Travelling Around Britain and the World

Friday 6 November 2015

Bangkok and the Train North: Thailand and Laos Part 1

From Bangkok to Phitsanulok and Sukhothai

05-Nov-2015

Arriving in Bangkok


Thailand
Getting from Swynnerton to our Bangkok hotel took twenty hours. It was a long and tiring journey, but trouble free; both flights left and arrived on time and our luggage made the swift transfer in Frankfurt to arrive with us. The huge queue at Thai immigration would have been less irritating had we not been quite so tired but once our passports had been duly stamped, we found Ake, our guide for the next three days, waiting patiently outside.

Sukhumvit, Bangkok, by day

The penthouse room at the hotel (by no means our first random upgrade) was comfortable and after a wash and a rest we took a walk to check out dining possibilities in the Sukhumvit area. We had plenty of choice with restaurants representing cuisines as far apart as Korea and Argentina, but the place we choose was uncompromising Thai. Lacking air-conditioning - the tables in the open sided building spilled out onto the street - and with basic décor, it was not the smartest restaurant in the district, but it was by far the busiest with a mixed western and local clientele.

Sukhumvit, Bangkok, by night

The Best Thai Red Curry of my Life (so far)

We grabbed the only spare table – it was inside but, mercifully right beneath a fan - and ordered a Thai red curry and fried rice noodles with chicken, green vegetables and egg. The red curry was cooked in coconut milk with chicken, abundant chillies, several quarters of small green aubergine, kaffir lime leaves and an unidentified vegetable the size and colour of a pea, though clearly not a pea [Update 07/11/15: We saw them growing near Sukhothai; they are ‘pea aubergines’ or 'turkey berries' in the US. They are a native to the tropical Americas but are now naturalised throughout the tropics]. It was magnificent; as hot as lava, as sweet as coconut and cut through by the citrus flavour of the lime leaves. It was the best red curry I have ever eaten. All this, plus a bottle of beer each, came to 500 baht (£10).

06-Nov-2015

The Train North to Phitsanulok


We took the train north to Phitsanulok then travelled by car to Sukhothai

We slept well considering the time change but had little difficulty rising in time for a seven thirty start for the journey to Bangkok's Hua Lamphong Railway station. It was a short drive, at least in terms of distance, but Bangkok's notorious traffic ensured the journey took most of the allotted hour.

Hua Lamphong Station, Bangkok

We settled in our seats in the air conditioned coach for the five hour journey north to Phitsanulok. The train was designated a 'Special Express', but with only four coaches, it did not look much like an express and for the first hour did not move much like one either. There are many level crossings in Bangkok and trains do not have priority, being governed by traffic lights like the cars. Our progress was fitful and it took an hour or so to be free of the sprawling city.

Escaping from Bangkok

Once in the countryside the train moved faster, though still stopping at every town, whether large or small.

Ban Ta Khli Station

We travelled through Thailand's central plain; the fields of rice occasionally varied by banana plantations or sugar cane. In the towns, the houses of the prosperous, their cars parked under shady awnings, sat in close proximity to the smaller dwellings of the less well off, some little more than shacks. There were temples too, dozens of them, each in its own compound. All had much the same design whether they were built last year or five hundred years ago but I have no photo, there are enough temples on this blog, and another will pop up before the end of the post.

Thailand's Central Plain

The countryside became more wooded and then low, rugged hills started to appear, at first on the eastern horizon, then closer by and with some popping up on the west.

A few low hills started to appear

The service in the air-conditioned first class carriage (mostly occupied by foreigners) was excellent. At ten o'clock a girl appeared pushing a trolley and gave everyone tea or coffee and a cream bun of sorts. At 12 sharp she reappeared with our complimentary lunch; rice, (another) Thai red curry, and 'baby clams with pepper and garlic'. The curry was a shadow of last night's, but it was not bad and, like the rice and curry on the Sri Lankan train to Nuwara Eliya, it put airline catering to shame. The same girl walked through the carriage before each stop calling out the station though I struggled to make her pronunciation fit with the Roman transliterations shown on the signs beneath the more prominent Thai. The Thai alphabet has 44 consonants written from left to right without gaps between the words and 15 vowels which float above, below or to the left or right of the line of consonants. It looks forbidding, but the literacy rate is a reasonably healthy 96%.

