CHEDDAR GORGE
Arrival
On Monday 2 November we departed West London for Somerset and Cheddar Gorge for another of our cheeky 4 night staycations. The country was again locking down, this time on Thursday 5 November. We had booked until Friday 6 November.
London, as I write a few days before Christmas, is toying with tier 4. I was blissfully unaware there was a tier 4. My, living in a Herefordshire field brother, gleefully pointed it out.
Somerset is inconveniently distant from West London taking us 2 hours plus – without major holdups – to reach our self catering accommodation of choice, Middlewick Farm. For those living in countries vastly vaster then my own 2 hours might only entail a stroll to the garden shed and back. However, for many of my fellow islanders, a 2 hour plus drive generates a certain degree of excitement.
Middlewick Farm (https://www.middlewickholidaycottages.co.uk/) is able to cater for upto 50 touristy types in a mix of cottages, glamping pods (why?) and even a Shephard’s Hut (seriously, why?). Our one bedroom cottage, the civilised option, was one of several converted from farm buildings.
There are a number of walks directly from the farm and a swimming pool, sauna and farm shop all on site.
As we were transferring an inordinate amount of belongings from car to cottage Jonathan, one of the owners, dropped by. A lovely chap, he nonchalantly announced staying until Friday was not a problem. Fabulous.
If you stray Somerset way Middlewick Farm will make a splendid base. We loved it.
Wells
After a non-fried, self catered breakfast the following morning we drove to the cathedral city of Wells.
Wells, unimaginatively named after wells it was founded around, is only the size of a small market town. Nevertheless as an ancient diocese with that all important cathedral Wells graduated to city status. Nicely played.
The town centre embraces all the usual chain suspects though is perfectly pleasant with its mixture of architectural styles.
Most visitors, I sincerely hope, don’t arrive for the mediocre shopping but rather the historical historic cathedral, Bishop’s House and Vicar’s Lane. Those 3, though not the shopping, are all listed. Built between 1175 and 1490 Wells cathedral is a masterpiece. By following the ‘Pilgrim’s Path’ modern day pilgrims and tourist alike are able to explore this magnificent beast of a building. The famous and stunningly beautiful scissor arch, rather helpfully, keeps important bits of the cathedral vertical. Still doing its job after 700 hundred years said arch shames many modern buildings. Outside the west portal has, what many believe, to be the greatest collection of mediaeval statuary – of once self important religious types – in Europe.
Wells Cathedral and Salisbury Cathedral claim to have the world’s oldest working clocks with both dating back to the late 14th century. Unfortunately for Wells Salisbury’s timepiece (allegedly) predates Well’s timepiece by a mere 5 years. How annoying. Fortunately for Wells their timepiece is original, Salisbury’s having been partly restored in the 1950s. Every quarter of an hour the Wells clock much loved jousters do their thing. It amused me to think one pitiful knight has had his ass handed to him for the over 600 years. ‘Fuck this, my turn to win’ is surely overdue.
As with most religious arguments this particular one is set to rumble on. At least civil war is unlikely.
Whichever church you happen to be visiting please do make time for these wonderful timepieces. I love all things mechanical and these clocks are marvellous examples of mediaeval, mechanical ingenuity.
A quick coffee in the cathedral coffee shop – guessing not mediaeval – before braving the cold and damp weather. The Bishop’s Palace, thankfully for those Bishops amongst you, sits close to the cathedral. The palace dates to the 13th century with numerous additions throughout the centuries including our oft vandalising Victorian chums. Surrounded, as it is, by a moat and high walls, to my eye, it’s architecturally more pleasing than the cathedral. One does have to wonder why any bishop would need such a grand home. The church prioritising status over its flock perhaps?
Whatever I, or anyone else believes, these buildings are tribute to the wonderfully talented craftsman, architects and others who built them. These fabulous manmade structures need to be treasured and celebrated for their architecture and huge historical significance.
Time and historical masterpiece fatigue necessitated skipping the interior of the Palace. We consoled ourselves with a wander around the picturesque moat and watched swans, a tad comically, preen and wash. Or so we assumed with all their splashing and head ducking. They may merely have been letting off steam – appearing one’s best for your general public could do that.
