I spent three jam-packed days last week visiting coach companies in Cumbria, Northumbria, Yorkshire,  and Lincolnshire. As a southerner who has rarely ventured north,  and  a deeply curious person, I found it frustrating to have to drive past such tantalising sights as the sign for the village near Kendal which is the home of my Quaker ancestors, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Fountains Abbey, the Angel of the North and the beautiful Beverley Minster. One day I would like to do a tour of the great Cathedrals and ruined abbeys of Britain - Ely, Peterborough, Lincoln, Norwich etc.

I could not, however, forgo the opportunity, however brief, of driving alongside a mile or so of Hadrian’s Wall - longed-for sight since my early childhood. It didn’t disappoint! I stopped for five minutes at Birdoswald Fort (more of a butterfly kiss than a long embrace) and stood, exhilarated, facing into a fierce westerly, thinking of WH Auden’s wonderful poem, Roman Wall Blues. If you don’t know it:
 
Over the heather the wet wind blows,
I’ve lice in my tunic, a cold in my nose.
 
The rain comes pattering out of the sky,
I’m a Wall soldier, I don’t know why.
 
The mist creeps over the hard grey stone,
My girl’s in Tungria; I sleep alone.
 
Aulus goes hanging around her place,
I don’t like his manners, I don’t like his face.
 
Piso’s a Christian, he worships a fish;
There’d be be no kissing if he had his wish.
 
She gave me a ring but I diced it away;
I want my girl and I want my pay.
 
When I’m a veteran with only one eye
I shall do nothing but look at the sky.
 
I also relished the chance later that day to drive over the Humber Bridge.

“This is the first time I’ve driven over the Humber. I’m quite excited!” I told the nice lady at the toll booth, as I handed her my £1.50.
​
“Oh, well, enjoy the bridge!” was her friendly reply.
 
I’m grateful that at 60, I can still feel the wonder and excitement of a child at times like this. Life is good!
 

I’ve always suffered from piles! Yes, you’ll find them all over my house. I’ve recently been waging war on them using Marie Kondo’s decluttering methods, but have called a temporary truce, with other demands on my time intruding! My newspaper/magazine/newsletter pile recently yielded up a copy of The Guardian from late July. I enjoyed reading Lauren Elkin’s article Reclaim the Streets, on the subject of the flâneur, a figure of privilege and leisure, with the time and money to amble round a city at will, and developments since the 19th century, when the flâneur was something of a phenomenon. Elkin writes: “For a woman to be a flâneuse, first and foremost, she’s got to be a walker - someone who gets to know the city by wandering its streets, investigating its dark corners, peering behind facades, penetrating into secret courtyards.”

Well, I’m not a figure of privilege and leisure, but otherwise I reckon I fit the bill, and reading the article prompted me to dive into another pile to find a wallet of photos I took in 2002 on a work trip to Berlin. It was my first visit, a three day educational development conference on editing alumni magazines. For a history-buff like myself this was a heaven-sent opportunity to see something of  a deeply fascinating city. In order to make the most of it, I decided to get up at the crack of dawn each day and walk its streets, a favourite strategy in an unknown place.

I’d arrived courtesy of Lufthansa at the old Tempelhof airport, where the US Air Force hangars were still visible, and was thrilled, in an Indiana Jones moment, to see a Zeppelin airship warming up ready for take-off on one of the runways. I had some time before the introductory seminar  to catch the bus to the British Military Cemetery near Charlottenburg. It was established in 1945 as a central burial ground for aircrew and prisoners of war who were interred in the Berlin area and East Germany. About 80% are aircrew, killed in action over Germany, the remainder prisoners of war, and two Southborough men, Edwin Cooper and Cyril Wickens lie buried here.

