My Uncle Jimmy's Cycle Tour in 1932 (age 18)

 

Jim's Index

 

 

Above is shown a very small part of the Preface to a book (one of two) containing accounts of holidays taken by my Uncle Jimmy in the 1930's. If you have read my Dad's account of the holiday he and Jimmy took in 1930 you will be familiar with the fate of the Uncle who died before I was born and after whom I was named. Jimmy was a very keen Rover Scout and this log was submitted to R. Clarke, R.S. of the Flore Group, who commented "Very Good" on 4.4.1933, four years to the day before I was born.
Below are the Preface and then the tour account.

Preface.

In presenting this book to the Reader the Author would like first to apologise for any omissions, misprints, spelling errors and illegibilities that may annoy or disappoint her but owing to the difficulty of production & limited time at his disposal the author was unable to get it read or checked in any way so your forbearance is solicited in this matter

With regard to the title the author would like to mention that he had considerable difficulty in finding one that had not already been used by some fortunate person who lived before him in times when there were fewer books & consequently more titles to spare.

He discovered that "The Divine Adventure" had been used by someone called Macleod. "Highways & Byways in Hardy's Wessex" by someone named Lea. "Rural Rides" by someone named Cobbett. "Rare Adventures" by someone named Lithgow. "A Midsummer Night's Dream" by someone named Shakespeare. "Travels with a Donkey" (that's a nasty one) by someone named Stevenson. "Westward Ho" by someone named Kingsley and "Good Companions" by someone named Priestley. The only thing to do was to think of one himself and "Wessex Wheel" seemed to fairly fit the bill, but even that somehow seemed familiar.

The author begs to tender his grateful thanks to all who assisted in the compilation & production of this little volume, particularly Messrs Thorpe & Grose who went to considerable trouble to obtain a cycle for his companion, the Northamptonshire County Council whose pen, ink & blotting he freely borrowed (unbeknown to them), Messrs W Mark & Co Ltd from whom he was able to purchase at a ridiculous price this handsome book and lastly but by no means leastly Messrs D McKinnell Ltd for film, photographs and excellent service.

Friday 2nd September 1932

Left Weedon at 7.20a.m. Sky clouded over and road still partially damp from early rain. Strong S.W. wind blowing into face. Arrived at Everdon (3 miles) at 7.36 Took field road along north side of Badby wood arriving at Badby as the Church clock struck 8 a.m. and the cyclometer registering 5.8 m. Turned left at Badby green and got on to main Daventry - Banbury road, leaving Fawsley park behind at ten minutes past eight.

The sun now showed itself for the first time but was not out for long. Reached Byfield at 8.30 after crossing L.N.E.R. & River Cherwell at Charwelton. Sun coming out frequently and clouds dispersing. After a long pull out of Byfield crossed Cherwell again south of Chipping Warden. Crossed County boundary into Oxfordshire at 8.55 a.m. Wind rising but less cloud. Cut across corner of Northants again before arriving at Banbury. Road joins Brackley - Banbury road about ¼ mile before crossing L.N.E.R. at Station. L.M.S. Station and junction adjoining L.N.E.R. Up through town which seemed dull & gloomy, taking Chipping Norton road at 9.30 a.m. Down from Banbury, over tributary of Cherwell and climb up through Bloxham, and except for a dip at South Newington all uphill to Chipping Norton (About 10 miles). Arrived at Chipping Norton at 11 o'clock.

Took wrong road out of Chipping Norton and arrived at Chuchill, so turned S.E. through Sarsden to get back on to Chipping Norton - Burford main road. Sarsden to the main road was unrideable due to the steep slope combined with the rough state of the road, the scenery however was "truly rural". Once back on to the main road there was only a long steep slope between me and Shipton under Wychwood and from this slope I got a fine view of a large wood on the southern slopes down to the Evenlode, presumably the wood near Idbury. From the valley of the Evenlode the road runs over a spur of the Cotswolds down to the old village of Burford in the Windrush valley. The turn to Cirencester is half way up the hill leading out of Burford, and is on the 400' contour.

The eighteen miles to Cirencester is divided roughly into three parts, practically all between 400' & 600'. The first ⅓ is marked by Aldsworth on the River Leach, the second by Arlington & Bibury on the Coln and the third ends in Cirencester.

By the time I reached Aldsworth I was feeling decidedly hungry and after looking for a spring or clear stream and finding none, I procured some water from a cottage and made some tea a little further along the road. The weather was now dull and windy with just a suspicion of rain, so I pushed on to Bibury where the Coln flows along the roadside. Here a man was fly-fishing and after watching for a little while I carried on, turning left over the stream by an old mill. By now there was a definite dampness in the wind and the tarmac road was quite wet. There were no more hills of any size until the long slope down to Cirencester was reached, the cyclometer registering 62½ miles.

After passing some allotments on the left and new houses the more central part of the town was marked by the very old buildings. Here I stopped & bought a paper. Left the town by the Cattlemarket and College to get onto the Fosse Way, crossing a dry canal cutting.

