Songline On Sea

It was only a 5 mile walk to Ilfracombe but it took almost 3 hours of up and down and roundabout walking. Nothing like yesterday, though, which will live in the memory as the severest of tests. I was to meet Nick Pedlar in Ilfracombe for lunch, who is the youngest of 3 brothers I was at schoil with in Taunton. I was 30 minutes late but that against the fact that I had not seen him for 30 years paled into insignificance. We had lunch and he drove me to his elder brother's house, John, vicar of Bedford who has it as a bolt hole. I looked around Ilfracombe where I had spent some of my mispent youth singing whilst intoxicated and intoxicated with singing with the very excellent Exon Singers who still very much exist. Nick, as an ex-Exeter Cathedral Choir Boy has been choir master at the parish church for 35 years so it being Ascention Day, I found myself singing mass. We then had a lovely Italian meal, drank and talked of times past. I'd hate to take a driving test in Ilfracombe as it is all hills. Tomorrow I go to Brittany for 10 days to work with singers mostly from my London choir. We will rehearse a new repertoire and give a couple of concerts so this blog will cease until 1 June. I have now done 500 miles since St. David's Head and gone through one pair of shoes. I am pleased to have a break though it has been a wonderful 5 1/2 weeks.

It took an hour to get back on the open top bus from Minehead to Lynmouth. I looked at the 1952 flood disaster museum, then made the mistake of walking up to Lynton rather than taking the Cliff Railway, Exmoor's biggest tourist attraction. The path was a famous one which donkeys took bearing contraband from boats in the harbour to hide-outs way up the cliff. At the top was a post office where I had to send back the keys to the Minehead Hostel which I had omited to leave behind and visit the church where the flood victims are remembered. The path was then quite easy passed Lee Abbey which is a interdenominational Christian Retreat Centre in a beautiful spot with magnificent views. Woody Bay, despite its odd name was beautiful to look down at. But then there was the first of two very challenging paths that rose to 1000 feet and down and up again. Heddons Mouth, the first was bearable and beautiful but the second was simply torture. The descent was knee-breaking down a path ominously called Samaritan's Way, then the path up the other side to Hangman's Hill takes you up to 1043 feet which is the highest point on the South West Coast Path. I met nobody on this section. The weather became dodgey and colder but there were pools of sunlight beaming down onto the now blue sea. I was dragging my heels in a state of collapse, dropping down into Combe Martin at 8pm. I was going to camp but the sites are turned to caravan parks and it was raining so I got a B&B. By 8.30pm I was tucking into beef, lamb, and turkey from the carvery. They are well used to weary walkers in this village which has the longest street in the country stretching up the valley. Today was a 15 mile walk which nothing can prepare you for. It has taken 3 long days to walk the north coast of Exmoor and I challenge anyone to do this stretch and not feel exhausted but elated. I must read Lorna Doone.

It was distressing to leave my basecamp hostel to catch the bus back to Porlock Weir in the rain. The 13 mile walk to Lynmouth was gruelling but spectacular. The first part was through wooded slopes. The church noticeboard for Culbone Church was over a mile from the tiny old church nestled in a valley and beside the path. I asked a man if it was open. He said it was open all day and all night. The man came into the church as I was leaving to shelter from the rain. His name was Tony Richards. He was the church warden and was cleaning out the gutters. I bemoaned the fact that the single pole I was using had just broken. Tony went straight to his Landrover, came back with a machette that he had got when he was a boy, went to a hazel tree and with a few deft swipes, had made me a new staff. He made it very long as shepherd's crooks are long and I have to say that swinging it through and walking was like graduating to longer skis. I do however have a fresh blister on my thumb as part of the initiation. I now have the odd assortment of one pole, one staff, and Brolly. Whereas the Pembrokeshire Coast Path mostly hugged the clifftops, now the path is often halfway up the steep hillside. Often it goes quite far inland but the edge of Exmoor is fabulous. There was another lovely church at Countisbury before decending very steeply down into Lynmouth. In 1952, they had a hyge flood which killed over 30 people as the waters of the several rivers poured down their steep slopes onto the unsuspecting village. I met quite a number of other walkers exhibiting a wide variety of different expressions of fatigue. I got the open top bus back to Minehead and was able to sit upstairs in the sunshine and enjoy the wonderful landscape. I had to ring Itchy Feet in London to request new shoes. They will be sent to Ilfracombe because this first pair have had it. I saw students from Bristol Old Vic perform 'Tess of the Durbavilles' in the nice little theatre just down the road in what the locals call the High Street but is in fact called The Avenue.

