1931 SOUTH WALES TOUR – MERLIN 1

THURSDAY 23RD APRIL

A series of drenching showers

HAMMERSMITH – HORTON – DORCHESTER-ON-THAMES – NEWBRIDGE – ABINGDON – STANDLAKE – BRIZE NORTON – BURFORD

Started off about 11.30 a.m. in a series of drenching showers which necessitated taking shelter on occasions and decided me to take the shortest route. I had poached eggs for lunch at the ‘Five Bells’ Horton after which the rain ceased down for a bit and enabled me to get to the ‘Fleur de Lis’ at Dorchester for tea fairly dry. After this it was fairly easy work by the usual route through Abingdon with a call at the ‘Rose Revived’ Newbridge for a glass of Bass.

At Standlake I decided to dodge the main Gloucester Road stretch by going via Bampton and Brize Norton, the “bye-road” through Cote and Aston being in a first rate condition. Arrived at the ‘Swan’ about 7.30 p.m. finding Mr and Mrs Barnes, who I had met before, being the only other visitors.

Distance covered: 77 miles

FRIDAY 24TH APRIL

A trip to see the plum trees

BURFORD – STOW-ON-THE-WOLD – EVESHAM – STANWAY – BOURTON-ON-THE-WATER – BURFORD

Had set aside this day for a trip down the Vale of Evesham to see the plum trees in full bloom. The outlook was very unpromising when I took the Stow Road after breakfast and after reaching Stow I soon had my trusty cape on. The ‘Fish Inn’ provided me with my midday sustenance and the rain had all but ceased sufficiently to enable me to negotiate Fish Hill and Broadway uncaped.

I found the plums not more than halfway out but even so they would have been a fine sight with better weather conditions. At Evesham the sun shone for about five minutes but it was the only sun I was to see all day. The rain came on as though it meant it and I made up my mind to take the shortest route to Stanway for tea via Sedgeberrow and Toddington. The rain and the wind combined made it a hard plug even on a 49” gear.

At Stanway Mrs Stratford gave me the usual magnificent tea, which put such a lot of beans into me that I rode up Stanway Hill in the teeth of the gale. At Ford, the rain having ceased decided me on dodging Stow by making for Temple Guiting through Bourton-on-the-Water and Little Rissington. At the latter village I must have taken the wrong turning for I eventually found myself at the top of Maugersbury Hill about three miles from Stow. However it did not take me long to polish off the seven miles to Burford and supper.

Distance covered: 60 miles

SATURDAY 25TH APRIL

A prayer to St. Christopher

BURFORD – CHIPPING NORTON – GREAT TEW – BICESTER – CHARLBURY – BURFORD

I had to meet Wood today at Bicester and needless to say I did not intend to take the direct route to that town though the weather still showed no promise of better things. My route was by the way of Fulbrook and Shipton-under-Wychwood to Chipping Norton where I made up my mind to visit Great Tew. Bread and cheese and beer at the ‘Falkland Arms’ gave me the idea of a weekend in a fortnight’s time with Wood at this ideal village and Mr Ives of the ‘Falkland Arms’, though he could not put us up himself, thought it might be done.

From Great Tew I made my way in the rain to Ledwell and Duns Tew, North Aston. Somerton and Bucknell into Bicester. It was far too early for Wood to arrive so I listened to the Cup Final by wireless for some time and then set off on the Aylesbury road to meet him. I had covered some seven miles of the uninteresting Akeman Street before he came into sight and we made for the ‘King’s Head’ of Bicester for an indifferent tea.

It was raining steadily when we resumed our journey and we made one or two false starts before striking the road Wood wanted to take to Burford via Charlbury. At any rate it was a rough and stony way with several hard uphill grinds in the face of the rain and wind before Charlbury was reached. Here we fortified ourselves with refreshments at the ‘White Hart’ before tackling the strenuous country between Charlbury and Burford.

I had found it tough on a normal summer’s day but in the tempest of wind and rain in the dark this night the negotiation of the ever upward slope with the red lights of Leafield always to the fore might be classed as a most valorous deed. When I started vowing wax candles to St. Christopher if we reached Burford without mishap, Wood thought I was getting delirious. It was about 10.20 p.m. when our haven finally came into sight and we soon had newspapers tucked around our knees and enjoyed our well-earned supper in borrowed slippers.

Distance covered: 72 miles

SUNDAY 26TH APRIL

Ups and downs

BURFORD – CHELTENHAM – GLOUCESTER – NEWNHAM – CHEPSTOW

Today I was to resume my way towards South Wales but it was about 11.30 a.m. before I started after parting with Wood. The wind, and as usual, the rain were against me.

By the time I had struggled through Northleach over Puesdown through Andoversford to the purlins1 of Cheltenham I was fairly waterlogged and at the ‘New Inn’ the usual refreshment came very welcome. Though the rain had nearly stopped it was all a push from Cheltenham to Gloucester and I decided on the shorter though more strenuous Severn route, taking the left hand road about two miles beyond Gloucester. A great part of this road, being under reconstruction, is very rough.

Once through Westbury the trouble begins on the steep ups and downs out of Westbury into Newnham (where I had a satisfactory tea at ‘Roseville’) and from Blakeney into Lydney so that I had had quite enough by the time the ‘Bridge Inn’ at Chepstow came into sight.

Distance covered: 58 miles

MONDAY 27TH APRIL

A few days with the Paices

CHEPSTOW – NEWPORT – CARDIFF – BARRY

It was a pleasant surprise to find the sun shining in the morning and as I only had a short stage to do I left it until nearly 12 o’clock before getting away. The wind was still very strong and dead against me so it was hard work to Newport via Caerwent, Llanvaches and Penhow. After refreshment at the ‘Royal Oak’ about three miles outside Newport I had plenty of time to go to Cardiff. In fact I spent about an hour admiring the show parts of that fine city before going on to Barry, via the toll bridge and Cadoxton, to stay with Mabel and Guy Paice for a few days.

Distance covered: 40 miles

TUESDAY 28TH APRIL

A damp day

BARRY – ST. BRIDES MAJOR – BRIDGEND – LLANTWIT – BARRY

I went on by bye-roads through Aberthaw, St. Athan, Llantwit Major, St. Donats and Marcross to St. Brides Major up through Ewenny and some miles on the road to Porthcawl, but the rain being steady, I returned via Laleston to Bridgend to St. Brides and then via Wick to Llantwit – a damp and unpleasant day with much wind.

Distance covered: 47 miles

WEDNESDAY 29TH APRIL

A welcome stroke of luck

BARRY – CARDIFF – LLANDAFF – LLANILLTERN – COWBRIDGE – BARRY

Took the Cardiff road via Wenvoe to Canton and Llandaff to inspect the Cathedral with which I was not greatly struck. Here I found my back tyre had encountered something sharp which somewhat made further progress a problem. The situation was made more difficult by the fact that except for a little odd bit of silver I had left my money behind in Barry. However, after a few miles of careful progress I found a shop in the outskirts of Cardiff which had one 26”x1¼ inch cover of unknown make at 2/6d.^. I joyfully took this, made a quick change and returned to Llandaff for lunch at the ‘Maltster’s Arms’.

After lunch I took the road to Llantrisant via Capel Llanilltern. Llanilltern on the top of its mountain looks attractive from the distance but when, after much toil, the town is reached it is a most sordid place though the view from the church is magnificent. From Llantrisant I made my way through various mining villages namely Talbot Row, Pontyclun and Ystradowen to Cowbridge, a town consisting of one long street mostly of public houses. From here I took the main Cardiff road, then found a pleasant bye-road just beyond Bonvilston, which took me back to Barry and tea.

Distance covered: 41 miles

THURSDAY 30TH APRIL

Tar troubles

BARRY – NEWTON-NOTTAGE – PORTHCAWL – BRIDGEND – BARRY

I set out once more for Porthcawl, the weather having set fair. I got involved in a road tar trap on the road from Llantwit to St. Brides which drove me on to the main road where it took at least an hour to scrape some of the tar from the machine and tyres. There is a by-pass cutting out Bridgend. This I took but it was not only tarry as well but also very rough and I was glad to get on the Porthcawl bye-road beyond Laleston via Tythegston and Newton-Nottage, where I lunched.

Porthcawl like Barry has a jungle of merry-go-rounds and such like things but the west side is magnificent country consisting of a wide stretch of open common with fine sea views, while the sandy shore rivals Ramsgate itself. To keep clear of the tar fiend I kept to the main road through Laleston, Bridgend, Cowbridge and Bonvilston on the way back taking the bye-road to Barry as yesterday.

Distance covered: 50 miles

FRIDAY 1ST MAY

The smokiest town in South Wales

BARRY – PYLE – MORRISTON – PONTARDULAIS – LLANDDAROG – CARMARTHEN

Today I brought my visit to Barry to a close, my destination being Carmarthen en route to St. Davids. I was not anticipating a particularly picturesque trip as it meant going through a great part of industrial Wales. However it was fairly countrified as far as Pyle where the ‘Old Wine House’ gave one satisfactory bread, cheese and beer, then the smoke and chimneys soon come into sight; Port Talbot, Aberavon, Briton Ferry and Neath all present chimney stacks of unrivalled size and quantity all doing their best to darken the atmosphere.

I did not much want to go into Swansea so took the road across from Neath to Morriston – surely the smokiest town even in South Wales and there is a hill just outside it where it can be surveyed in all its grim magnificence. Gorseinon, Pontlliw and Pontardulais are the last of the large industrial towns and at the last mentioned I was surprised to come on a most useful little tea shop kept by a Miss Williams, just when I wanted it.

The road onwards to Carmarthen through Cross Hands and Llanddarog though extremely strenuous is pleasant enough, and in spite of some delay taking lessons in Welsh pronunciation from a young Welsh ‘soubrette2’ in the ‘White Hart’ at Llanddarog, I arrived at Carmarthen in good time and got a satisfactory ‘put up’ at the ‘Nelson Hotel’.

Distance ridden: 65 miles

SATURDAY 2ND MAY

A transcendent show of spring wildflowers

CARMARTHEN – WHITLAND – HAVERFORDWEST – NEWGATE – ST. DAVIDS

I got on the road just before 10 o’clock but just past Bancyfelin I had to make a halt to consider my front wheel bearing which was obviously in a ‘dicky’ state, judging by the explosion which emanated from it from time to time. However when it had been packed with Chemic Chain Grease it was much more silent.

At St. Clears I had got about two miles on the Red Rose road before discovering my error and I had to get across to the Haverfordwest road. The crossroad I took exhibited the most remarkable show of spring wildflowers I have ever seen: primroses –(yellow and pink ones),violets, bee orchids, ox slips, cuckoo flower, wind flower and many brilliant blooms whose names I do not know. Everywhere in these West Welsh counties, wildflowers were prodigious but this lane transcended anything I had seen elsewhere.

After passing through the large village of Whitland there is a steep hill which brought me out of the saddle, and after a considerable walk, the sight of an inn at a place marked on the map and also on a sign as “Commercial”, was welcome. The inn was signed as ‘Parkyandy Inn’ and as no cheese was forthcoming, a large plate of Welsh bread and butter satisfied me. Here I was entertained with tales of the ring by an ex-champion lightweight, a one-time professional to a London Amateur Boxing Club.

The remainder of the road to Haverfordwest via Robeston Wathen is fairly simple. It was market day here and the steep streets were thronged with some fine examples of Welsh rural types. I walked up the steep bit onto the St. Davids road and a few miles further on, while I had stopped to put on my cape as protection against the characteristic drizzle of these parts, a man driving a jig asked me to speak to his horse as it refused to pass me until it knew I was safe. A few words of encouragement had the desired effect.

At Newgate the ‘Sands Café’ provided an excellent tea but it did not put enough power into me to enable me to ride out of the west side of the bay. The trying bit of road from Newgate and some time spent in Solva made it nearly 8 o’clock when I arrived in St. Davids to find the sun shining and everything beautiful in that enchanting city, where Mr Martin, as in the past, gave me bed and board.

Distance covered: 49 miles

SUNDAY 3RD MAY

A gloriously sunny Sunday

ST. DAVIDS – WHITESAND BAY – SOLVA – ST. DAVIDS

I was determined to make this a day of rest in the brilliant sun, which lasted from sunrise to sunset. I spent the morning mostly in Whitesand Bay, a charming spot, and after an excellent dinner I made for Solva where I left my bicycle at the ‘Cambrian Arms’ and wandered over the coast on foot. I returned to the ‘Cambrian Arms’ to tea and then back to St. Davids down to Porthstinian and round many bye-roads.

Distance covered: a paltry 18 miles

MONDAY 4TH MAY

No butter!

ST. DAVIDS – LOWER FISHGUARD – NEVERN – CENARTH – LLANYBYER

I left St. Davids still in the sunshine about 10 o’clock by the Fishguard road with the wind behind finding many sheep and cattle on the road through Croes-goch, Mathry, Jordanston. Lower Fishguard in the sun held me for some time and I made my way through Dinas and Newport to Nevern before stopping for lunch at the ‘Trewern Arms’, the bar-kitchen being one of the quaintest I have been in.

I had no need to hurry up the steep rise out of Nevern and I was in Cardigan before 3 o’clock. The road along the Teifi Valley through Llechryd to Cenarth was wonderful in spring garb and the hour and a half in Cenarth included tea at the ‘Three Horseshoes’, quite excellent but without butter!

By putting a little ginger in it I got through Newcastle Emlyn and Henllan to Llandysul by 7 o’clock and paused on the bridge for a few minutes to gather energy for the climb up the Lampeter road, a good three miles stiff rise. At Llanybyther3 the ‘Black Lion’ received me in its usual hospitable fashion and a roaring fire combined with a good supper put me on good terms with myself for the last few miles downhill had been bitterly cold.

Distance covered: 61 miles

TUESDAY 5TH MAY

Fortune favours a familiar customer

LLANYBYTHER – LAMPETER – LLANDOVEY – BRECON – CLYRO – WHITNEY-ON-WYE

With thoughts of the “Stowe Inn”, Lampeter to Llandovey was my first objective. Lampeter had a cattle market on and livestock were everywhere. The climb up Lampeter Cwmann from sea-level to 1024 feet is rather more than one wants after breakfast and there seems no adequate compensation for it in the way of a run down; in fact near Pumsaint there is still steeper rise.

At Llandovey (all up for road repairs) the ‘Kings Arms’ supplied the usual midday necessaries before I tackled the nine-mile rise to Trecastle. A sharp shower overtook me in Trecastle and rendered a cape desirable for the run down through Senny Bridge to Brecon. Brecon had a fair on the main streets and was full of all kinds of shows, so only the narrow side turnings were available for traffic. Most of the adult population seemed to have had enough and some even too much! Prospects of tea at the ‘Bell’ seemed remote but the landlady, recognising me as an old customer, decided she must do it somehow. Two Cardiff men on a tandem shared in my good fortune.

With the wind astern the Hay road through Bronllys was lazy and I turned over Glasbury Bridge for the longer but pleasanter road through Clyro overlooking the Wye. About a mile after Clyro I picked up a Nottingham cyclist, and as he had never been to the ‘Stowe’ before I had no difficulty in persuading him to accompany me, and we had a pleasant evening discussing the ‘Stowe Inn’ fare and other things.

Distance covered: 68 miles

WEDNESDAY 6TH MAY

One of the most picturesque houses in Herefordshire

WHITNEY-ON-WYE – WEOBLEY – NEW RADNOR – LLANFIHANGEL-NANT-MELAN – WHITNEY-ON-WYE

I meant to have left the ‘Stowe’ for another base today but just as I was starting I changed my mind and decided to stay another night returning first for lunch. The black and white town of Weobley was my morning objective and I reached there via Winforton and Willersley Cross before 11 o’clock. Exploration and photography occupied all the morning including The Ley, surely one of the most picturesque houses in Herefordshire.

The lunch of roast fowl and rhubarb tart made an afternoon start before 2.45 p.m. unwise so I was all the more gratified to be able to ride up the slopes on the way to Kington without flattering. My next move was through Walton and New Radnor up to the ‘Red Lion’ at Llanfihangel-nant-Melan for tea. Conversation with the Williams family kept me until past six but I had little difficulty in getting back to the ‘Stowe’ by 8.30 p.m. for supper in company with a young tandem pair, Mr and Mrs Dean of Bournemouth.

Distance covered: 61 miles

THURSDAY 7TH MAY

An accompanying tandem

WHITNEY-ON-WYE – HEREFORD – ROSS-ON-WYE – GLOUCESTER – PUESDOWN – BURFORD

Today I had to get to Burford on the homeward track meaning to take the Ledbury-Tewkesbury route. However the Deans wanted to see Ross and I was easily persuaded to accompany them. Hereford via Bridge Sollers and Kites Nest was reached very quickly but strong head winds and long hills made the stage to Ross somewhat more difficult especially for the tandemists.

However we got to Ross in just the right time for lunch and did very well at the ‘Swalia’, Mr Pugh being very pleased to see me after some year’s absence. We had the wind behind us from Ross to Gloucester with a clear five miles coast down from Huntley and after inspecting the Cathedral the tandemists, though new to cycling, decided they might as well come on with one to Burford. A cheap and excellent tea at the ‘The Pheasant’ outside Cheltenham put plenty of power into them for the climb over Puesdown and we arrived at ‘The Swan’ in good condition about 8 o’clock and more than ready for supper. I rather annoyed the local policeman by taking a walk with the electric lamp after 11 p.m.

Distance covered: 76 miles

FRIDAY 8TH MAY

Dubious tales of otters and foxes

BURFORD – MORETON-IN-MARSH – WARWICK – MORETON-IN-MARSH – BURFORD

Business in Burford kept me from making a start until 12 o’clock and I set off on the Stow road going from there to Moreton-in-Marsh to have lunch at ‘Webbs’ and listen to a recital of Old Frankie’s adventures4. My destination was Warwick but so long did I loiter over lunch that it was 4.30 p.m. before I got there. However, by then the rain clouds, which had been threatening all afternoon, had passed over and the sun shone once more.

It being rather late I decided to return by the same route as I had come (via Wellesbourne, Ettington, Halford, Stretton-on-Fosse, Moreton and Stow). Two miles beyond Wellesbourne I had marked a village with a tea sign up, which did me quite satisfactorily but at a cost of 1/4d! I was somewhat delayed at Ettington in conversation with an ancient man who told me some rather tall stories about otters and foxes but got back to the ‘Swan’ in good time for supper.