Thai Railways, red curry and 'baby clams'

There were often as many as three people in the cab with the driver - it was easy to see as the cab was at the end of our carriage behind a glass door. There was also the girl with the trolley, a smartly uniformed ticket inspector and a youth who regularly ran up and down the carriage with a brush or wet mop as appropriate. The stations looked well-kept with tubs of flowers and small shrines. On Britain’s accountant ruled railways, stations are strictly functional and often unmanned while service is minimal. In richer countries employing people is expensive which led me to wonder if ‘good service’ is essentially a consequence of disparities in wealth. Five hour train journeys allow time for such musings.

The route ahead (the driver's cab is on the right)

One station appeared also to be a railway museum; derelict equipment lies beside tracks all over the world, but this was old, yet cared for.

Crane built by Thomas Smith and Sons at Rodley near Leeds in the 1920s or 30s

Phitsanulok

Shortly before two we alighted at Phitsanulok (the 'ph' is more of an aspirated 'p' than an 'f'), the gateway to northern Thailand.

Approaching Phitsanulok

An old engine sits in the square outside the station. I did not know it when I took the picture, but the white minibus just arriving was to be ours for the next three days - an over-large vehicle for the two of us (plus Ake and the driver).

Outside Phitsanulok station

Mr Noy (Shorty) and his Minibus

Ake introduced our driver as Mr Noy, which translates as 'short'. The diminutive sixty year old (yes we were given that unnecessary information, too) obviously took immense pride in his vehicle. He sat in a cockpit with more switches and buttons than an airliner, facing an array of gadgets and screens which barely allowed him to look out the windscreen. Sitting in the back we were faced with loudspeakers which could have blown us out of the van if he chose to put them on. There was a Tesco’s cool box (Tesco is big in Thailand) containing cold water for the next few days and above it a sign giving the passcode for his mobile wi-fi.

Shorty at the helm

Decorated panels and mirrors on the walls and ceilings hid artfully contrived strip lights.

Inside Shorty's minibus

Wat Phra Sri Rattana Mahathat (Wat Yai)

Shorty's first task was to drive us a few hundred metres to Wat Phra Sri Rattana Mahathat, usually known simply as Wat Yai (Big Temple).

Wat Phra Sri Rattana, Phitsanulok

Phitsanulok was once an Ankgorian provincial centre but by the 11th century it had become merely an outpost of the Khmer Empire. In 1238 the Kingdom of Sukhothai, considered the first Thai kingdom, escaped Khmer hegemony and ruled much of what is now Thailand and some surrounding regions from its capital at Sukhothai 50km to the north and our destination for the day.

The Phra Phuttha Chinnarat Buddha

Phitsanulok was an important city in this kingdom, and was the capital in 1357 when Wat Yai was built. The temple’s main attraction is the Phra Phuttha Chinnarat Buddha image. According to Ake it is solid gold (this was a gold mining area) and is 'the most beautiful Buddha in Thailand and in the whole world.'

Phra Phuttha Chinnarat BuddhaIt is a seriously revered statue so there are restrictions on how you may dress in its presence. They were mainly concerned with women's skimpy tops and short skirts and, for once, my shorts, were not considered disrespectful; perhaps they make up these rules as they go along. We were also instructed not to photograph the image from a standing position, but as long as we were kneeling or sitting reverently - i.e. with our feet pointing away from the image - we could snap away to our heart's content.

Phra Phuttha Chinnarat Buddha, Phitsanulok

Outside the hall is a Cannonball tree, so called because its inedible fruit looks very like a cannonball. It also has pretty and rather unusual flowers.

