efog-blog
E-folk at Butlins
Skegness in December; bracing or what!?
Louise organised this one, based on an experience last year, apparently. By train and by car, E-folkers travelled north and east to that strange county of Lincolnshire.
It's a new one on me, really – apart from passing through (do you ever really need to pass through Lincolnshire – except maybe on a train?), and a few days in Boston once long ago. But never Skegness – and never, ever, Butlin's.
Butlin's SecurityI went by car, kindly hosted by Ian and accompanied by Louise and Madeleine. We spent hours and hours and hours (well not really – but it felt like it) wishing there was a hill or slight rise anywhere to be seen. But just seemingly endless fens, black fens, fen fens, a few windswept wayside trees and a horizon that stretched so far out of sight that it wasn't really there. Boston was at least alive, though mainly stumpy, and our first views of Skeggy were mainly of mobility shops and traffic jams of the resultant scooters. Oh – and chalets, and caravans, and caravans, and caravans. Then, just as I felt we'd escaped and could go back to hilly Essex via the Lincolnshire Wolds or some way other than fens, we were manoeuvred into position and up to the border crossing and the security guards. My mind was thrown back to hitch-hiking days on the borders of Albania, and of crossing in – and luckily out – of Bulgaria, before those borders were moved over here. I tried to hunker down in the back of the car, but know this to be useless. When I peeked out Louise was discussing terms and security passes and I was surprised to see a rather attractive blond female guard with a smile on her face. Ok, I know - they can smile, but you can't hide.
Madeleine and Louise taking the incarceration with a smileIt's a strange place, Butlin's. The cells are all arranged in blocks just like real Stalags but given friendly names like Ocean Point and Lagoon Bay. Louise and Ian were in the former, and Madeleine and I in the latter. Apparently we were going to be allowed to associate at least with some of the other prisoners, so we crept into number 15 Ocean Point, to try to at least have a last cup of tea together. I was afraid I'd never see Louise or Ian again. Then, in a reflection from the window of a cell across the way, I saw Dave, and then others of the crew, followed up by Val. Things were looking up. At least we would all be incarcerated together. I realised that this wasn't quite a Stalag, more a Gulag. Further east, see.
Madeleine and I met Pam in our own cell down the road in Lagoon Bay. It's not a bay at all, but a group of cells below the sea wall, which is itself surmounted by a security fence, There was a guard-post just a way along, and we learnt later that we would be allowed out onto the miles of sand at certain times. You have to show a wrist-band to get in or out, though not so much on the out for some reason. I expect it's because there are security cameras everywhere, and that the wrist-bands are actually tracking devices, and even if you get out, there's nowhere to go except the sand or Skegness. I suspect that the sand is patrolled for escapees by great big balloon things that sort of roll and bounce and herd you back in. They'll have appropriate names like “Rover”.
Pam and Jacky plotting an escapeAnyway, I diverge. Which isn't surprising after the trauma of the weekend. The event was the Great British Folk Festival. The venue – as you now know – was Butlin's. Weird, Eh? There is an 'introducing stage' where the lesser performers do their best to become next-years bigger performers – and two other venues called Centre Stage and Reds. There is a psychological plot in place whereby big-name folk artists or bands play in one of the two venues at the same time. For example the main artists of the Friday were evening Billy Bragg performing in Reds and Eliza Carthy at the same time in Centre Stage. I chose Eliza, as Billy is a bit too political for me. As it happened, the very first band of the evening was 'False Lights' featuring Jim Moray and Sam Carter. What a start! I don't know either of those people, but I was very soon glad I'd risked a prison camp to see them.
On Saturday morning we were allowed out of the camp, and herded onto a Number 1 bus to Skegness. I know we were nominally in Skegness, but there are thousand of caravans and herds of mobility scooters between the Gulag and the main town. It' s too far to walk, especially as we were experiencing gale-force winds heading up the coast from the south. And Skegness is south of the camp. Skegness is a bit sea-sidey, with shops and that. We met a lot more of our e-folks and had a hearty meal in a hapartment store. Well, I say hearty, but it was more the tea and buns sort of place. Nice, though. We – or at least a few of us – walked to the beach. I went for a paddle (shoes included, of course), and we visited the Lincolnshire Poacher, which is the local lifeboat. My suggestion of being blown back to the prison camp by a following wind along the sea-shore was hooted at. Outdoor Group my a….
