Around Britain

At last I can resume Around Britain. Covid restrictions have eased with hotels open and restaurants allowed to serve people inside.

Just before leaving home for the station I saw that my Senior Railcard had expired in August last year. I'd already bought my tickets through Trainline on the basis that I had the Railcard. I called at Victoria Station to renew and proceeded to Paddington to catch the Swansea train. No one checked my ticket on the journey and I didn't see any strangers sitting next to each other. That might, however, have been due to the shortage of passengers rather than social distancing.

My intention was to walk from Swansea to Port Talbot and then return by train to Swansea where I'd booked my hotel. Swansea gave me the better chance of a decent meal. When I realized that the train stopped at Port Talbot Parkway I decided to save time by doing this stretch in the opposite direction. I left the A4241 in Aberavon and took minor roads all the way to Neath where I passed underneath the M4 as it soared on its viaduct over the River Neath. I crossed on the road bridge just upstream. This delivered me onto the A483 and the Welsh Coast Path (WCP) ran alongside it until it escaped onto the B4290. At Jersey Marine the WCP took the path beside the Tennant Canal. As it approached Swansea the canal became completely clogged with reeds. It was built in 1821 and connects with the Neath Canal at Aberdulais. It's 8 miles long and crosses the River Neath on a viaduct.

Google Maps then guided me to the Premier Inn near the City Centre not far from the Marina and a giant Sainsburys where I hoped to get my papers when it opened at 7 the next morning.

Later I found an excellent Italian restaurant next to ruined Castle. Founded in the 12th century, parts of the castle have been used as a bottle factory, a workhouse, a post office and a military drill hall.

Distance today 9.84 miles; total 3155.2

I caught a train at Swansea to Port Talbot Parkway to continue my walk in the right direction this time. I found a route under the M4 and then sat on some steps working out where the WCP might be. A woman walking her dog asked “Are you lost?” I said I wasn't but asked her where the WCP might be. She gave me some advice which proved sound.

I climbed steadily on a narrow path and achieved a fine view of Port Talbot Steel Works and the giant funnel which, in blue lettering, spelt out Tata Steel. Smoke spewed from several orifices. The Works cover a large area south east of the town (Port Talbot) and its station. It's the largest steel maker in the U.K. and employs 4,000 people.

The path descended to a farm and housing where I was directed to a wide track climbing gently beside a stream. The WCP signs now stopped but, given the lack of any alternative routes, this didn't worry me. When I came to a fork without any sign, I chose the right hand side. This led me over a stream and up to a small reservoir. This was a popular spot and several couples and family groups had made it this far. I took a path beyond the water that was so steep that I was on my hands and knees. At the summit this proved to be a dead end but it gave me a view of a path on the far side of a small valley with a stream running along the bottom. Impenetrable vegetation on downward and upwards slopes separated me from this path. I had to retrace my steps and take the left hand fork by the stream I'd crossed earlier. Once I'd made it to the path I'd seen from the summit, I climbed steadily. Near the top I turned to take in the view. This was still dominated by the steel works.

By now I accepted that I'd gone wrong. I hadn't seen a WCP sign for ages. The map was clear that I shouldn't have strayed so far from the M4. However, I was now totally committed and pressed ahead on a track which entered a gloomy forest. Apart from a couple I spoke to at the start of the climb beyond the reservoir, I saw not a soul. The man was heavily built and had expressed a preference for a pint of bitter over continued exertion in the heat.

At a T-junction a track to the right left the forest for green pastures in the direction of the sea. A distant town might have been Pyle which was on my route. With the trees behind me, I opted for a strong path through fields in what I thought was a promising direction. The landscape opened up before me to reveal Port Talbot Steel Works. I still believed in my path but it reached a field gate and stopped. Horses watched me as I pondered what to do. A black stallion accepted handfuls of rich grass. He ate them greedily having stripped bare the field he was in.

