On we travel
Ten months after leaving Auckland and six months since first driving out of London in her mini-van, Bev Wood finds herself following the road through the Midlands and Wales.
It was a drizzly day when we left York and the misty weather followed us to Beverley. As I share the same name I was delighted to find it a picturesque and interesting town. Its history dates back to when St John founded a monastery here in 700AD.
The old buildings in the town were well kept and the churches impressive. We were surprised that with the smaller size of Beverley it boasted two important churches. I particularly liked St Mary’s.
It was quite simple, large and open with imposing arches and beautiful stained-glass windows. Above one of the doors was a small statue of a rabbit which was believed to have inspired Lewis Carroll to include the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. We were lucky to hear a young boy practising the organ, the sound filling the whole place.
Beverley Minster was impressive too, but not on the scale of York Minster. However, the historical relics on display kept us interested. Luck was with us as the verger had noticed our signatures in the visitors’ book and asked if we were the people from New Zealand.
It turned out he had spent some time there so we were privileged to be taken up the narrow, winding staircase, normally off limits to tourists.
We gazed down at the wonderful views of the altar and transepts. We were shown the frithstool, a plain stone chair which dated back to Saxon times. This was used as sanctuary for those being persecuted so anyone arriving at this spot was granted safety.
Time was running short and the weather was getting chilly so, apart from buying postcards at a little bookshop, we reluctantly drove away from this town with such an interesting name – or at least to me.
The countryside was covered with a low haze but it didn’t worry us as there seemed little of interest to stop for. The roads were packed with loaded trucks in a hurry. Most of the area was industrial and unattractive so we bypassed Hull and Doncaster.
We passed through Chesterfield, where we had an uninterrupted view of the crooked spire on the parish church silhouetted again the skyline.
Further on we stopped for my companion to take a photo of ugly chimneys belching smoke. While she was doing that I took the opportunity to snap a group of young children playing on the street. It was a very unattractive area, with row upon row of ugly redbrick houses.
Just as I clicked the camera a scraggylooking woman yelled out of a window, “I’ll ’ave one of them if it cooms art.” She gave me her address so I hope I did the decent thing but the cost of having a print taken off a coloured slide plus postage may have been prohibitive on my lean budget.
We did a detour to look at Chatsworth House, the home of the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, but it was too late in the day to visit.
Luckily we were able to drive through
the park-like grounds and the immaculate farmland where cattle grazed peacefully.
We were disappointed not to have a chance to visit Haddon Hall, which we understood was equally striking. With the low haze settling in we only had glimpses of this lovely part of the country. We wished we’d been able to experience it in clear, sunny weather, but by now it was late September and the long summer days almost a distant memory.
The scenery was changing rapidly from ugly areas to bucolic pasture land and back again. As we passed through industrial areas in the Midlands we were intrigued by the inhabitants.
Coming from a conservative New Zealand we were amazed at the long-haired louts, some of them schoolboys in uniform. Their hair was even longer than mine, which hadn’t seen scissors for the six months we’d been travelling. They appeared to be a scruffy lot, many wearing extremely tight trousers, looking even scruffier than us nomads.
In the late afternoon we stopped to camp the night in the pretty little town of Bakewell. We were charmed by a series of attractive cottages which we discovered had been built recently to blend in with the larger old buildings, presumably with inside bathrooms.
We gathered blackberries in nearby hedgerows to stew for dinner. Adding an extravagant bottle of cream ensured we had a delicious dessert, a real treat for us.
The rain that had set in overnight put an end to our plan of returning to visit Chatsworth House so on we went over tussock moorland and the rolling hills of the Peak District. Sadly the weather wasn’t the best for viewing the scenery so we drove on to Chester.
We loved the old walled city, the halftimbered buildings and the arcades and balconies of the shopping centre. We visited the cathedral and enjoyed our very brief visit but we needed to move on; we still had a long way to go.
Later in the day we crossed the border into Wales and parked up for the night in an old disused gravel pit. It was exactly 10 months since we’d set sail from Auckland and six months since we first drove out of London expecting to be travelling for two to three months, but here we were still exploring.
We woke to a fine sunny day after another cramped night in our little van. What a nice introduction to North Wales. We set off over the hills attractively criss-crossed with grey stone fences until we reached the coast, blue sea shimmering in the sunlight.
We drove round the wide bay to Colwyn, which in our eyes was spoilt by a garish funfair on the waterfront. However, further on we discovered that it was a delightful town away from the artificial attractions – or distractions.
After such a beautiful day it was disappointing when it clouded over late in the afternoon. As I was preparing dinner on our little gas stove, a sudden downpour caught me unaware. In spite of being saturated, I managed to rescue the meal and so we were duly fed.
Further along we came to Conway, another attractive old walled town, where the 13th century castle dominated the skyline. It was a colourful, bustling scene on the waterfront.
Small pleasure boats were moored close to shore. Fishermen were unloading their catch on the wharf, where the fish were weighed on huge scales before being packed in ice ready for the market.
Much as we would’ve loved to linger, winter was breathing down our necks and our nomadic days were coming to an end and we still had miles to go.
On we travelled through green valleys between hills and rushing streams until we reached the loveliest of towns, Betws-yCoed.
Here the river swirled and tumbled over rocks before rushing under a humpbacked stone bridge and sped on its way, disappearing among the trees. We enjoyed our leisurely stroll around what must be one of the prettiest towns in Wales.
From this picturesque area we came to a place of complete contrast. Here the hills had been quarried for slate and everywhere we looked were massive slag heaps and huge equipment silhouetted against the sky.
The towns were drab, with row after row of dreary grey-stone homes set among the scarred hillsides. One year after our visit 144 residents, mostly children, were killed when hills of waste collapsed on to one of these settlements.
Although we had no inkling that such a terrible tragedy would happen in the future, it was with a sense of relief we drove back into the natural world where the hills were colourful with yellow bracken and the valleys a mass of brilliant greenery. From ugliness to beauty in a matter of minutes.