... in Yorkshire

Adventures of the Anonymous Four in Yorkshire

 

Despite much doubt as to whether we would actually be able to leave at 7am we were on our way by about ten past. We had a ‘new’ car on a temporary basis in the form of a Fiat Multipla, or Ugly as it was affectionately called by us. The journey did not start especially well as we took a wrong turn within a mile from home. After that, the drive was uneventful until we approached the M25 where warning signs advised of serious delays between Jct 9 and 11. We were joining at Jct 10 into almost stationary traffic.

 

Fortunately the incident wasn’t too far ahead. A lorry appeared to have had some sort of coming together with the huge outer barriers and flipped over onto its side, blocking three of the four lanes of motorway.

In our excitement about doing well, and my talking to Husband to make sure he didn’t nod off we missed the turn to the M1. We came off at the next junction to turn round and try again, but having re-joined the M25 it became clear that perhaps the correct route would have been a different exit from the junction rather than re-joining the M25 as there didn’t seem to be a corresponding exit on the side of the road that we were now on. So we went on to the next available exit, turned round and came back again to the junction we had missed in the first place. The extra loop did give us another chance to look at the very elegant single wind turbine on the hill next the motorway.

Child the Elder and Child the Younger were unaware of our circuitous experience, being engrossed in a film on the in-car DVD player. There was in fact an eerie, but pleasant silence, from the back. Having now been on the move for almost three hours we felt that a stop for breakfast wouldn’t go amiss. But this needed to coincide with the film ending. After passing a couple of service stations, the credits were rolling and we pulled in for a break.

During breakfast, which consisted of hot chocolates, coffee and vast quantities of croissants, Child the Younger realised that she had put her trousers on back to front. Despite having quite happily wandered around until now, she skulked off in a most embarrassed fashion to the ladies, hands over her bum to try and disguise the error. During breakfast we started discussing inventions and Child the Elder observed that everything, in fact, has been invented. I begged to differ, commenting that things like table and chairs had in fact always existed in the form of rocks and other natural components and all that had been 'invented' was a new medium from which to make these things. Whereas lamp posts, for example, hadn’t.

We set off again and two hours later approached the outskirts of York. The hotel was reasonably easy to find so we checked in, used the facilities and then ventured forth in search of lunch. While the girls and I waited for the sandwiches to be made in our chosen venue Husband went in search of a cash point – and then phoned us to direct us to where he was, the queue for the cash point being so extensive that he anticipated being there for some time. On the way to him we passed the old Assembly Rooms – now an Ask restaurant – and on his instruction peered in. There were exclamations of wow all round. It was a huge, long, neo-classical hall with candlelit tables and columns supporting the high ceiling from which hung decorative chandeliers. Our venue for dinner was decided.

The wait for the cash point was alleviated by a one man band in the square singing familiar ditties – along with his sheep dog. At various points the man would lean over the dog and presumably whisper an instruction, at which the dog would woof or howl as required.

Thus the song ‘how much is that doggy in the window’ did actually include a genuine woof woof, although there was a distinct absence of waggely tail. In the midst of the crowds, some Romans casually wandered along. Well, when in York, and all that.

We sat on the steps of York Minster to devour our sandwiches – having first popped our heads into the Minster for a quick look. This was particularly quick as there is only a small area that can be accessed for free before reaching the turnstiles and ticket points.

The town centre of York is in fact quite small. Narrow streets, paved with stone or cobbles edge their way between buildings of every era which co-habit the town with a natural ease. Ancient, timbered structures, leaning precariously towards the buildings on the opposite side of the street comfortably neighbour ornate, stone Victorian architecture and red bricked medieval structures. The ‘olde worlde’ sweet shops did indeed give an impression of having not changed at all for two hundred years, only given away by the contents of ‘Thank you for looking after my pet’ fudge, and sweets designed to look like a fried breakfast.

York's turbulent history can be traced back nearly 2000 years. It began in earnest in AD71 when, at the height of their powers, the Roman Governor of Britain, Quintus Petilius Cerealis, led his troops northwards from Lincoln to invade 'Brigantia'. Recognising a good military strongpoint, he based his camp at the juncture of two rivers, the Ouse and the Foss.

Having conquered the Celtic tribes known as the Brigantes, the Ninth Legion built a fortress on the site of their camp and called it Eboracum. On the departure of the Ninth Legion in AD120, the Sixth Legion took command of the fortress which eventually enclosed 50 acres and housed a garrison of several thousand soldiers.

New roads were constructed, a civilian town grew up outside the fortress walls and Eboracum became the capital of Lower Britain and a leading city of the Roman Empire.

Several Emperors visited Eboracum and Severus held his Imperial Court there until he died in AD211. In AD306, Emperor Constantius Chlorus died in Eboracum and was succeeded by Constantine, his son. Constantine the Great, as he became known, was proclaimed Emperor and the proclamation is thought to have been held on the site of the present Minster – and there is a statue of him at the entrance of the Minster, in front of which vast numbers of visitors wanted to be photographed.

The Legions, who occupied Eboracum until around AD410, had their headquarters where the Minster stands today and, during restoration work, Roman remains were discovered beneath it. These included a 31 foot Roman pillar which was re-erected.

After the Romans withdrew from Britain in the fifth century, the Anglo-Saxons began their invasion.

In the seventh century, known as Eoferwic, it was the chief city of the Anglo-Saxon King Edwin of Northumbria and, two centuries later as Jorvik, it became an important trading centre for the Vikings.

The Kingdom of Northumbria was in the midst of civil war when the Vikings raided and captured York in 866.

Ten years later the Danish King Halfdan shared out the lands of Northumbria from his capital, Jorvik, and the former warriors settled down to a peaceful existence having stopped marauding in favour of starting Ikea.

Jorvik became a major river port, part of the extensive Viking trading routes throughout northern Europe. The last Danish ruler of Jorvik, Eric Bloodaxe, was driven from the town in the year 965 by King Eadred of Wessex who succeeded in uniting Northumbria with the southern kingdom. But for another hundred years, the north was largely ruled by earls of both Anglo-Saxon and Scandinavian blood.

During 1065-66, following rebellion of the local earls, there came invasion by the Norwegians and the defeat of their army at Stamford Bridge. But a few weeks later, the victor, King Harold II of England was himself defeated and killed at the Battle of Hastings by the Normans.

The city was ravaged by William the Conqueror who ruthlessly pursued a policy of scorched earth, causing great destruction. The Domesday Book, William's census of 1086, records that 'there was not a blade of grass between the Rivers Trent and Tweed'. But by the Middle Ages it had again become an important commercial centre.

In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries Tudor and Stuart kings were among its visitors, in Georgian times it was the social capital of the north, and in the 19th century, with the coming of the railway, its industrial future was assured.

We were planning to go on a walking tour of York, led by a man on stilts dressed as a monk. The meet point was described as being 'the Roman column' and we deduced that the large column across the road from the Minster must be the very spot, which had originally been part of the Roman forum and re-erected on its present site after being found when building the Minster.

We walked past the Minster – where a wedding party had just arrived - and out of the city through Bootham bar where our guide informed us that there was still a law in place whereby a Scotsman could be shot within the city walls provided it was with a cross bow and not on a Sunday. On the top this gate there used to be spikes which displayed the heads and upper body parts of such unfortunate Scotsmen as well as other criminals and undesirables.

Just outside the city walls was a large red-bricked building that had been commandeered by Henry VIII when he was married to Catherine Howard, and the two of them had stayed here when in York. On one corner of this building was a tiny window and there was said have been some sort of lavatory arrangement sticking out from the wall allowing waste to fall into what was then the moat below – and a warning for all boatmen to row a little faster as they approached this overhang.

We walked on to the multangular tower. This was another mix of eras, the foundations being roman and the upper parts medieval. The change in brickwork was quite distinct. We went through the city walls into the tower mimicking an underrated method of warfare - which basically involved the invader putting his head round the corner to see if anyone was there. Within the tower a series of roman stone coffins were arrayed. These had been found in Victorian times while digging the foundations for the station and had apparently had skeletons inside them. Beyond this was St Leonard's undercroft, a place where the local monks had treated the ill but which had been destroyed as part of the dissolution of the monasteries.

The ladies were sent first into a long, dark passage which was lined with Roman stone coffins. Our guide – having not very surreptitiously put something inside one of the coffins – then volunteered Child the Elder to feel inside. She was reluctant. As was Child the Younger. Somehow the two of them volunteered me and I reached in and pulled out a rubber hand, which did actually feel unpleasantly life like. Apparently it normally wiggles its fingers, but in all the hesitation, the batteries had expired. I was pleased. I’m not sure I would have maintained any sense of decorum had it actually moved.

We walked through some of the low, narrow passageways past Barley Hall into Grape Lane. Our guide explained that this was not in fact an area where wine was made. Previously the A had been and O and something completely different had in fact taken place in this area. Child the Younger asked what grope meant, but seemed rather disgusted with the reply. Particularly as the example I used involved her and her boyfriend. 

