Airminded» Travel 2009

England and Wales

Brett Holman — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 13:13:37 +0000

I've finally run out of photos from last year's trip to the UK -- well, almost! Here are some miscellaneous shots which didn't make it into the previous posts.

One of the reasons I went to Cornwall was because that's where my family came from (the paternal line, at least). I didn't meet any other Holmans there, but I did find evidence of their existence, such as this sign in Truro.

In Camborne there's this ... industrial thingy ... made by Holman Brothers, a manufacturing firm which exported mining equipment around the world in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Today the company is part of CompAir, but it's nice to see that they remember their heritage.

The ghost sign here reads, in part, 'HOLMAN BROS. LTD' and adorns a faded part of their former Camborne empire. It's still not clear if they're any relation or not, but some of my mob were mining engineers and Tremayne is not far away.

Newport Castle, as seen from the town centre.

There's not much of it left, sadly. It was built in the mid-14th century and sacked less than a century later. It's on the banks of the river Usk, which clearly has a very large tidal range.

Wedding photos in the amphitheater at Caerleon. Makes a nice change from the local youth their practicing knifecrime.

Quite possibly the worst TARDIS ever made. It needs another coat of paint, one of the signs is wonky, there's gold foil on the windows and ... it's on wheels. I won't say who is responsible for it, except that it's in Cardiff, where people really ought to know better.

Another bit of castle, this time in Swansea.

A very old house in Conwy (the sign over the door says 1589). It's not a tourist attraction, it didn't even have a plaque. But internet sources tell me it was built for the Vicar of Conwy and later became the Black Lion Inn. The wharf is just behind so no doubt it was frequented by nautical types.

Across the road is Aberconwy House, which I've already mentioned. I wasn't hugely enthralled by it, but I can recommend the National Trust shop in the basement if you're in Conwy and in need of an umbrella.

I think I've mentioned that I could see Conwy Castle from my hotel window: here's the proof.

The same view without the window frame.

Conwy boasts The Smallest House in Great Britain. I guess it's pretty small, but really it could be smaller. So I faked a tilt-shift and I reckon it's now appropriately tiny.

The view from Llandudno Pier. There seemed to be more windfarms about this time compared with 2007. Or maybe I was just travelling in windier parts of the country.

A big anchor in Caernarfon, belonging to HMS Conway, which ran aground in the Menai Strait in 1953. It's sitting in front of a small maritime museum, which I sadly didn't get to have a look at.

One of the few photos I took in London -- St Pancras International, the new Eurostar terminus, which was still under construction when I was last there. It's lovely.

Lover-ly, even.

This is the man who wanted Slough erased from the face of the Earth, and they build him a statue. Madness.

The great airship sheds at Cardington, where R31, R38 and R101 were all built.

The first shed, which goes back to 1916 (the other was brought down from Pulham in the 1920s). The site was originally owned by Short Brothers, but eventually became RAF Cardington. For the Second World War it churned out barrage balloons. It's been used for movies (both as a location and to house stages) but it'd make a great airship museum, don't you think?

A different view of the Shuttleworth Collection's Comet.

The day I was at Duxford was also the day a horde of bus enthusiasts descended on the place. Unlike aeroplane anoraks, bus anoraks are clearly deranged. But I will admit that this bus (a postwar Crossley DD42) is quite charming.

A hangar door at North Weald. It doesn't show up very clearly, but on the lower part there is still scarring from a near-miss during the Battle of Britain.

And that's it. I did briefly spy Tower Bridge while changing trains once, and I spotted a fox running down a street in Peckham, and had a thoroughly enjoyable pub meetup with Alex, Jakob, Lester, Neil, Ross and Simon (I think that's everyone!). A few days' research at Colindale, a little bit of shopping and then a rush at the end when I realised that I (or at any rate, the plane I was booked on) was leaving 24 hours earlier than I thought! And then it was all over. Until the next time ...

This post relates to my trip to England and Wales in September 2009.

Duxford and North Weald

Brett Holman — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 13:51:40 +0000

The day after the Shuttleworth Collection visit, Trevor again kindly offered his services as chauffeur and guide, this time to Imperial War Museum Duxford. I'd only been to IWM London on my first visit to London; since IWM Duxford has a specific aviation focus I was keen to rectify its omission!

Along with a Victor, this Avro Shackleton stood outside for a long time, exposed to the elements. They're both now inside; although they haven't been restored (by the looks of them), at least they won't deteriorate so rapidly. The Shackleton (a Cold War descendant of the Lancaster, via the Lincoln) was designed for maritime patrol and ASW. The cannon seem optimistic: it's hard to imagine they would be much use against Soviet fighters, for example.

Inside the AirSpace hangar, which is devoted to British and Commonwealth (okay, mainly British) aviation. On the left is a BAC TSR-2, which has a oddly-menacing look; on the right an Avro Vulcan. The helicopter is a Westland Wessex and suspended from the ceiling is an English Electric Canberra. Canberras entered RAF service as bombers in 1951 and retired only in 2006, by which time they had long been converted to the photo-reconnaissance role. Australia, India and even the US used Canberras, so it wasn't just the British who liked them.

A de Havilland DH.9 bomber -- restored after eight decades in a maharajah's storeroom! Behind is a much later de Havilland, the Comet in BOAC livery. The world's first jet airliner, as I'm sure everybody knows.

Very pretty for a transporter, the Handley Page Hastings.

My second Short Sunderland, after the RAF Museum's one. Above are an R.E.8 and a Hawker Siddeley Harrier.

I can now tell people I've been on Concorde. I don't have to mention the fact that it was stuck firmly on the ground, do I?

An English Electric Lightning. A big, and fast, bruiser.

This shows how crowded AirSpace is. Apart from the aircraft I've already named above, there's an Avro Lancaster, a Westland Lysander, a Gloster Meteor, a Supermarine Spitfire -- and a few others left as an exercise for the reader.

The ultimate art deco aeroplane: a de Havilland Dragon Rapide. Based at Duxford but privately-owned.

The last time I'd seen a Brisfit, it was in the air ...

