Aust

Travelling north from Somerset to Wales on the M48, one crosses the first suspension bridge crossing, opened by Elixabeth II in 1966 with the aid of her consort. As you cross to the far bank of the Severn, there is a sign: "Croeso i Gymru". If you go south, as you cross the other bank there is a sign "Welcome to England". There is much psychogeographical literature on the topic of liminal spaces - what could be more liminal than a long bridge in no country? Mike Parker discusses its symbolic importance, noting that after opening it HMQ was ferried to the north side to open that part of it too. Not, presumably, in Welsh.

Severn Bridge / Opened by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II / accompanied by / His Royal Highness the Duke of Edinburgh / on 8th September 1966

The bridge is a thing of beauty - the south bank affords super views. It is also an odd thing, being superseded by the long, bigger and similarly beautiful M4 bridge downstream, which made it largely redundant.

There is a strict weight limit and speed limit on the bridge, suggesting it is not in the best of health. Several lanes are coned off, making the whole thing look rather pretty. One can see a future in which the Highways Authority see a quick way of saving some money ...

At the southern end is the Aust Service Station (now renamed "Severn View") which is open, but also carries a redundant feel. It regularly comes bottom of the list of all UK service stations for customer satisfaction (this alone makes it worth a visit). The whole area is strewn with bits and pieces suggesting it has just been forgotten:

Useful snow and ice warning (picture taken August 23rd)

It is possible to climb over this gate

Take your pick

We never got to the bottom of the unattended car park holding large numbers of brand new vehicles:

But it's not all 20th century ephemera: there is some super geology:

Further geological details can be read And the blackberry forage was to die for. Just not many people around to pick 'em, maybe.

The nearby village of Aust long predates the bridge, and may well long postdate it. It has an agreeable pub.

Old Books

I am asked - never mind why - "What is the oldest book you own?". It's an imprecise question.

I'm tempted to say "The Hobbit" is the first book I bought still on my shelves, but I also see a copy of Wurzel Gummidge. Hmmm.

But "the oldest book" on my shelf? A prime candidate must be my great-grandmother's Geography school exercise book.

Maria Davey was 15 years old when she started this lovely thing: hard bound blank pages, on each of which she has drawn a map. It seems likely that these were copied from some printed source (otherwise it's just stunning) but the ink drawings and annotations are very good. On some pages the teacher "EB" has inscribed a comment ... "Fair", "Good", "Excellent" and so on.

Just about every map is of a piece of the then Empire. The map of Africa I especially like, as the interior was (to Maria) essentially unknown.

           
Malta (L) and Africa (R). Click to enlarge.

Maria was the daughter of Captain Charles Davey, who circumnavigated under sail. She married Sam Blackmore (surely Devon's most common surname) in 1883 and died sadly young on Christmas Day 1913. She's buried with Sam and my grandparents in Littleham churchyard. She had two sons, the second of which (Reg) married Flo Hayne, who produced my mother in 1924. She produced me.

Terminalia 2026 in Aberystwyth

"a market toun ons waullid" (Leland, 1540)

Terminalia was celebrated in Aberystwyth by a record attendance. Often interrupted in earlier years by weather or "other commitments", the local organ encouraged more than 15 people to tread the town walls anti-clockwise, just beating yet another deluge. With some effort, it was just possible to put yourself in the shoes of Edward I surveying a desolate marshy spot near the sea, and thinking "good place for a new town".

Having been defined in the 1270's, it is no surprise that there was little new to learn about the quondam walls, but many walkers were learning for the first time about some of the nooks and crannies that the town furnishes. The Cambrian Street kink is always popular:

And here preparing to walk down the significantly named "Dan Dre", Melin Y Santes Fair (Our Lady's Mill) which powered its wheel from a leat that cannibalised the wall ditch.

Mysteriously, the Hangman's Steps had been swept clean for the first time in living memory. Perhaps they will be used for their eponymous purpose when Mr Farage takes control.

