Glastonbury Abbey.

Happy New Year!

I trust that your New Year's celebrations were suitably splendid. After the last post's clamber up the Tor, I think it's time we had a little wander about the Abbey - or at lest what's left of it. 

The Abbey is owned by the Bath and Wells Diocesan Trust, which has clearly understood how you make maximum revenue to support your asset - you both enter and leave via the gift shop - but which also does an excellent job us using that revenue to maintain the asset. We like a good ruin, and have visited a good few ruined abbeys in our time. Coming from Yorkshire helps, of course, some of the finest abbey ruins in Europe can be found in that magnificent county. Our expectations are high.

On some scales the remains of Glastonbury Abbey are unimpressive. They lack the towering gothic majesty of North Yorkshire's  Fountains Abbey, or the intimate quirkiness of St. Dogmael's Abbey, set as they are in expansive - and largely empty - grounds. So yes, on some scales, not that impressive. Measured by other scales, however, it's a very striking place indeed. Heritage organisations like English Heritate and the National Trust could learn a thing or two from Glastonbury.

You exit the gift shop and are immediately reminded that this place was founded as a site of Christian worship. The little chapel dedicated to St. Patrick is the first thing that you pass, and is still a consecrated place of worship, with services held every week. The interior is beautiful, light, bright and airy, the walls adorned with simple mural depicting the saint driving the snakes out of Ireland. I regret that I took no photographs to show you, but a clearly devout young man was praying in the front pew, and out of deference to his devotions I left the camera in my pocket - after all, he had first call on the place. The chapel was founded in the year 1500 by the Abbot Richard Beere, and so has more than five hundred years of continuous use as a house of worship. We tourists are mere Johnny Come Lateleys, and as such should know our place.

To the rear of the chapel you will find the famed "Glastonbury Thorn".

Well, actually, you won't, because the original Glastonbury Thorn was felled and burned during the Civil War by the Puritans, who in their general and joyless fundamentalism regarded it as an object of unholy superstition and so added it to the long list of wonderful things destroyed by their shameful religious vandalism.

The tree that stands in the grounds of the abbey was propagated from that original tree, as was a second thorn that stands in the grounds of the Church of St John the Baptist on the high street.

The story goes that Joseph of Arimathea brought the Holy Grail to Glastonbury and while there thrust his staff into Wearyall Hill (just outside the town) where it grew into the miraculous Glastonbury Thorn. The story is unclear about why he might have done this. The tree was deemed special because it flowered not only in the spring, when one might expect blossom on a thorn tree, but also in the dead of midwinter when no other flower bloomed. This was regarded as a miracle - and as proof that the Cup of Christ had indeed been brought to these shores, for what else could bring life to the dead of winter?

Well, the thorn is in fact a variety of the Common Hawthorn called Crategus monogyna Biflora. A variety which does, in fact, flower twice a year. A more scientific explanation perhaps, but even I - a hardcore exponent of science - would concede that it lacks romance.

The discussion about whether Joseph of Arimathea actually did visit Glastonbury - with or without the Holy Grail - is ongoing. (Rather sweetly Wikipedia describes the issue as "controversial" - by which they mean that for some people it is an absolute article of faith while others regard the very idea as frankly ridiculous.) It's actually not impossible - there was trade between the middle east and the land that would become England at the time of Christ, so it could have happened. Could he have had anything to do with the Thorn, or, as many in medieval Glastonbury would have claimed, did he in fact found the Abbey itself and bring Christianity to these shores years before the Roman conquest?

Well, that seems doubtful, given that the first mention we have for the "miraculous" plant is in an early sixteenth century tome "the Lyfe of Joseph of Arimathea"*, and if he really had been involved in the arrival of the Thorn and founding of the Abbey you'd imagine that somebody might have mentioned it earlier...

Mind you, there might well be something in the idea that the thorn is special. Many people have tried growing new plants in recent years both from seed and from cuttings. Since the fifties however they constantly revert to being common or garden single flowering regular hawthorn bushes. Spooky, eh?

Moving on you come to the most intact area of the old abbey buildings, which can be entered via an impressively carved ornate archway which once upon a time led into the Lady Chapel.

I suppose in a sense it still does, except of course that the Lady Chapel now has no roof. Or floor. Or internal walls. That's sort of what it means to be a ruin, I suppose.


The building is twelfth century, constructed between 1184 and 1187 after a fire ravaged the abbey complex. It's famous for the ornate stone carving and, back in the day, would also have been extravagantly painted. As I said, these days it is lacking both a roof and a floor, but it's still impressive. In its prime it must have been absolutely mind-blowing.

We moved on, into what would have been the Nave - now essentially part of one exterior wall, and through a very impressive arch into a more well preserved area, with most of the exterior walls still standing . There was a little crowd of people surrounding a man in medieval finery, so we ambled over to see what was going on, and he turned out to be a sort of re-enactor/guide. (He did tell us which historical character he was but I confess I've forgotten.) We'd missed rather a lot of his spiel, but were still regaled by stories of the Abbey's long and occasionally bloody history.

We learned that the origins of the Abbey are most likely to be Saxon, with the base of the west end of the Nave possibly being built on the foundations of a stone church which, it is said** was built there in the seventh century by the Saxon King Ine of Wessex. That sort of suggests that Joseph of Arimathea may not have been involved... Anyway, we can be reasonably sure that the site was enlarged by St Dunstan (although he wasn't actually a saint at the time) in the tenth century, presumably in the 940s or 950s, given that by 960 he had left Glastonbury to become Archbishop of Canterbury.

About a hundred years later the Normans turned up and treated the Saxons of Glastonbury Abbey with the same amount of deference and respect they lavished on Saxons elsewhere in the kingdom - which is to say, none at all. They did do rather a lot for the Abbey's structure though. The Normans were famed architects and builders, and set about enlarging and aggrandising the Saxon buildings.