I decided to go through the field gate even though no continuation of the path was apparent. I followed the field edge until a group of horses caused me to deviate across the field towards a gap in the hedge. As I came up to it I saw that it was protected by a strong high wire fence with two strands of barbed wire at the top. Enticed by a patch of short grass on the far side which might have been a path, I decided to climb over, aided by the stout branches of an overhanging tree. Suffering only one injury to a finger which bled profusely, I landed heavily on the far side to discover that there was indeed a path. I headed away from the steel works. Soon I met another walker who confirmed I was on the WCP. Elated I pressed on.

The path joined a road and then headed back the way I'd come albeit at a lower level. I passed by a ruined church. The path continued to descend and I had to stay with it. It came out at a small lake with an adjacent car park. Paths stretched away towards National Parks in the hills dozens of kilometres distant. A WCP sign drew me further downhill until I reached the A38.

I was near Margam, a suburb of Port Talbot. I'd just been in Margam Country Park which extends to 840 acres. The ruins of Margam Abbey, founded in 1147, stand in the Park. The nave of the Abbey church has been incorporated into the local Parish church.

The WCP now ran alongside the A38, a busy road. This was not the sort of walking I'd travelled here to enjoy but time was ebbing away. I had to use the pavement running alongside the main road. At Pyle I eased my thirst by purchasing at a garage another bottle of water and a Frappachino, an iced coffee drink. This transformed my mood which had gone downhill each time a sighting of the steel works confirmed my lack of progress.

I found the minor road which ran over the railway and under the M4 on its way to Bridgend. There I caught the 6.01 train back to Swansea and my hotel.

Mileage 16.41; total 3171.61

I wasted time in Swansea hunting down a copy of the Financial Times. This meant I didn't reach Bridgend Station until 10.30. I set off at once heading due south into a warm and sunny day. At Ewenny I turned south east but lack of attention at a junction meant that I was travelling too far to the south towards Wick. I only realized my error when I heard a train close by in an area I'd thought to be without railway lines. The positioning of a stream and a railway bridge confirmed that I was adrift.

I decided to press on even though this meant a spell on the B4265 which might be busy. It was but only intermittently. There was no pavement and often no verge either on a fast road. I mitigate risk by trying always to walk on the outside of bends to give drivers an early sighting of the hazard ahead. I was off that road in under two miles onto a tertiary rated yellow road. I always hope for quiet and solitude on these roads despite frequent disappointments. Operations such as recycling also seem in pursuit of the same conditions as myself only to destroy them.

After crossing a railway line I went wrong at a fork. Instead of crossing the B4270 heading east, I dropped south to reach the B4265 again. I crossed it to enter Llantwit Major. This had a park with benches where I stopped to replace the bandaging on a burst blister.. I walked on to Boverton on a yellow road which eventually rejoined the B4265. I decided not to endure this road but, instead, to take a winding local road around housing estates and an aerodrome until it reconnected with the B road further east at St. Athan. I saw large aircraft parked and warning notices that entry to the area around the runway and taking photos was a breach of the Official Secrets Act.

My renewed encounter with the now very busy B4625 was mercifully brief. I crossed the River Thaw and passed a large cement works with an adjoining quarry before turning right onto the road to Rhoose. I was now close to the seashore of which I had occasional glimpses. A railway ran between the shore and the road.

I reached my hotel next to Cardiff Airport at about 6 p.m. only to be told that the restaurant was closed due to Covid. A combination of prolonged exposure to the sun, no food since a continental breakfast and tiredness meant that I didn't react well to this news. An understanding woman at reception (probably the owner or manager) suggested that I took a shower and rested for a while and then we could sort things out. I accepted her sensible advice.

Later the same woman handed me five leaflets extolling the merits of five takeaways in Barry, the nearest town. I ordered a veggy pizza. Breakfast would be handed to me in a bag at 6.30 a.m. by the night porter. This would feature a sausage, egg and bacon bap. I opted out of the sausage. I asked the woman when the hotel had re-opened and she said that it had never closed. The local Council had asked them to provide accommodation for key workers and other placements who lacked housing leaving a third of the rooms for other guests. The other placements were not necessarily the homeless. Three of the families had suffered fires in their own homes. The Holiday Inn Express nearby had 110 rooms and the Council booked all of them.