The start of the South West Coast Path is marked by a large sculpture of a pair of hands holding a map. Within a mile it goes from sea level to about 800 feet. The trouble is it's up and down through nasty things called coombes. Sadly there was both too much wind and rain for the peregrine falcons to come out to play, or the butterflies. This is the northern edge of Exmoor where the hills go right to the edge and plunge down to the sea. It's all National Trust property so the farms are left to sheep and the paths have a certain status. I took what is called 'the rugged coast path' at the recommendation of my hostel warden who knows the paths well by being a walker's guide. I am glad to have taken his advice. Walking up to North Hill, I met Jeff who was in the army until 10 years ago. He was camping by the path amongst the trees smoking a rollie, cross-legged at the entrance to his little tent. Jeff walks out of Reading in April and aims to get to Bude or Penzance in time for the summer season when he works as a car park attendant. He spends very little, gets what he needs from town then spends every evening camping. He loves it and can he claims walk up to 30 miles a day. I find that a little hard to believe but his way of life and being able to sustain it was impressive. Bossington was a very twee National Trust village. Porlock has delightful gardens, church with a very old yew tree, museum, and specialist shops to delight walkers and visitors. The sea has been allowed to break through the shingle wall so a new salt marsh is there behind a submerged forest. Porlock Weir was the end of today's walk which sits at the start of the highest cliffs in England. I got a bus back to Minehead which reputes to be the most beautiful bus ride in England. Spent the evening in the hostel.

Susan, our B&B hostess was almost too much. The Alastair Sawday link meant she did the performance as it appears in the book. Breakfast was pure theatre as she made her entrances and exists through the sliding door between us and the kitchen catering to out needs. A host of tourists got off the Somerset Steam Railway and flooded little Watchet's lovely museum and coffee houses. The rain sent them indoors but we had to set off so Kaya could catch her bus connection from Minehead 10 miles away. The weather has become something of an issue again. The sky changed by the minute with black clouds sometimes just missing us and other times unleashing their contents. The path took a diversion inland at Blue Anchor. When we were able to look back we could see why - there had been a huge landslide. The walk into Minehead was along the beach but the tide was still too high to enjoy the hard sand so it was an uncomfortable pebble path for much of the way. Minehead still has it's huge Butlins which dominate the east side of the pretty town. We had coffee after which Kaya went off on the bus to Taunton to catch the Paddington train. I was sad to see her go and dragged my heels up to the hostel which I will use as a base for the first 3 days of the South West Coast Path. A large part of the evening was spent reading the Sunday Times in Wetherspoons. There has been so much rain that slugs are all over the pavements and it is cold - otherwise I'm fine!

The Tudor Hotel proved to be excellent with lots of old-world charm. The tide coming in up the river Parrett brought with it old tyres and other debris as we looked from the bridge. We enjoyed Bridgwater but its future very much depends on the nuclear power station at Hinckley Point expanding. The cellophane factory closed a few years ago. We had to take a taxi down to the coast in fact to the power station. The wind was strong all day, cold and in our faces. This is likely to be the case until I round the corner at Lands End, I guess. At least the other half of my face will now get tanned. There is a coast path but the Southwest coast path doesn't start until Minehead. The Quantock hills came down to meet us. There were little cliffs with large wave-cut platforms that got bigger as the tide went out. Children played in the rock pools. East Quantockhead house stood elegantly but apparently empty seaward of the village which once served it. There is a good bit of erosion. We had enjoyed wide margins around fields earlier but towards Watchet they had planted their crops right up to the eroding cliff edge so we were forced inland and uphill on a massive detour which added at least 3 miles to my calculation of the day. We were both very tired when at last we came to Watchet only to find that there was a martial arts conference with 100 delegates who had scooped up every room in the small town. We almost gave up, having been advised to take a bus to Minehead. And then we rang Susan who had just got home. She had a room in her grade 2 listed Georgian house overlooking the harbour and the Bristol Channel. She features in Sawday's book Special Places to Stay and offers the most wonderful hospitality and facilities. An excellent pub meal. I had a suet pudding which is a local favourite. Suet, we discovered, is made from strong flour, butter, salt and lard (pork fat, suggests Kaya). Watchet is charming. We will have a little time tomorrow morning to check it out.

