Recently I was at Coverack Hostel for three nights, and lo and behold, on a notice board were all three styles of local groups poster. The 2001 version with the long list of names, so I took the opportunity to amend Phil Humphrey’s phone number at the top of the second column. The green triangle one, designed by me and Sarah White on the corner of her desk in Matlock office three or so years ago and the present one (2008) in burgundy with happy smiling faces of youngsters enjoying hostelling.

Well this group of ours is going well although some wish for more day walks. But August was the wettest on record and I am not aware of anyone in the group with the capacity to walk on water. It is therefore unreasonable to expect any member to come forward with offers to lead evening or weekend day walks with the weather outlook promising such awful underfoot conditions.

A book “The Spirit of YHA” has recently been published and is reviewed in YHA Life’. I have seen a copy and can recommend it to anyone interested in the early days of damp beds and rope ladder fire escapes, when it was essential to arrive under ones own steam by cycle or foot. The cost is £20.00 the proceeds from the sales going to support the small hostels fund. This is a fund for small hostels and not a small fund for any hostel. Lindsey Porter, one of the co-authors will ensure the funds are not diverted to other YHA needs. It is hardback, 192 pages long and profusely illustrated with hostels and hostellers, most of whom appear to aged between twenty and thirty. The YHA mission statement has remained unchanged over all the years.

There is talk of exciting weekends for next year with city hostels being considered for January. We have to get through this year first. Last Christmas weekend was an exciting happy time with some very surprised members awarded some lasting mementos. What will this year have in store? Well for one thing there will be no self-catering on Saturday night but a trip the local hostelry where the meal is already booked. Health and safety is always present. With this in mind the local hospital is between the hostel and the pub. The pub is the Olde Tavern. It features in the 2009 edition of the Good Beer Guide. The description states

Part of Kington’s history - this award-winner is one for the connoisseur. A small, unspoilt two-room time warp. It has a small public bar full of fascinating curios, including the 1920 refurbishment plans that never came to fruition. At the rear is the diminutive Jake’s Bistro, serving exceptional value English cuisine made from locally sourced ingredients. The opening hours are given as 6.30 - 1.00 am on Fridays, and 6,00 - 1.00 Saturdays.

This was the Chairman’s choice.

I trust that you will attempt to find time to attend the second AGM this year. There will be a meal before the formal business. Hope to see you there. There will only one AGM next year. Should you wish to volunteer to help to run the group all future meetings will be held in the Western pub in an upstairs room.

Last year was one of celebration for the group. The group founded in 1937 had a birthday. Black Sail was a wet walk but enjoyable all the same. John led the Brecon weekend in warm weather. I arranged a weeklong walk in the Hebrides only to find that the accommodation had been cancelled unbeknown to myself. An anxious thirty minutes in Glasgow hostel at the reception desk worked out bed nights to fit in with the booked ferry sailings. The first walk was without a map in gale force winds and horizontal rain.

Slaidburn weekend was another wet one. I took along a red and yellow parasol that was very handy to keep off the heavy rain even though I very nearly did a Mary Poppins flight on a few occasions. I camped under it in the thunderstorm. Well it did have built in lightning conductor and I wore rubber-soled boots.

In August we had a birthday party at Kings hostel, which was also of the same age. This was truly a group event as everyone buckled down in order to make the occasion a memorable one. The party was held outside in the dark by a bonfire. The chairman was seen brandishing a knife and also cake in kitchen roll, as excellent confection baked by Rob. This was after the walk up and down Cader Idris.

A week was spent in one hostel in the Lake District. The view from the walkway to Keswick hostel was one of flooding. The river below was over the banks.

The Christmas weekend was spent in that 600-year-old former maltings. I never did find out the reason why there is no Bank of Wales. Alcohol flowed during the meal following which there were two surprise awards. One to Sarah for managing the oversight of all the catering requirements, of a bouquet of flowers. The second to Dave our trustworthy Hon. Treasurer for long service, of a pewter pint tankard with malt whisky to accompany, organised in secret by Mick. Stella is one knows her alcohol and folks’ needs.

In warm weather earlier this year, a pleasant time walking was experienced at Holbrook farm in Edale.

All in all an excellent year’s activities although day walks were few and very far between.

Avoiding such temptations (for the meantime) the number 17 bus takes you from the station to St. Paul’s - and seemingly within minutes - the hostel is there, just round the corner in Carter Lane. Andy, Alan, Patricia, Liz and Boh and I stored our bags and then mobile phone numbers, before venturing out on a well researched crawl of London’s best public houses in the area.

Fortunately on our way to the first pub, a slight detour allowed us girls the opportunity to admire the jewellery walled up but glittering in the shop fronts along Hatton Gardens. Back on track, we walked under the beautiful Holborn Viaduct, to reach our first destination, ‘The Cittie of York,’ selling Sam Smiths - and sundry wines too.

Entering this pub is like walking into history. There is a high wooden vaulted ceiling, wood panelled alcoves and beautiful chandelier, dating from its origins as a coffee house in 1695. Beneath is a cellar, where refugees from the Gordon Riots allegedly took refuge in the mid eighteenth century. There are also many cartoons on the walls - references to the nearby ancient Inns of Court around Chancery Lane.

Fortified, we walked back towards St. Paul’s and crossed the bridge to the South Bank, it was cold and breezy, but the view, as always, forces you to stop mid way and try to take as much in as possible: The Eye, the Gherkin, Tate Modern, we even saw the outline of the peregrine falcon that lodges there, way up high and very, very aloof!

We headed towards Southwark Cathedral where we visited one of several excellent pubs on the streets close to Borough Market - ‘The Wheatsheaf’, where the beer is also good (Young’s) and people to and fro to the wonderful market opposite. Here Liz discovered the most amazing mince pies. The pastry was made from spelt flour, and even one wholesome crumb is yummy! We also were pleased to meet up again with Andy, who had taken a Thames Ferry to Greenwich.

Our London pub crawl - already good was about to become even more special, as Alan guided us to ‘The George’ an incredible galleried inn - with courtyard opposite a dreadful 20th century building, easily blotted out though by the memories of Dickens, who mentions ‘The George’ in his book ‘Little Dorrit’. The bouncer was a joyful and very broad shouldered exponent of - ‘Cage Fighting’. It is a martial art, for which he had sculptured his hair into eye-catching spikes. We ate dinner at a good Turkish restaurant - ‘Tas’ and walked back to the hostel, and unpacked for the night.

The following morning, which was very bright, cold and windy, we decided to go to the V and A museum, hoping also to see the ‘Wildlife Of The Year Exhibition’ at The Natural History Museum next door.