Distance covered: 73 miles

SATURDAY 9TH MAY

A grudge against the grey squirrel

BURFORD – CHIPPING NORTON – SWERFORD – BANBURY – BLOXHAM – BUCKINGHAM – GREAT TEW

Having arranged the weekend at Great Tew with Wood with rendezvous at Buckingham for tea I set off through Shipton-under-Wychwood to Chipping Norton. Here my cyclometer which had got some tar in it on the 30th April run jammed and had to be removed.

The ‘Mason Arms’ at Swerford seemed a desirable place for lunch and there I met a farmer who had a grudge against the grey squirrel, not only because it had exterminated the native brown squirrel but he declared it was killing off the stoats and weasels and that two of them had actually killed his cat! This is rather too much to stomach!

As there was time to spare and the weather was fine I decided to go on to Banbury via South Newington and Bloxham instead of to Buckingham direct. The long slopes on the road to Buckingham via Farthinghoe, Brackley and Westbury were somewhat trying with a strong headwind but I reached Buckingham well ahead of time. When Wood turned up we had tea at the ‘Grand Junction Hotel’ and then after one or two false starts found the road we wanted via Croughton, Aynho and Deddington turning right at Swerford and eventually finding ourselves at Great Tew.

After a drink at the ‘Falkland Arms’ we proceeded to our quarters where a pleasant surprise awaited us for we were greeted there by Mr and Mrs Emery. Our resting place kept by Mrs Matthews, the saddler’s wife, proved a great success and we retired to roost after an excellent supper, very content.

Distance covered: 66 miles

SUNDAY 10TH MAY

Loiterers in the act of loitering

GREAT TEW – BICESTER – LONG CRENDON – PRINCES RISBOROUGH – AMERSHAM – EASTCOTE – SOUTHALL – HAMMERSMITH

After breakfast, I spent some time with the Emerys in exploration and then took the road to Bicester I had travelled on the 25th. We had a very indifferent lunch at a restaurant and then proceeded about 2½ miles along the Aylesbury road before turning right for Blackthorn, Oakley, Long Crendon and Thame spending some time in Long Crendon photographing the Court house.

The seven miles to Princes Risborough was unexpectedly tough and it being past 5 o’clock we decided on tea at the ‘Buckingham Arms’ before tackling the ‘mountain’ between Risborough and Missenden. Once over this obstacle and on the main road we soon bowled along through Amersham and Chorley Wood to Rickmansworth. Wood on his 35” gear insisted on riding up Moore Park Hill while I walked and at the top found a party of his Northern Section loiterers in the act of ‘loitering’.

At Eastcote we had light refreshment at the once famous cyclists’ house the ‘Ship’ now also a boozing den for all and sundry. As usual I got mixed up at Greenford and eventually came on to the Uxbridge road at Southall leaving us a nice trafficky seven miles home which we reached about 9.30 p.m.

Distance covered: 76 miles

 

1931 EARLY SUMMER ‘TOURLET’ – MERLIN 1

THURSDAY 18TH JUNE

Most romantic woodland

HAMMERSMITH – WINDSOR – WALTHAM ST. LAWRENCE – HUNGERFORD – RAMSBURY – MARLBOROUGH – HUNGERFORD

In spite of a sore toe I decided on a four day easy ‘tourlet’.

I took the usual Windsor, Waltham, Twyford route to Reading stopping for bread, cheese and beer at the ‘Bell’ Waltham St. Lawrence. The Bath road from Reading was fairly empty on a Thursday afternoon and at Hungerford I turned right. At Chilton Foliat a heavy shower delayed me in a dry and pleasant spot by the River Kennet for about half an hour before I resumed my way to Ramsbury where the ‘Bleeding Horse’ gave me a first class tea, though it could not put me up for the night.

From Ramsbury I returned to Chilton and passing over the bridge turned right at the bottom. This took me through some most romantic woodland skirting Littlecote Park and after much climbing over rough roads eventually brought me out at Froxfield on the Bath road. The evening being fine and the road good I went on to Marlboro’ but having no handbook with me I decided to return to the safety of the ‘Red Lion’ at Hungerford for the night, which I found satisfactory quarters.

Distance covered: 84 miles

FRIDAY 19TH JUNE

A thundery evening

HUNGERFORD – EAST GRAFTON – PEWSEY – DEVIZES – TROWBRIDGE – LACOCK

After breakfasting off haddock and poached eggs I left Hungerford about 9.30 a.m. and after a mile or so of the main road I turned left to Little Bedwyn and Great Bedwyn and by bye-roads to East Grafton, a charming scattered village consisting entirely of thatched dwellings.

Eschewing Burbage and the main road I took further lanes through Easton Royal and Milton Lilbourne, which brought me out into Pewsey. Here a heavy storm drove me to shelter for about half an hour. Instead of the direct road to Devizes in Woodborough I preferred what looked on the map something more strenuous by way of Alton Priors. Stanton St. Bernards attracted me off the road but it proved a disappointing village, too much new red brick having cropped up among the original stucco and thatch.

Soon after regaining the road the storm which had been threatening all the morning overtook me but had spent its force in about half an hour which I spent in a cowshed, and I was able to proceed into Devizes where the ‘Unicorn’ gave me a lunch of beef which went down rather well. The rain had nearly ceased when I continued on the road to Trowbridge via Seend and Semington.

About five miles from Trowbridge my back tyre expired with a sigh and I had to retire down a side lane for repairs. Trowbridge presented its usual busy aspect and I retraced my way for two miles and then turned left through Hilperton and Staverton to Melksham arriving at Lacock’s ‘Corner House’ for tea just before 5 o’clock. A thundery evening made photography difficult as about 8 o’clock I toiled to the top of Bowden Hill marvelling at the extent of the view in the clear atmosphere after the thunderstorms.

Distance covered: 54 miles

SATURDAY 20TH JUNE

Calamity at Tetbury

LACOCK – COMPTON BASSETT – MALMESBURY – TETBURY – CIRENCESTER – FAIRFORD – BURFORD

There is no more difficult place to leave on a sunshiny morning than Lacock and by the time I had conversed with practically everyone in the village and taken some more photographs it was nearly 12 o’clock. Once more did I toil up Bowden Hill taking the short cut to Calne from whence about two miles along the main London road a left turns leads to Compton Bassett, a charming village with architecture of the Castle Combe type. Here I loitered at the ‘White Horse Inn’ until nearly 2.30 p.m. before making my way by various tortuous lanes via Hilmarton, Beacon Hill and Foxham to Christian Malford.

Time forbade me from going onto Castle Combe, which had been my intention, so I made for Sutton Benger and took the direct road through Seagry to Malmesbury. The tea I had at the “Abbey Café” was neither cheap nor bountiful but sufficient and having bags of time the familiar direct road to Cirencester did not appear. I accordingly went round via Tetbury, a plain sort of town but with a rather picturesque market place. The town was in a state of excitement, with the local picture palace having been burnt out during the afternoon and the ruins still smoking away.

From Tetbury to Cirencester is a very fast stretch and the views of Cirencester in the evening sun coming into the town off this road, though most impressive, refused to adapt itself to photography. Cirencester to Lechlade through Ampney Crucis, Poulton and Fairford is always a fast stretch and in spite of half an hour at the ‘Three Horseshoes’ I reached the ‘Swan’ at Burford soon after 8.30 p.m., Mr and Mrs Sissons arriving about ten minutes after.

Distance covered: 64 miles

SUNDAY 21ST JUNE

Gorging on strawberries

BURFORD – BUCKLAND – KINGSTON BAGPUIZE – ABINGDON – GORING HEATH – WALTHAM ST. LAWRENCE – WINDSOR – FELTHAM – HAMMERSMITH

The longest day gave promise of a real summer’s day at last. Wood who was expected to breakfast failed to appear but Mr Emery had made a night or rather early morning, run of it from Watford and turned up about 8 o’clock.

The Sissons and I loitered until nearly 12 o’clock before getting on the road, and the road via Bampton, Buckland, Kingston Bagpuize and Tubney to Abingdon was new to them. We gorged on strawberries at Kingston Bagpuize and it was 1.30 p.m. before we reached the ‘Blue Boar’ Abingdon for lunch (steak pie, peas, spinach and potatoes and banana trifle). It was 3 o’clock when we left there on the Dorchester road, turning over Sutton Courtenay Bridge through Appleford to Wallingford.

We kept up a steady pace and arrived at the ‘King Charles’ Head’ Goring Heath at 4.45 p.m. for tea. The same steady pace took us down to Caversham across the Great West road through Twyford and Waltham St. Lawrence, Windsor, Horton, Stanwell, Bedfont, Feltham and Twickenham in excellent time. I arrived home at 9.30 p.m., the Sissons who were lamp less, proceeding on their way to their home at Regent’s Park.

Distance covered: 85 miles

 

1931 THE CONTINENTAL TOUR – FRANCE, GERMANY AND AUSTRIA

FRIDAY 17TH JULY AND SATURDAY 18TH JULY

A wet and dismal evening decided me to take the train to St. Pancras Station instead of going by road as had been my intention. I had got my specially prepared machine (Merlin 3) into the Guard’s Van before discovering I had left my wrist watch behind. My mount had to be yanked out again while I returned to fetch the missing article. Nevertheless I was at St. Pancras 1¼ hours before the train started and a good half hour before Wood arrived.

The registration of the bicycles to Strasburg was a tedious process and by the time we got to the special boat train every seat was occupied. In the meantime we had picked up a young man with a bicycle (hereinafter referred to as Gerwinkle) who “had been there before” and proposed to know all about it. We finally got seats in the Guard’s Van on various bales of goods, for the trip to Tilbury. At Tilbury passports had to be produced, the customs were passed (a pure formality in our cases) and we pushed on to the ‘S.S. Picard’ which already seemed fairly crowded. Gerwinkle, who knew all about it, led the way and as he much preferred climbing up the rigging to using stairways we temporarily lost him, my age and Wood’s weight being rather against us in this exercise.

Jack and I finally came to rest on a seat in the forepart of the boat where we spent a damp and somewhat chilly night getting what comfort we could out of our capes. Once clear of the Thames the ship began to get somewhat lively. This had quite the reverse effect on many of the passengers and sounds of regurgitation were heard all around so that one instinctively made oneself as small as possible to avoid getting splashed. Sleep was rendered impossible by a noisy crowd nearby, one of whom in an advanced stage of combined intoxication and seasickness made himself a complete nuisance to everybody by staggering around falling over everybody’s legs, falling down stairways and being carelessly sick in every direction. How he escaped going overboard is a mystery and had he done so everybody would have (if their stomachs permitted it) heaved a sigh of relief.

A watery dawn at last appeared. Gerwinkle was discovered wrapped in a blanket in a deck chair – a dry island surrounded by a sea of sickness. As desolate Dunkirk came nearer the sea flattened and the sick saw a new hope of life. We were badly placed for disembarkation and were somewhat late in getting through the French Customs. The obtaining of a “permis de circulation” for each of our bicycles was a tedious process so that we very nearly lost the train. However, we just achieved our object with the aid of two French porters, one of whom made Jack squirm by riding his beloved Sunbeam over the metals to save time, before hurling it into the luggage van.

We just had time to see my Merlin also pitched in “all ends up” before scrambling aboard just as the train was on the move. We were thankful to find breakfast about to be served and did full justice to our first Continental meal after which we settled down for the somewhat tedious journey across rain soaked France. When we had at last been permitted to remove our cycles from the Customs we had noticed Gerwinkle’s machine standing against the wall neglected and concluded he was coming on by a later train. We were therefore surprised when he turned up in our compartment during the course of the morning. He was quite confident that his bicycle had followed him on to the train and that the formality of a “permis de circulation” was unnecessary and, in spite of what we told him, he seemed quite satisfied that it was in the luggage van.

The tedium of the journey was broken at 12.30 p.m. by a very excellent lunch of many courses and we at last reached Strasburg at about 3.30 p.m. Our bicycles minus much enamel were duly unloaded but an inspection of the luggage van by Gerwinkle revealed no trace of his mount and he at last came to the conclusion that his confidence was misplaced. He was going to Colmar so we never heard the end of his trouble but it is quite certain from what we had seen at Dunkirk that he found himself cycle-less when he got there.

Before embarking at Tilbury we had stripped our machines of everything removable therefore it was somewhat amusing to find that mine had acquired a pump en route. However I already had one in my bag so I left the acquisition at Strasburg Station. The rather trying journey had burdened me with a jumpy headache which was not improved by the four miles of pave through the grey streets of Strasburg to the Pont du Rhin where we crossed the Rhine into Germany. The French Customs people seemed somewhat excited before we were allowed to proceed but on the other side our reception was most urbane by an official who spoke perfect English.

The German town of Kehl opposite Strasburg presents a complete contrast to that city. Here all is bright and clean and though we had some trouble just outside the town owing to ‘road-up’5, it was a pleasant level country we ambled through with several clean looking villages on the way in each of which we noticed one or more “gast hausen” (inns).

At Offenburg, a largish town I got some cigarettes of curious flavour and in due course we arrived at our first stopping place, Gengenbach where we had been recommended to the gast haus ‘Salinen’. Here we entered but all my knowledge of German evaporated and I did not know what to ask for. Interpreters were looked for in vain and at last I gasped out “Wir sind Freundts von Herr Clarke”. This did the trick and we were soon in possession of “Ein zimmer mit zwei betten” and after a wash were sitting down to a “Schnitzel von schweinefleisch mit kartofflen” which was of course preceeded by a soup of unknown ingredients but of excellent taste. After this a German who knew some English came in, and from him we learnt some words and my first phrases for future use.

I was glad to get to bed soon after 10 p.m. my first experience of a German bed under which and not upon which you lie. This however did not keep me awake.

Distance covered by bicycle from Strasburg to Gengenbach: 22 miles.

SUNDAY 19TH JULY

Gengenbach was all astir on this Sunday morning long before we were – church bells were sending out their message to the faithful and while we were getting up we saw many weird and wonderful costumes – the peasant garb being quite picturesque and always finished off by an umbrella.

The usual Continental breakfast, of coffee and rolls was supplemented by an egg each and after this blow-out we inspected the town before preparing to flit. It is a particularly attractive one and especially so on a Sunday morning with all the peasants in their best clothes. At one corner on the top of a high chimney was a stork’s nest which, though inconvenient to the owner of the chimney, is a very picturesque item. On our return to the gasthaus we were both photographed and of course returned the compliment by photographing Frau Maier and the three frauleins, the eldest of whom, Elsa, is well worth photographing. After this operation it started to rain with such goodwill that we delayed our start until 11.30 a.m., the rain then showing no signs of ceasing.

The road we took was an easy one as far as Hausach though we could see plenty of trouble ahead. At Hausach we were feeling in need of sustenance and found a gasthaus (zum Hirsch), which had a sideway, promising cover for our machines. In the gasthaus we were rather at a loss what to ask for with our limited knowledge of German. However I could only think of what can sometimes be obtained in English inns and by demanding “speck und eier” obtained an extraordinary looking compound of fat bacon and six eggs all in one forum. It had to be cut up in squares but we were in no mood to cavil at anything eatable and it went down with gusto. I found the beer an excellent lubricant, while Jack had to make do with “mineral wasser” – fizzy stuff with a funny taste.

The rain had ceased when we had finished this curious meal and as we were preparing to depart, a young German came up and greeted us profusely in moderately good English. He appeared quite mortified that we could not come back into the house and let him practise his English on us. We finally parted with much ceremony and good wishes not heeding his warning that the road to Triberg (our next move) was very steep. It did very soon begin to go up through Gutach and Hornberg but nothing to call bottom gears into action until the top of the town of Triberg, a largish, bright, clear place.

There was a path at the end of the town by the side of a waterfall which would have been taken had the weather been a little more promising but we preferred to stick to the road and the way it began to rise made bottom gears a fixture for some miles. At Schönwald we attained an altitude of 3000 feet. This town is a kind of health resort and winter sports ground and as such it is possible to imagine a very pleasant stay could be made there.

From Furtwangen, about five miles further on, there was a descent of a few miles after which we climbed once more finally reaching the Pension Zum Nene Eck’ which was our stopping place for the night. Our request for “ein zimmer mit zwei betten” was favourably received and the suggestion of soup and ‘wiener schnitzel’ followed by tart commended itself to us favourably. The proprietor, who had a hairless head very suggestive of the egg of the extinct Aepiornis6, wished us “guten appetits” I replied to show that he was understood “wir haben grosses appetits”. This upset Jack who thought I was accusing him of having a gross appetite so that proceedings were delayed while I explained that “gross” is the German word for “large” and it would have been curious if we had not large appetites after the strenuous 40 miles we had covered with nothing to eat since lunch.

Distance covered: 54 miles

MONDAY 20TH JULY

The country around New Eck presented none too cheerful appearance in the morning though in fine weather the surrounding scenery must have been gorgeous. We had the usual breakfast of coffee and rolls with stuff they called “hovey” which was really some kind of vegetable spirit.

We took the road through Neustadt, the centre of the Schwarzwald (Black Forest) clock industry. Here we had an excellent lunch at the ‘Gasthaus zum Engel’ where we left our cycles while we explored the town. A long-threatened storm burst upon us just as we were preparing to resume our journey and we had to continue for some time in capes.

We wished to make for the Titisee and from hence onto Bonndorf. We found the Titisee, a somewhat tame lake, but took a walk along a path by the shore for some distance leaving our machines by the wayside. While we were contemplating a little photography two hikers came along, one of whom claimed acquaintance with Jack asking him if his name was not Wood and did not come from N15. On enquiry it appeared they had never met in England or elsewhere. We were somewhat mystified for a time but of course the stranger had seen the bicycles by the wayside weighed up the Sunbeam with Wood divided by two and got the correct answer.⁷

From Titisee we took a rising road by the side of the lake in capes as the rain had started once more. At a fork in the road we were at a loss wanting to get to Bonndorf a place we could not find on the map. While we were under a tree considering the matter a German cyclist came up his cycling garb including (inter alia) a flowing frock coat. He got out a map and I intended asking him if Bonndorf was marked on it. I got as far as “Haben sie Bonndorf” when he not only indicated it on the map but drew our attention to a signpost pointing to that town which we had overlooked – a double fault on our part as we were also studying the wrong map.

The road took us through Rothaus, chiefly famous for its beer and by a hamlet bearing the suggestive name of Zeebruge near which at the ‘Gasthaus zum Altglasshutten’ we had some coffee accompanied by a kind of pudding (Kuchen (cake) was what we asked for), which was extremely palatable!

