Judith Johnson
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A Short Walk in the Taf Fechan Valley

19/2/2016

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PictureGravestone in Vaynor Churchyard
​On a recent trip to Wales, we visited an old friend of Martin’s family in the Taf Fechan Valley.  She and her husband are sheep farmers, and we were treated to a lovely meal seated at at a huge oak table, large enough, at shearing time, to seat sixteen!

En route we stopped off in Merthyr Tydfil to see Cyfarthfa Castle, and later parked  near Vaynor Church, at the southern edge of the Brecon Beacons National Park, to visit the grave of Robert Thompson Crawshay, known as the ‘Iron King’. His grave is covered with a massive stone, which our friends told us weighed seven tons. The lettering ‘God Forgive Me’, often assumed in modern times to be an expression of remorse for his action of closing the Cyfarthfa Works at Merthyr (thus making hundreds destitute), or his own moral shortcomings, was in point of fact not uncommon in Victorian times.
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I know I am not alone in finding graveyards fascinating. As the historian George Trevelyan once said: “The dead were and are not. Their place knows them no more and is ours today ... once, on  this earth, once, on this familiar spot of ground, walked other men and women, as actual as we are today, thinking their own thoughts, swayed by their own passions, but now all gone, one generation vanishing into another, gone as utterly as we ourselves shall shortly be gone, like ghosts at cockcrow.”

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Crawshay's Grave
The church unfortunately wasn’t open but I hope to return sometime and attend a service there. We enjoyed reading the gravestones and visiting the earlier church, now a ruin, just a short walk away. One particularly poignant grave told of the Price family, and the grief that must have been the lot of Margaret Ann Price,  during almost a century of life. Her son Idris Lloyd died at 11 months old in 1921, her daughter Nancy Muriel at 5 years 9 months  in 1921, her son Trevor Glyn Price at 21  in 1940, and her husband William Henrey Lloyd Price in 1951, aged 68. She was to live as a widow for another 32 years, dying  aged 97 in 1983.
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Thanks to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission website, I was able to look up the details of her son Trevor Glyn Price, who is buried at L’Herbaudiere, and learnt of another tragic story from the Second World War.

L'Herbaudiere is a hamlet of Noirmoutier-en-L'Ile, a small town on the island of Noirmoutier which is situated off the west coast of France. A causeway gives access to the island.

There are 40 Commonwealth graves from the 1939-45 war commemorated at this site, 22  unidentified. The majority of these forty were aboard the "Lancastria", hit by enemy action on the 17th June 1940 off St. Nazaire. All told about 4,000 men, women and children lost their lives when the ship sank 20 minutes after it was bombed by the Germans near the French port of Saint-Nazaire on 17 June 1940 , fewer than 2,500 surviving. The Lancastria was the largest loss of life from a single engagement for the British forces during World War Two and also the largest loss of life in British maritime history - greater than the Titanic and Lusitania combined. It occurred just a few weeks after the evacuation of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) from Dunkirk, when the Lancastria had been sent to help bring home some of the estimated 150,000 British servicemen still in occupied Europe.

​Following the sinking of the Lancastria, Prime Minister Winston Churchill imposed a media blackout, as the government feared the news would be a terrible blow to British morale. American newspapers  finally broke the story at the end of July. I wonder how long it was before William and Margaret Price received the news of their son’s death? And whether they were ever able to visit his grave on that small island?
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For visitors to the Vaynor area, a remarkable sight locally is the ‘Spanish House’  - a now dilapidated but once stunning Italianate villa,  built I understand by a local solicitor and amateur astronomer in 1912 for his Italian wife. Our friend had been inside the house as a child, and recalled the beautiful Majolica tiles, the araucaria tree in its courtyard and an eagle statue. Local legend has it that after only about six months, the lady had had enough of Welsh weather, and returned to Italy, never to be seen again!


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As an avid fan of anything to do with local history, I was delighted to buy a copy of Taf Fechan Valley: How and Why has the Taf Fechan Valley changed between the mid nineteenth century and the present day? which was researched and written by the Ponsticill Local History Study Group. A good read, which included many fascinating nuggets of information. It is likely that the lifestyle of those inhabiting the valley in the mid 19th Century was not dissimilar to that experienced there in the 16th, surviving by hard work and traditional farming, quarrying, and a range of rural crafts. The book details some of the changes since the construction of the reservoirs, the impact of the two World Wars, advent of the motor-car etc. Highly recommended!
 
