily like Margaret Thatcher.

Gilt bronze head of Minerva, Roman Baths, Bath

I also liked the collection of curse tablets. Curses were written out and lobbed into the holy spring so the goddess could take the appropriate action. Many curses relate to thefts of clothing while the victim was bathing and one contains the only surviving words written in the Brythonic language used by the general populace.

Overflow water streams through Roman brickwork

Eventually we emerged in the Pump Room where the water gushes from a clean modern tap. Warm and tasting strongly of iron the flavour is not actively unpleasant, but I cannot imagine anyone choosing to drink it unless they believed it was doing them good.

At £12.75 (more in July and August) visiting the baths is not cheap, but much effort has been taken to display everything as clearly as possible and to explain what you are seeing. It certainly occupied most of the afternoon and at the end I felt it was money well spent. There was nothing left to do afterwards except to make a few purchases and find the bus back to Saltford.

Almost every building in Bath, regardless of its age, is built of mellow Bath stone. It does not matter whether you are looking at the Regency Royal Crescent, the Victorian Art Gallery or even the relatively modern Bus Station, they all belong together and form part of a harmonious whole. Bath is not one of the world’s great cities, it is not a Rome or a Shanghai and with only 85,000 inhabitants it is far too small to play in that league, but such essential unity is impossible in a huge city. Bath has its star attractions, but it is the high quality of the buildings that are not part of those attractions that set it apart and makes it so memorable. Bath is a gem and well worth a day of anybody’s life.