It was raining heavily at breakfast but stopped by the time I Ieft. This luck stayed with me all day. I wasn't too sorry at leaving Weston. The sad state of both its piers is reflected in the town. There's a river at the south end of town after the more pleasant village of Uphill. It started raining so I got a bus round to Brean after which it stopped (the rain!). I was able to walk the six miles to Burnham on Sea on hard sand as the tide went out with amazing speed. It was my first long beach walk for some time and a relief to sea sand instead of mud. This landscape is familiar to me. The large areas called moors and levels are full of drains and ditches and totally flat. Small steep hills called knolls and tors stick up. Sedgemoor is probably the best known, part of which I crossed today. This is where willow is grown for weaving. With the wide Bristol Channel and the flat landscape the sky became huge. I could even see across to Cardiff millenium stadium. I also saw the next storm coming as the wind blew colder and stronger. The bus shelter had mostly blown away, but the bus amazingly arrived at the same time as the rain. Kaya had by this time arrived in Bridgwater where I was to meet her. It is quite a few miles inland up the river Parrett, so a bus was in order. Kaya had found a nice tudor hotel called The Tudor Hotel. I remembered Bridgwater for the bad egg like smell of its cellophane factory but it seems to have gone or maybe the wind is blowing it away. We found some nice things in town which they are working hard to restore. There are some very fine buildings from its heyday when it was a busy port. The tidal bore still comes up the river for a few days each month, alas the next one is May 24. Kings Square is very fine, off which is a whole street built by the Duke of Chandos. In it we found Bridwater Art Centre, which we returned to later to watch a documentary movie called Born into Brothels about kids living in the red light area of Calcutta. Thanks to Tim Leeney for doing the blog tonight and tomorrow.

Brolly had a field day. The rain which was forecast came in the afternoon. It was the sort of grey today which gives the British weather a bad reputation. THere was also very poor visibility. It did not put off the hardy group of mostly older men from the Clevedon Swimming Club doing their 20 minute swim with the tide and then back again. I was on the splendid Victorian pier at the time at the start of my hour to look around Clevedon. Much of this was spent having a coffee but I also had time to enjoy its Victorian splenor. It's had its day and so have most of the people I saw. I asked various opinions of how to walk to Weston. Up until the appearance of Chris, who had seen me last night in the bar everyone said it was not possible to walk the sea wall as it is private land and the farmers are aggressive in defence of their privacy. Chris said to go for it which I did and had no regrets. He also said the owner of where I stayed last night was disliked by everyone and awaited trial for inflicting grievious bodily harm to one of his customers. I had to cut inland round the River Yeo and over sluice gates. My feet were soaked which is unavoidable walking in grass. At Wick St. Lawrence an elderly lady stopped in her car to ask me the way. She was driving away from Weston which was where she wanted to go. Since it was raining I said I'd use my map to get her there if she would give me a lift. I hopped in but soon we were both lost as Weston has expanded since my map. We seemed to go miles which puzzled me since it should have only been about 2 miles. At last she recognised where she was by seeing a Sainsbury's after which she confessed she actually lived in Weston. She dropped me at a guesthouse close to the seafront where I have accomodation for £20.00. The number of visitors to Weston has gone down since the pier burned down last year. I got a bus out to Sand Bay and walked in the route I should have done but withour Rucksack and briefly without rain. I had an Indian meal and then watched 'Angles and Demons' at the cinema which is what you do when the weather is like this. Kaya is coming to meet me in Bridgewater tomorrow. Rain is forecast and we have to get round Hinkley Point Powerstation but I'm sure we'll have fun. There maybe a gap in the blogs till Sunday unless 2 possible depts can do it for me.

