The last train to Wrexham

I had my Wednesday all planned out. Mostly it involved getting things ready for a trip at the weekend. Then on the local news came the story that made me change my plans.

Wrexham and Shropshire Railway is to close on Friday.

Friday ?! That was only a couple of days away !

My panic wasn't down to some trainspottery sadness at the loss of a railway company. It was because I had always promised myself a trip to Wrexham on one of these trains. I've used them a few times and have always been hugely impressed, not just by the comfort but by the superb staff. So far my journeys had been restricted to Cosford and a return from Wolverhampton (you might argue that any journey out of Wolverhampton would be pleasant but that would be rude. And incur the wrath of the Black Country), neither of which are long runs. Using these trains is a pleasure to be wallowed in. Michael Williams wrote about his trip down to London using them in the excellent book "The Slow Train" and feels the same way. This is old-fashioned rail travel in the best meaning of the phrase.

To be honest I've never had a particular desire to go to Wrexham other than to enjoy watching the countryside roll by while sitting in comfort. Which is why I dropped my plans and grabbed the 10:54 from Leamington to Wrexham.

W&S are what is called an "Open Access" operator which means they are an independent company that have to negotiate the rights to stop at certain stations, use odd routes and generally have to fit in between everyone else. They tried to differentiate themselves by the quality of the experience and the reasonable price of the tickets.

The train arrived at Leamington looking very clean and smart. My coach had recently been fitted out with dark grey curtains and seat covers. Even though the end wall proclaimed "Standard Class", it was on a par with the first class on most other services.

My idea of a good train journey involves a good book, some music, something nice in the way of a cakey bun to eat and a drink of some sort, usually diet coke or hot chocolate. In the coach next to mine was the small buffet counter. But it was unmanned.

You might think this wasn't a surprise. After all, 12 hour earlier the staff had been told they were losing their jobs and with a company less than two years old there wasn't going to be any nice redundancy package to ease the pain. I can fully understand why you just wouldn't bother.

As it was our excellent train manager, Jane Meredith, did the honours. Despite sounding a bit chocked a few times as she talked to us on the tanoy or in person, she provided a very professional service. I recognised her from the Cosford trip and remembered how impressed I'd been with the way she'd handled a group of kids with not enough supervisory grown-ups too.

In the absence of buffet staff, Jane dished up drinks and food for the few passengers on board. The service is mainly about getting people to London in the morning and back in the evening. The traffic into Wales isn't huge, especially in January. All food and drink was free so I enjoyed a very nice fruit scone and jam along with some chocolate to drink. To be honest I'd planned to buy this anyway but I suppose there isn't any point in messing around with change by this point.



Jane made an announcement about the closure of the service as we passed through Coventry (W&S don't have the rights to stop there which hasn't helped the finances I suspect) and the lady next to me was not impressed. She was a regular user of the service from Gobowen to Banbury and was really going to miss it. Her daughter seemed more interested in the raggy toy but will undoubtedly wonder why she doesn't get a nice comfy train in future and has to walk across Birmingham instead.

Another passenger seemed more interested in what was going to happen to the sets, that is the trains themselves. For once I was really ashamed to be interested, however lightly, in railways. I mean, here we have someone who's just been told she is losing her job and her job and all this idiot wanted to know about was what would happen to the train. He was lucky not to have been told exactly where he could have put it !

The journey itself was a pleasure. We wiggled around the edges of Birmingham which made for a far more interesting view then if the train had charged through New Street, another station closed to the company. For the non-anorak I have to point out that the company uses proper coaches pulled by an engine rather than the more common version where each vehicle has an engine under the floor. This give a better ride and the surroundings are quieter. You can hear the gentle clickety-clack as you cross rail joints and the odd soft toot from the engine horn at the front. These coaches are over 25 years old of course but that's progress for you. If I have a complaint, it's that the fixed arms make sliding your legs out from under the table a bit tricky but I can live with that for the roomy seats.

As we approached Wales it was apparent that I wasn't the only one interested in the demise of these fine grey trains. At both Ruabon and Gobowen there were people on the platforms with cameras. Once we reached our destination and crunched our way up a salt-covered platform, even the BBC had turned up to film our arrival. Some local radio person stuffed a microphone in my face and asked my opinion on the ending of the service. I said something along the lines of it being a shame a quality service can't survive in Britain any more and this was a terrible shame. Not that it mattered - there are already some half-hearted attempts to save it, the local MP is jumping on the bandwagon rather faster than he jumped on the train apparently, but it's no good. In future you'll have to do what I did on the way back and change at Birmingham or Smethick. The "sets" will doubtless be packed off to a siding somewhere and left to rot while everyone carries on with noisy and uncomfortable trains, because it's what we do nowadays.