Realising I could not go much farther before dark I decided to make for the Badminton Youth Hostel via Crudwell and Malmesbury. Almost the first building in Crudwell is the "Plough" and the last the "Wheatsheaf". About 4 miles from Crudwell, or 1 mile from Malmesbury a clear brooklet crossed the road which is marked on the Ordnance Survey map as a tributary of the Avon (Bristol). An old abbey (Malmesbury) attracted my attention but I had no time to spare and hurried on along the Bristol Rd through Sheraton & Luckington, two old villages about 3 miles apart, turned to the right ¾ - 1 mile past Luckington, leaving the smooth asphalt road for rough flints. Another 2 miles and I had finished my first day's journey at ten minutes past seven after doing 83.9 miles in the face of a very strong S.W. wind, having been in four counties, Northants, Oxfordshire, Wiltshire & Gloucestershire.

On arriving at the Badminton Youth Hostel I wrote a card which just caught the post, made tea on the Hostel stove and read all the evening, retiring at 9.40 p.m.

The name of the Hostel was the Old Portcullis and formed part of the Duke of Beaufort's estate.

Saturday 3rd September

The rain pelted down continuously until 12.15 p.m. during which time I confined myself to the Hostel.

When the weather cleared up I took some photographs before setting out for Wookey Hole, near Wells.

At Acton Turville the road crosses the G.W.R. at a large station, and a few miles further on I saw my first gulls. These had probably come inland from the Bristol Channel, 20 miles away. I only saw these two during the whole day. Passing through Tormarton I got onto the main road to Bath at Dodington Ash. A few miles further on I overtook two Y.H.A. fellows who left Badminton some time before I did. Along a ridge to Cold Ashton where I had a fine view over towards Bristol. The road now ran along the top of the gorge of a tributary of the Avon. The last 2 or 3 miles slopes steeply down through Swainswick to Bath, which venerable old city was very busy this afternoon. The road from Bath is a steep uphill gradient for 3 miles which was an hour's walk passing through the suburbs of Bath of which Widcombe appeared the last and highest. Rested at 3 o'clock by an old water trough just out of Dunkerton.

The sun shone brilliantly for a little while but went in again before I pushed on at 4 o'clock. 2 miles further on at Peasedown at the top of the hill down to Radstock some children were dancing at a garden fête. Radstock reached at 20 minutes to five o'clock after doing 107½ miles since leaving home. Here I saw a Harvest Festival announced for the following day, the first reminder I had of the approaching Autumn. At Radstock the Somerset and Dorset Joint Railway crosses the G.W.R. and the road crosses them by means of two level crossings close together.

From Radstock the road begins its climb over the Mendips passing through three villages, Westfield, Chilcompton and Emborough, roughly following the S & D Jt Rly. At the highest point of the gap the road crosses a roman road and steeply slopes down to Wells. From this slope a very fine view can be had of Wells and the surrounding country.

After passing Wells Cathedral I turned right and climbed out of Wells in what I thought was the direction of Wookey Hole, where I proposed to spend the night at the Youth Hostel. There seemed several routes and having taken one I enquired of a passer by if I was on the right road for Wookey Hole, and found I was. Having reached Wookey Hole I looked out for the Hostel, which on enquiry proved to be at the far end of the village. Cycling up past the famous cave I came to a farm outside which I saw the Y.H.A. sign. I was made welcome by the Warden and prepared some tea in the Common Room, where three walkers from Brendon were digging themselves in.

After tea, at about half past seven I wandered down to the Cave, which was firmly closed by a solid wooden door, and back to the Hostel. While out walking I met two fellows who had left the Badminton Hostel a few hours earlier than I, that same morning, who had walked precisely as far as I had cycled! c. 40 miles. The same in fact, whom I overtook a few miles past Dodington Ash.

The six of us sat yarning in the chimney corner of the Common Room, which by the way had a most delightful outlook over the valley of the Axe, until our peace was shattered by a "hot" cyclist and his girl friend who had cycled out from Bristol after supper and who did the talking for the rest of the evening. We returned to our barn bedroom at 10.45, 50 yards or so down the road. That is, the five males among us: the three ladies had their sleeping quarters in the house itself.

The Wookey Hole Hostel has the most enjoyable outlook of any of the Hostels I visited. To the South was the Axe valley, to the East the spires of Wells could be seen and to the North the land rose steeply to Priddy at the top of Cheddar Gorge and to the West could be seen on a fine day the Bristol Channel, beyond green fields through which the Axe wound its way.

Sunday 4th September

At a quarter to eight I could stay in bed no longer. The others seemed disinterested to rise, so I quietly dressed and went along to the house to get breakfast, where I found Cissie, one of the girls from Brendon, already up and waiting for her friends. We were a happy family at breakfast, Cissie being Mother and making the tea and ministering to others' needs.

When 10.30 came we were ready to go down to Wells Cathedral for service as arranged the night before. Arriving at the Cathedral we found the service already begun but hardly any congregation other than that behind the organ which we presumed was the Choir. The organ was well worth hearing although the service was difficult to follow owing to echoes which made words indistinguishable; for this reason we did not wait for the sermon but wandered around the Cloisters and saw the swans that ring a bell when hungry.

We found a bees' nest in the South wall of the Cathedral and saw some delicious fruit on some trees in the garden behind the moat round the Bishop's Palace. We heard and saw the clock on the Cathedral strike a quarter to twelve: two knights in armour strike a bell with battle axes every quarter of an hour. We then visited the Chapel of the Vicars Close before parting company. Cissie, Molly and the man they had picked up at Brendon were going back home by train early in the afternoon, while we others went back to dinner. The morning had been brilliant so far, but about mid-day it became dull. The wind had dropped however and I left Ebbor Farm at 1.30 to climb to Priddy. It was hard work pushing the bike up such a steep road of such loose stones, but the view from the top over towards Bristol was worth any trouble. Before I reached Priddy it tried to rain but the sun came out soon after and I found myself at the top of Cheddar Gorge. I was struck by the symmetry of Priddy, clustered round an equilateral triangular village green.