Scrambled eggs and dill cooked by Micky after which she walked me to the path which is the River Avaon Trail. It is a lovely walk back down to the sea under the magnificent Clifton Suspension Bridge towards the sea. The day was quite still but grey with low clouds and rain at times. After Pill there is a confusion of motorway and roads and with the reather so dreary I hopped on a bus for 3 miles to Portishead on the coast. This reduced today's mileage to a more sensible 13 miles. After a very welcome Costa coffee I eventually found the coast path in the direction of Clevedon. I sought the advice of 2 north Somerset gentlemen by the beach. Peter and Michael had been placing a buoy 440 yards away round the headland towards Bristol. When there is a neep tide and the weather is ok a group of them swim with the tide upstream precisely 20 minutes before it is high, hang onto the buoy and swim back when they feel the tide turned. It's a local sport also done in Clevedon. Because there was no wind, the sea was quite still as the tide crept in during the afternoon. I got into the stillness and the calm walking slowly as I was in no hurry. I took the first accomodation I met in Clevedon on the seafront right beside a most beautiful 19th century pier. The room is adequate. It is my forst bed and breakfast after 6 nights of hospitality. I enjoyed seeing Micky who shares the same birthday as me. Over the 2 nights I spent there I had a glimps into how life is for her bringing up a 6 year old son on her own, finishing off a music therapy course and being involved in 2 performing music groups. The next 2 days are over what are called on the map levels and moors which are a patchwork of water channels. The map suggests that they will not be easy to negotiate. Lovely to be back in Somerset where I was at school in Taunton for 8 happy years and sometimes cycled to this north coast and into the Mendip Hills.

I have been to Bristol many times before. From school in Taunton I had many sporting encounters on their playing fields, for art trips, and even clubbing during the early 60's but I never came before to just simply look at it. It was a great experience which left me feeling that this is one great city. I went first to the Arnolfini Gallery to an exhibition called 'The Good Life' which turned both the gallery, the art world and your attitude to your own life quite simply upside-down. The Architecture Centre next door explored various urban issues which Bristol as a city is clearly interested in. Re-inventing the city and urban renewal goes way back to the 70's and they continue to be in the forefront. I went to St. Mary, Redcliffe which they suggest is the finest parish church in the country. Where there was a successful port rich merchants became great benefactors of the local parish churches which reminded me of Great Yarmouth, Boston and Kings Lynn on the east coast. St. Mary's reflect the fact that Bristol was probably the richest of the lot and is utterly glorious. Mark Haughton's brother, Barny has an amazing restaurant and cooking school right in the centre of town which was impressive to visit at Bordeau Quay. I couldn't meet him as he was in meetings but left him a note. To download my camera's memory stick required going way up the Whiteladies Road but I can now travel free on busses so it was like having a get-out-of-jail card as I hopped busses. Micky took me with her son, Max to visit the wonderful Clifton Suspension Bridge before eating her unusual spaghetti bolognese in which she put chocolate! After 6 days of wonderful hospitality I may well camp out tomorrow as I resume the coast at Clevedon. A great day full of sun but a cold north wind.

Newport to Bristol is a very long way. I spent a long time deliberating on a route and in the end did the following. Train to Newport where I stayed an hour. A quick whizz round the market, the art gallery, and a Starbucks coffee whilst watching the people of Newport go about their daily tasks. I took a bus to Chepstow, had a £2.99 lunch in Wetherspoons and walked a 100 yards across the very muddy River Wye into Gloucestershire and back again. Chepstow is charming but there is a long steep hill out of it and on to the Severn Road Bridge. The sky was clear but the wind was strong becoming fiersomely so crossing the River Wye for the secong time and then the mighty River Severn. With a clear bright blue sky above and a well painted white bridge it was a contrast to look down to the 2 1/2 mile stretch of muddy brown water far below. It's difficult to see what is water and what is mud though it is but impressive. I was glad to have struggled across and not caught the train which passes beneath. By the time I touched English soil I was well blasted. It was 5pm so Micky, my host in Bristol, came to pick me up as we had a group arranged to sing Orlando's piece in her house. The group was 3 girls out of a group of 4 called Boy. They are used to singing a cappella usually performing their own material so it was new for them to be working with dots. I have to say that after getting it right we just wanted to sing it over and over again. Micky's mother was my eldest daughter's class teacher. We have done a lot of music together over the years since she was young and it is good to see how important music is in her life and to have been part of it. A day off in Bristol tomorrow. Good to be back in England. The only thing I didn't do in Wales was to eat laver bread. It took about 8 weeks to walk the Welsh coastline. What a joy it has been.