Along with several other passengers, I wished Jane good luck in the future. She disappeared through a door into a room in which it could be glimpsed, was fullof other W&S staff in the same boat. I hope they are lucky in the future. They deserve it.

More photos on Flickr.

Welshpool

Birmingham News Street station isn’t an appealing place at the best of times. With half the lights switched off thanks to an electrical fault, the resulting gloom does nothing to improve it’s appeal.

More of a worry that as well the escalators, the electrical mishap had closed all the concessions on the concourse, apart from a dimply lit branch of WH Smith. While this might have been a minor inconvenience for those in the magazine rack reading library, for me it could have been disastrous as my favourite muffin supplier was out of action. I was facing a long train journey at the mercy of the onboard catering trolley.

A quick dash up to the shopping centre above the station and a bit of hammering on the counter sorted things out as I purchased the last double-chocolate muffin in the place. Even better, it was so freshly baked the choccy chips were gooey as I sat and ate it three-quarters of an hour later.

My trip to Welshpool was a spur of the moment decision. Faced with a department meeting which didn’t concern me but promised to be limb-gnawingly dull and held in some out of the way centre that I suspected would tax my limited ability to navigate the roads of Coventry, I decided that a day off and a nice train ride was in order. The destination was one I’d promised to myself a couple of times looking out of carriage windows from passing trains. The weather was threatened to be superb, what was stopping me ?

Birmingham to Welshpool is served by a surprisingly long train that was unsurprisingly low of passengers. In my carriage there were no more than half a dozen of us. A couple of seats in from sat a sharply dressed man in a pale grey suit that contrasted with his Virgin Media t-shirt. When the guard arrived to check tickets he surprised me by pulling out an old-fashioned roll of cash rather than a piece of plastic to pay up – more Dell Boy than Gordon Gecko.

Some say that England is disappearing under concrete. I disagree as the gaps between towns are still huge when viewed from the train. “They” may need to revise there opinions however as the latest thing seems to be to cover fields in plastic sheet. Long, shiny strips of the stuff are laid in neat rows covering and protecting (I assume) the precious seedlings. For anyone who complains about bright yellow fields of oilseed rape, the sight of striped grown visible from miles away should have them prepareing to fire off a missive to the Daily Telegraph.

At Telford the sharp dressed man left and was replaced by two very clean cut men in identical suits and ties who sat facing each other around a table. On the lapel of the one facing me was a large black badge on which I could read the words “Elder O’Brien” and “Jesus Christ”. I’d guess that it was Mr O’Brien on the train and not his boss, although if I’m wrong then the journey was surprisingly uneventful – no water into wine, raising the dead or that sort of thing. Closer inspection later allowed me to read the full text showed him to be a representative of the Church of Jesus Christ and the laterday saints – more commonly called a Mormon. Followers of this faith often carry out 18 months to 2 years full-time missionary work around the world apparently (OK, I looked it up on Wikipedia). It would appear that Elder O’Brien and his colleague were off to the wild lands of deepest Wales to print religion to an area where strange people spoke a funny language...

To be frank, the scenery on this trip isn’t much to write home, or even a blog post, about. It’s green and pleasant enough but rarely diverted me from my book, a slightly turgid tomb on the history of Radio 4. When we reached Shrewsbury the keen observer would notice some slight changes. The railway signals are the old-fashioned semaphore type rather than traffic lights.

The station entrance is guarded by a huge signal box and the multiple platforms speak of a town of considerable importance. The platforms are graced with a brace of train-spotters, the first I’ve seen. Where once would have been displayed adverts there is now an art show by the Shrewsbury Youth Project. Each arch on a wall is home to a large canvas that has been decorated in a style the cognoscenti would call “Street Art” and others “Graffiti”. I suppose it ads a splash of colour to the scene and keeps the kids off the streets where they might choose to paint surfaces that can’t be easily replaced. You have to wonder if the architects and builders of the station ever envisaged that we’d be less interested in repairing the canopies than hanging up aerosol cartoons of people on bikes by “Shaz”.

The hills arrive as we approach journeys end. I could tell that I was in Wales thanks to the local speed camera van having something unpronounceable written in big letters on the side. Presumably “Safety Camera Partnership” or similar doesn’t translate naturally but you don’t want to annoy someone who has just been nicked for racing his Ford Escort down a windy road built for sheep by imposing law from a blatantly English vehicle”. Business looked slow as the only powered transport other than the train was a distant tractor.

Welshpool has several stations but the one travellers arrive at is a single platform affair with a bus stop shelter and connections to the town on both sides via a straggly metal footbridge. In an effort to completely avoid any steps and the straddle the neighbouring bypass the designer produced a structure looking like an enormous daddy-longlegs that someone painted in pale, municipal, grey. Contrasted against this were several fluorescent jackets belonging to one of the largest Police presences I’d seen for a long while.