Hereabouts on a steep rise we were taken on by a couple of yokels but they were over geared and soon died away. This road skirted the Schluchsee, a large but uninteresting lake and we were constantly shaken by the reverberations of blasting operations in the vicinity. It was still raining when we reached Bonndorf, a large plain town and we went on to Dorfbull, a small muddy village which we reached after a precipitous descent.

At the ‘Gasthaus zum Grunenberg’ we were well received and the rain having ceased we ordered “schinken mit eier” (ham with eggs) at 9 o’clock and took a stroll through the woods along the Rutach but the weather did not justify our going as far as the waterfall at the bottom. The “schinken mit eier” was a strange compound but went down very well.

Distance covered: 42 miles

TUESDAY 21ST JULY

Dorfbull seemed full of hardworking cattle drawing heavy loads up steep and slippery slopes this morning. The crowning infamy of all was that the poor old cows, after they had done their duty in supplying the morning milk, were harnessed to heavy waggons with a lump of wire netting tied over their muzzles to prevent them taking any refreshment by the roadside to lighten their toil.

We left the “Gasthaus zum Grunenberg” with the usual good wishes and ““Auf Wiedersehens” and there seemed nothing for it but to retrace our way at any rate to Bonndorf. The slope we had come down last night proved too much to ascend even with our bottom gears and we took the first compulsory walk of the tour for about half a mile.

As we were leaving Bonndorf we discovered a German operating on us with a cinematograph apparatus and we stopped at the top where he insisted on taking us together and stuck a bargain to supply us each with three prints on payment of two marks. We of course had to trust him to send on the prints but we had already learnt that the German is an honest soul and we had no misgivings on this score.

We proceeded nearly into Rothaus taking a road signposted to Grafenhausen. This proved rather a tough problem and at one time we were doubtful if we could get on. However it led us over a brickbat surface round a large electrical workshop placarded with all manner of notices of things that were “verboten” (prohibited). We had visions of being seized and treated as spies.

However a fierce and tough upward grade brought us back into civilization again and the ‘Gasthaus zum Hirschen’ at Staufen supplied us with much needed sustenance. Much roughriding brought us via Häusern to Sankt Blasien, a large and pleasant town. Here we spent about an hour. The church is the lion of the place with a dome rivalling St. Paul’s. The interior is most richly decorated and is full of shrines to various saints with relics complete.

I succeeded in getting some so called American cigarettes but they tasted much the same as the native article. A very rising road past a large Sanatorium eventually led us to a high altitude from which there was a terrific descent with many hair pins into Todtmoos. Jack with his superior weight got there a good mile ahead of me and I found him cooling his brakes outside the ‘Gasthaus Maiern’ where we proposed spending the night. As usual the “zimmer mit zwei betten” was forthcoming and after a high tea we ordered “abendessen” (dinner) for 9 o’clock and set out to explore the town, a pleasant enough little place with a highly decorated church surrounded by fine rolling countryside.

The supper proved all that could be desired and we were glad to turn in after a short but strenuous stage of some 38 miles.

WEDNESDAY 22ND JULY

A pleasant sunny morning induced us to delay our departure from Todtmoos until about 11 a.m. Further delay was caused on the road to Wehr a few miles out of the town waiting for the sun to shine for photographic purposes. We had left our cycles by the roadside and ventured into a flowery meadow which seemed to be inhabited by every creeping, biting, flying and jumping insect including immense grasshoppers, evil looking but quite harmful creatures about an inch and a half in length. While we were there a German of the agricultural class on the road got very excited about something. We could not understand what he was driving at but probably we were trespassing and he thought we were doing so with evil intent perhaps with designs on the “bloomen” the plucking of which around Todtmoos is “streng verboten” (strictly prohibited).

The sun refused to be kind and we resumed our way along a particularly delectable road by the side of a river which led us to Wehr – a rather ordinary sort of town – and the road to Säckingen is also of the most ordinary description. From Säckingen we proposed taking a short train journey to Griessen preparatory to passing into Switzerland. It was about 12.30 p.m. when we got there and on enquiry we found there was no train until 3.23 p.m.. Luckily the town had many picturesque streets so the time passed fairly profitably.

At the ‘Gasthuas zum Adler’ where we met an English speaking German we did well with an excellent “Schnitzel” followed by “obst” (fruit) in the way of stewed cherries and then a large plate of fresh red currants each. The latter with plenty of sugar went down wonderfully.

Jack was anxious to cross the bridge over the Rhine into Switzerland but I feared complications with cycles and dissuaded him. When the train came in we duly put our cycles on board. By error we had taken 3rd class tickets instead of 2nd class. The seats were hard for the short but somewhat tedious journey but we did see all manner of people at each of the forty (more or less) stops before we reached our destination. It was nearly 6 o’clock when we arrived at Griessen and we might easily have ridden there and back on our cycles by the same time. We had coffee at the ‘Gasthuas zum Krone’ before taking to the road again.

At the German Customs House before passing into Switzerland we were mistaken for Dutch, the official apparently not recognising a British passport. However when we explained we were English, all was well. At the Swiss Custom House at Neuhausen our cycles were subjected to a strict scrutiny especially as to the maker’s number but as usual we passed without any examination of baggage. A nice paved road with rampant tramlines runs down from Neuhausen to Schaffhausen – a fine bit of road to find out if there’s anything loose on our cycles.

Schaffhausen is such a fine swank town that we were rather at a loss where to put up. We chose the ‘Hotel Lowen’ (Lion) and ordering supper for 9 o’clock went out to see the sights. We found Schaffhausen a very beautiful town and were especially attracted by the parts down by the bridge over the Rhine. There are innumerable picturesque streets, good shops and any amount of flowerbed-decked fountains.

When we returned to our hotel we were taken in charge by a sandy faced damsel who seemed to regard us both as a huge joke. However we fed well enough and our sleeping accommodation was all that could be desired. Before returning for supper we made enquiries at the railway station as to trains for St. Margrethen on the morrow. I did my worst in mingled French and German only to find the booking clerk spoke good English and we decided to leave by the 1.50 p.m. train tomorrow afternoon. Our day’s riding only amounted to 35 miles.

THURSDAY 23RD JULY

We had the morning to amuse ourselves in Schaffhausen and as we were moving off the maps in our possession a further one was a necessity. After trying two shops we obtained one which while being nothing great, would suffice. On the further side of the Rhine Bridge we met two English cyclists with whom we spent about half an hour. When we parted from them we decided to settle up at our Hotel and go up to Neuhausen to see the Rhine falls.

The settling up process cleared us out of Swiss currency except for a few francs and we proposed to remedy this on our return from Neuhausen. We found the falls a magnificent spectacle and well worth the toil of getting there. There were a polyglot lot of spectators and I found Jack trying to conduct a conversation in bad German with a particularly hunnish looking old specimen until the latter and Jack discovered that they were both in fact English!

Having had some experience of registering cycles on Continental railways we thought it prudent to be at the station a generous time before the train started. Consequently we pelted down that vile four miles of road back to Schaffhausen with the consequence that my lamp became seriously deranged, so much so that that it took a permanent place in my bag.

Our first consideration was to change some sterling into Swiss francs and we were rather disturbed to find the banks closed from noon until 2 p.m. A Swiss damsel who spoke some English said her master would certainly change it for us and after enquiring of him informed us he would give us 70 centime for each English shilling (14 francs to the £). This was rather more than we could stand, the correct rate being something about 24, so the offer was declined and we subsequently obtained our exchange at the proper rate at an AA Hotel.

We were leaving Switzerland for good and after paying our fares we were so cleared out that we had nothing but a few centimes to tip the porter who looked after our cycles. I offered him two good German marks but he refused them and took the 10 centimes. The journey was of the usual slow continental kind with innumerable stops, the line running through not very interesting country alongside the Bodensee (Lake Constance).

After changing at Rorschach we duly arrived at St. Margrethen about 3.45p.m., having had no sustenance since a light breakfast at 8.30 a.m. except two bananas and some chocolate. Furthermore we had no Swiss money so to find a bank was the first importance. Closing time nearly arrived before we did so and I presented a French 5 franc note and got in exchange a few Swiss centimes. I had of course forgotten the poverty of the French franc and explained the error to the cashier who saw the joke and I got some more for a 50 franc note.

We satisfied our wants for the time being at a small gasthaus before going over the border into Austria. Here our formidable triptyques8 came into operation and we got our first entry into Austria marked on sheet two at the Custom House, where we were treated with the same courtesy we had received in Germany. The cyclists we had seen this morning had mentioned a good stopping place at Bludenz, but when we reached Feldkirch, prudence made us decide to stay the night there. After looking around we decided on the ‘Gasthaus zum Weisses Rossl’ where we were received with the utmost urbanity. In the meantime our cycles were surrounded by a huge mob of critics and we had some difficulty in extricating them to put them away for the night. From a stroll round before supper we formed a very good opinion of our first Austrian town.

The Wiener schnitzel which we had with the usual trimmings for supper was quite excellent.

Distance covered: 22 miles

FRIDAY 24TH JULY

After an early breakfast notwithstanding some time spent in exploring and photographing the picturesque parts of the town, we got away at 10 o’clock as we knew we had a strenuous time in front of us. The road has a general upward tendency to Bludenz and after that town bottom gears became a permanent institution. This was the start of the Arlberg Pass and we had struck a nice hot day for it.

Jack was soon reduced to shirt and shorts but my coat being burdened with too many important documents had to remain on my back. About 2.30 p.m. at a small gasthaus where we called for light refreshment, Jack who had been perspiring freely, made a great discovery. Up to now his liquid refreshment other than coffee had been confined to mineral “wasser” (hereinbefore described). His great discovery at this unimportant hostelry was a sickly red compound called “himmwasser” or “himbeer”. He felt much better after consuming many litres of this and henceforth his war cry at every gasthaus we visited was “Haben sie Himbeer?”.

Fortified by this we continued our hard labour until Stuben, where the road goes up with a bang in a series of hairpins. We did a little walking here for the first time today and about halfway up to the first hairpin we found a car in distress, the owner of which was conveying water to it for the radiator in his hat. I noted the car bore an English number plate and made a remark to him as we passed to his apparent astonishment at being addressed in his own language.

After getting round the corner we got on our machines once again for a short distance but the gradient was too much even for our bottom gears and we walked to the top, a distance of about one mile. We encountered on the way two hikers, apparently Italians with whom we carried on a difficult conversation in several languages for a space before parting with best wishes.

There was a very fine view from the top and also it was apparent that a storm was approaching, which rendered it advisable not to linger too long. The descent for the first few miles is a very steep one with many hairpin bends, the surface of the road being very loose at each bend. The storm was obviously approaching and as we passed through St. Anton the rain commenced accompanied by thunder. We put on our capes and, coming to a village with a large gasthaus, decided to put up there for the night. The village was Pettneu and at the ‘Gasthaus zum Hirschen’ we spent a somewhat amusing evening watching among other things the lads and lassies of the village dancing to the strains of a somewhat cracked gramophone. However we had an excellent schnitzel for supper and Jack was able to swill large quantities of his new discovery.

Distance covered: 44 miles

SATURDAY 25TH JULY

After a frugal breakfast we prepared to make an early start for the continuation of our journey down the Arlberg Pass looking forward to an easy day of mainly downhill work. There was much new snow on the tops of the mountains, the result of last night’s storm and looking back the scene was a fairy-like one. As we anticipated it was mainly downhill as far as Landeck with the Rosanna river below on the right, a picturesque mountain road with indifferent surface such as all Austrian main roads have. We reached Landeck about 11.30 a.m., too early for a call at the ‘Goldener Adler’ of which the proprietor Herr G. Berchten is the Chief Consul of the C.T. C. for Austria. We however found a bank there and replenished the exchequer with Austrian currency of which we were running short.

The road onward is anything but downhill and as it commenced to rain at Imst, a fair sized town, we looked around for a suitable feeding station, selecting the ‘Gasthaus zum Lamm’ where we fared excellently at small expense. By the time our hunger was appeased the rain had ceased sufficiently for us to go on without capes. The road was still very rough and at one point disappeared into a heap of stones without any warning notice that we saw. We had seen very little in the way of motor traffic and this no doubt accounted for it.

We clambered over the rubble and picked up the road again on the other side and after crossing the river at Haiming it became not only comparatively flat but with quite a good surface. This made us rub our eyes and wonder if we really were still in Austria. Thenceforward the river now on our left broadened out considerably. We were able to move along this road faster than we had done for days and I almost pined for my 84” gear. We took our substitute for tea (coffee, rolls and marmalade made of red currants) at the ‘Gasthaus zum Tranbe’ in Pfaffenhofen and reached Innsbruck through Zirl about 6.30 p.m.

Our next business was to find the ‘Goldener Adler’ and when we found it we were rather appalled at its swankiness. However, our enquiry was answered satisfactorily and we were conducted to our “zimmer” by the porter. Before he left us he kept on reiterating what sounded like “Wey”. At last we handed him the dictionary and he pointed to “Juli” – the German for month of July. We at once said “ya” and this seemed to make him happy but we never knew what he was trying to tell us.

Our evening stroll round Innsbruck revealed it as a very fine city indeed but it was cut short by the approach of a thunderstorm, which started very soon after we had reached the shelter of our hotel. We therefore at once went up to the dining room and obtained seats in an already somewhat crowded room, the centre of which was occupied by a small platform upon which was seated a gentleman of the entertainer species in full Tyrolese costume, who accompanied himself in his songs on the zither. His efforts were greatly applauded but it was our misfortune not to be able to understand his words. A verse of one of the songs was obviously an impromptu effort at Jack’s expense, probably directed at the famous many coloured stockings and we should very much have liked to know what it was about.

The menu was yards long and quite incomprehensible to us so fortunately an elderly dame who appeared to be in charge of the culinary department and spoke good English came to our rescue and we did very well. Fancy dress seems customary in Innsbruck and there were some most extraordinary costumes in that room. When we had finished feeding, an old flower seller who might have been transported from Piccadilly Circus in the 1890s made her appearance. Her face would have made her fortune on the films and her capacity for beer was enormous. I think Andreas Hofer, the entertainer was considerably relived when she took her departure so that he could get on with his job.

Jack and I began to let our imagination play on the company. In an alcove on our left was a beautiful but unscrupulous Russian Countess with two simple looking men, obviously dangerous vampires exploiting her charms for stealing the plans of the very latest type of submarine from one of her dupes. Royalties in disguise abounded and poisonous blondes were in profusion. Neither of us would have been surprised to see the late William Le Queux9 walk in arm in arm with E. Phillips Oppenheim¹⁰. Yes, that evening at the Goldener Adler was well worth the money and we both hope to repeat it someday.

Distance covered: 61 miles

SUNDAY 26TH JULY

We were out early seeing the Sunday morning sights of Innsbruck and endeavouring to stalk some of the more interesting specimens with cameras, and we almost felt disposed to spend the whole day in this fascinating town. However, our time was unfortunately limited so about 11 o’clock we decided to pack up and move on.

We had first to make our way back to Zirl and on the way thither a rather curious thing happened. On the left hand side of the road there was a sheer drop of a considerable distance and a German cyclist coming towards us and evidently riding carelessly, suddenly disappeared over the top. He could not have gone far for in a very few minutes he reappeared dragging his bicycle after him, remounted and went on his way as though nothing had happened.

In Zirl we turned right and then left and were very soon on our feet, the road going up like the side of a house. We continued walking, pushing and perspiring for about two miles when we came on a car with scotches under its wheels having a rest to cool down. It certainly appeared in need of a rest for its brakes were smoking furiously. An elderly lady within fired off a volley of German at us as we came up. We tried in vain to make something of it and at last took refuge behind “Nicht verstehen English”. This drew shrieks of laughter from a brown faced young woman who was at the wheel and we were soon on the best of terms with what turned out to be an American party who had been wintering in Italy. I particularly appreciated their Gold Flake cigarettes as I had had nothing but the native article for some days. We stopped to talk to them for nearly half an hour until their brakes had cooled sufficiently for them to proceed.

We have often wondered since whether they got to the bottom safely for we found out that what they had done so far was nothing compared to what they had to do; in fact shortly after leaving them we were able to resume our saddles, on bottom gears of course.

The road goes up all the way to Seefeld where we had light refreshments at a wayside gasthaus and, shortly after getting through Scharnitz in the Scharnitz Pass, we took a temporary exit from Austria and passed through the German Customs at Mittenwald. Mittenwald is a most picturesque town, but we were unfortunate in striking it on a Sunday for it was full of motors and hikers, being somewhat of a showplace and within easy reach of the Oberammergau tourist district. Here our bicycles became a centre of attraction to a polyglot crowd.

We were out of the Austrian Tyrol into the Bavarian Alps and it was evident that the Bavarians are as dressy as their neighbours. At Kaltenbrunn we had coffee, rolls and marmalade (red currants again) followed in Jack’s case by several litres of “Himbeer”. I also tried this compound but found it rather nasty. When we mentioned we were going on to Partenkirchen, the good Frau of ‘Gasthaus zum Kaltenbrunn’ got very excited. It was evident she wished to warn us of some terrible danger that awaited us in that town and that we had much better stay where we were. With true British spirit we refused to be intimidated and proceeded on our way.

When we got to Partenkirchen we found this small but picturesque town en fete with crowded streets and everybody in their most fantastic garb. One of the first objects that met our eyes was a cow wandering down the main street with a wreath of flowers twined round its horns. We found that the cause of all this excitement was that the town had been indulging in a passion play which is the national sport of this part of Bavaria. We picked out the ‘Gasthaus zum Melber’ as being the most respectful hostel but it was full up. However they speedily found us ‘B&B’ quarters in a neighbouring house which proved one of the cheapest ‘put ups’ we had struck. We were told we must not fail to go up the “Wank Bahn” so we went and had a look at it before supper. This is a cable railway which slings you up to the top of a mountain like a cwt11 of coal. It looked too terrifying but Jack was keen on it so with my heart in my boots I consented to accompany him on the morrow.

A young man at our billet who spoke some English informed us that we would feed both well and cheaply at the ‘Gasthaus zum Melber’. So hither we repaired ordering a supper of many courses. It was an excellent repast but we were rather dismayed when the hors d’oeuvres consisting of six sardines sitting on a lump of butter, turned up last of all. Jack jibbed at his but I, concluding that it must be the custom of the country, gobbled down mine with gusto having a second “gross bier” to wash them down.