It was a very nice day with the sun shining throughout the 14 mile walk. Jeremy Biddle and his 8 year old son, Ollie came across from Wells to share it with me. Jeremy used to sing bass in my Forest Row choir before moving to Wells so that his 2 children could attend the Cathedral School. Lucy, his daughter is probably now going to study violin at the Menuhin School so we may get Jeremy back in Forest Row. Ollie walked amazingly well. When he got tired Jeremy said to lie down on the grass and kick his feet in the air which was hilarious but seemed to work. Jeremy has legs that go up to his armpits so he sails along. We met at Cardiff Bay and walked out of town. This was not such a smart idea as it was all of 5 hostile miles finding our way to the coast through a place called Splot and round the hugest landfill site called Lambey. The walk from there was entirely along a seawall, the landscape reminicent of Essex with the landward side at a lower level than the seaward side. Its mud all the way up now to the bridge. I have not yet decided how to get from Newport to Bristol. The coast gets worse beyond Newport to the motorway bridge which I can't walk across anyway. I can walk the Severn Roadbridge from Chepstow so maybe I should hop there from Newport somehow and walk the Bristo side where there is a path. A highlight today was seeing a pair of great crested greves in one of the Cardiff wharfs with the female sitting on her nest of eggs at the water's edge right by the pathway. Shortly after we passed a 12 year old alsation being pushed in a pram too old to walk. I caught the train back to Cardiff from Newport as I was able to stay a third night with Rhiannon and therefore not carry Rucksack. Cardiff and Rhiannon have been good to me. We had a large Chinese takeaway for supper enjoying the company of her student housemates. They are all madly writing essays between getting up after me and going to bed before me. Rhiannon has been a wonderful host.

Day off usually means not walking but exploring where I got to. In fact today I did both. Rhiannon is in her second year at the university in Cardiff but today she joined me as a tourist. Since Cardiff has a city centre and the massive harbour development at arms length from it and little time, it made sense to get on the City Sight-seeing Bus. The weather was also favourable. It was a good idea. In just one afternoon we saw the best of Cardiff's 2 worlds. There are wonderful civic, university, hotels and residences in the centre including the Millennium Stadium which dwarfs everything around it. We stopped off at the harbour to see the impressive Millennium Centre and Parliament Buildings and got back to downtown Cardiff with a good 1 1/2 hours to spend in the museum. It's not such a huge museum though we still had to be selective. There was a new Diane Arhus exhibition just opened, a good amount of Impressionist art but the climax for me was a whole room full of Sisley who I appreciate more and more. After all the Rhiannon had seen enough of the city she has a different relationship with so I went off on my own back to Penarth and did the walk into Cardiff that I was too tired to do yesterday. The weather had really got quite pleasant and I was glad to have done it. Cardiff has been a revelation. It is a worthy capital city which takes itself seriously and warrants respect. It is vibrant, full of young people, confident and both pleased and satisfied to be where they are. It is not a beach with watersports but rather a focal point for learning, the arts, sports, business and government. A great city.

It was a stormy night. The weather forecast was bad. In fact the sun shone the whole day though the south-westerly wind blew with a vengence. James, my host, had his first biology lesson at 8.00am so I had breakfast alone with Radio 3 already switched on. I went to the library to collect Rucksack and Brolly from Rachel before catching James for part 2 of his tour around the college. This included descending towards the sea via several tiers of garden followed by the first part of the walk towards Cardiff. At one point James lay on the clifftop, felt down and came up with a star-shaped plant fossil which he said was in fact an animal. A simple coast walker would not naturally come across such treasures. For geographers the wave-cut platform between St. Dontats and the powerstation would be exciting. It excited me and I am only a very part-time geographer. It is hard walking in such a wind as there was today even though it came from behind. That combined with the rocky foreshore around the powerstation left my knees wrecked. It had been a 15 mile walk to Barry by which time I could walk no further so took the first bus I saw pointing in the right direction. The driver spoke no English but dropped me at the railway station without charging. Rhiannon, my god-daughter met me at Cardiff Queens Street Station. She is a second year student at the university and is hosting me for two nights. We bought sausages from Spar to augment her delicious homemade potato and leek soup. Like a good god-father, I took her to the pub to watch the unlikely event of my football team, Preston North End, appearing in the Championship Playoff. This surprising fact was at the expense of both Cardiff and Swansea so I was not surprised there was little local interest. I will explore Cardiff tomorrow.

