by Keith Kellett
The Welsh town of Llangollen stands near a canal of the same name, on the main London-Holyhead road. The road is now called the A5, and was first laid out by engineer Thomas Telford in the late 18th Century. This was once … and still is … the road on which you would travel to reach North Wales; it leads right across the country, eventually terminating at Holyhead on the island of Anglesey … a port you might use if you wanted to go to Ireland.
We visited Llangollen to see the famous Pontcysyllte Aqueduct, which carries the canal 126 feet above the valley or the River Dee, far below. But, before visiting the Aqueduct, we called at Plas Newydd, once home to the ‘Ladies of Llangollen’, which is open to the public.
I’d heard the expression ‘Ladies of Llangollen’ before, but wasn’t sure in what context. A girls’ school, maybe? No, they were a pair of women who, back in the 19th Century, were famed far and wide … ‘celebrities’ of the day, if you like. Now, if the ‘Ladies of Llangollen’ lived in this day and age, they would probably be described as ‘offbeat’, eccentric or quirky. That is, if they were noticed at all, for nowadays, it’s accepted that women may take an interest in poetry, literature and politics, and two women living together would hardly raise an eyebrow.
But, in the late 18th/early 19th Century, their behaviour was regarded as ‘scandalous’. (There have been suggestions that they were gay, but most authorities say there is no evidence to support this.)
Lady Eleanor Butler was the daughter of a noble family living in Ireland; her friend, several years younger, was an orphan, Sarah Ponsonby, who she’d met and befriended at a boarding school in Kilkenny. The friends decided to run away to England when Lady Eleanor’s family started making noises about sending her to a convent, because, at the age of 39, she still remained unmarried. Sarah, meanwhile, wished to escape the unwelcome attentions of her recently widowed guardian.
Their first attempt failed, but, in May 1778, they finally sailed for Milford Haven. They toured Wales for a short time, before they came to Llangollen, and declared it ‘… the beautifullest place in the world …’ and decided to settle there. They eventually rented a farm cottage called Pen-y-Maes, which they renamed Plas Newydd (New Hall). Here, they lived for almost 50 years, spending their time reading, writing and sketching and transforming the house and gardens.
While they wished to lead a life of ‘ … sweet and delicious retirement’, their story attracted a great many visitors, who often stopped by on their way to Snowdonia or Ireland, and their fame rapidly spread. Their visitors included Robert Southey, Sir Walter Scott, Josiah Wedgewood Sir Humphrey Davy and the Duke of Wellington. William Wordsworth also came, and wrote a poem describing Plas Newydd as ‘ … a low roofed cot’ …’ which, reportedly, didn’t find much favour with the ladies, who declared they could write better poetry themselves.
The house is laid out pretty well as the ladies would have known it, with many memorabilia of their famed visitors. But, what most visitors notice above all is the intricate wood carvings, which the ladies collected, and embellished both the interior and the exterior of the house. ‘Low roofed cot’ it may have been originally, but their constant additions made it well worth the visiting. But, it’s not all down to the Ladies. After their deaths, subsequent owners added their own embellishments. The gardens, although started by the Ladies, owe their present form to a Mr G.H. Robertson, who lived there in the 1890s.
In 1932, the house was acquired by Llangollen Urban District Council, and is today run as a museum by the Denbighshire County Council. But, in a way, it could be said that the Ladies are still here, for it has been said their shades still haunt the house. But, the staff have reported no sightings in 25 years, so that’s probably just a piece of romantic folklore.
If You Go:
♦ Llangollen is situated right on the A5 London-Holyhead trunk road.
♦ If you don’t have a car, the most convenient option is the National Express coaches Service No. NX 454; from London: 7.5 hrs; from Birmingham 4 hrs. (Change at Wrexham to WBT3, operated on behalf of National Express by GHA Coaches)
♦ The town does have a rail station, but this operates heritage trains only. The nearest rail station is at Wrexham (approx.. 10 miles) from where there’s a regular bus service (No 5) (www.arrivabus.co.uk/wales/services/5—wrexham-to-llangollen )
Accomodations:
♦ Details of accommodation, etc. in Llangollen can be found at www.llangollen.com
♦ Price lists and opening times for Plas Newydd are at www.denbighshire.gov.uk/en/visitor/places-to-visit/museums-and-historic-houses/plas-newydd.aspx
Warning – Make sure you have the right Plas Newydd; there’s another property of the same name in Anglesey.
About the author:
Having written as a hobby for many years while serving in the Royal Air Force, Keith Kellett saw no reason to discontinue his hobby when he retired. With time on his hands, he produced more work, and found, to his surprise, it ‘grew and grew’ and was good enough to finance his other hobbies; travelling, photography and computers. He is trying hard to prevent it from becoming a full-time job! He has published in many UK and overseas print magazines, and on the Web. He is presently trying to get his head around blogging, podcasting and video. Contact: keith-kellett@tinyworld.co.uk.
All photos are by Keith Kellett.