Flower on the Cannonball tree

The Buddha was born beneath such a tree, reached enlightenment under a Bhodi tree and died under a banyan, so all three are considered sacred. The bhodi tree story is universal, the others a little more localised as is the story that the Buddha walked seven steps immediately after his birth, as symbolised by the small Buddha and seven,' stepping stones' beneath the tree.

Juvenile Buddha and his seven stepping stones beneath a cannonball tree

Sukhothai

Like most major roads in Thailand, the road to Sukhothai had four lanes, wide hard shoulders and a smooth surface. We made good time and soon reached New Sukhothai which was built long after the old capital lost its influence and was superseded by Ayutthaya further to the south.

It is a town of no great character and we continued some 15km to the outskirts of Old Sukhothai where we would be staying at one of several resort hotels in the area.

Rehydrating at our hotel, Old Sukhothai

As the restaurant specialised in set menus for coach parties we were happy when Ake volunteered Shorty to drive us into the centre of Old Sukhothai where there were plenty of restaurants to choose from, largely patronized by foreigners but still selling good Thai food. Shorty sat in his car doing whatever drivers do when not called upon to drive, while Ake joined us but ate nothing. 'I only ever eat breakfast and lunch,' he said while sucking at a huge watermelon smoothie.

We shared a plate of pork with ginger (and more than a few chillies) and noodles with chicken and vegetables. Pea aubergines were again prominent. Ake seemed touchingly pleased with our desire to eat local food and strangely impressed with our ability to cope with chillis. 'You eat spicy food,' he said, almost incredulously.


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Thursday 8 October 2015

The Algarve (6): Castro Marim and Vila Real do Santo António

Two Very Different Small Towns in Portugal's South Eastern Corner

Portugal

Our annual October pilgrimage to Portugal generally produces a post, sometimes two. This year's contribution is about two small towns. The first is Castro Marim.

Castro Marim

Driving east along the A22 auto-estrada (autobahn/motorway/freeway), the Algarve and Portugal come to an end where the road crosses the River Guadiana into Spain. Taking the last exit before the bridge, Castro Marim is just a kilometre to the south.

In some ways it is a typical Portuguese small town/large village, looking, as they all do, much tidier and more prosperous than when we first visited in 1982. The houses lining the narrow streets are freshly painted and in good repair and the town has grown several new developments, including a large and convenient car park and a neat little football stadium that might be small but could accommodate the entire population.

The Algarve with Castro Marim & Vila Real do Santo António in the extreme south east
(map borrowed from Luz Info - the guide to Praia da Luz)

Little else about Castro Marim is ordinary. The river is two hundred metres away over land criss-crossed by water channels and the town is almost encircled by salt marshes, partly used for salt production and partly as a sanctuary for wetland birdlife.

Castro Marim Castle

The village is built on an area of firm ground surrounding a rocky outcrop and on top of the outcrop is as dark and forbidding a castle as you could hope to see. Approaching it along a side road the view was softened by the foreground bougainvillea, but still the black curtain wall seemed to block out the sky.

Approaching the curtain wall, Castro Marim Castle

The reconquest of southern Portugal from the Moors started with the Battle of Ourique in 1139 but didn't reach the Algarve until the 13th century. The Moorish fort at Castro Marim was taken in 1242 and the reconquest was completed in 1247. The walls we were approaching were built on the orders of King Afonso III (reigned 1248-79) partly to prevent the Moors from returning but also to deter encroachment by the Kingdom of Castile just across the river.

Lynne inside the castle, Castro Marim

Castro Marim and around from the Castle Battlements

We followed the walkway up to the castle gate, paid the small entrance fee and strolled round the battlements.

There are views over the town of Castro Marim which grew outside the castle after the 1755 earthquake...

Castro Marim from the castle

...across the salt pans and the Guadiana River to the Spanish town of Ayamonte...

Looking across the salt pans to the river and the Spanish town of Ayamonte on the far side

....and upstream to the modern bridge connecting the two countries.

