A week in Wales

Our main summer holiday this year was a trip to Carmarthenshire in South Wales. The county is mainly agricultural although the southern tip was once dominated by heavy industry. We booked a farm stay, just outside the former coal-mining town of Ammanford, on the fringes of Brecon Beacons National Park. We opted to drive right down the middle of Wales to our destination. We set out early from Scotland and cruised through Cumbria on the M6, which offered the tempting possibility of breakfast at Tebay Services.

Push all preconceptions aside. Tebay is an independent business that supports local suppliers. Rather than fast-food chains, you'll find an excellent farm shop at both the northbound and southbound facility. The café serves wholesome food and I tucked into a Full English, complete with Cumberland sausage. I picked up a couple of ales for later consumption and we were soon on our way again. By now I was driving and we switched to the M56 and M53 before picking up the A483, which snakes down the centre of the Principality. After skirting Wrexham, there was a brief foray into England and we pulled into Oswestry for a lunch stop. Not knowing the town, I looked for somewhere to park up and consume the pies we had purchased at Tebay. We passed right by a heritage railway operation and I stopped to have a look at the old station and rolling stock. There was also a museum on site but unfortunately everything was closed today. The society runs steam and diesel services over 1.7 miles of track to Weston Wharf. Oswestry developed as a major railway town in the 19th century, serving as the headquarters of the Cambrian network, with a locomotive works situated next to the station. The axe fell in 1966 as national rail coverage was rationalised. The impressive station building is Grade-2 listed and now owned by Shropshire Council. Meanwhile the heritage organisation has long-term plans to extend their services in both north and south directions. Following this unexpected brush with transport history, we had lunch in the car before continuing down the A483, skirting Welshpool, Newtown and Llandridnod. Wales was in the middle of a drought and the roadside vegetation had turned from green to yellow and brown. Eventually, we passed through Llandovery and Llandeilo, close to the final destination of Ammanford. Our accommodation was located at the very top of the latter town, down a single-track road. Driving through the farmyard and parking by our shepherd's hut, we were immediately captivated by the view across the valley. The picnic table (with parasol) would be my favourite place to sit over the next week with a coffee or beer. The hut was fully plumbed with a toilet and shower. A double bed pulled down from the end wall to rest upon the table. Cooking facilities were provided in the centre. A cosy little place for two people. Hosts Andrew and Cheri made us very welcome and said we also had use of the communal barn, which had TV and wi-fi facilities. Two dogs - Annie and Poppy - came to meet us, while Louis the cat was a more distant character.

Ammanford has two supermarkets and we headed down to pick up supplies before turning in for the night. I found the bed very comfortable and slept well. Our first mission was a trip to a National Trust property just outside Llandeilo, approximately 10 miles away. We were in no immediate rush and started the day with a leisurely breakfast while listening to Nation Radio Wales, which offered a good mix of contemporary pop music and local news. Newton House sits at the centre of Dinefwr Park National Nature Reserve - an 800 acre estate that also contains the ruined Dinefwr Castle. We parked up and had lunch at a picnic table by an ancient beech tree. The parkland contains 300 arboreal specimens that have reached the age of 400 years, plus swathes of historic pastureland. The mansion dates back to 1660 but was substantially remodelled in mid-Victorian times as a three-storey castellated structure in the Gothic style. We gained free entry on account of our Scottish National Trust memberships. A tour of the ground and upper floors was due to commence in half an hour and we explored the basement level beforehand. We examined the wine cellar, strong room and a collection of traditional tennis rackets. A large wooden table was original to the post-renovation house and an early candlestick telephone was on display, as well as a handcart that was used for fire-fighting purposes. Back upstairs, the tour guide regaled the group with tales of double dealing and subterfuge from the generations of aristocracy that inhabited the grand residence. The usual array of oil paintings hung in the various grand rooms and an unusual touch was a collection of dried mushrooms, including, naturally enough, the infamous death cap. In 1962, the 9th Baron Dynevor inherited an estate labouring under two substantial inheritance tax bills. The two previous title holders had died within six years of each other. To try and raise funds to maintain the house, the new owner established a creative programme supported by the Arts Council of Wales. For a few years, Newton hosted prestigious exhibitions and performances, including the jazz legend Cleo Laine. Unfortunately, the project ran out of steam and by the mid-1970s Dinefwr fell into disrepair, eventually being invaded by squatters, while thieves stripped out valuable materials. The Trust stepped in and took over the estate in 1987, followed by the legal acquisition of Newton house three years later. I have previously remarked that stately homes tend to feature dog paintings, while our feline cousins are scarcely represented. Well, Newton offers something special in this regard - a bona fide cat skeleton!