We sat in the café of the V and A, contemplating which of the many wonderful other rooms and exhibitions to visit. We decided that we could see the Lee Miller photographic exhibition. Such an iconic figure, ‘an artist of the electric century’ (1907-77) Miller pioneered the use of solarisation in her work. A contemporary of Man Ray, she starred in Cocteau’s surreal film, ‘The Blood of a Poet’. She photographed in Egypt during the 1930’s and between 1940 and 45, filmed war images including blitzed London, field hospitals in Normandy, liberated Paris and Hitler’s apartment in Munich.

Perhaps it was just as well we were unable to see the ‘Wildlife Photographer of the Year’ exhibition as we were already feeling the effects of so much art, and we still had ‘The Terracotta Army’ to go! The Natural History Museum is anyway fascinating, with incredible displays, including a simulated earthquake experience, which is not to be missed. But the time was getting short, and we had to leave South Kensington, to head for The British Museum.

The Terracotta Army exhibition being held there includes models of warriors, archers, chariots, and weapons, paraphernalia of the first Chinese Emperor - Qin, who hoped to rule the world from his final temple resting place. He was buried alongside this fabricated army of 7,000 life-size figures in preparation for his last battle and after life, in the province of Xi’an, centre of the huge country he had conquered and unified.

It is breath taking - the chilling mass production of terracotta torsos, heads and body parts, and their overlapping bronze armour, serried rows of these ’soldiers’, buried in fighting position more than 2000 years ago. There are some birds and musicians included in the treasures, and hints of yet to be discovered treasures buried at the centre of the vast excavation site, probably the Emperor’s tomb.

Later, in ‘The Bree Louise’ on Cobourg St , we compared impressions of the story of the beginnings of the Chinese Empire, the army, the standardisation of the script (still in use today) and the skills of conscripted soldiers and slaves. It is incredible to imagine the genesis of such a successful albeit violent empire. The pub sold Bateman’s ‘Mystique Scorpio’ and Old Rosie Cider, which we just had time to enjoy, before some of us walked to St. Pancras. (Liz and Boh stayed another day in London.)

Patricia and I also had time (so we thought) for a glass of champagne at the famous station bar - but did miss our train… We were fortunate to catch the next one, and so ended our eventful London visit - only slightly late home.

I would especially like to thank Alan for finding great pubs for us to visit and also everyone who came for helping to make the weekend lively and interesting.

I was late up the following morning so missed the T’ai Chi callisthenics class on the lawn in front of the hostel led by Sooi and thus my mind and body remained uncleansed.

The Saturday walk was carried out under a cooling cloud until the summit of Cader Idris was neared. At the summit the mist blowing from the sea over the top provided some dramatic pictures of silhouetted figures standing on a rocky outcrop which appeared to be higher than the trig pointed peak. On the assent some walkers said there was a possibility of a Brocken Spectre. I did not see one. The silhouetted figures might have been trying to create one. It is caused by the brilliant sun projecting the shadow image of the viewer greatly magnified on to the mist in front of one some distance away. Your walking partner will not see the same image as you. Brocken is the highest summit on the Hartz range in Saxony where the optical illusion was first observed. Not many minutes at the top saw the mist lift and the cloud blow away so that the dramatic views of Barmouth town, beach, estuary and the surrounding hills appeared to be brought nearer so clear was the atmosphere. The café was closed, but that was not surprising, as it had not opened for very many years. It still proves to be a good shelter in inclement weather. Saturday’s weather was very clement. The sun, very hot, was beating down through an extremely clear atmosphere with the cloud cover gone.

Tempus fugit

The walk back to the hostel was full of expectations. Leicester YHA group was to celebrate a birthday. A few Leicester YHA members in 1937 set up the group. The party was to celebrate the seventy-year history of the group at Kings, which also opened in 1937. It was just as well that half of the group membership was in attendance preparing the food. A barbeque kindly brought along by Liz and Boh heated the bangers, kebabs, burgers and sausages. The veggie stuff was in the hostel oven. Rob presided over the salad preparation and gave advice freely to all the helpers. It was a warm night. The campfire lit the camping area around which we all gathered. The midges were out. It is only the females that bite. Carrying out a selective cull in the dark is difficult. I consider that my attempts to do just that were the reason that I was bitten on face, neck and hair. There was alcohol in the form of wine and beer. The female midges drank freely of blood.

With the food out of the way the birthday cake was removed from its protective washing up bowl and carried with due ceremony to a small table erected by the camp fire. The candles were lit. The time had arrived for Alan to say something about 1937 for no one else was around at the time except him. The country had a new King and Alan had spent some time during that year suffering from measles. The candles had to be snuffed before burning the cake. That also ended the short speech. The man in the blue bow tie proposed a toast to the future of the group, and the reply was “The Leicester Local YHA Group”.

It was at this point that the chairman circled the fire brandishing a knife recalled the previous occasion on which a party had been arranged in honour of the birthdays of Alan and Tony Thompson. The resulting photos appeared to show a gay wedding. Well any thing for a laugh. And so the cake was cut. Alan who was still wearing his waiter’s bow tie distributed the slices to all in the darkness. Rob was careful to cut pieces to a reasonable size, somewhat bigger than wedding cake pieces. The hostel management was not overlooked and received a piece each. I later noted that Rob was giving his recipe freely to the management and discussing catering methods.

Dorothy was given a round of applause in appreciation of her efforts for the group to celebrate this birthday occasion. Organising a larger group does entail more work as more folks create more problems. Having sampled the cake Rob was thanked for his wonderful creation topped with petite fours and iced with marzipan all round the side in a basket weave pattern. Another round of appreciation applause was handed out for Rob. We all retired to clean up the kitchen and campfire area before retiring to bed or reminiscing over walks and weekends to alcohol accompaniment. Some stayed up later than others and imbibed rather a lot of alcohol units.

A tired and weary lot appeared in the common room and kitchen on Sunday morning. Tired legs, aching muscles, and hangovers were all having some effect such that several alternative excursions were planned. It appeared that the car drivers were taking members all over the Welsh coast, and very few wanted to sample the low level planned walk. It was decided that we would all meet in Barmouth by the Old Lifeboat house. This prominent building would be easy to find. It was hot and warm. This weather also brought out all the day-trippers in their cars. It is not a good idea to arrange such a meeting on a bank holiday Sunday morning. Well eventually all the drivers managed to find a space to leave their cars and we all met as planned. Some had already gone to the beach, which is a very low level walk, or to Portmeirion, which again is the next to an estuary beach. The remainder set off to the small ferryboat in order to catch the narrow gauge train to Fairborne. To attract custom this day was India day on the railway. The locomotives were decorated with garlands and the staff wore suitable Asian headgear. It is not usual for the group to use four modes of transport to reach the start of the walk. These were; a short car drive; a long walk from the car park to the meeting point and ferry; a ferry ride and then finally a railway ride behind a small replica narrow gauge steam engine. We were not hauled by the Darjeeling replica but were able to see it half way along the line when our train waited for it to pass puffing on its way towards Barmouth. Our train was hauled by a replica of the engine that pulled and puffed along the Lynton and Barnstable holiday railway line between the two world wars.