We passed through Mad Alice Lane, so called because a woman poisoned her husband and then pretended to be mad in order to avoid the death penalty. Whilst the locals thought her mad, she was found to be totally sane, extremely guilty and consequently hanged.

We went on to an old church which had no electricity or running water, and appeared to be subsiding. Its floor was decidedly uneven and some of the box pews were leaning at extreme angles. The box pews ranged from the cramped, cheap ones at the back to the more spacious and expensive ones at the front, decorated with carvings and right in front of the pulpit. Next to the pulpit was the sin bin – into which all the children on the tour were put. This was originally used to house anyone who misbehaved during the service. It had low bench seats so that the occupants couldn’t look out and distract the congregation, but from the pulpit the vicar could look in and keep a beady eye on the inhabitants.

We went through Monks Gate to St Williams College that apparently never was a college. Here we were told about the catholic martyr who was crushed to death for hiding priests in her house and refusing to convert to Protestantism.

 

Our walk over, we scampered through The Shambles to the York Dungeon. It was dark inside and now and then things jumped out at you, or water was sprayed. We went through various episodes of horror from the plague to vampires and torture. The girls were appropriately unnerved by some of it. In the court room one woman was accused of dancing in a graveyard to summon a man. The judge declared that ‘that man appeared’ pointing at Husband, at which apparently the said man (Husband) looked confused while the woman looked disappointed. I would have stood up for him, but didn’t want to be summoned next into the dock.

We went to a pub along the River Ouse for dinner. It was a large spacious building with spiral staircases leading upstairs. Child the Younger managed to spill sticky toffee pudding and coke down her front – which joined the butter from breakfast. Once replete, we wandered along the river until it was time for our boat cruise. The river side had clearly been the site of industrial activity in the past with a wide, paved quayside and buildings, mostly now pubs and restaurants, that had the appearance of former industry. On the opposite side of the river were buildings which looked like warehouses. A line of geese wandered casually down the quayside, as did a hen party a few minutes later. It was the first of many hen parties that we would see that evening. Child the Elder had commented on the number of bridal shops in York – but with this number of hen parties, such shops were clearly needed.

Our boat pulled up. We were on the ghost trip cruise whereby as we sailed along the river we were told about various ghost stories in the area, accompanied by low budget screaming. The trip took us past the equally low budget millennium bridge and the Cock and Bottle pub which was apparently haunted by the notorious philanderer George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. Child the Younger wanted to go there hoping for a ghostly encounter in the ladies – but was adamant that she wouldn’t go to the ladies alone.

 

While passing some of the riverside pubs upstream a local barbarian on an upper balcony mooned at the boat. Child the Elder and Child the Younger looked on in stunned surprise, before this gave way to complete shock in Child the Younger’s case as the full realisation of what she had seen came to her. There had been a reasonable view of his crown jewels between his legs.

After a long and exhausting day we walked back to the hotel, passing a few more hen parties. There was a slight scuffle to determine ownership of the hotel biro – all other pens had been left in the car which was parked around the corner from the hotel. This did result in my coffee being ever so slightly jiggled and coffee ending up on the bed, floor and in my shoes. Making the coffee had proved interesting in the first place. The necessary implements were located on a shelf under the obligatory hotel room desk. However, we had already constructed the sofa bed which blocked the shelf so it couldn’t be pulled out. The kettle was too tall to be pulled out or turned on its side. In the end Child the Elder managed to pull the shelf out enough to free the kettle. It boiled away on the desk, just beneath the shelf that supported the TV and Child the Elder did observe that this was perhaps not ideal or safe. However, the shortness of cable on the kettle ensured that there was no alternative option.

As the room was by now very cluttered we all made mental notes about where various obstructions lay in order to avoid too many incidences in the night comprising the sound of a bump, followed by ‘ow’. Despite this, before lights out all except Husband had indeed bumped and owed.

Child the Younger did not appear to have any pyjamas packed, so was going to sleep in T shirt and pants – about which she was very self conscious and insisted that no one looked at her bottom. Apparently a girl at school had told Child the Younger that she had a big bottom. Fortunately she was more concerned that the girl had been looking than with said girl’s conclusions and in a matter of fact way stated that she got her big bottom from Mum (Former Wife of Husband and mother to Child the Elder and Child the Younger). I suggested that she perhaps not mention this to Mum. Ever. There would never be an appropriate moment to drop that particular comment into conversation.

We settled down to sleep. Settling was not required as there would not be much sleep. Firstly I struggled as I was incredibly hot and didn’t really want to throw all the covers off in case the girls got up in the night and had a bit of a visual shock. We had opted to have the window closed as it was nearest to Child the Elder and might have made her cold during the night. Mind you, had the window been open then the sounds of hard partying in the city for most of the night might have prevented sleep anyway. Then some thoughtful guests sprinted up and down the corridor outside, noisily. I was awoken yet again by someone in the corridor knocking incessantly on a door – which quite clearly was not going to be opened. It was 1am and I was starting to become frustrated. Managing to get back to sleep we were all woken up a mere 50 minutes later by a group of girls returning to their room which was next to ours. They were not quiet. What made matters worse was that our rooms were linked by an adjoining door through which noise could travel ever so much more easily. Husband, who had also been sleeping badly, had had enough by this point and phoned reception, who asked the inhabitants of the neighbouring room to be quiet. They did quieten down a little – assisted by all having a smoke, the smell of which pleasantly seeped in through the adjoining door.

When I got up the next day my eyes were obscenely puffy. In much need of a good cooked breakfast we went downstairs where clearly there was only continental breakfasting available. In hindsight that was probably a good thing. We were after all due to meet up with friends of Husband’s parents in Harrowgate for a sumptuous lunch.

We set off early for a number of reasons. Firstly, we were ready and secondly, if we removed our car from the car park by 10am it would cost less. On asking for directions, by foot, to the car park we were asked for the ticket so it could be stamped which would ensure that our costs were capped. Good thing we asked for directions – the ticket discount hadn’t been mentioned the previous evening when we had asked for road directions to the car park.

We therefore arrived early for our lunch engagement, stopping at a small village on the way intending to get postcards – which we didn’t get because they didn’t sell them. In the end we sat in the car for a while reading newspapers and magazines before going to Mr Friend of Family and Mrs Friend of Family.

Their house smelled of old people, that distinctive mothball aroma which you only get from a generation who were clearly brought up to be terrified of moths. There’s so much more to be frightened of now. And it was decorated in what was probably the height of fashionable taste – in the 70’s.

Once upon a time there had been a front and back garden. Now there were pristine patio slabs covering anywhere that might sprout grass. It seemed a pity, but similarly I could imagine that maintaining a garden as you get older would be difficult.

Second Mr Friend of Family and Second Mrs Friend of Family arrived soon afterwards. Second Mrs Friend of Family looked wonderfully dishevelled, and slightly mad. Her glasses made her eyes look ten times their natural size and her hair gave the appearance of having recently encountered a tornado. Her husband, mumbling words in his thick Yorkshire accent which made him quite difficult to understand, was constantly grinning and seemed terribly good fun although his trousers perhaps hadn’t been near a washing machine since the turn of the century.

Second Mrs Friend of the Family informed me that Mrs Friend of the Family had insisted on the paving, which had resulted in the removal of Mr Friend of the Family’s greenhouse – apparently the only joy in his life. Mr Friend of the Family looked like a broken man. He stood there, hunched over, only speaking when spoken too and generally looking quite scared.

‘You had to get rid of your greenhouse, didn’t you’ Second Mrs Friend of the Family told him. He looked up, and nodding quickly, looking around in case Mrs Friend of the Family saw and took this a sign of rebellion.

 

We retired indoors for some tea and pre-lunch biscuits. Mr Friend of the Family only spoke when prompted by Mrs Friend of the Family’s ‘didn’t we Mr Friend of the Family’. ‘Yes dear’ he dutifully replied before bowing his head and returning to his static silence, almost like a voice response toy. It seemed sad. As I told the girls later, earlier in their marriage she had probably prodded him when speaking, but didn’t need to any more. The prod was silently acknowledged between them as existing. It was a mistake perhaps to have told the girls this – for the rest of the holiday whenever they wanted a response they would prod us repeatedly in the arm and mutter ‘didn’t we Mr Friend of the Family’ in a sharp, nagging way.

I was struggling to stay awake. Not because it was boring – well actually yes, partly because it was boring – but also because it was jolly warm and I hadn’t really slept much the previous night. Child the Younger and I decided to go to the lavatory to help break the monotony, and we both whispered to each other that it was a little dull. Despite this, Child the Elder and Child the Younger were behaving remarkably well, politely answering all the questions put to them and gently pointing out ‘no, she’s Child the Elder, I’m Child the Younger’ when required.