Distance covered: 34 miles

MONDAY 27TH JULY

We had an early breakfast in our billet and after transacting some necessary bank business and shopping, repaired to the “Wank Bahn” Station and duly took our tickets for the first run. There were quite a lot of passengers and the car when it started was about as crowded as a Tube lift at a busy time of the day. It was not unlike a Tube lift – a sort of octagonal chamber but with windows that you could lean out of if you liked. I believe the trip only lasted ten minutes but it seemed like hours to me. In fact it was quite as unpleasant as I anticipated, especially as it passed over the standards and bounced so that your breakfast seemed to hit the top of your head. Perhaps the worst part of it is the last stage when the car goes up almost vertically creaking and groaning and swaying so that you fear either that it will stop and leave you forever hanging between earth and sky or that the suspending cable will break and let you down on the town some 6000 feet below.

When I got out at the top everything was swimming with me for a good ten minutes. The views over innumerable mountain peaks were prodigious and for 10 Pfennig one could gaze through a large telescope for a few minutes. We both had a go but my senses were too stirred up for me to see much. Reason tells me that all the nasty sensations I felt coming up were reasonless and I shall certainly try it again if the chance comes along.

An hour ‘upstairs’ was enough for us and strange to say the journey down was not half so unpleasant. Nevertheless I was very glad to find myself at the bottom. We settled up at our billet and got on the road about 11.45 a.m. making first for the neighbouring town of Garmisch. We had to enter Austria once more and passed over the frontier at Griessen. Unfortunately we had neglected to fill up at a gasthaus before doing so for we found no feeding station on the other side.

We made a false start at first and had to retrace our way, taking a very 4th class looking road. This got worse and worse until we were soon floundering on brickbats and loose stones. Jack’s weight kept him steady but I came off twice, the second occasion necessitating the application of iodine to a broken shin. We at length came out on the shores of the Plansee, the lake we were seeking, and anything more entrancing to the eye can scarcely be imagined than this mountainous expanse of water of a deep emerald green sparkling in the sunshine. We regretted afterwards that we did not photograph the scene as it first appeared to us but the pangs of hunger were too great to allow us to think of much else.

We made for the palatial ‘Hotel Forelle’ and after a wash made our way to the restaurant. It was about 3.30 p.m. and hardly a suitable hour for lunch. However we explained matters to what I presume was the reception clerk, a most urbane young man who spoke some English and his suggestion of some trout from the lake was received with applause. That fish was delicious and was followed by a pudding of unknown brand. I consumed three litres of beer while Jack consumed a few quarts of his favourite “himbeer”, the request for which occasioned some amusement.

Unfortunately when we had finished this feast it began to rain and continued until nightfall. Even so we strolled around sufficiently to fill us with enthusiasm for our surroundings. We had another big feed about 7.30 p.m. and spent the rest of the evening writing postcards to various folk.

Distance covered: 20 miles

TUESDAY 28TH JULY

It was alas still raining in the morning when we got up. It was small comfort to be told by the genial King George-like old gentleman who presided over the entrance hall and spoke a few words of English that ‘it will be fine tomorrow’.

However we made up our minds to spend the day there and after breakfast went out in the rain in our capes for about 2½ miles along the bank of the lake taking a few photographs from sheltered spots. It was now that I found the inconvenience of plus fours as against shorts and soon hit upon the expedient plan of rolling up my plus fours as far as they would go and rolling my stockings down to my ankles.

We returned about 1 o’clock for some more grub (I think it was either a schnitzel of some sort or schweinebraten (roast pork)), and the rain having become a negligible quantity, encouraged us to have a trip up the lake in the Hotel launch ‘Forella’. The fare was only two schillings so it was not an undue risk. The lake is swarming with trout and the chief amusement of the juvenile visitors after lunch is feeding the fish with pieces of bread or anything else that comes handy. In fact they will even swarm round a piece of paper or a cigarette end.

We started off on our boat trip about 3 o’clock and with two stops it took about an hour to get to the end of the Heiterwanger See (a smaller lake connected with the Plansee by a narrow canal which apparently required careful navigation). The views on the way were varied and beautiful, but we unfortunately did not see it at its best, the sky being overcast and the wind bitter.

We had about an hour ashore at the far end of the Heiterwanger See, part of which was spent in watching a small boy catching fish by inserting his hand with a small piece of bread in the palm of it and closing his fingers when there was sufficient fish nibbling at the bread. He seldom struck without capturing at least two or three.

The return journey was also very cold and we were glad to take refuge in the cabin for part of it. We had made up our minds to move on the morrow so determined to have a last tryst with the lake trout, ordering it in its most expensive form. It was I believe steamed, a large lump out of the middle of a fish as big as a small salmon and I shall remember the delicious flavour for evermore. The greater part of the evening was spent in writing more postcards and a stroll after dark revealed many brilliant glow worms in the undergrowth. No cycling today

WEDNESDAY 29TH JULY

As we had perforce to leave this enchanting place today the weather was of course brilliantly fine. However, after breakfast we settled up and prepared to depart feeling that the 100 schillings to which our bill amounted had been well spent having regard to the high living we had indulged in.

It was not only ‘goodbye’ to the Plansee but ‘goodbye’ to Austria we had to say today. Our send-off was quite touching and the hope that we might one day return was reciprocated by both of us. We took a rough road at the back of the hotel, which after passing through some miles of beautiful scenery brought us to the Austrian Custom House at Ammerwald where we obtained our final exit on the 3rd sheet of our passports, though not without some misgiving on the part of the Customs bloke who was unable to decipher the stamp of the Custom House where we had made our first entry.

From Ammerwald there is several miles of ‘Zollstrasse’ (neutral road) before Germany is officially entered at Linderhof but about midway there is a somewhat battered medallion erected on a post inscribed “Königreich Bayern” which presumably marks the actual boundary. A few miles beyond Linderhof we turned left for Oberammergau coming across many parties of hikers and tourists of all descriptions.

As soon as you enter a town a feeling of over civilisation or super sophistication strikes you. It is a large clean town and of course beautifully situated among the mountains, but there seems nothing to render it so attractive as to warrant the number of tourists of all nations which seemed to be gathered there. We entered a few shops where, after we had strained our throats by speaking our best German, we were addressed in very good English. This sort of thing takes the gilt off Continental travel and we soon took our departure via Unterammergau. For the rest of the day our way lay through just plain Bavaria, which except for the oxen transport, the peasants’ garb and the wide eaved farmhouses might have been an English agricultural county.

The ‘Gasthaus zum Weiss Pferd’ (White Horse Inn) at Gschwend we lunched off real ham and eggs just like English ones which quite gave us nostalgia. At the large town of Schongau we took a steep and rough downhill road on the left which took us through much more plain country to Oberdorf where we refreshed with coffee and rolls before continuing on over similar country with plenty of hard pushing up hill until we reached a small one horse town called Obergünzberg. Here we decided to pack up for the night first making a tour of the town to find out which was the most imposing gasthaus.

We chose the ‘Goldener Hirsch’ and, though its imposing exterior concealed a somewhat plain and unvarnished interior which slightly peeved Jack, we did quite well there, one of the refinements being a bedroom with two basins with (real) hot and cold water laid on. There was no fault to be found with the grub either, the schnitzel being excellent. We were taken in charge by a most hilarious damsel who absolutely refused to take us seriously, being especially tickled when Jack demanded “himbeer” which failed to appear this time so that he had to fall back on mineral “wasser”.

An inspection of the town revealed it as quite a pleasant little place well bedecked with flowers, some of the gardens being as good as anything we had seen in Germany so far. This had been our longest day’s run – 61 miles.

THURSDAY 30TH JULY

Apparently, it was a special Saint’s day in Obergünzberg. The church was just opposite our bedroom and at an early hour its one bell (somewhat cracked) was busy. While we were dressing, an immense covey of nuns filed in followed by acolytes and apprentices.

We had breakfast at 8 o’clock sharp and called for the “rechnung” (bill). When this appeared it was so ridiculously small that we came to the conclusion that it must be for one only so Jack doubled it. This seemed to be the correct procedure for it was greeted by our damsel with immense hilarity. Jack then added the usual 10% for service but she struck this out with much gleeful chuckling so we let it go at that having anyhow come off very cheaply though Jack avers she charged us for one beer which I did not consume.

We took a somewhat strenuous road, which eventually brought us by way of Ottobeuren to Memmingen, a large and somewhat busy town. We had been advised to take the train as far as Ulm but decided to ride it. From Memmingen it was only a matter of 33km and there were no mountains in the way. It was also marked on the maps as a first class road but it was first class for only a few kilometres at a time. The remainder as to the surface was vile. It would improve for a mile or two and then a small town would come in sight and we would be bouncing through pot holes six inches deep.

Jack felt like packing into a train at one of the wayside stations but we finally decided to see it through. On one stretch we were taken on by a local speed merchant (l.s.m). After a mile or two Jack gave him a spot of 90” gear, leaving both the l.s.m. and myself. However the l.s.m. immediately crumpled up and Jack’s spasm not lasting long I soon picked him up again.

We had lunch at the ‘Gasthaus zum Rose’ at a town the name of which I did not get. The approach to Ulm is marked by at least four miles of bone shattering pave. Ulm is a large and towny city with tramlines of the very best set in cobble stones. We proposed visiting the interior of the cathedral but finding a charge of one mark made for admission we sheared off. The road out of the city to Blaubeuren (this was not the direct road to Urach for which we were making) gave us another good four miles of pave and tramlines. However, Blaubeuren was a pleasant little town and we took “coffee und kuchen” at a very nice ‘Gasthaus zum Lowen’ where we were told we must not leave the town without seeing the Great Well of Germany which was close by. This was duly visited but we were not over much impressed by it.

We had now got out of plain ordinary Bavaria into Swabia, the country being much more akin to the Black Forest and therefore once more of the picturesque order. The road rises almost continuously from Blaubeuren and we had to do a good deal of it on our baby gears. The surface of the road was however quite good, which made up a lot for its strenuous nature.

It was nearly 8 o’clock when we arrived at Urach. The last few miles running downhill much steeper than was pleasant. Down at the bottom Jack found that one of his gear levers, the one that operated ‘baby’ had gone west12. This was something in the nature of a disaster as it was extremely improbable that we were going to get out of Germany without a few more hills.

We were received with open arms at the ‘Pension Schoeneck’, the schnitzel which we had for supper being exceptionally fine. There we met a middle-aged German who said he spoke a little English. We were anxious for news as our German was not equal to reading the papers and the last English newspaper we had seen was the ‘Continental Daily Mail’ in Innsbruck. He was quite ready to oblige and translated from the German paper into faultless English though he stated it was thirty years since he had visited England!

He gave us much interesting information about Urach and also about the customs of the Student’s Guilds, Urach being a university town. He also told us that he spoke and read other European languages and if time had permitted we should like to have made further acquaintances with such an interesting character.

This had been a long and tough day’s riding, the 85 miles covered being as good as 120 miles on English roads.

FRIDAY 31ST JULY

After breakfast the first consideration was to try and get some wire to make a temporary repair of Jack’s wounded gear level. A suitable piece of wire was obtained after some little difficulty in getting understood.

The town of Urach was well worth exploration and photography and it was about 11 o’clock before we took our departure in the direction of Reutlingen through Metzingen. There was nothing of particular interest in Reutlingen, the usual type of a fair sized clean German town with paved roads and a network of tramlines. It being near 1 o’clock the whole population seemed to be mounted on bicycles making their way to dinner.

We scouted around and eventually made our way to the next town, Tubingen. Here, feeling peckish we entered the ‘Gasthaus zum Bahnhof’ a very busy feeding station where we had a first rate blow out at the usual moderate charge. After this we took it easy to the next town – Rottenburg – this being the last of the big towns for the time being, of which we were glad as we were not out to see towns.

From Rottenburg the road ran mostly uphill. The mishaps to Jack’s bottom gear (it would only work in fits and starts) rather undermined his morale, for on one particularly stiff bit a hefty workman mounted on the usual type of German machine required “downing”. I did not like to take advantage of Jack’s infirmity slipping into ‘baby gear’ so nearly killed myself by struggling to the top on middle gear (47”). There I had to wait for a pedestrian procession! Jack came first. He had got off thinking I was taking advantage of my healthy baby gear.

The descent into Horb was rather terrifying not only as to gradient but also surface. We had been advised to look out for the ‘Gasthaus zum Baren’ as a suitable place for ‘tea’ (I never really tasted tea after leaving Dunkirk) but probably owing to having to keep an eye on the road we missed it. However a few miles further on at Seewald our wants were satisfied at the ‘Gasthaus zum Seewald’ after which we made for Freudenstadt, a large modern town. There we looked around for the best hotel as had now become our custom and chose the ‘Hotel Krone’, quite a luxurious hostelry where the schnitzel was excellent. We loitered sometime in the evening in the principal square where the town band was performing passably.

The manager of the hotel who spoke good English promised us a treat for the morrow before we went to bed: “Ah gentlemen, you shall have eggs and bacon for breakfast tomorrow”. And so we went to bed full of hope.

Distance covered: 55 miles

SATURDAY 1ST AUGUST

The promised eggs and bacon breakfast duly turned up. It proved to be of the usual German variety – all mashed up together and served in blocks.

The exchequer required replenishing and it took us quite a long time to find a bank where sterling could be changed into marks. We left by a road signposted to Freiburg, which after a short but tough climb up, gave us a glorious coast down off about 13 miles through the best Schwarzwald scenery, and eventually we came through Wolfach to very near our original starting point.

It was about 12.30 when we came into Hausach, our first lunch spot after leaving Gengenbach at the start of our tour. We had no intention of stopping at the ‘Gasthaus zum Hirsch’ but we were seen by the good Frau at that establishment and had no recourse but to enter. Here we were greeted most heartily and the best of schnitzels, soup kartoffel (potato soup) and obst was put before us. We fed in the company of three police captains, most humorous dogs, one of whom had a most chronic face. We discussed (or tried to) various topics and I was particularly warned against eating fruit and washing it down with beer.

We parted from the ‘Gasthaus zum Hirsch’ with no little ceremony and a large quantity of “Auf Wiedersehen” in various keys, and took the road to Haslach from whence the road commences to go up with a bang with many hairpins, each stretch being steeper than the last.

Jack’s baby gear was very fractious and kept jumping up one so that I rode a mile at a time and then waited for him to come up. Naturally by the time he arrived I had recovered my wind and once more left him behind. At the top it gave me great joy to see a gasthaus into which I tumbled and bespoke “Ein gross bier” without the least hesitation. I soon poured this down and was sitting on the steps and was halfway through another when Jack appeared.

After several miles down to Freiburg, this road flattens out and becomes somewhat of the ordinary type, passing through many small towns of the agricultural type. We reached Freiburg in the late afternoon finding it a large city and very busy this Saturday evening – in fact it was too towny to suit us. We scouted around for somewhere to stay the night but seeing nowhere which appealed, made up our minds to move elsewhere.

We retraced our way for a few miles and then bore left eventually arriving at a largish town which seemed a suitable stopping place. This was Emmendingen where the ‘Gasthaus zum Lowen’ appeared to be the goods. As usual we had no difficulty in getting put up, our bedroom being provided with two basins with hot and cold water laid on. The town was quite a pleasant one with large public gardens where there is a magnificent show of tropical plants growing in the open. The gasthaus was attached to a butcher’s shop and we had very excellent steaks for supper which went down well after a somewhat strenuous 68 miles.

SUNDAY 2ND AUGUST

We took our departure from Emmendingen about 9.30 a.m. by the main road towards Offenburg. This was so badly infested by motor traffic that we were glad to turn off it after a few miles on a road of the ‘rough and tough’ description, which after much hard work brought us to Steinach. On the way we stopped at a small gasthaus after some very heavy climbing. Beer of course I got but poor old Jack could not even get any mineral “wasser” so had to go dry.

From this point it was mostly downhill through picturesque country and villages, and we were much intrigued by the Sunday costumes of the peasantry, especially of elderly dames in gilt headdresses. Personally I was very glad when we were once more through Haslach and approaching Gengenbach where we had a good welcome at the ‘Gasthaus Salinen’. It was nearly 3.30p.m. before we were sitting down to a square meal of which I was urgently in need of having had nothing but the usual breakfast of coffee and rolls since 8.30 a.m. the preceding evening.

During the afternoon we were able to devote more time to the exploration of the charming little town of Gengenbach than we had been able to do on our first visit and also took a stroll along the banks of the river, which was in full use of bathing. Later on, while we were sitting in the Salinen, three elegantly dressed damsels (all three quite presentable) entered and sat down at a table near us. Jack was curious to know what they had come for. I said “beer” and beer it was, each of them calling for “ein gross bier” (one litre, about a pint and three quarters). We left them at it and went for a stroll among the vineyards and when we came back about an hour later the same three damsels were still there and still drinking beer. By then the Salinen was full, with complete families (mother, father and children of all ages) all drinking beer.

Jack thought he must sample the German wine before we left the country. We each had a glass of the most expensive brand and as I expected one sip of it was enough for him! It was hardly likely that anyone who could drink the sickly raspberry compound known as “himbeer” could have any appreciation for good dry Rhine wine, which is a taste I must confess, I have not acquired. However, I had to finish both glasses, of course.

Distance covered: 35 miles

MONDAY 3RD AUGUST

Much talk with Frau Maier and her daughters and further photography made it about 11.20 a.m. before we started on the last stage of our journey home. Just as were about to get under way, Jack’s arms, which we were all hanging in rags with sun blisters, caught the attention of the good Frau. She straightaway sent her youngest to a neighbouring chemist for the where withal to render first aid (somewhat late) and he was well anointed with dripping and swathed in lint when we took our departure.

We started from the back of the house amid a perfect torrent of ‘Auf Wiedersehens’ and as we came round to the front the amiable Maier family were all there to see the last of us and hand waves were exchanged until we were unsighted by a bend in the road.

From Offenburg to Kehl we had to make a considerable detour to avoid a section of road under repair which had caused us some trouble on the way out, and after getting rid of our German money at Kehl Station we passed out of Germany across the Pont du Rhin about 2.30 p.m., as usual feeling very hungry. There seemed nowhere to get anything to eat in Strasburg and it looked as though we must hope for the best on the train, which was due to leave for Dunkirk at 3.52 p.m.

In the meantime we got some light refreshments on the station platform, the registering of our cycles through to St. Pancras not being the weary process it had been on the outward journey. We were rather dismayed when the train arrived to find no restaurant car on it, though.