I now came out onto the main road and started down Cheddar Gorge; as the gorge grew deeper it seemed more & more like Dovedale in Derbyshire. When the rocks became more over hanging this similarity disappeared and I rested just before entering Cheddar to take it in and partake of light refreshment.

I climbed one side of the gorge to take a photo which unfortunately is not worth exhibiting, had it been successful it would have given a good idea of the way the rocks overhang the road in an almost frightening way. In strong contrast to the natural beauties of the Gorge itself was the painted huts of that part of Cheddar near the Caves. Every other house was a Café and practically everyone had picture postcards to sell. I was glad to leave this business atmosphere behind and get along to Axbridge. The road ran nearly due West and a strong breeze was blowing off the Channel: to the north was the western extremity of the Mendips which at once reminded me of Derbyshire while to the south the country seemed indistinguishable from Northamptonshire, except perhaps that it was rather flatter.

Leaving Axbridge the way was straight, (though not narrow) to East Brent, on the main Highbridge to Weston-super-Mare road. This road is crossed by several tributaries of the Axe, of which the Yeo particularly attracted my attention; this was the one nearest Axbridge and was cut dead straight for three miles. This was what I had taken to be a canal when I saw it on my way to Priddy, eight or nine miles away. Crossing the Axe, I came to Biddisham. Here I was forcibly reminded that I had seen no red brick houses in this part of the World, but there were a number of new brick houses at Biddisham and I did not notice the absence of brick anywhere else. Having caught up with a postman I engaged him in conversation and having discovered all I could about the local Postal Service I asked some questions on local geography. He informed me that we were on the main Land's End to John O' Groats turnpike and a little further on at Rooksbridge he said "Do you see that hill in front? That's Brent Knoll. You wouldn't think there's a hollow in the top would you? but there is - they used to drag the guns up there to fire out to sea when the enemy tried to land on the banks of the Severn." I left the postman at Highbridge where I hoped to get a glimpse of the sea, but beyond seeing the masts of two vessels behind a hedge there was no trace of any water at all. In Highbridge I crossed the Brue which was a trickle of water among the mud bed of the river, while the sea was cut off by immense lock gates. Cutting inland to Bridgewater I left the sea and the solitary gull I saw at Huntshill and began to think about the bread I was wanting. Being Sunday all the shops in Bridgewater were shut and I had to risk getting it at the Youth Hostel at St Audries where I proposed to spend the night. Leaving the inhabitants of Bridgewater to find someone else to stare at I took the Minehead road along which I rode with a Scotsman who was cycling to Lands End (from Scotland). He stopped to look for shelter for the night and I caught up some fellows who had dismounted for a rest. These I found were going to Watchet a town further along the coast than Perry Farm, where I camped out on the cliff with a boy from Bath. The Youth Hostel was only able to accommodate four males, and as two had arrived before I had and the bedroom was the size of a pantry the obvious thing to do was camp out. I pitched in the shelter of blackberry bushes beside a gully and was far more comfortable than would have been possible indoors. It was a beautiful evening and I lay watching the lights twinkling across the water until lulled to sleep by the surf breaking on the pebbles below.

Monday 5th September

I awoke to a glorious morning at about half past six and after breakfast went for a walk along the shore.

Having skimmed flat pebbles to my heart's content I climbed the cliff at the head of the gully. I had a thrill when I found thick bushes just above me barring the way and I had to work my way round into a neighbouring field which entailed jumping the gully twenty or thirty feet up. Arrived at the top, I deliberated whether to bathe or not and decided that as I should have ample opportunity in cleaner water when I had crossed to the South coast it would be better to move off at once. When I left St Audries at eleven o'clock I found that I had come 162 miles since leaving home.

By taking a secondary road and passing through Bicknaller, thus cutting out Williton, I was able to keep close to the heather clad Quantocks most of the way to Taunton from whence I proposed to make Sidmouth via Honiton. A couple of miles from Bicknaller, at Crowcombe, a fox-hunt was in progress in the valley to the left. There appeared to be no foxes about so I cut along to Combe Florey where I saw a Great Western train cross the road. This was the first Great Western Railway train I had seen, but it wasn't very striking. The railway recrosses the road at the other end of the village so as to keep closer to the stream that runs along the valley to Taunton, where it joins the Tone.

It was noticeable along this road that stations were some distance from the villages. The villages are on the hill slopes but the railway runs along the bottom of the valley - fortunately for the villagers, when it comes to running for a train it's downhill.

The last eight miles to Taunton is downhill and the Cornish Riviera Express was passing by when I arrived. The station seemed cleaner and less dingy than most although the town seemed just like any other town to me. Factory workers were on their way home to dinner when I went through and after replenishing my stock of provisions and crossing the Tone, I left Taunton via Trull.

Making for the Blackdown Hills I came to Pitminster and a little further on Blagdon. The road now rose steeply and it was necessary to walk. Some distance above Blagdon was the War Memorial, standing all alone just inside a field. Then came an S-bend where the gradient was one in four and a half. Before attempting this I stopped at a spring for water and prepared a meal just inside a copse close by.