A well equipped walker Strava'd our route, which pleasingly shows as best as possible the line of the Aberystwyth Walls, laid out by Edward I's engineers before the town even had a name or inhabitants.

The Cambrian Street kink is evident, where the party inspected putative evidence of the defensive ditch.

FFI: Aberystwyth Town Walls

[Thanks to Anita for the pictures]

A Borth Mariner

A rather Welsh story: the Siloh Chapel in Borth closed for business in 1994. Along with most chapels it had its own war memorial, and this was transplanted to the Gerlan Chapel; in due cousre, Gerlan also closed, to be converted into the successful Libanus 1877 cinema and restaurant and the memorial needed to move again. Along with those from three other closing Borth chapels it was courteously offered a home within the [conformist] St Matthew's. St Matthew's of course already had its own memorial.

The chapel memorials are poignant - no less sad for having relatively few names listed. The Siloh memorial is most unusual ... 6 victims of WW1, 7 of WW2, and 1 of the Spanish Civil War. I have not seen another Britsih memorial that lists a local man or woman lost in that terrible business.

The inscription reads "Hefyd Henry L Williams Yn Rhyfel Yspaen 1936-1939. Wedi Huno Ond Yn Fyw Yn Yr Yspryd" translating as "Also Henry L Williams, in the Spanish Civil War, 1936-1939. Fallen asleep, but alive in spirit.".

A lot of good work has been done on the history of Borth and its inhabitants, and we can learn that Heny Levi Williams was one of a large family with close ties to the sea. The family lived a crowded life in a cottage they owned that came to be called "Colliscott", and more recently "Mermaid's Rest". Henry, born in 1879, was known as a rascal and had a long and active career as a merchant seaman. In 1938 he was on the crew of the Stanhope which had been blockade running, and was berthed at Cartagena: this was a Republican stronghold. The crew was cautioned to stay aboard as life ashore was dangerous; on July 12th Henry chose to go ashore for a drink and was killed in a bombing raid.

Henry Williams, Matthews, Leronia

Well, he was British and died aged 58 as a result of military action; just what his politics were is unrecorded. Anyway, they brought him back and he's in Llandre cemetery. The heavily weathered headstone reads "In loving memory of/MARGARET JANE WILLIAMS/Sandhurst Borth/ died July 22nd 1950 aged 68 years./ Also of her dear husband/HENRY LEVI WILLIAMS/who lost his life in Carthagena/during the Spanish Civil War/July 12th 1938 aged 58 years./ Until the day break/ and the shadows flee away./"

Plot K34, Llandre lower cemetery No military honours or decorations are recorded...

A good pub quiz question

This map locates the following towns:

• Bedchester, Binchester, Chesterblade, Chesterfield, Dorchester, Ilchester, Manchester, Porchester, Portchester, Silchester

Which is which?

The suffix -chester comes from the Latin castrum meaning encampment, and is the Anglo-Saxon version of the word. Old Norse, however, did not have an equivalent of ch, and so places might have suffixes suuch as -caster, -caister, -cester: see The History of Early English, K Johnson, Routledge, 2016. You can make questions harder by including a selection of these other versions. This map may help:

Click to explore map in a new tab

Just where the Romans pitched their tents is pretty clear, here, I think.

Geeks might like to note that Exeter is derived from the Old English Escanceaster and so arguably counts, although Wroxeter and Uttoxeter do not. This topic is considered elsewhere. There are no other -xeter's.

Nota bene: this post would have been very difficult without access to the Gazetteer of British Place Names

GYBE, Coventry, 3rd October

It being over 9 years since the last encounter I journeyed to Coventry to see Godspeed You! Black Emperor. A worthwhile trip all round.