The bridge connecting Spain and Portugal

Inner Castle, Castro Marim

Inside the walls is a smaller castle, almost a scale model of the larger fortification. This is either the original Moorish Castle that was taken in 1242 or the keep to Dom Afonso’s castle, depending on which source you read.

The inner castle, Castro Marim

As well as a clean and useful toilet, the inner castle contains a small museum which informed us that Castro Marim was an important strategic centre long before the Moors arrived. Archaeological remains suggest the area was occupied in Neolithic times. and  later a town grew up that traded with the Greeks, Phoenicians and Carthaginians. Then the Romans arrived and, under the name of Baesuris, Castro Marim became an important port and distribution centre for the whole of what is now south east Portugal.

During its years on the border between Christians and Moors the population dwindled, but after the reconquest the town regained some of its earlier importance. Castro Marim became the headquarters of the Order of Christ in the fourteenth century and Dom Infante Henrique (later known as Henry the Navigator) lived in the castle when he was governor of the Order.

The Fortress of São Sebastião, Castro Marim

But Castro Marim has not one but two rocky outcrops. Although the Moors had long gone, friction with Castile continued and in 1641 King João IV built the Fortress of São Sebastião on the second outcrop, linking it to the main castle.

The Fortress of São Sebastião, Castro Marim

The earthquake of 1755 destroyed the village within the walls and damaged the castle. Although the great days of castles were by then over, it was restored to stand brooding beside the new and peaceful town as a reminder of more troubled times.

Ironically, the great days of castles have returned, but as tourist attractions rather than fortifications. Castro Marim Castle is now a National Monument and it is maintained and looked after by the appropriate state agency.

On the battlements of the inner castle, Castro Marim

From the top of the castle the high rise hotels of the modern beach resort of Monte Gordo can be seen to the south, while the much lower buildings of Vila Real de Santo António crouch beside the mouth of the Guadiana.

Vila Real de Santo António

To reach Vila Real we drove three or four kilometres south along the modern road across the salt marsh.

The 1755 Earthquake and the Marquis de Pombal

Castro Marim was settled before written history began; Vila Real by contrast is a (relatively) new town. In 1755 an earthquake estimated to have been of magnitude 8.5 – 9.0 occurred beneath the Atlantic to the south of Portugal. The quake and tsunami that followed destroyed 80% of the buildings in Lisbon and killed between a quarter and a third of the city’s population. The Algarve, with its long exposed south facing coast, was hit hard; old buildings less substantial than Castro Marim's castle are very rare in the region.

Portugal was fortunate that the Marquis of Pombal (Secretary of the State of the Kingdom of Portugal and the Algarves from 1750 to 1782 and de facto head of the government) was an energetic and capable administrator and a fully paid up member of the European Enlightenment.

The Marquis of Pombal in the square named after him in Lisbon (photo 2005)

Vila Real de Santo António is a creation of Pombal. A town was needed, he decided, by the mouth of the Guadiana to emphasise that this was Portuguese territory. It was not primarily a military installation, though soldiers were stationed here, but more a statement about the new civil Portugal he intended to raise from the ruins.

With the opportunity to build from scratch he set about producing an urban design to the highest standards of the age. Like Pombal’s restored areas of Lisbon, but unlike anywhere else in Portugal, Vila Real is built on a grid pattern with two main axes, one containing the church to show the might of God, the other with the barracks and government offices to show the might of the state.

We found a car park, not included on Pombal's original plans, and walked through the town to the riverside. The eighteenth century buildings which lined Pombal's streets have largely been replaced over the years, but some survive including the surprisingly exuberant barracks.

The former barracks, Vila Real do Santo António

Building for an age of pack animals, handcarts and the occasional horse drawn vehicle Pombal, unsurprisingly, failed to foresee the coming of the motor car. When we first visited in 1982, pedestrians and cars were struggling for supremacy. That struggle is now over and the town's central area has been pedestrianised allowing the tables of cafés and restaurants to colonise the streets.

Vila Real do Santo António

Riverside Vila Real de Santo António

Commercially Vila Real was a fishing port and grew wealthy on tuna and sardines; politically it was a frontier town, eyeballing the Spanish town of Ayamonte, two hundred metres away across the River Guadiana.