Encircling the cathedral green are a number of beautiful historical buildings and, a little further afield, the mediaeval St Cuthbert’s Church and Vicar’s Close. Vicar’s Close dates back to the mid 15th century with mod cons such as chimneys and gardens thought essential added in later centuries. Vicar’s Close, originally constructed for the men’s choir, is claimed to be the oldest purely residential street with original buildings surviving intact in Europe. And it’s absolutely fucking gorgeous.
The Close (a soap opera beckons) probably was my favourite listed gem of Wells. People, the same as me and you, have resided in that street for nearly 600 hundred years. That’s 600 hundred years folks. And for the vast majority of those 600 hundred years they lived their lives without a smart phone. Mind blowing.
A Tor, a Town and Pagans
The weather was interesting as we headed towards Glastonbury Tor. After driving up a wide path masquerading as a road we parked outside a random collection of houses. This presumably is a parking hell hole during non COVID-19/peak season.
There was a path of sorts which we followed until I got bored and decided the shortest and steepest route was my pathway to success. It proved more scrambling struggle than elegant ascent. Sus sensibly walked the paved and stepped path that followed the contour of the Tor. Longer undoubtedly, wiser definitely.
The Tor, perhaps surprisingly, is natural and was once, before modern drainage, an island. The terracing on the hillside is Neolithic, the tower a tad newer dating back to the 14th century. It’s the only surviving remnant of a church quarried for stone.
The summit was, on a blustery and damp day, unexpectedly busy. Being the highest point for miles around, and visible from the same, the vistas are indeed stupendous.
Glastonbury Tor has been the focus of religious, pagan and spiritual devotions since humankind discovered this remarkable oversized grass hummock. I’m originally from Yorkshire in the north of England where spirituality comes someway after football, rugby league and pork pies. And even with the opportune appearance of an exquisite rainbow the whole spiritual thing passed me by. Nevertheless it’s not difficult to grasp why people are drawn to this ancient site. May it continue to be so.
Glastonbury is a strange place and you may spot a 21st century hippy trying to recreate a time long since vanished. The high street shops are mostly peddling the same tourist tat (with a mystic twist) recreating the feeling of past times past. It’s all a tad naff.
Which is a shame as Glastonbury is architecturally attractive with genuinely old pubs – the George Hotel and Pilgrim’s Inn and the Mitre both hark back to mediaeval times. There’s also a ruined abbey where reality and myth collide (ouch). The abbey is thought to be the cradle of English Christianity and the supposed burial place of King Arthur and Guinevere.
Back to base, the farm shop, a swim and bed.
The Seaside, the story of 2 Cheddars
The following morning a trip to the seaside. Burnham-on-Sea. Unfortunately, as with many seaside resorts, the town is little rundown though with obvious and welcome signs of regeneration. The high street is resplendent with cafes, charity shops and beauty salons. It’s not a place to linger even with a sprinkling of finer establishments and decent cafes.
The beach, in total contrast, is quite fabulous. Our visit coincided with low tide exposing vast expanses of sand. It’s clean, well maintained and must be a joy for locals and tourists alike during warmer days.
Next a drive to Cheddar. If Burnham-on-Sea town centre was a disappointment Cheddar was plain weird if pretty enough. It resembles a large hamlet rather than a small village with only a large pub, café and butchers open for our visit. I suspect the large pub, café and butchers were the only establishments ever open in Cheddar.
Where was the gorgey bit? Where was the cheesy bit? Where were the cafes? Why was Google lying to us?
We nipped into the café for a coffee and, in Sus’s case, a panini. While having a wee I noticed a poster quoting JC – Jesus Christ not Jeremy Clarkson. In a secular country becoming more so each year this Christian café was a proper oddity. It was, strangely, more overtly religious than the café in the cathedral. Funny old world.
The splendid butcher sold me a delicious, large steak and kidney pie (my favourite). That pie did me for 3 meals.
Predictably, a trip to a local brewery was next – Cheddar Ales. When considerably younger I drank many a traditional, hand pulled cask ale. The taste was variable, the quality often dubious. I always remember reasoning, as part of my heritage, I should enjoy them. I never did and switched to lager in my 20s. However, many traditional English breweries had a range of bottled beer which can still be found in supermarkets to this day. I enjoyed, and still do, this motley collection of bottled beers. Arguably these golden oldies were craft beer before craft beer was craft beer.
Cheddar ales was steeped in this tradition and, after chatting with one of the owners, purchased a 6 pack. And very quaffable they were too.