To despatch the routine -

• The lights dim (I mean dim) and a drone grows in volume. After some time, Sophie Trudeau appears and begins to play, The noise is quite thrilling as the others appear one by one to play.
• As tradition begs, the set begins with "Hope Drone".
• The lights remain dim throughout. I chose to stand close enough to the stage to count them: 3 guitars, 2 bass, 1 violin, 2 percussion. That's eight.
• Passim, visuals from 4 oldschool projecters fill two screens behind the band. These are variously wildfires, scenes of riot and ruin, some vintage military hardware - all calculated to reassure you of how worthwhile the human race is.
• They play for 2 hours, uninterrupted by any vocal link. As they depart, a rather loud guitar loop plays as the visuals continue.
• No encore.

So far, so predictable. Some might say "Surely this is a group of semi-visible people making a loud discordant noise" - how wrong can you be? What more might one say?

• The mix was very well controlled. The violin was prominent throughout.
• The visuals were the best I had seen them use; I stood behind the fella swapping the loops for about 20 minutes and I can tell you he really earned his money.
• It was usually hard to applaud anything as there was only a nanosecond gap between pieces. Nevertheless, a splendid elongated version of Job's Lament drew a lot of applause and was the best appreciated piece on the night.
• Prevailing wisdom is that the dress code for these gigs is black, with an earnest facial expression. Bucking this trend, I wore my post-fashionable Montreal Canadiens t-shirt, which is usually only allowed out when I am performing on guitar. Most others there wore t-shirts/hoodies/whatever advertising their allegiance to a cult I had never heard of. But I saw no duplicates, posing the question of whether it's a cult before it has two or more adherents.

Beyond that, I can report that the Coventry HMV Empire is one of the most comfortless venues I've ever been in, but it didn't matter. I really hope they play Aberystwyth one day.

Xeter

Regular readers may have spotted that I am [sort of, nearly] a child of Exeter. It was with some glee that fate took me to Wroxeter, and I was keen to seek out the similarities.

The name Exeter is derived from Isca Dumnoniorum: "Isca" is a Latinisation of the Brythonic word "Uisc", which means "flowing water" - so, a river. The Dumnonii were the local tribe, and the suffix was important to the Civil Service of the day since there was a another Isca, properly Isca Silurum, whose local tribe were the Silures. The modern name for this place is Usk, so they were quite a way apart.

Wroxeter turns out to be small. Actually tiny. It has just a few hundred inhabitants, so drawing cultural, commercial or industrial comparisons with Exeter is a bit of a waste of time. But in Roman times, named Viroconium Cornovorium, it was a boss place - the fourth largest British town; when the legions left the whole area was deserted so the archeological remains are plentiful and largely unspoilt - you can see them today. Wroxeter church is small but handsome: it has a font made from a pillaged Roman column

and the churchyard gate makes use of two other columns.

A thieving lot, these Christians.

The name Wroxeter is obscure in origin; The original capital of the Cornovii tribe was the hillfort on the Wrekin, (also called Uiroconion). The name Wroxeter may also refer to the capital of the Wrocensaete, a sub-Roman kingdom that succeeded Cornovia. The name Wrocensaete literally means "those dwelling at Wrocen".

Then of course there is Uttoxeter, of racecourse fame. The name is post-Roman, and comes from the Anglo-Saxon term Wotocheshede, which appears in the Domesday Book and translates to "Wot's homestead on the Heath".

There are only the three Xeters in the UK.

23rd March things

March 23rd was unusually productive for Things.

VoR museum

Opening day for the VoR museum. I went down fully expecting large banners and welcoming volunteers - perhaps a brass band. I had obviously forgotten this is Abeystwyth. A nice man reminded me it was opeing day and sold me a ticket, after which I strolled alone among some shny exhibits, having passed through an archway recyled from London Bridge (seriously).

I'd seen many of them before, but the standard gauge Dukedog (on loan) was new, and it's never disappointing to see the Beyer Garratt. One of the highlights of the VoR is standing near a steep incline (there are many) and just listening to a loco labouring uphill - apparently the B-G is so powerful it barely makes a sound. When used in South Africa, two of these monsters were harnessed at the head of timber trains that were very very long indeed.

Other pictures exist.

