The Five Valleys (Part 2, Caernarfon to Rhyd Ddu)

Caernarfon Welsh Highland Railway station is rather basic. There are plans for something grander, but it may be some way off. However, it is staffed - more than can be said for many mainline stations these days - and you can walk up and buy a ticket. I was in plenty of time for the train, but then I needed to be. On my day of travel it was the only one running with a through connection.

It is not the cheapest ride. The full return trip to Porthmadog is roughly comparable to a cheapish ticket for a Premier League Match. However, several shorter but still interesting trips are possible and if you have children, they go free on a one-per-adult basis. On the other hand, if you are making your first or only trip it's well worth investing in the extra and going first class, as those coaches are rather special. I booked a third class through ticket to Blaenau Ffestininog.

Even third class (no second class) is reasonably comfortable, and someone comes round with a food and drink trolley. The engines are Beyer-Garratts, very large for a narrow gauge railway and very powerful. They were, like me, created in Gorton, Manchester. Unlike me they spent their youth in South Africa before being brought to Wales. To add to the international dimension, the coach I chose to ride in came from Romania. (Most are made in Wales, in the company's own works in Porthmadog.)

The first part of the journey is over what was once part of the standard gauge line from Caernarfon to Afon Wen, and it is a little odd to think that as a boy I travelled over it several times in its original form. These first few miles are pleasant enough but nothing special scenically. Eventually you arrive at Dinas. This used to be the junction for the North Wales Narrow Gauge (as the Welsh Highland was up until 1922) and the break of gauge and necessary change of trains was one reason why local traffic declined pretty quickly once buses became available. Dinas is where the engine shed and carriage shed are located and is a great, sprawling sort of station.

The train now turns sharply left and starts to climb, a climb that continues all the way to the summit at Pitt's Head.This is Welsh farming country, with plenty of cattle and sheep to be seen, though the fields look, well - rather unpromising for agriculture. Some of the railway fences hereabouts are still made from local slate, and if you look to the rear there are some fine views of Anglesey.

After Tryfan Junction the train enters more wooded country and runs along the side of a valley to Waenfawr. If you only want a short trip, this is a good place to get off as there is an excellent pub next to the station that serves good food. There's also a camp site if you've brought your own tent.

Beyond Waenfawr the train really starts to head into the mountains, and the track twists and turns as it seeks to follow the contours. (This was a railway built on the cheap.) There are some very impressive views, especially around Llyn Cwellyn. However, on this particular day the clouds were relatively low and it wasn't possible to see the tops of the biggest mountains.

At last we wriggled into Rhyd Ddu. This was as far as the original North Wales Narrow Gauge Railways ever got. Victorian and Edwardian tourists (intrepid souls!) had the choice between catching a horse bus to Beddgelert or walking up to Snowdon summit. For many years this was the nearest station to that summit which is only (only!) three or four miles away as the crow flies. Human crows should note that there are many painful feet of ascent in those three or four miles, and if they are using the railway they need to go on a day when the full summer service is in place to allow adequate time. Needless to say, they should also wear good boots and go fully equipped for the mountains. (I add this just in case someone thinks it's an easy stroll.)

For many years Rhyd Ddu station was actually known as 'Snowdon' or 'South Snowdon', at least partly because English passengers found Rhyd Ddu difficult to pronounce. However, that is rather like calling Base Camp 'Everest'. There is a small village here, and indeed a pub, about a quarter of a mile back down the road, but the station itself is gloriously isolated. On a bright summer day it's a beautiful place to spend an hour or so. On a wet or cold day, less so. You have to admire the optimism of the people who thought that building a railway to this place would be profitable. But I am very glad they did.

The Five Valleys (Part 1, Llandudno to Caernarfon.)

This trip is one I have wanted to do for years, even before it became possible again with the re-opening of the Welsh Highland Railway. Sometimes dreams come true!

In theory you can travel from Llandudno to Bangor by train, with a change of train at Llandudno Junction and a further change to a bus at Bangor. However, the train timetable was not obliging, so the tour began with an early start in Llandudno to catch the X5 bus. (You can also get the 5, it just goes a slightly different way.)

Modern buses are not usually my cup of tea, but this one had a friendly driver, the seats were comfortable, and the single fare was a trifling £3-70. You couldn't ask for more. A screen which constantly updated showed the name of the next stop, and an electronic voice told you, in both Welsh and English. No excuse for getting lost!

This has to be one of the best travel bargains in the UK. Even though the bus carries 'Bangor' o the front it actually works straight through to Caernarfon and you can have a through ticket. It was as good as a coach tour, and less crowded.

The journey takes you through Conwy, with an excellent view of the castle and estuary, and then along the coast, with occasional diversions to take in small villages. One of these is Abergwyngregyn, famous in Welsh history as the residence of Llywelyn ap Gruffydd (and his forebears) and familiar from the works of Sharon K. Penman. The bus only pays a brief call to the edge of the village, and then it's back onto the A5, a spectacular road with views of Anglesey (Ynys Mon) and Puffin Island (Ynys Seriol). This little island has at least four names as it used also be called Priestholm or Ynys Lannog. There used to be a monastery on it, a long time ago. The monks certainly had solitude, but now it's a bird sanctuary.

The timetable indicated that the service was in effect a school bus from Bangor on. Being used to the rather unfortunate behaviour of some students in Greater Manchester, I wondered quite what to expect. In the event quite a few young people did board at Bangor, but I am pleased to say they were an absolute credit to themselves and their schools. They seemed to be a lot more mature than I was at their age!