Let's just say they didn't skimp. By the time the Domesday Book came to record the Abbey's wealth in 1086 it was the richest and most magnificent monastic institution in the country. Not that the money helped a hundredish years later when, in 1184 the place burned down again. The monks were not overly perturbed however - it helps when your outlook is based on eternity, rather than the short of medium term, and of course although they'd lost many of their buildings they still had the cash which probably came in handy too - and set about rebuilding.

It was around this time that the monks set out to find the graves of King Arthur and his Queen Guinevere who, they thought, might be buried in the old Saxon cemetery. History is largely silent about why they thought that although as a cynic I tend to the view that the need to give paying pilgrims a new reason to pay the place a visit may have had something to do with it.

Whatever the motive, they duly dug up two skeletons which were entombed in great splendour. The fancy tomb didn't survive the ravages either of time or King Henry VIII's dissolution***, but the bodies are still buried in rather simpler graves in the Nave to this day:

By the time of the dissolution Glastonbury Abbey was second in power and influence only to the Abbey at Westminster. That still didn't help it when Henry VIII decided he didn't need the Pope's permission to get divorced (a decision that may have had something to do with the fact that the Pope had refused such permission), set up the Church of England with himself at the head (a position still held by the British Monarch) and plundered the considerable wealth of his kingdom's monasteries to fund his wars and pay for his banquets.****

The dissolution was particularly bloody for Glastonbury. The King's men came in September 1539 on the orders of Thomas Cromwell (long famed as one of history's great villains but given some smidgen of sympathy in Hillary Mantell's Booker winning "Wolfe Hall" and "Bring up the Bodies" - which for the record I heartily recommend, but I digress). They began to strip the Abbey of its not inconsiderable horde of silver and gold. The last Abbot, one Richard Whiting - who had sided with Henry over the split with Rome and therefore might reasonably have expected to be cut some slack - attempted to resist, but to no avail.

His attempt to preserve his Abbey failed and he died a traitor's death - hanged, drawn and quartered - at the top of Glastonbury Tor on November 15th 1539.

So ended the greatness of Glastonbury Abbey.

It's history between late 1539 and 1908, when it returned to the bosom of the church in the form of the Bath and Wells Diocesan Trust, is frankly rather depressing. It changed hands many times and seems to have been mostly owned by a long series of people who didn't really care about it as anything other than a quarry.

It's a pattern that repeats itself throughout history. There are after all, two ways of obtaining stone for a new building. You can find a decent lump of rock in the landscape, cut out big chunks, transport them to your building site and then cut those chunks to size, smooth them and dress them at great expense of effort, or you can just find a building nobody wants anymore and nick the already cut and dressed stones from there. Glastonbury Abbey is by no means unique in having suffered this fate. But if you were wondering what had happened to the walls that are no longer standing, the honest truth is that large parts of Glastonbury and it's surroundings are built out of them.

Recycling at it's most brutally efficient, perhaps.

This is, of course, why so little of the original fabric of the Abbey complex remains. And why it is all the more remarkable that the "Abbot's Kitchen" is so intact. It even retains its roof!

The refrectory, the long hall where the monks would have eaten their meals, survives only as foundations, as you can see from the picture to the left.


In the background of that picture however, you can see the bell shaped structure that housed the kitchen, and that is very much all there!

Well, alright. The roof is octagonal. I'm going to call it conical later
because this isn't a geometry class.

Without question the best preserved building to remain in the Abbey complex - in that it's the only building with all its walls, a roof and even actual, working doors - the octagonal stone structure has been described as "the best preserved medieval kitchen in Europe". Given that there are actually very few intact kitchens from this date (it was constructed in the mid fourteenth century at the behest of Abbot John de Breynton) it is perhaps #1 in a field of #1.5, but still...

Whatever it's status as "the best example of a thing", the Abbot's Kitchen is an impressive building. I have been unable to find any explanation as to why this particular building survived the dissolution and subsequent plundering of he Abbey complex for building materials, but survive it did.

It even found new uses, at least for a while. In the seventeenth century local Quakers adopted the structure and it became the "Friend's Meeting House" for a while, although the non-conformists were eventually forced out. I've not been able to find details regarding the hows and the whys, but it seems a shame. After all, the site was developed as a place of Christian worship. True, it was developed as a Catholic site, but the Quakers were at least putting it to the use it was originally intended for - and of course the people who forced them out wouldn't have been Catholic in any case...

Anyway. Somehow this one building did manage to resist the ravages of time and construction. Given that Christ taught that "the meek shall inherit the Earth" it does seem fitting that the only part of the complex to survive is not the extravagant ecclesiastical buildings with all their finery, but the kitchen - a simple place of work.

And it has to be said, it's pretty impressive. Somehow, the building looks bigger on the inside. I'm fairly sure there is no Galifreyan technology involved, but you never know...

The ceiling is high, rising to a point far, far above your head. The walls are whitewashed, and this amplifies the impression of space and light. A fireplace (or at least a collection of wood and charcoal artfully lit by read and orange lights to look like fire - the place burned down in 1184 don't forget, the Abbey has never forgotten that lesson...) occupies each corner, as it would have in the kitchen's prime. Smoke would have escaped through a hole in the ceiling immediately above the fire, and also through the top of the building's more or less conical roof.

The space is laid out exactly as they think it would have been when the kitchen was supplying the Abbot's Hall (the regular monks got their food from a much humbler kitchen - it would seem that, in monasteries at least, not all men were equal before God...) with a large table in the centre, and roasting spits over each fire. It is of course a static and somewhat sterile exhibit, lacking the heat, noise, smoke, dirt and smells that would have defined it during its working life, but even so it is fascinating to imagine what the lives of the cooks would have been like.