Bryntail lead mines

There were mines just all over the place, but the Bryntail site is distinguished by having many remains of buildings, wheel pits etc, all in the shadow of the Clywedog dam. It is a short distance to the very productive Van site, so ironic that despite huge investment and innovation by a Cornish engineer, Bryntail never produced much and closed very shortly after the fellow's death.

Other pictures exist.

Llanidloes

A refreshment break in Llanidloes - didn't meet any Chartists.

Alison Cotton

Something drew my attention to A Cotton opening her tour at Gregynog. A cursory search suggested that if Godspeed You! Black Emperor operated in the folk music sphere, this is what they would sound like. A must-do. On arrival, the Gregynog organisation was just as expected (yeah), and the remainder of the audience looked as though they knew just why they were there, and might all be related to Vashti Bunyan.

The lady plays drone viola, but is actually a vocalist and her unaccompanied singing dominated (a pest, as she had a sore throat and had to abandon an attempt at one song. Never mind, we got lots of others). She played from her very recently released Engelchen, about two Tyneside sisters who rescued large number of Jewish children from the Nazis. She sported gold boots and eyelids, and from time to time was accompanied by Chloe Herington on percussion and harmonium. Both of them made interesting use of loops and other electronics. If there's one thing in the world I don't need it's another T-shirt, but I was easily persuaded to buy one in her support.

Support came from Elizabeth Still, who played a fabulous short set. She was a bit of a one-woman band with lots of instruments and electronics. Apparently the founder member of Haress, of whom I had never heard - there's always something new.

I Want To Go To Togo, Ghana, Togo

We all know that a happy combination of luck, aggression, predestination and geography causes the base meridian of longitude to go through Greenwich. In earlier times there were several others: Paris, Copenhagen and Berlin all had "their" meridians but we won out (anyway, wouldn't it be stupid to call something the "Greenwich Meridian" if it went through Berlin or Copenhagen?). Incidentally, the French clung on to their Méridienne Parisienne well into the 20th century, silly lot. There is some interesting psychogeography to be done in following it.

Knowing that it goes through Greenwich is useful, but where else? France, plainly (but not through Paris 😀), but where else? Google to the fore, we can draw a circle that goes from pole to pole and back, following the 0° and 180° meridians (Click to enlarge, obvs.).

No surprises that the majority of this is sea (counting the arctic as sea, which it is). The 180 meridian intersects very little land (all Russia), and the 0 meridian is just wet in the southern hemisphere. There are, however, four countries which intersect twice.

The UK

Maybe it's cheating to consider the Humber Estuary as an interruption - make your own mind up. The meridian just misses Flamborough Head, but if were visible, you'd see it.

Russia

Given its size one cannot be surprised that Mother Russia figures in the list. Off the north coast of Siberia (north of the 70° parallel) lies Wrangel Island [О́стров Вра́нгеля]. The Island was named by a Briton after a Russian Admiral who was German, but it has a variety of other names derived from languages more appropriate. It is designated in its entirety as a "nature reserve", which might mean anything in modern Russia.

There is a great deal to be read about this place; it was home to the last surviving woolly mammoths on earth.

Spain

The shape of Spain's Mediterranean coast provides a 30Km (or so) land intersection just south of Valencia. Pleasingly, the Meridian exits toward Africa at Marina Greenwich.

Togo/Ghana

When those Imperialist bastards decided where to draw national boundaries in Africa, they plainly decided to have a laugh when it came to Togo. Leaving Burkina Faso, the Meridian enters Togo, leaves it, enters it again (from Ghana), then leaves it back to Ghana and onward to the seaside.

The first Togo stretch is about 2Km long (my estimate - it really isn't easy to get precise measurements from Google).

The second stretch is rather longer, at something like 30Km - again, rather approximate.

I have searched in vain for images of the Meridian meeting/leaving Togo, thus far with no joy. Any I receive will be posted here without delay.

Many inflatable unicorns

A twin-porpoise trip to Shrewsbury, both fulfilled.