Links:

Lancastria sinking:
www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-33092351
www.bbc.co.uk/history/ww2peopleswar/stories/56/a4103056.shtml
www.bbc.co.uk/history/ww2peopleswar/stories/72/a2334872.shtml

Taf Fechan Valley
welshwildlife.org/nature-reserve/taf-fechan-merthyr-tydfil/
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Walking in the Austrian Tyrol - Wilder Kaiser

12/9/2015

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Every year we come to that pleasant time when we talk about where to go on our annual holiday. The last few years we’ve got hooked on lakes and mountains. We love visiting museums, art galleries, historical sites etc, but culture-vultures like us can wear themselves out picking the carcass clean! When, for example, we stayed on Lake Garda a couple of years back, we spent three whole days ‘doing’ Verona, and came home still pretty exhausted!

So recently, although we toy with the idea of coastal destinations, cities, and new exciting countries, we’ve been drawn back to the peace, quiet, beauty and fresh air of the Wilder Kaiser region of the Austrian Tyrol.  We’ve already explored the local towns and cities on previous trips, and now we find that we want nothing more than to venture out each day with walking boots, rucksacks and yummy Austrian rolls and fruit, and wander in the mountains, listening to the birds and cowbells, resting our eyes on the views, exchanging friendly smiles and Grüss Gotts with other walkers, and having an occasional swim in mountain lakes. After another year of sitting at computer screens, being bombarded with information via social media, radio, shopping in supermarkets, sitting in traffic jams, etc, it’s the least we can give our minds and bodies. After a walk, there’s always a fresh buttermilk or coffee and an hour’s reading to enjoy before dinner! Bliss!

PictureAustrian bread - yum!
This area seems to draw many people back  -  some have been returning regularly for up to 50 years, bringing further generations with them. Must be something in the air!

We bought another walking map (our first one had fallen apart) - the Mayr XL Edition Wilder Kaiser: Ellmau, Going, Scheffau,Söll - a bargain for 5 euros at the Söll Tourist Office (the new edition is helpfully crease and waterproof). It comes in a plastic wallet with a little booklet that describes local walks, but we found these unclear and not detailed enough, so, for anyone who might be thinking of staying in Söll,  here are some of our favourite walks. Just one warning: most of the mountain Hütte and Stüben, where you can buy lovely homemade eats and drinks, have a rest day (Ruhetag), and it’s worth checking this before you plan your walk. The local Tourist Office have a pamphlet giving details of all the Hütte. The whole valley can be accessed via the yellow bus, the Kaiserjet, free to all visitors with their Wilderkaiser Card, and we usually buy (our biggest expense, but worth it) a lift pass, which gives you use of all the ski-lift gondolas and chair lifts. This year we spent the first week walking on the Wilderkaiser side, and bought the pass for the second week for the Going -Hohe Salve side of the valley.

Hintersteinersee to Söll

PictureThe Hintersteinersee
Catch the 9 am Kaiserjet to Scheffau dorf, getting off by the church, and catch the connecting Seebus (also free) up the Hintersteinersee, a beautiful glassy green mountain lake (wonderful for swimming, access from the little café, with grass slopes, changing rooms and loos - 4 euros each entry). Then take the 822 path round the edge of the lake (at the café end) and down onto the 57. If you’ve set out early enough you could stop at the Alpengasthof Achleiten for a late morning coffee. We stopped by a lovely organic family dairy farm and sat on a bench by their bee-house for our rolls, and carried on, crossing over the Kufstein road by the Oberstegner inn, and past the Moorsee. We were back in Söll by 2pm and popped into our favourite Baguette cafe (adjacent to MPreis). You get very good coffee there and they make fresh-pressed juice drinks - yum!