Smiling Norman who had packed up his tent and left the hostel independently met the train by chance at Fairbourne and decided to walk with us. A leisurely walk along the lower hills above the estuary gave brilliantly lit views. The weather was warm and sunny although the wind at times was chilling. We were attracted by young persons screams of terror or delight depending on their nerves, to descend into a disused stone quarry to watch and for lunch. Those young persons entertaining us were whizzing down a catenary wire from the top of the quarry wall into cold-water bum first. They were suitably clad in wet suits for the thrilling ride. We moved on when the entertainment packed up and a slight chill had set into our bones. Wandering on we all found our way along the paths beneath the Cader Idris ridge heading for the footpath alongside the railway line over the Mawddach River. This was featured on one of the episodes of Coast and described by Nicholas Crane. We all paid the toll otherwise the walk avoiding this fee was too long to contemplate. Up a steep slope we walked and then we were all back in Barmouth. Some took refreshment in tearooms or a pub. I joined three lovely ladies at the Bath House for hot chocolate on the terrace over the sand. The sun was still very hot. We sat relaxed.

We all gathered again at Kings hostel to cook our meals and partake in the alcoholic beverages supplied from the management.

On the Bank Holiday Monday we all went our various ways to return to Leicester, as was the wish of the car drivers. Patricia was driving the car; Rob and Maggie were the other passengers. We decided that Machynlleth was a suitable place for a cuppa.

Welsh organic food was purchased and the kind shop assistant directed us to a nice teashop for lunch. Patricia ordered organic tea without the tea bag, and ham eggs and chips minus the ham and the chips. This order did not faze the staff one iota. So fascinated was I by this quality check by Patricia on the food used by the establishment that I cannot recall my order or that of anyone else.

We later stopped in Shrewsbury for a walk round and afternoon tea in a pub except that Patricia decided that her needs could be met by tea without a teabag and water. Maggie had tea and I supped a beer. In the meantime Rob and Patricia had returned to the car. I visited the loo and said I would catch up later.

On the main street I realised that I could not recall the whereabouts of the car. This was reinforced when I found myself outside the Bingo Hall where we first parked before deciding that there might be a real fire inside to which the fire and rescue service were attending. At this point the value of modern technology came to be truly valued. A mobile phone call from Rob arranged a meeting at the Railway Station. Let this be a warning to all that this is what dementia has in store for you all.

This was an excellent bank holiday weekend organised by Dorothy with food purchased by Chris and Dorothy cooked under the direction of Rob.

One can imagine the walker who fell asleep on Cadair and woke up in the dark with the full moon overhead. He or she then walked down the mountain towards Dolgellau and came into a thickly wooded valley. After a while stumbling in the dark he came across a clearing in the woods. There was a bonfire with various figures gathered around it. Then a formally dressed man with druidic looking white hair approached something on a table and drew out a knife. Thinking this was some ancient Celtic sacrificial ritual the walker rushed off into the woods in utter panic and was not found till morning………

However if he had waited he would actually have found that this was Leicester Local YHA seventieth anniversary weekend at Kings hostel . this was the celebratory barbecue and Alan was about to cut the cake.

Nearly thirty people came on this weekend organised by Dorothy at Kings hostel near Dogellau which is now the only hostel in the area after the closure of Barmouth, Corris and Bala. It’s in a wonderful situation at the northern foot of Cadair Idris, in a clearing in a narrow wooded valley reached by a winding lane.

The hostel consists of an old building and an annexe. As it is nowhere near any mains it has its own water supply which means water can sometimes only be found at the lower annexe so toilets and showers in the main building don’t work! Apart from that though it was great.

Everyone got here in the end, though some cars decided to do a few detours around Dogellau first. The most unfortunate was the car with Mick, Dave and Stella in it who found that an accident had blocked the road in mid Wales so that they had to make a massive detour and didn’t arrive till 1.30 the next morning. Fortunately Bo had stayed up to let them in.

On the next morning the whole group set off to climb Cadair led by Chris who had quite a task with such a multitude. Cadair is in fact a series of five separate peaks with various tracks going up it from all directions. We opted for the pony path which is a fairly easy but longer walk up the mountain. Other tracks such as the Foxes path or the Minffordd path from the next valley would have been steeper. However as we started climbing from near sea level the actual climb was about 2700 ft which was quite a way.(The summit is 893 metres or around 2930 ft which is just under a Munro.)

The heather looked good and the weather was fine till we hit the mist that covered the top of the mountain. For some time it was just a matter of climbing in the mist and on the way we met two intrepid runners who were on the way to their usual run up the top. Also a large number of dogs and, for some reason red headed walkers (Anne had read an article saying the number of red heads was declining).. When we eventually reached the west to east ridge known as the saddle you could see the beginning of the nearly sheer drop below but nothing else and no sign of the lake Llyn y Gadair about 1000 feet below.

However as we began a steeper climb to the summit we could see blue sky above the mist and eventually climbed out of it. The top was a plateau with several small summits and also a bothy on top. It must be a bit cold in the bothy but would be a wonderful view in the morning. The mist was now beginning to break up and the clouds became quite spectacular scudding past at great speed so that one minute you could see a view and then it went again. In the end most of the cloud cleared and you could see the summits though the view to the south was a bit obscured. It was now a clear sunny day and you could see the Snowdon range foothills to the north and the Mawddach estuary below as well as the two lakes directly below the ridge which were really deep blue, though Liz resisted the urge to jump in this time!

On the way down one of Dan’s boots disintegrated which led him to muse that ‘He had left his soul/sole on Cadair Idris’. Dave is considering making this phrase into a song for Tanners. Further down we passed a plaque commemorating a runner who ran up Cadair in record time of about an hour and a half if I remember and then died in a climbing accident on Cadair the next day. Must be a moral in there somewhere.

After a well deserved break we began the descent in the sunshine and eventually got back to the hostel at 6pm after 8 hours out so it had been a good day and thanks to Chris for having the patience to deal with such a large group.

That evening was then barbecue night organised by Dorothy and everyone chipped in one way or another. The highlight of the feast for me was Rob’s brilliant cake which banished any thoughts of Atkins diets or weight watchers deep into the woods. Stella performed her usual service of tearing down a few trees and dragging them out of the woods, with Andy providing professional horticultural advice and the fire got going while Liz and Bo provided and organised the actual barbecue equipment.