Things went a bit wrong first thing. Rachel, the librarian from Atlantic College was to pick up Rucksack at 8.30am. Somehow we missed. She should have picked it up by now and I hope to get it in the morning as I am now at the college. In the meantime I had missed mass and the chance to meet the other 7 resident sisters of the Franciscan convent. The convent has a house available as a prayer centre and next door is a private school of over 500 pupils. There is another private school of a similar size in the same hamlet of Newton which in addition has a lovely church, huge alotments and 3 pubs. I had been on the beach in front of huge sand dunes yesterday beneath which an entire village was buried at Kenvig. Today I walked behind even larger dunes called Marthyr-Mawr, through the most beautiful village by the same name. I had kept inland to catch a bridge over the River Ogmore and then rather slippery stepping stones over the next one. The coast to St. Donats was not all walkable but what I saw was both pretty and sometimes dramatic with not a little erosion. I kept in touch with my host, James Mendessohn who had to drive me the last mile so I would be at the college to meet some music students at 5pm. James is Head of Biology at the college whose population of 360 students are all in the 6th form studying for the International Baccalaureate. 9 music students who all came from different countries had prepared Orlando's piece. It was the first chance to hear all the parts Orlando has written. After half and hour's work it really sounded quite good. Thanks to James for setting it up and to the 2 music teachers present, Brian and Chris. James is cousin to a member of my London Choir. He has this evening cooked me a wonderful meal. The college is right on the coast, housed in a much altered castle at one time owned by Randolph Hearst and in which he housed his mistress. It is an amazing place. James told me about the college which was influenced by Kurt Hahn of Gordonstoun. To Cardiff tomorrow once I get Rucksack and Brolly back.

Newton is just beyond Porthcawl and a very long way from Swansea. The weather was awful until 6.30pm when I was still 3 miles from the convent. The difference between my Swansea landlord from the Rhondda and Sister Bronach, a Franciscan from Ireland is one of the joys of this trip. I had done Swansea so was happy to leave but not without a brief visit to the Dylan THomas Theatre on the waterfront where I was given a cup of tea. I had not realised how much amateur dramatics Dylan THomas had done himself, though I think most of his success later was through the medium of radio. I walked as far as I could to Port Talbot but the motorway meant I needed some help from a bus. Port Talbot was massively ghastly but I did have the best steak pie there that I have ever had served with chips and the inevitable gravy by two hard-working ladies full of humour. To get back to the coast meant going down a little road passed yet another chemical plant, a power station, and a railway siding for the massive steel plant. Re-entry to the beach was via a landfill site. It had all been ghastly. To add to the problem the tide was in and then I met a river. The tide was meeting a full river and I was meeting them both. There was no time to hang around - I walked across with shoes and socks still on. This proved a reasonable idea except I had misjudged the tide. The log I sat on to change into dry socks was overcome by a wave so everything got very wet. There was still 7 miles to go, much of it dodging the breaking waves and walking on stones. By the time I got to Porthcawl having passed the remote house where R. D. Blackmoore reputedly wrote Lorna Doon, I was seriously exhausted but still had to plod through Porthcawl which is both very nice and very tacky with an enormous funfair. The convent is a centre for prayer so is not surprisingly very quiet. I may go to mass at 8.30am.

Pwildu Bay – Gower. Sunday 3rd May

Sand
It’s cool this sand, the small grains are not all yellow; several metallic glass like specs refract the light. Moist with the sea-water that covered them earlier in the morning, the tide has turned and is twenty yards from where I am sitting. Sand, not ruffled by the wind, but swirled around with paw prints from dogs running, playing across the beach; their barks and yelps carried above, the sound of a ball being caught and thrown, and the echoing whoosh of the waves gathering white foam before dying back into the swell of the ocean. So comforting the regularity and irregularity, but always incoming sea waters which are receding now leaving more beach. Tom in his red sweatshirt and khaki shorts, knee bound up and walking boots pointing skywards as he lies prone in the sun after his tuna filled baguette. The sun gently giving warmth from between white clouds in a blue sky and the sudden sound of a small plane flying inland. My feet are cool after a brief paddle. And for a few hours I am not in that trapped out-of-time ill place. This is out of time too as only a walk somewhere in nature can be. Only the moment holds true and connection with sea, wind, Tom and the dogs and other human beings showing what it means to be alive and well.