Firstly, a trip to the world's first iron-framed building, and a trip up its smashing tower. Some pictures exist elsewhere.

Second, to attend the entertainment of Mr and Mrs Willcox (née Fripp) who are touring their Sunday lunch. One wasn't quite sure what to expect: queueing for a beer on arrival I texted the Frau "The regulation KC audience has brought its wife" - Mr Willcox will be surprised to see an audience that is 50% female. She was quick to point out that actually the regulation Toyah audience had brought its husband. The stage was scattered with inflatable unicorns, instead of the 3 massive drumkits KC fans might expect.

Fashionably punctual the band appeared. Mr Willcox in his customary funereal garb, and Mrs Willcox in an outfit that would have been awkward to wear on a bus. She provided lively banter throughout, reminding us early on that he is 77 and she 65. There were a few occasions where we got a monosyllabic comment from him, rather more than I have heard him say since I saw him in York in 1974. There was a solitary drummer who, despite coming from Leeds, did not fill the space that three do, two keyboard artistes (one accompanied by her teenage daughter), a bassist, two guitarists, and Mr Willcox. He sat still througout, as one might expect, although was downstage, which I had not see before, and was unaccompanied by the massive cabinet of electronics that is his customary security blanket.

The set list was straight from the Sunday Lunch, and Toyah was very happy for us to sing along with her, which I think we all did rather well. Interestingly, the guitarists were of such quality that Robert could be seen just strumming rhythm from time to time. But he also set himself free on a few occasions, notably playing a version of "Enter Sandman" that we certainly hadn't heard before. My neighbour enquired whether I expected them to perform any KC pieces - I thought not. I was correct, although they did do two Bowie pieces on which he has been an original musician (Fashion and, of course, Heroes).

The English Music Hall is alive and well, and of great quality.

And I found this - isn't it lovely?

Not one, but two!

Montague Burton's retail acumen is well known: ideally chosen corner plots, a style recognisable from 100 yards, complete understanding of the psychology of the customer base, and teetotal dance halls or snooker halls above the showroom. Appealing to the less well moneyed gentleman, his shops were to be found in nearly all industrial or otherwise working-class conurbations. Lucky old Aberdeen: not only two Burton buildings, but separated by a distance of less than 100 yards.

Like so many others, these splendid edifices are in need of a little TLC. Number 1 on Union Street is currently vacant: the building is instantly recognisable, and has one surviving foundation stone - highly likely there were once 2 or more.

Number 2 is a very short step away on St Nicholas Street: also instantly recognisable, but no foundation stones remaining - the building has been reworked at street level at least once. No matter - the upper stories are easily viewed by a pedestrian walkway.

In spotting this frontage, it suddenly became clear that one could see both buildings at once.

I don't know if this can be done anywhere else in the world. When you consider the Keighley Dee-Fest, and meetings with Ben, Katie and Jenny, this seems to have got the Orkney holiday off to a very good start. (Ironically, we parked outside the latter-day incarnation of Burotns. So three, I suppose, on one day)

The game is up

The jury remains out on precisely which drugs W Shakespeare had been smoking when scribing Cymbeline, but we'd all like to know. It's not commonly staged: In 1970 (I think) I performed in a production of this play, directed by a far-sighted teacher of English; I saw it again on the West Yorkshire Playhouse stage the evening before one of my weddings in 2006, and then once more last Saturday, produced by the RSC in Stratford.

I managed to enter the auditorium with some very cocky foreknowledge of this madness, but had forgotten (before checking) that this is where the phrases Boldness be my friend (A1,s6), The game is up (A3,s3), and I have not sleep one wink (A3,s4) originate. Now you know.

It's fairly well known that he got a little wacky towards the end, but this play scales amazin' heights; the appearance of Jupiter at the end, descending from heaven amid thunder and lightning, was even better that that depicted by my late friend Peter Gleeson on the Hele's School stage half a century ago. The RSC could have taken advice from us on the length of the play, which kicked off at 7.15 and let us out at 11pm, with two very short intervals. During the second interval we got to look inside a props cupboard which included a dead chicken and a dead goat. How I wanted to nick one (or both) of these.