Alan, formally dressed for the occasion gave a speech, the cake was cut, rivers of wine flowed and the fire burned merrily so a good time was had by all and thanks to Dorothy for organising the barbecue.

The next morning we decided to split up. Chris led a walk of great variety including travel by water, train car and foot. They crossed the Mawddach by ferry at Barmouth . had a trip on the Fairbourne narrow gauge railway, drove south and then had a walk. I led another group that had a swim at Barmouth walked over the mile long footbridge over the river then along the old railway track that followed the river .to Dolgellau. Thought he tide was out it was still a,. great walk surrounded by mountains. It was so sunny that at one stage we were forced to take a break in the George Pub in Penmaenpool where we sat with points of beer or Earl Grey depending on preference. Dave thought some people speaking in Welsh must come from eastern Europe. Then up the valley back to the hostel. Some others swam and walked on the beach at Barmouth while others just swam and sat on the beach and thought about walking. Mick and “one boot” Dan went to Portmeirion for the day but escaped without being made prisoner or being chased by any large spheres.

Next day we all went our separate ways. Bill’s car with Anne and I in went via the really spectacular coast road south to the Dysynni valley which is very remote and which used to be tidal marshes till it was reclaimed 500 years ago. In the valley is a quite spectacular outcrop Craig y Aderyn which is home to the only inland colony of cormorants who stayed where they were when the land was reclaimed And commute daily to the sea. There’s also the site of an old castle which was one of the last to hold out against the English.

After that across to Abergynolwyn up the valley to Minffordd by Lake Tal y Lin. This takers you along the south side of Cadair Idris which is far steeper then the north and on to the Dolgellau junction. This is a quite spectacular route and well recommended to anyone driving around there.

So that was that and it was a brilliant seventieth anniversary weekend with good weather, great walks and a fine barbecue with a classic cake.

Thanks to Dorothy for organising it all and I hope she’ll do the centenary weekend and Alan will be ready with the speech again!

This trip kept changing before it began. It began in the Clarendon pub, after Alan helped me deliver three budgies to their Christmas retreat. Sans birds and a few pints later, we had sketched the plan - three days in the Hebrides. Were we budgie-brained? We changed the timescale to a week, then longer to take in the last May bank holiday. That week wouldn’t work because the ferry timetables are very respectful of specific dates. So we changed it to a week including two weekends, or eight Sundays, which is what it all began to feel like in the timeless spray freedom of the Outer Hebrides.

We changed everything except our minds; we would go there in one or two cars, as four or five persons, in meteorological suspense. Elusive and beautiful the trip was to be.

DAY 1 (Saturday 19 May 07)

Shortly into the journey, Maggie forgot her new digital camera instructions. This led to a rapid return to Leicester from Groby. Second thoughts? Then Chris chose the high road, i.e. Glasgow via the peak district.
On the ensuing picturesque journey with Chris and Maggie, we passed through the the Derbyshire village of Earl Sterndale. We saw a pub sign there, ‘The Quiet Woman’. It was of a headless C16 woman. Maggie and I wondered if we would be silenced by the 3 men on the trip, namely: Alan, Chris and Dave!

The other side of this sign read, ‘Soft words doth turneth away wrath’.

Maggie and I got a bit car sick in the peak district , so much so that I felt inclined to run down a hill and for a few minutes to join a lone female runner training for the marathon.

Tissington was dressing wells but we didn’t see them. But it might be worth remembering this event for a YHA local culture expedition next year.

On the outskirts of Glasgow, Maggie saw rather than heard bagpipes.

When we arrived at Glasgow’s 4 star West end hostel, Dave and Alan had got there first. Alan found he had to rewrite the trip because all our bookings had apparently been cancelled since 22 March by the central bookings in Stirling! Our trip had been deleted! We could have slept in a shallow grave! Alan had to renegotiate seven nights’ accommodation. He set about this business in true chairman style.

We then all went walk-about in Glasgow, where we saw a vivid green statue of Donald Dewar outside the National Concert Hall. It bore the inscription ‘there will be a Scottish parliament’. It was a bit too green to be taken seriously.

In Glasgow, we saw plenty of four- stretch limousines crammed with kids, a building that looked as if it had been covered in tinfoil or was pretending to be a stretch limousine and the tea rooms designed by Charles Rennie Macintosh.

All of us went for a ‘meal deal’ in Wetherspoons, where there were shelves of outdated hard volumes, Alan and Chris got buried in a book that described a machine for extracting metal out of people’s eyes, similar to taking metal out of horses’ shoes. But nobody was wearing contact lens for them to demonstrate the principles of this extraction.

DAY 2 (Sunday 20 May 07)

We drove round Loch Lomond - the longest lake in Scotland to the port of Oban. In and out of the winding mountain shadows, we listened to the crackling sound of Radio 4, or Sue Lawley interviewing Greg Dyck on ‘Desert Island Discs’. It sounded like an appropriate topic before we set off for the islands of South Uist, Berneray, Lewis/ Harris, Skye. The former Chief Executive of BBC said two memorable things:

1. I didn’t have the imagination to consider what failure would be like.
2. It’s easy to live through the good times, It’s how you cope with the bad times, that’s a real test of character

Maggie remembered that she had left a pair of shoes in Oban youth hostel, seven years ago. She is confident they would still fit, if SYHA is committed to retaining memorabilia.

We had fish and chips with black napkins - death to diets - on Oban pier, I watched a large woman in a bottle green fleece feed the Eider ducks, swans and gulls from a plastic bag full of goodies. They swooped, shrieked then soared again, replete and indifferent to her anonymous gesture. Our ferry resembled a red and white Disney shark. Cars entered separate lanes for the island of Barra or the port of Lochloisdale (our destination on South Uist). We were taking the longer (approximately 7 hours’ sea journey through ‘the minch’.

We landed at Lochloisdale port on South Uist Island and eventually found Howmore hostel near a small graveyard. It was darkening now at 10.45pm, such is the long stretch of island light in the summer months. Alan peered into the stone floored, communal dormitory and said, ‘there’s people in beds in there, but no warden!’ We didn’t care, we clambered into the steel comfort of rickety top bunks without ladders.

The SYHA Hostel Guide 2007, describes Howmore as: Traditional thatched croft houses near the machair and extensive beaches on the ocean side of South Uist. Easy access to the mountains on the eastern side of the island. But there is not easy access to anywhere else!

DAY 3 (Monday 21 May 07)

We first went to the post office and parked the car. The red headed woman who sold me stamps came from Donegal. All five of us then climbed Beinn Mhor ( Mhor = ‘big’ in Gaelic and it did get rather big the more lost we got on it). We realised that we had forgotten all walking maps, but the mountain looked fairly straightforward, just up and down, so off we went.