As this was a Bank Holiday in England, the train was not overcrowded and we got comfortably seated for the somewhat tedious journey. At Longuyon, our fears were set at rest as a restaurant car was hooked onto the back of our train. Though it was a long and rough journey through the corridor (French railways are hardly as smooth as the GWR) to the restaurant car, we were soon enjoying a very excellent feed of many courses. This put us on much better terms with ourselves and the rest of the journey passed pleasantly enough, enlivened by occasional conversations with two English people in the next compartment who had been on a hiking expedition.

When we came into Dunkirk it was a very moist looking night or rather early morning (12.45 a.m.). Profiting by our experience on the outward trip we lost no time in getting over the Customs formalities and making our way onto the boat (the same S.S. Picard), finding a sheltered spot and providing ourselves with deck chairs and blankets. It was just as well we came by an earlier train than was absolutely necessary, for before the boat started, a fresh mob arrived and it became uncomfortably crowded. Among them were two German girls both looking very cold and weary. We found them deck chairs and I volunteered to get them blankets but on application to the Stewards found that there were no more to be obtained. One of them succeeded in getting a berth below. The other one began to be ill directly as the boat got out of Dunkirk and was soon in such a pitiful condition that I was compelled to wrap her up in my blanket (N.B. get two blankets next time).

It was bitterly cold and I was glad to seek refuge in the hot, oily atmosphere of the engine room once or twice and keep myself alive with an occasional Guinness and a sandwich until the floor of the canteen got into such a state that it nearly induced sea sickness to enter it. In the meantime Jack had rolled himself in his blanket and remained oblivious of the regurgitation that was going on around him.

The male half of the pair we had met in the train was left forlorn as he had had to tuck his wife away in a safe place she having become “hors de combat”. When the watery dawn at last appeared the ship presented a most horrible appearance. There was hardly a clean spot on it upon which one could walk. The lady of the train had once more come into sight looking like nothing on earth. I offered to get her a cup of tea. Her reply was “My dear man, I don’t think I shall ever want to eat or drink anything again”.

Everyone began to cheer up when the smooth waters of the Thames were entered. At Tilbury we got off the boat as quickly as possible and passed through our last Customs House. Leaving our bicycles to look after themselves, we got into the waiting breakfast train and the journey to St. Pancras was occupied in disposing of the 3/6 breakfast provided by the LMS Railway Company in the company with two quaint old spinsters, who had been spending a weekend in Paris. As we expected our bicycles had not come on the same train as we had and we had half an hour to wait before they turned up.

I had never found any difficulty in keeping to the right of the road on the Continent but continuing the practice nearly ended my career under a taxi coming out of St. Pancras. I arrived home about 9.45 a.m. having covered 39 miles since leaving Gengenbach yesterday morning.

 

1931 SUMMER TOUR – MERLIN 1

WEDNESDAY 19TH AUGUST

A sleepy soaker of a day

HAMMERSMITH – WINDSOR – MAIDENHEAD – HENLEY-ON-THAMES – DORCHESTER-ON-THAMES – ABINGDON – DUCKLINGTON – BURFORD – PIFF’S ELM – LEDBURY – HEREFORD – WHITNEY-ON-WYE

I made up my mind to start my tour at midnight but went to sleep and did not get off until 1 a.m. going through a sleepy Richmond and Twickenham, across the Staines road at Bedfont soon after which it began to rain.Thinking it could not be much, I put off caping until I was thoroughly wet. The rain, gentle at first, kept on increasing in volume so that by the time Windsor and Maidenhead were behind me it was a steady downpour. My last sight of a human being for many miles was when I got off to exchange notes on the weather with the policeman at the corner of Oxford road in Henley.

In spite of wind and rain in my face Bix Hill seemed exceptionally easy in the dark but the run down from the golf links was not as fast as usual. The village of Benson was passed, with an old man in a nightshirt standing at a cottage door with a candle in his hand surveying the dismal outlook. This was about 4.45 a.m. There was still no sign of dawn except for a slight decrease in the intensity of the darkness.

The rain was coming down as though it would go on for weeks. At Dorchester I stopped for a few minutes to ring out my plus four knees and empty the water out of my shoes. The darkness had now thinned considerably and at Abingdon (5.45 a.m.) I turned out my light and got under the shelter of the Market Hall to eat some very dry ham sandwiches with which I had provided myself.

From Abingdon to Witney my recollection is very hazy. I remember gazing longingly at the ‘Rose Revived’ hoping to see some signs of life and hope of a cup of tea but in vain. At least three times I dropped into a half sleep and charged the hedge on the opposite side of the road and the desire to lay down somewhere by the roadside and have forty winks was strong. As I felt it would hardly do to fall asleep on the main road I woke myself up thoroughly by running a few hundred yards through Ducklington.

I had intended having breakfast at the ‘Puesdown Inn’ but at Burford (8 a.m.) the thought of the beloved ‘Swan’ was too much for me and I turned down the High Street and was soon enjoying dry stockings and borrowed shoes and a wash in hot water followed by the usual ‘Swan’ breakfast. It was 11 o’clock before I could tear myself away from the ‘Swan’ and by then I was completely dry even to cape and shoes. It was quite nice to be dry for a few minutes, but the rain continued unabated and was particularly venomous and stinging over Puesdown to Cheltenham.

Between Cheltenham and Tewskesbury I had my midday bread, cheese and beer at the ‘Old Swan’ at Piff’s Elm, and a few miles beyond Tewkesbury on the Ledbury road got about an hour’s sleep in a fairly dry spot by the roadside. This and the cooling rain made me full of beans and I only walked a few hundred yards of Hollybush Hill because I have always done so. The ‘Old Trumpet Inn’ about five miles beyond Ledbury provided me with an excellent tea and a cloud burst just beyond Hereford gave me an excuse to enter the ‘Bay Horse’ and have a Bass.

At Willersley Cross I found that if I proceeded straight to the ‘Stowe Inn’ I should just fall short of 150 miles, so instead of turning left I went straight ahead to Eardisley as I could not possibly get wetter than I already was. Turning again I arrived at the ‘Stowe Inn’ in another cloud burst, very wet and very sleepy but not too sleepy to dispose of the hot supper that was awaiting me.

A good lady staying in the house tried to engage me in conversation after supper but I was too sleepy to know what she was talking about and went to bed at 9.45 p.m. the rain and wind having made the 152 miles I covered somewhat strenuous.

THURSDAY 20TH AUGUST

Sad news from the Cambrian Arms

WHITNEY-ON-WYE – CLIFFORD – HAY-ON-WYE – CRICKHOWELL – TALGARTH – CLYRO – WHITNEY-ON-WYE

It was still raining, with an increased wind when I got up so I made up my mind to have a run round during the morning and return to the ‘Stowe’ for lunch.

There is a wooded tump13 at the back of the ‘Stowe’ marked on the map as ‘the Knapp’ which I had not explored. I made first of all for Bredwardine via Letton. From here the road goes steadily up, it seemed for many miles, with the wind and rain against me, eventually bringing me down with a rush to Clifford not far from the Whitney toll bridge.

The rain did at last cease about 1 o’clock and after lunch I set out through Hay and Three Cocks for Llangorse Lake via Talgarth. This lake though of large extent is of a most tame description, what might be described as a large puddle, so I struggled on through Cathedine up to Bwlch intent on running down to Crickhowell for tea at the ‘Cambrian Arms’, where I had happy memories of the hospitality of the Wynters, the family who ran it. Alas! When I got there I found the name of Griffiths over the door, learning that Mr Wynter had died in the spring and Mrs Wynter and Maisie, a charming damsel, had departed into the unknown. The tea I had there was a good one and the price reasonable but it lacked the pleasure of conversation with old friends.

I returned to the ‘Stowe’ by the beautiful road that runs up through the Black Mountains past Tretower and Cwmdu and down with a rush into uninteresting Talgarth, over Glasbury Bridge and through Clyro. Having regard to yesterday’s run the 66 miles covered today over arduous country was very good.

FRIDAY 21ST AUGUST

A cosy stopping place

WHITNEY-ON-WYE – GRAFTON – MONMOUTH – TINTERN – CHEPSTOW

I left the ‘Stowe’ about 10 a.m. making good time with the breeze astern to Hereford via Willersley Cross and Bridge Sollers. It was harder work when I turned south on the Monmouth road, and as a precaution I had early bread and cheese at the ‘Angel’ at Grafton just a few miles beyond Hereford. There is plenty of hard work on this road through St. Leonards and Welsh Newton but I arrived at Monmouth much too early to think of tea so went on along the bank of the Wye through Redbrook and Llandogo to Tintern. Here rain started so I made for the ‘Wye Cottage’ for tea, a very satisfactory one.

At Chepstow as it was not yet 6 o’clock I deposited my heavy luggage at the ‘Bridge Inn’ and made for Beachley to see how the ferry was running, as it was my intention to cross the Severn in the morning. I found the tide dead low and was informed that the 5 o’clock ferry was still cruising around as there was not sufficient water for it to approach the landing stage. However, I was assured that there would be plenty of water for the 10 o’clock boat to run tomorrow.

Supper at the ‘Bridge Inn’ was of its usual good quality and made me wish that this cosy stopping place was near enough to London for weekend tours.

Distance covered: 53 miles

SATURDAY 22ND AUGUST

Beloved Lacock

CHEPSTOW – IRON ACTON – CASTLE COMBE – LACOCK – MARLBOROUGH

I was down at Beachley Ferry at 10 o’clock sharp and there was quite a crowd including two cars waiting to cross. Thanks to the good Severn mud, getting them on to the boat was a ticklish business but we got off promptly to time.

I had to make for Marlborough were I had arranged to meet Frank. From Aust, my way was via Olveston, Tockington, Chipping Sodbury and Iron Acton where I took light refreshment at the ‘Crown’ before going onto Castle Combe. For once I found this lovely village practically untenanted by the trippers who generally infest it and was able to do some photography without any cars and charabancs in it. One car in front of the market hall was very kindly removed by its owners to allow me a clear field.

I decided on the ‘Castle Inn’ as a suitable place for lunch and they apologised for being only able to put cold victuals14 before me. However, everything was first rate and the evident desire to please decided me that the ‘Castle Inn’ is probably a good place to stay at. From Castle Combe I proceeded by familiar roads via Yatton Keynell, Biddlestone and Corston to Lacock not liking to pass through the beloved village without paying my respects to Miss Jenkins at the ‘Corner House’. The consequence was that I was persuaded to stay to tea. This did not worry me much as I had bags of time and Miss Jenkins’ teas are too good to miss.

It was about 5.30 p.m. when I left Lacock climbing to the top of Bowden Hill and dropping down into Calne from whence the Bath road via Beckhampton and Fyfield landed me at Marlborough just after 8 o’clock. It was my job to find quarters in Marlborough for the Sissons” and myself and I made first for the ‘Green Dragon’. This was full up and I was sent onto the ‘Crown’ where the requisite accommodation was booked.

Having done my duty I went on as far as Savernake where I met Frank and Fon riding furiously, and we all scorched into Marlborough arriving at 8.45 p.m. a good quarter of an hour before schedule.

Distance covered: 61 miles

SUNDAY 23RD AUGUST

Two crowns

MARLBOROUGH – ALDBOURNE – LAMBOURN – CHOLSEY – STOKE ROW

We left the ‘Crown’ about 10.30 a.m. in a light drizzle not regarding our put up as anything to make a song about. As the tandemists were feeling full of beans we took the Swindon road as far as Ogbourne St. George where a steep and rough road runs up to Aldbourne.

At Aldbourne we decided to sample Mrs Barnes for ‘elevenses’. The tea and cake was of moderate quality but the crockery did not display that energy in the washing thereof to satisfy fastidious Fon. It is curious that I had observed the same thing at the ‘Crown’ when Jack and I stayed there in the spring, so it must be a failing peculiar to Aldbourne. We loitered so long in Aldbourne that by the time we had descended Baydon Hill to Lambourn it was time for lunch. Yet another ‘Crown’ supplied us with this, which was fairly good and at a fairly good price.

From Lambourn we made for Wantage over Crow Down and Hackpen Hill going on via Harwell to Aston Tirrold with the intention of finding the road marked on Bartholomew’s map to Cholsey Ferry, which had so far eluded Jack and I. We scouted up and down from Aston Tirrold to Upton and at last found a muddy track which we were informed by a local boy would take us to Cholsey. So we essayed it. However, any resemblance to a road disappeared after the first few hundred yards and it degenerated into a mere track, even this being invisible at times, necessitating following the hedge and for a considerable distance riding over the stubble in a newly cut cornfield. Fon who was as usual riding without stockings got her legs considerably damaged in the process and had to have recourse to the iodine bottle.

We did eventually arrive at Cholsey only to learn that the ferry had ceased business some two years ago. This left nothing for it but to make for the next ferry at Moulsford. We had arranged to meet Jack at the ‘Bricklayer’s Arms’ at 5 o’clock but it was quite apparent that we should be very late for this appointment. Once across Moulsford Ferry a rapid glance at the map showed a fairly direct route to our goal through Checkendon and Stoke Row, albeit mostly uphill and somewhat rough. It was only about five miles and we did not waste much time over it but even so it was 10 minutes past six and Jack had had his tea and given us up.

We had quite an excellent tea, the jam being especially good. As I had to find somewhere to stay the night and there was a bedroom going I booked it, accompanying Frank and Fon as far as Sonning on their way home, and returning to the ‘Bricklayer’s Arms’ for the evening. I found the company in the bar parlour highly entertaining and after a good cold supper went to bed about 11.

Distance covered: 59 miles

MONDAY 24TH AUGUST

A rather inhospitable town

STOKE ROW – NEWBURY – HIGHCLERE – ANDOVER – SALISBURY – SHAFTESBURY

I made up my mind to make for the west after having breakfast surrounded by dogs, cats, pigs and poultry. I found I got on better with less company so expelled them all except a few of the best behaved of the cats.

This is a somewhat confusing part of the country and I must have gone several miles out of my way to Pangbourne via Whitchurch from whence, wishing to keep off the Bath road, I took a winding and devious course through Sulham, Tidmarsh, Bradfield, Chapel Row and Cold Ash, to Newbury. Here I started on the road to Winchester but changed my mind and took the Andover road having my midday refreshment at the ‘Crown’, Highclere. This is not too easy a stretch and rain starting just before the climb to Hurstbourne Tarrant did not make things any easier.

When I got into Andover it was in a state of carnival and not having a false nose or anything of that sort I felt decidedly out of place. Not only was I held up for about half an hour in the rain waiting for the procession to pass but was also milked of my small change by various damsels collecting for the local hospital. From Andover to Salisbury might be a speedway with a strong wind behind but I have never had that luck on it. Toiling up those long slopes in steady rain in a clammy cape was anything but a joy.

Just outside Salisbury I met a young tandem pair who wanted to stay the night near Salisbury so I conducted them to ‘The Coach and Horses’, having tea with them there before proceeding on my way. I had hoped to get to Sherborne or even Crewkerne before nightfall, but in the face of the rain and wind it was obvious that this was out of the question, and it was already getting dusk by the time I reached the inhospitable town of Shaftesbury.

After being turned down at all the C.T.C. appointments, I at last found bed and board of a sort at a barber’s named Mitchell. The best I could get for supper was two boiled eggs and I was warned not to play too heavily on the bread and butter as butter was scarce. My hopes of an early start tomorrow were dashed as it was found impossible to give me breakfast before 9 o’clock and I found I had to share a bedroom with another man, a cyclist of sorts.

Distance covered: 84 miles

TUESDAY 25TH AUGUST

Inhabited by ghosts

SHAFTESBURY – SHERBORNE – CREWKERNE – WINDWHISTLE – CHARD – WHIMPLE – DAWLISH

The west wind was blowing strongly this morning though the rain had ceased.

Even the breakfast was none too punctual so that it was well past 10 o’clock before I got a start. However the Exeter road from Shaftesbury to Crewkerne is more downhill than up and Henstridge, Milborne Port, Sherborne and Yeovil were very soon left behind.

Consideration whether I should make north towards Bridgwater from Yeovil was decided in the negative and I continued westward through West Coker to Crewkerne. At Crewkerne the toil begins and reaching the top of Windwhistle perspiring freely, thoughts of lunch assailed me. The ‘Windwhistle Inn’ did not look too promising. I was therefore all the more satisfied to find there was a hot lunch going, which fortified me for the further toil to come.

It was market day in Chard, which justified strolling up the steep High Street of that town before tackling Yarcombe Hill of which I rode all but a few hundred yards, doing the usual giddy rush down to Honiton. Rather a long-drawn-out tea at a very pleasant little house (the ‘Wayside Café’) at Whimple made it approaching 6 o’clock when I was within a few miles of Exeter, and I did not feel like the somewhat strenuous 45 miles that remained to Holsworthy, which I had hoped to reach today. As a result I turned left before entering Exeter, crossing the Exe above the estuary to Exminster and proceeded on the very familiar stretch through Kenton and Starcross to Dawlish. It is always a job to find a billet in a seaside town, but after sundry enquires I found very satisfactory quarters at Montpellier House (Mrs Baker) at the end of the Lawn and more satisfactory still was a hot dinner just ready to which I did full justice.

Dawlish, after having known it so well up to the commencement of the War, since when I have become the sole survivor of my family circle and so many old friends resident in the town have passed over, seems inhabited by ghosts, but the town itself remains unaltered over the past 40 years. In the ‘Teignmouth Inn’ where I called for a Bass, I met an aged hackney coachman with whom I spent upwards of half an hour discussing the characteristics of dead and gone inhabitants including ‘Monkey Davis’ who died in 1898.

Distance covered: 78 miles

WEDNESDAY 26TH AUGUST

A breakfast fit for a king

DAWLISH – EXETER – COPPLESTONE – HATHERLEIGH – HOLSWORTHY – BUDE – STRATTON – HOLSWORTHY

The breakfast I had at the ‘Montpellier House’ deserves special mention! Starting with porridge and Devonshire cream it went on with fish, fried in a particular way they understand in Dawlish. Before I had congratulated myself on finding a variant to the usual eggs and bacon, those also appeared as a third course! Needless to say I did not feel it necessary to go far with the bread and butter and marmalade after this.

Having sundry calls to pay on old friends, it was 10.30 before I left by the Exeter road, this time having to go into the city to get the Crediton road via Newton St. Cyres. The wind was at last behind me and I got to the ‘Cross Inn’ at Copplestone in time to get some bread, cheese and a beer before closing time.