Stepping out of the kitchen into the uncharacteristically bright August sunshine we contemplated a stroll around the Abbey's rather extensive grounds. There are thirty six acres to explore, mostly parkland with a duck pond, a fish pond, a "wildlife area" and of course a cider orchard, because we're in Somerset and growing apples is essentially compulsory. 

However, it was heading for lunch o'clock, and neither of us fancied a walk, so we turned and headed back towards the building that housed the gift shop  - not because we fancied doing some shopping, but because the gift shop building also houses the excellent little museum which explains the history of the Abbey - and from which I gleaned much of the information presented in this post.

The museum isn't big, but does house a number of fascinating exhibits. For a start, there's a detailed (and huge) scale model of the Abbey complex as it may have looked at its height back in 1539. There is also a covered display case to house a single piece of parchment taken from a hand written (because that was the only way to produce these things back in the day...) copy of Pliny's "Historia Naturalis". The case is covered by a large felt flap, which protects this mid twelfth century artefact from the fading influence of the sun - and you may rest assured that this picture was taken without flash.

On its own of course, a singly page from an eight hundred year old book is of little use. But it is representative of the work which monks of the Abbey may well have produced. And it might only be one page - but it's an eight hundred year old hand written document. A tangible link between your twenty first century eyes and the twelfth century hand which held the pen and wrote these words.

Call me an old romantic if you like, but I find that remarkable.

You should probably go and have a look for yourself...

Join us next time - when we will visit another museum, but one considerably more up to date...

                                                                                       

*It was the 1500s, people didn't really do spelling...

**Although they might be wrong when they say it...

***A bit of ecclesiastical vandalism we can't blame on Cromwell and his cronies...

****Yes, I know there was more to it than that, but what do you expect? I write a caravan blog for goodness sake - if you want minute historical detail you need to be reading AJP Taylor!

Glastonbury - A "Tor" Guide...

A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you!

Sorry it's been so long. I had been planning to write another entry about the town of Glastonbury describing some of the characters we observed. Indeed, I have written it. Several times - that's what too k the time. It's just that every time I read it back it comes over as either patronising or snarky or both. Since I don't want to be either of those things it would appear that the second instalment of our excursion down Glastonbury High Street will have to be postponed indefinately.

A little bit of Hobbiton.

Instead, let me take you on a walk up Glastonbury Tor, that iconic hill that rises from the flat plain around the town and dominates the skyline for miles around.

The Tor is, without question, beautiful. Green and lush, with an enigmatic tower at its peak. You can, should you be feeling energetic, walk up from the town - there are signs and everything. Alternatively you can do what I did and catch the "Tor Bus", operated by Mendip Community Transport from its stop in the Abbey car-park. This little bus will take you most of the way up the hill, dropping you at the closest point the road gets to the summit for the modest sum of three quid - or a quid fifty if you're under sixteen or seven fifty if you're a family of two adults and two children. It saves a lot of time and even more effort. And I'm lazy.

Don't be fooled though. Even if you cheat and catch the bus you still have a steep climb ahead of you. regrettably if you have mobility problems or use a wheelchair this climb is probably not for you. Everybody else? Make sure you're wearing decent shoes and get yourself up there - trust me, the climb is worth it. Steep, yes. Utterly knackering, yes. But worth it.

This was quite late in the day -  just look how busy it is!

As you can see from the picture above, the side of the hill is terraced - a remnant of early farming - and the path to the summit winds its merry way along those terraces, Impatient walkers might be tempted to take a more direct route, but you really shouldn't. For a start - and I don't care how fit you think you are - the path is leg crampingly, energy sappingly steep. Eschewing the path and taking the direct route would be harder still. Seriously, you're on holiday.

Besides, the National Trust, who look after the site, implore you not to do so. Climbing the Tor is a hugely popular endeavour - it's something that the vast majority of tourists want to do. The damage that a few hundred thousand visiting feet could do in terms of erosion doesn't bear thinking about - and it should be remembered that this iconic little hill is more than just a tourist attraction. It is also an ancient site that probably still has a lot of archaeology to turn up. Having seen many ancient sites half destroyed by the gentle footsteps of over keen tourists, I was pleased to see most people did indeed stick to the path.

A tower of tourists on a Tor.

The pinnacle of the Tor is dominated by the restored fifteenth century grey stone ediface of St. Michael's Tower - the surviving remnant of the hill's long service as a site of Christian worship, a heritage which reaches back as far as medieval times.

The first church was destroyed by an earthquake in 1275 - which I guess can only be regarded as unfortunate - and it's replacement, of which the tower was a part, survived until the dissolution of the monastaries.

As ruined church towers go (there's no roof, doors or window panes) it's actually pretty unremarkable, although as a result of the significance of the location it does merit a Grade 1 listing - and there's no question that it adds a certain character tow what would otherwise be a small isolated hilltop with nothing to recommend it but the view. (About which, more later...)

The history of human occupation of this hill goes back much further though. The terracing may well be neolithic - neolithic stone tools have certainly been found there, and there is evidence that there was a late Roman fort in the fifth century.

It's plainer from the other side...

Everything else is pretty much speculation. There's no evidence that I'm aware of for any kind of pre-Christian ritual use, but as the only high point for literally miles around it makes sense to me that ancient peoples would have used it for something.

Perhaps it was agricultural - the terracing is certainly suggestive of that, just as it is reminiscent of the terracing of the hill forts that dot the South West. The hill would certainly have been a strong defensive position in the past, back when this region of he Somerset Levels - known as the "Somerset Meadows" - was significantly wetter and the Tor was more of an island than a hill.

Who knows? Perhaps they just went up to look at the view. Because the view is spectacular! This is, frankly somewhat unsurprising. We're from Yorkshire, a country with more than a few hills, so from our point of view the Tor isn't especially high.

