The Dead Sea

When we visited Jordan, we ate lunch in what was then one of the lowest restaurants on earth. But, it wasn’t low in the sense of being cheap, or because not very nice people eat there. Jordan’s Dead Sea Spa hotel is 400 metres below sea level, which is as low as you can get on the surface of the Earth.

However, since our visit, another hotel and restaurant has been built, even closer to the sea shore, which beats the Dead Sea Spa’s record.

The price of the lunch included use of the hotel’s private beach and facilities.

We were driving from Amman, the country’s capital to the ancient rock city of Petra, and had options of taking the main road, or that running along the banks of the Dead Sea. It was an easy choice, really!

The Dead Sea is an inland sea, surrounded by land on all sides. The River Jordan flows into it, as do several others. But, nothing flows out, because water can not flow uphill. It just evaporates away in the sun, leaving the water many times saltier than the oceans are. Most visitors like to bathe in the waters of the Dead Sea, because there is so much salt in it that it’s impossible to sink.

Floating in the Dead Sea

It makes it difficult to swim in, but easy to float. Many people like to be photographed floating in the sea, reading their favourite magazine. There are no fish, and very little can grow on its shores. That is why it is called the Dead Sea. We were warned we must be very careful not to swallow any water because it is poisonous. I got a little splash on my lips, and certainly would not want a mouthful!

It stung a little bit, too, where I nicked myself shaving that morning … but that nick healed in record time.Some doctors recommend bathing in the Dead Sea because the waters are said to be able to cure some skin complaints. We bought a packet of Dead Sea salt to take home and put in the bath

Salt Crystals

A lot of people like to take the ‘mud treatment’, and say that does feel good; whether it actually does you good, I am not qualified to say. Most of the beaches have a ‘mud man’ but he was not around. So, we applied the mud ourselves. You can not mistake it; it is the stuff that feels like wet talcum powder.

If you feel like a hot tub after swimming in the salt or mud, there are naturally heated hot springs and pools, and even a hot waterfall not far away. The showers at the hotel were closer, but not so much fun.

We were told that the lowest point on earth is getting lower. Jordan is a desert country, and needs a lot of water for the farmers’crops. They take the water they need from the rivers that flow into the Dead Sea. When we went on our way again, we saw a new dam being built on the Moujib River, which is one of the best known for its spectacular wadi; the narrow canyon cut through the rocks.

This means that the level of the sea is dropping. Even the Jordan River itself, with water taken from it by the Lebanese and Israelis before it even enters Jordan, is almost stagnant, and contributes little. Scientists say that, if something is not done soon … they suggested building a canal from the Red Sea … the Dead Sea will be completely dried up in about 50 years.

ZigZag Railway, near Lithgow, NSW

Although the trains of the ZigZag Railway, in Australia’s Blue Mountains will fascinate an enthusiast, even someone who has no interest in the machinery would admire the engineering skill that went into a line designed to overcome a serious obstacle.

The whole purpose of a railway is to reduce the friction of the wheels, to enable a heavier load to be carried for the same amount of power. That lack of friction works against the train if it has a steep slope to climb or descend. The usual way is to tunnel through the hill, avoiding the slope altogether.

'City of Lithgow' at Clarence

This, though, is very expensive, and, when they built the railway westward from Sydney in the 1860s, Engineer-in-Chief John Whitton did not have the money available to him. So, he decided to climb and descend the mountains by way of zig zags.

If you’ve ever tried to climb a hill on foot, on a bicycle or in a car, you’ll know that the easiest way up or down isn’t a direct route. It’s best to approach at an angle, and you’ll probably need to reverse direction at least once. You may have noticed that many mountain paths and roads form zig zags, usually, with a tight turn to be made at each angle.

So, when the railway reached the mountains in 1866, it needed to climb to a height of over 3000 feet. They did this by means of the Lapstone Zig Zag. This needed very little work, apart from laying the trackbed and the rails, and has now completely disappeared. But, to descend the mountains on the other side, at Clarence, much more work had to be done.