Close to the top of Beinn Mhor, there were force 6 gales. Going up I fell into a sphagnum moss bog. Further up, Dave and Maggie were almost parachuted off the lower ridge.

The mountain is still worked for its peat. We admired its carefully hacked ridges and scaled one to find the road again, through horizontal rain and unwelcoming mist.

We were soaked through, and then drove across the new causeway to Berneray island. Obviously, either the EU or the Scottish parliament has pumped money into building new roads.

Berneray youth hostel didn’t disappoint us. It was whitewashed and thatched and heaving with damp cyclists, a younger romantic couple and their buckled tandem. It had the smell of peat and tired socks coming from the kitchen stove. Dave regretted that the 78 year old twin sisters (Annie and Jessie) had recently retired from their wardenship duties at Berneray. And the hostel looked sad without their regular maintenance of it. Its thatch was thinning, its rafters weeping.

I cooked a communal Tesco vegetable pasta. Then we found some much coveted bunks in the two dormitory outposts that constitute Bernerary, and like a lot of people slept with all our clothes on through gales, with men and women wondering if the SYHA wound do some thing about the fragile roof, the exposed timber, the neglect that feeds the ravaging sea.

DAY 4 (Tuesday 22 May 07)

Surprisingly, I woke to sunshine at Berneray and walked the glorious beach at the threshold of the hostel. Somebody had wedged an armchair into the rocks of the newly renovated, privately owned boat house.

The description of Berneray (one of the SYHA affiliated hostels) (ibid) reads: Traditional thatched croft-houses situated right on the beach overlooking the sound of Harris. Ideal position for walking around and exploring the much-acclaimed island. It is, but tradition needs support and finance and these simple croft-houses require some immediate attention.

Dave tried to find out if Annie and her identical twin sister were still around. They used to be joint wardens of the hostels. According to Dave, ‘the only way you could tell one from the other was that one had been married and the other hadn’t’. But Dave could find no news of them, even on this eight mile island.

While Alan and Dave rose early and energetically in search of the only shop and tea room, Maggie, Chris and I set off to walk the island, in particular its four mile beach. Chris soon left us as the rain became more treacherous and the friendly seals better company for a keen photographer!

Maggie and I traversed, bog or ‘the machair’ and some seriously well fed cows to reach this beach. It could have featured in any Robert Louis Stevenson tale. We had it to ourselves, purple and turquoise sea dreams colliding on the shore. We then got lost crossing the island, up hills through bogs and barbed wire to find the others in time to catch the ferry from Berneray to the port of Leverburgh on Harris.

We left Berneray reluctantly for Harris on the one hour ferry crossing. From Leverbrugh, we drove onto Lewis via Tarbet (where Harris and Lewis converge).

My first impression of Kershader SYHA is of a woman leaning out her bungalow window in the early evening in a dressing gown, ‘is it the key you might be wanting?’ There was no want for lots of clean bed linen in neatly ironed piles, tea towels, hot showers. But Kershader is a dip in the road, lacking the panoramic views that the Hebrides soon make you greedy for: for me, it was a hot shower comfort zone after the rugged simplicity of our earlier hostels.

DAY 5 (Wednesday 23 May 07)

Alan had book-marked a very good pub for lunch in his Blue Guide to the Islands. Stornaway is a depressed looking port, where I bought a pair of sandals in a Muslim shoe shop. The shop seemed to be stuck in size 6, the veiled woman was very convincing that the size didn’t matter, and did it in a shoe shop fitted with souvenirs such as shell ashtrays, plastic sea urchins and 1950s style wedding hats.

The lunch idea fell through, the pub seemed to be off the map; solemnly, soberly Dave and Alan adjourned to the Callanish Stones and Visitor Centre on Lewis, while the rest of us had fish and chips. As the holiday included rather a lot of fish and chips, I tried to guess when it had been caught.

The druidic Callanish stones have something more significant to say than Stonehenge. They have not yet been over protected as a response to tourism

The day improved by dropping down into the lunar landscape of Harris. Here, we enjoyed Seilhost beach. I asked Alan and Dave to model on the sand as anthropomorphic seals that the camera could play with. Unfortunately, the pictures didn’t come out. This beach has a small school right on it with football playing fields marking goals right into the horizon.

Lewis joins Harris as you approach Tarbet. You can see why Harris Tweed comes from here; it’s knitted into the contours, the hues and cry of the salty lunar stones and the warm promise of peaty bogs. We saw a letter in a shop in Tarbet, from Princess Margaret requesting ‘a white tweed suit’. Styles remain unchangeable, while other items such as the CD collection in the Callanish Visitors’ Centre selling ‘Red Hot Chilli Pipers’ embrace parody and popular culture.

DAY 5 (Thursday 24 May 07)

We left Kershader hostel and took a ferry from Tarbert to the port of Uig in Skye where we visited a potter’s studio. It was as wet as can be, so we drove to the Cuillin Black Houses Museum, north of Uig and next to Flora Macdonald’s grave.

The black houses were full of tinkers’ riches: tools, weaving utensils, explanations about how the Harris tweed is produced from the black faced highland sheep.

We learned that Flora MacDonald is the historical Skye heroine, who helped Bonnie Prince Charles (Charles III, the last Stuart king) to escape from George II and the Hanoverian troops by rowing him from Skye to South Uist while he escaped and ended his days in France under the protection of the French king Louis XV. Flora MacDonald then spent eight years in the Tower of London. She was later released, married Robert Ballantyre and emigrated to Minnesota, only to return to Kileyr, Skye, after her two sons had perished in the American War of Independence. James Boswell and Doctor Johnson applauded Flora MacDonald when they visited Skye in 1773. Charles Stuart and the Scottish Highland chiefs were very badly defeated at the battle of Culloden Moor in 1746. Whereas Charles’s title and royal ambitions came to nothing , the story of Flora Macdonald is enshrined in the minds of primary school children on the island.

On Thursday night, we stayed at Broadford hostel, on a loch full of midges . Alan and Dave went to a Celtic music concert at Portrigh. They heard a female harpist singer, the Gaelic harp (clarsac) accompanied by vocals in Gaelic and in English.

DAY 6 (Friday 25 May 07)

From these lessons in feminist narrative, we proceeded to Elgol and the arty teashop on the pier. According to the lady running the ‘wild life boat trips’ from Elgol pier, there are 19 children attending the school at this harbour, and a staff of peripatetic teachers meet the requirements of the national curriculum.

We left Skye by driving over that eyesore Skye bridge. But a rainbow flanked each side. Dornie Castle emerged in the water, iconic, moody, and ruined.

