LEJOG Day 21: West Bagborough to Bridgwater

Weather: Cloudy with strong Easterly, sunny later

Distance covered today: 14.9km (9.3mi)

Last night's B&B: Bashford's Farmhouse (£37.5)

Cumulative distance: 371.8km (231.0mi)/ % Complete: 21.1%

GPS satellite track of today's route: Day 21 (click!)

Another day, another crisis!  This time, it wasn’t the result of an accident, at least not another accident, but over the last couple of days, I have been finding it increasingly hard to connect to the network using Wifi. I won’t bore you with the details, but the problem gradually grew worse until last night, I decided I had to do something about it. After ruling out all the software possibilities, I became convinced that it was an intermittent hardware problem, possibly related to my original fall, when the screen cracked. I considered again replacing this netbook, but that is itself not a trivial process because of the software on-board this machine and the limited time I have anywhere to sort it all out, despite Veronica’s repeated offers to help me.

I decided to delay a decision until at least I had consulted a computer shop in Bridgwater, if I could find one with the necessary expertise, open on a Saturday afternoon during a special long weekend!  I could and I did, and there I met André, a fellow of indeterminate age who hails from Eastern Europe and whose command of English is, to be honest, limited.  However, we were able to communicate geek to geek, and I was amazed how quickly he understood my problem and indeed agreed with my analysis. He suggested I buy a USB Wifi network adapter to bypass my on-board adapter. I agreed but argued that I had no CD ROM drive to load the drivers. He enthusiastically cleared a space for me on his workbench, allowed me to open a brand new portable USB CD ROM drive without buying it to use to load the drivers, and for the price of piece of grilled fish, my problem is solved. We looked at each other with renewed respect afterwards. He asked me what I do for a living. I tried to explain, but got nowhere until I explained that my full-time occupation at present is walking. That seemed to satisfy him, though I have no idea why….

If anyone is still with me, I must apologise profusely for the foregoing, but there was no earthly way that this little triumph wasn’t going to find its way into this post!  Let me though return to earthier matters!  Today, the weather forecast confidently predicted rain in the South West and I thought my extraordinary luck was finally going to run out. I prepared all my rain-gear for easy access, though in the event, I didn’t need it. I left West Bagborough, climbing steeply to the top of the Quantock Hills in the teeth of a chilly Easterly wind with scudding clouds, but not a drop of rain fell. The air was sufficiently moist though that the views from the top of the Quantocks were limited and I couldn’t see the horizon in any direction. What I could see was stunning.  I hadn’t really heard of the Quantocks before. I suppose they are not imposing enough to command widespread interest, but the views of the verdant English countryside are magnificent, in some ways complemented today by the slightly foreboding atmosphere, which made the greens greener and the shadows more mysterious.

In stretches, I found myself walking through lovely forests, completely enveloped in bird-song. I’m not sure whether they were all yelling at each other about my intrusion or whether they were just singing while going about their urgent springtime duties, but either way, their concerto was splendid. One sour note was the presence of large numbers of a sort of black hover-fly, which seemed particularly fond of young blackberry bushes. They fly straight at you, for no apparent reason. I decided this was because they only have eyes for each other, as I found a number in flagrante delicto. This explains their large numbers at present, and possibly points to their imminent demise.

I suppose the views of the Quantocks valleys are so impressive because the high hedges on each side of the road prevent one from seeing the view as a continuing spectacle, so that every now and again, one is rewarded by a sudden break in the hedge to a fantastic snapshot of the countryside beyond. It occurred to me that these views would not be available to anyone in a car. Firstly, in anything smaller than a truck, one’s line-of-sight is too low to see over the hedges, and in any case, the hedges and roads tend to tunnel one’s vision to the road ahead, which may sometimes reveal a view, for instance when driving down a steep hill, but mostly restrict one’s vision.  Gaps in the hedges disappear too quickly to be seen.  This is of course another excellent reason for walking!  It somehow feels like I have an exclusive on all this marvellous countryside.

Eventually, I wandered into Bridgwater, frankly not expecting much: another slightly seedy, ex-industrial town that had seen better days?   Also, I had heard tell of an extremely smelly cellophane factory. What I received was beyond all expectation. Firstly my hostess at the B&B offered to do all my washing. Then in my bedroom, along with a magnificent gift of West-country chocolate and cider was a dinner invitation from Karen and Stuart.  I had shared a B&B way back in Cornwall with them and they live on the outskirts of town.