Exiting the giant insect I wandered over to the Old Station. It was this building that caught my eye as I’d travelled past previously. A magnificent bring building obviously intended as a show-off gesture by a confident railway company. Now separated from the platforms by the main road, it has been turned into a sort of shopping centre where women buy clothes inspired by the countryside, rather than the sort of thing real country people wear which is mostly wellingtons and baler twine, for themselves and their husbands. For the gentleman there is a golf shop and surprisingly a small room full of Hornby trains and Scalextric cars. For the tourists, Welsh fudge and rock plus all manner of lovely souvenirs were on offer for that last minute present buying spree. While poking around and realising that even I was too fashionable for the garments on offer, I asked why the local constabulary were out in force.

“The Queen has come by train to open the new livestock market” was the reply. This explained it, when the monarch arrives then every copper locally is expected to polish his or her boots and keep the local population under control. Judging by the numbers on duty, it would have been a field day for burglars in the surrounding areas. Even though there was no sign of the royal train, every exit on the footbridge was guarded and a small group sat on borrowed chairs by the end of the station building.

Now the livestock market appeared to be on the other side of the tracks to the town in an industrial area. On that basis I didn’t expect to see HRH during my visit. How wrong I was. At the end of the short walk into town were streets bedecked with bunting and crowds filling the pavements – only prevented from encroaching on the road by cattle barriers and even more burly coppers. In the distance were some official looking cars and in front of these were some armed forces cadets, a lady in mayoral garb, lots of press wielding cameras and in the middle of the scrum, a very short lady dressed in blue.

To my right was the Royal Hotel, obviously the destination for the party and outside there more official types who were presumably wishing her maj had stayed in the car and ignored the crowds so they could have something to eat. Instead she was making her way down one side of the street talking and collecting bouquets from the public. On the other side of the road, Prince Phillip performed the same function although you get the feeling that those there felt they had got Wise and not Morecombe – good but you wanted to meet the bigger star.

Eventually the Queen got as far as me to the sound of cameras and mobile phones snapping away. A spontaneous burst of applause rang out – presumably clapping to congratulate her on being Queen or something. The general feeling was “Isn’t she tiny” and “Doesn’t she look lovely” followed by “Thank God she’s got here, now we can have something to eat” from those by the hotel.

Even then the entertainment was not finished. The BBC correspondent Andrew Marr was doing a piece to camera, presumably desperate to link the new market into some election farming story. “Hello Mr Andrew Marr” shouted someone close to me although he received no acknowledgement. Possibly Marr had already discovered that the big political story of the day was happening elsewhere...

With the Queen in the hotel feasting on the best this part of Wales can offer, the crowd dispersed. I headed off down a side street – fighting up the main road wasn’t an option as everyone had decided they needed to be somewhere they weren’t. Feeling a bit peckish myself I found a fish and chip shop with attached café and ordered fish (unspecified and no options were offered) chip and peas (mushy, again, not options). I’d picked up the local paper to read as it had a suitably apocalyptic story on the front page regarding the recent Icelandic Volcano. The editor had obviously decided that this was a bandwagon not to be missed and leapt on it with aplomb - “Volcano wreaks havoc in Powys” - which translates into “bowls players held up abroad thanks to lack of flights” . The food was very hot and very tasty. If I'm being picky, the peas and chips got a bit mixed up on the plate but who cares ? Not the local population as the place was filling up nicely as I finished munching. You could hardly hear “Loose Women” playing on the large screen telly opposite the serving counter.

After this I took a gentle stroll up the high street. For pudding I tried a shortbread biscuit, which was disgusting, and then a chocolate covered ring doughnut from a different shop which wasn't that much better. Handy diet hint: only eat food that you throw away before the second bite.

The town hall has been turned into a rather nice indoor market. Lots of local food on offer plus hardware, second hand books and two stalls of “stuff”, those weird gift like things involving far too many fairies and elves plus added dream catchers. How do they make a living ? Also, perhaps I was being unfair but on seeing another bakers stall, I decided against more cake attempts in that direction even though the comestibles on offer looked tempting and home made in a good way.

Over the top of the hill is the third station which belongs to the Welshpool and Llanfair Light Railway which although it closed in 1956, lives on in the hands of enthusiasts who run steam engines on days when I'm not there leaving me with a view not much better than that available from Google Streetview.

Never mind, I wasn't there to look at steam trains. Even if I'd wanted to I didn't have time. Besides, the canal museum spotted on the way into town looked very interesting with an unusually shaped warehouse. Back in town the Queen had started to move so the straight route was blocked but some nifty navigation past the chip shop circumnavigated her. It's at that point my luck ran out – for future notice, the museum is shut on Wednesdays. Still, there were some nice wooden sculptures outside to look at, if you like giant handbags and fake birds anyway.

