Slices of Life ... and Death

It's been strangely symetrical, this holiday week ... and I do call this one a 'holiday' week, rather than simply one when I've been retired rather than working, because in many ways it has been my summer holiday ... even if I may have one or more such trips before the end of the season.  It began with the news that, early on Sunday morning, one of the stalwarts of our church had died.  She had been ill for some while, so it was not unexpected, but even so, it came as a shock to many of us when the announcement was made.

All my preparations were made, and all I had to do after the service was to return home, swap vehicles and within an hour I was setting off on my travels.  The week took me to three caravan and camping sites, each different from the others, carrying with it its own atmosphere and experiences for me.  I had planned that, staying two nights at each site, I would make an excursion during the full day there to some other place of interest.  In the event, two of these extra visits were made on the way to the respective sites, and the third was simply abandoned.  Coincidentally, all three site names begin with 'B'.

From Blackshaw Grange, near Leek, Staffs., I had planned to use two bus services to get to Leek and then to Ashbourne, but I realised that since time was on my side, it would be just as easy to make my visit on the Sunday afternoon.  My aim was the Airfield Industrial Estate, to see whether there were any remaining evidence of the former airfield, since it was there that my cousin was based during the Second World War, and he had left there as a volunteer for the mission that claimed his life on D-Day.  Since the airfield was closed about sixty years ago, and has since been slowly but surely taken over by industry, relics were few and far between.  It was as well that I did go on Sunday, because Monday was wet all day, and I got to know the inside of my motorhome very well indeed!

A pitch beneath the trees

The site at Blackshaw Grange is a small one run by the Camping and Caravanning Club, within sight of the open moorland.  The facilities are in stone-walled buildings which look authentic, but are probably purpose-built in sympathy with the countryside around.  It felt homely, the staff were helpful, and the only problem was picking a pitch under the trees, so that it sounded as if it were raining, even when it wasn't!

Haymaking at Llanuwchllyn

On Tuesday morning I set out for my second 'B' - Bwch-yn-Uchaf, at Llanuwchllyn, near the southern tip of Llyn Tegid, also known as Lake Bala.  This is part of a working farm, and when I arrived haymaking was in progress.  It's situated between river and railway line, with Afon Twrch on the left, and the Bala Lake Railway on the right.  I was the only visitor at that time, and was sited back to the fence of the station, so I could see and hear all the comings and goings with no effort at all.  It was interesting, too, to chat to the proprietor of the site and hear of all his plans for the future, to maximise all the attributes his land has to offer.

I had planned while there to drive round the lake to see a new development at Llanycil on the northern side, but like Sunday, I realised that I would be passing this on my way, with time to stop, so to do so would avoid the need to secure everything in the motorhome in order to drive round the next day. The place I visited was called Mary Jones World, and I shall be writing about this in the next few days on my other blog, Gospel Around Us, so to find out more, visit http://gospelaroundus.blogspot.co.uk/ and look out for "So who was Mary Jones?".

The site at Bwch-yn-Uchaf (the name means 'The Highest Buck', I think) was a little more primitive than the bespoke club sites, but the facilities were clean and adequate, and on reflection I think it was, for me at least, the most pleasant of the three locations.

Thursday found me at the other end of the spectrum, as I arrived at a large club site on the outskirts of Kidderminster, a place with rolling neatly-trimmed grass slopes, dotted over which were caravans and motorhomes, great and small, with the occasional tent hidden amongst the awnings.  I chose a pitch back to the hedge, but made sure I wasn't under a tree!  This wouldn't have mattered, because the weather was fine and for the most part sunny, too.  The site, called Brown Westhead Park, while busy and commercial, boasting information and recreation rooms as well as all the expected facilities - which were spotlessly clean! - wasn't at all impersonal, as I found when I had a couple of small problems, which were dealt with both promptly and thoroughly.

While there, I had planned to take a look at the Severn Valley Railway, whose terminus is next to the main line station at Kidderminster, but in the event, realising that the bus tmes were somewhat inconvenient, I decided to walk into the town.  Having done so, my thoughts were elsewhere than on the railway, my first purpose being to locate the departure point of a bus back to the site, since I had no desire to walk back again!  I found the centre somewhat characterless in its newness, but clearly a good place to shop.

On my way home today, I planned to visit my cousin in Birmingham, the sister of the one who had been based at RAF Ashbourne.  On leaving Brown Westhead Park, I made my way through the Worcestershire countryside to the southern suburbs of the city, to the last address I had for my cousin.  A strange face met  me at the door, and this lady explained that, not only had my cousin and her husband moved into a care home some while ago, but also that, since then, they had both died!  We had not been close - the distance and lack of transport had meant that no one else from Norfolk had visited them, although they had made the trip in the opposite direction many times over the years - but this would have been my fourth visit in twenty years, and I was quite fond of her.  She was only a few years younger than my mother and, being my father's eldest neice, she had provided some interesting insights into the family's life between the wars.  I now have an address for her son, and this might be a source of more information in the months to come.

Rolling, neatly-trimmed grass slopes:
Brown Westhead Park