Whilst waiting for my pizza I said I fancied a beer so she led me to an empty bar. The woman switched on the lights but I stopped her from switching on the T.V. as I wanted to read my papers. There was no stout on offer but I was happy to settle for a pint of John Smith's bitter. Much to my surprise the woman refused to accept any payment due, she said, to a mark on the beer glass. I couldn't see one.

My 12 inch pizza arrived. Bits of veg were sunk into an ocean of melted mozzarella. I choked down just over half leaving the crusts and then had to stop. I didn't have much beer left so I asked for it to be topped up with a half pint. The woman filled my glass so I said I'd pay for a pint. She was adamant that she's only accept payment for a half.

I felt so sleepy that I couldn't write up these notes. I had to leave it until I returned home.

18.28 today; total 3189.89

I collected my breakfast bag from the night porter at 6.30 a.m. The main item was a bacon and egg bap. I didn't fancy it all and binned it after three or four bites. Fortunately there was a fruit juice and a yoghurt. I took with me from the breakfast bag a croissant, a muffin, an alpen bar and an apple to eat later. My train at Cardiff Central Station was due at 2.18 p.m. and I wanted to be at the station long before then.

By 7 o'clock I was striding out into another warm dry day. At first I retraced my steps until a turn off to Porthkerry. It didn't look promising as the only sign indicated a path to the beach to the side of an imposing private house. A woman taking her Labradors for an early walk reassured me. I was headed for Porthkerry Country Park and beyond that lay Barry. The park had a large flat grassed area surrounded by woodland. I reached the exit on the far side and entered Barry. I stayed high up above the docks area until descending to the Memorial Hall, the Civic Offices and a huge Public Library. A section of the A4055 had to be endured until I reached the right turn onto the B4267 to Sully.

In 1871 Barry was an agricultural community with a population not much more than a hundred. However, the Cardiff docks in Tiger Bay were unable to handle the increase in the coal trade. Colliery owners combined to build the Barry Railway Company which brought to Barry coal from the mines in the South Wales valleys. Trade grew to nine million tons by 1903. By 1913 Barry was the largest coal exporting port in the world. Now there's a mass of housing on the slopes leading down to the docks.

Beyond Sully I took a minor road heading north between Dinas Powys and Penarth on the coast. This took me into the Cardiff conurbation. I lost time due to their being no overlap between my adjoining map copies. This meant that it was hard to relate one map to the next in the jumble of streets. Google Maps was also giving instructions that I sometimes found confusing. However, with the help of directions from two kindly locals, I reached the station with a good hour to spare.

Mileage today 13.44; total 3203.33.

I arrived at Paddington Station with a ticket and a seat reservation for Carriage J. The carriages were designated from A to F. No member of staff was to be seen. I took a seat in the front carriage and waited to be turned out of it by someone who'd reserved that seat. Carriages E and F were 1st class and nearly empty. I prepared for battle with the ticket inspector as I planned to take a 1st class seat if there was no alternative. No one claimed my seat or even the one next to it. I could never really relax as those boarding at each station presented a new threat. Eventually I concluded that I'd taken an unreserved seat.

At Cardiff Central Station I loitered in the forecourt hoping the rain would ease. I bought a baguette at Upper Crust. By 11 a.m. I'd been waiting 20 minutes. The rain wasn't going to stop so I stepped out. In the mass of streets on my O.S. Map I soon lost my exact position. However, various clues confirmed that I was heading east as intended. I passed a University building and continued on a main road which went underneath a railway. On a quiet suburban street I noticed a railway running parallel to my left. This led me to the A469 heading north to Caerphilly and Merthyr Tydfil. Across that road I could see a church with a tower. If a church with a spire appeared close by I'd know my exact position. I spotted the spire just as the rain increased its intensity. Using a 50,000 to 1 O.S. Map in a big city is not easy when its raining hard and you have to put on your reading glasses every time you look at it. Obviously the map has no street names. I didn't want to use Google Maps this early in the day as my phone doesn't hold its charge well and I needed it to find my hotel.