No map was required to find the road to North Tawton and on through Sampford Courtenay and Exbourne to Hatherleigh, where the picturesque old bridge has been destroyed to make way for a wide, gaunt stone structure quite ruining the aspect of this one time quaint and old worldly town. I well remember the first time I did the 13 miles from Hatherleigh to Holsworthy just 10 years ago. E.B.P. and I had been struggling against a poisonous headwind from Crewkerne and both of us having done very little riding during the year were so baked that only a dose of Guinness at the ‘Bridge Inn’ at Hatherleigh and the ‘Golden Inn’ at Highampton enabled us to struggle in to Holsworthy just after 11 p.m. This was the only occasion that I remember when I had the wallops15 so completely that I could not sleep. This time the only effect of the continual climb was to give me a huge appetite and the ‘South Western Hotel’ at Holsworthy is the finest place in England to cure that complaint.

Resisting Gladys Jollow’s suggestion that I should start off with a steak or a few chops, I waded into the famous Holsworthy ham followed with apple tart and various kinds of stewed fruit (there were six varieties on the table) with plenty of cream of course, sampled the various kinds of cake and finished off with bread and butter and jam. To shake this down a run over to Bude seemed highly necessary. Here I met two young campers, last seen at the ‘Burford Inn’ in June and after half an hour’s talk with them and a Bass at the ‘King’s Arms’ at Stratton I had a good appetite for cold chicken and ham for my supper.

However this day of overfeeding was not to finish without disaster for after a hot bath before going to bed, being in an unfamiliar and sloppy pair of borrowed slippers, I slipped on the stairs leading down from the bathroom and made a bad hash of my right elbow. As it refused to stop bleeding, first aid had to be requisitioned from a commercial traveller selling chemist’s sundries who was staying in the house.

Distance covered: 74 miles

THURSDAY 27TH AUGUST

A pestilential wind

HOLSWORTHY – HATHERLEIGH – OKEHAMPTON – TEDBURN ST MARY – EXETER – AXMINSTER

Another wonderful breakfast, liver and bacon this time (it is a good job I do not set high living above all else otherwise I should be always touring in Devonshire).

The wind which had blown me from Exeter yesterday was now a pestilential nuisance. It was more or less counteracted by the down grade to Hatherleigh. Here at the ‘Bridge Inn’ a young tandem pair from Putney who had been blown across from Crediton that morning with a fixed 65” gear were disposed to scout the idea that touring in Devon was hard work. If they carried on their idea of making for Clovelly and returning via Bideford, Barnstaple and Taunton they have probably altered their views by now.

From Hatherleigh to Okehampton was one long grind on bottom gear in the teeth of a biting blast. There is a sharp and twisting run down into Okehampton after which it again continually rises for nearly seven miles with a few abrupt drops, which only mean another climb of a steeper grade.

At Okehampton I got some bread, cheese and beer at the ‘Exeter Inn’ to fortify me for the struggle to Sticklepath and from there to Whiddon Down after which, though it is mostly downhill, the wind compelled pedalling all the way. Cheriton Bishop not providing a tea place I went on to Tedburn St. Mary where the ‘King’s Arms’ did me satisfactorily as to eggs and otherwise and I got into Exeter about 5.45 p.m.

After an hour in Exeter dusk was approaching when Honiton came into sight, but Honiton is not a town I love so I decided on making for Axminster, one of the most difficult places to put up at. After making the round and getting the usual “full up” excuses I risked a non-C.T. C. house, the ‘Western Hotel’ which gave me quite satisfactory bed and board but at a price which is rather more than I care to pay; therefore the landlord’s request that I should recommend it for the handbook was turned down.

Distance covered: 69 miles

FRIDAY 28TH AUGUST

Bicycle blown away!

AXMINSTER – WINTERBOURNE ABBAS – WEYMOUTH – OWERMOIGNE – WAREHAM – WIMBORNE

When I left Axminster the east wind was if anything, stronger and more bitter than it was yesterday and I had one of the most strenuous roads in the south of England to negotiate if I was going to keep my appointment to meet Jack at Winchester tomorrow. Through Charmouth, up Chideock Hill into Bridport and from there to Winterbourne Abbas was practically one continuous grind on bottom gear, and I called to mind scampering over the same road on the hottest day of last year with Parnell riding a fixed 75” gear which necessitated three stops for ‘pints’ before we got to Dorchester. This time it was nearly 2 o’clock before I got to the ‘Coach and Horse’ at Winterbourne Abbas, a distance of 23 miles covered in just 4 hours!

I took the right hand road for Weymouth via Winterbourne Monkton and Chalbury. If I had expected to escape the wind this way I was sadly mistaken for as I got nearer the coast it increased. At Weymouth I turned up a street off the Front to get some cigarettes and promptly had my bicycle blown out of my hand. The tide was out about half a mile which did not make Weymouth look too attractive and I made my way out at the east end on the Wareham road still with plenty of wind in my face.

At Owermoigne I found a tea house and was glad to get inside out of the wind for a bit and listen to it howling outside without feeling it. Continuing on through Wool into Wareham the thoughts of facing dead into the gale with some hefty hills intervening put me off making for Swanage; indeed the luxury of turning my back to the blast induced me to think of Wimborne as a fitting stopping place for the night.

From Lytchett Minster I found bye roads, which if more strenuous, were certainly pleasanter than the main road. The ‘Crown Tap’ provided me with a good cold supper before I went to bed feeling that the 60 miles I had covered was quite sufficient under the prevailing conditions.

SATURDAY 29TH AUGUST

Plenty of time to spare

WIMBORNE – BLANDFORD – SOUTH DAMERHAM – LYNDHURST – ROMSEY – WINCHESTER

To make straight for Winchester would have meant a very short journey for me so I had to plan out how to lengthen it. I started by making for Blandford via Tarrant Keyneston, and with the gale astern this did not take much time. From there, after loafing for about half an hour I took the Salisbury road thinking I should get the wind once more behind me. However it seemed to have veered round several points and I had about 13 miles of arduous and uninteresting road before turning right through some very beautiful villages, notably Martin and South Damerham where I took refuge from a heavy storm and at the same time stoked up with bread and cheese at the ‘Fox and Hounds’.

To go direct to Winchester from Fordingbridge was out of the question at that early hour, so I climbed up Godshill on the Cadman road and, by various steep and rough forest tracks which showed up the New Forest at its best, finally reached that village of refreshment houses,16 one of which provided a satisfactory tea. I still had plenty of time to dispose of, as Jack who had first a wedding at attend was hardly likely to turn up at Winchester until late.

The Ringwood road was a seething mass of motors making for Bournemouth, so I took the Lyndhurst road, which as far as that town was quite deserted but from Lyndhurst to Totton it was once more hell. Having plenty of time I made for Romsey and on to Winchester via Ampfield and Hursley in company with three young speed merchants, one of whom required some nursing up hill.

Though I had followed a most tortuous route from Wimborne and made 76 miles of it, it was barely 8 o’clock when I arrived at the ‘New Inn’ in Stapleton Gardens, and as Jack did not turn up until past 10 o’clock, having come as far as Woking by train, I had a couple of hours for strolling around the town.

SUNDAY 30TH AUGUST

Bank Holiday madness

WINCHESTER – PRESTON CANDOVER – FRENSHAM POND – CHOBHAM

We got away from Winchester before 10 o’clock, taking the Petersfield road as far as Cheriton Bishop and then making northwards to New Alresford, still continuing in that direction on the Basingstoke road to Chilton Candover and Preston Candover where the ‘Purefoy Arms’ gave us an excellent lunch.

Our next movements required some consideration. Basingstoke is a place to avoid on Sundays so we decided on finding our way by bye roads towards, but not into Farnham. Various stony tracks brought us eventually out onto the main road to Froyle, and after a mile or two we turned right at Bentley and made for Frensham Pond, which Jack had not visited before, nor had I been near it for at least 20 years. We did not see much of it for the shore was about six deep in cars, and it had all the aspect of Southend on a Bank Holiday.

We made all speed away through Churt up to Ridgeway Farm where we had tea. Soon after we restarted, a drizzle commenced which soon developed into a good steady rain. We made through Puttenham and over the Hogs Back through Normandy, Pirbright for Chobham, Jack having a return half ticket from Woking to Waterloo which came in handy.

I had written to the ‘Old King’s Head’ to secure me a room for the night and supply us with supper. The latter was of excellent quality. Just after Jack had departed for Woking to catch his train a young tandem pair arrived very wet and with a sick back tyre. I was able to supply them with repairing material as they had used up all theirs on the way, and it was past 11 o’clock before they got off on their way to Fulham, anticipating further tyre trouble on the way.

Distance covered: 62 miles

MONDAY 31ST AUGUST

Beautiful Cowdray Park

CHOBHAM – GUILDFORD – PETWORTH – AMBERLEY – BIGNOR – COWDRAY PARK – PETWORTH

I decided to finish up this varied 14 days’ tour in Sussex so took the road to Guildford via Knaphill and Worplesdon and then the usual road to Petworth through Godalming, Milford, Witley, Chiddingfold and Northchapel. I just got to the ‘Wheatsheaf’ in time for lunch and made arrangements to return there for the night before taking the road via Fittleworth to Pulborough, before stopping for tea at the ‘Cricketers’ at Amberley. When I got there it took some time to find the landlady to supply me with the tea but it was excellent when it arrived.

From the ‘Cricketers’ I made my way up Bury Hill and had some idea of having a look at the Roman Pavement at Bignor. However when I arrived there it was too late to obtain admittance so took various rough tracks which eventually brought me out at the foot of Duncton Hill.

After a Bass at the ‘Cricketers’ I decided that it was too early to turn in to the ‘Wheatsheaf’ so went along the Midhurst road to Cowdray Park, looking very beautiful in the evening sun. There was a full house at the ‘Wheatsheaf’ but no cyclists and was nearly persuaded by the huntsman of the local hunt to turn out at 5 a.m. tomorrow morning for cub hunting but on consideration decided against it.

Distance covered: 60 miles

TUESDAY 1ST SEPTEMBER

The same old fogies

PETWORTH – KIRDFORD – BUCKS GREEN – GUILDFORD – HATCHFORD – COBHAM – HAMMERSMITH

I had to return today but did not care to take the direct road and instead of forking left outside Petworth went straight on for Kirdford. Here at the ‘Half Moon’ I felt bound to stop for a space. Finding the same old fogies in the bar parlour who were there when last I visited it with E.B.P. three years ago, I stopped there so long that it was lunch time when I reached Bucks Green, so I got some cold ham and beer at the ‘Queen’s Arms’ after passing through Wisborough Green and Billingshurst.

I went on via Alford Crossways and Bramley into Guildford, down the main road to Ripley and via Ockham to the ‘Black Swan’ at Hatchford for tea, finally getting home by way of Cobham and Molesey and just making 60 miles of it.

This had been a curious fortnight’s tour of over a thousand miles, the first time I had ever tried to do that distance in 14 days. Given fine weather and a little less strenuous country it would have been easy enough, but with Wales, Devon and Cornwall and a finish up against a north easterly gale and scarcely a day without rain it is not to be wondered at that I began to feel a little wilted at the end of it.

 

1931 A QUICK SEPTEMBER TOUR – MERLIN 1

THURSDAY 3RD SEPTEMBER

After the last trip, Merlin 1 required sundry renovations and adjustments so I brought it back from Goswell Road today and took the opportunity of making a call at Nassau Road.

Distance covered: 9 miles

FRIDAY 4TH SEPTEMBER

A petrified poodle

HAMMERSMITH – HORTON – HENLEY-ON-THAMES – DORCHESTER-ON-THAMES – NEWBRIDGE – BURFORD

Once more I set out on the beaten track to the West. It had been arranged that I should accompany Frank and Fon Sissons on a week’s tour. They altered their first plan to take the train to Oxford. I arrived at Burford tonight and I was not to expect them until midday tomorrow.

There was a good steady rain when I started at 12 o’clock. This was varied by cloudbursts, one of which drove me into the ‘Five Bells’ at Horton for an early lunch of poached eggs on toast. Among the renovations to the machine were new blocks to the back brakes. I had no occasion to use them until the descent of White Hill into Henley. They then let off such a shriek that an old lady with a small poodle on a string at the bottom of the hill seemed convinced that I had done it on purpose to frighten her dog.

On examination the new blocks appeared to be made of soft rubber and totally unfit for use on steel rims. I took the precautions of investing in a pair of ‘Fibrax’ blocks in Henley but it was raining much too hard to permit playing about with brakes for the time being. At Dorchester I had tea at the ‘Fleur de Lis’ and after a call at the ‘Rose Revived’ Newbridge arrived at the ‘Swan’ in a half drowned state about 8.30 p.m.

Distance covered: 76 miles

SATURDAY 5TH SEPTEMBER

A terrific tea, as usual

BURFORD – PUESDOWN – CHELTENHAM – TEWKESBURY

I had the morning (a nice wet one) to spend in Burford and the rain was much too fierce to make much wandering pleasant.

Frank and Fon turned up for lunch about 1.45 p.m. having ridden against the wind and rain from Tring where they had spent the night so they were therefore glad of some grub. It was about 3.45 p.m. when we got on our way having made up our minds to have tea at the ‘Puesdown Inn’. Up from Northleach against that rain and wind it was a fierce struggle and the tandem, having already had a good stretch of it, felt a bit wilted. At the ‘Puesdown Inn’ we found the cloisters inhabited by a gipsy party who looked as though they might be snappers up of unconsidered trifles. We therefore deemed it necessary to find a safe place for our machines before seeking tea. We stowed them in a fowl house which seemed a fairly safe place. Tea, as usual at the ‘Puesdown Inn’ was everything that could be desired and we were delighted to find when we turned out again, the rain had ceased.

We had still the wind to contend with but this did not matter. Another map was required and it was perilously near 8 o’clock (closing time) when we reached Cheltenham. We tried four or five shops before getting a map of a kind which would do at a pinch. We then made for Tewkesbury where we put up for the night at the ‘Shakespeare Hotel’, which gave us a satisfactory supper and accommodation.

Distance covered: 31 miles

SUNDAY 6TH SEPTEMBER

Strange bedfellows

TEWKESBURY – LEDBURY – HEREFORD – LLANFIHANGEL-NANT-MELAN – WHITNEY-ON-WYE

After the last two days’ rain this morning’s sunshine was most welcome. We left soon after 10 o’clock being well supplied with cards for distribution among our friends by Mr Franklin of the ‘Shakespeare Hotel’.

Taking the Hereford road we did not dismount until the steep bit of Hollybush Hill, though Fon was agog to pinch some of the tempting-looking apples overhanging this orchard-bordered road. At Ledbury we stopped at the only refreshment shop for tea and cake but it was too draughty to be comfortable and we soon rattled on though Stoke Edith, Trumpet, Tarrington and Lugwardine to Hereford. To get lunch in sleepy Hereford on a Sunday seemed a hopeless proposition but we referred the matter to the police and were directed to the ‘Coach and Horses’, which provided an excellent feed of pork.

After this, the sun being hot, it seemed rather doubtful if we should want to go on to Rhayader today, which had been our intention. By grossly understating the distance off our chosen route I persuaded the cavalcade to make for the ‘Stowe Inn’ for tea. The result was that any intention of reaching Rhayader today was abandoned and we thought the ‘Red Lion’ at Llanfihangel-nant-Melan would be quite far enough after we had booked up for a night at the ‘Stowe’ on the way home. I don’t think I have ever covered the strenuous eight miles from the ‘Stowe’ to Kington as on this occasion behind that tandem, and the journey up into the Radnor Forest was done in record time. So fast was the pace that Fon failed to see the tramlines in the great city of New Radnor.

At the ‘Red Lion’ Mr Williams was in a position to put us up but not all in the house. I was given the choice of sleeping “with Miss Jones or with the postman”. I decided that the latter was likely to prove the quieter bedfellow. On our return from a stroll before supper we found a gaunt bespectacled man sitting in front of the fire wearing the North Road badge. After a time he asked me if we had not met at Burford some years ago when he was there with the North Riders. I asked him if Charlie Sewell was there whereupon he announced he was Charles Sewell and it appeared he was motor cycling with his wife. It was about 11 o’clock before I got away from listening about his doughty deeds in the past and made my way to the postman’s for the night.

Distance covered: 65 miles

MONDAY 7TH SEPTEMBER

Tea courtesy of a witch

WHITNEY-ON-WYE – RHAYADER – CWMYSTWYTH – DEVIL’S BRIDGE

A most unusual phenomenon for the Radnor Forest – the sun was shining when we turned out in the morning. We had the usual breakfast of highly flavoured bacon and eggs and as is usual at the ‘Red Lion’ there was a cake on the table as an additional fill up if the eggs and bacon were not sufficient.

We now met Sewell’s wife, a hard featured young woman with a Hall’s distempered face17 and a rat-trap mouth accentuated by her lips being painted vermilion, which quite justified Fon in dubbing her the ‘Letter Box’.

The escape of gas from Sewell still continued and one mournful tale of an insult he had received from two girls of the Rosslyn Club, while on his motorcycle, tickled us immensely especially as Fon was once a shining light of that dissolute organisation.

We got on the road soon after 10 o’clock going straight on, on the way to Rhayader and I got somewhat left on the stretch from the top down to Penybont. There were not quite so many flocks of sheep as usual on this road and it was barely 11.30 a.m. when we got into the uninteresting town of Rhayader. After ‘elevenses’ at the ‘Kimberley Temperance Hotel’ (late Webbers) we decided that a picnic lunch was not only desirable but highly necessary as there were not any tuck shops on the road to Devil’s Bridge we proposed taking. We invaded the principal general store and after Fon had negotiated the purchase of at least half its stock she handed me back 5½¹⁸ change out of sixpence. There seemed enough grub for even three hungry cyclists but she was still rather disgruntled because she could not get any cream and the tomatoes were not the native article.

We took the road to the Elan Valley and our rejoicings for the brilliant sunshine were counteracted by the paucity of water coming over the dams. It is only when it has been raining for several days that they can be seen at their best.

We outspanned for our picnic on a knoll overlooking Craig Goch19 after having been held up several times by flocks of sheep and when we arrived there we congratulated ourselves that there was no one else in sight. However, before we had got half way through that 4/6½ worth of provisions, three charabancs and five cars had unloaded beneath us.

