Trusty and Sticky are back on the road!
The sun has been shining recently, as it should in June but the jet stream is still very confused and a strong northerly breeze means it is bitterly cold most of the time. As nothing in the garden seems to be growing, I decided it was ideal walking weather and grabbing Sticky McSticky, I jumped into Trusty Rusty, and set off for a few days, planning to join a few more dots along Offa's Dyke.
A few day's before had seen one violent thunderstorm, with an inch of rain in one afternoon, but generally the weather has been cold but sunny; my vegetable garden was planted, the trees were bursting forth and the little birds was on the wing. It can't last, I'm sure a plague of frogs is just over the horizon, and speaking of which, the PM chose that moment to announce a General Election. And apparently the finances of the country have now reached such a sorry state, that we could not afford to furnish him with an umbrella! He got soaked in the torrential downpour and Rishi got more than a little Squishy!
My first stop was Cardiff where Mr Richard Thompson was playing! In the rush to pack Trusty with supplies and bedding, I forgot my trainers so had to wear my very uncool sensible shoes to the gig. I had attended a funeral en route to Cardiff, and it was either grubby walking boots or the sensible shoes. Several hours (but only four drinks later- honestly!) I tripped over exiting from the taxi and managed to come second in the ensuing confrontation with the Cardiff road surface. I'm still blaming the sensible shoes!
So it was a rather stiff and bruised version of my good self that awoke the following morning. I seriously contemplated calling the whole walk off but it is amazing what changes can be induced by six coffees and a box of ibuprofen following which, Tigger like, I bounced out of bed and headed to Chepstow. I was up so early that I managed to get through the Bryn Glas tunnels without stopping - you need to live in south Wales, or at least visit, to understand he significance of that comment but here's a little snippet from a recent report to help the rest of you understand:
What are the main problems with the M4?
The M4 is Wales’ strategic gateway to the rest of the UK and Europe yet in the last two years, this stretch of road has been forced to close over 100 times. At the moment, 100,000 vehicles travel on the M4 around Newport every day — considerably more during events like concerts and rugby matches. The road does not meet modern motorway standards, and this leads to poor air quality, increased vehicle emissions and accidents. Constrained by the oldest motorway tunnels in the UK, this critical stretch of road serves two-thirds of the Welsh population and over two-thirds of Welsh GDP.
Chepstow doesn't offer much in the way of free flowing traffic either, you have to wait at traffic lights before grabbing your opportunity to get through the narrow "gate" that leads to the centre of the town; but I was soon parked and, leaving the castle behind us, Sticky and I moved off, well before 8am. The River Wye flows into the Severn estuary a few miles south of here (see later blog) but I was turning left after crossing the old bridge over it, and my route north to Monmouth roughly followed the Wye valley, with some spectacular cliffs lining the gorge.
The Wye also forms the border between England and Wales at this point and as the dyke was built by a Saxon King, Offa, the route today was totally in England. And it wasn't too long before I passed an interesting outcrop of rocks which is called "the Devil's Pulpit." Apparently, the devil preached evil at the monks down in nearby Tintern Abbey, from this very site. This proves conclusively, if any further proof were needed, that the Devil is indeed English and that his preaching of evil words at the Welsh is a common occurrence, especially in Westminster. (Ooops! I forgot my non political vow there for a moment folks!)
Tintern Abbey is still a beautiful and holy site, despite the fact that Henry VIII nicked all the lead off the roof. It is well worth a visit but I have been there before and, as Tintern was on the west side of the bank (i.e. in Wales!) it would have involved a considerable diversion, so I plodded on northwards, under blue skies with a gentle breeze soothing my bruises; perfect walking weather indeed.
https://cadw.gov.wales/visit/places-to-visit/tintern-abbey
Sticky was happily humming along side me as we descended into the village of Brockweir.
What a pretty little village this proved to be with an ancient Moravian Church and a pub that, judging by the signage, is barely open. Even in these inflationary times, £250 seems a lot of money to pay for a couple of pints? Moravian Church, I hear you all ask. I didn't have a clue either! Check it out here if you are really interested :
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moravian_Church
Brockweir was once a very important port on the Wye, as it is the last point where the river is tidal and cargo was transferred here onto smaller ships. Presumably a few Moravians wandered off a ship here one day and decided to build themselves a church? The path for the next few miles leaves the church behind as it meanders alongside the river, through lush green river meadows and grazing cattle. Its as a great place for lunch and a well earned half hour of sitting and 'watching the river flow.'
Much of today's walkway was through woodland which only a few weeks ago would have been a mass of bluebells, which are sadly now reduced to a swathe of green globular seed heads. The wild garlic was also fading fast but I did collect a pocket full of leaves to add to my pending supper; they may also help to keep the devil at bay? I was also interested to note the large number of yew trees present among the oaks, beeches and limes. Some of these looked very ancient and may have provided wood for longbows? Welsh archers were a force to be reckoned with in the fourteenth century, and longbows were made from yew. I wondered how they prevented this profusion of yews from poisoning their livestock? Presumably they were monitored by shepherds and herdsmen, as little land was fenced at that time?
I walked on, noting the sharp contrast in place names across the narrow width of the Wye. I was walking near St. Briavels' Common and yet just across the river lay Llandogo and Coed Beddich. My pace had dropped a little but then what was the rush? I could have camped anywhere nearby but a glance at the map and a short climb and descent found me in Lower Redbrook, or more specifically the Bell Inn, Lower Redbrook, with a pint of excellent Butty Bach ale in my grasp. I wasn't totally sure if the pub was in Wales or England, and the beer was so good it didn't matter! A nearby sign informed me that it was the first (and last) pub in England; Wales was about 100 yards to the west of me.
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