At last we left for lunch – and not a moment too soon as I was ravenous. Mr Friend of the Family came in the car with us and seemed delighted to be free.

We were lunching at a local carvery where tables could not be booked and there was a little wait before we could be seated – which Second Mrs Friend of the Family subsequently complained about.

As it was a help yourself affair, and as I was hungry, I piled my plate with as much food as could it would take. About a quarter of the way through – when I was still trying to find the meat underneath – I thought perhaps I might have overdone it. But being in the presence of people who were brought up to clear their plates I felt under a degree of pressure to eat it all. And to my credit – or greed – I did.

Then somebody decided that we ought to have puddings. Actually that might have been me. Anyway, I did manage to finish pudding but was well and truly done for.

On the way back to Mr & Mrs Friend of the Family’s we went to Rothwell to see a whalebone arch. Somehow we had managed to get onto the subject of my Male Parent’s whalebone interests. It was, as Husband described, a bonus (bone-us). Ha ha. Perhaps you had to be there.

 

The bones were huge and we fired off a load of pictures, secretly hoping that this would be one that my Male Parent had missed, and explaining to the girls exactly what it was and how big the original whale would have been, jawbones being about one third of their overall length. We had their concentration as they were also too full to be boisterous or difficult.

Back at the house we were furnished with some more tea and then, mon dieu, two plates of cakes appeared! Even I could not even attempt to eat one. Mrs Friend of the Family explained it was just a small something to ‘cleanse the palate’. I got the feeling it was a phrase she had heard somewhere and liked the sound of without fully understanding its meaning. Anyway, my palate certainly didn’t require cleansing at that point. A darn good emptying out perhaps. But that was it.

As soon as it was possibly polite to do so, we left, and congratulated the girls on the most impeccable and outstanding display of nice young ladies which they had maintained, without fault, almost the entire day. Except for the brief moment in the carvery when Child the Younger had decided that actually yes, she was going to be a vegetarian today and I had to quietly inform her that when invited out for lunch by other people this was not a polite move to suddenly make.

We went back to the hotel to have a lie down and a bit of a sleep. A couple of hours later, still quite full, we decided that we ought to have dinner and should go the Ask restaurant we had seen the previous day.

It really was a fantastic building. Dimly lit and flickering candles on the tables gave the huge hall an amber glow. Polite and silent waiters attended to our every need. In some respects it was a shame that such an incredible building was an Ask, and in other ways it was nice – because if it had been a hugely expensive fancy restaurant then we probably wouldn’t have eaten there.

 

 
Husband and I opted for salads on the assumption that this would be a lighter option. Child the Elder and Child the Younger went for pizza’s which we helped them eat, rather negating our ‘lighter’ option.

The girls even rather patiently waited for us while we had coffees. Child the Younger was slightly unnerved by the fact that her seat was directly below large chandelier, suspended a few feet above her head and several feet away from the ceiling. We told her that if she heard a noise above, then run. On the plus side, however, if she was squashed by the chandelier then we would probably get a discount or even a free meal. This didn’t seem to be particularly comforting to her.

 

After a much better nights sleep we went downstairs for breakfast, which was running low on supplies. We did ask the rather ignorant staff if they could bring out more – a request that they by and large ignored. When we checked out we were asked if there was anything they could do to improve. We all hrumphed in a meaningful way and I passed them the comment card I had filled in – overfilled in fact as it wasn’t big enough to contain all the comments I wanted to make.

Pointing the car in the direction of Whitby we set off. All was going well until we neared Pickering. There had been a steam and traction engine rally which was ending. Now. As a consequence we joined the end of a long and very slow moving queue of traffic which crawled towards Pickering where, with any luck, most of it would go either left or right on the main A road. We were due to carry straight on through the North Yorkshire Moors. After about an hour of snail pace driving we finally got through.

The moors were beautiful. Miles of nothing but windswept purple heather carpeting the otherwise barren landscape. The road stretched ahead into the distance, clinging to the hills as they rose and fell through, occasionally, some reasonably serious contour lines. We had decided to go on to Whitby. Husband had already established that the car was not especially high performance, and as we plummeted down to Sleights on a road with emergency brake failure exit slips, he did wonder whether the car would cope with driving back again.

Shortly after this we could see the ruins of Whitby abbey on the hillside.

 

We drove into the town which was phenomenally busy – so busy that in fact the only place we were able to park was by the abbey, once we had procured some change. Whitby is a hillside town, crowding down in picturesque alleys or yards and flight after flight of stone stairs to the water. We walked down the hill into the town, with the sound of the fair by the harbour rushing up both sides of the valley so that everywhere we were, the fair could be heard. We wandered along the narrow, cobbled streets towards the harbour, from which all the streets radiated steeply. The streets were filled with souvenir shops and several jewellers specialising in jet and even more filled with people. Making meaningful headway became increasingly difficult. Part of the reason for it being so busy was that this was day 3 of a 3 day regatta.

We walked along one of the huge concrete breakwaters separating the North Sea from the harbour and watched the sea rushing in towards the shore. Whitby Bay stretched out into the distance, an expanse of white sand flanked by huge dark cliffs. Although a calm day, the sea was a mass of foam and froth. Long, tall waves rolled in at speed before crashing onto the shore. I was surprised there were no surfers out there. A lifeboat moored up a few metres off shore was being thrown around in a manner which served remind you of the power of the sea. It looked so small out there, and so very much as the mercy of the waves.

We looked in a number of jet shops as I wanted to get some – but the jewellery was mighty pricey. Many of the jewellery shop windows were festooned with black glistening beads and dangling necklaces. In the end I bought a lump, which had been polished on a couple of sides.

We walked over the narrow bridge to the other side of the harbour. The bridge could be raised to allow tall boats in and out of the river Esk. Its narrowness combined with the many hundreds of people wanting to cross it ensured that it took a few minutes to negotiate. Once over we were rewarded with Whitby fish and chips. It is not beyond the realms of possibility to assume that the fish eaten was caught the previous night by local fishermen.

We walked up to see the whalebone arch – which was much smaller than the Rothwell arch. But you can’t see too many whalebones in one holiday.

We spent a few minutes looking at the sea battered cliffs reaching out in one direction, and in the other, the steep hillside randomly peppered with houses rising up to the dramatic ruins of the gothic abbey. Captain Cook’s statue had certainly been given a spot with a stunning view. Child the Elder and Child the Younger hadn’t heard of Captain Cook. Although they had heard of New Zealand. One therefore assumes that they don’t know he discovered it. Education just isn’t what it used to be. 

Technically of course, stories of Cook's discovery isn’t quite true. It had already been discovered by the Maori’s who lived there, as well as the DoDo who the European explorers shot to extinction. But we hadn’t known it existed, and in the time of Empire that was all that really mattered. So having found it existed, we decided it was ours, conveniently ignoring clear evidence of prior claims.

Deciding to head back we made our way, slowly, across the bridge and through the masses of people to the steps that led up to the church, 199 in total allegedly (Child the Elder and Child the Younger were counting, but lost count and for some reason were unwilling to go back to the bottom and start again). We had a reason to stop for a breather on the way as there were 5 bi-planes performing a display, all fully equipped with wing walkers, which must have been jolly good fun when the plane did 360º loops – and on a couple of occasions came very close to one of the fair rides that threw people up into the air.

  

We drove a bit further down the coast to Robin Hood’s bay, and then back towards Goathland via some small country lanes – which had a tendency to be more bendy and steep than the main road. As we approached there were tantalizing puffs of steam rising out of the valley below and coming from the North Yorkshire steam railway, but the line ran too deep in the valley below for us to actually see the train.

 

The road to Goathland was lined by sheep who stood or sat on the verges, ambled across the middle of the road without a care in the world or quite simply lingered in the road with no concept of any danger that they might be in. Child the Younger wanted to stop and stroke them. Child the Elder and Child the Younger both wanted to count them and hereafter the sheep were referred to as random baas, partly because we kept hearing baas in a random manner. Having initially followed some rather dubious directions courtesy of Auto Route – which seemed to think our hotel was a small copse of trees in the middle of nowhere – we did eventually find it, and very comfortable it looked too. We were greeted at reception by Anon the dog whose head suddenly came up from behind the desk.

Goathland is otherwise known as Aidensfield and is the setting for Heartbeat. We hadn’t known this when we booked, but had found out pretty quickly. We saw the Aidensfield garage, fully equipped with old cars and passed shops which had, for example, Goathland Stores on one side of the door and Aidensfield Stores on the other – presumably the latter being the side that is used when required in the TV show.