After leaving Craig Goch the welcome sign ‘Unfit for Motor Traffic’ was soon reached and the River Ystwyth crossed. There is nothing particularly difficult about this road except for the number of streams running across it which mostly have to be ridden through. In negotiating one of these rather carelessly I got well drenched in the legs, and no doubt when there has been a spell of wet weather they are really difficult to navigate.

At one deepish stream where there is a footbridge, our passage across was disputed by two cows. Unfortunately, none of us thought to bring our cameras to bear on this interesting situation. At the hamlet of Cwmystwyth we found a cottage that gave us tea. The proprietress, a stuffy looking old dame in a high sugarloaf hat embroidered with fantastic designs, looked a typical witch. Sitting each side of a huge fire upon which was an immense kettle were two cats like evil spirits in attendance, making a perfect picture of a practitioner in the black arts. It is occasions like this that make one realise that photography, which is incapable of recording a scene like this in colour, is still in its infancy.

Shortly after we had got on our way we found a disused tin mine, and Frank and I in company with four other cyclists made an attempt to explore it by the aid of our electric lamps. Curiously enough the lamps seemed totally ineffective and after I had bumped my head, I decided it was not good enough and retreated back to the open air. Frank eventually came out again but did not seem to have found much there except water. We were not to get to Devil’s Bridge entirely without mishap. The back tyre of the tandem first required attention and after that had been repaired my rear brake with its shrieking blocks gibbered to pieces. However I succeeded in getting to our destination on the front brake and was glad I had brought those spare blocks with me from Henley.

We got satisfactorily housed at the Post Office at Devil’s Bridge and after supper fared forth down to the hotel in quest of beer not having had any all day. In this we were sadly disappointed for when we got there (about 9.30 p.m.), we found the bar closed and so, after writing sundry postcards we were compelled to go beer-less to bed.

Distance covered: 42 miles

TUESDAY 8TH AND WEDNESDAY 9TH SEPTEMBER

Lucky to be alive

DEVIL’S BRIDGE – EISTEDDFA GURIG – PLYNLIMON – TALYBONT – BORTH – MACHYNLLETH

Another brilliant morning. The first thing that engaged our attention after breakfast was my back brake blocks. With the aid of tools borrowed from a friendly motorist, my jellied ones were extracted and the spare ‘Fibrax’ ones inserted, Frank being chief engineer on the job.

Yesterday’s route not having provided sufficient thrills, it was thought something more adventurous should be attempted. Bartholomew showed a path up Plynlimon from the south side, but no sign of a track of any description down the other side, towards Machynlleth, so it was decided that we should try and force one for ourselves.

When we got down to the view from the road in front of the ‘Hafod Hotel’, it looked so enticing that a photograph was deemed imperative. Unfortunately the sun refused to shine in the required direction, and we, in company with many others made up our minds to wait until it did.

About 11.15 a.m. Frank and I adjourned to the ‘Hafod Hotel’ bar each for a Bass (and inferior Bass at that) for which we were rooked 9d, leaving Fon in charge of the cameras, with instructions to let fly if the sun came through during our absence. However it did not actually come through until we had finished our drinks, and she was relieved of the responsibility. As yesterday, provisions for a picnic were a necessity. The Post Office, where we had spent the night, is a general store, and Fon had laid out the sum of 5/- or a little less in obtaining everything essential.

We arrived at Eisteddfa Gurig where the path to the top starts about 12.30 p.m. and as there is a tea shop there, we thought it advisable to have some tea and cake before tackling the rough stuff. It was as well we did for this was the last drink we were destined to have until the next day was well advanced. We made enquiries as to taking the bicycles up to the top, and the idea was treated with a certain amount of scorn by the woolly headed girl at the tea shop, and our suggestion of going down the other side was received with even more derision. This naturally put our backs up.

After passing through one or two gates the real climb began. There is no beaten track and the only guide to the pathway consists of posts at intervals of two or three hundred yards. It was tough work, especially for the tandem, but Fon harnessing herself to the front of it by a strap and pulling like a horse while Frank pushed and steered their pace, was quite fast enough to take most of the wind out of me with my lighter mount.

About 2 o’clock, when we were about half way up, we decided to have our picnic, and to tell the truth I was glad of the halt to recover some of my lost wind. It was thoroughly enjoyable as picnics with fellow cyclist always are, and there was a small residue consisting of two large oranges, a piece of bread and some cheese and butter which Fon carefully preserved. Tins etc. were buried and I used my last match to burn much of the refuse as could be disposed of in that way, before we continued on our way.

We had met three people coming down, a parson who did not speak, and two hikers who grinned when they saw our machines and informed us that the gradient down the other side was about 1 in 2 mostly. It was just past 3 o’clock when we reached the summit and after a short pause to admire the view which is prodigious, the next thing was to investigate as to the possibilities of descending the other side. The first look I had at it satisfied me that it was impossible; it would have been difficult, unencumbered, but hopeless with bicycles and one of them a tandem, with at least 40lbs of luggage on it. The face of the mountain went sheer down to the shore of a small lake and the gradient could have been nowhere less than 1 in 2 as the hikers had told us.

However the other two were by no means to be discouraged and decided on making the attempt at a spot where they thought it possible. Their plan was put into operation without delay. The tandem was divested of its luggage and a long strap attached to the rear carrier. It was then heaved over the side, Frank supporting the front, while Fon hung onto the strap behind digging her heels into the hillside and gradually letting out the strap while Frank eased the machine down. A drop of about 800 feet had to be negotiated in this fashion and it took them nearly two hours to do it.

In the meantime I being a very poor mountaineer could do nothing but remain at the top to see what happened, and I did not feel very confident of getting down without a broken neck or at least a broken leg or arm or two, let alone of carrying the machine down. On the other hand to let two people for whom I had more than a passing regard go on into the unknown with always the chance of a broken limb or at least a sprained ankle by themselves was unthinkable. With three, even if one of them is aged and infirm there is always the chance of obtaining assistance in case of such a mishap, which was then the one danger I had in mind.

However when they returned Frank solved my difficulty by packing my mount on his back and scrambling down, so burdened, at such speed that he had some time to wait before Fon joined him with their luggage. My lot did weigh more than about 14lbs while the two bags off the tandem must have scaled at least 20lbs each, and by all the rules of the game I ought to have carried one of them, but Fon overruled my somewhat diffident request to be allowed to do so, saying I was not to worry about her, as she was “as strong as little elephant”. In view of subsequent events she can be acquitted of having made a vain boast.

We both came to grief more than once on the way down but with only trivial damage such as a few scratches and bruises. We thought that having overcome this obstacle our troubles were at an end and that we had only to follow the river which ran out of the far end of the lake and make a speedy return to civilisation. But so far from our troubles being at an end they were only just beginning. There was a notice board on the lake denoting it as a reservoir for the Aberystwyth Water Works so it seemed reasonable to suppose there must be some easier way of getting to it than by that by which we had come.

The surrounding of the lake upon which we turned our backs about 6.15 p.m. were marshy but as we proceeded along the margin of the river we were soon travelling through what can only be described as bog, making our way by a series of hops from root to root of the reeds and even the roots began to sink unless speedily vacated. The appearance of a broken down, uninhabited hut about a mile on the way satisfied me that we were on the right track or rather going in the right direction, for there was no sign of anything like a pathway. One or two more deserted and ruined huts were passed which appeared to have been unused for years or perhaps centuries.

In the meantime Fon was having a busy time, having frequently to leave her proper job of helping Frank with the tandem to come and give a mighty heave to get me out of a bog hole or up a boggy slope.

About 7.30 p.m. a new problem presented itself.The river which we had been following, hoping it would lead our faltering footsteps to the haunts of man, split into three separate streams. The obvious thing to do was to follow the middle one, but this of course made it necessary to cross the one upon the banks of which we were. This stream was about 25 feet across and its greatest depth did not appear to be more than about 18 inches. Some large stones in the water offered the prospect of a dry crossing to the young and active and the tandem was safely got across on these. This method of crossing did not appeal to me, and being already thoroughly wet in the feet and legs, I deemed it safer to wade it. Hoisting my bicycle onto my shoulder I stepped into the water finding it somewhat deeper than it looked and very cold.

My next step was an ill-advised one, for it was onto a large flat stone which, tipping up, precipitated my bicycle with me on top of it into the stream. It was lucky the bicycle was underneath for had I gone over the other way my immersion would have been total. As it was, though one of the pedals removed most of the skin from my right hip bone, only one half of me got wet. The bicycle went completely under including of course my bag containing my camera and all my spare clothing. Of course I scrambled out with the property as speedily as possible not feeling too well pleased.

This incident produced a temporary depression to come over the spirits of Fon, the lion hearted. Had she sat down on her haunches and laughed at the ludicrous spectacle which I must have presented it would have quite excusable though somewhat surprising and I should have felt slightly sorry for myself. As it was I had to treat it as a matter of course and pretend that I rather enjoyed the experience.

The fact of being somewhat damp was of minor importance beside the next problem that loomed ahead. It was now rapidly becoming dusk – we were in the midst of an apparently limitless bog which stretched for miles behind and before us. It was obvious that all hope of reaching civilisation before darkness was completely out of the question and that we should have to spend a night out under the stars. This would have been a small matter under ordinary circumstances for luckily the sky was gloriously clear and the possibilities of rain remote, but the problem was to find anywhere solid enough to rest without sinking into the bog. In the meantime there was nothing for it but to keep moving on in the dark.

When we started on this tour we were not prepared for much night riding and had only brought small electric lamps. Mine, having been dowsed in the water emitted only a feeble glimmer. About 9.45 p.m. Fon was a short distance ahead, carrying the lamp off the tandem when suddenly she disappeared, rather to the alarm of Frank and myself. However she soon reappeared having made a fortunate discovery. This was a kind of semicircular shelf of solid ground in the side of the hill, with a low bank at the back of it. There was room for ourselves and our machines and it took no debate for us to decide to make it our quarters for the night.

Our preparations for rest did not take long. I took off my wet shirt and was just wringing out a flannel one I had in my bag to put on, when I was stopped by Fon. She insisted on my borrowing a dry one of Frank’s. I also borrowed a dry pair of stockings from Frank and took off my shoes, putting them with other wet things out to dry. Fon had a thick woollen bathing costume in her bag. This she made me put round my neck. My macintosh cape was of course soaked, so it was deemed necessary that I should have one of theirs, while they both got into one, and when they got both their heads out of one hole they looked like the Siamese twins!

Before we finally settled down for the night Fon doled out to Frank and I part of the provisions saved from the picnic, refusing to eat anything herself. We were all fairly weary and must have slept about 2½ hours; at any rate it was about 2.15 a.m. when we all woke up feeling very cold and no doubt Frank and Fon were very cramped in their one cape.

After this I do not think anyone slept for more than a few minutes at a time. When I did doze off it always ended in the same way. I would dream we had just been investigating one of the ruined huts we had seen yesterday and just as we were satisfied it was uninhabited, a woman would issue forth carrying a tea tray fully equipped, and just as I was anticipating the hot tea I would wake up with a groan on realising the actual position.

That night seemed interminable. Time after time my repeater was struck by request only to find that what seemed like hours since last its chimes were heard, was in reality only a quarter of an hour. We told silly stories, sang songs, recited Shakespeare and talked about eatables. When I started moaning out Omar Khayyam, Fon who had no acquaintance with the Persian philosopher and poet, thought that I was becoming delirious! A competition to see who could keep longest without their teeth chattering proved too difficult. There was always a great commotion every time Frank and Fon wanted to turn over in their tight fitting joint overcoat and I was expecting to hear it split at any moment. There was no turning over for me as my right side was much too sore for me to want to lay on it. In consequence I was getting extremely stiff and rather worried about the difficulty I had in wagging my toes!

At last some signs of dawn began to appear and Frank got on his feet and did a war dance for about twenty minutes. When it got a little more light I reached out for one of my stockings which I had put out to dry. It stood up like a clothes prop, and then I understood why I had found it so difficult to waggle my toes. I had had nothing to cover my feet and the hoar frost settling on my stockings (or rather Frank’s spare stockings which I had borrowed) had frozen them stiff. Everything that I had put out to dry was in the same hard, frozen condition, the worst case being my shoes which were as hard as wood. It took nearly half-an-hour’s work to get them soft enough to put on, this delaying our start until about 6.30 a.m. the sun not having yet appeared over the hills.

Before we moved off Fon divided the remainder of the rations between Frank and I. No arguments would induce her to eat anything herself. When we went to our bicycles we found them frozen stiff and covered in hoar frost. It took quite an effort to get them on the move. We then found that had we gone on another fifty yards in the direction we were travelling last night we should have stood an excellent chance of all going over the top into the river about thirty or forty feet below. Bog in its natural state is difficult to traverse with bicycles but it is ever so much worse when it is semi frozen, and the reeds heavy with hoar frost. The wet half of me was stiff and creaking and my frozen feet were most painful.

About 7.30 a.m. I felt unable to go further and had an irresistible desire to sit down in the bog, and it was only a well-deserved scolding from Fon that got me on the move again. In the meantime Frank was trudging on with the tandem with grim determination.

The sun had now scaled the hills. This warmth was gratefully received, the only drawback being that the hoar frost melting under his rays wetted the parts of us which had not been wet before. About 8 o’clock we came upon evidence of the handiwork of man. It appeared to be some kind of drainage works, but at any rate there was a slab of solid concrete upon which we could rest without fear of sinking. Frank and I took advantage of it while Fon, still full of beans, went off on a scouting mission on her own.

She had scrambled to the top of a boggy hill about a quarter of a mile away when she suddenly became excited. Frank and I went up to where she was standing. She was sure she had seen smoke rising from the chimney of a small house standing by a lake about two miles away. I was quite prepared to find it was only a wreath of mist rising from the bog but after a few minutes the mist rolled away and we actually saw what she has seen. Reference to the map showed this house marked as ‘The Angler’s Retreat’. We hoped it would prove an inn, but at any rate whatever its inhabitants were, they could hardly refuse refreshment to folk in our plight.

Needless to say, stiff joints, frozen feet and such-like disabilities were forgotten and a bee-line made for that refuge with all speed. Such obstacles as bog holes, rivers of water and rivers of mud, did not deter us. When we were within about a mile we heard the welcome sound of a cock-crow. No music could have been sweeter for since we had left the summit of Plynlimon, yesterday afternoon, except for a few sheep we had seen or heard no living thing. There had been no sound of animal, bird or even insect life, in the place where we had spent the night, nothing but the sound of the river running below us.

We found our way into a cultivated enclosure with the house, a tumbledown- looking structure, below us. Frank undertook the job of ambassador to parley with the inhabitants, Fon and I remaining with the cycles on the path above. We had now nothing to worry about for leading away from the house was a well-defined track which must lead somewhere, but all the same it appeared that Frank was going to converse with the rough looking customer who came to the door, for ever, so that we got tired of waiting and came down to join in their deliberation.

It appeared that the house belonged to one of the local gentry who used it as a shelter for himself and his friends when they came to fish in the lake. The caretaker, who appeared to be in mortal fear of this terrible person, could not see his way to allowing us to enter the house, but if we liked, his old woman would bring us out some tea, and bread and butter and cheese, if that would be any good to us.

Needless to say this offer was accepted with alacrity, and in due course the good woman came out of the front door bearing the fully equipped tea tray which I had seen in my dreams so many times during the night, the only difference being that the tea was in a jug and not in a pot. I fully expected to wake up as usual and find it was not there, but nothing of the sort happened this time.

The savour of that feed was only equalled by a feast three of us had from a tin of sardines in another place in the hungry days of the winter of 1917. Fon, now absolved from the responsibility of getting us out of the mess in which we had involved her, did ample justice to it, after having fasted from 2 o’clock yesterday afternoon and displayed enough energy in the meantime for at least three ordinary people.

The caretaker seemed rather nervous about our taking the track which we had seen which led out to a road to Talybont about nine miles away, for fear that we might meet his terrible master, but we were not in a mood to worry about a thing like that and decided to go that way. The parting gift to Fon was a spring of white heather, “For luck,” he said, “For pluck,” said Frank and I both at once.

When we had got about a mile on the way Fon called a halt, opened her bag on the tandem and sat down by the side of a stream. Frank and I left her to it and in about ten minutes there emerged a brand new Fon who, so far from having spent a particularly uncomfortable night out in a bog under the stars, with no sustenance but some bread and cheese and tea for about twenty hours, might have stepped straight out of a seaside hotel after a good breakfast.

The road to Talybont was rough but being downhill all the way presented no difficulties and we arrived in that one-horse town about 10.45 a.m. revelling in the luxury of seeing people and dogs walking about again and even seeing motors and hearing the ‘toots’ of their horns.

Fon, who had now assumed undisputed command of the expedition, decreed that the first thing to be done was to find a shop where Frank and I could be fitted out with new stockings and me with dry shoes of some description. As in many country towns there was a general store probably kept by Mr Jones, which can supply everything in some form. Stockings were obtained at an expense that was by no means ruinous and a variety of other things were purchased, including a needle and thread for the repair of my bag, which had become unstuck during the night’s adventure. Mr Jones, however, was a failure when it came to the question of shoes, not having anything large enough for my hooves.

There was another shop, which fitted me out with canvas shoes of the right size, and the next business was to find somewhere to don our new garments and also to obtain something to eat. It was not my first visit to Talybont and I had often admired the sign of the ‘White Lion’, though I had never been in that hotel. We made our way there, negotiated for the use of the bathrooms in which to change our things and found they could supply us with some eggs and bacon. We occupied the bathroom for about ten minutes.

The eggs and bacon were of the most meagre description, the tea was of the washy kind and we were charged 9/- and particularly requested to recommend the hotel to our friends! Needless to say we have advertised it freely but hardly in the way the proprietor intended. After this ‘banquet’ and the expert repair of my bag by Frank, it was decreed that we should make for the coast at Borth and seek repose in the sun on the beach or elsewhere.

Borth is the usual kind of sordid Welsh seaside resort but its beach is all that we desired. After some more light refreshment we sought the beach, and after parking the cycles Frank and Fon were making up for lost sleep in about five minutes. I spent the afternoon spreading out my wet goods to dry in the sun, effecting repairs to damaged mudguards and writing postcards, including a somewhat alarming one to Jack, who had warned me that if I went a touring with these people I must expect adventures.

We adjourned to tea at the ‘Friendship Inn’ about 4.30 p.m. just missing ‘Wayfarer’ who had been there just previously. It was quite a satisfying tea and after it we decided to make for Machynlleth for the night taking the coast road north and through the Artist’s Valley.