It is however the only naturally sticky up thing in what is basically a pancake flat landscape. There is nothing at all to get in the way. The result is this:

The landscape just sort of rolls away forever...

Doesn't matter which direction...

It's just endless.

And it's beautiful.

Of course, from a "Tourist Attraction" perspective, it's a good job that the view is so spectacular because there's not a lot else to do once you've struggled up to the summit. Did I mention it was steep?

It's really steep.

I sat for some time drinking in the view, and then began to "people watch" a little bit. It seems to me that there were three categories of people on the summit of the Tor that day. The first, and by far the largest was the "general tourist". People like me who were in the area on holiday and had climbed the Tor primarily because they were interested in seeing the view and because it's one of the things you do when you're in Glastonbury. This group covered all ages, from little kids to senior citizens. We were mostly a relaxed crowd, some in shorts and sandals, some in wind proof jackets and walking boots. All reaching the top with comments along the lines of "Blimey, that was steep", "What a view!", and of course "I'm knackered!".

Then there were the quiet, contemplative types. Mostly in their twenties, mostly wearing nepalese shirts and baggy cotton trousers. All keeping themselves to themselves and either gazing out at the view or just sort of meditating. I remember in particular one guy sitting in a green sleeping bag in the shelter of one of the tower's buttresses. His hand rested on a gallon bottle of scrumpy, a (thankfully unplayed) digeridoo propped up beside him, calm grey eyes taking in everything around him. These were people who had made the ascent in search of something. Perhaps spiritual enlightenment, perhaps themselves. Who knows? Whatever it was, I hope they found it.

The final, and thankfully smallest, group was made up of people who would like to think of themselves as belonging to the quiet, contemplative types. Again, mostly twenty somethings they differed from the contemplatives in several ways. Most noticeably they were anything but quiet. At some point they'd read a book, or at least the blurb on the back of a book, with the word "spiritual" in the title and celtic knotwork on the cover, and they wanted everyone to know about it. They were embodied by a girl dressed in beige cotton trousers, strappy leather sandals and a cream granddad shirt that looked to be made of rough silk.

She ran a perfectly manicured hand through her long auburn hair, the many bangles adorning her wrist jangling like the shop bell at Harrods. "You see, the thing is," she fixed her slightly embarrassed friend with a serious stare, "I don't feel I really have to go to India now, because, it's like, in me." She gave those auburn curls a well practised toss. "I mean, I've just, like, absorbed so much spiritually," she paused and gazed sightlessly towards the horizon, an expression of studied serenity on her exquisitely made up visage, "I just feel I need to stay, y'know rooted".

The man in the green sleeping bag took a long,l slow swig of scrumpy and rolled his eyes before leaning back against the stonework of the tower and directing his thoughts to less irritating things.

I wandered out of earshot, gazed back out at the view and was rewarded with a flypast.

This was one of three Royal Navy Wildcat helicopters that spent rather a long time dancing around the hill. I presume that they were on a training sortie from the Royal Naval Airstation at Yeovilton about thirteen miles to the south. As I may have mentioned before I'm something of an aircraft enthusiast and random encounters with aircraft like this are one of the real joys of travelling for me.

This was a genuinely exciting encounter for me. At the time I was standing at the top of the Tor in the summer of 2015 the Wildcat had only just entered front line service with the Navy. Designed to operate from frigates and destroyers the Wildcat is a multi-role aircraft designed for troop transport, casualty evacuation, anti ship operations, anti submarine operations and frankly, whatever else needs to be done. Watching them was rather fun - and just for the record, we'll be visiting Yeovilton in a future post.

For me though, time was up.

The shadows were beginning to lengthen and I needed to get back to the 'van.

So, that's it from the Snail for 2015.

I hope you've had a good year, and that wherever your travels take you in 2016, the road is smooth and unfettered by jams.

It would be wrong of me to sign off, however, without mentioning the flooding in the North of England and in Scotland. Floods have hit many of the places we have visited with the Road Snail. Killin and Stonehaven in Scotland, and of course huge swathes of Cumbria - as well as Yorkshire, where the Snail is based.

If you're going away in a caravan or motorhome in 2016, go and visit some of these places. They're open for business, and frankly it's your business they need. The places that have been most seriously hit are largely tourist economies. Go and support them. We'll see you there.

Glastonbury High Street. Oh, wow. I mean, WOW!

So, there we were, parked up in the West Country, a couple of miles outside the little city of Wells. We arrived at the excellent Caravan Club Certificated Location on a Saturday afternoon, pitched up and then headed into Wells to grab some supplies from the perfectly located Waitrose supermarket on the edge of town. (There's also a Tesco store if you follow the road around, but we didn't find it until a couple of days later...)

That evening we were disturbed by loud music coming, so it seemed, from somewhere nearby. Was it one of the other units on site? Or one of the very few nearby houses? We couldn't tell. But we were tired and irritable after a long day's drive from Wales, and were therefore more than a little irked. After about an hour or so I realised that pretty much everything we heard had been a song by The Kinks.

"Can't be a party," said I, "Not unless they're all massive Kinks fans,"

"Could it," I suggested, "be a Kinks tribute band rehearsal?

Mrs Snail was unconvinced. The music ended about half past ten, followed by muffled bangs that could only be fireworks some indeterminate distance away.

The mystery was finally solved the following morning when - on the way to somewhere else - we drove through Glastonbury. On the hedge that surrounds the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey in the centre of town was a MASSIVE hoarding advertising that "The legendary Ray Davis and his band" had been playing there the night before.

So. Not the actual Kinks, but certainly the most authentic Kinks tribute band there ever was...

And what that  did was give me a huge amount of empathy for the people of this part of Somerset when the legendary festival takes place. Our little camp site** was seven miles or so away from the concert, and we could hear it pretty clearly. Now, add another three stages to that. For the festival revellers on site, I imagine the noise from the stage they're watching drowns out the noise from the nearby stages. Can you imagine the cacophony they must be able to hear from a distance though? And that goes on all day!