During restoration work at the turn of the 21st century, workers lifted floorboards on the first floor and uncovered the dried remains of a cat, wrapped in the remnants of a woven reed mat. It is thought the animal was deliberately placed here in the 17th century to help ward off evil spirits and safeguard the occupants from supernatural forces. The bones can be viewed though a glass panel and we named our new-found friend Rosy. A touching end to the tour. We rounded off our visit by calling into the ice-cream parlour, followed by a return to the picnic bench, where we had earlier caught a brief glimpse of a green woodpecker. It remains something of a bogey bird for Nicole and she hoped to finally see one out in the open. Alas, Mother Nature kept schtum. There was some consolation back at the shepherd's hut, where a great spotted woodpecker appeared on the feeder, while a buzzard sat in the adjacent field devouring small prey. The next day required an early rise. We had arranged to meet an old friend out on the west coast for a boat trip to Ramsey Island - a nature paradise owned and managed by the RSPB. Regular readers of the blog will have met Hannah before. She lives in Somerset and was up in Wales for a family holiday. The drive to St Davids took around an hour and a half and we were at one point tailed by a vintage pink Cadillac. The compact St Davids (population 1750) holds the distinction of being Britain's smallest city, due to the presence of a cathedral. We passed straight through as the ferry slip was a couple of miles further on. Hooking up with Hannah, we waited in line for our transport. Being RSPB members enabled us to avoid the £10 landing fee, although we still had to fork out £22 each for the crossing. It's worth every penny as the island has an abundance of species and two intersecting circular walking trails to explore. Two wardens are resident and we received a welcome talk. Visitors are strongly advised to make use of the toilet facilities before hitting the footpaths as the island has little tree cover and you are in an environment where everyone is carrying powerful binoculars. Ramsey is a special protection area for choughs, an agile corvid found only in western coastal areas of the British Isles. Despite the small localised populations, the bird has a stable green conservation status. Superb flyers, they emit a call that sounds like a bullet being fired. We saw two of them not long after arrival, as we were looking for a place to eat our packed lunch and enjoy the spectacular sea views.

I opted to tackle the longer circuit, which has two hilltop spurs (I would omit these). Nicole and Hannah set out on the shorter loop and we agreed to meet at the little RSPB shop afterwards. The way was clearly marked and I headed into open grassland where I saw a linnet perched on a jagged bush. The trail swung round to the cliff edge and I was treated to panoramic views of the beaches below. Seals arrive in late summer and early autumn to bear pups. I gained height as I proceeded inwards, allowing me to look right across to the Welsh mainland, before descending to make my way back towards the visitor centre, converging with the other walking route for the final stretch. Two choughs stood right in front of me as I rounded a bend. It was a very warm day and I enjoyed a cold drink and a coffee as I waited for the ladies to return. We had ample time to relax in the sunshine before the boat whisked us back across the sea channel. A wheatear flew by. Ramsey Island is a fascinating destination for anyone interested in birding, nature or walking. It was now teatime and we drove along to Porthgain - a small settlement in Pembrokeshire, clustered around a historic harbour. Once a hive of industrial activity, the area retains a small fishing fleet but is largely dominated by leisure boats and tourists. The Wales Coast Path runs right by and a bistro called The Shed is a popular spot, specialising in local seafood. We ordered takeaway fish & chips with sides of coleslaw and mushy peas. Across the harbour inlet stood an old brickworks which used waste material from nearby slate quarries. Road stone was also extracted here and ships called regularly to export the material. Industrial operations ceased in 1931 and the ruins are now classed as a scheduled monument. Entirely fitting, since industrial history is as valid as any other form of heritage. We said goodbye to Hannah and drove back to the farm. The train would be our mode of transport the following day. Ammanford has a station on the Heart of Wales Line - a rural route that winds for 120 miles between the cities of Swansea and Shrewsbury (which lies in Shropshire, England). Five services per day chug through the countryside in each direction. Many stops are encountered along the way, from bustling market and spa towns to tiny little halts in the hills. I did the whole stretch many years ago and the journey took around four hours. Today's trip was a 40-minute ride up to Llandovery - a market town with a good selections of independent shops and places to eat.