 

We went to Aidensfield Arms for a pre-dinner drink. There were few options of places to go for dinner. The Arms had a very limited choice, so we decided to have a look at the fare in a hotel opposite. The menu selection here seemed to fit the bill, so we tucked in. We had a discussion about debates (Child the Elder had been anxious about this being required in one of her GCSE subjects, so I pointed out her skills when she was ‘debating’ something with Husband – such as agreeing bedtime - at which she became very embarrassed rather than fully realising that she could actually do it with no bother at all). As Child the Elder and Child the Younger were starting to have petty bickers we also had a discussion about my belief that there does not exist a good reason for an argument. They chose to disagree which I found sad, especially as their short lives have born witness to so many arguments, so many of which they must have viewed as a pointless waste of energy.

Pudding was served with decorative red currants. I ate one and heartily regretted it. It was revolting – very very bitter – and could only ever serve the function of decoration. Child the Younger had noticed the face I pulled when eating it – that look when you have suddenly realised that what’s in your mouth tastes extremely nasty. So I asked her to try one to see how bad it was. She declined. So I told her that I would buy her one of the dragons she has had her eye on. After humming and herring for some time, she actually did it and frankly put on a performance that put Paul Burrell’s I'm a Celebrity kangaroo testicle eating well into the shade.

We returned to the hotel and went to bed. The following morning we were greeted with a cooked breakfast – at last.

Having been blessed with glorious warm and sunny days until now, today it looked a little damp outside. Today was also the day we were due to visit my waterfall. I had first become aware of this many years ago from a fiction book which suddenly came out with ‘There are two constituent brooklets of the Mirk Esk, the Eller Beck and the Welldale Beck, which have their juncture at a place called Beck Hole – and along this Beck are many fine fosses including the Anonymous Foss, Water Ark and Walk Mill Fosses ….’ Later on in the book there is a conversation between a man and a little girl ‘he asked her name which she told him was May. She had another name, she said, which she did not like. He said perhaps that might come to change, names grew and diminished as time ran on: he would like to know her long name. So she said that her name was Maia Anonymous Bailey…He told her that Maia was the mother of Hermes and that he knew a waterfall called Anonymous. She had a pony called Hermes, she said, and she had never heard of a waterfall with a name like Anonymous’.

We drove to Beck Hole along the narrow country roads and down an incredibly steep hill to Beck Hole, a small hamlet in a fold of the moorland hills. Only having a rather vague idea about how to get to the Foss we followed the path along the side of the river. It was quiet, beautiful and comfortably overgrown. The river ran through a deep gorge in the rocks which reached up high above us. The height of them was increased by the fact that the top of the gorge was overgrown with trees, and this added to a certain darkness of the rock faces. Towards the Foss the path descended steeply and soon became muddy. With the Foss in sight, we had to clamber among boulders and scramble to the waters edge.

The Foss was opposite, tumbling into a naturally cavernous circle of rocks in which various saplings struggled for a precarious living. It was dark and smelled cold and mossy. Child the Elder and Child the Younger played on the these rocks, traversing a fallen tree which linked one set of rocks with another, taking them over part of the pool of water. Fortunately no one fell in. I sat there for some time, just watching the green-gold-white rush of the fall. The pool crept out into dark, mossy corners, overhung by the dark rock face towering above it. The effect of light and shade, both in the changing green of the foliage and the depths of the pool was particularly fine. The contact between the cool dappled world of the little dales, and the shady caverns and pools into which the forces rush and hurry to be swallowed in quiet, and the open spaces where for mile upon mile nothing seems to stir is so absolute and yet so natural. Above us trees teetered on jutting out parts of the cliff on rock that would one day fall. I could have sat there all day, and the girls could probably have played there all day. But having other things to do, we turned back.

 

Soon afterwards we heard the sound of a stream train. The railway line ran along the top of the gorge just above us. Child the Younger and I ran up to the top of the extremely steep sided gorge and got there in time so see the train fighting its way up the hill, puffing with all its might. Husband and Child the Elder, more sensibly, only ran as far up as was necessary to be able to see the train. The line had been designed by George Stevenson, but the modern train route was designed by George Hudson to avoid this hill that was part of Stephenson’s original route because the gradient from Beck Hole to Goathland – one of the steepest in the country at 1 in 49 – was not only inconvenient, but a number of serious accidents had sealed its fate.

Having got all the way up to the top, Child the Younger and I tried to walk the rest of the way back along the top rather than go back down to the river level, and climb up the hill again near Beck Hole. Husband and Child the Elder opted for the latter option. And quite soon I wished that we had too. Our route was thick with gorse bushes and bracken. Also, as the gorge side was extremely steep I was concerned about one or other of us falling. So the decision was made to get back down the hill. We clambered down through bracken that was high enough to hide both of us. The ground underneath was uneven and there were occasions when I put my foot down and went further down than I had expected, and ended up sitting down in all the bracken, to which I maintained a tight grip so as not to slide down the hill.

Reasonably unscathed we finally reached the river and seemed to be ahead of Husband and Child the Elder. All was going smoothly until we reached the steps which led back up to the railway line. These had been dug into the earth and had wood across the front to maintain the step shape. However, as the earth within had settled, the wood fronts stuck up out of the ground. Child the Younger, approaching the steps with speed, tripped over and hurt herself. There were certainly a few verbal references to various characters from the Bible. She continued up the steps much more slowly. We stopped at the top to wait for Husband and Child the Elder which also gave us the chance to cool down. Soon after they arrived we saw another steam train go past, however this one was rolling down the hill towards Grosmont. Husband was fairly sure that it would have had its breaks on, quite hard, the whole way.

We ambled back to Beck Hole which by and large consisted of a pub, a handful of houses and a hump backed bridge over the river. It had been quiet and sleepy when we arrived. Now it was thronging with people, or more specifically, the pub was thronging with people. After the morning exertions, however, we were much in need of liquid refreshment.

The pub was a converted house, only not much converting had been done. We went into a tiny room with a flag stone floor. There was a small table in the corner and wooden bench seats around the edge. Straight ahead was a small bar. The room next door served as a small shop. It was quaint but uncosy. Although Child the Younger wanted to sit inside we opted to go out to the patio. There was just the small matter of quite a few steps to climb to get there. The patio was liberally surrounded by flowers which attracted bees and birds. The bees were not hugely welcome, but it was quite nice to have a drink while a bird perched on the end of the table. From their mode of dress, it seemed that most people using the pub were walkers.

Duly refreshed, we returned to the car. By now a group of Brownies had gathered at the river for lunch. Child the Younger went down to the river to play, leaping precariously from wet stone to wet stone with Child the Elder in hot pursuit. Husband, wanting to avoid both injury and soggy clothes, coaxed her away, with difficulty, and we returned to Goathland. The intention had been to go to another waterfall in the village – Mallyn’s Spout. However, as we arrived back into the village a rather heavy downpour began. It was about lunch time, and we were hungry, so all agreed to go forth in search of food. This was actually easier said than done. We had pretty much exhausted Goathland’s food options. Beck Hole had offered butties and pork pies. We decided to venture further afield – to Grosmont. And we went the scenic route along the narrow country lanes through the moors, which were now misty, wet and inhospitable. The bleak barrenness of the silent and empty moors was beautiful. We stopped the car on the way to look at the view and all was silence. There was no one there but us.

Child the Younger wanted Husband to let the car roll down all the hills we came to – which I didn’t like at all. I saw from the map that we would go through a ford. Child the Elder asked what this was. Well, I told her, it’s like a Fiesta or a Mondeo.

The sign warned us that the ford was ahead, and that the road could often be impassable. We turned the corner, and there it was. This wasn’t a ford. It was large, wide and reasonably deep. Like a river in fact. I did suggest to Husband that perhaps this was one of those times when it was impassable. But he decided to the contrary, and we splashed through it, creating huge waves of water on either side of the car to the noisy delight of Child the Elder & Child the Younger. Once out of the water the engine was steaming thickly as the water evaporated away.

Grosmont was only slightly larger than Goathland. There was a pub next to the railway that had all the appearances of providing lunch. The family room was booked out for a private function, but we were able to squeeze into the bar area amongst the silent, smoking clientele who didn’t seem overly enamoured by the presence of children. The pub hadn’t been decorated for about a century and there was a noticeable absence of anything modern – like music or fruit machines.

  

Being next to the railway this did provide ample opportunity for Husband to keep ducking outside every time he heard a steam engine. He watched one pull into the station, and went back out a while later to see it leave. I heard it from inside the pub, the slow rhythmic chuff chuff of the steam as the train started to move, the sound of exertion. It was an indescribably beautiful sound, like a heartbeat before gradually speeding up and trailing into the distance while wreaths of smoke gracefully rose from the engine and shrouded the huge, greased wheels.

We walked through Stephenson’s tunnel to the engine shed. Husband insisted on telling us all sorts of technical information, and I told the girls to pay attention as there would be questions later.

It had now started to rain – on and off, but more on than off. Based on the weather we decided to go for a quick trip on the trains instead.