I have just returned from a delicious dinner with them and their delightful family, Charlotte and Nick, who must really have wondered what their parents were on about asking this old hobo git to dinner. If they did, they didn’t show it. They were excellent company and I wish Charlotte well with her uni applications and Nick well with his swimming competitions.  Their parents were extremely interesting and gracious hosts.

So, a delightful dinner in great company, my netbook fixed, my clothes clean and a comfortable B&B. I will remember Bridgwater with affection!

And, the cellophane factory has closed!

View from the Quantocks

Another view from the Quantocks

And a third view from the Quantocks

Sorry, but I couldn't resist another dramatic Bluebell field

An exhausted black hover-fly. Anyone know what it is?

His Master's Voice!

Yet another danger for the unsuspecting walker. I threw it back from the road onto the fairway. The golfer must have thought he had had the luckiest bounce ever!!

Study in green, white and yellow (!)

Fly-tipping - £100. Not scooping your dog's poop - £1,000. Disproportionate?

Does this mean that the the Lollipop Lady is a dragon?

LEJOG Day 20: Pleamore Cross to West Bagborough

Weather: Cloudy and cool, sunny later

Distance covered today: 21.1km (13.1mi)

Last night's B&B: Selby House (£45)

Cumulative distance: 356.9km (221.8mi)/ % Complete: 20.3%

GPS satellite track of today's route: Day 20 (click!)

Today was all about the Royal Wedding. Even if I had wanted to get away from it, it just wasn’t possible. It dominated proceedings in my very comfortable B&B this morning and even as I made my way through the depressed industrial areas of Wellington, populated with ruined factory buildings and the sad, unemployed housing estates that surround them, even in these places wedding mania was apparent. Once I reached the more affluent country villages, bunting, union flags and the odd St George’s Cross were flying from almost every building. As the day wore on, so the preparations for street parties began, and I watched them progress in village after village.

Eventually I was just squeezing between the tables in the main street of the village of Halse, when I was accosted by the locals, who insisted I should join them for the festival, their efforts redoubling when I told them about my journey.  I had to plead lack of time, though to be honest, I was also a little concerned by the quantity of ale that was being prepared. I felt that if I fell among that particular pack of thieves, I might not make my B&B this evening! They insisted on helping me at least to a cup of tea, which I gratefully accepted, while helping them to lay out the table cloths.  I left just as the sound system was gearing up and a few of the revellers started spilling out of the pub onto the street. I suspect that this party will run and run. They don’t even have to worry about traffic; they had diverted it all right round the village!

Today, almost for the first time, I listened to the radio as I walked. I decided that I didn’t want to be a stick-in-the-mud and ignore the national celebration completely and once I started listening to the BBC, of course they painted pictures in my mind as they always do, and I found it addictive listening. My problem was that today I was following a very complicated route, because there actually wasn’t an alternative. It wasn’t even a matter of avoiding the main roads; there just weren’t any roads in the direction I needed to go. I had, though seen a succession of country paths that would do very well and I decided that anyway it would be good to get off the roads again.

I discovered that the paths of Somerset have a lot in common with the paths of Cornwall! They don’t exist!  They look perfectly clear on the map, but in the field there is nothing! So the task is to try to identify the general direction across a field by taking a compass bearing and hoping that some sort of stile or gate will appear at the other end.  This worked for the first couple of hours, but then eventually my luck ran out!  I found myself completely cornered by high fences and a tree covered, boggy valley that was completely impenetrable.  I consulted my map and my GPS positioner. I was where I was supposed to be….

Eventually, I gave up, retraced my steps and found an alternative route. When I eventually got myself back onto the right road I found the place where I should have made my exit. It turned out that the path was sunken into a deep culvert, completely overgrown by bushes and trees and descending into the boggy valley that I had decided was impenetrable. Perhaps five minutes more investigation would have revealed the entrance. Such is the lot of the long-distance walker!