This was probably the one thing I most wanted to see at Duxford. Yes, it just looks like a big wooden wheel, and in fact it is a big wooden wheel. From a big wooden bomber, the German Poll triplane. It was never finished; parts were found in a hangar near Cologne in 1919 by Allied inspectors. It would have had ten engines, a wingspan of 165 feet and an endurance of 80 hours -- enough to reach New York with a payload of bombs (or leaflets, though why would they bother?) If it had managed to fly at all, of course.

Another war relic.

An ex-Hungarian Air Force MiG-21. With over 11,000 built between 1959 and 1985, it must have been about the world's last truly mass-produced combat aircraft.

An Avro Rota. As Samuel Johnson said, "When a man is tired of autogyros, he is tired of life."

Hangar 5 is where preservation and restoration work takes place. Here's an ex-Spanish Air Force He 111 which seems to be missing a few parts.

This Mi-21 Hind gunship has also seen better days. Hinds have been involved in some 23 conflicts since 1977, though I don't think this one was as it came from East Germany.

A Ju/52m which could have come straight from the title sequences of Where Eagles Dare.

Duxford was a former RAF airfield, part of 12 Group during the Battle of Britain. It has been relatively well-preserved, aside from the odd First World War hangar blown up for the cameras every now and then. The Sector Operations Room is still standing; it was from here that fighters were directed onto incoming German bomber formations. If I read these plotting markers right, there is a flight from each of 19 and 310 Squadrons climbing from Duxford to intercept two German formations at 15,000 feet, one with 30+ aircraft and the other with 90+. Good luck chaps!

A captured German radar, Giant Würzburg type.

The interesting thing here is not the V-1, which is a replica, but the V-1 launching ramp, which is genuine.

Between 1943 and 1945, Duxford operated as a USAAF fighter base, which is a good enough reason for it to host the American Air Museum. In the centre is a Boeing B-52, diving behind it is a North American Super Sabre, and in the foreground to the right is a General Dynamics F-111.

The Boeing Kaydet (AKA Stearman), a ubiquitous trainer (at least in the West, where Tiger Moths weren't).

The Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird first flew in 1964, but still oozes futurity more than just about any other aeroplane ever made. It also still holds the world speed record for air-breathing aircraft, at 3530 km/h (Mach 3.2).

A rather more sedate Boeing B-17 ...

... one of a matching pair!

There was so much to see at Duxford and I didn't see everything by a long shot before closing time. But on our way back to London, Trevor had a surprise for me -- a visit to North Weald, another RAF station from the days of the Battle of Britain (both of them, in fact). It's now a private airfield, one which is favoured by a number of vintage aircraft operators, including Hangar 11 (above).

We missed seeing it fly, but were in time to see this immaculate Curtiss P-40 Kittyhawk being wheeled back into the hangar.

Inside, there was a North American P-51 Mustang.

And a Hawker Hurricane IIB 'Hurribomber'. It's been painted in the colours of a Hurricane last flown by an Australian of 174 Squadron (he was shot down and captured during the Dieppe Raid), and so it was quite appropriate that I got to help shift it to make more room for the Kittyhawk!

After that it was off to The Squadron for a few pints and then back to London. All in all, a pretty good day.

This post relates to my trip to England and Wales in September 2009.

Shuttleworth Collection

Brett Holman — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 14:26:40 +0000

The final stop on my trip was London, where I stayed for most of a week (thanks, Jakob and Sarah, for putting me up!) I had big plans, but ended up spending most of my time at British Library Newspapers doing research for an article. But first I got to spend a weekend looking at old aeroplanes, thanks to JDK who put me in touch with Trevor, who kindly offered his services as a chauffeur and guide. On the Saturday, we visited the fabled Shuttleworth Collection at Old Warden in Bedfordshire, which was holding an evening flying display.

The collection consists of both vintage aeroplanes and vintage automobiles, nearly all from before the Second World War: here is a Hawker Demon interceptor, the Napier-Railton racing car (actually a visitor from Brooklands) and a 1920 Hucks starter.

(The Hucks starter is used to start the propeller spinning, instead of doing it by hand. All the mod cons here.)

The wonderful thing about the Shuttleworth Collection is that so many of its aircraft can and do fly. (The cars can drive too, but I readily confess to being less interested in that.) This Sopwith Triplane can be seen in the air further down the page.

Well, they fly when they don't have mechanical difficulties, as with this Westland Lysander. A shame, as I was looking forward to seeing how it handled!

The other factor, of course, is the weather. On the day of my visit, it was overcast early on, but cleared up later on and by dusk the wind had fallen to the merest zephyr, which was perfect as it meant the 'Edwardians' would be able to fly.

While the various machines were being moved around outside, I had a wander through the hangars. This is a propeller from the R101, damaged in a collision with the mooring mast at Cardington.

A Bristol Scout Type D replica, probably built by RAF apprentices in 1960.

One of the most historically significant aircraft in the collection, the de Havilland DH.88 Comet Grosvenor House which won the 1934 London-Melbourne air race. Say what you like about its almost-variable-pitch propellers, it's a gorgeous aeroplane.

Back outside. One of the nice things about this display was that the flight-line was behind the rope, so you could get a good look at the aeroplanes and chat to the pilots. This Hawker Sea Hurricane IB was very popular.

A Blériot XI undergoing an engine check. (A replica -- I think. But see below.)

A Sopwith Pup and a German Schneider S.G.38 training glider, the one from the First World War, the other from the 1930s.

The primary trainer for the US Army in the Second World War, the Ryan PT-22 Recruit.

As I said, these things fly! This is the Sea Hurricane seen above. You might just be able to make out the fairing for the arrester hook, used for landing on the deck of a merchant aircraft carrier (i.e. a merchant ship fitted with a landing deck, to provide some air cover for convoys).

The RAF's last biplane interceptor, the Gloster Gladiator.

Spectacles require an audience.

A Klemm Kl 35, a near-contemporary equivalent of the American PT-22.

Another trainer, the Bücker Bü 131 Jungmann, which equipped all the nicest air forces of the 1930s and 1940s: the Luftwaffe, the Japanese army, Franco's air force.

I think this was my favourite aeroplane of the day, the Avro Tutor, which is why it gets three photos (including the one at the start of the post).