Early the next morning I visited the old Jewish quarter, easily reachable from my hotel at the northern end of Friedrichstrasse. I walked over the Montbijou Brücke and down streets including Georgenstrasse, Ackerstrasse, Oranienburgerstrasse, Gross Hamburgerstrasse, Koppenplatz and Turstrasse. Whenever I saw a doorway open to an old courtyard, I nipped in and looked round (incurably nosey, ask my husband!). I saw a memorial to Berlin’s Jewish dead, and a lovely little Jewish school right by it. In 2002, there was, just fifteen years after re-unification, a huge amount of building and renovation going on. The array of wonderful old buildings (some in the old East Berlin still pockmarked with bullet-holes from 1945, or with plaster still missing from the bare brick walls) mixed in with the ultra-modern, the Spree meandering through, but underlying it all, for me personally, was the knowledge that while it’s a great and elegant city, in Nazi times it was full of terrible violence, hatred and fear for those daring to oppose the regime.

The next day I walked down to Checkpoint Charlie and beyond, then up via Leipzigerstrasse, Jerusalemstrasse, Hausvogteiplatz and Oberwallstrasse to Unter den Linden, past the German Historical Musem and Lustgarten to the Berliner Dom, where creative beer-drinkers had left an impromptu art piece on the steps of the Cathedral. An old man was doing some early-morning fishing from the Eiserne Brücke. Later that evening I ducked out of a suggested drinking session with colleagues and instead heard a beautiful concert in the Cathedral, which has sublime acoustics, given by a choir from Bonn, of Spiritual Choral Music from the last 300 years.

On my last morning I walked up to the Brandenburg Gate (covered up except for the Quadriga) and back past the Russian Embassy, down to the Marx-Engels Platz (now Schlossplatz I believe), where a woman in shorts roller-bladed round the Platz and down the tree-lined paths beside it. The Neptune Fountain was dry, no doubt a temporary casualty of ongoing works. I bought my son a Russian surplus army beret at the flea-market along Am Kupfergraben, had breakfast at Cafe Chagall, then caught the U-Bahn to Luftbrücke Platz, and walked through the little park, which includes a memorial to those who died in the Berlin Airlift, to Tempelhof, just in time to snap a Zeppelin taking off. Flying home, I knew I would definitely want to return and see more of Berlin.

If you’d like to read more around the subject, some of my other related blogs:
The Casualties of War
Holocaust Memorial Day - Anita Lasker Wallfisch
Berlin in October
Through a Glass, Darkly

Until a couple of weeks ago, SATNAV was a technological development I regularly pooh-poohed. I like maps, and the first thing I do after booking a holiday to a new destination is to buy the DK Guide and start reading up about the region. I’m generally the tour-guide when we go abroad, as I love researching things and then winkling them out when we arrive! I remember my husband asking me, when we were walking through Prague, and I had a particularly purposeful stride, how I knew where I was going? I replied that having studied the city map, I was simply following a route I could see clearly in my head!

A young colleague with a university degree, about to start training as a teacher, told me recently that such was her dependency on SATNAV she would have had no clue how to make her way from Kent to Cologne with only a map for guidance.  I found that quite shocking.  I guess I took it for granted that any sighted person who has been through full-time education could read a map and simply follow the signs to a destination.

I also actually enjoy jotting down verbal instructions on the back of an envelope and following them - you know the kind of thing: “Take the A21 to Hastings, and just before the King George pub at Hurst Green, there’s a corner with a big oak tree and a red postbox on the left - take the little road and follow it until you come to a bridge, about a mile along....”.

Last time we went to Wales, however, even though we’ve driven along the M4 corridor literally hundreds of times to visit family, we got comically lost on every single drive around Cardiff’s surrounding country. It did, though, give us an opportunity to seek help from friendly locals, notably Phil, a Fish and Chip shop owner near Bridgend. Not only did he come out from behind the fryer, fire up his laptop, and search for the hotel we were trying to find, but went so far as to give us his mobile number and told us to call him if we got lost again and he’d direct us over the phone! Beyond friendly, as they say in the valleys of South Wales!