Before I was ready to move on rain began to fall so I waited until nearly three o'clock in the shelter of some elms. Rounding the bend I came across two more springs and a long row of beeches. The banks of the ditch on the left hand side were covered with harts' foot and ivy while up to the right was a mass of purple heather. The rain increased and the wind was head-on. Although so high up I was unable to see far owing to the cloud.

Above Churchingford I crossed from Somerset into Devon, and found myself on a plateau up in the clouds. The visibility was not so much as fifteen yards, but when the road began to descend to Upottery it got below the cloud. Across the valley of the Otter the clouds could be seen resting on the hill, and I took a photograph hoping to reproduce this effect but it does not make a picture.

On entering Devon I found the road had a much worse surface than any I had come across but on the way down to Sidbury there was some improvement. Following the Sid I came to Sidford where I bought some food before going on to Sidmouth. The mouth of the Sid was not very imposing, a mere trickle between the pebbles of the shore. The cliffs were magnificent and nowhere have I seen such a mixture of colours. To the east was red sandstone covered with purple heather and at the foot of the cliffs the green sea broke in white foam upon outlying boulders.

There was rain in the wind and gulls were circling noisily over the front: the sea was rough and all boats were hauled well up the beach; it was getting towards dusk and I had still to find a camp site, so I enquired of a passer by whether there was anywhere I might camp for the night. I was directed to a bungalow at the top of the hill to the west of the town where, I was informed, camp sites could be hired for 1/- a night.

Having found the bungalow and paid my shilling I wandered on the cliff in the mist looking for a suitable spot. This was not easy since gorse bushes were everywhere. I found a patch of short grass on some flat gravel, this was not soft but was the best I could find. I managed to pitch the tent by wriggling the pegs at an angle into the ground, (it was impossible of course to stick them in vertically) and after a short walk round listening to the thunder of the surf on the breakers four hundred feet below I turned in to a restless night on a hard bed.

Tuesday 6th September

Although I was awake at six it was with a sigh of thankfulness that I dressed. The mist was still thick however, and it was unpleasant out, so I grubbed in tent. At half past nine the sun broke through and I was more than rewarded for my discomfort. The sea, the cliffs, the rocks, the breakers and the blue sky which had all been so hidden by an impenetrable grey curtain were now all revealed in the light of a blazing sun and the clouds could be seen rolling inland over the hills.

I hastened to take photographs, but such beauty can neither be described nor reproduced. To the West was the Devon coast stretching away towards Exmouth and to the East, far below in the valley was Sidmouth, its wet roofs glistening in the sun. These moments spent on the cliff above Sidmouth were the happiest of my whole tour. Here, and nowhere else, I saw nature in her most gorgeous robe. What could compare with the blue sea shining in the sun, the yellow gravel showing among the gorse and blackberry bushes, the white foam breaking on the red rocks below and clouds drifting away over the hills in the distance?

But I could not stand and gaze for long, the tent was wet and both groundsheet and sleeping bag had been affected by the rain. In such sunshine drying them did not take long and I had packed my kit by 10 a.m. The clouds had begun to gather and the camping ground began to look dismal as I moved off.

By the time I reached Sidmouth it was raining heavily and I took shelter under a tree on the outskirts of the town. I was impatient to continue so I made for Salcombe Regis where I met even worse weather. After sheltering for a while under a lych gate I pushed on to Branscombe and thence to Beer where the inhabitants are said to have dark skins and swarthy features, being descendants of Spaniards wrecked on the coast during the Spanish Armada. This information I obtained from a book, "Wanderings in Wessex" which I borrowed from the County Library and which I carried around with me as some sort of guide to places of interest.

At Seaton I took the main road to Lyme Regis intending to try for Cerne Abbas Youth Hostel, but long before I reached Lyme Regis I was soaked through. I felt so sick with the weather that I determined to get shelter as soon as possible. After making this resolution I found a bungalow advertising teas, bed & breakfast, with a shed near the road, the house itself being set back a little. I obtained permission to shelter in the shed and made some tea on the little petrol stove which was my best companion.

The rain still tumbled down and I resolved to stay the night. I went indoors and my hostess, Mrs Smith, kindly dried my kit before her kitchen range. I spent the evening reading Wanderings in Wessex, finding what I had missed and what to make a point of seeing at future ports of call. I found I was at Heathfield Bungalow, kept by Mr. & Mrs. Tom Smith and their daughter Joan, a lone guide. While I was there the daughter spent most of her time writing to other lone guides and talking to me about the movement in general.

The weather cleared up in the evening so I packed such kit as was dry, intending to make an early start on the following morning, after an early supper and a little wireless I went to bed and spent a very comfortable night, especially appreciated after the preceding night.

Wednesday 7th September

Mrs Smith called me at 6 a.m. with a cup of tea and bread and butter. At 6.30 I took my departure and set off for Lyme Regis. Near Rousdon five pheasants flew up in front of me and rabbits seemed very plentiful.

Lyme Regis looked a very pretty little old town but in the early hours of the morning it was still asleep. Cutting inland the road avoids a hill and comes to Charmouth then begins a climb to Morecambelake. Here I looked for water, but after trying two filthy springs I got some at a little spring near Chidcock. After breakfast I went on to Bridport. It was my intention to keep to the coast, and at Bridport I should have turned right into West Bay but I went straight through I tried to rectify this mistake by taking the next right turn but went round through Walditch and back on to the main road. Further on however there was a road which would take me through Shipton Gorge to Burton Bradstock on the coast. At Shipton Gorge I stopped at a cycle shop to get my front cones tightened, but as the "engineer" was away his brother let me do it myself.