Back at the station the royal train was parked in the platform looking very nice and purple. Wale's best were blocking all entrances to the footbridge just in case anyone tried to find a seat on-board. A few people hung around but by this point she was ensconced in the travelling throne so there was nothing to see. Eventually the train pulled out and the plebs were allowed to wait for their own rather less grand conveyance.

Sitting on the platform a concrete mixer drove past with a fantastic claim, “Longest concrete conveyor in the world” . What a claim and what a way to finish up the day.

In summary: Welshpool, lovely town but give it a miss on Wednesday and try to avoid your visit clashing with the Queen.

See more photos on Flickr

Welsh

welsh sign
Originally uploaded by Phil_Parker

Before heading out to Wales along with most English people I'd always assumed the Welsh language to be an anachronism. At best it would be spoken by half a dozen old people, at worst those fluent used it only when they wanted to talk and not be understood by tourists. OK, so I knew all the official signs and documents were translated but surely this was just because of pressure on the Assembly from the Welsh nationalists who were desperate to pretend that the country next door didn't exist.

I was wrong. Welsh is everywhere, not just on official signs but on shops and billboards.

And people actually speak it. Real people. Checkout staff in supermarkets converse in Welsh as though it's the most natural thing in the world. They simply flit between English and Welsh at will. What's more the local tongue is the preferred option a lot of the time. I don't think this was just because I am English, it certainly didn't seem to be used with any "side".

I'm envious really. Being bi-lingual must be great. Watching children speak fluently is amazing. Definitely something to be proud of. While I don't think there are may who speak no English but I now understand the translation policies.

If you want to speak Welsh the BBC can help.

As an aside, this proves that with the right teaching, British people can be as fluent at Europeans are in more than one language. I wonder why we aren't ?

Fairbourne

With another cracking day beckoning and my train home leaving after lunch I had two choices, wander around Porthmadoc again or get a ticket to one of the towns further down the line and have a mooch. The trouble was, which town ? Not Tywyn as that is home to the Talyllyn railway and I wouldn't be able to resit a ride - not a god idea with a big rucksack ! Harlech was tempting but in the end I decided I wanted proper seaside. The sort of place you remember going on holiday to as a child. That meant (I thought) Fairbourne.

Cynics might say this was just an excuse to find another little railway and they would have a point. The first thing you see from the station and biggest attraction on the town is the Fairbourne Railway. The beach isn't far away though so I perhaps I could go and build a sandcastle.

The train was crowded with holidaymakers and their luggage. Despite being made up of 4 coaches, only 2 were in use as for many of the Cambrian line station platforms are too short for more than this. Because people are stupid and litigious everyone has to get cosy since you can't trust anyone to actually check there is a platform before stepping out can you ? According to one of the youths travelling if you look at some of the scenery near Barmouth and didn't know where you were, you could be in Florida. I could see his point, the beeches were golden in the sunshine as the curved around the bay. Florida isn't known for it's mountains or grey buildings but the sentiment was nice.

I don't think the local council will be chasing me if I say that Fairbourne isn't a big town. Pretty much everything is available within 100 feet of the station. As far as shopping goes there is a corner arcade with a (good) chippie, butchers, newsagent, Spa store, Post office and Indian takeaway. Thanks to all the goodies outside these all blend into one which could be costly if you need cash - the Spa has a cashpoint which will charge a fee whereas the Post Office will let you have money free if you can find the counter (it's at the back of the shop around a corner).

The railway is appropriately enough a miniature tourist line. Born in 1916 (ignoring the 2ft horse tramway that preceded it) and originally 15 inch gauge it still fulfills its original purpose of taking holidaymakers to Penrhyn Point where a ferry will carry them on to Barmouth. Not many lines can claim to be doing the same thing all of their life, and presumably doing it well as it's still there.

For more history, visit the Fairbourne Railway Website

In 1986 after a chequered history financially the railway was sold and re-gauged by its new owner. I suspect this is unique among railway lines - are there any others that have been completely re-laid just to bring the rails closer together ? Of course this means the original locomotives have long since been sold or scrapped but the new(ish) ones are a great selection of scaled down replicas based on other lines motive power.

I struck lucky as it was a special "Little to Large" event - which has nothing to do with the unfunny 1970's comedians - but is all about different sized steam engines running. So we had 12 1/4 on the main line, 5 inch on a secondary line along the platform and 45mm on the garden railway I'll come to later. Every steam engine the line owns was running and pulling reasonably full trains as well. An added attraction on the platform were displays of model engineering with little static engines and a second hand bookseller. Finally a miniature traction engine offered rides to the front.