Another colleague recommended I use SATNAV when I recently had to visit seven coach companies in the Midlands and further North, all in unknown territory. It was, I admit, very useful, although I did end up in some odd places along narrow country roads when I inputted a postcode rather than the specific building number of the location. I was particularly grateful, when en route in Lancashire from Chipping to Oswaldtwistle, and I came across a closed road, to have the SATNAV’s re-routing facility to guide me on. Just popping in the address for the next stop, and the ‘time to your destination’ display, took all the stress out of the journey.
​
On my final day, after my last appointment in Cheltenham, my little friend directed me in a bee-line to the M4 via a hilly country road, and, perfectly timed for lunch, I came across the charming Green Dragon Inn at Cockleford, first established in 1675. I tucked into a plate of smoked salmon and crusty brown bread, accompanied by a  glass of cloudy apple juice produced locally, together with a few pages of Patrick O’Brian’s The Mauritius Command (my other trusty travelling companion) - a perfect combination for the weary traveller! 

I think Mr Toad would have enjoyed SATNAV, and embraced it with something like my own newly-minted enthusiasm, but it’s not an unmixed joy - on our way back from a family funeral in Llanelli last weekend the OH, Honourable Son and I headed for the Toby Carvery at Pontprennau for a fortifying evening meal en route. The SATNAV led us round a long circuitous route to a spot beside a high fence enclosing a business park. We could see the Toby on the other side, but there was no way through. We had to drive back to the motorway roundabout and enter the business park that way, and got there finally after seeking human assistance from an ASDA petrol station attendant. So, useful though SATNAV is, I think I’ll keep my map/road-sign reading skills in regular use.
​
An elderly lady once told me that during the Second World War all the road signs were taken down in order to confuse the enemy should they succeed in invading our sceptre’d isle. I like to think that both her generation and mine could still navigate our way using the geography skills we’re taught at school, and a good map (but then presumably so could roving spies!).

Dominick Tyler, in his beautiful book Uncommon Ground - A Word-Lover's Guide to the British Landscape (a Christmas gift from my son Tom), includes this reflection on Welsh landscape: "... I began to appreciate the descriptiveness of Welsh landscape language, and how well-suited it was to communication about places and routes. The fact that the bulk of the Welsh lexis predates mapping goes some way to explain this descriptiveness, since journeys must have been  shared in telling, rather than drawing, for centuries."

​I guess that famous uber-long Welsh ​place name must be a brilliant example of this: Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch, meaning  roughly  "St Mary's Church in the Hollow of the White Hazel near a Rapid Whirlpool and the Church of St Tysilio near the Red Cave".

Some years back, when a Toby Carvery opened in the village where my mother-in-law lived in South Wales, we approached hesitantly. Perhaps  the word ‘Carvery’ suggested to us a caveman-style meat extravaganza - we were pleasantly surprised by the reality! Not that there weren’t other places to eat on our regular visits from south-east England, but even a Welshman and his (Honorary Welsh) Saxon wife can tire of fish and chips, Indian takeaways, and griddle meals at pubs.

We’ve never ordered a la carte at a Toby, or drunk a bottomless soft drink (it’s nice to have your own teeth!), but the main course carvery, always at an amazing price (generally around £6), is a wholesome  offering that can be relied upon. Mam was happy to choose a portion of food that didn’t overwhelm someone of her generation, and we were happy eating a variety of freshly-cooked vegetables with our gammon/turkey/pork or beef. There’s always a tasty and imaginative vegetarian alternative too.

It’s still a good deal, at a great price, a real boon for school groups out on trips, where it’s good to offer the kids something other than pizza, burger, chicken nuggets etc. (though a bone of contention, for me, is above-mentioned bottomless drinks - not great for anyone’s health, let alone our children’s). Whenever  travelling in the UK, for pleasure or work, I tend to look up the nearest available Toby. If you’re not sure what time you’re arriving, or how much time you will have to eat, it’s really convenient to know you’ll get a decent meal without having to hang around. Recently, venturing North, I located one in Bolton near my accommodation.  They usually seem to be housed in 20th century pubs, so I was knocked out when I drew up in front of a stunning Gothic building in Crompton Way - wowsers!