After negotiating a route through the street market setting up on the corniche, we reached the river beside the busy marina. With the fishing industry struggling and frontier towns being of little importance within the European Union, Vila Real makes its living from tourism, as represented by these boats, the playthings of, if not the rich, at least the comfortably off.

The marina, Vila Real do Santo António

In 1982 when there was no A22 and no bridge, ferries connected the two towns. Beyond the marina we were surprised to find the ferry port was still there and the boats still running. In 1982 we had travelled across to Ayamonte for no other reason than because we could. There was little going on there - we arrived in the middle of the afternoon and Spain, particularly in the south, closes down from 2pm to 5.

But of course people still want to cross the river. There are no car ferries now - it is a short drive up to the bridge - but there are still plenty of foot passengers, and many cyclists, mostly tourists. In 1982 we took our passports on the ferry and they were examined on both sides and the Portuguese (but not the Spanish) stamped us out and stamped us back in. Today there are no formalities, if you drive over the bridge the only indication that it is an international frontier is a sign saying ‘Bienvenido a España’- though you still have to remember to put you watch forward an hour.

The ferry to Ayamonte, Vila Real do Santo António

1982 was eight years after the Carnation Revolution had put an end to the right wing dictatorship of António Salazar and his protégé Marcello Caetano. In those heady days of new found freedom Portuguese politics wobbled from right to left before settling on the parliamentary democracy the country has now enjoyed for thirty five years. In those early years stencil portraits of Lenin, Mao, Trotsky and others could be found on walls all over the Algarve. I particularly remember the fine collection adorning the ferry terminal. They have all gone now, the terminal is a functional if rather dull building, free of stencils, posters and graffiti.

Ferry terminal, Vila Real do Santo António

The Spirit of the Carnation Revolution

I almost regret the change. Modern democracy is so often devoid of idealism and we are ruled by technocrats; we do not vote out a government because of the desire of a mass movement of people to change society, but in the (usually vain) hope that the new government will do much the same things*, only better. I was delighted, then, to see, just round the corner from the ferry terminal, this poster for the Portuguese Communist Party...

Communist party poster, Vila Real do Santo António

…and, a short walk away this picture.

Che, Vila Real do Santo António

I know they were there in the wake of the weekend’s election which, when the horse trading is over, will probably result in a continuation of the economic orthodoxy supposedly steering Portugal safely if painfully through its debt crisis, but at least they indicate that youthful idealism is not entirely dead. I applaud it, even while not entirely agreeing with it. It seemed appropriate in Vila Real, built by a man who had a dream of the future and a desire to improve the way people lived. The Marquis of Pombal, despite his relatively humble beginning, was a man of the establishment, not of the yet to be born left, but at least he built with a vision.

We paused at a café for a snack lunch - a cheese and ham toastie and a tiny (20cl) beer - within sight of the public baths, an original and innovative benefit to the public when it was built, though, of course, a benefit Roman citizens would have taken for granted fifteen hundred years earlier.

Public baths, Vila Real do Santo António

Pombal’s vision has not made it intact through 250 years; there have been changes he could not foresee or even imagine, and Vila Real do Santo António has had to reinvent itself, most recently as a tourist resort, but something of that vision still remains at the heart of this small but very pleasant riverside town.

*I wrote that in 2015, unaware of the imminent rise (though not in Portugal!) of the populist nationalists - know-nothing politicians with a sense of entitlement who pander to right wing bigotry. A warning to be very careful what you wish for.

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Wednesday 9 September 2015

Codsall: Cowpat Walk No. 9

A Circular Walk Through South Staffs Horsiculture


Staffordshire
South
Staffordshire
Francis, Alison, Mike and I met at Codsall Wood for the first Cowpat Walk for over eighteen months. Now that Francis has retired – the last of us to do so - it should be easier to get together, though experience suggests the opposite is actually true!