Saturday evening was a no-other-choicer for me. I warned them. (Them being all those e-folk that went to see The Unthanks). I went to see Sharon Shannon and Alan Connor, and whereas the Unthankers were all made miserable I was uplifted. Most of you will know that is rare with me, so she must be good. Pam and I rolled home (home is where the cell is) at about 2am, and obviously woke Madeleine, who had retired early. I retired years ago. We didn't want to wake Madeleine, but you could not move in the cell-block for creaks. (Creaks are small creatures that live in desolate parts of the east coast of nowhere. They are particularly common around Butlin's in Skegness.)
Sharon Shannon and Alan ConnorI don't remember much of Sunday, because it was windy and I'd had to sleep two nights with a coat over my head because the Gulag's security lights were blinding me all night. (I had another flippin' double-bed to myself again, by the way). Also, I kept thinking “Tonight's the night when I shall see Maddy Prior”. The other reason, now my memory is coming back a bit, is that we started the folk sessions early in the afternoon, with a set of renditions from 'The Band from County Hell'. They were from Lincolnshire. Good, though - and followed by 'Blazin' Fiddles' - who are good good and from Scotland and Orkney and Shetland. A quick eat, then Pam and I went to start a queue for the Reds venue, so as to get a good position. There are no booked seats; you takes your chances or barge people out of the way. I'm no good at the latter, never having been a bargee and not liking an argy-bargy. At 6.15, the queue had already started, but we were near the front. Val joined us, Louise, Ian, Phil and Dave were close behind. Susan W. and Ian joined us nearer the front. We grabbed some stray chairs that had blown in for the wait. Luckily it wasn't quite as windy as the similar but not-so-long wait I'd had the evening before. 'Twas cold, though, standing in the darkness of a Lincolnshire Gulag in December. The doors opened, and after the security checks (sniffer dogs, and beeping things and searches and that – or am I imagining all that?) we were in. I'd given precise instructions as to what to do to get tables, but nevertheless I ended up seeing only two-thirds of the stage from behind Jacky. Sod! I'd wanted to video Maddy Prior! I couldn't lean the camera anywhere so my lifetime chance was ruined. Oh well, enjoy the music.
The first band was 'Clutching at Straws'. They were awful. If Billy had been bragging and the Unthanks had been closer to the undead, this must've been worse. I don't go to a Gulag or even to a Butlin's to deliberately immerse myself in starving children. Sorry about that, kids – but there's enough suffering in the world. Go on, read this and be all righteous, but I bet I'm not the only one that walked out. The really great thing was – and this sounds a bit like a paul-tale – as I walked back to our prison cell for a welcome break before Steeleye, in the all but deserted main pavilion a song was playing. Bert Jansch singing 'Needle of Death'. You wouldn't think you could be cheered up by something like that, but after that other lot...
After a relaxing half hour or so I, together with Madeleine – who very sensibly had not bothered with the queuing and had thus not endured the Phillipines – wandered back to see Steeleye Span. You'd think at this point I'd waffle on like the rest of this article and describe how good the band was and what a pleasure it was for me to see them, but I ain't gonna. But they were and it was.
I should like to have seen Fotheringay in the other venue, but in loife you has t' make a choice, and the final band of the weekend, where we were, was an unknown to me. The DJ – Sue Marchant of BBC Local Radio, and very good she was too – said they were going to be uplifting, and they were. 'FolkLaw', a bloody good band – and I told them so as we happened to see them packing as we were escaping the camp on Monday morning. It had been a great start on Friday to a great weekend of entertainment, and that was a great finish.
We were allowed to leave on Monday morning - after the now-familiar checks at the border - and Ian drove the four of us back from E-folk-land to Efog-land.
Thanks, Louise, thanks Ian, thanks Pam and Madeleine and the others, thanks Butlins, for another great efog-away.
(I have exaggerated the prison camp theme a bit; it was really quite OK and the guards were very nice – especially the blond one.)