Over the next three years, the Lithgow Zig Zag was built, but, instead of just laying the track, as they had at Lapstone, they had to build bridges and short tunnels as well as the zig zag arrangement.

Clarence Station

Trains would descend down a gentle diagonal slope to a station called Top Points, where the engine would be unhitched. It would ‘run around’ to the front of the train, couple up again, then set the points to proceed further down the slope, but in the opposite direction, to Bottom Points Station. Here, the engine would ‘run around’ again, before proceeding on its way to Lithgow.

By 1907, however, traffic on the railway had increased so much that the laborious procedure on the two zigzags was causing unacceptable delays, so tunnels through the mountains were proposed to replace it. The ‘Ten Tunnels’, as they’re known, were completed in 1910; Clarence was by-passed and the Zig Zag Railway fell into disuse. The trackbed was used as a walking trail for the next 65 years.

It wasn’t until 1975 that a group of enthusiasts thought that such a fine feat of engineering ought to be preserved, and used for the purpose for which it was intended. So, it was decided to rebuild the railway, using largely volunteer labour. But, probably for reasons of economy, they laid the track to the 3’6″ (‘Country Railway’) gauge, rather than the original ‘Standard’ 4’8½”. Since this gauge was rarely, if ever, used in New South Wales, it meant that locomotives and carriages had to come from Queensland and South Australia, where it was more common.

Even now, the railway is run by the ZigZag Railway Co-operative. This, with the exception of a very few salaried employees, is a consortium of volunteer enthusiasts dedicated to the preservation of this historic formation, and the skills associated with the operation of steam trains and other veteran carriages and wagons on it.

Diesel Railcar at Clarence

On week-days, or on days of serious fire risk, they usually use a diesel railcar for the trip. It’s an old train; a vintage, metallic-finished diesel, but, on a Wednesday, or a week-end or holiday, there’s usually a steam engine running.

The coaches came from the Queensland Railway, although there are older coaches from the South Australian Railway in a siding. One of the engines is a beautifully preserved, ex-Queensland Railways unit built by Walker’s Limited, of Maryborough, Qld., in 1956.

'City of Lithgow' at Top Points Station

The round trip takes about 45 minutes, and if it’s a steam train, the engine will ‘run around’ at the Top Points and Bottom Points stations; passengers are welcome to leave the train at these times for photography, or just to stretch their legs. If you’re lucky, and can come when two trains are running, you can photograph the other train, too … preferably, as it toils up the hill. A diesel, however, doesn’t have to ‘run around’ when it changes direction; the driver merely takes up his position at the other end of the train.

At the Bottom Points Station, it’s only a short walk to the platform of the Sydney-Lithgow railway. If you’re going back to Sydney, the line will pass through the tunnels which replaced the ZigZag Railway.

If you’re going the other way, the line goes beyond Lithgow … and will, eventually, on its way to distant Perth, reach the Nullarbor Plain, and the longest stretch of straight railway track in the world. Truly, a complete contrast to the zigzags!

Vintage Carriage

Gloucester Docks and Oliver Cromwell

It’s a pity the Oliver Cromwell will sail no more, for she’s one of the few paddle-wheelers on British waters. She wasn’t originally built as a paddle-boat, but converted from a Dutch barge in 1990, for multi-day river cruises up the Severn from Gloucester.

Now, England isn’t exactly the first country that comes to mind when taking about river cruising The Severn is only about 220 miles long, and only navigable by larger vessels as far as Stourport, in Worcestershire. It can’t really be claimed as the longest river in England, as much of it is in Wales. But, it can safely be claimed as the longest river in Britain.

Sadly, some years ago, it was found that the cost of the inspections required to renew the Oliver Cromwell’s passenger licenses made the cruising business unprofitable so she remains moored at Alexandra Quay in Gloucester Docks as a floating hotel and restaurant.