Just out of Bradstock I caught up a pedlar on his way to Abbotsbury. The road was poor but the view across Lyme Bay was worth it. The road was being reconstructed but work was being held up owing to the decrease in grants from the Government. There were very few houses along the coast and on enquiry my companion told me that lack of drinking water prevented development, and I could not help thinking that a lack of good water is sometimes an aid to beauty.

Other information I received was that Chesil Bank starts at Abbotsbury and the Swannery there is the largest in England. I saw the swans and was surprised at the number. The Abbey ruins are not worth a visit but the Retreat on the hill is. This is said to have been connected by a subterranean passage to the Abbey below.

The only part of the Abbey left appears to be the Tithe Barn which stands near the old fish ponds; the road runs past this and I stayed to have a look. I lunched by a wood and pushed on to Rodden where the road doubles back to Langton Herring and thence to Fleet on the coast. I missed the road to Fleet and went to Chickerell. At Wyke Regis I came out on to the main road A37, crossed to Portland to have a look round and back to Weymouth. The Prison on the eastern side of the peninsula could be seen from above Weymouth. The white cliffs of Weymouth Bay contrasted strongly with those of Sidmouth I had seen the day before.

I looked in vain for signs of the raising of the M2 which the pedlar had told me was due to take place today, but yesterday's bad weather had apparently prevented it. There were several destroyers in harbour and two marked the spot where the submarine lay.

With some difficulty I found my way to the front at Weymouth and continued until I could see the camp on the cliffs in the distance. This camping ground lay between the village of Preston and the shore, and a long hill stood between Preston and me.

Arrived at the camp I pitched in the shelter of a hedge with the tent end on (as I thought) to the wind, as a gale seemed imminent. When the gale sprang up in the night I found the wind was just a little to one side so that one side of the tent caved in and the other bagged out.

Thursday 8th September

The gale continued until 12.30 and I was confined to the tent. I lay and read my Wanderings in Wessex until I began to feel sick of it, and owing to the size of the tent (a Gale Aero 0) I began to feel "bedsore". At 2 o'clock however, the weather began to clear up and at 2.30 I started down into Weymouth. The sea was much too rough to bathe so I walked as far as the Clock Tower and back to the camp. After tea I went into Preston Church to look round, but as it was getting rather dark I did not stay long, but went and turned in.

Friday 9th September

The morning was bright and I had breakfasted, dried and packed my kit by 10 a.m. when I set out for Bournemouth. The first mile was all walking up to Osmington with the White Horse across the valley to the left. "Wanderings in Wessex" told me that this was cut in honour of George III's visit to Weymouth, but the man who cut it made the mistake of showing George III galloping for all he was worth away from Weymouth!

The road passes through Osmington and Poxwell, the latter being just a few cottages of Portland stone. A mile past Poxwell I came out on to the Dorchester - Bournemouth road (A352) but after following it past Owermaigne to East Knighton I turned right along a stream to Winfrith Newbury after which came a long gradual climb before running steeply into West Lulworth. I went down to the Cove where I saw a pleasure steamer come in and go out again. Leaving West Lulworth I passed the military camp at East Lulworth and commenced to cross the Purbeck Hills.

Although the road runs along the hill as it climbs it is much too steep to ride up with a load. A very good view of the country round Poole & Wareham is obtained from this road and patches of Poole Harbour could be seen in the distance.

I had been looking forward to coasting down the other side of the Hills, but when I arrived at the top I found a gradient of 1 in 5 ½ over real Dorset road, consisting of large loose stones over which it would be almost impossible (if not quite) to drive a car. On the left side of the road however was a grass verge which was just wide enough for me to wheel the bike along. At length I reached Tyneham at the bottom and found good road again. I began to think about a meal and took some water from a clear stream a little way out of Staple. It did not taste at all good, so I had tinned fruit instead of tea. I was feeling in the grass to make sure that I had left no belongings before I left when I disturbed a wasp which showed its resentment in a very practical manner. An apple core rubbed on the wound relieved the pain but the swelling remained for a day or two.

The Church at Church Knowle was of curious construction, having a very low square tower and a tiled roof.

At the village of Corfe Castle the road took me round three sides of the famous castle on to the main road which runs through the village. In the main street an artist was painting a picture of some old houses and the chief means of earning a livelihood seemed to be the selling of ornaments made from the Purbeck marble & fireclay which are worked nearby.

It was an easy ride to Swanage where I arrived at four o'clock. The sea was beautiful and calm but not deep enough for bathing so I was soon making my way over Nine Barrow Down to Studland.

The road from Studland runs through privately owned land and a toll of sixpence is levied on all cycles and a shilling on cars. About two miles of moorland brought me to the ferry. This is a floating bridge with anchored chains passing through from end to end. As the engines pulled the chains in at one end it pulled itself across from shore to shore.

From the ferry Brownsea Island could be seen half a mile away, but with the sun in my eyes I could only make out a wood across the mudflats. I had hoped to get a clearer view of the birthplace as it were of Scouting but it was lost to view as the bridge grounded at the Sandbanks.