Photogenic and aerobatic.

A very rare type: the only surviving Blackburn B-2, a side-by-side trainer. Only 42 were built, most of them used by civilian flying schools rather than the RAF.

Another rare trainer, the Hawker Tomtit, which first flew in 1928. It lost out to the Tutor for a RAF contract, and only 35 were ever built.

As you may have guessed, the programme was ordered by reverse chronology. Now we're up to the late First World War (and the very late afternoon), with the Bristol F.2 Fighter, uninspiringly named but amazingly agile, especially given that its a two-seater.

Probably the best British fighter of the war, the Royal Aircraft Factory S.E.5a.

~~And it's a Great War veteran. 84 Squadron's CO was flying it when he shot down a Fokker D.VII on 10 November 1918.~~

The Sopwith Triplane seen above. Only a reproduction, but one endorsed by Tom Sopwith himself.

The oldest British aeroplane, the Blackburn Type D. The only one built, it first flew in late 1912, crashed on a farm in 1914, was recovered in 1938 and restored for its first flight in thirty-three years in 1947. And here it is, still flying, another sixty-three years further on!

A replica Bristol Boxkite, Britain's first military production aircraft.

An Avro Triplane, another replica. This and the Boxkite were made for the 1965 film Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines (which I watched on the A380 coming home -- first time I've ever seen an inflight movie with even one plane crash!) and the Shuttleworth got to keep them afterwards. The Triplane was flown by that bounder, Sir Percy Ware-Armitage.

And finally, the most amazing survivor in the collection, a Blériot XI built in 1909. It's the same type Louis Blériot himself used in his historic flight across the English Channel that year. It's the world's oldest aeroplane which is still flyable, and I got to see it fly! Of course, when I say 'fly', it really only hopped. It's too fragile to do turns -- especially given that it doesn't use ailerons to steer, but Wright-style wing-warping -- so all they did with it was get up enough speed to get into the air and then land again, turn it around and do the same thing in the other direction. But pretty amazing all the same. I was lucky that my camera's batteries just lasted long enough; between that and the low light my best photo of the Blériot gives a somewhat misleading impression of great speed. But it kinda works for me!

The Shuttleworth Collection is named in honour of Richard Shuttleworth, a rich kid who liked fast cars and aeroplanes, winning several motor races in the 1930s and even taking a course record from Sir Malcolm Campbell. But he also liked old cars and aeroplanes, and started collecting machines which even then were becoming rare. He joined the RAF and was killed in August 1940 while flying a Fairey Battle. His mother founded the Shuttleworth Collection (along with an agricultural college) in his memory, and we have cause to be grateful for them both for ensuring the survival of so many unique aircraft from the early days of flight.

This post relates to my trip to England and Wales in September 2009.

National Space Centre

Brett Holman — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 14:20:26 +0000

Some Britons I've spoken to claim to be unaware that their country has a National Space Centre. Well, it does and it's in Leicester. I know this because Chris Williams took me there.

Admittedly, the NSC might have been better known had not Beagle 2 failed to reach Mars back in 2003 (or if it did get there, failed to report back): it was to be the control centre for the mission. It also hosts the UK's Near Earth Object Information Centre, the designated assembly point for angry British subjects to gather with flaming torches when the big one comes and they find out there's nothing we can do about it.

But the NSC is also a pretty decent space museum (and planetarium). Lots of spacesuits and simulators and model Mars rovers. This is a first-generation Soyuz, a Soyuz 7K-OK. It's a real spacecraft, though it obviously didn't actually go into space, since it's still in one piece (only the middle section would return to Earth). I guess it was a spare or training unit.

It would have been built between 1967 and 1971, so this is space race-era stuff.

And it's got this on the side, for the full-on Cold War nostalgia trip.

Speaking of nostalgia, who else watched Giotto fly-by of Halley's Comet live on TV? This one's a model, though, because the real Giotto is still out there, orbiting the Sun.

The NSC's pride and joy: a Blue Streak.

It's a medium-range ballistic missile, and a first-stage satellite launcher!

To be more precise, Blue Streak started out in 1955 as a carrier for Britain's independent nuclear deterrent. But as warning times decreased, the fact that it couldn't be launched in less than 15 minutes became a problem, and so it was cancelled. Cue Skybolt, Polaris, Trident ... no end of fun.

So Blue Streak was re-purposed as the first stage of a European satellite launcher, Europa. But it was the only part which worked reliably, and in 1972 that was cancelled too. And that was the end of Blue Streak.

This particular one was the last to be completed -- but again, not used. As most of the launches took place from Woomera, there are bits of Blue Streak a lot closer to me than Leicester, but to see a complete one was worth the trip.

But let's not forget the Thor, the United States' first ballistic missile (which can be better seen in the first photo in this post). You'd have to count Thor as more successful than Blue Streak, in that it did actually see operational deployment, and that it also led to a highly successful series of launch vehicles, the Deltas.

Finally, a whimsical exhibit which alludes to the fact that Saturn is less dense than water, and so if you could find a big enough bathtub it would float. Or alternatively, if you can find a small enough Saturn, that would float too.

(P.S. Leicester also has at least one decent pub, where Chris and I met Alun for a few. Chris also put me up for the night. Cheers!)

This post relates to my trip to England and Wales in September 2009.

Conwy and Caernarfon

Brett Holman — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 09:08:14 +0000

Another day, another castle. But first ...

... I spent the morning in Conwy again, looking at two historic houses. The first was Plas Mawr. It doesn't look like much, perhaps, but it is 'Possibly the best preserved Elizabethan town house in Great Britain' (if you believe Cadw).

It was built for a merchant named Robert Wynn between 1576 and 1585. Plas Mawr is Welsh for 'great hall', and here is one corner of the original hall itself. It was later superseded by a bigger hall, so this became a place to greet visitors.

Still, it was decorated with some elaborate plasterwork, as you can see here. The colours are of course a modern reconstruction, but the plaster is original. Things to note: the date (1580), Wynn's initials, his coat of arms, the Tudor roses, and the somewhat naked ladies -- according to the (very enjoyable) audio guide, modelled on the plasterer's wife!