Since November 2011, the Cowpat Walks have formed a rough circle of circles as the starting points have moved clockwise around Stafford – and if that sequence has not been strictly adhered to, who cares? At Codsall Wood we had pretty well gone all the way round

Getting ready to set off, Codsall Wood

Leaving Codsall Wood on the Monarch's Way

On a morning that was as warm as you want for walking and promising to keep dry - as good as it gets this summer - we parked beside the Crown Inn [renamed the Pendrell Arms sometime after July 2018] and set off in a northwesterly direction along the road beside the old wall of Chillington Park.

The old wall of the Chillington Estate

The road forms part of the Monarch’s Way, a long distance footpath following the meanderings of the future Charles II after his defeat in the Battle of Worcester. At this point Charles would have been fleeing north from the battle and would spend the next day hiding in the famous oak at Boscobel House.

Striding out of Codsall Wood

We passed an apple tree. The fruit looked a little small to me, but some of them had promising rosy touches. Francis plucked one and took a substantial bite. His look of pain said all we needed to know about their ripeness.

The road crosses the M54, with its noisy concrete surface, and runs beside a big wood which, according to the map, is called Big Wood – sometimes place names tell you all you need to know.

Lime Kiln Lane, Skirting the Chillington Estate

Reaching the northern edge of both Big Wood and the Chillington Estate, we turned right into Lime Kiln Lane, leaving the Monarch’s Way, but still following the boundary wall of the estate. Obviously the Lime Kiln is little used, as the lane was unpleasantly overgrown. On a walk with hardly a contour in sight Alison had little need of her walking poles for their traditional purpose, but now she went to the front, pole in hand, to bash down the nettles.

Alsion leads down Lime Kiln Lane

When not overgrown, the path was boggy but after a kilometre and a half we reached a minor road. I would like to say that we emerged unstung, but it is no criticism of Alison's efforts to say that was not entirely true.

Chillington Hall

After his unsuccessful attempt to cross the Severn at Madeley, Charles Stuart returned to Boscobel House and then headed south east to sanctuary at Moseley Old Hall. We followed part of this route past the front of Chillington Hall where we paused for coffee.

Behind us was the long Upper Avenue which turns right in the far distance and becomes the even longer Lower Avenue. In the avenue a group of Chillington Hall’s Long Horns sat chewing the cud in mindful meditation or staring blankly into space - it is not easy to tell with cows.

Cows practice mindfulness in Chillington Lower Avenue

On the other side was Chillington Hall, home of the Giffard family since Peter Giffard (pronounced with a soft 'g') bought the manor for 25 marks and a charger of metal in the early 12th century. Sir John Giffard replaced Peter’s stone castle with a manor house in the 16th century and in 1724 another Peter Giffard demolished the Tudor house and built the present structure. The following year he planted the avenues, incorporating many older trees.

Chillington Hall

The hall is currently the home of John Giffard, the 29th generation of Giffards to live there. Perhaps unusually for a man in his position he joined the police on leaving Southampton University in 1973. Working his way through the ranks he became Chief Constable of Staffordshire in 1996, retired in 2006 and now serves on the sort of worthy committees that retired Chief Constables usually serve on.

Chillington Street

We followed the Monarch’s Way down Chillington Street which,despite its name is a roughly surface lane, past some outstanding (or, if you prefer, twee) examples of English vernacular architecture.

A house in Chillington Street

The 'street' becomes a grassy lane from which we turned south across a couple of field paths while the Monarch’s Way continued east.

Chillington Street becomes a grassy lane

South to Codsall

By the time we reached the B road connecting Brewood with Codsall we had joined the Staffordshire Way, a 150km long footpath traversing the county from one end to the other. We walked it in 1997(ish) and again in 2005-6

We were on the road for 100m or so before heading towards a lane which reaches Codsall via the hamlet of Gunstone, a Norse name (Gunni's farmstead) although the boundary of the Danelaw was several miles north of here.

We re-crossed the M54, rounded Gunstone Hall, now a riding centre, and the pond beyond, much beloved of local fishermen.