At Machynlleth the commanding officer ordered that we must go somewhere where we could get hot baths before going to bed in blankets with double whiskies. This was to counteract any chance of chill resulting from our last night’s adventure. “Orders is orders” but in a place like Machynlleth it was rather difficult to see how these particular ones could be carried out. Yesterday having been a cheap day we were not going to care much about expense, but the two large A.A. Hotels did not look particularly inviting. I remembered some years ago having had a very good tea at the ‘White Horse’ so we thought we would try that first. Here we were received with the greatest hospitability and when the landlady heard something of our story we were invited to ask for anything we wanted.

All wet stuff that had not dried on the beach at Borth was taken away and put before the kitchen fire. The latter was stoked up for our hot baths and after an excellent supper we did not delay in having our baths and getting between the blankets with “the something hot”. Thus ended an adventure which though amusing to look back upon might have been a very unpleasant matter and we might even have been added to the list of people who have mysteriously disappeared from time to time.

There were so many things that might have happened and caused disaster. My fear all along was of disablement of one of the party. In that case one of us must have gone for help without any idea of where to look for it, and if and when it was found, the task of finding the other two would have been almost insurmountable even if they had not sunk in the bog in the meantime. Then supposing one of the drenching storms common to Wales had come up, it would have been impossible to move in the bog and the prospects of being added to the ‘missing’ list would have practically amounted to a certainty. Again a dense mist is always possible among any mountains, particularly boggy ones, so taken on the whole we could count ourselves extremely fortunate in coming out of it, not only alive but with no damage.

Distance covered 8/9/31: about 16 miles

Distance covered 9/9/31: 28 miles.

THURSDAY 10TH SEPTEMBER

Disappointment at Dinas Mawddwy

MACHYNLLETH – CEMMAES – DINAS MAWDDWY – LLANFAIR CAEREINON – MONTGOMERY

The good people at the ‘White Horse’ were determined we should have our sleep and when I finally struggled down about 9.30 a.m. feeling a bit stiff in the joints but otherwise quite fit, there was still no sign of my companions in crime. However, by the time I had had a stroll down the High Street and obtained the morning paper they had made their appearance and breakfast got under way about 10 o’clock, and soon after 11 o’clock we took leave of the ‘White Horse’. The hospitable treatment we had received at this inn was above all criticism and removed for a time the impression which we had obtained of North Welsh innkeepers at the ‘White Lion’ Talybont.

Yesterday during the afternoon period of rest I had sent a postcard to Mr Maddox at Montgomery to expect us and that was to be our last day among the rocky mountain.

The ‘Buckley Arms’ at Dinas Mawddwy commended itself to me as a place where one could expect a good lunch at a price and we were most anxious to do ourselves well. Accordingly we made our way down the main road through Penegoes, turning left at Cemmaes Road Station for Mallwyd, taking things quietly so as to get our stiff joints in working order. Though we stopped for refreshments at the ‘Penrhos Inn’ Cemmaes we got into Dinas Mawddwy before 1 o’clock making at once for the ‘Buckley Arms’ where we were informed lunch would be ready at 1.30 p.m.

Full of anticipation of a really good tuck in we set out for a stroll up the Dolgellau road to get our appetites up to concert pitch. Our feelings can only be compared to those of ‘Three Men in a Boat’ prior to the incident of the famous pineapple when we returned for lunch. We were shown into a baronial hall glittering with plate and polished glass. The first course was some thin soup of a dubious nature. This was followed by either some cold salt beef cut off a very aged cow or ham from a consumptive pig (I am not sure which) and tongue from some kind of elderly animal. At any rate, hungry as we were, it took some getting down. A small slab of cold plum tart (tinned or bottled fruit) completed this banquet and we were glad to escape on payment of 11/6 for this wonderful blow-out.

True to its reputation Dinas Mawddwy treated us to tears as we left it and a pelting rain followed us as far as Cann Office, so that the views on this glorious stretch of road were lost to us. At Cann Office the rain had not entirely ceased but it was gentle enough to permit the removal of capes, a great relief as the temperature was by no means low.

At Llanfair Caereinon tea became a pressing need and we did very well at Mr Williams’. By the time this important event was finished the rain had died out for good. The direct road to Welshpool did not appeal to the commanding officer so she took us a short cut over many rough and troublesome hills, which eventually landed us at Berriew from whence it is only a few miles through Garthmyl to Montgomery.

At the ‘Old Bell’, Mr Maddox was able to put us up and once more the little room in the turret was to be my quarters for the night. More importantly there still was a very excellent piece of Welsh mutton for our consideration which somewhat made up for our disappointment at Dinas Mawddwy.

The rain had come on again so we were not able to do much wandering before going early to bed to clear off some more arrears of sleep.

FRIDAY 11TH SEPTEMBER

A day of many mountains.

MONTGOMERY – BISHOP’S CASTLE – CLUN – KNIGHTON – PRESTEIGNE – WHITNEY-ON-WYE

Admiration of the latest Maddox baby and a visit to the castle ruins (where Fon got her unprotected legs stung by the special brand of nettle which grows in that spot), writing and posting many postcards, and a visit by Frank to the local agricultural implement and cycle accessories dealer made it nearly 11 o’clock before we got away from Montgomery.

Yesterday’s rain had passed off and we saw the beautiful stretch of road from Bluebell to Bishop’s Castle under the best conditions. The tandem dashing down the precipitous descent from the ‘pulpit’ end of Bishop’s Castle left me with a lot of arrears to make up, but the pace was necessarily much slower on the strenuous road to Clun.

On arrival at this busy town we made straight for the ‘Buffalo’ and enquired for lunch. Mrs Lewis was much distressed to have to inform us that she had been eaten out of house and home. But if we did not mind waiting twenty minutes or so she could cook us some steaks. As it was only just 1 o’clock this suited us very well and, dumping our machines, we went for a stroll to spin out the requisite time.

When we returned everything was ready for us. Five steaks cooked to a turn with vegetables in like case. This was followed by a pudding of unknown composition which was delicious and we only wished we could have shown the lot to the ‘Buckley Arms’ as a sample of how things should be done. This fortified us and though feeling somewhat heavy, the notorious ‘New Invention’ road from Clun to Knighton held no terrors for us. Riding what we could we walked the steepest part of the two peaks, letting fly down the downgrades so that we accomplished this fierce seven miles well under the hour.

At Knighton, Fon’s search for souvenirs of Wales, which we were leaving today, proved unfruitful and we adjourned to the ‘George and Dragon’ for a satisfactory tea. It was required as we had quite a lot more collar work to do to make the ‘Stowe Inn’ which was our chosen refuge for the night.

Between Knighton and Presteigne is Cwm Whitton Hill, marked on Bartholomew as 1208 feet. This was ascended at a steady 12 mph – quite fast enough to deprive me of all the wind I ever possessed. On the other side it runs down 378 feet at Norton in about 2½ miles. The tandem very soon whizzed out of sight down this declivity. The driver of a car which had drawn up by the side of the road, told me he had been doing 55 mph down the hill and they had passed him as though he was standing still! I rode as fast as I could possibly go and after six miles I at last found them waiting for me on the railway bridge at the entrance to Presteigne.

After this the road via Titley to Kington is plain sailing but we still had one more ‘big push’ to do to Eardisley. This however did not take long and we rolled into the ‘Stowe Inn’ just at the right time for supper of real ‘Stowe Inn’ quality.

Distance covered: 44 miles

SATURDAY 12TH SEPTEMBER

Return to the Royal City

WHITNEY-ON-WYE – LEOMINSTER – BROMYARD – WORCESTER – PERSHORE – CHIPPING NORTON – GREAT TEW

We were aware that our scheduled trip for today to Great Tew was rather a handful and the weather was none too promising. We therefore made an early start just before 10 o’clock turning left at Willersley Cross and then right for Leominster through Dilwyn.

The state of the weather did not warrant our making the detour to visit the black and white picturesque village of Weobley. At Leominster a bakers shop supplied us with ‘elevenses’ and just as we were entering, a tandem pair I had met before somewhere were just leaving.

From Leominster the Bromyard road via Docklow and Bredenbury was very tough and coming down into Bromyard we met a heavy storm, which stung my eyeballs until they felt nearly raw so that we felt that a hot lunch was suitable to the occasion. The ‘Falcon’ did us quite well in this respect, but it was still raining steadily when we once more got on our way. It was not until we were within a few miles of Worcester that the rain abated sufficiently to allow us to remove our capes.

Since my last visit to the Royal City it has scrapped its trams but even without these encumbrances it is a dismal horror to get through. We spent about half an hour there, Fon having some shopping to do which resulted in my bag having to accommodate some large sticks of Worcester rock.

We were now in the Worcestershire lowlands and made short work of Whittington and Stoulton to Pershore. Tea was now a crying need and the ‘Chequers’ appealed to us as a suitable feeding station. Very welcome was the sight of a fire in the bar parlour and the tea was of excellent quality.

From Pershore through Evesham to Broadway is easy going, which was as well as time was getting on and we yet had a considerable distance to go. From Broadway we made for Moreton-in-Marsh from whence to Chipping Norton is exceptionally heavy going.

Darkness was now upon us and we were equipped with nothing better than feeble electric lamps. With this poor lighting power, the seven miles from Chipping Norton to Great Tew seemed interminable, especially when we had turned off the Banbury road. It was very nearly 10 o’clock when we at last reached harbour finding Jack awaiting us expecting to find us all with hacking coughs and crippled with rheumatism after the Plynlimon episode. He had to be regaled with all the details while we were despatching the usual excellent supper provided by Mr Matthews.

Distance covered: 86 miles, mostly wet ones

SUNDAY 13TH SEPTEMBER

A fitting end to a short but rather eventful tour

GREAT TEW – AYLESBURY – IVINGHOE – ELSTREE – EDGWARE – HAMMERSMITH

Frank and Fon were anxious to get home as soon as possible but it is not easy to leave Great Tew in a hurry, especially on a fine morning such as this was. It was accordingly about 11.30 a.m. before we got under way, I having a naked cauliflower attached to my bag which flopped continuously.

We took the most direct road to Bicester and doing without ‘elevenses’, made on for Aylesbury where an indifferent lunch at the ‘Tank Restaurant’ did not take us long. Just beyond Tring, Jack and I parted with Frank and Fon after arranging for a meeting on Tuesday at home.

Jack and I made a detour for tea at ‘The Bell’ at Ivinghoe. I parted from him at Elstree and came home via Edgware and Wealdstone. The day had been as fine as yesterday was wet, a fitting end to a short but rather eventful tour.

Distance covered: 84 miles

 

1931 HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY CYCLING CHRISTMAS – MERLIN 1

SATURDAY 26TH DECEMBER

The balloon retrieval expedition

DORKING – GODALMING – SHALFORD – HINDHEAD

I was under contract to re-join the other cyclists at ‘Hindhead Nurseries’, rather a cross-country trip from Halstead. Fortified with a supply of turkey and ham sandwiches I started off about 11 o’clock. In an effort to avoid Westerham Hill I got involved in Titsey which is rather worse and got through Limpsfield and Oxted to Godstone, from whence it was plain sailing to Redhill and Reigate and from there through Betchworth and Buckland to Dorking. Outside Dorking I sat down in a warm sun and demolished my sandwiches, washing them down with a Bass at the ‘Punch Bowl Inn’.

Dorking to Godalming looks an awkward bit of cross country on the map, but via Westcott, Wotton, Gomshall, Shere and Albury turning left at Shalford I was surprised to find it took me less than an hour, being only 12 rather strenuous miles. There was therefore no particular hurry up the part of Hindhead leading to Thursley, and when I arrived at the Nurseries about 4 o’clock, I found Jack there disconsolate with no sign of Frank and Fon who should have been there to lunch. This was rather disconcerting and we were rather worried about them. However they turned up about 4.30 p.m. having had a very late Christmas night or an early Boxing morning involving a walk home from Kennington to Regent’s Park.

We had rather a scratchy tea, Fon having to forage around for it as the place was so full up that everything was at sixes and sevens. After tea we got the “use” of a small room and after blowing up a few balloons, sat down in front of the fire. It being mild and moonlit, a stroll under the stars culminated in one of the balloons taking flight. Fon, as usual, full of beans, scaled the roof of an outhouse and by calculations based on the strength and direction of the wind, located the place where the missing aerostat should have taken refuge.

To reach the spot it was necessary to make an adventurous expedition into the cow yard. Fon has a decided objection to horned beasts and therefore it is another feather in her cap that she cast all misgivings aside and, making her way unfalteringly to the place she had located from the roof, there found the fugitive in an outhouse. Now comes the tragic part of the story. While returning triumphantly with the spoils of the chase it managed to touch a holly bush with the usual result.

Supper of cold turkey was also rather a scrawny affair and nothing at all like what we had hoped for. With the crowd who were there, 45 at least, sleeping arrangements became a problem. Mr Barnare appeared to be verging on insanity trying to work out arrangements. Eventually as far as our party was concerned, Jack, Frank and I were delegated to a caravan about 200 yards from the house, while Fon had a bed in the house in a large room with several other girls.

The other people were put out in a cottage nearby, a railway carriage of six compartments, and in various parts of the house, wherever there was room. We retired to our caravan about 1 a.m. and found it eminently comfortable, complete with three camp beds and an oil stove, but the night was so warm that we had all the windows and the door wide open. Under the circumstances, it is not surprising that we slept like tops.

Distance covered: 47 miles

SUNDAY 27TH DECEMBER

No ordinary girl

HINDHEAD – THURSLEY – RIPLEY – HAMMERSMITH

We woke up in our al fresco sleeping chamber, to a glorious morning. Tucking my pyjamas into my stockings to make plus fours I climbed out and had ten minutes run around a field about 7.45 a.m. Jack, when he was at last persuaded to wake up volunteered to go over to the house and get a teapot and some tea which we could make with water boiled over our oil stove. Seeing that he does not drink tea himself, this was rather sporting of him but doubtless he was sufficiently rewarded in seeing the pleasure with which Frank and I drank ours!

When we got to the house for breakfast we found Fon rather distraught. She had had by no means a comfortable time amid the noisy house party and only a negligible quantity of sleep. This was rather distressing considering that she had had only the minimum of rest on the preceding night. And of course she had to do most of the foraging around before we could get any breakfast. It would therefore have been quite excusable if she had sat down somewhere after breakfast and gone to sleep. However Fon is no ordinary girl and five minutes after we had set out on a hiking expedition she was full of beans as ever.

Frank and Jack stalked on ahead finding the way, while she and I were rushing about like four year olds, playing hockey with a stone, a fir cone or a marble for a ball. By the time we reached the top of Stony Jump we must have expended at least four times as much energy as Frank and Jack had.

On the return journey we found an old bicycle wheel, which was requisitioned as a loop. After everyone had had a go at driving it, it assumed all sorts of curious shapes and it finally reached Ridgeway Farm looking like nothing on earth, its final adventures being used as a cricket ball in opposition to a small tree as the bat.

It was too early for lunch so we decided to take the short cut to the ‘local’ at Thursley and have one. On the way down, Fon certainly appeared to be feeling the effects of the strenuous life. After we had finished our drinks, fully restored, she had an idea of getting back first ahead of Frank and Jack. By dint of fast walking and an occasional sprint when they were hidden by a bend of the road, we soon dropped them out of sight.

Unfortunately when we got in the rough we took a wrong path along which we had gone nearly a mile before we realised it. There was nothing for it but to sprint back to the point where we had gone astray. I was puffing like a grampus20 by the time we had found the proper way and there was still much rough stuff to be negotiated, which was mostly taken at a trot. We were somewhat puzzled that we had not caught up the other two and when we got back at last found them calmly sitting waiting for us. It was not an occasion to stand upon scruples, so I started at once to lie bravely, stating that we had been back long since and as they did not turn up we had been out looking for them.

Fon, not being a disciple of pragmatism looked somewhat appalled at my display of mendacity, which was received in stony silence. It afterward transpired that Frank and Jack had also something to conceal. More cold turkey etc. (one soon gets tired of cold turkey) made up our lunch and after it we left the Commander-in-Chief asleep in an armchair in front of the fire for an hour before thinking of making a start on the homeward journey just after 4 o’clock.

As we proposed having tea at ‘Warner’s’ at Ripley, there was no time to lose, so that the pace was quite lively in spite of sundry lamp troubles. I was just boasting of the reliability of the ‘Hooded Terror’ when its bulb went ‘plut’ and was only extracted with the greatest of difficulty for the insertion of a new one.

The tandem and I turned into ‘Warner’s’ thinking Jack was close behind but he had stopped some distance down the road to tend his lamp. Consequently he went on a considerable distance (either because he did not know where ‘Warner’s’ was or to put on an extra mile or two) and had to return. The roads for the rest of the way were fairly clear and we got home about 9.30 p.m. and thus ending the Christmas festivities for 1931.

It had been a marvellous time as far as weather was concerned, far superior to any Easter we have had of recent years. However, we felt that we had been rather let down at Hindhead Nurseries. Goodness knows it had been popular enough before without being made into a Youth Hostel and this has probably been our last visit, at any rate as an all-night stopping place.

The trip home only amounted to 36 miles.

CYCLING STATISTICS FOR 1931 BY MILES AND NUMBER OF RIDES PER MONTH

__________________

1 A horizontal beam along the length of a roof

2 A soprano singer

3 Now more commonly known as Llanybydder

4 ‘Old Frankie’ was perhaps the elderly owner of Webbs’ Tearooms.

5 A road in disrepair.

6 An genus of enormous flightless birds that once lived in Madagascar and produced the largest bird eggs ever discovered

7 The suggestion is the address on the bicycle was either Jack’s or the retailer of the Sunbeam, probably in Wood Green which would have been in postcode N15.

8 A customs permit serving as a passport for a motor vehicle

9 William Le Queux (1864–1927) was a spy novelist, journalist, diplomat and traveller

10 E. Phillips Oppenheim (1866–1946) was a renowned writer of thrillers

11 Abbreviation of hundredweight (112 lb)

12 Died, or ceased functioning

13 A hillock or mound

14 An old word for ‘provisions’

15 “Wallop” is an old term for alcoholic drinks, especially beer

16 Fordingbridge

17 Hall’s Distemper was a famous home decorating paint created in the 1890s as an alternative to wallpaper

18 Five pence and a halfpenny

19 A masonry dam in the Elan Valley, completed in 1904 to supply Birmingham with water

20 A member of the dolphin family of cetaceans