Her owners, English Holiday Cruises, replaced her in 2000 with the Edward Elgar, an 80-tonne vessel with a length of 88 feet, which was purpose-built for cruising on the Severn. She can accommodate 22 passengers, and is the largest inland cruise boat which can provide overnight accommodation in the United Kingdom.

Edward Elgar

I recently took a short cruise on her along the Gloucester and Sharpness Canal. Since the Severn Estuary is tidal, and therefore not always available to larger shipping, it was by-passed by the canal. Ships would sail into it through the Sharpness Lock, to be man-hauled up to Gloucester.

They did, eventually, use draught horses for this task, but only after considerable opposition from the haulage gangs who had to seek work elsewhere.

Since the Gloucester and Sharpness was a ship canal, it’s much wider than the usual English narrow-boat canal, and therefore presents no obstacle to the 18-foot-wide Edward Elgar. Neither are there any locks, except at either end of the canal. There are swing bridges, but these are operated by professional bridge-keepers. Indeed, each bridge has a notice threatening dire penalties for unauthorised people attempting to operate it.

Ruddy Duck at Slimbridge

Close to the canal is the world-famous Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust’s reserve at Slimbridge, founded by the well-known naturalist Sir Peter Scott, the son of the polar explorer Robert Falcon Scott. Here, a vast variety of waterbirds can be seen. Some of them are permanent residents of the reserve; others are migrants, free to come and go as they please.

But, however far they travel, they usually come back to the Severn Estuary and Slimbridge, for they realise that, to preserve the birds, they must also preserve the wetland habitat in which they thrive.

We spent the evening moored at Purton, a short distance from the canal’s terminus at Sharpness. The Severn runs really close to the canal at this point, and erosion of the river bank threatened the integrity of the canal. So, as a preventative measure, the authorities built a sea-wall … but not from traditional building materials. They beached several redundant ships and barges which, gradually, got encroached upon by the bank itself. But, the ships aren’t forgotten; they’re still recognisable as boats, and a plaque records the name of each of them. Several individuals and businesses in the area sponsor some of them, too.

Early in the morning, I got off the boat to photograph it at its moorings. But, I forgot to take my key, and no-one else was awake yet, to let me back on board. So, to fill in the time, I took a short walk around the hulks. I’m glad I did, for nothing encapsulates the history of the canal more than the boats which sailed on it.

Aboard the Edward Elgar

Disclosure: I cruised on the Gloucester and Sharpness Canal as the guest of English Holiday Cruises (www.englishholidaycruises.co.uk). However, any opinions expressed are mine.

The Roman Baths, Bath

I had to pick my time carefully to visit the city of Bath. I wanted to go before the bulk of the tourists came, but after the rush of Christmas crowds around the many shops. But, that’s the way it’s always been, for visitors have been coming to Bath since before the Romans came, over 2000 years ago.

Bath is the only place in Britain with natural hot springs. They aren’t of volcanic origin; they are heated by water passing over the limestone of the nearby Mendip Hills. Ask any American soldier … he uses the same principle in the heat packs used to warm up his field rations.

The Roman Baths

The waters flow at 13 litres a second, at a constant temperature of 46ºC (115ºF) and contain 43 different minerals. So, in addition to a refreshing soak, they’re also medicinal, whether bathed in or drunk.

In the Pump Room, I tasted some of the water … and wished I hadn’t. It was slightly warm, and tasted as if someone had boiled up a handful of old pennies in it. Of course, I only tried it out of curiosity, rather than need. I wasn’t suffering from any illness or disorder, so can’t say whether it’s curative or not!

What I’d come to see was the building that draws most visitors to Bath. The Roman Baths weren’t just for getting clean. They were a place for discussing business, gossiping or just hanging out and meeting friends. The baths usually consisted of a tepidarium, or warm room, a caldarium or hot room, followed by a plunge in a cold pool. Some baths had a laconium, providing a dry heat, like a Scandinavian sauna.