Child the Elder and Child the Younger thoroughly approved of the train as it had old fashioned compartment coaches and we had a compartment to ourselves. This alone was not the reason for the approval – apparently the Harry Potter train has compartments. We discovered all sorts of things about it – such as the control of all the lights including individual lamps behind the seats. There was also a control to brighten or dim the lighting. We had heating controls although I don’t think the heating was on, and there were also mirrors. Once we started moving, we hung our heads out of the window filing our faces, hair and eyes with smuts, but also inhaling the fantastic smell of the steam. This was considerably better than the fantastic smell of egg produced by Child the Elder – always a mistake in a confined space. A small boy was also looking out of the window, and rather more sensibly, looking behind him. This did of course mean he was looking at us, but it seemed to amuse him.

The competition now being played by us was first one to spot where we had stood to watch the trains when on route to my waterfall. The track rises high above the gorges on either side, at the bottom of which the river bends and weaves its way onward.

At Grosmont we waited for the tender to be re-filled with coal and water before we returned to Goathland. In the meantime a rather grumpy old couple got into the compartment with us. The man had some sort of walker or zimmer frame which completely blocked the space between their seats – and our way out. However, we didn’t worry about it for the time being.

In due course we set off again for the long uphill pull back.

Once back, although the weather still looked a little uncertain, it was too early to go back to the hotel and Husband really did want to see Mallyon Foss. The path led off next to Mallyon Hotel which was surrounded by film crews. At the back of the hotel we could see huge set lights. We found out later that Heartbeat was being filmed there.

Our hotel had a schedule of when and where filming was taking place – partly so that the residents knew if and when they would be inconvenienced (such as roads being temporarily closed while a pretend policeman is filmed cycling along said road) or for the multitude of fans and visitors. The tiny village was constantly swarming with elderly day trippers. And quite a few of them had decided to walk to the Foss.

It was a much more accessible waterfall, with a well maintained and clearly signposted path. But somehow I preferred the fact that my waterfall was more discreet, hidden. You had to know it was there.

As we approached the Foss the path deteriorated into large wet boulders which went along past the bottom of the fall, made wetter by the rain which was now falling rather persistently. This foss had a higher drop, but the fall was largely a fall of spray and mist. It was stunning against the green mossed stones behind, catching the light through the trees and glistening in the gorge in which we stood. The gorge did not seem as deep as the gorge that housed my foss, nor were its sides so harsh and dramatic. Here there were gently sloping sides, lined with trees and golden on the ground from fallen leaves. The river trundled along a wide flat bed next to us. The rocks on either side of this and relatively low level of the water was too tempting for Child the Elder and Child the Younger who immediately went off gorge walking. It was now raining quite hard. Child the Younger was wearing a waterproof jacket although she adamantly refused to put the hood up. Child the Elder wasn’t wearing anything waterproof at all – just a jumper which was getting very damp. Also, neither of them had appropriate footwear for such activities. As they moved further along the opposite side of the river I expressed concern to Husband that should anything happen to either of them – such as slipping and doing a mischief to ones ankle – we would not  be able to get to them and bring them back with anything resembling ease. He agreed and we tried to get them to come back. They did, but were most unhappy at having to do so. We tried to explain our rationale. However, the grump had settled.

We returned to the hotel to dry off and change before dinner. I had been wearing a waterproof but quickly became cold once back at the hotel. Neither Child the Elder or Child the Younger would say whether they were cold. Child the Elder’s sniffly nose the next day was, of course, not in any way related to having got properly wet.

While waiting for dinner (which we were having at the hotel) we turned on the TV. An episode of Heartbeat was on which we watched just for the fun of it and to see if we recognised anywhere.

Dinner was scrumptious. We had second helpings of the main course and thoroughly gorged ourselves.

The following morning, after another hearty breakfast, we turned for home, via York’s National Railway Museum. This was for Husband’s pleasure and he enjoyed walking around the engines, as well as running to the viewing platform to watch The Flying Scotsman leave York station.

On the way back we stopped at a service station for dinner, the cost of which would have appalled Mrs Friend of the Family and her Yorkshire frugality. It may have been low key, but it marked the end of our trip.

 

NOTES

The above is a true story. At the time of writing Child the Elder 14 was  and Child the Younger was 12. Some of the information about places visited is sourced from a variety of guide books. The author maintains rights over all other content.

 

 

...in South Wales

Adventures of the Anonymous in South Wales

Armed with directions to Forest Lodge, somewhere in the middle of the Brecon Beacons, I set off on Friday evening for the long drive to Wales. Apart from the M4 making all the traffic go into one lane when there were in fact two lanes available, the journey was uneventful and whiled away quite nicely listening to a play on the radio.

You have to pay to get into Wales – a whole £4.60. And once across the River Severn signposting suddenly becomes a lot more confusing as it is written in both languages and takes those few seconds longer to find something you recognise as words.

Eventually I came off the motorway and headed up into the Brecons. Being night time I had not idea of the country side I was driving through, but based on the bendy road and limited amount of traffic I had a suspicion I was amongst hills.

In accordance with the directions, I turned off into decidedly country lanes, and then off again onto a one car wide track. The accommodation was apparently somewhere here. There were a couple of buildings it could have been and I took the chance of going to the one with Forest Lodge signposted at the bottom of the drive. It was a sturdily built farmhouse. And no one was there yet. I lay down in my car and tried to get some sleep but the gently nagging anxiety that I might be in the wrong place ensured I got none.

After about 10 minutes the trusty British Military Fitness (BMF) minibus swung into view and we all shuffled into the farmhouse. The building was fantastic: two large sitting rooms, a piano, a huge kitchen with an aga, large dining room as well as multiple bedrooms and bathrooms.

It seemed that most people knew at least one other person on the trip, and those who knew no one had at least had 4 hours in a minibus with them. For a few minutes I felt very left out.

Prince Eric allocated us to bedrooms. I was directed to an en-suite with 3 three other girls – Attina, Carlotta and Ursula. We spent a few minutes settling in before retiring downstairs for a briefing – followed by tomato soup and tea for those who fancied it.

Chef Louis conducted the briefing – true officer material. Blonde haired, with an accent so posh it had to be put on and a laugh which involved crinkling up his nose. He had recently come back from Iraq. After the briefing (which consisted of being told we had to all help with cooking and cleaning and were expected to have a go at all events offered over the weekend) he regaled us with tales of surfing by night. Someone asked if he could see to surf at night. ‘Well, no’ he replied, explaining that you knew a wave was coming purely by listening. Then there was the fun of trying to find his friends again afterwards, bobbing about in the sea, calling for people and feeling completely alone as well as rather stupid. So next time, they’re going to wear reflective strips over their wetsuits so they can see each other in the dark.

Aware of the 7.30am alarm call in the morning and the effects of the long drive, I retired to bed and slept remarkably well. Everyone in our room woke before we needed to. Carlotta – who is not and never has been a BMF member – got herself quickly up and downstairs before she was ‘court martialled’ as she phrased it.

 Some of the girls had kindly volunteered themselves the previous evening to cook breakfast. As there were 17 of us in the group it did mean that most of us were standing around as it clearly did not take all of us to prepare the food. Initially however, we all tried to appear to be doing something but really just got in the way. So we made up our packed lunches instead. The steam and smoke from breakfast set off the smoke alarm – which roused those who were not yet up.

A sumptuous breakfast of grilled tomatoes, sausages, eggs, bacon, beans and toast was presented and rapidly devoured.

At 8.30 Skuttle arrived to brief us on the days activities – gorge walking, rock climbing and abseiling. He ran the company that would be in charge of us for these events. It had been clear from the previous evening that many people in the group did not fully appreciate what gorge walking entailed. I explained to those in my room my understanding of it based on the gorge walk I had done in June. The joining instructions had provided very limited information and not really emphasised the very great need for spare clothes, preferably spare boots and a swim suit as a handy extra. For those (by and large everyone except me) who did not have spare boots wellies were available – provided you could find some that fitted. The idea of trying to swim with wellies and that feeling of all the cold water suddenly rushing into the boots (and staying there) the second it reached the top did not appeal. I opted to wear my spare boots. We were to wear our own trousers and tops over which we had rather fetching blue trousers and a red top, made from touch material which was more to do with protecting our clothes and giving a little more potential warmth than providing any sort of waterproofing.

My room volunteered ourselves to be in the first group of gorge walkers, not to get it out of the way so much as to have time to properly warm up afterwards with a bit of rock climbing.

It was starting to drizzle as we set off for Ddinas. On arrival the gorge walkers donned the delightful trousers (which had elasticated braces attached adding a certain farmer giles feeling) and the top. Flounder – our gorge walking instructor advised us to wear a fleece under the top as we would be too cold just in T shirts. I decided to ignore this advise, not fully understanding how a fleece sodden with freezing water, weighing me down, was going to make me feel warm. We put on close fitting buoyancy aids and helmets (I went for a red one as it matched the ensemble) and after a final check that bums did not look big in this, off we went. We were already a little cold and could see our breath in the cool air. Flounder reassuringly advised us that the gorge water would be properly chilly.