And suddenly I realise that I sound like a grumpy old git.

Not talking about the festival today though. Or the Abbey - that's getting it's own post. As is the magnificent Glastonbury Tor, No, today I want to talk about the town itself, which is unlike any place we have ever been before. Comedian Mark Steel, on visiting "Glasto"* for his Radio Four comedy show "Mark Steele's in town" remarked along the lines of "Glastonbury high street, eh? You want to re-align your chakras or pick up a dream catcher you're well in, but god help you if you only want a pint of milk!"

He was wrong, as it happens, there's a convenience store just over the road from the Abbey car park (OK, so that's not technically the High Street), and an "Organic Superstore" at the far end.

But he wasn't far wrong...

Now. Before we go any further, we need to get something clear. At no point in the rest of this post will I be deliberately mocking anyone for anything. Not their beliefs, not their dress sense, nothing. I will be pointing out things that seemed funny at the time. To be honest, the joke, if joke there is, is mostly on us. No disrespect is intended to anyone.*** That's not how we roll here at Snail Towers.

The High Street in Glastonbury runs, more or less, from the market place, up hill, ending outside the "Bag End Grow Shop" (which yes, sells all the things you're imagining it sells) where it forms a "T" junction with Wells Road (it goes to Wells, astonishingly enough) and Lambrook Street.

In some ways it's like any other High Street in the UK. There's a Post Office, a couple of pubs, some coffee shops, some restaurants, the usual smattering of charity shops, a church. Everything you'd expect really. But this is truly a High Street like no other. Having wandered up and down identikit main streets in towns across these Sceptred Isles past identikit chain stores and chain restaurants I have to say, Glastonbury was immensely refreshing.

So, let's start in the market place - which I have to say is pretty small. Indeed, used as we are to the kind of spacious market squares in Yorkshire market towns such as Ripon, Richmond and Masham (and of course personally I'm from Doncaster - a town which does an exceptional market) we didn't even notice that is was the market square - the only reason I know now is because I looked at a map before writing this up.

Still, the square (which was more of a triangle if I recall correctly)  marks the point where Magdalene Street bends around to the right to seamlessly become the High Street. To the left you will see the impressive stone facade of the George and Pilgrim which has sat, in some form or other, at "Number One, the High Street" since the fifteenth century. It is, in fact, the oldest working pub in the south west - and given that it's been trading for close on five hundred years must be a serious contender for one of the oldest businesses of any kind. These days it's part of a chain and, in addition to a bar and restaurant it offers fourteen rooms for guests. We didn't eat there on this occasion, and of course we didn't stay there, but it looks nice - suitably old and authentic - and the Trip Adviser Reviews are largely positive.

It adds a little obvious age to the start of this genuinely ancient street which now stretches out ahead of you, crammed with cafes, restaurants, little alternative clothes shops, book shops, places to buy occult paraphernalia, fancy soap, you name it.

And you won't recognise any of them.

It's an absolute joy.

Crossing the street we ducked into a little shop selling crystals and stones. As we entered, a pair of middle-aged women dressed as if for a WI meeting were leaving, a random snatch of their conversation hanging in the air behind them:

"...I really must go and have a coffee and something to eat - I'm just resonating with everything in here..."

Mrs Snail and I smiled wryly to each other - what else would you expect in Glastonbury after all?

We explored the shop, which appeared, entirely predictably, to be much bigger on the inside, with back rooms appearing apparently from nowhere, crammed full of beautiful crystals and polished stones. Some are clearly for mere decorative purposes but others labelled with detailed instructions regarding their use to cure any number of ailments and ills. I don't believe in crystal healing - although quartz does excellent things inside a watch - but I do believe in really beautiful things, and that little shop was crammed full of so many of them. I could have stayed in there, entranced by the pretty things all day.

It was, however, lunch o'clock and we were keen to find somewhere to eat.

We might have gone back across the road to the George and Pilgrim, but however hungry we were, we have a strict policy of never going straight into the first place we see. Which is how we found ourselves half way up the street outside the impossibly groovy Hundred Monkeys Cafe. With massive plate glass windows looking out onto the street and a small queue made up of people in hemp trousers and dreadlocks alongside a terribly well spoken family in designer jackets suggesting that the place was popular with a wide spectrum of society, we investigated the menu, before joining the queue and being ushered to a table for two in the window.

The thing about this excellent eatery - which is clearly something of a local institution and was so full that it was turning people away within minutes of our arrival - is that it completely understands and reflects the diverse culinary preferences of its clientele. If, like myself, you have a carniverous nature there is an excellent range of meaty and fishy dishes on the menu. If, like Mrs Snail you increasingly eschew meat, there's an equally impressive selection of meat free dishes. If you're a vegan, that most ignored and despised group of diners in the eyes of your average chef? No problem. There's a good range of options for you too.

Because the Hundred Monkeys has a menu that does not descriminate. The bill of fayre is not divided into "sections" based on food preference. Nothing is presented as a vegetarian or vegan "option". Some of the dishes on the menu happen to contain no meat. Some happen to contain no animal products at all. And those latter two options? They're dishes in their own right, not meat free imitations of meals that usually contain meat. It was refreshing.

You're not going to be surprised that I had a burger, made as you might expect from locally sourced organic meat. It was sublime. Mrs Snail was much more original and opted for a "Roasted Peach and Goat's Cheese salad". That was also beyond brilliant.

I love Goat's Cheese, but I confess I was a little suspicious of roasted peaches in a savoury salad. Oh my goodness, but it worked! The peach and the cheese complimented each other beautifully, just the right balance of acidity and mid lactic notes against a well thought out mix of leaves, some fresh, some bitter, some peppery. It was an absolute triumph! There was also loads of it,which is how I know this, because Mrs Snail couldn't finish it all so I got to try!