Monica Suswin

This is the first big city on this trip soon to be followed by Cardiff and Bristol. The landlord of my lodgings is from the valleys and served breakfast to me, a Chinese couple, and a German couple. I imagine they were there because it is listed by the Welsh Tourist Board. It was a normal Tuesday in Swansea so after the Bank Holiday everything was working. The huge covered market was open, I could download photos, buy a new shaver and visit the museums and galleries. It all looked much better than last night even though it was grey and windy all day. Besides the large Woolworths store, obviously being closed, there were many other shops up for sale or to rent even in the centre, yet the Tesco and Sainsbury carparks were bulging. There seems to be a 50 year gap between the Dragon Hotel being built and the new marina and superstores with nothing in between. There is a large Asian community and even churches have been taken over by Indian restaurants and many facilities offering help in dealing with human rights, benefits, domestic violence and councelling. Like Liverpool, Swansea had its heyday, then a horrible gap and now an effort at renewal for reinvention. The Vivian Art Gallery has a wonderful collection including a whole wall of Japanese prints yet 90% of what they have is in storage. The museum is old and dusty but interesting if you are prepared to seach, yet next door is a new museum which was so high-tech with buttons, sounds, colours and user-friendly to the blind, deaf and infirm that I left impressed but traumatised. It ticks all the boxes but didn't do much for me and there was hardly anyone else there except a few kids racing around pressing buttons. I found the parish church of St. Mary not only open but half way through evensong. There were only 4 boys in the choir but they sounded excellent. I walked up the nave with a drunk gentleman in front of me. I sat down but he carried on and would have walked through the choir had the vicar not stopped him. He sat in front of me and was asleep very quickly. He only woke when required to leave. I had an Indian meal which made me 15 minutes late for the football by which time Manchester United had already scored 2 goals and virtually won the match against Arsenal. Amazingly, my team, Preston North End are in the Championship playoff at the expense of both Swansea and Cardiff. This means I shall have to try to watch their game on Friday. TOmorrow I'm staying in a convent.

The weather was poor today, wind with occasional rain and cold. One of the showers came as Mark and I were packing the tents away so we had to get a move on. Monica was waiting for us at the hotel for coffee before I left to take the bus back to Mumbles Head. I enjoyed their company for a few days and they will both be remembered as part of the Gower experience. I turned on the second bus to ask the man behind a question and initially regretted it as he was in the process of placing a large bread-type object into his mouth which was not empty from the previous bite. I didn't face him again but he gave me an excellent commentary on everything we passed as if he were an experienced tourist guide. I listened and hoped that the contents of his mouth had gone down his throat and were not going down my neck! Mumbles Head is a pleasant starting point for the vast Swansea Bay. There is a pier, lighthouse and old fisherman's houses adjacent to former oyster beds. Catherine Zeta Jones has a house nearby. I had lunch of faggots, potaoes and mushy peas. The Welsh faggot is made up of 40% meat, bread, onions, caramel and seasoning. It is round and served covered in gravy. Today's variety were delicious. The tide was coming in and covering the rather muddy bay as I walked the 4 miles into the city, passed the university campus which is built on the former home and grounds belonging to the Vivian family. The original Vivian had come across from Cornwall and made his fortune in copper. From his mansion house he could look across the now Bristol Channel back to Cornwall (or is it Devon?) which was visible yesterday but not today. I chose a guesthouse by the sea called Beachcomber and got a good deal with a room looking out across the channel. I stayed in it for 10 minutes and then asked for one without the noise of the main road outside for which I have to pay a little more. What I have seen of Swansea so far suggests that my day off tomorrow will be interesting. I will reserve judgement for now! I did find a Weatherspoons who served up burger, chips and a pint of excellent beer for £4.69. Nice to be in a bed again. I celebrated being in my little ensuite by having a good wash and clean-up. My camping gear is drying inelegantly about the room.