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On the 57 en route to the Alpengasthof Achleiten
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Bee House
Ellmau to Söll along the Jakobsweg

Catch the 8.08am Kaiserjet to Ellmau dorf. Excellent packed lunch ingredients can be purchased at Billa in the village - another friendly small supermarket. The Jakobsweg is signposted - it is part of the pilgrims way to Santiago de Compostela (a couple of places are marked by the traditional white scallop shell), and this beautiful walk is along the Schattseite (shadow side) of the valley, through meadows where farmers are mowing and raking the organic grass, full of clover and wild flowers. We hardly saw a soul except farmers. There is a spring along the way where you can fill your water bottles (all of the villages have fountains where you can do the same, with clean mountain water). We got slightly lost at the Scheffau Brandstadl lift station, where we exited the car park at the wrong place. You have to walk to the end of the car park past the former lift building on the left, and cross under the main road to the hamlet of Blaiken, go though the houses towards Söll, then take the left-hand fork (the 70) marked Bärbichl, and back under the main road, for 54/55 paths. We arrived at the Ahornsee in Söll at 1pm, having stopped for lunch en route, and had a swim in this wonderful man-made lake. Spring water runs into it, and about a third is roped off for ‘regeneration’, planted with bullrushes and lilies, with dragon and damselflies scooting over it. In the winter, the lake is used to fuel the snow-making machines.

Summary: paths 3,1,30,14,70,54,55. Three and a half hours’ walking with half an hour for lunch and water breaks.

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Spring on the Jakobsweg
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Ahornsee, Soll
Söll to Scheffau via the Steinerne Stiege

Oh we love the Steinerne Stiege! We were first told of this way by Adrian, an excellent Thomsons Rep. It’s become a favourite, but we always give it a few days’ training before we go up it, and there are lots of heavy-breathing breaks to get the heart-rate down! This year we were only overtaken by one white-haired local, so that was OK! We set off from Söll at 8.30am, walking past the Moorsee and across the Kufstein Road at the Oberstegner Inn. You turn left along the 55 and follow it along the riverside (there’s a No Through sign and a little link chain across the path at one point but that’s just for vehicles) and up hill, past a farm or two. It comes down for a (very) short time onto the main road, but you can walk on the verge till you come to the sign for the Steinerne Stiege on the right. It’s a steep old path through lovely woods, going up and up. There a bench part way up (labelled the Schwoicher Aussicht but I think this should bear the translation The Most Welcome Bench in the World!) which is always further than we think!  Eventually you come out at the top of a green valley, and pass the Hagenhof farm before coming to the Pension Maier (we arrived at 10.45am) where there is a gorgeous view of the Hintersteinersee and excellent refreshments available. You can then enjoy a walk along the left hand side of the lake before catching the Seebus down to Scheffau and the connecting Kaiserjet back to Söll (Tip: consult the timetables for both buses before setting out - available from Tourist Offices).

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Schwoicher Aussicht
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Top of the Stiege
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Up the Steinerne Stiege
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Pension Maier
Short and sweet - Hochsöll to Filzalmsee and back

If you fancy a light day on the walking, you could get the gondola from Söll up to Hochsöll, the middle-station, and walk to Filzalmsee, which takes us about 45 minutes. You could stop along the way to play the Giant’s Xylophone, and on arrival at the Filzalmsee you could give your feet a treat on the Kneipp trail (complete with peat bog - wunderbar!) and then have a dip (free) in the lake. As with every middle-station in the valley, if you have children, you’ll find wonderful playgrounds and activities both at Hochsöll (Hexenwasser) and at Filzalmsee. Needless to say in the Tyrol, you’ll always find sparkling loos. You could also catch the gondola on up to the Hohe Salve, and eat delicious Nettle and Spinach Dumplings at the Gipfelrestaurant and then walk down to Filzalmsee via the Jordan Spring, where local legend has it that the water is especially good for eye-troubles, but the path is very steep down from the Hohe Salve, and you would be wise to take walking-sticks for this one.

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Short and sweet - yep, that's me!
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Children's play house at Hexenwasser
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Peat bog at Filzalmsee - fantastic on the feet!
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Gipfelrestaurant, Hohe Salve - dumplings to die for!
The Big Yin - Going (Astberg) to Hochsöll

We walked part of this route a couple of years back (Tea with a Wild Mountain Man) on a cold rainy day, but this year we were determined to go the whole way. On a sunshiny day with blue skies and just the occasional cloud we walked through some wonderful terrains: woods where raindrops still hung from the pines and the air was fresh and clear, meadows with cows and calves, roads past farmhouses, moor, heath, streams and swamps, with fantastic views as the way between the Wilderkaiser and Kitzbühel valleys.