Apparently Watermillock House, a listed building, was originally a gentleman's country house, designed in the 1880s by Messr JJ Bradshaw and John Gass of Bolton (the architectural practice is still going) for Herbert and Thomas Thwaites (master cotton bleachers). It’s in Tudor Gothic style, with wonderful bat motif gargoyles and griffins as corner pinnacles, beautiful stained glass and arched doorways. Its interior is stunning  and includes a fireplace with de Morgan tiles.

The waitress told me that  in earlier incarnations the house had been a pub, an old people’s home, and was used as a military hospital during the World Wars, at one time specialising in the care of  pilots with horrific burns, among other casualties.  Between wars, in 1937, it had served as a hostel for refugee Basque children evacuated from Bilbao during the Spanish Civil War. I understand that local people did their very best to make the children feel supported and cared for, and funds were raised by colleges, schools and universities to help them. 

It occurred to me this would be a fab place to have a tour of in Heritage Weekend - and I see after a quick google that Bolton has many other wonderful sights to see - think I’ll aim for a repeat visit in the Autumn!

Finally - here’s my other Toby collection!  Two were modelled on my father James Hayter playing Friar Tuck, but my favourite is the hand-painted Kelsboro Ware version of him as Mr Pickwick, which I also think carries a better resemblance.

​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.
​
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.”

​

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.

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?
​
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!

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/

At the end of the year we visited Dortmund for the first time, on a Christmas market Winterreise. I always try and take the opportunity on these brief Christmas flits, to do something more than just shopping. The Germany DK Guide has a lot to cover, and the two columns allocated to Dortmund  do not include the Steinwache, a 19th century police station and latterly Gestapo prison, details of which I found on Trip Advisor. It was very near our excellent hotel (NH Dortmund - great breakfasts!), so we checked it out on the first morning of our visit, and spent two hours viewing the superb exhibition, housed in the old cells over four floors and entry free.
​
I thought I knew something about the domestic resistance to the Nazi regime, but I learnt so much more here, especially the activity in the Dortmund area, which had, with its coal-mining and steel-making history, a strong, established working-class left-wing culture. The exhibits were labelled in German, with no translation, but there was an excellent printed English guide to each room which you could either borrow or buy (half a Euro) from the reception office. It gave us a comprehensive narrative, from the economic crisis of 1929-32, political radicalisation and the collapse of the Weimar Republic, to the hastily-accelerated murders, in 1945, of the remaining prisoners opposed to Nazi ideology.  Displays included every aspect of political opponents inclouding gay activists, writers, newspaper editors, left-wing youth movements, unions etc. Even Jehovah’s Witnesses, I learned, were executed for their refusal to accept a higher authority than the Bible.

There has often been one picture among many shocking and moving images which has reduced me to tears, eg when I visited Prague, Berlin, Sachsenhausen etc, and here it was the photograph of a child with cerebral palsy shortly before he was killed  through the euthanasia programme. All the cells bore witness to tremendous suffering, but there was one I could not bring myself to step into: the cell in the basement where a brick-built ‘bed’ with a wooden top layer and a manacle in the wall beside it had been left as a reminder of the unthinkable tortures to which its prisoners had been subjected.

If you are interested in mankind, and the monstrous blot, in the 1930s and 1940s, on what had in former centuries been celebrated as one of Europe’s most civilised and enlightened nations, or what happens when people stand by while bad things are done around them, then I cannot recommend this exhibition highly enough * (after seeing how a regime had systematically set about dismantling all opposition, when I heard on BBC radio, shortly after returning home, that our current government planned to curb the influence of the House of Lords, after the latter had impeded its ambition to impose tax relief cuts, it did catch my attention).

The Dortmund Christmas markets enabled us to escape the horror of the Nazi past and return to the present reality of a modern, democratic European city. Having anticipated something more commercialised, we were pleasantly surprised.  Firstly, it was very friendly (a  bit like South Wales, another area with a coal and  steel-based history!) and relaxed - a bit less packed with people than Cologne’s Christmas markets. The many varied delights on offer included some excellent local foods (spit-roasted Westphalian ham, smoked eels, and to-die-for fresh salmon - Flammlachs - grilled/smoked over a wood-fire in the open air), a charming real life carousel, where children rode solemnly round on ponies, and beautiful handmade crafts. We bought a lovely mug for our son depicting a Ruhr miner’s lamp.  There was an atmosphere of geniality and goodwill, lots of people meeting up with friends for a mulled wine and a wander round.  The market is famous for its Christmas tree in the Hansaplatz:  it stands 45 metres tall, made of up to 1700 individual fir trees, and is reputed to be the biggest in the world.