A view of the kitchen. Some of the items are original (to the period, not, I think, to the house). I do like recreated kitchens like this -- they are so wonderfully aromatic. Even the smell of the straw on the floor adds greatly to the experience.

The big wooden cage hanging from the ceiling is to keep bread clear of mice.

The backyard. Clearly the Elizabethan Welsh had no need of lawnmowers.

Wynn's garden. This is a recreation of the original, which was laid out in the late 16th century. Our information as to the plants it would have contained comes mainly from an inventory made in 1665. (This is true of the house furnishings, as well.) Obviously intended to be beautiful rather than useful; a lower terrace had herbs and suchlike.

A very classy bit of paintwork -- it looks just like marble! But much cheaper.

The great chamber, where Wynn and his wife would have done most of their entertaining. More of the lovely ladies, and the plaster ceiling can also be seen.

A close-up of some of the plasterwork. Now, I had thought that this was from the family arms of Wynn's first wife, Dorothy Griffith, but judging from the guidebook it's from Wynn's side of the family. Apparently it represents the severed heads of Englishmen defeated in battle. Nice!

Wynn had Plas Mawr built as a home for his new wife -- here's her bedroom -- but she died a year after it was finished. He married another Dorothy, Dorothy Dymock, with whom he had seven children. He first became a father when he was nearly 80!

Plas Mawr hasn't been frozen in time since the 16th century. If people hadn't found the building useful it probably wouldn't have survived. After passing out of the hands of the Wynn family, it was eventually divided up and rented out. In the mid-nineteenth century, the great chamber was part of an infant school, for example. And the above room, in the attic, was occupied ca. 1870 by a woman of modest means and her two sons. By the turn of the century, the Royal Cambrian Academy of Art had moved into Plas Mawr, partly for the very purpose of preserving it.

The view from Wynn's tower. Wynn had a varied career. He took part in the siege of Boulogne in 1544, where he was wounded (the bullet wasn't removed until fifty years later). His family had some land, he served in the household of a well-connected soldier and diplomat, Philip Hoby, and he probably got to travel Europe a bit. He managed to parlay his inheritance and connections into a decent fortune, including a part-share in a merchant vessel. Marrying well also helped (his first wife was from a better family than he). Late in life Wynn was MP for and then sherriff of Caernarvonshire. He died in 1598.

I liked Wynn's great hall. But I didn't really warm to the other historic (and even older) merchant's house in Conwy, Aberconwy House. I think this was partly because I was now in a bit of a hurry to get on to my next destination, but it was also because the tour lacked the strong thread provided in Plas Mawr by the story of Wynn's life and the daily life of his house. Each of the rooms was restored to a different period, so it felt a bit more museum-y than house-y, I suppose. It was done well, but it's probably fortunate for this post that no photography was allowed!

So, in the afternoon I took a bus down to Caernarfon, but ignored the castle for the moment and took another bus to Segontium, a Roman fortress for auxiliary troops (the 'caer' in Caernarfon). It was originally built in wood in 77 or 78 AD, and rebuilt in stone around a century later. It's quite a strategic spot -- although it's now incongruously surrounded by houses, it's high up and there's still a good view across the Menai Strait to Anglesey and approaches. It would have been a good place to watch for Irish raiders or revolting druids.

I have to say, though, that I think I'm reaching my limit for Roman fortresses. Since they're all built to more or less the same plan, if you've seen a few you've probably seen them all (unless you're an expert and know what to look out for). So, after Hadrian's Wall (the previous trip) and Caerleon, Segontium was perhaps a fort too far. But it's great to have a local bit of Romanitas to show to the schoolkids, and so it would be a shame if the small museum at Segontium closes due to lack of money.

And so at last I came to Caernarfon Castle, the most magnificent of all the castles I visited.

It's another of the ring of castles Edward I built to contain the northern Welsh (the others being Conwy, Harlech and, later, Beaumaris), but as he intended Caernarfon to be the centre of administration here, it was always intended to be grander than the others. The walls were said to be modelled after those of Constantinople.

So it's easy to see why Madog ap Llywelyn's forces struck here, during the revolt of 1294-5. And the castle and the town walls were only half-finished; there would be no better chance to take it. Which they did in 1294, burning much of the town as well.

The English army recaptured it the following summer, and construction work continued for another generation. In fact, it was never completely finished -- though it looks pretty good to me!

Caernarfon withstood two sieges by Owain Glyndwr's men in 1403 and 1404, but afterwards was allowed to decay. In the Civil War, it was held for the King until 1646.

One of the great things about Caernarfon, more than any of the other castles I've visited, is that it is full of twisting passages and winding staircases. It's great fun to explore -- even if it's a while since you've been twelve.

One of a number of small chapels built into the walls.

The castle is built right on the seafront. That's Anglesey on the horizon to the right, and between the castle and the house is part of the town walls.

It's also right next to the river. A view across the Seiont.

And a view across -- or rather down to -- the road! It's quite some way up, and this was only from one of the towers, not the even higher turrets.

Caernarfon was my last Welsh excursion; the following day I took the train back to England. But as I had a couple of hours to kill, I did another circuit of Conwy's walls.

They were built at the same time as Conwy Castle (and Caernarfon Castle, for that matter), and are very well-preserved. With twenty-one towers and two gates, the walls are an impressive structure in their own right.

Very steep in some places, and quite hazardous when it's raining -- as it was on the first time I went up on the walls (it may not have helped that I had an umbrella in one hand, and a camera in the other).

One interesting contrast with the first town walls I visited at York was that there the town burghers practically had to be held back from tearing them down to make way for railways and progress. Conwy was apparently much fonder of its walls. Rather than pulling down a section of wall, an archway was cut for the trains, and the other rail exit is through a tunnel. So, as with the bridges near the castle, a fine balance was struck between heritage and industry.

So that's it for Wales. And if you're sick of crumbling old masonry, you may be pleased to know that my last few travel posts will be considerably more aerospacey!

This post relates to my trip to England and Wales in September 2009.