To be honest, the other reason I lost my way was that I was listening to the radio. I am no multi-tasker!  But I did have time to reflect on the extraordinary nature of the Royal appeal in this country.  I find myself quite amused at the satisfaction the country takes at the fact that so many people around the world were taking the television feed of the wedding. I can’t remember how many times I heard commentators say that “we do this sort of thing so well”.  And so of course they do.  But it does require a citizenry happy to adopt the role of subjects, despite the evident sophistication of so much of British society.  Is there a connection with yesterday’s empty telephone booth?

I can’t escape the thought of the enormous pressure on the Royals.  They depend for their existence on the approval of one of the most critical and sophisticated societies on Earth, a society which proves ever more volatile because it is subject to phenomenal demographic and attitudinal changes.  The position of the Royals must remain extraordinarily precarious, despite the current polls.
 
Prince William didn’t have a choice, but Kate must really be in love!

Factory ruins in Wellington

Yet the local War Memorial club is celebrating the Royal Wedding

A clear Somerset path!

A butterfly for Julian

Another Somerset path

What are these?

Street party preparations

Halse Street Party

Random house decorations

More decorations

Approaching the Quantock Hills at West Backborough

LEJOG Day 19: Willand to Pleamore Cross

Weather: Sunny with cool breeze

Distance covered today: 14.5km (8.5mi)

Last night's B&B: Weir Mill Farm (£35)

Cumulative distance: 335.8km (208.7mi)/ % Complete: 19.1%

GPS satellite track of today's route: Day 19 (click!)

This journey is littered with discoveries, though some of these may be of more interest to some rather than to others. The very nerdy part of my nature is nevertheless fascinated to discover that Liquid Crystal Displays (LCDs) do indeed contain something that behaves very much like a liquid. By stashing my netbook in my backpack in a certain physical configuration, and therefore using both the force of gravity and the pressure of packing as a tool, I have procured that the liquid crystals which smeared across my display like a great, bloody scar along the cracks in the screen, have indeed retreated to whence they came and the screen, though not as new, is certainly again almost clear and easily usable! This is a remarkable result, but it is probably spontaneously reversible, and I may yet come a cropper. For your sanity, I promise I will keep as much as possible of the outcome to myself!

Talking of sanity, I had my first face-to-face consultation yesterday. My good friend Chris, obviously concerned, drove some 300 miles here and back to check up on me on my rest day. He took me down to the coast for an outing, like some aged aunt who needed a little company, fresh sea air and a tipple at lunch-time, though indeed I preferred a glass of red to sherry! He left, keeping his thoughts very much to himself, loaded down with a selection of the stuff that I have decided I really don’t need to hump around with me anymore. It was exceedingly kind of him to make the trip.

More worryingly, at breakfast yesterday I met Roger, who turned out to be a Professor of English Literature and the head of a literary society. Roger extracted from me this blog address, and despite the fact that I was convinced he wouldn’t, he actually did have a look at it! I met him again this morning at breakfast and it felt like one of those interviews with your tutor in second year. He was very encouraging, but one couldn’t help wondering whether he believed in positive reinforcement even in the case of the weaker student!  He also commented that it would make sense to stick to a few related themes, without saying that I was ranging all over the place, which of course I am, so I will try to take that on board! Roger, if you are reading this, marks in the Comments Section, please!

Talking of themes, I do have three mini-rants, following on from this morning’s otherwise uneventful and rather easy walk. Firstly I entered Somerset, and despite keeping the beadiest of eyes on every single sign-post there was not a single indication of the border crossing! I was amused to discover that even the OS map did its best to conceal the border. The usual Morse Code border stipple was superimposed along a solid line of farm fencing on the map, so that you needed indeed to be a very determined sleuth to uncover the border!
 
There is though a flaw in their system! The bureaucracy isn’t up to the challenge! It transpires that the names of the supplying local councils are applied to every wheely-bin! Identification by waste-disposal! I moved instantly from “Mid-Devon (Where people matter)” to the “Somerset Waste Partnership”.  And since there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that any council will collect another council’s waste, I should have a fool-proof method of deciding which county I am in! We shall see!

The second of my rants drives to the heart of the country. I know already the outcome of the referendum on the “Alternative Vote” (AV) next month. The British electorate will vote against any change, despite all the erudite arguments either way. How do I know this?