On to Ratagan youth hostel: the smell of peat, the cooking of fried beet, garlic and lemon juice, and the relief of red bottles of wine. Nobody used the shelves in the hostel kitchen, so the food items went as far as the stove!

Norman was a robust apparition drinking wine in Ratagan kitchen. He had absconded from his all-male and masculine motorbike itinerary to this meeting of ‘Leicester strangers’ at Ratagan. There he was in a baggy, boggy coloured sweater, bearded by his windswept motorcycle days, glad to have dinner with us and compare island experiences!

Ratagan , one of the most beautiful hostels I have ever stayed at, is on a sea loch, framed by the Kintail mountain range. It had a blooming pink rhododendron bush outside its front door. The otter were supposed to get up early to devour the kelp and crack open shell fish . We weren’t up early enough to see or hear them.

At the hostel, there were also 32 individuals from OUP on an ‘outdoors weekend’ which seemed to include discussing The Aeneid, tiring themselves out on the Kintail mountain range and listening to ‘Mr Claptrap, Laptop’s views on ‘The Guardian’ and Princess Diana, and conspiracy theory, he and his laptop had opinions, no matter what part of the youth hostel you found yourself in. (Readers who survived the trip will no doubt remember Mr Claptrap!)

DAY 7 (Saturday 26 May 07)

In the morning, we went back to Skye from that little palindrome (Glenelg) The ferry was very simple, four men operated it. It was like a large wooden raft and brought us across the estuary waters to Kylerhea to the otter spotting haven. I saw porpoises and seals as the ferry docked at Kylerhea. The bluebells and fuchsia and sea thrift and broom and gorse smiled all the way up the hill, past the larch and conifer trees. The otter hide was not midge proof, but had some useful posters informing visitors that otters holes are called ‘holts’, the otter are members of the same family as weasels and badgers and pine martens (Stellidae). Their tails serve as a rudder and are essential for propulsion

Then, we went to Gavin Maxwell’s Skye homeland called ‘Sandaig beach’. This is the setting for his famous book about an otter family, Ring of Bright Water, which was also made into a film. We scrambled down a woodland walk and crossed a shallow river to Sandaig. Sadly, Maxwell’s cottage was destroyed in a fire, but there is a shrine in his honour and another one commemorating Edal his pet female otter on the edge of the shore:

Edal - the otter of ring of bright water 1958-1969. Whatever she gave to you, give back to nature. (Gavin Maxwell)

The second stone reads:

Beneath this stone, the site of Camusfearna are buried the ashes of Gavin Maxwell, 6 July 1914, died 7 September 1969

Later on Saturday afternoon , we went to see 2 brochs, namely Dun Troddan, and Dun Telve. They were well preserved and had the same inscription and more or less the same parts missing. The brochs were defence forts for local communities to shelter from invaders, about 2000 years ago. They were about a mile away from Ratagan hostel, and were the last bastion of history or local culture on that sultry afternoon. We had dinner in Cluanie Inn on Saturday night Dave risked haggis and a Glen Turret malt.

DAY 8 (Sunday 27 May 07)

Departure from Ratagan youth hostel. Chris drove Maggie and I home, all the way from Ratagan (about 500 miles), via Gretna Green. We stopped at Tebay Services for some refreshments. This organic shop had a really good range of home produce and interesting, healthy choices on its canteen menu. The drive took about nine hours We returned to Leicester rain.

Here are some post trip reflections:

Alan

The trip was the only one in my life organised in half an hour at Glasgow SYHA reception desk. No hostels had been booked in fact some were cancelled, the booking a week after I booked by head office (can you believe it, the YHA must support homelessness!!). It went OK after that . Arrived 5pm, all new hostels booked for all of us by 5.30pm.

Dave

Except for witnessing the above, the trip offered my first sighting of the white-tailed sea eagle on Skye.

Chris

1.300 miles of driving , 700 photographs and a totally unforgettable week in the wilds of Scotland.

The walk down from car park (mile and a halfish) was in the light and could be enjoyed this time rather than being just a bit of an eerie trudge as before. We arrived to be greeted by Sarah C who was sorting out the uninitiated and campers letting them know the rules and ropes in Sarah H’s absence (the currently rather pregnant warden we later discovered the next day).

There was an abundance of campers on this occasion. A couple of Europe guests from Belgium were reluctant to remove their car back up to the car park on what was now a dark and damp somewhat ominous night. But they finally agreed to move it. It was mugs of tea and general chat/introductions for the rest of us. Girls were in the larger two room dorm this time and boys in the small one that is usually the girls. This can be confusing after copious amounts of alcohol and was the source of some mirth in the early wee hours.

After a reasonably early night - after midnight but before dawn - we emerged in the morning and set about making breakfasts pack ups and all the usual fun. It became clear that the kitchen was a dangerous place with so many trying to use limited resources. We were ready for the off at a respectable 9:30ish which is almost unheard of at Tanners isn’t it? A good day’s walking was on the cards to build up an appetite for a good night’s revelry later.

Dave led the walk out through the back boundary of the car park, across Denbies’ Field and along the contours of the North Downs following the Pilgrim’s Way then descended other smaller tracks down towards our lunch stop. The weather was a little undecided but there were only a few spots of rain at times. Not even worth putting a raincoat on for.

We stopped for lunch beside a stream at the Compasses in a village called Gomshall. Sonia had checked with a local and found that the price of houses was seriously over-inflated to serve the London commuters. The usual story young locals could no longer afford to buy homes there we sat outside the pub after lunch and watched a family of ducks out for an afternoon stroll on the stream. Oh dear what is this struggling towards our bridge squawking and fluttering - it’s a little lost duckling - trying to find the family of about 7 who had just passed by unaware of their missing member. Boh noted at this point that ducks were not known for their mathematical prowess

We returned to the hostel along the crest of the ridge via part of the North Downs Way, after first ascending the escarpment past a recently yuppified farm, whose barn had once held an excellent ‘bargain-basement’ walkers teashop! Oddly, the field behind was still home to some large ginger longhaired horned beasts - highland cattle! Some wonderful views in the breaks of the trees over Leith Hill to the distant South Downs - in good weather conditions! It was a really good walk - best one I have had at Tanners. We came back down a different path to look for bluebells. Sadly we had missed the full glory of the blooms as the moment had gone. Chris was not easily put off and was spotted doing a David Bellamy (or is it Bailey) impression lying flat on his stomach behind his camera. Something to watch out for - giant triffid bluebells on the website maybe???

On returning there was the usual cups of tea and total chaos ensued in the kitchen. The number of campers had swollen to terrifying proportions. I looked out in the grounds to see what looked like a proper campsite with loads of tents and one community area set up for a group of young people completing the Duke of Edinburgh awards. Fortunately, they were doing their own outside catering. Another batch was in the kitchen cooking a variety of dishes - good camping food - and loads of it.