I now followed the A4161 past a retail park close to the A48, a major road which later joins the M4. This led me to the B4487 called the Newport Road, presumably the main route to Newport before the major new roads were constructed. For a B road it was very busy. I passed an old milestone stating that London was 155 miles and Newport 9. The road took me to Old St. Mellons. When it came close to the A48, I turned south at a roundabout onto a yellow (3rd category) road but, curiously, a dual carriageway. I left this to enter an industrial estate where Kier, the construction firm, had a building. Shortly afterwards I sat on a bench in the village of Marshfield to study the map. The rain reasserted itself so I moved on to enter the Gwent Levels.

Gwent Levels is an area without contours which claims to have 1,400 kilometres of ditches to take the water flowing from the uplands visible through the rain beyond the A48 and M4. It was the scene of one of the biggest natural disasters in Britain when the area was flooded on 30 January 1607. 200 square miles were inundated, around two thousand people drowned, homes and villages washed away and farm animals lost. In an area where peat has been laid down so called “bog oaks” were found and discovered to be 10,000 years old. The main ditches are called reens and I followed Percoed Reen for a while. The water was fringed and sometimes covered by reeds. Duck weed flourished as the water didn't seem to flow at all. A heron flew lazily away so there must have been fish in the reens. The narrow road was replaced by a well made path. I was on Cycle Route 88 and an occasional cyclist went by, also a cheerful group of cyclists and one solitary walker.

The cycle route led me into a new housing estate which was still 4 miles from the centre of Newport. I crossed the Lime Kiln Bridge over a multi-tracked railway and then the impressive steel structure of the Transporter Bridge came into view. Built in 1906, twin supports held up a high cross section. From this would hang a gondola which was moved back and forth over the River Usk by a mechanism on the cross section. Thereby vehicles and other loads on the gondola were moved across the water. Two factors made such a bridge convenient. Firstly, at low tide no ferry would be able to operate. Secondly, the riverbanks were low. For any bridge to be high enough to permit the passing of ships, there would have to be a long approach road on each side of the river to achieve the necessary height at a reasonable gradient.

At this point I turned on Google Maps to find my hotel in Bridge Street. On the way I walked along Commercial Road which demonstrated that ethnic communities were well established here. Many of the shops were run by them and there was a mosque. As I approached the City Centre I became aware of what seemed to be an altercation on the pavement ahead. An irate man wielding a billiard cue was shouting furiously. A passer by courageously asked the man being shouted at whether he needed help. He said he didn't. I walked past but, shortly afterwards, the angry man, still gripping his cue, jogged by and entered a sports goods shop. At least he'd stopped shouting.

The two receptionists at the Queen's Hotel told me that neither breakfast nor an evening meal was available. When I expressed surprise one of them said “It's a hotel. It just provides accommodation.” I'd noticed a MacDonalds and a Burger King in the centre of town so I asked if they could recommend a restaurant a notch up from that. They said I should go to Friars Walk. “Where's that?” “You'll find it on your phone.”

Friars Walk turned out to be a multi-storey building with amusement arcades, ten pin bowling, shops and a cluster of restaurants. Pierre Bistro was fully booked. I joined queues for other restaurants. People were being told to wait or being turned away. Nando's didn't seem so much in demand so I tried that although the menu looked burger heavy. However, I was a single and I've had experience in the past of being turned away by restaurants preferring couples or larger groups. A friendly girl said I had to download the Nando's Ap to gain admission as I didn't have the NHS Ap. She took me through the process which included photocopying a QR Code. My problems didn't end there. At the table I was told the restaurant didn't use paper menus. I had to photo another QR Code on the table and key in my table number. A menu would then appear on my phone and I could make my choice. I knew that, even if I attempted the process, I'd lack confidence that my order had been received. The kind girl who'd negotiated me through the entry procedure relented, found me a printed menu and assigned me a waitress who'd take my order. I needed that large glass of red wine.