The walk up the gorge was about 3 miles and Flounder’s intention, partly based on the weather, was to keep us as dry as possible for as long as possible. He also told us that team work was vital to get us through the obstacles as many of them would require assistance. We started by crossing over the river, using the slippery boulders that were nearer the surface, and also helping to pull each other across. Aquata was slightly hesitant, so Alana reached across to help pull her over, and promptly fell in. She told us, in case we hadn’t already realised, that the water was freezing, and bent her leg so that her foot was near her bum in order to let some of the water drain out of her wellies.

 We then climbed around the rocky side of the gorge, which involved holding on for dear life and trying to find places to put your feet that weren’t too slippery while you moved your hands along a bit. It required a reasonable amount of confidence to do, and the ability to rely on an upper body strength that you perhaps hadn’t realised you had until now.

 Re-crossing the river, we clambered over slippery boulders on the other side and came to a huge rock with a hole in the side, and a hole in the bottom which went down into the water. I assumed we were going through the hole in the bottom. Instead, we needed to climb down into the rock, avoid falling down the large hole in the bottom, and eek our way – head first – out of the hole in the side. This led to a small ledge, about 2 foot high and probably not much wider. Flounder told us to crawl along it, and when we got to the end, try to stand up and climb up onto the top. All the while we were very aware of the reasonably deep, very cold river a couple of feet below us. It was remarkably good fun. The climb up was easier than it first appeared, but Flounder was sitting at the top with a rope for anyone who wanted a little extra assistance.

Attina, whose helmet refused to sit straight on her head, and was constantly at an angle, came up looking dishevelled. ‘How did you find that?’ I asked her. ‘Oh, I didn’t like that at all’, she beamed. It surprised me, as she had negotiated the obstacle with no apparent difficulty at all.

Now warmed up, we continued our walk up stream, criss crossing the water frequently. By now my boots had let in some water, which although initially very cold had now warmed up nicely. Once upon a time the river had been crossed by a number of bridges. These had long since gone but the brick supports on either side of the river remained. Our next climbing activity was one of these, moving along a vertical wall, as far as possible avoiding stepping off into the water.

At first glance it looked extremely difficult. Part of the problem was that we had to first of all move along the wall out into the water and then negotiate the 90º corner to move along. However, the gaps between the rows of bricks actually made this activity reasonably easy to complete – although the very tiny ledge to stand on did start to disappear half way along.

Another climbing obstacle we needed to get passed was a huge boulder that stuck out over the water. Flounder very kindly stood in the water to lend assistance. The idea was to stand on one side of the boulder, reach around on the top of it for some suitable hand hold, then swing your right leg (guided by Flounder) around to the other side of the boulder. This was a move you had to commit to – you could only get your leg far enough around by completely accepting that there was no option at all of going back. So, facing the boulder, hanging on to what seemed now terribly inadequate hand holds, with little more than the tips of toes making contact with the rock on either side, Flounder said ‘now just pull yourself around’ while he had his hand on your back – just in case. It was a challenging obstacle, but with a good heave, it could be done. Some people found it a bit too daunting and went over the top of the boulder instead. Attina didn’t like it at all.

We continued for several minutes walking up stream, along the edge or on make shift stepping stones. I had by now accepted that I was going to be wet up to my shin. Others, however, were still trying to stay completely dry, avoiding the inevitable.

As we waited for these people to catch up Flounder asked if we wanted to do a difficult challenge. ‘Yes’ I said, ‘but please don’t tell everyone that there was a choice – just in case’.

We crossed over the gorge. The water was now becoming deeper, and I was surprised that anyone was still trying to keep their feet dry. This part of the gorge was quite wide and changed level, with small rapids tumbling over the rocks so that the river could shift down a couple of feet. We stood below one of these points, water rushing over the steep rocks ahead. Between us and the rocks was a deep pool. Flounder told us that we needed to get over to the rocks as a team, without getting any wetter than we were.

Conveniently there was a tree which reached across the pool. It’s smooth trunk sloping upwards, gently and then slightly more steeply before levelling out just at the point we would need to get off. Ariel and I leapt forward. She stood on it, with every intention of trying to walk up it. I straddled it and instinctively put my feet up behind me. Flounder indicated this was the correct method. Ariel followed suit – water gushed from her wellies as she lifted her legs behind her. Alana – who was already wet, kindly stood in the water below the tree to help push us up. I pushed Ariel from behind as well.

 Sitting upright, I pushed down with my hands and shifted myself along. It was impossible to add much impetus to the move with my feet – which were soaking wet and just slipping on the tree bark. Initially we made good progress. Then the tree steepened before finally flattening out. By now my arms were tired and I was out of Alana’s reach for assistance from behind. I kept trying to bounce up, millimetre by millimetre but felt that I was getting nowhere. Ariel had reached the top and come down onto the rocks. I was determined to make it. I had a couple of wobbly moments when I thought that I might fall off completely. The suddenly the flatter part of the trunk was in sight and at the point where it then shot off vertically I was able to reach round and pull myself up the final part.

Flounder was standing on the rocks below me, and told me that I needed to swing round so that my back was facing the water, while holding on with my arms and legs. My arms were exhausted so I wasn’t completely convinced I would stay attached, and Flounder reassuringly told me that if I fell he couldn’t catch me as he wasn’t near enough.

I duly swung round. ‘Now let your legs come off’, instructed Flounder, ‘and just hold on with your arms’. Damn right I held on, as Flounder guided my legs to the rocks. Finally I let go and climbed up the rocks to the applause of the group. Ursula and Alana tried the climb but no one else managed it. The rest of the group opted to find an alternative way up to us.

The sides of the gorge were now becoming both steep and high. We were now seeing things that could only be seen if you were here, in the water. Flounder stopped by one of these steep rock faces and told us to take off our buoyancy aids, as they would get in the way for the next bit.

In the rock was a small, dark hole. Flounder told us to go into it and climb along to the top. It was pitch black inside. Actually getting in at all was not without difficulty. The rock was wet, smooth and slippery, as well as being steep. Aquata had trouble getting in, so I heaved her up. By the time we were both inside the hole everyone else had moved on. I could see nothing, and felt around assuming there must only be one way on and that I would be able to feel where it was. As my eye adjusted I saw the rest of the group above me. The hole went up. Almost straight up. Whilst I can climb with reasonable confidence and ability, climbing in the dark, when you can’t look for places to put your hands and feet and have to just feel around blindly for something is a completely different matter. It was fantastic fun and an extra challenge to the existing challenge of climbing up wet, smooth limestone (which is fearsomely slippery). Aquata struggled to get up the hole, and I pulled her up as best I could until we were both at the top, giggling. The top opened out into a cave up in the rock face. Next to the hole we had climbed up was a much narrower hole (hence the removal of buoyancy aids) which went back down to where we had started. Flounder told us that we needed to go down this one head first. Attina – who was infront of me – told him in no uncertain terms that she was going down feet first.

I lay on my front in the hole. It was wet and steep. I told Flounder that there was a possibility that when I let go, I would just slither straight down (it wasn’t smooth and in places, rock jutted out into the hole). He told me that I would be surprised at how slowly I would move. I wasn’t surprised – I slithered quite fast, and emerged back into daylight in the style of a worm. It was excellent fun. Attina, again grinning, hadn’t liked it at all. I admired her spirit. She was giving all these things a go, without the slightest fuss and bother, while not actually enjoying them.

No sooner had we set off again when the next obstacle reared into view. Ahead was a narrow pass between two massive blocks of rock. Inside this pass were two vast boulders. Quite simply we had to get in, get over the boulders, and then climb out the other side (which involved climbing up). To add a little interest, the get to the first boulder we needed to go through a pool that was just deep enough to let water into the wellies of those who had, until now, managed to keep their feet dry. Ursula was infront of me, and we stood in the cold water waiting for the group to move on. Attina and Aquata waited on the dry ground behind. It seemed that these boulders were actually quite difficult to negotiate. The trick seemed to be to have you back against the slab of rock and use the pressure of this to move up the slab and onto the first boulder. As I pointed out to anyone who was interested, we really would be stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Ursula helped to pull me up onto the first boulder. In turn, I heaved up Attina. By using the slab behind me, and one or two reasonable hand holds I managed to pull myself up onto the second boulder into a little cave, the only way out being small gap above us. Aquata was struggling to get onto the first boulder – which was the more difficult of the two.

