OSAmag78

T h e O l d S t a t i o n e r - N o 7 5
FAR AS You RoAM
A WELSH oDYSSEY
A forecast of an Indian Summer for early September
suggested a short break was called for. I had often promised
myself a re-visit to North Wales in the hope of eventually
getting to the top of Snowdon. I had tried unsuccessfully
twice before, but was frustrated by high winds and low clouds.
On both occasions, the train had taken us as far as the halfway
station and then returned with fierce mutterings from the
disgruntled passengers. Accordingly, half our fares were
refunded but it goes to show you can never trust Welsh
weather.
So it was with hope and some trepidation on a bright sunny
day that I headed up the M40 and M6 to my base in
Caernarfon where I had booked in for three nights. The
motorway journey was as boring as usual although stops for
coffee and a Big Mac helped to relieve the tedium. Skirting
Chester, I vowed to return there at some stage as I have never
seen the city but have always had good reports of its interesting
history and buildings. The North Wales Expressway lived up
to its name and I was soon checking in to the "Black Boy
Inn" situated within the town/castle walls. The car park was
somewhat tight, but I did manage to manoeuvre into a small
space. A friendly passer-by, who had watched me backing and
filling, commented that it was stupid to have built those walls
so close to the car park. Edward the First has a lot to answer
for.
The Black Boy, reputed to be one of the oldest inns in North
Wales was built in about 1522, a couple of hundred or so years
after the castle was built. The origin of its name is not known
with any certainty with various suggestions such as an
immigrant off one of the trading ships using the port, a black
buoy situated in the harbour mouth to guide ships in and a
reference to Charles I , sometimes known as the Black Boy,
who is supposed to have visited this royalist town. Of,
perhaps, greater interest is that Northgate Street, where the
Black Boy is located was once the centre of the red light
district. It is said that for 4/6d in old money, you could have a
room, a bottle of gin and the services of a lady of the night.
Prices today are rather higher or so I was told! A satisfying
dinner of considerable proportions and a comfortable bed
ended my first day.
Wednesday dawned bright and sunny. Was this my chance to
achieve my objective? After a full "Welsh" breakfast, similar
to an English or even a Scottish one, except that lava bread
was an option, I set off for Llanberis, a twenty minute drive
and the station for the train up the mountain. There is a
facility to pre-book and pay for a ticket online. With the
vagaries of Welsh mountain weather I cannot understand
anyone, unless they are of a gambling nature, mad enough to
pre-book. How wrong can you be! Approximately a hundred
intrepid souls had obviously tried their luck so I found myself
waiting a couple of hours before they managed to squeeze me
in the elderly carriages which are such a feature of this 117-
year old railway. Pushed by one of the original steam engines,
we wended our way slowly up with the views becoming more
and more dramatic as we climbed. It takes about an hour to
reach the summit and you get 30 minutes to admire the
fantastic panorama. If you miss your scheduled train back,
you have the option of waiting for a spare seat on a later train
or walking down. As I don't do walking, I made it my
business to be sure of my return journey. In spite of this time
limitation, you get the chance of taking in the amazing sight
of rolling mountains, steep valleys, the scars left from the old
slate quarries and, if you strain your eyes seawards , a glimpse
of Snaefell on the Isle of Man. Also, quite fascinating , is the
expression on the faces of those brave or foolish enough to
have made the climb on foot. I am told that it takes a
reasonably fit person about 3-4 hours to get to the summit
and you can almost tell from their demeanour how fit they
were. Expressions of joy, exhaustion, satisfaction and a
generally knackered look were all present. I just stood there
feeling smug.
The journey down was just as thrilling, although I was unable
not to be concerned at the braking ability of such a venerable
locomotive. A quick bite to eat in the Railway Cafe sealed my
delight on achieving what I had set out to do for all these
years. However, as I now had a free afternoon I decided to
venture into Anglesey, a short hop across the Menai Strait via
Brunel's rail/road bridge. I drove through Beaumaris, the site
of a sister castle to Caernarfon, and continued to Penmon
Point at the north-eastern tip of Anglesey at the head of the
Menai Strait and looking over to Great Orme and the
Victorian seaside town of Llandudno where my parents
apparently spent their honeymoon some 90 years ago.
After a short walk around the point, I spotted a small cafe
advertising cream teas which I can never resist and as it was
still sunny and warm, decided to sit outside and indulge. I
went to the counter to order and was asked if I wanted tea
with my cream tea. I gave an affirmative response whereupon
he advised me that, unfortunately, he only had teapots for two
people, but not to worry as he would only half-fill mine. I was
lmpressed at this attention to portion control but then he
spoilt it by also providing me with a large steaming jug full of
hot water almost twice the size of the teapot. The cream tea
was delicious and very thirst quenching.
I have always been a bit of a railway buff probably stemming
from my formative years trainspotting at Hadley Wood,
watching the Gresley A4 Pacific thundering into the tunnel
en route to Scotland. Incidentally, when I visited the Railway
museum in York earlier this year, I saw 4 examples of this
famous locomotive, including one shipped over from Canada
a few days previously. On a slightly smaller scale is the Welsh
Highland Railway, a 25-mile narrow gauge line running
between Caernarfon and Porthmadog, which has been the
subject of a major restoration project. The line, closed in 1936,
has been progressively re-opened from 1997 and finally
restored in 2011. The route runs through the foothills of
Snowdon and touches on old slate quarries which were its
raison d'etre in the first place finally terminating in the old
port of Porthmadog, from whence the slate was exported
around the world. Its narrow gauge allows the line to negotiate
the steep hills, rising at its highest point to 648 feet(197
metres) just west of Beddgelert, the largest village served and
a former mining centre.
I could not let the opportunity of riding the rails go by, so the
next morning, under a cloudy sky, I boarded the 10.00 train at
Caernarfon for the 2 1/2 hour trip to the far end of the line.
The views were not so impressive as those on yesterday's
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