The real star, however was the Cola.

The Hundred Monkeys is an ethical establishment. As such it has no truck with the evil multinational purveyor of sugar laden fizzy vegetable extract beverage that is the Coca-Cola Company. Which was potentially an issue for me because pretty much the only soft drink I consume is that self same sugar laden fizzy vegetable extract beverage.

With the same sigh that usually accompanies the enforced order of Pepsi I have to make in Pizza Hut**** I opted for the Hundred Monkeys' ethical alternative - "Whole Earth Organic Cola". I didn't have high hopes, expecting something that would taste off, in a "knit your own broccolli" kind of way.

I was wrong.

Very wrong.

It was a revelation.

This was the first non Coca-Cola cola I have ever enjoyed. So much nicer than Coke.

Wasn't kidding about the queue. And of course there's a VW camper outside...

So there we sat, by the window, looking out at the comings and goings on one of the most interesting high streets in England.

Come back next time, and I'll tell you what we saw.



*This, I have been informed by some of the hipper young people of my acquaintance is what all the bright young things call the town. Although they seemed unable to distinguish the town from the festival, so what do they know?

**About which more in a later post... (Probably...)

***In a later post however, I'm going to be incredibly rude about a young woman I met at the top of Glastonbury Tor, because while I have infinite respect for the beliefs of others, I have neither respect nor patience for their pretentions. You'll see what I mean when we get to it...

****Which is owned in part by Pepsico, and so does not offer "The Real Thing".

Lochinver.

Lochinver is a very special place. It's a long way from anywhere, literally at the end of the road. The stereotype would be that it's a quiet, sleepy little place - and as ever the stereotype would be largely wrong.

Not entirely wrong. Lochinver and its surroundings can indeed offer all the peace and quiet you could possibly eat. Culag Woods, on the southern shore of Loch Inver is a case in point. There are forty hectares of mixed woodland here, with beautifully constructed paths, an extremely impressive viewpoint, carved stones and all manner of interesting things. On a sunny day you can stroll through the dappled shade and soak in the peace and quiet. The Culag Community Woodland Trust which manages the wood and holds them under a fifty year lease from the Assynt Estate and the Highland Council, has provided all manner of interesting and entertaining things to attract your attention. There are forty hectares of mixed woodland here, with beautifully constructed paths, an extremely impressive viewpoint, carved stones and all manner of interesting things - including the largest Heronery in Britain.  

On a rainy day, you can do the same thing, it's no less interesting, just wetter...

Culag woods is a good example of the spirit of the people of the area though - it's a long way from being the only community run resource hereabouts, about which more later.

Lochinver's main reason for existing has traditionally been fishing, although unlike most fishing communities the town doesn't cluster around the harbour, rather it sits next to it.

 The harbour divides into two parts, which I think of as "the big bit" and "the marina". I suspect they have proper names, but I've never known them. Pictured here is "the marina", where the smaller boats tie up, as seen from the end of the harbour wall. It seems to me that this section of the harbour has become increasingly busy over the last few years as tourism has become a much more important plank in the harbour's economy.


The trees on the right are Culag wood, and the strange dome shaped thing in the middle of the horizon is my favourite hill, Suilven. As you can see, from Lochinver this massive hunk of Torrodonian sandstone looks pretty much unclimbable, which is perhaps one of the things I love about it.

In fact, probably the most difficult thing about climbing Suilven is actually getting to it. The ascent is actually rather straightforward, although pretty steep, but whichever route you choose it's at least an eight mile walk from the nearest road.

To my eternal regret I've only climbed it once (so far at least) and I don't have any pictures from the top, so you'll have to take my word for it that the view across the Inverpolly estate is spectacular, although actually perhaps the most entertaining thing at the top of Suilven is the summit itself because it's so incongruous.

For a start, from Lochinver - which was the first view of the hill I ever had - you can't tell that the mountain is in fact a ridge about two thousand meters long. The main summit, known as "Caistel Liath" (Gaelic for "Grey Castle") is at the end you can see from Lochinver, and from here you'd  imagine it to be a dome shaped mound. In fact when you're up there the impression you get is of a large cricket pitch with a trig point in the middle - you get very little impression of slope. The middle section, which I've always thought of as "the saddle", although I have no idea why, is known as "Meall Meadhonach, gaelic for "middle round hill" and the minor peak at the south eastern end of the ridge is known as "Meall Baeg", or "little round hill". I can't imagine why, since neither of them are round, but it makes a change from another variation on "Ben Mor", so I'll let them off.

The most whimsical thing about Suilven however is the fact that, after you've climbed the impossibly steep but surprisingly easygoing slope up to Meall Meadhonach from the southwest - which is the easiest ascent in my view -you turn left and are immediately greeted by a dry stone wall. With a gate in it. Not even kidding. Well, there's no actual gate, just the space where a garden gate sized gate would fit. More astonishing, the wall doesn't seem to constructed from the reddish torrodonian sandstone that the hill is made of which means that somebody physically lugged what looks like a couple of tonnes of stone up the slope.

To build a wall which separates a bit of empty hill from another bit of empty hill. Honestly, it's worth the climb just for the chance to marvel at the human capacity to achieve amazing, if amazingly pointless, results...

However, I'm not supposed to be telling you about Suilven, I'm supposed to be telling you about Lochinver harbour. So, take a look at the panorama above. It was taken from the end of the main jetty,to the right of the image is the area I referred to earlier as "The Marina" where the pleasure boats and smaller fishing vessels tie up. To the left is the deep water area where the big fishing boats tie up. That two tone beige and brown building is the fish dock/market.