Judith met up with a friend of hers with his two sons who were camping in the grounds. They were bravely trying to get their meals cooked as well. Chris, Boh and myself were expectantly waiting for Dave’s promised curry. But as he disappeared in a sea of heads and bodies (at least 6 deep) we began to feel guilty. We had bought some rice that had been prepared and frozen earlier, and the pudding had come care of Mr. Waitrose. As Dave was by now non-communicado and unable to even indulge in a glass of wine safely as he was wielding a nasty looking meat-cutting knife.

It was several glasses of wine and lots of chat later before Dave was to be seen again. In the meantime, Judith and Sonia, who were contemplating dinner, had the problem solved for them when a large pan of pasta in a sauce already was slapped down with the invitation to eat as there had been an excess cooked by other hostel guests. Shortly after Dave emerged with what Chris, Boh and I agreed had been well worth waiting for curry.

The musicians were by now beginning to congregate in the lounge and the excitement built as we all went to get a seat or at least a resting place in the room as the music and singing started up. It’s hard to report what happened after that. Alcohol, music, revelry, good humour, mellowness was all around. There were even some duets and a monologue from Chris and some songs from Dave. I think I spotted Judith on the pickled egg and Sonia on the tambourine. Boh was just on the booze as was I. At one point I heard the sound of an African peace song being sung in African by Dave. Beautifully and sensitively sung. Dave says it’s called Asikatali and is swahili

I don’t remember much else. Somebody made pots of tea for everybody - more than 50 people in a very small space. And what’s more there were plenty of offers to wash up the dishes! People slipped away when they couldn’t stay awake any longer. Soft musical sounds wafting up stairs to send us to sleep.

The next morning there was no doubt - no indecision - no conflicting views - no debate. WALKING WAS OUT -TOO WET! We all decided to cut our losses and head for home to get on with the housework etc left behind on Friday. Visibility was horrendous on the motorway - spray and water everywhere. It was a good thing we had such a good walk on Saturday. One last thing to mention - for Dorothy’s benefit. New showers had been installed using recycled rainwater on an ecological system. Still had to walk down the yard to get to the toilet/shower block. Can just see Dorothy in her pink towel skirt! We also got confirmation that the same four folk nights have been approved for next year, September, December, February and May. Dave, Boh and myself are definitely planning to go to the Tanners music festival in July. Looking forward to that, Chris is thinking about it but needs to overcome his tent phobia first.

Poor old Boh couldn’t get a word in edgeways during this write up that makes a change!!!

Boh’s bit.

We went. We ate. We talked. We walked. We drank (lots). We slept (a little). We sang. We played. We listened. We recited. We showered. We laughed. We went home.
Not necessarily in that order and some of them more than once.

You lot missed it, we didn’t. Better join us next time!

Everyone eventually arrived at the hostel, though Kathy checked out Llwyn y celyn hostel on the way. One passenger in a car did phone me in a panic to say they had just passed a sign for Llandudno but in fact it was Llandovery so no one got lost.

The hostel will go down as one YHA hasn’t been able to spoil, with bathroom plumbing running along the kitchen ceiling and unducted electric cables with a tree filled garden outside - just great! There were lovely views and a field of sheep next to us, with whom the staff seemed to have a close relationship.(Possibly linked to the excellent shepherd’s pie?) Also a nice quiet lane (Dave could remember what is was like before they built the by pass when that was the main road.) to a smoke free pub at the bottom. This hostel is very much recommended for a quiet rural weekend.

The Saturday was brilliantly hot and sunny so we decided to do the horseshoe. This involved driving through more winding lanes with high hedgerows full of flowers to a disused army camp at the foot of the ridge. There was a map there which showed amongst other things an area for mortar practice so we decided to avoid that. At first we thought the hill in front was Pen y Fan the highest point in the Beacons(886m/roughly 2900 ft,not quite a Munro) but of course it wasn’t.

The Beacons are red sandstone with high ridges going West to East and deep valleys cutting north and south into the sandstone from either side leaving finger-like hills sticking out between. We started climbing up one of the fingers which was Bryn Teg. At this stage Dorothy asked whether the route was going to be steep, but in true Tony Thompson talk I assured her it was “undulating”. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and it was blazing hot so we sweated up to the top of the hill, where of course there was another hill.

On the way we saw a large adult Kite. It’s great how these are so common now in South Wales as they used to be on the edge of extinction. In Swansea Museum I have also seen the stuffed remains of the last Golden eagle in Wales shot in the beacons by a “collector” in the eighteenth century. There’s peregrines around here living on the cliff faces though we didn’t see any.. However to beat all wildlife spottings must be the grey squirrel we saw in the Beacons on the Llandeusant weekend in 2005 wandering over the moor grass at 2000 ft miles from the nearest tree. No sign of one this time.

Having got to the top of the first hill there was of course another and when we walked up that in the heat we were then confronted with what looked like a sheer sided hill with people clambering up a path like a line of hard working ants. This was the first beacon, Cribyn(795 meters) and the undulating theory did rather go out of the window.

Having finally clambered up to the top though and onto the main ridge the view was brilliant. Behind us was the Usk valley and Brecon with the Black mountains and Hay Bluff to the East while off to the west was the Black Mountain at the west end of the beacons. Facing ahead we looked down to the Taff valley that goes all the way down past Merthyr through the coalfield to Cardiff. In the last century Merthyr would have been covered in flames and smoke from the iron works and pits but that all disappeared long ago.

While having a break at the top a party of soldiers then appeared, much to the excitement of certain members of the group. Knowing that the SAS train here I had expected them to be jogging past with 60lb packs at great speed. In actual fact they all looked exhausted and crawled past up the next ridge. It turned out that they were Dutch soldiers who I assume were off to Afghanistan so had been sent here for some mountain training because of the total lack of any hills back home (It must be very hard being a Dutch Munro bagger.) We didn’t have the heart to tell them the mountains in Afghanistan are a lot higher then here.

So then along the ridge to the real Pen y Fan,the highest point in the Beacons where we stopped for lunch and admired the view.

We then moved on to the third beacon, Corn Du where you had a great view of the horseshoe valley and started our descent. From the top you could see a Tarn, Llyn Cwm Llwch, which looked very inviting in the heat. After I got home I read it up and, not surprisingly, the lake has a legend of being inhabited by fairies who appeared there every year and partied till a human interfered and they were never seen again. There may of course be a link with this and what followed.

Whether it was fairy enchantment or because it was very hot Kathy decided to have a dip in the lake, followed by Alistair. She was then followed by Liz, encouraged by Bo with his walking pole, who gave an excellent demonstration of backstroke. Meanwhile Dorothy and Stephanie decided to do a Copenhagen mermaid tableau which did rather shock a local welsh newt sloping around by their stone.