All the usual preserved railway features are found - a gift shop, museum showing the history of the line and cafe. For some reason the later smelt funny (to me anyway) so I didn't bother trying it out. However in the next building is a nature centre, not something usually associated with railways. Originally built as a butterfly farm this proved uneconomic so it now houses a very small collection of animals - ferrets (smelly), chipmunks (cute and lively), tropical fish (wet), lobster (hiding under a rock) a gecko(asleep) and chameleon (posing). Down the centre is a long pond with coi carp (I think, not good on fish) surrounded by an extensive G scale railway. A couple of steam engines were getting a workout on its 40ft run and a small but appreciative group were chatting to the modellers running the trains. At the far end of the building is housing for owls although there were no sign of these while I was there.

Now the rucksack issues worked against any chance I had of a ride here - those coaches aren't exactly big you know. The front wasn't a long walk away though and you can follow the line - or just point at the sea and stop when you get wet feet. The beech isn't sandcastle friendly being all pebbly. Maybe there is sand under the sea but the tide was in so I missed it. A single seaside emporium lives next to it and serves hot food (hmmm), ice cream (too much ice in the Mr Whippy), souvenirs, arcade machines, trampolines, kids self drive forklift trucks and crazy golf. The view is nice though.

Back at the railway I chatted to the guy in the ticket office during a lull in trade. Apparently the line is popular with staff from other local preserved railways who enjoy coming for a drive. Apparently the Ffestiniog staff enjoy the rest compared to shoveling coal into their own engines. Mind you they do go further and faster. Which brought up an interesting new problem - preserved railways usually operate with a speed limit of 25mph. Until recently this wasn't often checked unless the locomotive was fitted with a speedometer, not always the case with steam engines. Nowadays the passengers often know how fast they are going thanks to portable GPS units and those in the know will check. Apparently several drivers on different lines have been told to be careful...

Fairbourne was everything I expected - it's the sort of place every child should be brought for a holiday. There's not a whole lot to do except have a ride on the train and mess around on the beech but that's the point. You can't spend the day shelling out for entertainment and rides. It's not a shopping experience. Perhaps it's all a bit old fashioned but what's wrong with that ?

More pictures on Flickr

Blaenau Ffestiniog via the Ffestiniog Railway

While in Wales I've spent quite a lot of time at the Ffestiniog Railway station in the south of Portmadog. It's got an excellent pub which serves a nice pint. You can drink outside in the evening sun, even on the platform if the fancy takes you, or sit inside in the best decorated bar in the country. While others have farm implements nailed to the wall, this one has a steam engine in the corner. The lines original locomotive, Princess, takes pride of place where you'd normally find an old guy nursing half a pint for the evening. Elsewhere other railway memorabilia is fixed to the walls. There's quite a bit of money up there but luckily the line doesn't need to raise any at present.

I picked the coach next the the engine for the first leg of my trip. It was the one without windows and very little in the way of walls. This isn't a great place to take photos of the engine, as proper enthusiasts would want to do, but if you just like listening the to the sound and enjoying the smell like me, it's a great spot. Worryingly the FR guard locks the trains doors before setting off. Presumably they consider the chances of passengers falling out greater than that of an accident. Mind you with no walls if there was a problem, getting out wouldn't tax anyone.

The Ffestiniog railway is big business, at least in preserved railway terms. For example Portmadog station is huge. The works at Boston Lodge are huge. At Minifford you pass a large goods yard originally used for transshipment of slate to the "proper" railways. Part of the way along the line there is even a big permanent way yard. Most lines make do with a couple of sidings but the FR have a yard and at least one special train.

The train rattles along at a fair pace too. None of this meandering here we fairly belt through the countryside. While the guard locked the doors he warned us that the coach had no lights. I assumed this was a joke but no, the line has tunnels and once you're in them it's dark, very dark. Being next to the engine, it filled up with sweet smelling steam too. Nice for a short time but if the tunnels were longer it would be a different story.

Another unusual feature, for the UK at least, is a spiral. Thanks to a reservoir the route of the line had to be altered a few years ago. To gain height the railway crosses over itself at Ddualt. The new alignment runs higher up the mountain and skirts the hydro-electric scheme providing attractive views over the water.

Arrival at Blaenau took a while as the guard unlocking doors kept being waylaid by passengers for the next trip. The occupants of our coach were getting restless as we wathed his slow progress up the train. The sides were low enough to climb over with care but being British we politely waited our turn. Compared to the facilities at the other end of the track the converted shipping container looks a bit basic but it houses a jolly team selling tickets and souvenirs.

Blaenau Ffestiniog is a town that has suffered from transport being too available unfortunately. Most of the shops in the high street are closed and available for rent. Sadly people can travel out of the town to buy stuff and they do. What is left are a few cafes, a couple of tourist shops including the slate shop, some newsagents and and excellent second hand bookshop that only opens on Fridays. This is sad, but I wonder if a renaissance is in order.