We agreed we’d definitely like to come back to Dortmund, perhaps at another time of year, and visit some of the other sights: the Art & History Museum, the German Football Museum and maybe take in a Borussia Dortmund football match. The team’s stadium takes up to 81,359 spectators, and enjoys the largest average home attendance in the football world:  its “Gelbe Wand” (Yellow Wall) ranks as one of the most colourful and fervent examples of home fan support anywhere, hailed by opposing players and visiting fans  as truly awe-inspiring. Its pricing structure means season tickets can average as little as £10 per match, and the club’s board has refused to hike-up prices on tickets, catering or shirt prices for years in order to preserve the all-inclusive fan experience.  We spotted a stall at the Christmas markets selling all kinds of Borussia articles, including baby-gros, plus a Steinway piano emporium boasting a Borussia colourway team-autographed model! (Incidentally, we noted on holiday in the Tyrol last summer a Borussia vending-machine at the ski-lift in Westhofen - manager must be a fan!).

When our son was small we didn’t have funds for theme parks, but we had no regrets about that - we had long, interesting walks together, played board games, enjoyed family meals with conversations about our days, and, of course, visited museums! Our idea of an excellent time was seeing Stonehenge, Avebury Circle and Silbury Hill over one weekend!

My parents-in-law did take us to Blackpool for a weekend, and we went up the Tower and thrilled to the acrobatic acts in the circus, but we didn't fancy the big rides. Even when I was small I wasn’t too keen on the Dive-Bomber or rollercoasters, though I was always up for the Dodgems. These days my limit is a turn on the Big Wheel or a whizz round on the Chairplanes!

No surprise then that my only visit to the best-known Paris theme Park (fronted by that world famous mouse!) was not a standard experience. If you don’t go on any of the rides you’re left with watching parents trailing overtired kids on a sugar-high looking for the costume characters, occasionally seen hiding round the back of buildings with their heads off, having a sly Gauloise! My favourite bit was watching house-martins flying in and out of their nests on the walls of the nearby TGV station...

I have, however, wanted to visit Futuroscope, in Poitiers, for a while, so was pleased to be offered a short trip there recently. We travelled by train, so some quality time for catching up on reading! We arrived in time for the evening laser show, Lady O, which takes place at the lake in the middle of the park. We sat on the open-air amphitheatre seats in the warm southern air, with a large enthusiastic crowd of all ages, and watched the spectacular display of light and music, relating a story about nature versus machines. Futuroscope is in a beautiful  setting, and has a uniquely French feel to it, with modernistic buildings, sculptures, and tastefully planted flowers beds and borders with aromatic Mediterranean shrubs, which waft their fragrance as you walk past. There are some lovely touches, like the softly-glowing red globes hanging high up among the branches of trees in the evening. When I described the large abstract sculptures of outsize females to my son he correctly identified them as works by the French artist Niki de Saint Phalle. Fun and culture, what's not to like?

The rides include Dancing with Robots, where some of our party (non merci!) were whirled around by a giant robot arm to music by Martin Solveig in dance-club lighting, and plenty of 3D simulator experiences. We laughed a lot on the Time-Machine ride, which features Les Lapins Chretins (the crazy rabbits), not least while queuing for entry, where the walls are covered with versions of famous paintings featuring aforementioned crazy rabbits,  which included Munch’s The Scream and Botticelli’s Venus Rising from the Sea. This is just one example of the wit and  imagination that characterises the whole park. I tried one more ride, but it was all a bit too much for me, and I sat on one of the static seats at the side for Arthur, the 4D Adventure! Our guide quipped that a lot of teenagers  consider themselves cheated if they don’t feel queasy after a ride...  There are also some great open-air play areas and games in Children’s World, which I’m certain it would be hard to drag younger family members away from.