We took the 8.08am Kaiserjet to Ellmau and popped into Billa for rolls, walked along the road to the Going Chairlift (road forks at the end of the village, take upper fork). We took the chair-lift up at 9.30am onto the Astberg, then took the 11 path (straight ahead from top of lift) through woods and heath, then turned right at the bottom of this path where it met a road and past a red bench (lovely to sit on and gawk!), and beautiful farmhouse ‘Kathen’. On past the Hohenangeralm, Boden Alm. Then we took the 11/99 direction Brandstadl Scheffau/Jochstuben See, and then the 11A, up, up up!

At sign marked 1388m we turned right up a path through woods (99/11) and then the 99. We sighted the Hohe Salve at 12.55pm, stopped for lunch, then left at 1.15pm. Before you get to the Jochstuben, take the 96/99 for Filzalmsee. Arrived Filzalmsee at 2.15pm, had a coffee, a Kneipp, and left at 3.10pm for Hochsöll, getting downward gondola at 4pm!

Incidentally, for a shorter version of this walk, you could walk from Astberg to the hut at Jochstuben (SO welcoming and gemütlich!) and then take the lift down from Brandstadl to Scheffau and get the Kaiserjet back to Söll. Or even shorter, just do the Astberg round walk through the woods, and go back down the chair-lift and Kaiserjet back!

I’ll finish with my husband’s amusing off the cuff comment on this long walk:

Me: Pyrenees are supposed to be good for walking.

Martin: Yeah, I’d be lost without my knees.

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Bummeln in Bavaria

17/8/2014

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Over the last few years we have met plenty of people who are drawn back, year after year, to the Austrian Tyrol, with its clean air, friendly people, peace and quiet, and beautiful lakes and mountains. We seem to have joined them, but this year we opted to stay over the border in Ruhpolding, Bavaria. We were lucky in our small hotel, half an hour’s walk from the town centre, among quiet meadows.

A hundred yards or so from where we stayed was a spring, where all comers can fill their bottles (a contribution is requested, and honesty box provided). We went most evenings, and often met locals who had driven there for their weekly supply. My German is rusty, but it’s always a pleasure to be able to exchange some friendly words, though so many Germans are keen to practise their English!

We wandered further on one evening and found a signpost for a 3¾ hour walk to the top of Hochfelln, which seemed like a good idea for the next day. We packed our rucksacks with water and a Seed Stacked Flapjack bar (top emergency snack!), rain jacket and trousers, and set off. It was an uphill hike, with no easy downhills to speak of, through meadows, woods, and at one point our very narrow track ran along the edge of a steep hillside (I avoided looking down!). The simple pleasures of looking up through green leaves, of standing below ancient rock-faces, of exerting your legs, lungs and backs to the point of breathlessness, of watching a butterfly land on your hand to taste the salt in your sweat, of standing by a mountain-stream and listening to it rushing along, are profound. There is something joyful about hiking – human beings aren’t built to sit at computer screens in stuffy rooms all day!

When we finally got to the top of the Hochfelln we were intrigued to see Alpine Choughs for the first time, patrolling the café tables like so many Trafalgar Square pigeons!


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Alpine Chough
We took a different route down, and for the last leg found ourselves on a zig-zagging road. The storm clouds seen in the far distance from the top of the Hochfelln were catching up. A car went by, stopped and reversed. A couple on their way home to Reit in Winkl, who had seen us further up the mountain (two British people in shorts, socks and sunhats, surely inconspicuous!!), asked if we would like a lift for the last couple of miles to Ruhpolding. “Oh yes please!” I said.

The majority of local folk we encountered were charming and friendly. Some of our fellow British guests at the hotel expressed surprise at how warm, amiable and humorous they found the Germans they met. Well, they say travel broadens the mind – another national stereotype happily disproved!

Wherever we venture, I always like to search out any local war memorials. We found one halfway up the hill to St Georg’s Church, which apparently had recently been renovated after some years of neglect. There was a beautiful pieta inside the chapel, and a mural on the wall showing a young soldier taking his leave of his family – a reminder, if one was needed, that in all the countries involved in the two World Wars, there were homes in places like this where sons, husbands and fathers would never again be returning home to help bring in the harvest.  In the Heimatmuseum there are two more panels remembering the war-dead, and these feature enamelled photographs, as do so many graves in mainland Europe.


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A Fall on the South Downs

6/7/2014

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South Downs relay start at Slindon
A couple of weeks ago I set off, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with a mini-bus full of Sarah's Runners for our second go at the South Downs Relay Marathon. I was doing the second leg again, but this time I took the immediate first hill nice and slow, having learnt from 2013, when I found my heart beating rather alarmingly about a third of the way up, that it was worth using it as a warm-up!