The road is not very straight forward to Bournemouth and it was with some relief that I arrived at the Pier for I realised that I could count on camping at Christchurch for the night as I had been advised by a Welsh scoutmaster whom I met earlier in Bournemouth. This scoutmaster and his wife were touring with camping kit in a small two seater car.

Along the front to Boscombe where I had to climb up into the town to find the road to Christchurch. Arrived at Christchurch I looked for the Post Office. This is a new building in brick, smaller than I had expected, standing on the right hand side of the road coming from Bournemouth at the Bournemouth end of the main street.

My destination was Wick, a hamlet a little nearer the coast. Here was a camping ground on the banks of the Stour.

The time was six o'clock, so after pitching the tent I made haste to buy provisions in Christchurch before closing time after which I tramped the mile necessary to reach Hengistbury Head where a delightful bathe was to be had. The Stour could only be crossed by boat and an old man spent his time ferrying people across in a punt. I returned to camp at 8 p.m. to find the scoutmaster I had met in Bournemouth erecting his tent. He had not wanted to cross to Studland so came back to Christchurch to camp for the night. After offering such help as I could I turned in for the night. It had been a glorious day with bright sunshine most of the time. I felt I had seen such a lot and visited so many places, Weymouth, Corfe Castle, Swanage, Brownsea Island, Bournemouth, Boscombe & Christchurch all in one day!

Saturday 10th September

At 7 a.m. I found it dull and windy, and rain seemed to be coming. When it arrived I stayed in the tent and read until it cleared up. I then went into Christchurch and looked round the priory, after which I went for a walk to Hengistbury Head.

This separates Poole Bay from Christchurch Bay and consists of chalk cliffs covered with bracken, heather and blackberries with gorse bushes scattered here and there. On the top is a coastguard station which afforded me shelter from a shower which suddenly blew up from the Channel. A liner in the distance made its way down the Channel from Southampton and a pleasure boat hurried across to Bournemouth.

I arrived back at camp at 3.0 p.m. and had a shot at sailing a boat on the Stour, but I found I had no control whatever over it and the proprietor fetched me back. The weather now looked threatening but after tea the sun came out for a little while, and I went into Christchurch shopping.

As I wanted to start early the next day I turned in at a quarter to nine and slept well in spite of a gale which sprang up in the night.

My time was drawing to a close so I decided to make for home, especially as I wanted to spend at least one night at the Winchester Youth Hostel.

Sunday 11th September

Left for Southampton at 9 a.m. along the most perfect road I had struck. A strong S.W. wind was dead behind all the way to Lyndhurst.

The road through the New Forest is very straight with few steep hills at one moment hemmed in by giant fir or stately oak and the next giving a view of heather stretching away on both sides with forest in the distance. At Hinton St. Michael I passed the famous "Cat and Fiddle" and came to Hinton Admiral after which I saw no village for miles. Except for a few scattered cottages the scenery consisted of forest or heath with ponies grazing in clearings all the way to Holmsley and then again to Lyndhurst.

Oak and Pine were the predominant trees of the forest which seemed to end at Lyndhurst. New houses clustered along the road so that it was difficult to see where Southampton proper began.

It appears fires are barred in the Forest owing to the danger - there were stands containing fire brooms at frequent intervals along the road.

I arrived in Southampton at about half past ten and after losing myself several times asked the way to Shirley Road which was just round the corner. I arrived at the Langley's where I was made very welcome and invited to lunch. An aunt was on holiday here and in the afternoon we went down to the Pier and round the Arcades. After tea we went to see Matheson Lang in "Carnival".

I slept in my sleeping bag on some cushions in the box room as there was no other accommodation.

Monday 12th September

Went for a walk round the town with my host (a Mr. Yeoman) who had business to do in several places. After cutting the lawn to pay for my board and lodging I packed my kit ready to leave for Winchester immediately after lunch. I did not leave however until three o'clock.

The Winchester road was very smooth and the wind was almost directly behind me. On both sides the country was well wooded and hilly, contrasting with the Forest in its lack of heath patches. Four miles from Southampton I came upon Chandlers Ford, a growing village of red brick houses.

The next village was Otterbourne where there had evidently been a shower. The roads were wet, though not enough to splash up on to the mudguards.

From the top of the hill before entering Crompton I caught a glimpse of Winchester Cathedral. Leaving Crompton a cyclist caught me up who had been to Devon from Lancashire via Bristol. From Exeter he had come through Dorchester and Southampton to Winchester, staying at C.T.C. houses every night.

We parted in Winchester and enquiring from a policeman the way to the City Mill received the instructions "Straight on, and left at the bottom of the hill". I took a left turn at the bottom of the hill and followed the river but found no mill. Returning, I discovered the mill on the left hand side of the road on the other side of the bridge. The entrance to the Hostel was in Bridge Street but the warden, a jolly old grocer, let us go in from the main street through his shop. He took me round with a couple of ladies who were visiting the Mill and showed me everything. There is accommodation for fifty members in this hostel, twentyfive of each sex. The common room is very large and as there were only five of us to stay the night we retired to the Snuggery containing arm chairs, gas fire, electric light and a writing table.

The only fault I had to find with the hostel was the number of pennies the gas meter consumed, but as we took turns at feeding it none of us were much the poorer.

The evening was spent in a discussion on Spiritualism until the Warden took us in to his sitting room to hear records of Arabic music which one of the fellows had just brought back from North Africa.