Eventually we arrived in Caernarfon, by which time I was the only passenger. These days the buses don't enter Castle Square - which used to be their venue back in the day - but drop you off just around the corner from it. A fairly heavy drizzle had started by this time so I retired for breakfast to a rather lovely cafe in the shadow of the castle walls. The breakfast was excellent, and there was even a newspaper to read. I heard my first Welsh language conversation of the day, and departed with a Diolch yn fawr.

Caernarfon is now a very Welsh town. It didn't use to be of course, as the huge castle was built by Edward I to overawe the Welsh, and the town built in its shade was stocked with English settlers. Of course the Welsh were not overawed for long. During the Glyndwr rising, for example, no man dared venture to Chester to ask for assistance - the garrison had to send a woman.

The castle is still an impressive building, and must have been even more so in the 13th Century, when the largest building most people saw was their parish church. I prefer it from a distance though. Close up, it feels oppressive. That was the idea, of course.

So, with the rain eased somewhat, I was off down the slope to the lower part of the town and the WHR railway station. (I refuse to say train station.) More next time.

Tryfan Junction

Clunton and Clunbury

Clungunford and Clun 

Are the quietest places

Under the sun.

A.E.Housman, who wrote those words, had obviously never heard of Tryfan Junction.

I wish I could say it was the only place in the UK with 'Junction' in its name that is no longer a real junction, but sadly that would not be true. For example, at St Helens Junction, it has not been possible to change for St Helens since 1965. Even the bus service is nothing like it was - thanks to the disaster that is bus privatisation - and in the evening, particularly, the service is damnable. So much for progress!

Back to Tryfan Junction. This remote station in Wales never served more than a couple of farmhouses, but it used to be the junction station for the Bryngwyn branch of the North Wales Narrow Gauge Railways. The passenger service on the branch was removed as far back as 1914 - prior even to the outbreak of war - although some goods traffic - notably slate - continued to around 1936. The branch was sharply curved and steep, and must have been an interesting ride in its day. Track was lifted in 1941, along with the rest of the Welsh Highland Railway - as the NWNGR had become. That looked like the end of it.

However, in recent years the Welsh Highland has been entirely rebuilt (apart from the Bryngwn branch) and some very keen enthusiasts decided to rebuild the station building at Tryfan Junction, and bring the station back as a halt. This was accomplished in 2011. And a very nice job they did of it! So once again, if you wish, you can alight at Tryfan Junction - though you will need to ask the guard to stop the train, as it's now a request stop. Of course, there's not much to do once you get there, except walk the length of the Bryngwyn branch, most of which has been turned into a permissive footpath. Time your walk well, as there are not that many WHR trains - only three a day at best.

When your return train comes you will need to stick out a hand to stop it. While you are waiting, recall that this place once had a passing loop, full signalling, a signal box and a stationmaster. Hard to believe as it is now. 

Bryngwyn Path

Digging stuff out

I have just found some computer files of writing that I had completely forgotten having written. It's annoying, but I have so many fragments, and nothing (yet) that makes a complete book. But I have not given up. Eventually there will be a breakthrough.

The Black Dog and Me

Go away, Black Dog,
Go and chase the Black Rabbit,
Lift your tail under the Devil's nose,
Treat him to the scent,
Of half-digested Pedigree Chum.

If you were a real dog, you would bring me joy,
Instead you drain the joy from me,
You traitor to your race,
Go away, Black Dog,
And this time, stay away.

An Interview with Alianore Audley

Given that there are to be online interviews with King John and King Richard III I thought it only fair that we should have something similar here. Unfortunately, being a bit hard up, it wasn't possible to meet the fee demanded by dead monarchs, so I hope you will settle for a little chat with Alianore Audley:

BW: First of all, what do I call you? Dame Beauchamp? Mistress Audley?

AA: Alianore will do. We don't really do titles in This Place. Apart from The Management, that is.

BW: Right. Well, Alianore, is is fair to say you were the first female intelligence agent?

AA: No. We've league tables for that sort of thing and I'm not even in the top thousand. Maybe the first Englishwoman of breeding who left notes behind.

BW: Talking of notes, you left a very favourable record of Richard III - in the light of what you know now, do you stand by it?

AA: Look darling, Richard wasn't a saint, but you have to look at what followed. I mean, Henry Tudor! Nasty, mean, snivelling little man. His grandfather was a wardrobe attendant! Fancy having someone like that as king. The idea! At least Richard had a respectable pedigree. He killed one or two people, I'll admit, but either they deserved it for plotting against him (Buckingham for example - what a jerk) or they were frightfully common fellows who'd just got a bit above themselves. Yes, I do mean the Woodvilles.

BW: But Alianore, the Woodvilles had lots of noble quarterings on their mother's side. And Anthony, at least, was a highly civilised man, and a noted chivalrous knight.

AA: Yes, but they were Richard's enemies. They'd have killed him given half a chance. Be serious! It wasn't a game of cricket, you know. And really! Dame Jacquetta was a foreigner. You don't think that English gentlefolk took her quarterings seriously, do you? A woman who claimed descent from a (expletive deleted) water snake! Forsooth and forsooth, as Mad King Henry used to say. (Or so I am told).

BW: Have you any regrets?

AA: Not telling more of my story and not buying more land while it was cheap.

For the avoidance of doubt....

I haven't given up writing, I really haven't. It's just that due to circumstances, things are moving really, really slowly. I can only counsel patience.