Normally, fires tended by slaves provided heat … but here was naturally-heated water, with the bonus of a plunge in the curative waters.

While the 18^th Century Georgians dug the foundations for what we see today, they uncovered several Roman artefacts. From these, a good idea was obtained of what the baths looked like. They were built next to a temple dedicated to their goddess, Minerva, as well as to the British goddess Sulis, to whom the springs were held sacred. An illustration of the old British proverb that ‘cleanliness is next to godliness’!

The Georgian walkway.

Sadly, the Romans didn’t leave their tradition of cleanliness. A Roman Emperor once said that he took a daily bath because he didn’t have time to take more. A thousand years later, Queen Elizabeth I, who ruled England from 1558 to 1603, is said to have taken a bath once a month … whether she needed it or not!

Some Britons didn’t take a bath at all. The springs remained open, though, for those who wished to drink the waters.

Until the mid-20^th Century, most houses didn’t even have a bathroom. The usual method of bathing was to fill a portable iron tub with hot water in front of the fire. This happened once a week, usually, although coal miners could bathe at the end of every shift, receiving an allowance of coal to heat water for this purpose.

Although I never lived in a house without a bathroom, my grandparents did. Showers weren’t usual till the 1980s. Fortunately, I have a bath and a shower … and my philosophy is ‘a bath for relaxing; a shower if you just want to get clean in a hurry’

But, the tradition of the communal bath hasn’t quite caught on here yet. But, with the introduction of the jacuzzi and sauna in some places, maybe it will?

Maybe we’ll even go back to bathing as the Romans did?

Temple Carvings, Abydos.

The afternoon Egyptian sun is hot. A few people splash languidly in the swimming-pool on the upper deck as the boat glides placidly up the Nile. One or two passengers lie sunbathing, but the majority sit reading, or talking quietly under the shade of the canvas awning.

At four o’clock precisely, a white-jacketed steward sounds a discreet chime on a gong, and everyone starts stirring. It’s been nearly fifty years since the British left Egypt, but they left a legacy of their occupation … the strict observance of the ritual of Afternoon Tea.

It sounds relaxed and lazy, and so it should be with the shade temperature in the ‘Hundreds’. Any contemplated activity should be done in the early morning or the evening. That’s the way the operators of Nile cruises plan it.

The appointment of the boats varies according to the price paid, but the layout is fairly standard. The usual pattern is a wide, multi-decked, shallow-draught craft slightly reminiscent of a Mississippi river-boat.

Our cruise started from Luxor. First, we were driven down-river to the Temple of Hathor at Dendara and the Osiris temple, at Abydos. These were the oldest temples to be visited, so it was thought logical to start from there. Our boat sailed from Luxor to meet us, and returned us there to see its sights on our second day.

Dawn at Luxor

Back in Luxor, we visited the Luxor and Karnak temples, then drove across the river to see the Valley of the Kings and the Hatchepsut temple. This isn’t the hassle it used to be. There’s a new bridge, the West Bank can now be reached by coach rather than a crowded ferry.

On the third day, we left Luxor feeling that we’d learnt more about temples than we really wished. But, there’ll be no more temples until the boat has passed the Esna Barrage. There’s only one lock … another was under construction … so boats usually have to wait at Esna for some time. It’s a pity that Esna is a rather shabby remnant of what appears once to have been a rather grand esplanade. There’s a temple, but it’s unremarkable, and few of the tour companies bother with it.

Karnak Temple

After Esna, the next call was the Temple of Horus at Edfu, the best-preserved temple found so far. A photo-call by the statue of the hawk-god Horus (which, in truth, looks more like a gigantic canary!) by the entrance is almost obligatory for visitors. The guides usually arrange a transfer from the boat by horse-drawn calèche … an experience to be tried at least once!