I saw it this morning in the village of Sampford Moor. I noticed a perfectly ordinary red telephone booth tucked inconspicuously into the village architecture. I went to have a look at it, only to discover that it contained no phone. Where the phone had once been, there was a message saying that the telephone had been removed and that BT had transferred ownership of the kiosk to the local community. The sign went on to say that “The traditional red kiosk, or K6, plays a significant part in our national heritage.  The local community have chosen to retain this kiosk thereby ensuring it can be enjoyed by generations to come.” 

Charming as the phone booth is, and iconic though it may be, there is something very interesting about a society that retains (and maintains) a structure as utilitarian as a phone booth for sentimental reasons alone. It does explain why there are so many historical relics in evidence in the English landscape and it also explains why the British electorate will vote to retain their traditional voting system in the May referendum, whatever the logic.
 
It also explains why there will be so many street parties tomorrow. The weather forecast for the Royal Wedding isn’t good. I felt the change today as I walked into a stiff, chilly breeze over which the sound of the M5 steadily grew louder until it roared like the sea in a violent storm.  The M5 has become the new A30.  It and I are now intimately entwining. I passed under it through a bridge that Veronica identified for me on the way into Willand and today I crossed back over it on my way into Somerset. It will no doubt be antagonising me most of the way to Bristol.

However, I felt happier today when I realised that it was actually like a sewer, draining away huge amounts of traffic from the beautiful lanes and roads along which I will be travelling.  Perhaps even the M5 isn’t all that bad, after all!

Rest day in Sidmouth with my good friend Chris

Sidmouth beach-front

Back on the road from Willand to Pleamore Cross. The architecture is changing. These houses could be almost anywhere!

Weaving under and over the M5

I won't be that far away from it all the way to Bristol

Horse gallops! The heart of England beckons!

Mayflower?

A telephone box, without its telephone. Why?

The ladybirds are multiplying!

How do I know I'm in Somerset? Only by the dustbins! (Somerset Waste Partnership)

The Wellington Monument on the highest point of the Blackdown Hills. It was erected to commemorate the Battle of Waterloo. The memorial is based on the Egyptian obelisk design but the monument is shaped like the bayonets that were used at the time. There is a counterweight inside the monument to stop it swaying in the wind.

Is this is the "wrong way" to find "hemlock"? Only in Somerset! Note your intrepid photographer caught in the mirror!

LEJOG Day 18: Silverton to Willand

Weather: Hot and sunny with cool breeze

Distance covered today: 24.9km (15.5mi)

Last night's B&B: Silverton Hotel (£20)

Cumulative distance: 321.3km (199.6mi)/ % Complete: 18.3%

GPS satellite track of today's route: Day 18 (click!)

Yet more treachery on the part of perfidious Albion!  There were many signs on the way into Tiverton suggesting that it is the capital of Mid-Devon, when the truth is that it is right on the edge of Somerset!  Everyone conspires! I saw industrial parks named for Mid-Devon, even mooring berths on the Grand Western Canal. The local council calls itself the Mid-Devon County Council. No wonder the funny foreigners are confused. Here they are, looking forward to more Devonian Cream Teas, in the knowledge that they are happily still in the centre of the county, when suddenly a broad Somerset accent informs them that they are in Somerset and tea’s off dear, cream or otherwise. “Here there be farms!”

Talking of farms, I was mightily pleased to find one this morning, with the help of Veronica, weeks ago. My route forced me to walk some distance up the murderous A396 towards Tiverton. This particular road is travelled only by homicidal maniacs and I had no idea there were so many of them. There was no margin at all on the edge of the road, no escape hatches, just vertical walls, blind bends and very fast traffic. I was waving my maps and hands frantically and watching as the drivers left it to the last minute to swerve out of my way, with an evil chuckle and a blast of exhaust.

And then I found a suspension footbridge over the Exe River (its name a little too symbolic for me!) onto a farm. Veronica had used Google “Street View” to uncover it for me weeks beforehand as I had tried to plan this leg of the journey, because I was worried about the “A” road! And there it was, right in front of me, rickety, narrow, covered in spider-webs, swinging wildly in the breeze, but so much less dangerous than the road!  I made a successful crossing and was just relaxing in the field opposite when I heard the sound of someone running right behind me. I turned to greet him and saw a cow running full tilt straight at me, just a few yards away. I nearly died! But my obvious fright communicated itself to the cow, who dug in her front hoofs and skidded to a halt. Clearly I was not the farmer. We parted warily a little embarrassed at our mutual over-reaction. My heart-rate was restored to normal half an hour later when I reached Bickleigh Castle!