Fishing Pool, Gunstone

The field paths beyond were well marked and Staffordshire County Council seems to have taken delivery of some new and distinctive signs - I wonder how many of these they had made.

The Stafforshire Way?

We reached Codsall at the church, once the centre of the village, now on the north west corner. Codsall is described as a large village, but along with Bilbrook - and to an amateur it is not easy to tell where Codsall ends and Bilbrook begins - it feels more like a small town. We walked down Church Street, across the square, which is now Codsall's focal point and down to the railway station.

Church Street, Codsall

Lunch at Codsall Railway Station

At the station a train to Shrewsbury was just arriving, but although the train had brought Alison in the morning and would take her away again later, it was not why we were there. Unusually, perhaps uniquely, the station buildings have been turned into a pub.

Train to Shrewsbury anyone?

A pint of Holden's Black Country Bitter was very welcome. These days, when a new microbrewery opens every other week, Holden's is an oddity; it has been a microbrewery since 1915, long before the word was coined. Although Codsall is in the rural hinterland beyond the true urban and industrial Black Country, I decided to combine the Black Country Bitter with the ultimate Black Country lunch. While the others had a sandwich, ploughman’s lunches or all-day breakfast, I had faggots and peas. The faggots from the local butcher were good, the peas were appropriately mushy, but the gravy was, disappointingly, a product of commercial gravy powder.

Lunch at Codsall Station

Francis Explains 'Horsiculture'

My legs had almost recovered from the morning’s nettle stings by the time we set off along the surfaced footpath opposite the pub/station to the affluent village of Oaken. Across the fields in this flat piece of country we could see the tower blocks, and industry, on the edge of Wolverhampton. 'We are just beyond the outer edge of the conurbation,' Francis remarked, and then as a girl on a large and expensive looking horse passed us, he added: 'between industry and agriculture is horsiculture.' (That’s not an exact quote, but it has the gist)

Towards Oaken

The Staffordshire Way continued south and we picked up the northbound Monarch’s Way through a patch of woodland.

I was walking through this wood when I turned round and found I was being followed by three very scary people

We missed the right turn that would take us down to the bridge over the railway - it should have been better signed on a major footpath. Realising what we had done we took the path across the land of Oaken Park farm -which confirmed the accuracy of Francis' 'horsiculture' remark.

Horsiculture, Oaken Park Farm

Crossing the railway by Husphins Bridge we headed for Husphins farm beyond. I have tried to discover the origin of this unusual name and learned a) that a lot of other people had done the same, and b) nobody knows where it came from, but 'it appeared in the 19th century'.

Mike and Alison approach Husphins Bridge

Husphins Bridge to Wood Hall Farm and Pendrell Hall

There was a simple farm track through the farm, but that was not the right of way and signing made it clear that we were expected to follow the official route. We were obviously unusually law-abiding as parts were so overgrown we may well have been the first to walk it this year. The tingling in my legs was back long before we reached the minor road.

Overgrown path round Husphins Farm

Passing some half completed barn conversions we took the path past Wood Hall Farm. The farm building dates from 1663, but the medieval moat - a scheduled ancient monument - was built to defend an earlier version of the building. The golf centre and paintballing business are presumably less venerable.


Wood Hall Farm with a medieval moat

The farm track/entrance to the golf centre brought us out on the minor road to Codsall Wood opposite Pendrell Hall which the map and Alison's memory suggest was a college of some sort (adult education?) but is now a 'country house wedding venue.'

From Pendrell Hall it was only a few hundred metres back to the cars.

It had been a short day as Cowpats go, and as flat a walk as can be imagined, but we have not done a great deal of walking recently so that was no bad thing. The sun failed to put in an appearance, though it had been warm enough, and more importantly, we had not seen any rain. Negotiations were opened for another Cowpat in the near future....watch this space.[The next, and probably final Cowpat, was a year later, almost to the day.]

Approx Distance: 15 km

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Location: Codsall, Wolverhampton, Staffordshire, UK
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