Article by Paul Ferris (Steeleye Span and Maddy Prior fan, but I also like Fairport Convention and Sandy Denny. There are others I could mention, including Bert Jansch, and the Incredible String Band has a lot going for it if you like pigs and hedgehogs. I like both but tend to only eat the former, and then I feel guilty. I think we should all feel guilty about hedgepigs) 7th December 2015
The festival was The Great British Folk Festival, held annually at Butlin's, Skegness, since 2010.
(Skegness is a town in Lincolnshire, and Lincolnshire is a well-known poaching county in England. As England is still British, it is right and proper to hold a Great British Folk Festival there, or indeed anywhere. Still a bit odd, though.)
Paul Ferris, 9th December 2015
Ladywell to Forest Hill - 8th November
This was the 7th section of Pam's series of walks following the “Green London Way”. Pam mentioned in the programme that this section of the walk takes us through parks and along "prominences". I wasn't sure what she meant by prominences, especially as she'd put whatever they are into inverted commas. Anyway, she had said “along prominences”, so that didn't sound too onerous.
The very start of the walk at Ladywell ParkShe also said “a few hilly bits” - not like the last walk in the series when there was nothing but hilly bits. So, five of us met at Stratford, and two went straight to London Bridge Station where we all met up to catch the train to Ladywell. It got there just before 11am, and as it was Remembrance Sunday that gave us time to walk into Ladywell Park, find a quiet spot, and observe the two-minutes silence. We then went to the nearby St. Mary's Church, which is much bigger on the inside than on the out, where we were invited in and even got tea and biscuits without having to stay for a service.
There is a tomb in the churchyard to which Pam referred us, of an Irish poet none of us had ever heard of, the inscription of which is totally eroded away, and is un-signposted. We did find it, but I don't quite know why. The parasol mushrooms were slightly more spectacular.
Ladywell Park is very pleasant, and on a remarkably warm Autumn day was a pleasure to walk through. The Ravensbourne River is really the reason for the park, as it comprises the flood plain and has been re-landscaped to not only enhance the river but to provide for any potential flooding. We looked in vain for a very special tree that is mentioned in the guide book and elsewhere on the internet. It is an elm, known as the Lewisham Dutch elm, and is supposed to be unique. It is either unique or extinct, because we couldn't find it.
After Pooh-sticks on the bridge, we left the park and soon got to Montacute Road where Pam regaled us with a story about Edward 2nd, Edward 3rd, William Montacute and a red hot poker, a group of which we'd just passed in someone's front garden. At this point I was also beginning to realise that “prominences” might also mean hills and we weren't actually walking along them but up and down them. This was somewhat reminiscent of GLW Section 6, and reminds us that Essex is really ever so flat compared to south London suburbs.
Atop Blythe Hill FieldsBlythe Hill Fields was the next summit. Another of those open spaces that were fought over and demonstrated for to protect against development. From here there are some great views, particularly trending northwards to encompass – to the right – the Canary Wharf complex, and – to the left – the City. Between Canary Wharf and the City we could even make out the Epping Forest ridge, though because it is in Essex and it was also a bit overcast, wasn't very prominent.
After we left the open space there was bit of confusion as to where the road called Brenchley Gardens was, but it turned out that – as a couple of girls told us – it was miles away because Pam had turned over two pages of the route instead of one. We made our way through streets, passing Honor Oak station, downhill and then uphill, to the entrance to One Tree Hill. It was disconcerting that there were lots of trees, more so that there were lots of steps, and even more so that the people coming down the steps kept saying, “It's worth it when you get to the top”. Sort of at the top, there is the Honour Oak itself, or rather a replacement of the original which Elizabeth 1 picnicked under whilst out a-maying. We picnicked out a-sitting (or standing) nearby with another grand view towards London. Being as this was south London, the view was odd, too, with a St. Paul's Cathedral almost centrepiece, but looking somewhat alone from the rest of the City buildings.
The RavensbourneWhere there is an up there is often a down, and in this case more steps, covered with almost as many leaves as my garden. This lead us to Brenchly Gardens, which – of course (see earlier) was miles away. Brenchley Gardens should be famous for its Ginkgo trees, including ones that produce the disgusting-smelling seeds, which I demonstrated by breaking open the soft flesh. Surprisingly, the enclosed nut is edible, but I have never tried that.