My personal favourites were the IMAX films, which I’d also been looking forward to most: Cosmic Collisions,  and Deep Sea. It was really relaxing to sink into the comfy seats in the dark and become immersed in stunning, narrated films about outer space and  the ocean depths - an opportunity to see things I’m unlikely to experience in the flesh. I learnt that our moon was formed in just 4 weeks from the debris which circled Earth after a massive asteriod collided with our planet. Always nice to find out new things, and  be reminded of our place in a huge universe!

I hope to go back to Futuroscope - there are always new things being developed, and I’d really like  to see the rest of the park, particularly Mission Hubble, where visitors join the rescue mission to repair the Hubble space telescope, and Journey into the Dark, where blind guides take you through three areas in the dark, which give you a sense of what it is like to make your way without sight - from the Louisiana bayou to New York city, and up to the highest Himalayan peak. This last is the only attraction in the park which incurs a cost - a requested donation of 5 euros per person which goes to charities aiding the visually-impaired.

​

When I was offered an opportunity to join a group tour round BBC Broadcasting House I jumped at the chance! I am an avowed supporter of our national public service broadcaster, and was keen to see how old Broadcasting House had been merged with a stunning new building, just two years old.

We started off in the Media Cafe, where Head Chef Tony showed us some of the new dishes being developed for groups visiting the BBC. I can say, hand on heart, that my Scotch egg was the best I have ever eaten,  and the beetroot humous was to die for - all the dishes were incredibly tasty, freshly made and good value.

There’s a shop for handy Christmas-stocking fillers and that elusive Dad present, and a life-size Dalek and Dr Who telephone box plus an Eastenders backdrop for die-hard fans. Our guides were superb - witty, informed, clearly spoken, and with just enough anecdote to entertain rather than overload. We looked down on the huge floor below, full of journalists working at desks, with screens loaded with incoming news stories (photos not allowed here), and over to the right, the BBC News studio familiar to viewers. On our left one of the weather forecasters was speaking live to an unmanned camera. These weather-warriors are the only people who speak without an autocue - a feat of memory and nerve. We spotted Gavin Esler chatting to a colleague, and Fiona Bruce checking her report before going live later. The integration of the World Service means that when there is a crisis, as with Russia and Ukraine lately, country experts can be brought into the studio very quickly.  And at the back of this floor are the desks that deal with photos and reports being sent in by the public - a recent development but valued by the BBC.

We went on to see the beautiful piazza, with a cafe on one side and, at the end, All Souls Chuch and the Langham Hotel. Apparently, celebrities staying at the Langham sometimes travel by car to arrive at the One Show studio for an interview, because of the waiting autograph-hunters. Lady Gaga recently took half an hour to reach the studio as she greeted fans in the intervening few hundred yards! We saw the studio, sat on the famous green sofa, and were then led on to the BBC Radio Theatre before being given an opportunity to take part in a mock-up news broadcast and radio play.

The original Broadcasting House was completed in 1932, and the Art-Deco reception was completed in 1939. I wonder if my father walked through it that year? I have a photo of him recording a show called Time to Laugh, 9 June 1939,* less than three months before Britain went to war on 3 September. The microphone is a pre-cursor of the iconic BBC version, created in 1934. Our guide told us of some of the history of the BBC, and how many world leaders, writers, artists, and musicians have passed through its doors, apart from all the hard-working employees that have contributed to our listening experience. In a nice connecting thread, Eric Gill, the artist who sculpted the statue on the front of Broadcasting House, also created the font which is now used in the BBC’s logo.

I believe that a visitor of any age would love this tour - schoolchild to nonagenarian - from the historical nostalgic parts to cutting edge new technology. One of our group had been round BBC Television Centre in the past, and half expected this tour, covering BBC News and Radio to be comparatively dull, but on the contrary, she found it fascinating. BBC TV may be spread throughout the regions (tours available at these centres too), but there still beats the original heart of the Corporation at Portland Place - Auntie is alive and well!