I leaned over the upper boulder to point out places she could put her feet, and offer a helping hand if she wanted it. She didn’t. After several minutes, Flounder came down to help her along. He then asked me to stand out of the way while he got Aquata up the climb at the end. To get out we needed to free climb about 5 feet up the rock slab, which was wet but also had enough lumps and bumps to be able to climb. Once about 5 foot up the gap narrow sufficiently so that you could rest your back against the protruding rock, and with the pressure of your feet on one side and your back on the other it was possible to move around and climb out. ‘Shimmy round’ Flounder helpfully explained. The group were waiting at the top and while I was waiting to climb out I had seen Aquata’s legs dangling while the group grabbed hold of her and pulled her up. They seemed a little disappointed that I hadn’t needed help to get out. Carlotta was particularly aggrieved. I was actually rather enjoying ‘free’ climbing, I other words, without any ropes.

We continued up the gorge a little further into a beautiful area of pools, high rocky sides with bright green ferns draping over them. Flounder said that we now had a choice. We could try to climb around the side we were on, where it was likely someone would slip in, and the sides of the gorge bulged out over the smooth and slippery boulders we would walk on. Or we could try to cross the gorge and climb round the other side which was a very difficult climb. Finally, we could just get in the water. There were no half measures with the getting in option. The pool infront of us was deep, and immediately deep. I was getting in. I had come here to get wet, I had committed to the idea of getting wet and wet is what I now wanted to get. Ariel felt the same and we both hurled ourselves in. It was bitterly cold, and took my breath away to such an extent that I couldn’t actually cry out with the cold. Any attempt at swimming while wearing boots, clothes and a heavy over layer of trousers and top is futile. Ariel had wellies on which can’t have made the task any easier. We soon realised that we couldn’t actually make any forward progress at all. To compound the situation, the water flow down the river was actually quite strong. If we swam with all our might, we could stay still. Relax for one moment and you were off, down river. Grabbing onto the rocks around the edges – unhelpfully worm smooth by the water flow – we managed to pull ourselves onward, over the ledge infront from which water was cascading down. This led into another, larger pool. As I approached the narrow entrance at the top end of this pool, which again had water cascading down it, there was the same problem with the current. Once over this, the river became shallower, around knee height. Now wet, there was no particular need to try and walk around the edges, so I clambered along through the small rapids, at last not minding at all if it slipped and fell in. I had now warmed up a bit. Although warm is perhaps not quite the correct description.

Flounder called us water babies as we splashed around. Alana by now had joined us – although Flounder was still walking around the edges.

The group were having difficulty getting around these two pools without falling in. To avoid hanging around and getting cold, I asked Flounder where we could head to. He pointed to a waterfall – ‘you’re going to climb that’.

Ariel and I set off, through the water, which was dark and had an ever changing depth. I must had banged my legs against rocks (judging by the bruises I had later) but didn’t feel anything because of the cold.

We moved up the rived until we were faced with a large pool, at the end of which was the waterfall. Flounder told us to go round the edge, as the current would be less. He also gave us a rope with instructions for someone to climb up, and then hang the rope down for people who needed extra assistance to complete the climb.

Carlotta took the rope and we proceeded through the pool. Now, those who had stayed dry were going to get wet. As went round the edge, the bottom of the pool disappeared beneath our feet and I pulled myself along using the rocks around the edge. I got to the waterfall, and found a good spot to climb up. Flounder (who was walking along the top of the rocks around the pool) asked who had the rope. Carlotta looked momentarily alarmed before saying that she had completely forgotten she was holding it, and had dropped it. A black climbing rope, in a deep dark pool. Flounder looked from his vantage point but couldn’t see it. He was very good about our losing it. He even jumped in (wet at last) to have a look round.

Now we would just have to try to climb unaided. More amusingly, the afternoon group would have to as well – having no other choice. Ariel came to help me get up. There was a foot hold, about hip height. But with the weight of water in my boots and trousers I needed her to physically lift my leg up onto it. Once there, the climb was very easy. In fact, provided the initial leg up was given, everyone who attempted the climb managed it with ease.

Alana, Carlotta, Ariel and I all got to the top of the waterfall. Attina chose to come up by a drier route. While we were climbing up there seemed to be a bit of kerfuffle in the pool below. It seemed that while going around the part of the pool which was out of our depth, Aquata’s welly had come off so she now had only one boot. Again Flounder jumped in to try and find it. He had suggested walking around in the area it came off to feel it under our feet – until we pointed out that we couldn’t feel the ground at the point where it had come off. Even now, he was not despairing. However, while we waited I started to get cold and was not looking forward to the final activity – jumping in.

Flounder and Ariel went first. He climbed up onto a ledge and crawled along this to the other side of a reasonably sized waterfall. From where we stood, it looked as though the ledge he was crawling along went behind the waterfall. Once on the other side, he jumped into the pool below. Ariel emerged from the other end of the waterfall crawl looking cold and wet, then she too jumped in. Carlotta, Ursula, Alana and I ventured forth. The ledge under the waterfall was a few inches deep in water cold water. What’s more, after the first few feet we were no longer behind the cascade of water so much as right underneath it. The water beat down onto the top of my helmet. I looked up tentatively but all I could see ahead were white torrents of water. Aware that there was no other option, I carried on, and water continued to bear down onto me. I emerged at the other end realising how Ariel had felt. Now the prospect of jumping into cold water was no longer a problem. I was already cold. My head – which has until now been dry – was drenched. Carlotta jumped first. I let her get out of the way, and leapt in. I must have pushed off a little too vigorously as I felt myself slip, and started to fall sideways, directly down rather than leap out into the pool as originally intended.

In the time it took to fall I was able to glance down to see if there were any rocks below me and feel slightly worried that this might hurt. I surfaced, unscathed and much relieved. The watching group, who had seen me slip (and possibly the look of concern on my face) were equally relieved when I came up, water gushing out of the holes in the side of my helmet. Alana said I had been freestyling. We then all had terrible ice cream head, and felt a bit dizzy and woozy. No one else jumped in.

The activities completed, we climbed up the steep rocky sides and onto the path back to the car park, about a 10 minute walk. Aquata had been leant a welly so Carlotta was in fact walking back with only one boot. Alana had stopped to pour vast quantities of water out of her boots before setting off. But the dampness of her clothes meant they quickly re-filled, and she walked along sounding very much like a hot water bottle.

Back at the car park, the other half of the group were sitting at the top of a rock face, due to abseil down. One of them kindly brought the minibus keys over to us so that we could change. This was no time for modesty – there was nowhere discreet to change and we were getting cold. I hadn’t fully appreciated how wet my trousers were until I took off the over layer, and mine clung cold and damply to my legs. Quickly I stripped down to my swimsuit and wrapped a towel around me. Initially Chef Louis stood at the other side of the car park, his back discreetly turned to us. After a while though he turned round, and then just quite blatantly watched. But we all managed a complete change of clothing with incredible modesty. It was nice to be dry, and we hoped that warm would soon follow. It took all of us considerably longer than anticipated to warm up satisfactorily, and we all decided that we had certainly done things in the right order as we would most certainly warm up rock climbing.

Chef Louis got dressed for gorge walking – wearing wellies and folding up the trousers to above his knee, with straps over his shoulders he bounded around. ‘I wish I was called George’ he said, ‘then I could be gorgeous George in his gorge walking gear’.

After a brief pause for lunch we went to the rock face for the climbing part of the day. Our instructor – King Triton – asked us to group around him and then asked for a volunteer. No one moved. Aware that Alana was probably about to nominate me anyway, I stepped forward. While King Triton sorted out the harness Aquata had I was asked to entertain the group. I did so for a few seconds but then held off, not wanting to over-excite them too much. That was my excuse anyway.

I was then used as the model to demonstrate how to put on the harness. Firstly King Triton fastened it around my waist (perhaps at this stage I should point out that I was wearing a thermal top, long sleeved T-shirt, fleece and waterproof jacket and the hat that I had been wearing was now in my pocket). King Triton warned that if anyone had belly piercings they might want to remove them as the harness would sit right on top of it and almost certainly hurt.

Next King Triton hooked up the leg loops, by passing them through my legs and attaching them to the harness round my waist. He did warn me what he was about to do. He did not, however, tell me that he was going to stand behind me and tug on the leg strap before attaching it to the waist harness. Naturally I bobbed up onto my toes and exclaimed ‘ooh!’ much to the amusement of the group. I was starting to regret volunteering myself.

I perhaps made matters worse by commenting that the leg straps might hurt any other piercings someone may have. King Triton asked whether there was anything that I wanted to share with the group.

He then went on to tighten up the leg straps. As a result of the vast quantity of clothing I was wearing, this created a rather large bulge between my legs. When I first noticed it I joked that if I was a bloke I would be proud of this. My comments however simply drew everyone’s attention to this large package. King Triton asked again whether there was anything I wanted to share with the group. As the giggles continued I became very self conscious of my package. I tried, and failed, to spread my clothing out and minimise the bulge. In the end I unzipped the bottom of my waterproof (with the clever and previously unused two ended zip facility) and managed to remove the problem at last.