You'll notice that the bit on the right is reasonably full. The bit on the left is not. Back in the nineties when we first started to visit this brilliant town there would be a couple of boats a day tied up here. Now? Not so much, although while we didn't see any boats here this trip either, we did see a lot of massive refrigerated lorries waiting by the fish dock, which is an encouraging sign.

Besides, there's more to the town than fish.

Between the harbour and the town proper stands the Lochinver Mission. This used to be the Fisherman's Mission, owned and operated by the Royal National Mission to Deep Sea Fisherman, and existed to serve the spiritual and pastoral needs of the fishermen who passed through here. As the volume of fishing traffic declined, the number of men requiring the services it offered also declined until there was no point in maintaining a mission to serve them, so it was closed.

So, the people of Lochinver took it over. They spruced it up, and re-opened it. Now it houses a very bright, clean and airy bunkhouse which can sleep up to fifteen people and a fabulous looking cafe offering locally produced food at very reasonable prices. We haven't had chance to eat there yet, but I've not seen a bad review of the place. They're also intending to open a marine life center to showcase the vast array of fishy type things that live in the waters around Assynt.

And if all that weren't enough, the field in front of the mission building plays host to the annual Assynt Highland Games every August. We missed them this year, but we've been to a couple of games and I can honestly say that if you get a chance, you really should go and take a look - or even join in! They won't let you enter the "heavy" events (like the shot, hammer and caber toss) unless they're confident you can do it without killing yourself, but the other events are open to all.

As I said, we didn't make it for the games this year, but I can't resist adding this image of a man throwing a massive iron weight over a bar. We were riveted by this event and I'm still astonished that none of the competitors got hit in the head! This was taken at the 2010 games, and I think the gentleman pictured here was the eventual winner, but extend my apologies if I'm wrong...

If you make your way from the Mission into the centre of the village there is yet more to delight you. Several art/craft shops can be found here selling the work of local artists, and there are many excellent places to grab a bite to eat. We didn't actually eat at any of them this time around, so you'll have to wait at least until our next visit for a full review of anywhere in the village, but since we're passing I feel I should mention a few of our favourites.

For a decent lunch or evening meal you can't fault the excellent Lochinver Larder which offers a range of Cafe and Bistro delights, but particularly excels at pies. From Chicken Curry to Strawberry and Rhubarb,  their handmade pies simply defy description - and if you think the drive to the far north west might be too far, don't worry, because they'll post them to you! Honestly, I'm not in the business of trying to sell you things, but I love these pies.

If you're a serious foodie and are looking for something just that little but special, I can tell you that two of the best meals we have ever eaten were here in Lochinver.

Sitting high above the town the Inver Lodge Hotel offers dinner to non-residents, and the dining room has an absolutely stunning view of the sea loch. Even more impressive - and where we ate what I think probably was the best meal we have ever had -  is The Albanach.

Now. Technically, The Albanach isn't in Lochinver, it's on the other side of the sea loch in the little settlement of Baddidarach, which is where people in Lochinver move to if they find the strain of metropolitan life a little but much. You're a ten minute walk or a three minute car drive from Lochinver centre, so this is a mere technical detail.

We've eaten at the Albanach twice. On each occasion we were asked when we booked whether there was anything we didn't eat. The chef went out of his way to ensure that we weren't served any of the things we specified. Beyond that, there was no menu. We were served whatever it was that was best that day. The very freshest, in season produce from the region. The food was sublime. The service was beyond reproach. The wine list blew my mind (and I know a little about wine - I used to work in the industry). 

Honestly, the meals we have eaten at the Albanach were the most expensive we have ever eaten, but they were also the best value. I cannot recommend the place highly enough - and of course if you happen to be travelling sans caravan you can even stay there. Even better, since our last meal there the Albanach has been awarded a Michelin star - which is not something you'd expect to find in a village that only has one street.

Food, views, and a people who have a firm sense of what's good for their town and then ensure it is preserved - and there are even a couple of things I'm holding back for a future posting! There is a lot to love in this little fishing community at the end of the road...

The High Road North - Part one, starting in Fort William

The Caravan Club site at Bunree sits at the northern end of what, in an earlier posting, I called "The Long High Road", just a few miles south of the little town of Fort William. But in truth, the road north has a long way to run from there and when there's time, there is nothing finer than to carry on going and just follow it.

To do this, all you have to do is drive to the site gate and turn left - and if you do that you're almost  immediately faced with an alternative choice. About two or three hundred yards down the road you could turn left again, towards the loch. Now, unless your car is amphibious this is generally not conducive with further travel, but here your left turn will take you to the Corran Narrows - pretty much the narrowest point in Loch Linnhe - and here the loch is traversed by a ferry which will take you, your bike or your car across to the other side. Bikes and pedestrians travel free. I can't remember how much motor cycles cost, but it'll cost you £7.30 to take your car. Larger vehicles and caravans cost more.

And why would you want to spend so much money to get to the other side?

Well, to reach the same point on the opposite bank without using the ferry involves a pretty hefty detour of at least a hundred miles and a couple of hours, and from the ferry landing you can go on to explore the peninsula of Ardnamurchan. We explored this wild and - I have to say crazy - place a couple of years ago. I might get around to telling you about it at some point, but for now let's just say it was a very strange day out. Pink Stetsons and balloons were involved...

 I can confirm that the place is worth a visit though. The lighthouse at the end of the Ardnamurchan point is spectacular - looking almost like an Egyptian column - and you can climb to the very top, from where there is one ­heck of a view. There also aren't many places in Britain where you can drive across an extinct volcano that still looks like a volcano...