Think about it, the town has a reasonable population and the transport links aren't bad. Every .;">year tourists will end up there simply between trains on the steam railway and looking for something to do. With the joys of teh interweb I wonder if the empty (and presumably cheap as there are so many of them) shops would make good homes for businesses looking for homes. Most of the trade will need to be mail order but passing business exists and if you are a specialist people will seek you out, especially if you are in a holiday area

Of course the town didn't appear just for the sake of it. The economy used to be slate based. You can see this everywhere, spoil tips dominate the landscape and the overall colour of the scenery is grey. It's unusual scenery though and looks well worth exploring. Locally walking, cycling and heritage are big business. The tourist information office is under a bike hire centre. The staff have masses of information to help the visitor who is staying in the area.

For the return trip the skies are as grey as the spoil heaps. In the open coach I had to dodge from side to side to avoid the rain. Luckily much of the trip is in woodland which provides shelter as well as glimpses of bucolic streams and footpaths. However there are several small towns en-route to add variety and provide passenger. In one we pass a lady in her back garden wearing a bright pink t-shirt. She is staring into space and doesn't look up at the train. How long do you have to live somewhere that has steam trains puffing past the back of your garden to be so used to them that they don't even warrant a glance ?

More pictures on Flickr

Portmeirion

Warning: If you are expecting a tirade of "Prisoner" puns then go elsewhere. This is serious blogging, not some bit of fluff. Anyway, I never understood the series so I refuse to conform to your expectaions as I am a free man...

Everyone has heard of Portmeirion. It's a world renowned tourist attraction, a make of pottery and the location for a TV series. I had half a day spare and thought it would be daft to pass up the chance to see what the fuss was about.

Getting there sans car meant a trip on the smallest bus I've every been on. Actually it's a fat van rather than a bus but the effect is the same. Turn up at the stop, pay the driver and get on board. I was the only passenger and apparently this is often the case. People prefer to visit by car, presumably hoping to take away mountains of that lovely pottery. The driver was chatty and we talked about holidays and difficulties trying to book hotel rooms. I related trying to get into Edinburgh at the same time as the marathon, he topped that by trying to get into Dublin when the 3 Nations Rugby was on.

For the history, try Wikipedia. In a nutshell though, Sir Clough Williams-Ellis, wanted to try his hand at town planning and created this village from his own ideas moulded around old buildings that would otherwise have been lost. They were imported to the estate and eventually incorporated into his structures. The idea was to turn people on to architecture and allow them to experience the fun side. The village is a real place though, not a film set. Several of the buildings are lived in as evidenced by the bins and recycling boxes outside.

The Village is reached at the end of a windy wooded road. It's really tucked away in the trees on the side of a hill so you don't see anything at all until you are there. First negotiate the ticket barrier (£7 per adult) which isn't anew feature - to stop overcrowding from visitors a 5 shilling charge was levied many years ago.

You then walk through a gate and into the village proper at the top of the hill. Two things strike you immediately - first how bright and colourful everything is. I had an excellent sunny day for my trip and have never seen such a collection of coloured buildings. The second thing is the size - the centre would fit on a decent sized playing field. Portmeirion reminds me of a model village despite everything being full sized. It's obvious that the plan was to bring lots of elements that wouldn't have naturally been found together in a settlement to one place.

In the centre are fountains, around the edges, clinging to the hillside you find buildings and a few steep paths. Tucked away on one side is a house with a film show explaining a bit of the history as told by the man himself. While not the greatest film (too many stills to music, also too many bored kids) you start to understand the reality of what you are seeing. For example, there is a fantastic purple mansion that is only the size of a bungalow inside - it's all front and build into a steep hill restricting the space behind. Other pieces of old buildings, such as columns, have been included in new structures. Many serve no purpose whatsoever or have had to find a use. The domed building is currently a gallery but only exists to counterpoint the spire on a nearby tower.

A short, if steep, stroll gets you down to the water which is wonderful. One building has a small inlet to house a boat (apparently used in the TV show I'll not be mentioning). Not special in itself but the noise the lapping water makes bouncing off the stone walls is so wonderful I could have sat and listened to it all day.

Sadly, tourism has ruined the place. While the eye has a feast, so can the tummy since the are at least half a dozen different cafes on site. If a building isn't a cafe, it must be a shop. And all of these seem to sell a very similar range of high priced tourist tat. Sells isn't an appropriate word from what I saw either as there was plenty of looking and many bored underemployed shop assistants. The stuff was OK but there was so little variety. Only one did anything in the way of TV memorabilia, the others just retailed goods that could have been sold in any tourist town in the country.

Oh, and there wasn't a mini moke to be seen. Or big white balloons. Pity really as I'd have liked to see some of the visitors escape from them.