We then went over to the wall where King Triton showed us how to belay. He also talked through the smilers role – which basically consisted of having another set of hands on the life rope just in case the belayer forgot themselves and let go. I was hooked up to the rope (Alana was belaying) and King Triton asked to scamper up the rock. Which I duly did.  Whilst I have climbed before, I was nervous about scaling a rock face with complete beginners being relied upon for my personal safety. After getting several feet up King Triton asked me stop. He showed the group the belaying process to get someone back down; asked me to keep my feet on the wall lean back and then walk down the rock.

We were then split into two groups on two climbs – one slightly harder than the other. Alana, Ariel and I were in one group on the easier climb. As I was already hooked up I climbed up first. The rock face was wonderfully pitted and was reasonably easy to climb – although there were a couple of slightly challenging parts. A large scar across the middle of the rock provided a good spot for a break and photo looking back down.

I came back down and Alana went next. She managed to get reasonably high up before calling it a day. Ariel climbed up with little difficulty. We looked over to the other group – the first climber had not yet finished. To kill time Ariel climbed again. By now a couple of people in the other group had completed the climb. So, still in the interests of killing time we belayed for Ursula to do our climb.

She had made it to the top of the slightly more difficult climb. Carlotta hadn’t – in fact she hadn’t enjoyed the experience at all. Attina gave it a try but wasn’t able to get very far up the rock face – I think she was overly concerned about the possibility of falling and hurting herself. Aquata – having not really enjoyed the climbing aspects of the gorge walk – struggled terribly. King Triton took the expected approach. He didn’t force anyone but did try to encourage people a little beyond their first ‘give up’ stage.

Aquata just lost her nerve completely, and once on the ground took herself off into a corner to cry. Amazingly, she did actually have a go on the other climb. As did Attina and Carlotta who enjoyed the second one a little more – having gained just a little bit of experience and vital confidence.

Prince Eric – having been off for a run all morning – had recently appeared. As I climbed he laughed and joked, telling me that I was taking forever and slightly surprised that I stopped, again, to take a photo. He was similarly rude to Alana as she climbed, telling her off enormously for using her knees. He then decided to have a climb.

As he readied himself he asked who would be belaying. Alana and I informed him that we were ready. He looked up, fractionally nervous, and perhaps reconsidering his early comments to both of us.

Prince Eric then bolted up the rock face – naturally we told him he was taking forever. Then – joy of joys – he used his knee. Ever so slightly, and he of course claimed that he hadn’t used it at all. But it was enough for us - we felt vindicated.

Finally there was an abseil down. Rather than scaling the rock face it was possible to free climb up one side of it. Towards the top the ‘path’ was very steep and loose stoned. King Triton had attached a rope for anyone requiring it to pull themselves up. I was determined not to use it and was rather pleased with myself for getting up there unaided. As with all abseils, the most unpleasant part is stepping out onto the top of the climb while not fully attached to all the ropes. The top of this one was a very small ledge which did not in any way provide feelings of security. The abseil itself was rather good fun – and Prince Eric encouraged me to let loads of rope out and bounce down the rock.

The second group of gorge walkers returned, looking freezing. Once they had all changed we headed back to Forest Lodge where we had 45 minutes to shower and change before going out for dinner.

Dinner was at a wonderful pub where we sat around an enormous table, looking like a medieval banquet. The food was incredible, and priced accordingly. All in all the evening was a wonderful success, in which we teased Prince Eric mercilessly.

On Sunday we needed to be up by 7am as we had to leave by 4 and needed enough time for a good walk. No one was up beforehand. Our door was knocked on twice before we finally decided to face the day. When our room ventured downstairs we found that only Prince Eric and Chef Louis were there. So we set to making breakfast, grilling vast quantities of sausages and bacon. The toaster was very slow and only cooked one side of the bread. The problem was compounded by the loaf of bread being a very curious shape – as though it had been slept on. The inevitable happened – I got a piece of toast stuck in the toaster. At this juncture King Triton arrived (King Triton from the group as opposed to King Triton the instructor) and asked if there was anything he could do. ‘Oh yes there is’ I informed him, and set him to work retrieving the stuck toast (which I had made more difficult by already picking at it and thereby shredding any of the easily reachable bits). We all had a few moments to compare our various bruises from the previous day. Alana, Carlotta and I had some rather special ones.

Breakfast eaten and washed up Prince Eric did a quick navigation session and we then got ready to set off – just as the rain was starting.

Carlotta now showed anti BMF elements commenting that she really did object to being bossed around in this manner. I tried to tell her that even an organised sight seeing trip bossed you around this much. It was nothing to do with being military, and if left to sort ourselves out we would never get anywhere.

As we went our someone asked Chef Louis whether he felt outnumbered by all the girls (all the BMF trips I have done have been equally split but this one has 2 men and 15 girls). Chef Louis informed us that he was usually surrounded by this many women but that at least this time he didn’t have to sleep with us all.

There were to be 2 groups -  a fast one and a slow one.  Whilst many of us had an idea which group we wanted to be in, the initial part of the walk would be done by everyone and therefore provide an idea of the group pacing. The fast group would complete a longer walk over 4 peaks whilst the shorter one would simply go up Pen y Fan and back.

King Triton and I (having maps and compasses) led and I suggested that we set a decent pace, which I heartily regretted when we started on the first hill to Fan Fawr. The rain had stopped but as we climbed we came into the low cloud. Half way up the hill we had formed our groups. Prince Eric’s fast group consisted of King Triton, Arista, King Triton, me, Ariel, Carlotta and Ursula (neither of whom were necessarily sure about being fast enough but wanted the longer walk). They were already unsure about this decision and I was realising my unfitness. King Triton and Arista – being unhumanly fit – ran off into the distance. King Triton and Ariel strode on with apparent ease. The ascent flattened out for a bit before a final, unnecessarily steep climb. By now King Triton was struggling. We took the hill in bite size chunks – picking a spot to aim for where we would pause. As we reached the top the weather started to lift and we could see the next hill, – with a deep valley between us and it.

Fan Fawr was just as steep to get down. We had left King Triton's tracks long ago and were making our way over reasonably wearing walking ground – uneven, marshy and with clumps of long grasses.

In the valley we needed to negotiate a small but deep and fast flowing stream. Prince Eric got himself over and with the help of a lot of hand holding we managed to cross. Having now been going for 3 hours Prince Eric, and in the warmth of the valley sun Prince Eric decided this would be a good time to stop for a few minutes for a quick snack.

King Triton and Arista had run off ahead. Several minutes later – having already climbed the hill – they came back down to find us.

Thus refreshed we started the climb. My legs were hurting but by now I had got my second wind and, despite the pain, was storming up the hill. Perhaps the BMF spirit had been re-kindled. Or maybe relics of the Commando Challenge mentality. I was surprised to now be leaving King Triton behind with Carlotta and Ursula.

Naturally there was yet another down and up to go. The downward slope was not too steep but was littered with a number of deep and narrow stream cuttings. There were also a couple of barbed wire fences to get over. Prince Eric was waiting at the bottom of the next, and final hill. We waited for everyone to catch up and then began.

By now Carlotta was starting to suffer. She turned to me to ask whether my legs were hurting. ‘Yes’ I told her, and then sped on up the hill. And they were hurting. My hamstrings were in agony and I motored up until the paid became too much, pausing for a few brief seconds when necessary.

Ariel was slightly ahead of me while Prince Eric, King Triton and Arista were small specks in the distance. The views were now stunning and the day had become very warm and sunny. The final hill was crushingly demoralising with numerous false summits which Ariel gently warned us about each time with comments such as ‘guys, you’re not going to like this’. By now most of us had resorted to swearing. The pace had never slackened and I don’t recall ever covering so much ground – and so many hills – so fast.

After a final push we finally made it to the summit. Prince Eric had called Chef Louis to find out how the other group were doing. Apparently one of them had very bad blisters and Aquata was exhausted. They hadn’t yet got up Pen Y fan but were heading back. Prince Eric told us to make our way down the hill and have lunch, then head back to Forest Lodge along the road (about 6 miles). He would run back – as would King Triton and Arista – then drive out to collect us before going on to pick up the other group.

We had a quick lunch at the bottom of the hill, feeling invigorated by our long walk and pleased in the end that we had picked the faster group. Ariel set a fast pace back along the road. In true BMF style we were not going to start relaxing now.

When Prince Eric did come out for us he commented that we were further along the road than he had expected us to be. Back at the farmhouse we showered, dressed, packed and cleaned up, expecting the other group at any time. But Prince Eric came back empty handed. They had moved from the agreed meet point.

He set off again to a new rendevous – and again came back empty handed. There were gates along the route that had been locked so he couldn’t get to them.

With everything cleaned away I asked Prince Eric whether there was anything I needed to hang around for or whether I could get going. He gave me a hug and let me on my way.

Now, on the drive back down to the M4 I was able to see the stunning hills of the Brecons that I had driven through on Friday night. Looking around you almost wanted to get out and climb them. All over again. For now I resisted and turned for home.