Mileage 14.69; total 3218.02

The shower gushed torrents of water which remained cold so I decided to forego cleanliness. After writing my notes about yesterday, I returned to the cafe in Friars Walk which had said it would open at 9 a.m. for breakfast. It was open and already had two customers. I enjoyed a large latte, a toasted fruit scone and a ham and cheese toastie. Thus fortified I crossed the bridge over the River Usk with a ruined castle at one end. Newport being a smaller city (albeit the third city of Wales), it was easy to follow my route out on the O.S. Map. I crossed the A48 which forms the boundary on Newport's south eastern side. Immediately I found myself in Newport's Sports Village which seemed to have extensive facilities. I then joined a cycle route heading east over levels similar to those encountered yesterday. Multiple lines of electricity pylons converged on a National Grid Depot directly south of Llanwern Steel Works. At its entrance there was a warning of a 400,000 volt shock for those considering an entry without authority.

After crossing the A48 again, I entered Magor on a bridge over the railway which hugs the town on its southern side. I inspected the ruins of the Procurator's grand house near the church. In the 14th century the Procurator was a powerful figure in this part of Wales. He had a judicial role settling disputes on rates of pay and boundaries. Being an appointment of the Catholic Church, he collected rents and other dues which were then sent to Rome.

I entered Magor's square where many businesses congregated including the Golden Lion pub. This served me a fruit juice and a rather flavourless but probably nutritious bowl of carrot and coriander soup with bread. I was later to be thankful for this as I'd expected to have nothing until the evening.

Whilst waiting to be served in the pub, I reconsidered my route to Chepstow. I'd planned to go east through Caldicott and Portskewett but this depended on the Welsh Coastal Path. That path, or sections of it, are little used and therefore unreliable. The only alternative was the A48 which was to be avoided at all costs. I decided to go north into upland country and approach Chepstow from the west not the south. This worked well for a while. I passed under the M4 and through the villages/hamlets of St. Bride's Netherwent, Carrow Hill, Trewen and Llanvair Discoed to reach Shirenewton. There I planned to follow the cycle route into Chepstow. A sign to Chepstow took me to the B4236 instead where a sign said that Chepstow was 5 miles away. I was too shattered to return to Shirenewton to find out where I'd gone wrong. It was already 5.20 and I couldn't afford a second mistake. Fortunately the road wasn't too busy on a Sunday evening and I reached the A466 on the edge of Chepstow by 6.30. Walking 5 miles in one hour ten minutes is so far above my normal pace of around 3 mph that the distance must have been overstated.

I had an easy descent into the town on the B4293. In the distance I could see the Severn Road Bridge which I must cross tomorrow. There hadn't been a drop of rain today. With help from an elderly local resting on his stick outside his house, I found the Three Tuns Inn. There was a queue out into the street for the bar. I queue jumped on the basis that I was staying in the pub which the crowd accepted with good humour. The pub garden was full of customers enjoying themselves. A young man showed me to my room which was fine, although the ensuite facilities were crammed into what looked like a wardrobe. There were generous supplies of custard cream biscuits as if the room was intended for a couple. Gold chocolate coins rested on both sets of towels. I texted Polly that I'd arrived but not to phone for ten minutes. This gave me time to make a cup of tea and ease off my shoes.

The pub offered no sensible food and the man behind the bar shook his head at the mere idea of getting a meal at this hour when normal people would have had a Sunday lunch. The young man at the bar took me outside and directed me to a nearby street where two restaurants would be open. I chose the Lime Tree pub over Wetherspoons. A quiz was in progress. There was no escaping this as questions were blasted out by loudspeaker on both floors. One section involved pop music which one was expected to identify on the basis of short extracts. Questions about East Enders and other TV programmes floored me but I was able to answer at least one of the film questions. I believe I got the last of the general knowledge questions but, after eating my steak pie and drinking my pint, I didn't stay to find out.

Mileage today 20.39; total 3238.41.