I was sufficiently unhinged by the events of the day, that when I got into my B&B this evening, I decided to research the people of Devon in “Devon Life” to find out whether homicidal mania runs in the genes.  I discovered there that indeed sinister souls pervade the paths I have been treading. Some days ago just before my accident, I spied on my OS map a tor named “Gibbet Hill” near the village of Mary Tavy and resolved to uncover its mystery.  My research has revealed that this is indeed where a certain Lady Mary Howard met her end.

Reputedly, Lady Mary lived in the early 17th Century at Fitzford House near Tavistock and survived four husbands by murdering them. She is said to have been cruel to her daughters and hated by the community. In mitigation, it has also been claimed that Lady Howard’s ill-treatment at the hands of her sadistic father deprived her of maternal feelings.  She was burned as a witch at Gibbet Hill and her ghost was sentenced to bring all the grass from Okehampton Castle to Tavistock, one blade at a time. Thus she rides a coach of bones each midnight. It is pulled by headless horses and driven by a headless coachman.  A black hound runs beside her and carries a blade of grass in its mouth.

Clearly, it was she who tripped me up near the entrance to Okehampton Castle. And her black dog came to visit me yesterday to eat my lunch, which obviously she had promised!  But what made that cow try to attack me this morning? Perhaps she too was haunted by a spirit?

The ruins of Tavistock Abbey are said indeed to be haunted by the spirit of Elfrida, the beautiful daughter of Ordgar, Earl of Devon. Long before he had seen her, King Edgar who ruled from 959 to 975, heard rumours of her great beauty and sent his young friend Earl Ethelwold to see whether the rumours were true. They were, but Ethelwold was so taken by her charms that he could not bear the thought that any other man but himself should marry her. He told the King that the rumours of her beauty were much exaggerated, but it would be politically advisable for him (Ethelwold) to marry her. King Edgar agreed and Ethelwold lived happily with Elfrida until the King announced he would visit them. Ethelwold was appalled and told his wife the truth, begging her to make herself look as plain as possible for the King. Of course, she did the opposite and the King was enchanted with her. The next day, Ethelwold took the King hunting, but a cast from King Edgar’s spear must have been poorly aimed, for it fatally struck not the boar, but Ethelwold.

The lovely widow married King Edgar. Perhaps from remorse, Elfrida’s spirit can find no rest. Was that spirit in the cow? Perhaps she thought I was Ethelwold, who, frankly, seems to have gotten off rather lightly in the legend, not to mention the King! In these more enlightened times, I suspect Elfrida would have divorced Ethelwold, married the King this Friday, and slapped a super-injunction on the press….

That said, Ethelwold wouldn’t have had a much better time of it if he had offered himself up to the law in Lydford, just up the road from Tavistock. I saw this inscription in the Highwayman Pub:

I oft have heard of Lydford Law
Where in the morn they hang and draw
And sit in judgement after.

The famous "Veronica" suspension bridge that saved me from annihilation on the A396

Bickleigh Castle

Beautiful Bickleigh Bridge

In the woods beside the river on the Exe Valley Way

Holiday fun, 2012 style!

The Grand Western Canal and Towpath

A young family

Peaceful waters

The conspiracy continues! This is less than 5 miles from Somerset!

This fellow wasn't giving way! We agreed to differ. He stood his ground, I went past and we got on with our lives!

LEJOG Day 17: Crediton to Silverton

Weather: Hot and sunny with breeze

Distance covered today: 14.5km (9.0mi)

Last night's B&B: Taw Vale  (£36)

% Complete: 16.8%

GPS satellite track of today's route: Day 17 (click!)

It seems I’m not alone. Most of the people doing LEJOG are only mildly disturbed and do the journey on bicycles, but the certifiably insane minority seem to need to do it on two legs. Until recently, my chosen path zigzagged south of the optimal route, but as I have gradually meandered Northwards, with Richard insisting that if I didn’t change direction soon, I was more likely to make Moscow than Scotland, so I have entered into the mainstream of both sorts of Lejogers.