We were up for no such diversions however, and carried on into Fort William. The town takes its name from "Fort William", the fortified garrison built on the instructions of William of Orange (the bloke the MacDonalds of Gencoe were massacred for not swearing fealty to quickly enough, if you remember) and is known in Gaelic as An Gearasdan, literally "The Garrison", underlining the town's military origins. The town has had other names, some connected to local land owners, some designed to be less militaristic, but none have stuck. You can still see the remains of the old Fort, tucked away at the far end of the waterfront near the McDonald's and the Morrison's. In many, many years of driving past it, I don't think I've ever seen a single living soul investigating its apparently unloved walls.

The town itself, it seems, was not always named for the fort, but was once known as "Maryburgh", after the wife of William of Orange, and the "Mary" half of the "William and Mary" dual monarchy. This only seems fair - it was after all Mary who had the legitimate claim to the throne. William only got a look in because he was married to her and it seems that attitudes at the time were fine with the idea that he couldn't reasonably be expected to be a mere consort while his wife held real power, so he was allowed to become king.

All I'll say about that is that it seems to vindicate Queen Elizabeth 1st's decision to remain unmarried. And, now I come to think about it, he got the bit with the soldiers and she got the domestic bit? Yet more sexism!

By the standards of England and Southern Scotland, Fort William isn't very big - although some of its flaws are, I regret to say. For a start, if ever there was a town in need of more sensible town planning, this is it. The A82, the main road running north up the western side of Scotland runs right the way through it. It's the only town of any size for miles in any direction. It ought to be literally raking in the tourism money. But for reasons I'll never quite understand Fort William has been designed to present its least attractive face to through traffic, and make take least possible advantage of its considerable natural assets.

Now. I can understand why you wouldn't want a busy road like the A82 running slap through the centre of your town - it makes sense that the planners sent it around the edge. But they have what must be pretty much the only dual carriageway section of the whole road running between the town and the lochside!

That's right folks - to get from the town to the water you have to cross four lanes of traffic. The remains of the Eponymous fort which gives the settlement both its English and Gaelic names is also on the wrong side of the road. Surprisingly not many people have bothered to set up businesses that take advantage of the fort and shoreline. I cannot imagine why...

Surely now, in the twenty first century it must have occurred to somebody that a vibrant waterfront would be an asset? Indeed, the people who own the numerous bed and breakfast establishments which line the Lochside along the road into Fort William from the south have figured out the attraction. The views across Loch Linnhe are nothing short of stunning, and yet in order to see them you have to cross a major road. It's odd.

This most inappropriate  and unhelpful of town bypasses is only the start of Fort Williams' crimes against town planning. The A82 runs parallel to the town's main street - most of which is now pedestrianised. Sadly, this means that anyone driving through Fort William on the A82 - which is pretty much everyone who travels north up the west side of Scotland-sees the backs of all the buildings on the main street.

Let's just say that the main street is not presenting its best face to the world.

An actual walk down the main street doesn't do all that much to raise the spirits. There are a number of interesting and well presented shops - but there are also a lot of empty ones. On our most recent visit in July of 2013 I counted 14 empty store fronts, many with deadened whitewashed windows, or worse the tattered remnants of "Closing Down Sale" posters which give the whole place a slightly forlorn air. There are some good things to be found on the street though. At one end you have a small grassy area in front of the church (or if you prefer, in front of the Nevisport outdoor shop, which is at ninety degrees to the church - given that outdoor pursuits are basically a religion in these parts this seems strangely appropriate) which seems to be the designated location for town monuments. Right in front of the church stands a life sized statue of Donald Cameron atop a tall slender but craggy plinth.

 

Donald Cameron of Lochiel (1835-1905) was the 24th Chief of the Cameron Clan, Lord Lieutenant of Inverness-shire, and also that county's member of parliament. His statue was erected by "clansmen and friends as an acknowledgement of his humanity and his esteem and their respect for the noble gentleman."

Next to him stands a squat little arch which houses a head sized bell which originally hung in the town hall but was moved to this location when the town hall burned down. The bell arch now stands as a permanent testament to the eternal friendship between the peoples of Fort William, Hiroshima and Dudley.

Yes. Yes, that struck me as an odd combination too.

I mean, I understand that many towns have formed links with Hiroshima. If you want to promote peace and highlight the horrors of war few places on Earth provide a more apposite example than Hiroshima. Likewise, although I have never been there, I have no doubt that Dudley is a perfectly nice place. Lenny Henry comes from there, for a start. Yes, that is the only thing I know about Dudley - it just seems odd to find somewhere so seemingly remote from the Highlands should be linked in such an apparently random way. I bet there's an interesting story there...

There are high points here - about half way down the main street there is a little square which is home to a fine museum, which I most certainly commend to you. The West Highland Museum is one of the best local museums we've ever visited, with exhibitions relating to the fort, local archaeology, Military History, the Victorians and the evolution of the outdoor pursuits scene in the area. Intimate, informative, entertaining and enthralling - and FREE! We loved this little treasure house which seems to us to be the very essence of what a small museum should be.

The far end of the street also marks the official end of the West Highland Way, the oldest official long distance footpath in Scotland, having been conceived in the seventies and inaugurated in nineteen eighty. It runs from Milngavie (basically north Glasgow) to Fort William following old drovers' ways, military roads and other ancient routes. I say that Fort William marks the end, because the tradition with this trail is to walk it from south to north. I suppose there is no reason why you can't walk it the other way around, but the simple fact is that the tradition is partly rooted in the fact that if you start in Glasgow and head north you avoid having the sun in your eyes for the week it takes to walk the trail.

And before you say it, Scotland is frequently a very sunny place.

There's a rather cheerful looking sculpture of a walker sitting on a bench to mark the route's end, and I hope his cheerfulness starts to rub off on the rest of his surroundings. I have a real soft spot for Fort William. It is at the heart of one of the most spectacular areas of Scotland, and for us at least marks the beginning of what we think of as the "real" highlands. But still, the call of the north is strong, and we were on our way to new adventures. But the rest of the road north is the subject of the next post - hope to see you then...