About four miles along, on a stony uneven patch, I stumbled and, bringing my left knee forward at speed, hit a tree root with full force. It was shockingly painful initially, and I rocked with it for a while, fighting back the tears, before getting to my feet and carrying on, half hobbling, half slow-jogging, the next two miles or so. There were plenty of sympathetic runners who stopped to ask if I was OK, whether I needed a first-aider, and to let me know they too had suffered a fall in the past and fully identified!

When I finally handed over to my team member I sat down and pulled up my capri leg to look at the bruise, and was surprised to see a deep cut below the knee-cap, which rather surprisingly had hardly bled at all. I was first-aided at the race end, and later in the day visited both Crowborough Memorial Hospital (clean, bright, friendly, calming, no queue, and a lovely big mug of tea) and A&E at Pembury (soul-less, unsmiling reception, depressing large-screen ads on a loop, nothing to read, grubby loos) where I waited three hours for a doctor to tell me that Crowborough had done a good job cleaning the wound, squirt some glue in it, and send me on my way at 10.30pm with a pack of anti-biotics.
 
I could have felt a bit sorry for myself at that point, but life sent me a reminder of my great good fortune in generally having very sound health: I spotted a friend in A&E who was there for a bad case of cellulitis. He is a stoic, who has had a large part of his tongue and gums removed because of mouth cancer, yet remains singularly lacking in self-pity. 

Someone once said that if you enjoy good health, you could say to yourself every day that you have genuinely won the lottery. I write 'good health' on my gratitude list most nights, but even so can take it for granted.  I had a few early brushes with the Grim Reaper but was fortunate to survive them (eg when I was two, my mother called out a young locum doctor in the middle of the night. I was screaming, and couldn't be calmed. Our regular family GP had told her on several occasions over previous weeks that I was just after attention by crying incessantly. The locum told Mum to get me to hospital immediately, where an emergency appendectomy took place. They told Mum that with a few hours' delay I would have died of a burst appendix).

It was scary having a wound, even if relatively minor. I avoided taking the anti-biotics (I'd rather save them for true need) and instead cared for myself with salted boiled water, calendula, herbal salves, and arnica. I felt at times quite fearful about hurting the knee again.

It's healing well, I'm thankful, and hopefully I'll soon be back running - but even surfaces from now on!

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Shanks' Pony

16/12/2013

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At the end of last week I was due at a meeting down in the town. As I was expecting a low turn-out, my husband, who wasn’t going to be able to pick me up till later, suggested I might walk back if no-one appeared. I transferred the necessary items from my crazy-big shoulder-bag into a small rucksack, donned my trusty water-proof Lidl boots, picked up my Cormac McCarthy, and got dropped off at the meeting-place. I set up, waited half an hour, read my Cities of the Plain, then closed up and headed back home.

Samuel Johnson once said “To improve the golden moment of opportunity, and catch the good that is within our reach, is the great art of life.” I’ve been feeling a tad tired and grumpy the last day or so, cooped up in a small office with five others looking at a screen and making tiny wrist movements with a mouse, and under other circumstances I might have looked at a half hour walk on a damp winter evening as a drag, but luckily I saw it as a blessing.

Martin and I always walk on our holidays, and when courting, spent many happy days walking on the Gower coast. I took up running just under two years ago, and this has become a wonderful part of my life – I feel so much more connected to my body, and often feel it’s thanking me for taking it out into the fresh air and giving it a chance to breathe and get out of breath, to allow the blood to flow and the heart to beat faster.

My mother, now nearly ninety, used to walk three miles to school and back as a small child, and I’ve met others of her generation who had similar experiences. When our son was small we often drove up to High Beeches, in Epping Forest, on Sundays for a walk through the beautiful tall trees followed by a snack at the biker’s hut. Walking is a great joy – you can do it alone or with friends, and it’s free. There are so many public footpaths in the High Weald – I know I’d rather be walking under trees, looking across fields and listening to birdsong than tramping on a static running-machine. If I manage to get a little walk in before work, it always helps me get my day in proportion, and to right-size me in relation to the world around me. After all, I’m an integral part of the natural world, a human animal.