The tours are there to offer the British people an opportunity to see how the licence fee is spent delivering unparalleled multi-media news and radio entertainment (plus the One Show, of course!). Tourists are welcome too, of course. There are many around the world who have benefited from the BBC World Service, and there are large numbers of fans in our English-language-Big-Brother the USA who highly value the unique voice of BBC Radio. The BBC website is also a rich cornucopia of resources. I know millions of us rely on and trust the BBC, more than any other organisation, to tell us what is happening in the world with a high a degree of accuracy.

If you care about our BBC,  please do pick up your pen, mouse, or phone and take just a little bit of your time to give our government your views. We are in danger of allowing apathy to contribute to a sad diminishment of this great and hugely important part of our national culture - For what to do about it, see the Save our BBC website  -  saveourbbc.net  Please act before it’s too late!

*Presented by Van Phillips with James Hayter 
Vera Lennox 
Maurice Denham 
George Adam 
Helen Clare 
Van Phillips and his two 
Orchestras 
Orchestrations by Van Phillips. and Alf Ralston  
Produced by Vernon Harris

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!

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

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.

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).

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.

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.

A visit to Audley End had been on my wish-list for years, so a recent gift of a year’s entry to English Heritage properties combined with a friend’s birthday celebration in Maldon, Essex, gave me all the impetus I needed.  We were lucky enough to arrive on Audley in Bloom day, with music from the Saffron Walden County High School Jazz band and gardening events laid on. Readers of this blog will already know that I have a great passion for museums, history and gardens, so my English Heritage card is, for me, the equivalent of an enormous box of chocolates, only much better!

Like that of many English country houses, Audley End’s history is a long, eventful one. Thomas, Lord Audley, Henry VIII's Lord Chancellor, converted the buildings of the original Benedictine priory, Walden Abbey, into a mansion after the abbey’s suppression in 1538. His grandson Thomas Howard, 1st Earl of Suffolk, rebuilt it in about 1605–14 on the scale of a royal palace, which it briefly became after Charles II purchased it in 1667. In the 1760s Robert Adam transformed the house for Sir John Griffin Griffin, while Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown landscaped the park. Richard Neville, later 3rd Baron Braybrooke, made further changes after 1820. During the 1940s the House was taken over by the Ministry of Defence, and used, among other things, as the headquarters of the Polish Section of the Special Operations Executive. There is a memorial to the 108 Poles who died in its service on the main drive.

There were some fascinating things to see in the house  - I particularly liked the cabinets of curiosities, packed with shells, minerals, oddities picked up on travels, including some grave-beads from Egyptian tombs. Not for me the cases of stuffed creatures, though this might attract visitors who have embraced the recent trend for taxidermy classes!  There is a small case in the Saloon of mementoes from the Crimean War, in which two Neville sons, Henry and Grey, were killed, a touching reminder that war brings grief to families across the social divide. An envelope with faded writing contains “Flowers gathered from cemetery of Scutari where the English officers are buried”, and another “Flowers gathered from the grave of The Hon Henry Neville, Grenadier Guards, picked at Cathcarts Hill Cemetery on 6th September 1867. The gravestone was in a good state of preservation”.  Henry was killed aged 30 at the Battle of Inkerman on 5th November 1854, and his younger brother Grey died six days later, aged 24, in hospital at Scutari (Florence Nightingale’s base) after being injured in the Charge of the Heavy Brigade at the Battle of Balaclava on 25th October 1854. Was it their mother, or sister, I wonder, who picked these flowers after making the long journey to Turkey?

The children’s nursery wing has been restored, and there are drawings of the two boys, along with their siblings. Here, as in other parts of Audley End, there is a living breathing personification of a former staff member - the governess, who is happy to chat, in character.  There are dressing-up clothes, a large dolls’ house, and wooden Ark and animals to play with for younger visitors, and, gratifying sight for this former child, the bookworms’ delight - a full book-case in each room.