Conwy and Llandudno

Brett Holman — Sat, 16 Jan 2010 14:51:20 +0000

This is Conwy from the vantage point of its town walls, on a drizzly morning in early autumn. It has a population of 14000, which doesn't really qualify it as small, but the area inside the walls is quite compact, so it feels much smaller than it should.

Most visitors to this part of north Wales stay in Llandudno, which has a lot more hotels, places to eat and so on. But I'm glad I chose Conwy (mostly unwittingly); it has a charm most of the other towns I stayed at lacked.

Admittedly, a big part of this charm was due to Conwy being home to a massive castle!

My fifth castle of the trip and I still wasn't bored of them yet.

Conwy Castle was built for Edward I between 1283 and 1289. It was the most expensive of all his Welsh castles. A wise investment, as it turned out, since Edward himself survived a siege within its walls over Christmas 1295.

Why did Edward need such a strong castle here? Guarding the crossing of the River Conwy was the proximate reason. To keep the Welsh down was the ultimate reason. At first, Welsh people weren't even allowed inside the walls of the town.

It's easy to think of castles in terms of assaults and sieges, but these were of course rare events. Aside from the siege in 1295, the only other times Conwy Castle saw action was when it was captured by cousins of the Prince of Wales, Owain Glyndwr, in 1401, and then by Yorkists during the War of the Roses. Finally, it was taken by Parliamentary forces in 1646, one of the last Royalist castles to hold out.

Much of the time, these big castles seem to have been surprisingly poorly maintained, with crumbling walls and rotten stores. Their power was often just theoretical. In 1401, it was captured while its garrison was at prayer (it being Good Friday). Only two men were guarding the gates, and these were killed by one of the rebels who posed as a carpenter. So much for those thick walls.

Having said that, the band which took the castle held it against the English for three months. Rhys and Gwilym ap Tudur had taken part in Glyndwr's rebellion, but weren't pardoned afterwards, hence the crazy plan to capture Conwy Castle. Because nothing says 'sorry for that rebellion' like another rebellion! But it worked: they got their pardon.

The castle survived the Civil War, but in 1665 the castle's owner (the Crown had sold it in 1627) pulled bits of it down to sell, particularly the lead from the roofs. (That white tower in the centre is not actually part of the castle, it's the railway bridge; see below.)

Still, as you can see here, the internal arrangement of the castle is surprisingly well-preserved. This area is the inner ward, which is where royal visitors would have stayed. A bit cramped perhaps, but quieter and more private than the outer ward, where most of the castle's daily business was conducted.

The Chapel Tower, with a fine view of the estuary beyond.

(Okay, this is a finer view. The headland is the Great Orme, which overshadows Llandudno.)

The unmartial-sounding Bakehouse Tower.

A slightly wider shot, showing the Great Hall, with another (probable) chapel at the near end. It has an odd curved shaped, dictated by the shape of the outcrop of rock the castle is built on.

Inside the Great Hall.

In this photo, you can just make out a couple of finials, pieces of stonework which jut up into the air -- on the merlons closest to the turret, either side of the crenel. (Look them up!) You might think they were designed to make make it harder for any enemy to climb over (well, I did), but apparently they have no function other than decoration. But does this mean the motivation was purely aesthetic, or were they meant to impress naive onlookers (like me)?

Compared with the castles at Cardiff and Caerphilly, Conwy Castle has been restored with a light touch. Aside from a wall here and there, and the roofs of some towers, it's more conservation than rebuilding. It doesn't make Conwy Castle any more 'authentic' than they are, but it does feel more 'natural', in the sense that the ravages of time haven't been reversed, just slowed down.

It's a fine castle indeed, and I'd certainly consider it for my next siege.

The three bridges of Conway. In the centre is Thomas Telford's historic suspension bridge, built in 1826. On the right is Robert Stephenson's historic tubular bridge, built 1848. On the left is a twentieth century bridge nobody cares about (yet?) Aside from their technological innovations, the striking feature of both Telford's and Stephenson's bridges is the way they've added turrets and towers so that they are not completely jarring when set against the castle (which they literally are; I took this photo from the northern battlements). It's an interesting contrast to York in the early railway age. There the town walls were nearly torn down wholesale, the better to let traffic into the city; harmonisation with the decor of a bygone age was not on the agenda.

After spending the morning in the castle (and after a very tasty rarebit for lunch in the adjacent cafe), I headed up to Llandudno for the afternoon. Llandudno was one of the great Victorian seaside resorts. As an Australian, I probably should say something disparaging about British beaches here, but that would be a tad hypocritical since I haven't been to an Australian beach for about five years!

A seaside resort needs an amusement pier. With tacky amusements (not shown).

A seaside resort also needs hotels. This one takes 'seaside' to an extreme, though.

I have to admit that I didn't really take to Llandudno. There's not really a lot to see (and, to be fair, the summer season was over). But there was one attraction which was one of the highlights of the whole trip, the Great Orme Mines.

I had no idea this place existed! It's a prehistoric copper mine, which was first worked around 3,500 years ago, and may have lasted until Roman times. The copper was smelted with tin to make bronze, which as you might expect was a valuable commodity in the Bronze Age.

It's not small, either. Tunnels run for kilometres underground, reaching a depth of at least 70 metres. And the archaeologists working the site (some of whom run the small museum attached) think there's much more below that. See Andrew Lewis' M.Phil. thesis for more information.

The Great Orme Mines deserve to be much more widely known. If you're at all claustrophobic I wouldn't recommend it, but otherwise it's a fascinating experience -- my photos don't do it justice -- and visiting it makes it that much harder to underestimate the capabilities of our ancestors.

Another thing I liked about Llandudno was the cable tram, which took me up the Great Orme. Almost like a W Class back home.

This post relates to my trip to England and Wales in September 2009.

From Cardiff to Conwy

Brett Holman — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 15:08:16 +0000

After Cardiff, my next base of operations was to be Conwy (above), a small town on the north coast of Wales. But getting from south Wales to north Wales by rail is surprisingly difficult: there's no mainline route which doesn't spend most of its time in England, and I wanted to see some of the Welsh countryside rolling past my window! Luckily, Chris suggested a workable alternative: take a main line train to Porthmadog, take a tourist steam train from there to Blaenau Ffestiniog, and from there another mainline train to Conwy (or rather Llandudno Junction, which is walking distance from Conwy). This would take all day, but since I probably would done one of the tourist trains anyway, I didn't lose much in the way of holidaying time. And the rail trip was worth it!