I once heard the German film director Werner Herzog talking on the radio about his love of walking, and how he had walked across the Alps to propose to his girlfriend. He also, when he heard in 1974 that an old friend was seriously ill and on the verge of death, walked from Munich to Paris to visit her, honouring his hope that she would still be alive when he arrived. He wrote of this journey in Of Walking in Ice, but sadly it’s out of print in the English version. If I ever get round to improving my German, I’ll buy it!

 


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Tea with a Wild Mountain Man

13/10/2013

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PictureOur host and the pot & pan
We returned to the beautiful Wilder Kaiser mountains region this summer for another two weeks of walking, talking and taking in the Alpine air. We generally like to go somewhere different every year but the Wilder Kaiser seems to affect people in a very particular way – this will be our third visit, and we’ve met so many people who've gone back time and time again. The local tourist board honours guests who are returners, and this year presented a gift to a couple who have been visiting Scheffau for 50 years, but our hostess at Pension Aloisia told us that one family who stays with her, and who first stayed with her late mother, have been coming for over 60!
 
The Tyrolean mountains and valleys are wonderfully fresh and green, and with this comes, naturally, a certain amount of rain. Our German friend Petra wisely suggested we might like to take rainwear the first time we went, and so we always pack waterproofs along with our walking-boots. Sunshine is most welcome, but wet weather doesn’t put us off – especially if there is a “gemutlich” Stuben at the end of the walk. This year we set off on a very rainy morning to walk the ‘11’ route, stopping en route at Ellmau to buy our ‘snap’ at Billa (excellent supermarket full of fresh food and friendly faces). We caught the chairlift at Going (we’re suckers for chairlifts!) up to the Astberg, and set off for Brandstadl – about 4 and a half hours’ walking up and down some substantial slopes. We were enjoying ourselves, but we’d missed our morning kaffee, and were on the lookout for a suitable Alm. The word Alm seems to cover various degrees of pit-stop – sometimes it’s a little hut where you can buy refreshments, but sometimes, we found, it’s not! There was one ahead on the map, and after negotiating our way through a herd of curious bullocks, we came to a charming establishment with “Komme gleich!” written on the door. Now, although my O level German grew fairly fluent in my 20s, it’s not been regularly taken out and exercised enough since then. I can get by, and I love the language, but with every passing year the holes in my vocabulary get larger. I read the sign as “Come right in!”, whereas it means, I found out later, “I’ll be right back!”

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We walked boldly in and found ourselves in a storage area. On the left were some steps and another little door. I knocked and a very nice man opened it. He had silvery hair, ruddy cheeks and an enquiring smile – the very picture of a Grimm fairy-tale woodcutter! I asked if it was possible to buy something to drink and he invited us in to his kitchen/living space, where he was writing at a long wooden table. We sat around it on benches, and our host produced some herb teas. I plumped for Baerentraubenblatter (bearberry – good for urological conditions I discovered later!) and Martin had chamomile. Our host bought out a copper round-bottomed pan, opened the top of his wood-burning stove and placed it over the flame. While it came to the boil we had a look at some photo albums he showed us of farms he had worked on.
 
We enjoyed an hour or so’s welcome break from the cold and wet with this lovely man. He told us that he was a seasonal herdsman from Tegernsee in Bavaria. I just about kept up with his strong accent – Petra, who’s from northern Germany, tells me that they call Bavarians the wild mountain-folk! We had a lively chat about the Celts, and connections between this part of the world and the Celts in Wales. He would soon be taking his bovine charges down the mountain for the Alpine cattle drive day, a Saturday at the end of September, when the cows are adorned with paper flowers - as a symbol and thanks for an incident-free summer on the alpine pasture. Then he would be moving to the nearby town of Kufstein for the winter.
 
We asked him what the drinks cost, and he said that you if one wished one could offer a voluntary contribution when given hospitality at an alm. We crossed his palm with silver, thanked him, shook hands and went on our way, stomachs and hearts warmed by our
serendipitous encounter.

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Running in the Olympic Park

22/7/2013

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PictureThe pink wave on its way!
When a fellow Sarah's Runner put a link on the group's Facebook page about the forthcoming National Lottery Anniversary Run in the Olympic Park in Stratford, which would finish its 5 mile course (the last 300 metres) in the Olympic Stadium, I signed up immediately! Too good a chance to miss, and it was a way of making amends to myself for not having been to any of the Olympic or Paralympic events there.  A whole bunch of us travelled up to London yesterday, and I started off the run with friend Gareth, who is wearing his SRs t-shirt in the picture. I'm the half-pint next to him! We were in the pink wave, which was the last to go, part of a mass of 12,500 runners taking part. It was wonderful to take part, and especially to be among a great stream  of runners winding its way alongside the River Lea, and, for me personally, probably the first time I've ever run in a stadium, let alone such an illustrious one! Big shout out to all my fellow runners, it was fab seeing you all there!