There was no ticket machine at Ammanford Station, but an information screen told us the train was running 20 minutes behind schedule. I suspect that's normal in these parts. We were under no time pressure. An ageing diesel rocked up but it was comfortable and plenty seats were available. The guard sold us our tickets and we enjoyed nice views of the passing green landscape. In Llandovery, we walked a few hundred yards into the town centre and had a look around. Top of the list was a visit to the independent bookshop and this turned out to be a real highlight. The Dragon's Garden has been trading in its present location since 2023 and was previously based in nearby Llandeilo. The shop has a varied stock but specialist themes include nature writing, gardening, food and travel. A good selection of Welsh language publications are available. Owner Mandy Thomas is also passionate about Fair Trade goods and a wide range of these ethical products can be found on the shelves. We spent a while chatting with her. The shop organises the annual Reading the Wild festival - a May weekend of nature writing, storytelling and creative thinking. The event has grown from a small local gathering into a full programme celebrating literature, folklore, conservation, creativity and rural life. We spent a while browsing the books and I purchased the new Irvine Welsh novel, along with an account of why Glasgow continues to have a significantly lower life expectancy than the rest of Scotland, despite strenuous efforts over the decades to alleviate poverty. There must be a mindset at play here. Lunchtime was nearing and we found a no-frills café within a craft shot. I ordered a ploughman's while Nicole tried Welsh rarebit - a rich cheese sauce heaped on toast. Suitably fortified, we continued to explore the town. Llandovery Castle is a ruined Norman defence post with fragments of wall remaining. Built around 1115, control of the site changed hands several times during the 12th and 13th centuries due to frequent Welsh uprisings and English military campaigns. Edward I reinforced the castle after his conquest of Wales. Over time, further improvements were made, including a stone gatehouse and curtain walls. During the Owain Glyndwr rebellion, the building was severely damaged. Eventually it declined in military importance and by the 16th century had fallen into disrepair. We still had a couple of hours to kill before catching a train back to Ammanford and we found a shaded table outside the Bear Inn - a traditional pub with a selection of ales from Brains, a regional brewery based in Cardiff.

While pleasantly sipping our drinks,

Fife Airport

An airport in Fife? Where, exactly? This is a common response when you mention the existence of an aviation centre within the Kingdom. Even Fifers themselves cannot be relied upon to know of its whereabouts. But yes, planes - albeit very small craft - do take to the skies within my home county. Opened in 1964 as a basic grass airfield, the facilities were upgraded in 1981, including the laying of an asphalt runway.

If you drive through the former mining village of Kinglassie (near Glenrothes), a side road leads uphill to the airport facility. Used primarily by recreational flying clubs and flight training schools, the complex also features a restaurant open to the public. The eatery has changed hands a few times in recent years and has just reopened as Cloud 9 Café. Keen to check out the latest incarnation, Nicole and I took my mum there for lunch on a Friday afternoon. The location is pleasing on the eye. Green fields surround the airport and the microlight planes offer an unusual spectacle, while making minimal noise. The car-park was almost full and the only free tables were outside. Absolutely fine on a warm summer's day. The menu offers no-frills food and is reasonably priced. I ordered sausage, egg, chips and beans, along with a mug of hot chocolate. It was nice to see the place bustling and the staff worked hard to keep the customers happy. Both Mum and Nicole enjoyed the experience. Hopefully the business will be viable in the long term. Perhaps the issue is the rather isolated location. Easy to attract newcomers once or twice, but can you also build a regular clientele? Pop along if you're looking for something different that's easy on the wallet.

Seahouses and Farne Islands

Nicole's birthday and a local public holiday fell across the same weekend. We decided to get away for a couple of nights down in Northumberland. Familiar territory for us. We booked two nights in a wigwam on a campsite just outside Seahouses - a small coastal town just a short drive from Bamburgh. Leaving early on a Saturday Morning, we headed down a quiet A1, making our usual pit-stop at the retail park near Dunbar. Suitably refreshed, the journey to Seahouses proceeded painlessly and we pulled in at Budel Bay en route. A few ducks and waders were present but the vast intertidal expanse was mostly deserted.

A little further down the coast, we took the opportunity to drive across the causeway towards Holy Island. The magical landscape is captivating and you can see the pilgrim route marked out by wooden poles on the sand flats. After a quick turnaround on the island itself, we paused in a lay-by on the return leg. You really have the sense of being among the birds, rather than viewing them from the shore. In Seahouses, we parked up and wandered down to the harbour. The main focus for today was a boat cruise around the Farne Islands, which included an hour of exploration time upon Inner Farne. Our sailing was due to depart around lunchtime and we collected our boarding tickets. Having National Trust memberships meant the island landing fee was waived. We took a packed lunch on to the busy open-deck craft. It was a case of grabbing a bench seat wherever you could find a suitable place. The weather was somewhat unsettled but fortunately the conditions remained dry for the duration of our voyage. The Farne archipelago is a nature reserve of special scientific interest - home to one of the most significant seabird breeding colonies in the UK. Comprising inner and outer groups, separated by Staple Sound, there are no permanent residents and the islands are owned by the National Trust. A handful of employed rangers live on site for nine months of the year, retreating to the mainland during the winter. As we approached our destination, various seabirds flew by the boat, or bobbed in the surrounding water. This was a mere taster. Tall vertical cliffs came into view and the ledges were crammed with breeding guillemots, razorbills and kittiwakes. Each nesting pair has its own rigidly defined slice of territory. Amazingly, the eggs have evolved into a shape that doesn't roll easily if accidently kicked. It was a noisy and spectacular sight. The maritime nature reserve is also home to a large colony of grey seals. Around 2000 pups are born here every year. We sailed right by a few adults, reclining on the rocks. It always looks as if they lead a leisurely life. The population here has been monitored continuously since 1951. We docked on Inner Farne and the path from the pier took us right by a tern breeding colony. They nest on open ground and don't take too kindly to intruders straying close to the vulnerable chicks. We had been advised upon booking to wear a sturdy hat and this proved to be sound advice as an adult bird landed on top of my head and gave me a good old peck, much to Nicole's amusement, capturing the incident on camera for posterity. Sometimes it's not an advantage to stand out as the tallest person in a crowd!