That said, there was nothing really worth photographing for the first leg of the trip, from Cardiff to Shrewsbury (which is just across the border). Nor for most of the second leg, from Shrewsbury to Porthmadog, until I reached the coast at Harlech, with its famous 13th century castle. We may credit Edward I with remarkable foresight for placing it where it could best dominate the railway station when it was eventually built, nearly six hundred years later.

My train had the misfortune of connecting at Harlech with a number of school buses, which meant we had to wait for about half an hour before they all arrived. This did at least mean I could go outside and get some decent photos. It was also my first proper encounter with the Welsh language. In the south it's mainly only used on signs, as far as I could tell, but unless I'm more out of touch with the youth of today than I thought, every other conversation held between the schoolkids seemed to be in Welsh. Which turned out to set the pattern for the rest of my stay in Wales. It was nice to see that it is actually a living language, as opposed to something just learned in school.

On to Porthmadog Station. Actually, Porthmadog Harbour Station, because Porthmadog needs three railway stations -- the main line station I arrived at, the Welsh Highland Railway terminus next to it, and the Ffestiniog Railway terminus on the other side of town, to which I had to drag my luggage. Luckily there was plenty of room on the train for it all.

My loco for the day was Taliesin, which was rebuilt and brought back into service in 1999 (that's the decade before last, now).

And we're off.

Porthmadog is close enough to the sea to be a viable port, and up until 1914 it was used to export slate (116,000 tons in 1873). Which is why the Ffestiniog Railway was built, back in 1836. It's the oldest railway company in the world.

At Minfford, we passed another train coming down. Leaning out the window to take a picture of it probably wasn't the brightest idea, but on this occasion I got away with it.

Penrhyn station (which is in Penrhyndeudraeth, but they evidently didn't make the signs long enough for that).

That's Snowdonia in the distance, or part of it ...

... which we were climbing into.

It's nice and wild-looking, though how wild any part of the British Isles can be said to be is open to question. (Actually, scratch that: I've seen York on a Saturday night.)

Taking on water at Tanybwlch. Climbing is thirsty work.

That sheep took no notice of the passing train at all.

The higher we went the gloomier it got.

Gloomy and forbidding.

Gloomy, forbidding, and sometimes pleasantly green.

Come on, surely that's not a word, not even in Welsh!

I'm no geologist, but this is starting to look like slate country.

Coming into our final destination.

Blaenau Ffestiniog and Blaenau Ffestiniog station, in the middle of Snowdonia National Park. There are, or were, slate mines all around, hence the railway down to Porthmadog. The First World War ended the exports to Germany; the railway struggled on until 1946. Rail enthusiasts worked hard to get permission and funds to reopen the line for tourists, the first parts from the mid-1950s, the last link to Blaenau Ffestiniog in 1982. Thank you, train anoraks!

If Edward I had been on this trip, he'd be eyeing off that crag as the site for his next castle.

A last look at Taliesin as it gets ready for its last trip down for the day.

Blaenau Ffestiniog doubles as a mainline station, and it wasn't far now to Llandudno Junction.

The timing was exquisite: by the time I got to the bridge across the Conwy, it was dusk.

The castle certainly caught my eye.

As did the marina and -- look! town walls!

The route to my hotel took me under the walls of the castle. Of which, more next time.

This post relates to my trip to England and Wales in September 2009.

Swansea

Brett Holman — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 13:17:56 +0000

After my day of fortifications I felt it was time for a change of pace, so I headed east for Swansea. The main attraction here (other than the Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency, of course) is the National Waterfront Museum, which explores the industrial history and technological of Wales. Of which there is quite a lot!

But if you actually approach the museum from the waterfront, the first exhibits you see are actually part of the (separate) Swansea Museum's collection (on which, see below). This is Lightship 91, which guarded the Helwick sandbank in the Bristol Channel from 1937. But since it couldn't move unless it was towed by something else, it should be called a lightbarge.

The sort of vessel which might have towed it: a 1950s tug called Canning.

Now to the National Waterfront Museum proper. This was the first mobile shop in Wales, owned and operated by Winston Howard in the Vale of Glamorgan between 1929 and 1969.

So the idea was that people in rural areas would buy most of their goods from a village shop, but then Mr Howard would come by in his truck and sell them fresh produce, such as milk and fruit. Is this an example of a technological solution/economic niche with a short lifespan, or do people still depend on such mobile shops?

A different relationship to technology is on display here: a hat worn by a Welsh woman on various picket lines, including one protesting the Trident SLBM programme.

Now this interested me (naturally enough). Robin Goch ('Robin Redbreast') was designed and built in Cardiff in by an engineer Charles Horace Watkins in 1907 (or 1907-9).

But when did it fly? Watkins claimed that he flew it a number of times up to 1910, possibly as early as 1907, which would make it the first aeroplane to fly (subject to the usual qualifications) in Britain. But there's no independent verification of this. According to the museum, 'modern experts' think it's airworthy, but the South Wales Aviation Group (which doubts the early flight dates) says it flew often in the 1910s, and was well known to locals. Where's an aviation historian when you need one?

A replica of Richard Trevithick's railway locomotive, which ran on the Penydarren tramway on 21 February 1804. This was probably the first ever railway locomotive, and like all great technological innovations was the result of a bet.

I encountered Trevithick on my previous trip to England. He was a quarter of a century before Stephenson, but his locomotives just weren't efficient enough to beat out more traditional trams and canals.

Still, on that first trip it hauled 10 tons of coal and about 70 humans for 9 miles, which is a pretty good beginning. More impressive than Kitty Hawk, you'd have to say.

A Benz Duc, which was on Welsh roads in 1904. Fully sick mate, as we say in the Antipodes.

The Sinclar C5, which will be 25 years old on 10 January. The Segway or Flying Flea of its day, which is to say it was supposed to kick off a revolution in personal transportation, but didn't. The Welsh connection is that they were built at the Hoover factory in Merthyr Tydfil. And I think you can see why.