At 10.45 p.m. we retired to our beds over the mill stream where the wheel, no longer working, turns slowly night and day, year after year, until something wears out. We were afraid the rushing water would keep us awake, but I rather think it lulled us to sleep.

Tuesday 13th September

We none of us turned out until eight o'clock, and by the time we had all had breakfast and cleaned up after it, packed kit and taken photographs, it was 11.30.

I had intended to go to Bentworth, but I knew a day in Winchester would by no means be wasted, so I stayed on with the one other rambler who was staying the night at the same hostel.

At 11.30 therefore, we set out for the Cathedral. After looking round we came upon a party that was just going up the tower. We decided to join them and followed a most interesting guide up a "spiral" staircase to the belfry where we were told a little of ringing the changes. Above the nave we could see the immense wooden nails that held the ceiling together. From the roof we could see all over Winchester. - The hill which in old times served as a fortress when the city was attacked, the dyke is still visible. - The building where the roof was raised after a lot of fuss to improve the gravity of the beer, hence the expression. - The church of St. Cross and many other notable buildings. After scrambling over the ridge we re-entered the tower and went up to the bells, which kindly chimed mid day for us. Descending the tower we found that a party was about to be conducted round the rest of the Cathedral so we promptly joined it. Having been round once with the party we went round again alone less hurriedly.

By this time it was too late to go anywhere for a mid day meal so we decided to wait for tea and went to the museum where we found a couple of men spring-cleaning the stuffed animals with some evil-smelling concoction. On another floor was a photograph of the Cathedral font with the story of its engraving. There is a holy water stoup in Weedon Church which is an exact replica of this except in size & material.

Leaving the museum we went via College Street & St. Swithun's Gateway to the fine old Norman church of St. Cross. Here we had the "wayfarers dole" a piece of bread and a horn of beer. An inmate of the alms houses took us round the church and another took us round the Hall & Kitchen where a fire used to be built in the middle of the Hall floor on feast days and music was provided from the Minstrel's Gallery.

Walking back along the Itchen we crossed the College grounds (fortunately unseen) & came to the High Street & Hostel, where we proceeded to make up for lost time in the matter of food. The Warden split a packet of Force for us, sold us a ha'porth of sugar and obliged in like manner in several other things.

Another traveller had arrived and after tea the three of us went for a walk to see the Cathedral by moonlight after which we followed the Itchen across the fields to St. Cross. We returned to the Hostel at 10.30 after the most satisfying day I had had. Not only had I seen interesting sights, but my companion knew a little about architecture and explained many structural details which I should have passed over in my ignorance.

Wednesday 14th September

Following my companion's excellent lead I bathed in the mill stream for a (very) short while before breakfast. At 11.15 we parted, he to continue his exploration of Winchester. I to make my way to Bentworth. It was a glorious day and the road, although hilly, was not difficult. Eight miles from Winchester I came to Arlesford which put a stop to my nut picking expedition for nut trees were thick along the road from Winchester and the nuts were ripening. Through Bishops Sutton & Ropley, two villages with a lot of new houses, to Four Marks, a bungalow village. Carrying on to Alton I turned right as though going to Basingstoke and leaving the town behind came upon some delightful wooded country. Turning left where a signpost showed the way to Bentworth the road wound round and upwards landing me in the village facing the vicarage drive - the place I wanted.

The Rector was out but would be back in the evening, meanwhile the house keeper made me very welcome and insisted on my staying the night.

I spent the afternoon and evening inspecting the grounds and the church. This was built in the twelfth century and the walls consist of large flints - flint walling is the building term - and the roof is supported by very solid looking pillars. The pulpit was on the right facing the chancel while the lectern and the rector's seat are on the left. This struck me as being backwards, and I believe it is most unusual. The piscine niche was in the E. wall on the right of the altar; this, I believe, is also unusual.

The rector arrived home from Birmingham with his wife and a friend at about 7 o'clock and we dined a little later. At 8.15 we watched the beginning of the eclipse of the moon and its progress at intervals with the help of a pair of field glasses & a telescope until its totality at 10 o,clock when we retired.

Thursday 15th September

I did not get up until a quarter past eight and had not started breakfast at nine. By a quarter to ten however I had said goodbye all round and left the house.

The sun was bright and there was no wind to speak of, so I tried cycling without my jacket. I was quite warm enough and did not put it on again all day.

After crossing the Southern Railway I got on to the main road to Basingstoke at Lasham. Climbing gradually through beautiful wooded country, passing Southrope, a small village on the main road, I came to Herriard, another small village where one shop apparently did duty for Post Office, grocer, draper and petrol station. These occupations were obvious but it probably served other offices as well.

Passing through more woodland I descended on Basingstoke. I had no time to examine the town but carried on up by the Southern Railway station above which I forked right as if making for Reading. Just past Sherbourne St. John was a wood where I rested for a few moments and eat an apple, after which I went on through Tadley and crossed the county border into Berkshire. After passing through Aldermaston and crossing the Kennet & Bath - Reading Canal I joined the Bath road at Woolhampton Station. Leaving the river, rail and canal to follow the road to Reading I branched left along A340 before coming to Theale.

The Bath road happened to be under repair and resurfacing at the moment so I did not get the full benefit of an otherwise excellent road.