From Brenchley gardens we crossed to Camberwell Old Cemetery which we traversed to reach the uphill roads and then a downhill footpath between the houses leading to the Horniman Nature Trail. This is the oldest nature trail in London and was formed along part of the disused railway track, originally the Crystal Palace and South London Junction Railway and later the Nunhead to Crystal Palace High Level line. This was built in 1864/5 but closed in 1954, and the nature trail was opened in 1974.
Musical interlude at Horniman ParkOdd musical sounds were coming from our left as we walked the embankment, and their provenance became apparent only after we'd entered Horniman Gardens where, in a position on a slope, there was a selection of sounding devices to play on. These consisted of drums, tubular bells, xylophones and the like. We duly chased the children off and took over – just to spoil things.
Our final effort for the day, before getting the train back from Forest Hill Station, was to have tea and cakes in the cafe at the museum itself. Most of us paid homage to the walrus, some of us enjoyed the badgers, some the okapi. The woman almost centre of the remarkable mosaic on the outside wall of the museum looked to me as if she really were going to pay homage to humanity.
A pleasurable, if hilly and prominent, walk led by Pam and enjoyed by Dave, Fozi, Fred, Ken, Lynne, Sue. S., and myself.
Paul Ferris, 10th November 2015
Five went to Ribblesdale
Horton in Ribblesdale is on the famous Settle to Carlisle Line, so no buses needed to get there by public transport from King's Cross. We stayed in a bunkroom situated behind one of the village's two pubs. Luckily we had one twenty bedded bunkroom to ourselves...
Sunday promised to be the better day so we thought we'd do Pen Y Ghent that day and on Saturday aimed to stay 'down in the valley' to keep out of the clouds, and planned a walk around the famous Ribblehead Viaduct. Did I say that we weren't going to need buses? Not so hasty.....it was a weekend of engineering works, so not only could we not actually take the train over the viaduct, but we had to take a bus replacement service to get there! Three of us felt that as Ingleborough was between Ribblehead and Horton, that we might as well walk back that way......The paths are easy going - all well laid out with slabs of stone to minimise footpath erosion. However, soon visibility was limited to the path and a few blades of grass to either side - we were climbing up, and up into a cloud and ferocious rain storm we went. We even lost each other briefly on the summit.... Fortunately it was Yorkshire's equivalent of Clapham Junction and other walkers reported seeing a 'lady in blue'. As we descended the skies cleared and we had a couple of hours of walking towards Horton with amazing limestone pavements to either side of us, and a wonderful view of Pen Y Ghent ahead.
The evening brought unbroken sunshine and all the summits were clear. Not quite so the next morning - the 'better' day turned out to be not exactly that, but we went up Pen Y Ghent anyway. We had lunch by the side of Hunt Pot - a very very deep crevice in the moor, with a cascading waterfall descending way, way down. Two of us added an extra loop to the way back to Horton - though following the 'Ribble Way' footpath was not exactly straightforward - or rather, some very large cows got rather in the way.
The famed Pen Y Ghent cafe provided many hot drinks and a few tales. As we arrived one morning a couple of men were just leaving - they had just spent the night walking the Three Peaks (25 miles encompassing Whernside, Pen Y Ghent and Ingleborough). Not so long ago another couple of men had done the round trip three times in 24 hours. To 'qualify' you have to complete in 12 hours and a single circuit is sufficient! There is a log book held at the cafe which you can sign once you have 'qualified' - that's for another time!
Jenefer S. 31st October 2015
Greenwich to Ladywell
What an interesting and varied walk that was... Pam met us at Stratford – or maybe we met Pam at Stratford – on 10th October, and we took the DLR to Greenwich Cutty Sark where we began the walk.
Not unsurprisingly, the Cutty Sark was viewed on passing, as it is difficult to miss, and we soon entered Greenwich Park. I haven't done hills for a year and more, so it was with great relish that we were soon ascending the heights to Wolfe's Statue by the observatory, and using the opportunity to observe all the tourists observing all that is observable from there.