A 'sociable' tricycle used in Flintshire in the 1880s. Suitable for use by ladies wearing skirts, unlike penny farthings.

This last piece dates from 1895 and was made by Swansea copper workers as a memento of their group social outings and a dead co-worker. I wonder how many workplaces would do something like this today -- a card or perhaps flowers would be more usual I think.

So after the Waterfront Museum I popped into Swansea Museum, a much older (founded 1841), smaller, and more traditional museum. I like this kind of museum, which were originally intended to explain the outside world to the local inhabitants, unlike the big glitzy museums aimed to draw in tourists like the Waterfront Museum. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) So, for example, Swansea Museum has an Egyptian mummy, a priest of Atum named Tem Hor, who has nothing to do with Swansea or indeed any other part of Wales. But the kids taken there by their own mummy didn't seem bothered by (apparently Tem Hor has plenty of more unusual unusual admirers too). It reminded me of the old Museum of Victoria, which had its own mummy, Tjeby.

Some parts of the museum were unfortunately closed, but in the basement there was an absorbing exhibition on criminals and the police who loved to nab them. Definitely worth a visit if you're in Swansea, and the museum bookshop might turn up a surprise or two as well!

This post relates to my trip to England and Wales in September 2009.

Caerleon and Caerphilly Castle

Brett Holman — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 09:20:48 +0000

Cardiff Castle was just the first of many Welsh fortresses I visited. In fact, the next day I was at two more: Caerleon, a Roman legionary headquarters, and Caerphilly Castle, the second-largest castle in Britain.

Caerleon (from the Welsh for 'city of the legion') was home to Legio II Augusta from the late 1st century to the mid 4th century AD. Isca Augusta was its name then, taken from the river on which it was sited (now the Usk). This view shows one of the legionary barracks, and behind it the cookhouse against the ramparts. These are supposedly the only extant legionary barracks in Europe, which I found surprising after having been to Hadrian's Wall. I think the key word is 'legionary': those forts were for cavalry and auxiliary units.

There's a small but decent museum at Caeleon, the National Roman Legion Museum. This dedication was from one of the (obviously substantial) buildings inside the fortress. It looks like it names the Caesars L(ucius) Septi(mius) (Bassianus) -- better known as Caracalla -- and P(ublius) Septimius Geta, the sons of Septimius Severus. That would date this to between 198 and 211.

A bronze plaque depicting Victoria, a goddess favoured by many soldiers, for obvious reasons.

A rather sad-looking figure! Which makes sense, as it was found in a cemetery outside the fortress. It also makes sense because he is Attis, who castrated himself in a fit of madness.

The most famous Roman remnant at Caerleon is probably the amphitheater.

It's in ruins now, but its solidity gives a good idea of the importance it would have had for the local Romans. It would have sat around 6000 people, which is just about the complement of a full legion.

The amphitheater was built in the last decade of the first century; I'm not sure it's up to modern OH&S standards. Then again, if you trip over and break something, the Roman army isn't around to sue anymore.

One wonders who passed under this arch. What did they see, or do here? (This may be the arch the gladiators entered from.)

The modern town of Caerleon actually lies within the walls of the Roman fortress. It must have been an even more impressive sight in the Middle Ages. It has certainly had a disproportionate effect on literary types. Geoffrey of Monmouth used it in his Arthurian myth, as an appropriate seat of royal power. Much later, Tennyson wrote the 'Idylls of the King' here. And Arthur Machen wove it into into his tales of ancient and primeval horrors. (He was in fact born here, though I didn't manage to find his house.)

Last photo from Caerleon: the imprint of a workman's boot from the frigidarium in the bath complex.

Caerphilly is not far from Caerleon as the crow flies, but it's a moderate distance as the bus and train drives. I got there late in the afternoon, which turned out to be pretty good timing as far as the light was concerned.

Gilbert de Clare (or rather his workers) began building the castle in 1268. Over five hundred years later, the Butes began to restore it. (I must confess to preferring their work here than their parallel restoration of Cardiff Castle.)

You can see what a big job it was. This photo and the preceding two are just the west walls (or rather dams), moving from north to south.

One of the striking features of Caerphilly Castle is the lake surrounding it, which was created in imitation of the defensive lake at Kenilworth Castle. (Incidentally, I think one or the other of the two peaks in the background is Caerphilly Mountain, where C. Lethbridge had his close encounter with a phantom airship.)

Gilbert had seen for himself how effective water defences were during Simon de Montfort's rebellion, when Kenilworth withstood a siege by the king's forces for most of 1266.

The lake proved to be a far-sighted idea. At least as far as anglers are concerned.

A view from the other side. You can see that after getting past the lake, an attacking army would still face a formidable array of walls and towers. Defence in depth!

It's romantic but probably wrong to imagine that this tower leans due to battle damage. More likely it's just ground subsidence. But it's somewhat surprising that we don't actually know for sure.

It's leaning at an angle of 10 degrees, and I was surprised that there are no external braces to prop it up. Still, it's lasted this long; no doubt she'll be right.

Siege engines! The one in the centre is a trebuchet, and on the right is a perrier (a man-powered trebuchet). They're fully-functional reconstructions, and from time to time are used to fling things into the lake.

Gilbert built the castle to frustrate the ambitions of Llewelyn ap Gruffudd, Prince of Wales. Llewelyn's forces actually raided and burnt it while it was under construction, but within a few years Edward I began his campaign to conquer Wales and Caerphilly was no longer on the frontier.

That doesn't mean it didn't see any action, particularly since the Welsh didn't take well to being conquered. It may have been attacked in 1294 or 1295 by Prince Madoc. Llwellyn Bren started his rebellion in 1316 by attacking Caerphilly Castle with an army of perhaps 10,000. He didn't take it, but did destroy the town.

In 1326, Edward II and Hugh Despencer stayed here while on the run from the forces of Edward's queen, Isabella, and Roger Mortimer. They must have regretted leaving the safety of its walls for an abbey at Neath, because they were captured upon trying to return to Caerphilly. Both men met an unfortunate end before the year was out.