At the next stop, Kom Ombo, the boat moored almost in the shadow of the temple, which can be reached by a short walk. This one’s different. It’s really two temples combined; one dedicated to Horus, and the other to Sobek, the crocodile god.

Finally, the boat arrived in Aswan. It could go no further, for the massive Aswan dams bar the way. We sailed across the river in a lateen-sailed felucca, then hiked up the hill to the Aga Khan Mausoleum, on the West Bank.

In Aswan itself, there was the market. Egyptian markets are a treat for eyes, ears and nose. Carpets, leather goods, clothing, spices … all are on offer, and the price is often negotiable! And, even if you don’t want to buy anything there’s the reminder that Egypt, in spite of all its remembrances of a bygone age, is still colourful, busy and alive.

Avenue of Sphinxes, Karnak.

In ancient times, the civilised world ended at Aswan. Then, however, the civilised world consisted of a long, narrow strip of territory on the banks of the Nile. In places, a keen hiker could have walked across the civilised world in a day!

The barrier was a set of rapids, the first of many encountered in the river as you proceed southwards. With appealing simplicity and unarguable logic, it was called the First Cataract.

You can’t see it today. It’s submerged beneath Lake Aswan, created when the Old Dam was completed in 1902, and Lake Nasser, held back by the more modern High Dam.

Up until 1994, those dams presented as formidable a barrier to the southbound passage of the Nile cruise-boats as the cataracts did to the boatmen of old. The tour operators solved the problem in exactly the same way as the old Egyptian navigators did; they built more boats above the obstacle. But, that’s another cruise!

One of Aswan’s most popular sights is the Temple of Isis. Now high and dry in its new location on Aghilikia Island, it’s easily visited by boat. In one of the best Sound and Light shows in Egypt, Isis herself tells of the original construction of her temple, and of the coming of dams and lakes, and the temple’s relocation and rebuilding.

In Aswan, I visited the Old Cataract Hotel, where they’ve attempted to preserve the art-deco ambience of the golden age of travelling. They showed me the desk upon which Agatha Christie wrote Death on the Nile … I’ll bet they say that about all their desks. And, at the appointed hour, they served afternoon tea!

Achensee, Austrian Tyrol

Whoever built that hut meant it to last. Four-square and stolid, it stood on the mountain, defying anything the elements might throw at it. This was a real chalet, a world away from the tacky ‘shally’ of the holiday camp.

It was still used for its rightful purpose, too. From within came a lowing, and the dull ‘tong’ of cattle bells. In former times, there’d have been accommodation on an upper story for the herder and maybe his family, for it’s a long, hard climb from the village. But, today, if he doesn’t ride up on a quad bike or something, he can always use the cable car. That’s how I got here.

The cable car

I make no excuse. I know of no rule that says that, to breathe mountain air, you must slog every foot of the way up a rather tedious zig-zag path. Nor have I ever found anything that says that you must toil all the way to the summit.

There is, of course, a downside to such a philosophy. As I aimed my camera to take a picture of the cattle-shed, a figure appeared in my view-finder. An almost completely spherical figure, dressed from head to foot in shocking pink, delicately balanced on ski-poles was heading towards the hut to see the cows. Luckily, the cows had left plenty of evidence of their passing, and the lady, apparently unwilling to gather that evidence on her pretty pink trainers, had retreated to the safety of the path, squealing in disgust!

I was almost 6000 feet up, in the Rofan Mountains in the Austrian Tirol. I’d ‘jumped ship’ from a package tour, rather than trudge around a succession of museums and souvenir shops, and took a walk. The Inn Valley provides plenty of walks like this one, and you don’t have to be a committed Alpinist to enjoy them.

The top station of the Rofan Seilbahn, as the cable car is called, lies at the lip of a corrie 2800 feet (880 metres) above the valley floor. The surrounding peaks rise about 1500 feet (470m) above that. But, the grassy corrie itself can provide an easy but substantial walk, with very little gain or loss of height.