Portmeirion IS a nice place. I loved the buildings, I loved the quirkiness. I'd love to stay there out of season to appreciate it properly. Better still, I'd love to build my own - and I guess that is what William-Ellis would have wanted.

Official web site for the village

More of my pictures on Flickr

Russell Tearoom, Porthmadoc

I've already given the West Highland Railway based in Porthmadoc a glowing review but what about the catering facilities ?

Well, the first good sign when I arrived was a flock of fluorescent jacketed workmen around a table outside tucking into some grub.

After my train ride it was nearly lunchtime so I ordered a jacket potato with chili and couldn't resist some Victoria sponge to follow with tea. It arrived and looked very nice. The potato was invisible under a mound if chilli with a colourful salad on the side. I suspect a microwave had played a bit of a part in the cooking but the inside of the spud was light and fluffy. The topping a nice temperature and taste.

The cake was good. The cream wasn't really necessary as it was good enough on it's own but there was a strawberry in it so I ate it anyway.

All in all, lovely. Reasonably priced, well presented and tasty grub. No wonder the workmen, always the best judge of cafe quality, flock there.

Good grief they have thier own web site !

Welsh Highland (Porthmadog) Railway

It's confusing having two welsh Highland Railways to choose from. To make it easier to differentiate between them, image the organisations in terms of supermarkets. The WHR I travelled on yesterday - WHR(Caenarfon) is Tesco. You get a big store with lots of stuff but it's all a bit impersonal. On the other hand you have the WHR(Porthmadog) which is like your local corner shop. They don't have a huge choice but there is enough and at least the shopkeeper knows your name and you get to have a chat so you forgive any deficiencies.

You enter the station via the shop. It's one of the better shops I've seen for both the casual tourist and the keen enthusiast. The former finds lots of souvenirs, mostly but not all with a railway bent, the later gets one of the best bookshops in the country. The guys behind the counter are chatty and keen to tell you about both the current state and the future plans for the railway. As volunteers they bring an almost childlike enthusiasm to the job - something no amount of money or bullying can get for a commercial operation.

On the platform the train awaits. The big surprise is that there is a locomotive steaming away on each end. Three wooden coaches of different designs make up the train. With the weather holding I went for the one with least glass. If you are looking forward to some upholstery then you'll be disappointed - wooden benches are the order of the day.

The ride doesn't last very long. Even at the walking pace the train travels at it's hardly 15 minutes. At the end we can see where the extension is to be. Two diggers are burying what looks like a big pipe for a tunnel. What you get though is nice scenery, not spectacular but pretty and a travel experience that might be described as "lo-fi". A bit ramshackle, perhaps even amateurish but in a good way. Think Titfield Thunderbolt and you have the right idea.

The two locos are needed as there is no way for one to run around the train and since pushing passengers isn't allowed, the second steam engine takes the strain on the return leg. This makes a stop at the engine sheds where everyone disembarks for a stroll around. Various rolling stock is on display including items under restoration. Some nice displays such as a sectioned boiler help to explain what is going on. The giant lathe in the middle of the shed shows this isn't just men playing with big toys either. For the kids there is even an extensive miniature railway in case they haven't had enough train travel.

Amongst loads of good stuff, the highlight for me was the hearse van. A Ffestiniog railway carriage which had been converted to carry coffins. Apparently it still sees use transporting the ashes of those who want to make their last trip by train...

Back on the train and everyone is returned to Porthmadog station. The whole thing takes just over the hour depending on how quickly people can be herded back out of the sheds. One parent in my coach was explaining how nice this was - the children's attention span is streatched on longer journeys, something other lines might like to note. When the full 40 mile line is ready for use, how many people really want to sit on a wooden seat for the whole trip at 15mph ?

Back on the station, both drivers were happy to chat about their engines. One even took the time to demonstrate his cooking abilities on the footplate, although Gordon Ramsey needn't worry just yet.

I'll look forward to the day next year (hopefully) when the line is complete. It's going to form a nice aside to the serious transport system being built. Best of all it won
't be subsumed into the larger whole but retain an atmosphere all of it's own.

Visit the website for more details

More photos on Flickr

Caernarfon and the Welsh Highland Railway

Time for an admission. My trip to Wales is all about train spotting. Well spotting a particular locomotive anyway. That locomotive is one designed by Garratt and hardly used in this country. I won't bore the casual reader any more than normal by explaining what is so special about this design, suffice to say I've always been fascinated by them. A few years ago the Welsh Highland Railway decided to re-import some Manchester made examples from South Africa to run the new (OK, reinstated) railway from Caernarfon to Porthmadog. This runs through the Snowdonia National Park, an area known for being hilly. Garratts are designed to haul heavy trains over steep and windy tracks - just what we have here.