Continuing northwards to Pangbourne I turned left along A42 following the county boundary, the Thames and the Great Western Railway. On the outskirts of Pangbourne I found river scenery such as I had never dreamt of.

Basildon was the next village and then I came to Streatley where the road forked. Taking the left fork I became less sure of myself and, consulting the map, discovered I was making for Wantage instead of Oxford.

I was soon on the right road again, following the Thames through Moulsford and Wallingford to Shillingford where, turning left I followed the Thames again until I came to Dorchester. Here the road forked again and I took the right turn, which took me over the hills through Nuneham Courtenay, Sandford, Littlemore and Iffley passing the Cathedral on my left into the centre of Oxford.

I knew I had to take a right fork out of Oxford but there were so many forks to choose from that I went wrong and took the left. I discovered this only when I arrived at Wolvercote, nearly four miles from the fork. I saw from the map, however, that by keeping on to Yarnton I could take a turn which would bring me out onto the right road. This road was very sandy and about half-way along it I came to Sandy Road Crossing. As the gates were shut I thought I might as well have a feed and a rest especially as there was a wide grass verge and an excellent stout telegraph pole to lean against! The gates remained shut until a car came along when the driver got out and opened the gates. This was the first level crossing I had come across where the rail had preference; the reason being, I suppose, that the road was very little used owing to its position. When I was ready to start again therefore, I did not hesitate to take my bike through the side gates and carry on to Kidlington where I turned left for Banbury.

Now before I left Bentworth I had consulted my map and decided to return through Brackley and Towcester, but when I came to Kidlington I failed to notice that I should have to go back half a mile to get to the Brackley turn. Hence I came to Banbury without realising I was on the wrong road.

From Kidlington to Deddington there were no villages actually on the main road, most of them were half way between the road and the River Cherwell about a mile and a half to my right. I suppose the question of water supply caused the villages to be built off the main road and have linking roads joining them to it.

I was beginning to feel tired and thirsty but as I still had about 30 miles to go I could not rest. Having to hurry made the ride less pleasant and my only thought was to get home quickly so I was unable to appreciate and record the scenery through which I was passing.

It seemed as though I were nearly home when a Yarde's carnival lorry overtook me, it was in the form of a duck sitting among green peas (balloons) and I had seen it a month or so previously at the Northampton General Hospital Carnival.

When I saw a town in the distance I thought it was Banbury, but it proved to be Deddington when I arrived. Another six miles and I arrived at Banbury which I recognised when I went down the hill leaving the Chipping Norton turn on my left. This was the turn I took a fortnight previously on the morning I started out.

Passing the Town Hall & Market Place and crossing the railways I came to the fork where I had to choose between returning through Byfield or Brackley.

Remembering that I had decided that morning that my shortest route lay through Brackley I took that road which I discovered afterwards was at least ten miles longer round. I think this was the most foolish thing I did during the whole fortnight, especially as I was so tired.

Taking the road through Gainsborough I crossed the county boundary into Northamptonshire and climbed to Middleton Cheney. Keeping a look out for water which I had wanted since Adderbury six miles the other side of Banbury, I came across a stream two miles from Brackley. It was obviously undrinkable so I had to be content with bathing my face and hands which certainly gave some relief. I arrived at Brackley at 6.45, turned left up through the Market Place and over the L.N.E.R., following the county boundary as far as Syresham where the boundary leaves the road, through a wood to Silverstone and then down to Towcester.

At Silverstone I overtook the Duck and Green Peas again as the driver had stopped to distribute some of the "peas" among the village children.

A mile further on I found a stream just inside a field; it looked all right and I was willing enough to take some risk. I felt much better after a drink and arrived at Towcester at five minutes to seven. Here I posted my last card to Bentworth to let them know that I had arrived home safely and just caught the post.

The road was quite familiar now and quite uninteresting except for the old "tramlines" near Upper Stowe. These are relics of coaching days and have worn wonderfully well.

The sun was setting but it was still warm as I coasted down Stowe Hill into a thick mist which covered the fields along the Nene.

Entering Weedon by the "Hillins Lane" I arrived home at 7.40 p.m. having done 102 miles in 10 hours all but 5 minutes. My cyclometer registered 481.5 miles, the total distance covered in the fortnight.

I was wondering what was the best thing to do to get rid of my fatigue when a cousin came to see if I was going bathing. This I did and felt after it as fresh as a daisy.

I learnt one or two things from this tour. 1. The same amount of pleasure cannot be had from cycling as from walking. Next time I shall walk.
2. Don't mix camping with Youth Hostel-ing. When staying at hostels camping kit is an unnecessary burden but not to camp when weather permits is a sin. Pitching a camp every night is inclined to be a fag.
3. Flat country is best for cycling. Pushing half a hundred weight up a gradient of 1 in 4½ was no holiday.
4. Real weatherproof clothing is essential. A cape and sou'wester would have saved me one day, five shillings and a soaking (Heathfield Bungalow).
5. On a tour a small petrol stove is a godsend. I only used a fire once (at Perry Farm) and this had been lit by another person.
6. Don't plan a tour to fill all the available time. I left myself two days to spend at home and spent them both on tour.
7. Don't carry any luxuries. The extra weight is not worth it.

Of some interest may be the last page and a half of the account wherein Uncle Jimmy calculated his work done and itemised his expenditure!

Jim's Index

Should you wish to contact me please do so at Jim
© Copyright 2011 Jim Boys