A short drive from Cheddar we discovered the Cheddar Gorge bit of Cheddar explaining our earlier disillusionment. Apologies to Google. Cheddar.20 is squashed charmingly into the lower end of the gorge with café’s and shops galore. We had our pick of parking spots, presumably impossible in pandemic free summers, before wandering through pretty streets menaced by the steep sided gorge. The river Cheddar Yeo ambles contentedly on through adding to an already picturesque scene.
Though not normally lovers of cupcakes, on the outskirts of Cheddar, we spied a local baker selling the very same (https://www.thecheddarcakery.com). We purchased, we ate, we liked.
Tillamook Cheese Company is to be found in Oregon. We both adore cheese and, whilst visiting that beautiful state, dropped in for a sampling fest. The staff were lovely, samples plentiful, the cheese mediocre. The Cheddar Cheese Gorge Company proved disappointedly similar. Though an improvement on Tillamook’s offering there’s finer fare to be unearthed in your local deli or even supermarket. Stick to those cupcakes.
Lyddie – Lydford Leigh III, Eighth Earl of Wessex to give him his full title – is our 11 year old Mini Cooper. Sus named the little chap, not me. Lydford comes from the registration plate, Leigh is my surname. The rest is an utter mystery.
We love our Mini, Lyddie loves corners. Excels at them in fact. Much to Sus’s chagrin, Cheddar Gorge became his own personal race track. Sus squealed a lot. As occasionally did the tyres. The gorge is considerably lengthier than I remember or Sus thought. It’s also stunningly beautiful. This being a late Autumnal afternoon with humans scarce, the gorge had a primeval quality. A loss of 4G signal, until clear of the gorge, only added to the Jurassic Park impression. At least we could have taken pictures of any dinosaurs spotted. Apparently dinosaurs are camera shy.
We headed back to base, ate and relaxed in front of the tele. Rock and roll.
A Walk, Fibs and a Red Herring
We woke up to lockdown Thursday, swam and showered all before breakfast. Predictably lockdown encouraged the best in the weather and, so returning to Cheddar Gorge, we parked and chose the ‘Gorge Walk’. Classed as moderate this ramble required a reasonable hour and 40 minutes. So many fibs.
We scrambled, sometimes literally, through a wood towards the summit though rewarded with picturesque panoramas.
On the, often slippery, sporadically muddy, descent we spotted a wild goat. The size of a large dog, with bonus horns, we decided against engaging in conversation around what to consider in a good goat’s cheese, and hurried on past.
After about an hour and half our descent brought us to a road, parked cars and self-congratulations. The road and cars proved, in classic Agatha Christie style, a red herring. All signs pointed to another steep climb worryingly resembling a (merely damp thankfully) stream bed.
Cue further ungainly clambering and scrambling. At the summit fellow human beings had magically materialised and continued to magically materialise from whence we never discovered. The vistas were again fabulous as were spectacular views down the gorge.
We spent a few minutes admiring the views before descending towards Cheddar coming out, after a final 241 steep steps aptly named Jacobs Ladder, opposite the car. Result.
The walk/hike/expedition had taken us a little over 3 hours. We may have missed a big sign saying ‘this way idiots’ though, not being idiots, neither believe this to be true. And we now understand the reason for those cars smugly parked at the bottom of the second climb.
Even red herrings and my moaning can’t disguise how much we both enjoyed that walk. The weather behaved and the views and scenery were worthy of the behaving weather. However, this is not a walk to take elderly relatives or those who may have eaten too many pies. A reasonable fitness level will be needed as will some tasty snacks. And their definition of difficult may well incorporate Everest base camp.
We were knackered. In a very good way. And like those cars, perhaps a little bit smug. We drove back to Middlewick farm (self driving cars can’t come soon enough), ate and relaxed.
The following morning we drove home.
Somerset, Cheddar Gorge and even Glastonbury (especially the Tor) are staycation staples and easy to recommend. Cheddar Gorge is indeed spectacular and I’ve a sneaking suspicion Somerset has significantly more to offer.
And finally, a heartfelt thanks for taking the time and effort to read these electronic scribblings. I do hope you’ve enjoyed a wonderful Christmas with, where possible friends and family, and wish all a happy and healthy 2021.
Tony
December 2020
Tony's Travel Blog 