LEJOG Day 38: Malpas to Whitchurch

Weather: Partly cloudy with westerly breeze

Distance covered today: 16.4km (10.2mi)

Last night's B&B: Mulsford Cottage (£45)

Cumulative distance: 739.5km (459.5mi)/ % Complete: 42.0%

GPS satellite track of today's route: Day 38 (click!)

Today was a remarkably quiet day after all the ups, downs and dramas of the last few legs. For a start, it was undemanding but very enjoyable walking through the lanes of the Maelor Valley. This plain is Wales sticking out its tongue at England.  Logically, it should be part of Shropshire or Cheshire, but according to one of my B&B hostesses, Cheshire didn’t want it, so it was given to Wales. She, of course, was English, so I can’t vouch for this story, but it was strange to be wandering down typically English lanes, meeting English people, but seeing only bilingual signs. I reached the border of Wales just short of my destination, Whitchurch, and after countless border crossings over the past fortnight, I now look forward to my next troubled border, the Anglo-Scottish border in about three weeks’ time.

The distinct change of landscape is evident not only in the topography, but perhaps as a result, also in the people and their activities. These lands are clearly easier to farm, the farms appear smaller but more prosperous and there is more evidence of mixed farming.  The architecture is also changing. There are far more examples of the black and white, wattle and daub buildings that are such a prominent feature of Chester. Actually, most of these buildings are so-called mock-Tudor in that they were either built or renovated by the Victorians, who admired the Tudor style. The difference can easily be seen in the precision of the woodwork and the starkness of the contrast between the pitch black and the white. My father-in-law, himself a restoration architect, was rather critical of the Victorians approach to renovation and considered that they had badly damaged Chester in their zeal. He lovingly restored one of the most famous buildings in Chester, The Bear and Billet, so he knew what he was talking about!  He much preferred Shrewsbury, where he practiced, because it was not as well-off as Chester in Victorian times and therefore better resisted Victorian renovation.

Now that I am no longer on a national path, I am again something of a novelty, so that conversation with strangers is again a feature. Today, I met three Daves and an Adam, all very different to each other and all interesting characters. The first Dave was a farmer, who was taking a break, leaning over the gate as I passed down the quiet country road. We exchanged the obligatory comments on the weather after which he told me that he had tried to retire, even bought a cottage for his wife and himself, but when the time came, she refused to move. The stalemate persisted until he finally decided that he didn’t want to leave the farm either, and he has started renovating one of the dilapidated farm buildings to live in. His plan now is to hand over the big house to his son, who is anyway doing the bulk of the work on the farm (“He does all the tractoring and he does all the auctions. I can’t be bothering with all that anymore!”). The farm is mixed; dairy, beef, sheep, “a little bit of everything. You never know what the prices will be tomorrow!”, so there's lots of work for everyone, and he reckons he will be working there till he dies. Again, I was struck by how much all these enterprises are real family affairs. There are no hired hands. The family runs the whole business and the expectation is that father will hand over to son, come what may. It’s been like that for generations.

The next Dave was a painter. He was painting a house as I past and he engaged me in conversation mainly to tell me that his brother and a mate were off doing “The Three Peaks Challenge”, which is a famous race against time to climb the three highest peaks in England, Scotland and Wales within 24 hours, not quite as nuts as LEJOG, but close. He told me that he had point-blank refused to join them and that he himself would prefer to do LEJOG, though I have my doubts.

The third Dave is my host for the night. In his day-job, he works for an Internet Service Provider, and we spent hours discussing networks and bandwidth and wifi standards, which was just right up my street. He has an ambition to make his B&B carbon-negative and we discussed the economics of his photo-voltaic array and his solar water heaters. He is even looking at drilling for his own water. He thinks that in time to come, being carbon-negative could be a distinct marketing advantage for the B&B, attracting cyclists who are conscious of their energy footprint. I said I wasn’t convinced cyclists were conscious of energy as much as fitness, but what do I know?


And then finally there was Adam, splendidly aboard his magnificent 17h3½ Irish Hunter, Patrick (appropriately enough). Patrick, it seems does indeed reach 18 hands when he has new shoes, but at eighteen years of age most of which he has spent with Adam, he has retired from the Hunt, and now spends all his time, quietly walking the country lanes. Adam spoke excellent “received” English in the clipped tones of a public-school educated, professional Englishman and it was no surprise to be told that he was a retired chartered surveyor. His question to me; “So if you are on your way to John O’Groats, explain to me how it happens that you come to be here in Smokey Lane?” I tried to explain the logic of my general direction and the extraordinarily random selection of individual daily routes, on which basis it just happens that Smokey Lane is indeed on the way from Land’s End to John O’Groats! At the time I was heading South East, which of course was a little bit more difficult to explain! I decided horses would anyway be of more interest to him and indeed he was very interested to hear of Veronica and her magnificent Hanoverian!


The next few days promise to be similar in that there will be lots of road-work, interspersed with the odd dive into “unchartered” paths if they offer a significant short-cut, with the fearsome prospect of the Pennine Way coming ever closer, just a week away now. Given that frightening thought, A-roads don’t seem so alien by comparison!  Perhaps in anticipation of the coming storm, I have today posted home all my unused encumbrances, including my Kindle, even my utility tool, plus used maps and guidebooks. The weight of the articles was 2.15kg (4.7lbs) including packaging.
 
It isn’t enough, but it is something.

A farm in the Maelor Plain

Mock-Tudor architecture everywhere

Dave, the farmer, with his son on the tractor behind him

Dave, the painter with his pot of paint!

Adam mounted on Patrick

I was struck by the idea of "very" free range eggs. The chickens in the field seemed very keen to stay close to the gate, presumably as that is where the feed comes from. The eggs themselves are in the cooler box, plus a piggy bank for your cash

The sky glowers, but it didn't rain

?

This is Iscoyd Park. Adam told me that its original owner had made his fortune making top-of-the-range cabriolet coaches. It was also coincidentally the venue for the wedding that Andrea is organising and I passed it just as the guests were beginning to arrive!

Leaving Wales for the last time on this journey!

Part of my route lay along the Llangollen Canal where it passes Whitchurch on its way to join the Shropshire Union. These two old boys offered me a cup of tea.

Jubilee Gardens, Whitchurch