The celebrity runners included Paula Radcliffe and Victoria Pendleton, and Sir Chris Hoy opened the proceedings, but the most memorable thing for me was shaking the hands of the Paralympics medal-winners who sat waiting in their wheelchairs at the finish line to congratulate the runners coming in. That was something special.

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Running the Half Marathon

2/3/2013

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PictureComing up to the Finish
Last February I wandered up to London Road in Southborough to watch the Tunbridge Wells Half Marathon go by. I cheered and clapped and was enchanted by the sight of almost 2,000 people running along. I came home and said to my husband, "I've got to do that one day!" About a week later I pulled on my walking shoes and ran up to David Salomons' House and back (about a mile round-trip!), and a week or so after that I happened to mention to an acquaintance that I was thinking about running, but wasn't sure how to go on. 
 
I have a sedentary job at a computer, and apart from a quick walk in my lunch-break, and yoga once a week, I took no regular exercise. I was a tom-boy in childhood and knocked around with my brothers, going for bike rides, climbing trees, tadpoling, fighting - that kind of thing! But I didn't take to sports at school, in fact I was a sports-avoider generally. We walk and go swimming on our annual holiday, but I was feeling, more and more, that in my mid-50s, the body-clock was ticking.  Plus I saw on the faces of those runners that day something of their sheer exuberant pleasure in what they were doing.
 
Anyhow, my friend told me that she belonged to a very friendly group called Sarah's Runners, which met twice a week. I went along the next week. There's no regular sub - you just pay £2.50 a week whenever you turn up. The first time before you go out running you have an initial chat with Sarah Russell, its founder and guiding light, about your health and sport history etc. Sarah's Runners is the exact opposite of my youthful sporting experiences. Sarah, a seasoned competitive athlete and trainer herself, set this group up over 9 years ago specifically to encourage people from all walks of life to come along and run 'for fitness and fun'. She has recently been honoured for her contribution to others' lives. She is helped by a team of experienced volunteers who come along and run with newcomers and regulars alike, offering friendly support and encouragement. If you're new you can join the 3 mile walk and jog group - going at a very gentle pace and running for short distances before slowing to a walk, then another short run etc. After a while, if you like, you can choose to move on to the mostly-running 3 miles, then 4 miles and 5. 
  
In September last year I ran the Tonbridge 5K organised by Tunbridge Wells Mental Health Resource, an enjoyable easy course round the flat grassy playing-fields of Tonbridge School, and a few months back I signed up for the Tunbridge Wells Half Marathon, downloaded a training programme for beginners from Sarah's website, bought myself some more high-vis running gear and a headlight from the Running Hub, and got out there in the evenings. Sarah's Runners initiated a regular Sunday morning long slow run to build up stamina for distance, and we had some great runs in Bedgebury Forest (great tea rooms) and the Groombridge Trail (tea rooms in the planning!). 
 
These gave me the confidence to believe that I could actually keep going, if I paced myself, and didn't attack hills as if they were the enemy. I missed the last practice run of 10 -12 miles two weeks before the Half Marathon as I was in bed with a virus for several days, but I was still very much looking forward to something that a year ago seemed a very distant possibility!
 
The joy of running has become a part of my life: the getting out of breath in the fresh air, giving my body the exercise it was born for, and watching the world go by as I run are huge pleasures. The Half-Marathon was exhilarating - the route itself, through Bidborough, Penshurst, Fordcombe and Langton Green, is part of the High Weald I love so much, and the kindness and enthusiasm of those volunteer marshalls and onlookers who came out on an extremely cold winter day was heartening. 
 