In search of peace and quiet, I traveled there at Easter, but of course any time of year is good. I stayed with my family in a little stone cottage outside the town of Dolgellau. The cottage was the first source of delight. It was converted from an old 16th century farm building, and although it has been fitted up with modern conveniences – there is no way I would stay anywhere without electricity! – it has kept much of the original character of the place.
The cottage was in a beautiful setting, with simply marvelous views – who can beat the majestic sight of a mountain rising in the distance?
We were determined to experience something of the long history of the town, starting with a visit to the great ruined arches of Cymer Abbey, [TOP PHOTO] founded there in 1198. It was a bit of a walk from the town, around two miles, but we had set off early and had plenty of time, so since it was a lovely day, off we went. It was very interesting to see the sight. The abbey remains are quite substantial, and it is easy to picture in the mind’s eye how it might once have been.
Back at Dolgellau, we were in the mood for a traditional tea, and we found just the place. A lovely little tea shop that used to be an ironmongery, with many of the old fixtures and fittings retained. A perfect setting for our traditional cream tea with home baked scones, local blackberry jam and a hot pot of tea. Who could ask for more?
After a couple of days spent in Dolgellau, we decided to change direction. Off we went to Blaenau and the unexpected treat of its steam railway. This was a matter of half an hour’s drive from where we were staying, and we were glad that we had hired a car for a few days, as it was well worth it. Blaenau is another historical town, but of another sort. This was the site of the famous slate mines that sent slate all around the world. Today it is a pretty little town, also with its share of tea shops. Don’t be surprised if the language you hear spoken around you there is not English, for this is still a stronghold of the Welsh language, the beautiful Celtic tongue spoken in the British isles long before the Germanic tribes first landed, bringing with them the languages that would later evolve into English. Welsh is a very different sort of tongue, soft on the ears and a musical pleasure to listen to.
Back to our walking the next day, we decided to drive for a couple of miles and start our walk from another spot, to see something different. We were to be well rewarded with the beautiful view of Cregennen Lake. Looking out over the water, it was easy to see how the great myths and legends of our forebears arose. I could well picture a hand rising up through the mist shrouded waters of just such a lake, or imagine water spirits and goddesses of the land.
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The city of Oxford is spread out before me as I stand on the tower parapet of the Church of St. Mary the Virgin. The staircase is a narrow, twisting spiral, challenging to manoeuvre as I squeezed past people who were coming down. The climb is one hundred and twenty four steps to get to the walkway just below the spire, but once up there I can see a complete three hundred and sixty degree view of Oxford. The buildings are nestled very closely together, made of honey-coloured limestone lit up in the sunshine. It is breezy at the top. I tie my scarf more tightly so that it won’t blow off and flutter over the wall. The stone figures on the walls play tricks on my eyes and look like they are about to crawl down to the next level. They have postures like Gollum crouching, ready to leap from place to place.
He smiles mischievously. “It is actually called Hertford Bridge and looks more like the Rialto Bridge in Venice. They are often confused. When we get back down to ground level, shall we hunt for a place to eat?” Kevin suggests.
We headed back down to the street to explore the sights of this over eight hundred year old city.
I walked with my family down the cobblestone streets to a charming pub called “The Eagle and Child”. The building is lopsided due to its age, and several additions have been made to it over time, so the rooms are angled in odd ways. The little nooks and crannies have intimate spaces filled with small tables and chairs arranged for private conversations and philosophical discussions. The walls are covered with paintings and sketches of famous personages like J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. I was in awe that I walked on the floor and sat in the building where these creators of famous literature regularly met.
“Good afternoon everyone and welcome to the Bodleian Library.” The guide greets us and beckons the group to come closer. “You are probably curious about my accent. You can tell that I am not from here, I am American. I came to Oxford for a visit several years ago and fell in love with the city.” She says with a warm smile. “I decided that I wanted to be a part of it, so I am a volunteer in the Bodleian and give tours. I am excited to begin and share as much information about it as I can in this brief hour. Let’s begin, this room was used as the hospital in the Harry Potter movies.” She keenly announces.
Across the square from the Bodleian is the Sheldonian Theatre built by Sir Christopher Wren. To my surprise the theatre is not used to perform plays, but hosts concerts and degree ceremonies.
The buildings are interspersed with gardens and lawns that offer a resting place to calm my mind. I learned extensive information about the people, architecture and history that seeps from every brick.
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Arriving from the south, Robin Hood’s Bay is visible miles away; from a jutting limestone headland just past Ravenscar, one of a few villages on the walk. The approach to Robin Hood’s Bay at low tide is on a long stretch of sandy beach, with some rocks and pools along the way. The sea covers most of the beach at high tide; reuniting with the high cliffs in the evening like a blanket being tucked between bed and wall.