And, you don’t have to carry lots of food with you, or wait until you’ve returned to Maurach village, far below, for refreshment. There are several bars, cafés and restaurants around the top station. Here you can sit with a Weissbier (wheat beer) and a bowl of Speckknodelsuppe (clear soup with a bacon dumpling!) and watch the hang-gliders and paragliders launching themselves off the mountain, to land on the banks of the Achensee, far below.

The rack railway from Jenbach to Achensee

Apart from the fact that it’s L-shaped, it’s tempting to compare Achensee with our own Windermere. Like Windermere, you can approach it on a steam train, the 110-year old Achenseebahn, from Jenbach down in the main valley.

Because of the steepness of the line, there’s a rack between Jenbach and Eben, at the highest point, where the rack ends, and the railway becomes a conventional one.

If you’d prefer to walk, there’s a footpath from Jenbach, from which you can still have a frequent glimpse of the little train clattering fussily up the rack, with the guard clinging to the outside of the carriages, as he proceeds along them inspecting tickets.

The line terminates at Seespitze, on the southern end of the lake, although there are tentative plans to extend it further. At present, you transfer to a boat, and sail to the main town, Pertisau, and beyond.

The road from Seespitz only goes as far as Pertisau, before leaving the lake shore. To the north of the village, a lakeside road isn’t really possible, because the Karwendel hills roll steeply right down to the shore. But, there is a footpath!

So, you can stay on the boat until Scolastika, at the head of the lake. From here, a short walk will take you to Achenkirche, overlooked by its onion-spired church on a grassy knoll above the village. From there, you could head off down the western shore of the lake towards Gaisalm.

Gaisalm, says the guidebook, is the only mountain pasture which is only accessible by boat or on foot. Here, there’s another chalet … and this one’s been converted to a restaurant. Here, I tried another Tirolean dish, Tiroler Gröstl, which is a hash of potatoes and pork, sautéed together with chives, herbs and onions. It sounds disgusting, and tastes delicious, but I really don’t recommend it unless you’re about to do some walking to burn those calories off.

Pertisau

At a guess, I’d say a walk from Pertisau to the restaurant at Gaisalm is a popular thing to do. On the gently undulating path I exchanged the obligatory ‘Grüss Gott!’ with so many people coming in the opposite direction that, by the time I got to Pertisau, my pronunciation was almost perfect!

A word of caution, though. Although, on a summer afternoon, the path is short and gentle, there are clues that it isn’t always so. It crosses quite a few streams, all flowing through seriously eroded gullies out of all proportion to their size. So, I’d suggest that quite a quantity of water comes off those mountains after heavy rain, and the path might be best avoided at such times … the boats call at Gaisalm if you need an alternative way back to Pertisau.

Pertisau is Alpine-pretty, but a bit too touristy for me. I stayed only long enough to buy an ice-cream and top up my water bottle … incidentally, if your way takes you through any town or village, there’s almost always a public fountain dispensing potable water. Instead of catching the boat, I walked back to the railway station, along a track through the woods above the road.

That track is also the local trimmbahn. Every so often there’s a piece of gymnastic apparatus made from logs from the wood, or a sign telling which exercise you must do. But, being a person who hates regimentation, I did star-jumps where it said to do press-ups, and so on!

When I got to the station, I was told the last train back to Jenbach had been cancelled, for some reason. What was I going to do? My map showed a pleasant path through the woods, by which Jenbach was only an hour’s walk away … and all downhill!

Pertisau

'Douglas' at Talyllyn

The original purpose of the narrow-gauge Talyllyn Railway, on the mid-Wales coast, was to carry slate from the Bryn Eglws quarry near Abergynolwyn down to the railway station at Tywyn..

It was also the first such railway which, when its operational life was over, attracted the attention of a Preservation Society. There was no period of disuse. The line has operated continuously since 1865. Even in its days as a slate railway, the line also carried passengers. Visitors liked to ride the railway from Tywyn to its terminus then walk in the hills for a while.