Oddly, whereas the Cadw guidebook simply says we can't tell what part Caerphilly played in the great rebellion of Owain Glyndwr, if any, Wikipedia says he captured it twice, in 1403 and 1405, holding it for a hundred days and a year respectively. [Citation needed], I think.

Above is the eastern gatehouse, much restored by the Butes.

This passage led from the Great Hall (which I didn't get a good look at, since there was a wedding reception being held inside!) down to the lake. A portcullis would have guarded against anyone trying to sneak in the back way.

Inside the adjacent tower.

And I think this is looking along the side of the gatehouse.

Caerphilly may have been damaged in the Civil War, perhaps through slighting (i.e. destroying the fortifications -- obviously the job wasn't finished, if so). But there's no firm evidence. Although there's a redoubt from that period on the north-west side of the lake (on top of a Roman fort, in fact), it's not clear whether it was erected by the Royalists (perhaps in 1645, when Prince Rupert was nearby) or the Parliamentarians.

After that, the castle continued to decay. The Butes restored it over four generations, and in 1950 the fifth gave it to the nation. And I hope the nation is grateful, because it's a magnificent gift indeed.

This post relates to my trip to England and Wales in September 2009.

Cardiff

Brett Holman — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 16:36:35 +0000

All of a sudden, my time in Cornwall was over. But it was hard to feel too sad, because my next stop was Cardiff, capital of Wales (and, incidentally, scareship central). Cardiff is perhaps not as pretty as the places I'd seen in Cornwall, but it has plenty of culture which kept me occupied. And one big castle!

It's unimaginatively called Cardiff Castle, which sounds a lot better in Welsh: Castell Caerdydd. The layout is simply a big square, following the pattern of the original fort built by the Romans to keep the Silurians down. Parts of the Roman walls still remain: they can be seen above, incorporated into the later walls and outlined with red sandstone.

Why did the wall-builders take such care to make the Roman remains so visible? Because they weren't Norman warriors but Victorian antiquarians, who restored the castle to its former glory and far beyond. Much of what can be seen today is a neo-Gothic fantasy built in the 19th century. This clock tower, for instance. That's not medieval. It's imitation.

The reconstruction of Cardiff Castle was the work of two generations of an enormously wealthy family of Scottish aristocrats. The 2nd Marquess of Bute started the job, but his son took it much, much further, modelling both outside and in on his vision of the past.

And, while from our point of view it may not be a particularly accurate vision, it's a glorious one! This is the ceiling of the Arab Room, which was finished in 1881. That gold-coloured stuff is gold-leaf.

A close-up. Supposedly there are 81 species of bird represented in the castle's interior.

The Day Nursery. According to the guidebook, 'Lord and Lady Bute had four children, Lady Margaret, Lord Dumfries, Lord Ninian and Lord Colum'. I like to imagine that they were called by their titles, not by something so proletarian as their first names.

Note the effort lavished on decorating the tiles, depicting characters from children's stories and fairy tales.

This isn't from a fairy tale; it's a devil face above the door to one of the smoking rooms. It's supposed to scare women away from listening at the door while the men sat inside talking about important things. I'm sure it was meant to be whimsical, but really now.

This is the ceiling of the Banqueting Hall. William Burges, one of the great Victorian architects, was responsible for the redesign of the castle, both inside and out, and it may fairly be regarded as his masterpiece.

The Banqueting Hall's fireplace, which shows a mounted Robert the Consul, the builder of the 12th-century keep. You can just make out a face peeking out of a barred window: that would be Robert Curthouse, Duke of Normandy and eldest son of William the Conqueror, who was imprisoned there by Henry I (his brother, and Robert the Consul's father), at the end of his life.

The Third Marquess was a convert to Catholicism, and the decor certainly has many Christian motifs. But it seemed odd to me that so much of it reflected the Greek tradition rather than the Latin. It doesn't seem to go with the medieval feel of the place.

His Nib's private bathroom. Hot water on tap; not bad!

A Madonna and child in the rooftop Roman garden (sadly without flowers at the time of my visit).

The Small Dining Room ...

... and its ceiling.

The Library (with, I think, a mini-marquess gazing out the window). The book collection wasn't very interesting, unfortunately. It seemed to be mostly Cardiff city statutes.

I have to admit that, as magnificent as the neo-Gothic rooms were, it was something of a relief to get outside again! I couldn't live in a place like that: it's just too overpowering.

One of the castle's resident birds of prey.

Now I shouldn't give the impression that Cardiff Castle is all Victorian fantasy. There is also a genuine Norman motte and keep. The keep is just a shell now, but it dates to about 1135. Robert the Consul built it on the site of an earlier wooden keep, erected in 1091 by Robert Fitzhamon, the first Norman lord of Glamorgan.

And it has a moat!

The view from the top of the keep (see also: the photo at the top of the post). The linear structures stretching away towards the gate are the remains of a wall which divided the castle into inner and outer wards.

Finally, a view actually inside the castle walls. Apparently these galleries came in handy as air raid shelters during the Blitz.

The National Museum Cardiff is not far from the castle. (There are a lot of things in Wales which have the word 'National' in front of their names, and it doesn't refer to Britain.) This 8th or 9th century cross was found at Bryngwyn Farm in Ceredigion.

The Eiudon Cross, 10th century, from Glansannan Isaf, Carmarthenshire. Eiudon was likely the name of the patron who paid for the cross.

Er ... a helmet!

This plate was made around 1785 in Lambeth, which is not in Wales as far as I know. Note the Montgolfier balloon, which makes this a particularly early example of airmindedness.

It's a bit mean to point and laugh at the work of somebody who's been dead for two centuries. But not only did the painter of this vase make two mistakes in the inscription, which they then corrected by adding a little letter above the right spot, but one of the right spots was actually the wrong spot. Oops!

The Kiss. Wonderful!

I'd passed this quarter-size statue group on the stairs without really looking at it. Then when I passed it a second time, I noticed the helmets on the foot-soldiers.

It's a model entered in a competition for Paisley war memorial, made by Gertrude Williams. And I'm glad to see it won.

This post relates to my trip to England and Wales in September 2009.