The age of Robin Hood’s Bay is unknown, as it was a thriving village of fifty cottages when first recorded in 1540 by Leland, King Henry VIII’s topographer. In the following century it was recorded on Dutch sea charts, which omitted Whitby; RHB’s now much larger northern neighbour. The origins of RHB’s name are also unclear, with no recorded reference to the famous outlaw of Sherwood Forest. That legend did become popular in the 15th century though, with the first recorded ballad dated to 1450, around the same time that the Yorkshire village was thought to be growing. If Robin Hood was the John Lennon of his time, then it seems likely that people would want to name things after him. However, the local history society believe it is more likely that the name derived from ancient woodland spirits, such as Robin Goodfellow, who preceded the now more famous Medieval rebel, and may have played a part in creating the green Sherwood Forest legend, rather than Hood influencing other contemporary things.
The area does seem to have thrived on independence from outside control and taxes, as the legendary Robin Hood did, with the local history society writing there is no doubt that Robin Hood’s Bay was the busiest smuggling village on the Yorkshire coast by the 18th century. That coastal culture was made famous in the 
and television series. I watched the original series as a child in the 1970s, and maybe that is why I have been so excited by Robin Hood’s Bay. I also first watched the Kidnapped film around that time, which is another seafaring story set in the 18th century.
Smuggling was not the only activity dividing village and rulers, as on the other side there was something that looks even more evil in history: Press Gangs were sent into villages such as Robin Hood’s Bay to find and kidnap men for the Royal Navy. Those pressed into service were unlikely to return. It is easy to imagine the drama of the 18th century in the compact steep closely-knit village that still structurally exists, with contraband passed through windows from harbour to hilltop without touching the ground; or the women banging drums when Press Gangs were spotted, and the men running to hide.
When I finished my walk from Scarborough I had to find the campsite a couple of miles farther north of the village. After stopping to take too many photos it was totally dark by then, but I was compensated by a clear night providing an amazing countryside view of the sky, after becoming used to inner city light pollution skies. Looking upwards at regular intervals for long periods of time delayed me further, but as Downhill showed, it’s not all about keeping to time, but what you see and learn along the way.
Instead, I walked back to Whitby, completing another section of the Cleveland Way. Staithes is ten miles above the town famous for Dracula’s fictional landing in England, while Robin Hood’s Bay is five miles below. As with my walk from Scarborough, I took too many photos and made slower progress than planned. Thankfully, I reached Whitby fifteen minutes before the last bus back to Leeds.
That was the last hiking I did, but watching Downhill has made me want to complete both The Cleveland Way and Coast to Coast walks. Hopefully I will one day hike both, finding more short uphill peaks on my long winding downhill descent into old age.
Ilkley is a picturesque town in the Wharfe Valley, with the Wharfe river on its eastern side, and a rock plateau rising above the western. The latter is known as Ilkley Moor, and is the subject of Yorkshire’s unofficial anthem, On Ilkla Moor Baht ‘at. The song is about a man courting a woman while questioning her decision to walk on the moor without a hat – bar hat. The first published version of the song dates from 1916, so it is a century old this year; although it is thought to have been sung as a folk song for a couple of generations before being written down. The Cow and Calf rocks on the southern edge of the moor are popular landmarks, as well as providing small sheer cliff-faces to climb.
That era was brought to an end about 2000 years ago, when a large local force known as the Brigantes fought with the Romans in the area. The Brigantes are thought to have been a conglomeration of smaller tribes, and the unified organisation of the Romans meant they subdued the local warriors, although there were constant rebellions against the occupiers. There is evidence of a Roman fort in Ilkley dated to about AD 80, although the town has been built around it. Ilkley became a popular spa town in the nineteenth century, and Victorian architecture still provides a window into that world.
Skipton Castle was built in 1090 by Normans who had recently defeated Anglo-Saxon King Harold at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Hastings is in the south of England, and one of the reasons for Harold’s defeat is that many in his army had only just returned from defeating a Viking invasion led by Harald Hardrada and Tostig in the east Yorkshire Battle of Stamford Bridge.
The last Clifford, Lady Anne, planted the yew tree that still stands in the Tudor-era Conduit courtyard. It is a fine sight on a sunny summer day, with its greenery rising high enough atop a twisting trunk to feel the warmth of sky above the castle walls.
Skipton is the local gateway to the Yorkshire Dales National Park, with buses weaving out from the town along country lanes to picturesque stone-built villages. A few miles from Skipton is Malham. The small village is famous for its 260-feet high limestone cove and paving, which was the setting for a scene in Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows Part 1.
There is evidence of 4000-year-old buildings on Ingleborough, and the second part of its name derives from burh, an Old English word for a fortified place. It has been assumed for years that it was a hillfort village, but an information board on one of its paths advises that a newer theory argues it could have been a special location for spiritual occasions, like Stonehenge in the south.
Renowned hiker and writer Alfred Wainwright considered the hike around Ingleborough from Clapham to Horton-in-Ribblesdale his favourite in the Yorkshire Dales. The last time I looked in that direction, crepuscular rays fell from thick clouds over the valley in the distance, while snow brightened the foreground fields. Limestone pavements decorate large areas of greenery, with lonely hawthorn and rowan trees, or big boulders, sometimes ornamenting them.
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