A wooden boardwalk took us right past an occupied eider duck nest. A rope cordon had been set up to ensure some breathing space for the young family. Multiple paths fanned out across the grass and we explored the small island, encountering puffins on numerous occasions. The spotting process was remarkably simple - look around and point. Puffin broods live in fragile burrows and it was strictly forbidden to leaved the marked pedestrian routes. The colourful visitors start to arrive around the end of March and will typically commence breeding activity in May. The adults face the threat of attack from gulls when bringing back a beak load of food for the offspring. By mid-August, most of the puffin population will be gone from the island, having headed out to sea. There were good viewpoints looking towards the cliffs and we took in the general cacophony on display. An hour soon slips away but it was sufficient time to become acquainted with the seabird population and take pictures. Back on the boat, we saw more seals and then sailed around Longstone Island, with its imposing lighthouse, scene of a daring maritime rescue in 1838. We would learn more about this heroic tale at the Grace Darling Museum in two days time. Chugging back to the mainland, we felt lucky to have escaped the rain as the sky wasn't looking too promising. It had been a worthwhile trip with plenty to see. You always get your money's worth when puffins are in the neighbourhood. Back at the harbour, we each bought a tub of large whelks from a seafood stall but the rubbery texture wasn't to Nicole's liking, meaning an extra portion for me! We had a brief look around a couple of shops in town. I bought a couple of local ales and we purchased some supplies to take back to the local campsite. A heavy shower began to fall just as we drove off. We had booked a basic wooden wigwam but had full use of the communal on-site kitchen and dining space. Our accommodation was spacious enough for two people and the bench seating converted into beds. A small fridge and a kettle were also provided. The toilet block was just a short walk away. After a hot meal, we settled in for the evening. Birding expedition already completed, the next day was a quiet affair with the highlight being Nicole's birthday meal in the early evening. We had booked a table at The Potted Lobster, an award-winning seafood restaurant in nearby Bamburgh. We spent some time wandering along the beach, while the mighty Bamburgh Castle loomed above in its commanding position. I've written about the fortification in previous entries and it's just a few miles off the A1. A very worthy detour if you're ever heading that way with some slack in your schedule. We arrived for our meal and - unbelievably - were seated adjacent to one of my colleagues, Fiona, and her partner. Her classroom is just along the corridor from mine. As it was a special occasion, we plumped for the shared seafood platter as the main course. I warmed up with a beetroot salad and local cask ale before the feast was placed on the table. We tucked into the multiple marine delights, served with sides of chips, crusty bread and salad. I awarded a solid score of 8/10. A nice place to treat yourself, no doubt about that.

Back at the wigwam, I soon had a fire blazing with logs I had purchased at the site shop. Nicole retired to bed and I stayed outside until darkness fell, the glowing embers as mesmerising as ever. Homeward bound on the Monday morning, we still had plans to fulfil. The Grace Darling Museum is located in Bamburgh and we stopped for a look around. Staffed by volunteers, the museum contains the boat used by 22-year-old Grace to rescue nine people who had become stranded after their paddle steamer was wrecked off the Northumberland coast while sailing from Hull to Dundee. Born in 1815, Grace lived in Longstone Lighthouse where her father was head keeper. On the fateful night, SS Forfarshire developed boiler failure and a heavy storm forced the vessel towards the treacherous Farne Islands, where it was broken in two after striking Harcar Rock. Grace spotted the situation from her bedroom window and saw people clinging to the reef. Gambling on retrieving survivors fit enough to assist with the return journey, she and her father set out in a small coble rowing boat. Four men and a woman were brought back to the lighthouse on the first run. William Darling and one of the rescued men returned to pick up the remaining survivors. News of the escapade quickly spread and Grace became a national hero. She was in great demand for newspaper interviews and portrait sittings at a time when photography was very much in its infancy. Sadly Grace died from tuberculosis aged just 26. Her tomb is located in the churchyard across the road from the museum. One can't help but marvel at those who put their own lives on the line to help seafarers in distress, a commitment that continues to this day. We paid another visit to the Holy Island causeway, pausing in one of the temporary parking bays, before driving back to Scotland.