After the first couple of miles my 'posse' from Thursday nights run was beginning to draw away from me, but the experience of the last year and the wisdom and advice of Sarah Russell and her helpers was in my mind. I knew I needed to run for myself, not listen to my ego or try and compete with others at the expense of what my own body could reasonably take to get round the course. Occasionally someone would run alongside or overtake, or I would overtake them again, and we'd have a few friendly words, but generally I was concentrating on keeping those legs going! I probably dropped to a walk for several miles all in all, including the famous Spring Hill, and by the time I got to Langton I had already run further than my previous longest distance of 9 miles. My legs were beginning to hurt and I was running out of energy, and thought I might have to walk the last 3 miles or so. At this point another of Sarah's Runners, around my age, who had been following me in my bright yellow beany up till then caught up with me, and it was thanks to her companionship and encouragement that I ran/walked the rest of the race. I got in at 2hrs 39 minutes 25 seconds chip-time, which was good enough for me! I'll be 57 years old shortly, but I fully intend to keep going as long as I can. The oldest competitor in the Half was a gentleman of 81, who ran the first TW Half 30 years ago! 
  
Tunbridge Wells is a running town - there are always runners out on the streets here - and up until last year I thought running was only for compulsive exercise nuts, but now I know better. It's fun! I'm looking forward to having another go at the Half Marathon next year, and perhaps knocking a few minutes off that finishing time!
 
Thanks, Sarah's Runners!


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Cool running

20/6/2012

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For most of my life I've been sport-challenged.  At school I was always one of the last in the class to be picked for the team. Although I liked rounders and tennis, I found it difficult to see the ball in the sunlight. Years later an optician remarked on my unusually large pupils, and commented that I must find bright sun hard to see in, and certainly most of the photographs taken of me over the years in the summer show me smiling but squinting at the camera. In the winter at my grammar school we were required to wear thick navy knickers over our white ones, and if we were missing the navies, we weren't allowed to play outdoor games. I hated hockey, with that terrifyingly hard ball hurtling towards your ankles through the snow and ice, so I was always leaving my navies at home and hiding in the cloakrooms, huddled round the radiator with the other skivers. I did take part in one sports day, in the throwing a cricket ball event, and came fourth out of six, so no glory there!

At home, a tomboy with two older sisters and five brothers, I enjoyed the robust pleasures of climbing trees, catching frogs and slow-worms, bike rides, and beating each other and the neighbourhood kids up, and in later years I enjoyed aikido, karate, yoga and long walks on holidays, but just lately, especially with a largely sedentary day-job, I felt the need for something vigorous, shaking it all about, and preferably in the great outdoors - so sweaty gyms were out of the question.

Running is something I'd always regarded as a bit too athletic for me, but last March I watched the Tunbridge Wells Half-Marathon runners pouring through Southborough, and was much taken with the sight, and with the sound of all those feet slapping on the road as they ran by. I mentioned this to an acquaintance I overheard talking about running. She told me about Sarah's Runners, a group who run every Tuesday morning and Thursday evening in Tunbridge Wells, and I went along the next week.  There's no long-term fee to pay - you just pay £2.50 on the day for a session. It's exceedingly friendly, relaxed and non-threatening, and anyone can come along. If you're a complete beginner, you'll be asked for some details, given a basic idea of what's involved, and then everyone joins in with some warming-up exercises before heading off round various routes through Tunbridge Wells. Sarah is helped by a number of trained volunteers, keen runners all, who shepherd their group, looking after the stragglers puffing away at the back (yes, that would be me!). If you're new you join the 3 miles walk/run group, and you can gently work your way up from there.

I want to increase my bone health, not damage it, so a good pair of running shoes was needed. Southborough is blessed with a smashing little shop - the Running Hub - where I went along and was given some friendly and expert advice and fitted out with the first pair of white trainers I've ever sported (goodbye aging hippy chic!).

I was hooked from the start. There is something about the body that rejoices when you give it a bit of hard physical work to do - and running along in the open air feels wonderful after a day stuck in front of a computer in a stuffy room. It's also an eminently portable activity. Since I joined Sarah's Runners I have run across fields and through woods, along the Menin Road in Ypres, and last weekend round a Cotswolds village in the very early morning. Not only do you get some necessary exercise for the heart and lungs, and strengthening for the bones, you also gain the aesthetic pleasure of seeing the world around you, and twice as much of it than if you were walking! And lastly, although it's great fun to run in a pack, it's something you can do at any time, most places,  and on your own if necessary. I'm looking forward to some good running years ahead of me, all being well!

www.sarahsrunners.co.uk
www.runninghub.co.uk


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    Lifelong bookworm, love writing too. Have been a theatrical agent and reflexologist among other things, attitude to life summed up by Walt Whitman's MIRACLES.

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