Everyone else dipped their feet in the water and a much cooled group continued the walk. We were unaware of what trauma may have been caused in fairyland but no one was turned into a frog or woke up later to find it was 2107.

After a quiet amble down the Llwch valley we followed quiet lanes with flower filled hedgerows back to the car park and back to the hostel. This was definitely the best day of the weekend. with non stop sun and blue sky.

Next day the weather had changed with clouds and the promise of some showers. We proceeded to the Storey Arms on the Merthyr Cardiff road which had once been a drovers inn but is now the base for the mountain rescue team. Dave entertained us with a short display of continental style driving and we then went along an old drove road with the intention of going onto the Fan Frynych nature reserve.

We proceeded around the back of Llwyn y celyn hostel and then, in true Welsh tradition the path disappeared (or that’s my story). However a quick fence climb got us back on course and into the nature reserve. We were then joined by 3 sheep who led the walk for some way. Though Dave is always keen to recruit new members he decided against it as he wasn’t sure how they would pay their subs and they wandered off looking lost which led someone to say they reminded them of YHA National Management.

After getting to the top we had a good view of the Senni valley across to Fforest Fawr (Big forest in English) that is the next bit of the beacons going as far as the Swansea valley with the Black mountain again in the background. Though there were showers it was still a nice walk and we then skirted more sandstone cliffs and over the moorland to Storey Arms. On the way back we stopped for a further walk around Morrison’s car park in Brecon though the vegetation there was a bit sparse.

That evening Bo, Liz and Dave tried the hostel meals which proved to be gargantuan while others of us sampled the Brecon brewery ales. We then adjourned to what seemed to be a games room with our bottles and glasses and spent the evening either watching snooker on TV or, for those non TV addicts playing games. It was only at the end that Kathy noticed a notice on the door saying that the room was for children only. I don’t know what the cleaner made of any bottles left in the morning - they could have told the Sun which could have led to a headline - “Children in drunken orgy in YHA hostel!” but as I don’t read the Sun I wouldn’t know.

Next morning the three cars each went their own ways. Dave Anne and I dropped into Brecon which still has it’s old medieval street pattern and looked at the cathedral which was quite pleasant followed by a short river walk. The others also got back one way or another and all in all it was a good weekend, especially the Saturday. Thanks to all drivers and all the party for good company and entertainment.

Next year there is the possibility of the Black Mountains at the west end but I’ll probably do Pembrokeshire around St David’s head as there’s more hostel options.

Situated a few miles south of Swindon, the village (which is pronounced Cliff Pipe-ard, by the way) took some finding, but everyone managed to make their way there in good time nonetheless. On arrival, everyone was ordered to remove their shoes in order to protect the carpet. In my view, people who run hostels (and pubs) in muddy places shouldn’t be too precious about their flooring (even the patio outside couldn’t be walked upon in boots!). Hopefully they’ll get more laid back about this in time as having to walk around in stocking feet is the only thing to spoil this otherwise comfortable hostel.

Having chosen the only hostel in the country with a genuinely en suite pub, most took advantage by spending the evening in the bar. The beer was allegedly CAMRA approved, though it drew less favourable comment from our own resident expert Dr Self! Nonetheless everyone seemed well fed, watered and rested when it was time to start walking the next morning.

A brisk climb brought us to the top of the escarpment that gives the village the first part of its name. Though it’s not really steep enough to qualify as a “Clyffe”, its ascent certainly warmed people up on a chilly March morning. At the top of the slope the country changed to gently rolling farmland interspersed with small patches of woodland. As we set out across the first field, three deer broke cover and ran, springing and jumping, into the distance - they must have seen me trying to get my camera out!

Soon we were climbing up Windmill Hill, our elevenses spot and the first (and oldest) ancient site of the weekend. Apparently they’ve found some of the oldest pottery in Britain on this site, which was a gathering place for stone age tribespeople around 3700BC. We were more interested in finding somewhere out of the wind, but were still able to enjoy the view of Avebury and its surrounding countryside.

Coming down the hill, we passed through the village of Avebury, and pausing only for an ice cream in the village car park set off for Silbury Hill. This 130-foot high mound - the tallest in Europe - was built in 2660BC, but its purpose remains shrouded in mystery. We admired it anyway, before passing by the West Kennett Long Barrow and crossing the A4 (itself a Roman road, but a positive youngster in such company) back towards Avebury.

The final part of the morning’s preambulations took us along the West Kennet Avenue, an ancient route flanked by standing stones which led us to a gap in the huge bank and ditch surrounding the main Avebury stone circle. Another major prehistoric construction project, the Avebury henge is 14 times larger than Stonehenge and 500 years older. Like Silbury Hill, it’s the biggest of its kind in Europe.

When we arrived, a pagan ceremony was underway within the stone circle to mark the vernal equinox and welcome in the spring. However, the best efforts of the druids did nothing to dissipate the bitter north wind which was beginning to give the day a very un-springlike feel. Rather than beat our way head-on into this wind back to the hostel, I decided that we’d make use of the local bus service for part of the route. This also gave the group time to split up and see the various sites and sights at their own pace.

Once the bus had taken us back to the village of Broad Hinton we were soon on our way back to the hostel. Coming down the steep escarpment, we paused to take a look at the Broad Town white horse. First carved out in 1864 it’s a real youngster compared with the other sights of the day, but still pretty impressive once you get far enough into the valley to see it properly. A short walk across the fields brought us back to Clyffe Pypard, for another evening (what hardship) spent in the pub.

Lack of foresight on the part of the organiser meant that this trip was taking place on the weekend when the clocks went forward, so everyone lost an hour in bed. The early morning weather didn’t look too promising (not that most of us were up early enough to see much of it) - distinctly damp and murky, so when we convened on Hackpen Hill, next to another Wiltshire White Horse, it looked like the day’s walk would be a short one.

The first part of the walk continued the neolithic theme of the weekend. We were walking along the Ridgeway - an ancient trackway that has been described as Britain’s oldest road. Elevenses were taken in Barbery Castle, a comparatively modern iron age hill fort, an coincided with a marked improvement in the weather. As we continued across the Marlborough Downs, the sun came out and a succession of skylarks serenaded us on our way. Maybe the druidic welcoming-the-spring ceremony had a delayed action effect?

All thoughts of cutting the walk short were abandoned, and we followed a wide circuit across the downs, passing Rockley Hall before rejoining the Ridgeway and returning to the car park and the 21st century. This marked the end of another enjoyable group weekend, My thanks, as ever, go to the drivers and to everyone else who came.