In preparation we viewed Anne Hathaway's cottage, which remained in Hathaway hands into the C20. There was, recently, a Hathaway gathering at the place, when those attending did not have to pay the £13 entrance fee. I told them I was a Hathaway and asked for a refund: while too courteous to tell me to bugger off, they weren't giving in.

The Crowne Plaza Hotel has corridors that make you feel you are in an Escher drawing

Interesting, but insufficient to make the shocking service bearable.

Anything else? The usual RM hotspots.

Rabelais

Having gone over 68 years knowing nothing about Rabelais, I fear I have come to him too late to take maximum advantage.

It surely suffices to draw attention to his list of candidates for toilet paper (appended here) - among my favourites are "Mother's gloves" and "A cormorant".

Of the goose, Rabelais notes But to conclude, I say and maintain that there is no arse-wiper like a well-downed goose, if you hold her neck between your legs. You must take my word for it, you really must. You get a miraculous sensation in your arse-hole, both from the softness of the down and from the temperate heat of the goose herself; and this is easily communicated to the bum-gut and the rest of the intestines, from which it reaches the heart and the brain.

1. A lady's velvet mask
2. A lady's hood
3. A lady's neckerchief
4. Some earflaps of crimson satin
5. A page's bonnet, all feathered in the Swiss fashion
6. A March-born cat
7. His Mother's gloves, well scented with maljamin
8. Sage
9. Fennel
10. Anise
11. Marjoram
12. Roses
13. Gourd Leaves
14. Cabbage
15. Beets
16. Vineshoots
17. Marsh-mallow
18. Mullein, which is as red as your bum
19. Lettuces
20. Spinach-leaves
21. Dog's Mercury
22. Persicaria
23. Nettles
24. Comfrey
25. His Codpiece
26. The Sheets
27. The Coverlet
28. The Curtains
29. A Cushion
30. The Hangings
31. A Green Cloth
32. A Table-cloth
33. A Napkin
34. A Handkerchief
35. An Overall
36. Hay
37. Straw
38. Litter
39. Cow's Hair
40. Wool
41. Paper
42. A Kerchief (again)
43. A Pillow
44. A Slipper
45. A Game-bag
46. A Basket
47. A Hat... and some hats are
    • Smooth
    • Shaggy
    • Velvety
    • Of Taffeta
    • Of Satin
    ...though the best of all are the shaggy ones
48. A Hen
49. A Cock
50. A Chicken
51. A Calf's Skin
52. A Hare
53. A Pigeon
54. A Cormorant
55. A Lawyer's Bag
56. A Penitent's Hood
57. A Coif
58. An Otter
59. A Well-downed Goose

2023

To Llundain, to see in the new year, inter alia.

Thursday 29th was an outing to Fulham to play in the EBU Year End Open Pairs event. Partner was the ever understanding Jerry F, who tolerated a number of schoolgirl errors on my part to allow us 49% in the morning sesion and 47% in the afternoon. I count this as a triumph and know we'd beat 50 in another outing. Jerry, if he as as wise as I suspect, probably wouldn't permit another outing to occur: here is a picture of Jerry in motion, warming up for the day, and the record of how it went.

Friday 30th, to Holborn for the latest of a sequence of beery chats with P and J. Whether the world will actually improve as a result of our analyses of its problems is unlikely, and perhaps the world didn't even know we were there. We last attempted this in 2018, so perhaps of most interest is the before-Covid/after-Covid comparison. Can you tell which is which?

Saturday 31st, to Ashford and around for a Porkrun, and to make the Yuletide visit that was kiboshed by a mysterious esophegeal complaint. Urban highlights were an elegant OOU Post Office,and the partially restored Burton, now a splendid Polish cafe:

And a very jolly visit to the Enkelkinder

Blywyddyn Newydd Dda - let it be better than its predecessor. At the very least, let's not break any ribs.