Camping in an idyllic spot it was just a little irritating to hear snoring from the other side of the field and a plastic windbreak flapping in the wind next door. I slept till 4am when it rained heavily, the wind got up and I needed to address the issue of being rather cold. There is something nice, though about camping and having a warm cup of tea in the fresh air in the morning. The weather was good as Mark and I set off for Mumbles Head. Oxwich Bay is huge but next was Threecliff Bay which must be one of the best. Mark's blisters prevented him from walking further than Southgate, where we had had an altercation with some very rude golfers. Monica took over the rest of the days walk with me. Monica is a very talented writer and I was happy to take a ten minute nap on the next beach as she wrote some lovely words. Caswell Beach was a beauty but the highlight for me was Langland Bay where there sits a rock on the beach which the English Impressionist, Sisley painted several times and which I had seen in the National Gallery just before leaving to start this trip. The famous Osbourne House Hotel where he stayed is now apartments, I believe and Swansea City Council is doing up all the beach huts since this is its playground. There were lots of people about as the rugged clff path gave way to tarmac before Mumbles Head from where there is a fine view of Swansea just 5 miles away. We had another descent meal in Monica's hotel and excellent conversation much of it about religion since between us we were Anglican, Catholic and Jewish. We had left out tents up and are sleeping in them for a second night. To Swansea tomorrow and a day off before my last week in Wales. Today I wore sterotape on my right knee kindly provided Debbie from East Grinstead. Her husband did a great deal of walking and climbing and developed what sports therapists call Jumper's Knee. The tape pulls the patella into a position where it is more comfortable. It most certainly did help. Thanks, Debbie.

I accused Mark of snoring and he accused me of the same. We had wonderful views from the Worms Head Hotel except you could not see out of the window from the beds. We couldn't work out why it's called Worms Head - it certainly isn't an attractive name for a very attractive landmark. The coffee at breakfast was awful. The weather was the best of the trip so far - a pleasant contrast to yesterday which was the worst by far. As the fine weather coincided with Bank Holiday Saturday the car park was almost full by 10.30am with enthusiastic people carrying huge paragliding equipment up the hill and the surfers going down the hill. There were loads of people walking the cliff path of the south side of the Gower even what seemed like bus loads. It did not detract from the drama of the scenery as the tide reached its fullness leaving great swathes of spume after crashing against the rocks. Mark found attractive little wild orchids which he observed in a prayer-like posture. We met up with Monca for coffee and lunch at Port Eynon and walked on together to Oxwich Bay Hotel where Monica is staying. We had tea with a wedding reception going on around us. We then walked on for a couple of miles along the magnificent Oxwich Beach and up the cliff to our campsite. Yes, at last I am camping out and this blog is being written in the discomfort of my little tent on one elbow with a head torch. Monica came and took us back to the hotel for dinner and a bath so this is camping in style! Mark has a few blisters so is sleeping with taped toes. All is well at the end of a lovely day.

The morning was bright and sunny as we left our bunkhouse. We were in no rush and had the luxury of being able to leave our rucksacks for later collection as Mark's wife, Monica was coming down for a few days in her car to do her own thing but plug into our walks if and when. I was doubting whether a real coffee was going to happen when at Llanmadoc we saw a sign to the left indicating tea and coffee. There we met a village shop with a difference. Run as a community project they had both proper coffee and a whole range of products from local fruit and veg to Ecover liquids. The shop is the object of media interest and has won awards. Mark had heard a forecast that there would be some rain and then sunshine. We got onto Whiteford Sands and in came both strong winds and driving rain. Across the dunes to the much lauded Rhosselli Bay and it was a case of head down and endure as it got far worse. We clambered up the hill to Rhosselli village where we knew there was a hotel and bistro. It was only 4.30pm but we had to get inside so when the hotel said they had a twin room we took it despite the price. This gave us sanctuary and above all warmth. Mark was unable to sign for the room as his hands couldn't hold the pen. We were both in our beds with the radiators full on when after an hour the sky cleared and the sun came out. Seizing the opportunity and with the tide out we reclothed and walked most of the way to Worms Head which you can only get to two hours either side of low tide. It was, we felt, just reward for having got here at all. Monica arrived with the car so we went back to the bunkhouse for our rucksacks and to have some excellent pub food. It has been a revelation walking with Mark who has an eye for the tiniest wonders of nature by the path and knows a good deal more than me about birds. I spotted a rock pippit to which he commented 'You're not such a bad ornithologist, are you, Tom?' The forecast is good for tomorrow. It's Bank Holiday weekend but there don't seem to be many people around.