Not that I’ve seen any Lejog walkers. In fact I have yet to see a single long-distance walker. There was evidence of the presence of cyclists at the last two B&Bs; Lycra dangling from the line and earnest conversations with back-up team members about pasta, but no, apparently us mad walkers blend skilfully into the foliage and are scarcely visible.  Probably a good thing too. We would not want to scare the locals!

The big advantage of being back on the beaten track is that people are much more familiar, if not bored, with the concept of LEJOG, which means that it is no longer necessary to explain the whole thing every time one meets someone, and one can get on with the more interesting aspect of asking them what they are up to.  That, though, may sometimes lead to an unhappy result.

This morning, I met a man who seemed to be seriously on edge. He was an older person, I’d say mid to late seventies and he looked his age. He told me, after beating around the bush for a while, that he was in Crediton to see his institutionalised third son. At first, as I say, he was reluctant to talk about it, but then the floodgates opened. He comes from somewhere in Wiltshire, and his son, who has been institutionalised from a young age, was reasonably close at hand. Then the authorities decided that he would have to move to Crediton to an appropriate facility there. His father was initially reluctant because of the distance.  (His mother is no longer on the scene. The father is remarried to a woman who seemed to be uninvolved).  He takes the bus down to Crediton every few months to visit his son and he says he is very happy with the treatment his son is receiving, because the facility is apparently very small with one-on-one attention for the patients.

But now, as part of the government’s spending cuts, the plan is to move his son to what his Dad describes as one of those “hellish” places where no-one knows anyone and “all they do is give them drugs to shut them down!” He said that this was not going to happen to his son. He just wouldn’t let it happen.  He was determined that he would win the battle and he believed that he would.

I had my own private reservations about whether the system would bow to the personal preferences of a patient’s parent, but I let it go. He was clearly very agitated about the problem and he welcomed a sympathetic ear.

He then said he never discussed politics and immediately launched into a tirade of extremely conservative views.  I find it interesting that someone like him, clearly from a working-class background, entirely dependent on the state for his own support and that of one of his disabled sons has such conservative views. One would have thought the Labour Party would have been his natural home, but, no, he had voted Conservative and always would. It becomes gradually clearer to me that logic is not a useful tool for the distillation and understanding of politics in the UK, if anywhere!  And it does explain the sometimes rather confusing policy choices of the main parties.

I was soon on my way to Silverton on a very pleasant morning, in bright sunshine with a cooling breeze. I had reason to reflect extensively on the good fortune I have been privileged to receive. Does it matter that one can think clearly, when the facts are that one is powerless to affect the deal that fate (or providence, or divine intervention, or whatever celestial or probabilistic influence you think it is that does it) decides for you?  Perhaps! I need to think about it!

And while I’m at it, perhaps I should consider that I have been subjecting you to all this drivel and then suddenly, this morning, I received this simply marvellous Haiku from my good friend Peter! Haiku is a sophisticated Japanese art form and I leave you to research its intricacies. Suffice it to say that it condenses 17 syllables into 3 lines and juxtaposes two ideas, one of which is observed as an everyday occurrence or state. Peter says "There is reference to Issa’s “A year of my life” – he took a year off to walk and write haiku poems." Here is Peter’s Haiku on my journey (if only I could be so concise!):

Time to walk, and think
Discovering nature, self;
A year of his life

Thank you, Peter….

I said yesterday that I would leave Crediton without a backward glance, but I did glance backwards and saw this rather extensive industrial estate. Helps explain the working character of the town.

I do know what these are! I just can't remember! Help!

This old girl came to talk to me while I was having lunch. She left the very second I ate the last bit of my sandwich to go and sit in the shade. I had guessed that she was more interested in my lunch than my blog. Ah well!

The River Exe on its way to Exeter!

Kids swimming in the Exe on the right bank. Ah, these lazy days of summer in April!!

So, after a really moderate walk in hot sunshine, here I am in Silverton!

And this is my accommodation for the night! The Silverton Hotel on its Steak Night! I had a 6oz steak; promise!