In Maidenstone GroveAfter strolling down an avenue of sweet chestnuts, with foragers busy trying to steal the nuts from the squirrels and indeed in one case feeding the chestnuts to the dog, we exited the park by way of a gate that led to a little lane between grand houses onto an edge of Blackheath. Pam told us how the heath in olden days had been the gathering place of various anti-governmental marches on London: Wat Tyler, William Cade and 40,000 Cornish-men to name two and include another 40,000. More little lanes and grand and small (but all doubtless unaffordable) houses followed, together with a conduit that once helped provide the Royal Naval Hospital with water, and a particular area of lovely Georgian and Victorian cottages around the (to me) intriguingly-named Maidenstone Grove. Sometimes there is something in a name and location which seems that it might say more than is evident, and a little research later showed that at least someone else had thought so too. It was beneath this area that a series of caverns had once been known and used for 'purposes', and nearby Point Hill may even have long ago had a ritual temple atop, maybe even dedicated to the Horned God, Cernunnos.
Peering at the RavensbourneWe descended – after going up and down a lot (remember, I haven't done hills for a while) – to the valley of the River Ravensbourne. I suppose, pedantically, it shouldn't be the River Ravensbourne – just the Raven's Bourne. Pam told us that the river got its name after Julius Caeser's troops nearly died of thirst when they invaded this far (presumably because they lost their way from the Thames and couldn't find a pub) but luckily one of the army happened to notice a raven going overhead with a bucket of water in its beak which it had got from the bourne and hence they were saved. This seems a bit far-fetched to me, but if Pam says so...
Anyway, the Ravensbourne at this point was a bit of a concrete gully, but Sue did spot a Grey Wagtail, so it's better than it looked, and it did look quite nice near downtown Lewisham where it has been landscaped a bit to enhance flow, help alleviate flooding, and look pretty.
On Hilly FieldsWe walked up from the river valley through suburban streets to emerge at Hilly Fields, a large open space which Pam told us had been saved from Victorian developers by the campaigner Octavia Hill. One of her newspaper articles was entitled “More Air for London”, which helps sum up things. Being 175 feet ASL, it is no surprise that we then walked down again – albeit the other side – to enter Brockley and Ladywell Cemeteries, opened within a month of each other in 1858 as part of the new wave of Victorian cemeteries, once divided by a wall but now comprising a considerable open space. The Brockley part seems to be a lot less managed – although still in use – and the Ladywell end more open and mown. Out of the cemetery, there was still more downhill, passing a house with a plaque which indicates the position of the Ladywell mineral spring. This, presumably, was “Our Lady's Well” from which the area took its name. These mineral springs were purported to offer healing properties, and this one was supposed to help with eye problems. The Ladywell Tavern, nearer to the heart of things, for some reason had a dog's head on its pub sign. I can't think of a connection, but anyway a short way beyond that was Ladywell Station and the connection there was to Charing Cross.
Thanks to Pam for another thrilling instalment of the Green London Way series, and to Amina, Fozi, Fred, Jill, Lynne, and Sue for the company.
Paul Ferris, 10th October 2015
Constable Country Walk
Eleven of us turned up to meet Fritz at the corner cafe in pretty Dedham on a sunny Saturday morning on 22nd August. After a refreshing drink we set out alongside the River Stour, enjoying the sun as the heat soared.
Fritz gave us a potted history of John Constable on the way to the bridge where we stood and admired the view of Flatford Mill that Constable painted. The National Trust owns 400 acres in the area and has an interesting display of Constable’s work, including the miniatures that Constable drew in such detail before embarking on his 6 foot canvasses. We then passed Valley Farm on our way to Willy Lott’s Cottage which is in The Haywain.
Leaving the Stour valley we climbed through paths and fields in the increasing heat to East Bergholt. Thoroughly hot we stopped at a pub to cool down, apply more suntan lotion and have our lunch before moving on to the interesting church in East Bergholt. It has a bellcage which was erected as a temporary measure – in 1531. Constable grew up in East Bergholt but there is little original evidence left of his existence there.
Descending back to Dedham we had cake and tea in the arts centre and then left for home.
Brian U. 23 September 2015
The Group near Flatford Mill