For technical details, go to Wikipedia

Of course the first thing to do is get the right Welsh Highland Railway. On arrival at Porthmadog station you see the Welsh Highland Railway just over the road. However for Garratt spotting you need the Welsh Highland Railway (Caernarfon) - a company set up by the Ffestiniog Railway which the line will eventually join. The other WHR will form a branch line to this. I think there was some argument when the scheme was first proposed but by the time all the lines are finished the area will have both a major tourist attraction and useful extra transport infrastructure.

Looking at the map I had two options, get to the main station at Caenarfon or the nearer option of Rhyd Ddu. The later needed two buses. Both little ones. And both to places I couldn't pronounce. On that basis I went for the easy but longer option - at least I can say Caenarfon even if I have to look every time I type it to get the right spelling !

According to the helpful tourist information people the bus left from Tesco at 9.15. Not being sure which side of the road I needed I was examining the stops half an hour early when a lady in the shelter tried to help. "THE BUS COMES AT QUARTER TO NINE" she told me in the manner of someone who needs to turn the sound down on their headphones. "The one to Caenarfon ?" I asked. She replied something about the Pwllhei bus going there. "Caenarfon, the one with the castle ?" I checked since I'd not understood what she said and was beginning to think she was more than a little mad. This was confirmed when it became apparent she didn't know of the castle or believe it existed looking at me like I had fallen out of the sky.

The bus driver said I needed the other side of the road and at 9.15 a double decker turned up to take me. £4.50 return. Compared to fares around Leamington, this is a bargain. It's a hell of a ride too. The top deck of a bus has always been a fabulous place to see the world from but when the scenery is as impressively lumpy as this. The driver has a real challenge to navigate around the narrow and twisty roads.

The station is more than a little basic and when I arrived - empty of trains. A short stroll and an ice cream later the carriages had arrived, complete with the much anticipated Garrett locomotive. Tickets for the trip are a whopping £17.50 return or a rover covering both WHR's and the Ffestiniog comes in at £34. That's a saving but not as impressive as it sounds - the standard ticket allows you to ride all day, the rover only covers a single return trip on each line. For most people this is fine but an enthusiast is likely to want to travel behind both the engines in use yet are just the market the "rover" is aimed at.

Gricers may wish to watch the loco taking on water on YouTube.

While on the subject of ticket prices, for an extra small fee you get to travel first class. Nice if you want bigger seats and posh tables in the fax-Pullman coach. Everyone else sits in perfectly normal coaches except those hardy souls like me who pick the open sided vehicle. Well it's behind the loco and the weather is lovely so why be shut away ?

For the first half of the trip I wondered if for anyone who just wanted to enjoy the scenery , the bus would be a much better bet. Then we made it into the mountains. Even our powerful locomotive struggled a bit only able to maintain a walking pace for some sections. The American couple behind me started rushing from side to side grabbing photographs. Streams, fields, heather covered glowering mountains and hills rolled by. With no glass between us and the outside world you really feel part of the view and not just a mere spectator.

Rhyd Ddu is the current southern terminus of the line. For those who don't speak Welsh, the name means "Arse end of nowhere". It's a temporary end point and there isn't anything to do other than take photos and wait to get back on for the ride back. You can see Snowdon so it's not all bad. There are defintly worse places to be stuck for half an hour, at least when the sun is shining.

Entertainment on the return leg was provided by a family group who delighted in a couple of their number who were chasing the train in the car. Every couple of miles they would be waving from the lineside and received a great cheer for their efforts. It was the only consolation though - this was a seriously prepared party with enough food to keep a small army going. Granddad seemed to be concerned that the youngsters were going to fade away during the trip judging by the number of sandwiches he plied them with.

And there was Frankie the dog. A lovely friendly animal. I spent plenty of time trying to guess his breed only based on his funny little legs only to discover he was the result of a liaison between a beagle and a retriever.

Caenarfon is a lovely little port. It has still got an enormous castle whatever woman at bus stop may think. The square is currently dominated by a giant Ferris wheel and has been joined by a mobile PA system. Lunch was enlivened by a band doing covers - from Chris Rea (Road to Hell, interesting choice for an opening number) to some 60's and 70's stuff. They weren't bad but a bright sunny afternoon with a crowd isn't that conducive to a great performance. You want a seething mass of fans jumping around, not a motley collection of bored kids, tired tourists and grannies.

Yet again the chains had made little impact on the high street which, for a change, is a nuisance. Thanks to a drippy ice cream I was in the market for a new polo shirt. But could I buy one ? Where do the Welsh buy clothes ?

No double decker for the ride back - this time a truncated single deck bus followed by a normal sized version that was so new the smell of unsquashed upholstery was overpowering. The mountains were starting to disappear behind wisps of cloud that only served to make them look even more appealing. At the end of the day I can't decide which is the best way to see the view - but then if you are on holiday, why decide when you can have both ?

More pictures on Flickr