All the steam locomotives belonging to the Talyllyn Railway have an interesting history. One has been with the railway since it opened; another, over 120 years old, has spent all of its working life here. One came from the Corris Tramway, and another was designed and built by volunteers from the Society in its sheds at Pendre as recently as 1991.

But the most travelled locomotive is probably a Barclay Class E well-tank engine, which carries the number 6 and the name Douglas. It’s had a long and eventful career; half of its working life so far has been spent in the service of … the Royal Air Force!

In 1918, Douglas rolled out of the factory of Andrew Barclay, Sons & Co. in Kilmarnock, Scotland. It was one of six locomotives ordered by the Admiralty Air Service Construction Corps for transporting contractors’ materials at various Royal Naval Air Service airfields being built around the country. Naval custom of the day was that ships were the only inanimate objects to have names, so it was simply known as Locomotive 1431.

Temporary railways for carrying materials around airfield construction were used in many places, including Manston, in Kent, where L1431 was assigned. When the building work was completed, the tracks were taken up, and the engines placed in store at the Air Ministry Works & Buildings Department’s depot at West Drayton.

By this time, the Royal Air Force had been formed, and ‘inherited’ the engines from the Navy. Work was soon found for some of them.

Calshot Castle

In 1913, the RNAS had established a flying-boat and sea-plane base on Southampton Water, at Calshot Spit. Since this site was almost inaccessible by road, the contractor building the facility brought his materials from Southampton by barge. They would then be transported along the Spit by means of a temporary two-foot gauge railway to the domestic site, which was situated almost two miles away from the technical site, and the flying-boat slipway.

Because of the spread-out nature of the base, it was decided to retain the railway as a permanent fixture. It would be operated by AMW&B staff, and would be used for internal movement of personnel and stores.

In1921, 1431 was brought from West Drayton to work on the line. The rolling stock consisted of open wagons for coal and stores, one closed wagon and several passenger carriages. Most of the carriages had open sides, and were intended for use by the sergeants. There were two carriages with closed sides for the officers; the airmen marched to work behind the Station band!

Last surviving Sunderland flying boat on the slip at Calshot

The end came on 15th August 1945 – VJ Night. The sergeants lit a celebratory bonfire outside their Mess, and when the fire died down, it was suggested that some of the wagons on the nearby railway might be used for fuel. Some of the wagons had already been overturned when reason prevailed, and the proposed arson was abandoned! But, when the workmen arrived on the following morning to right the wagons, their undersides were found to be so rotted and corroded as to be dangerous.

The Station Commander ordered that the train was to run no more. The drivers were told to prepare the engines for storage and disposal and the workmen were to finish the job on the rolling stock started by the Sergeants’ Mess on VJ Night.

The two locomotives, however, were still serviceable, and came up for auction in 1949. A Birmingham engineering firm, Abelson & Co. Ltd. bought them for £60 each, intending to refurbish them before selling them on to a copper mine in India. Unfortunately, they failed to meet Indian Government specifications. So, upon hearing of the recent formation of the Talyllyn Railway Preservation Society, Abelsons’ decided to present 1431 to them.

Douglas, as 1431 had been named, after one of Abelson’s directors, started work at Talyllyn in the Spring of 1954, and continued right through until 1992, when it was withdrawn for a major overhaul, including replacement of its original boiler. Returning to service in May 1995, Douglas was ‘recalled to the colours’ over the winter of that year. To commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the end of WW2, it was painted in its original AMW&B livery, and placed on display at the RAF Museum at Hendon.

The nameplate, and the original manufacturer's plate

After a short appearance at Calshot, Douglas was returned to Talyllyn, where it continues to give pleasure to thousands of holidaymakers … probably for at least the next 90 years!

The Grand'place and town hall at Antwerp

You can’t go far in the Belgian city of Antwerp without being reminded that the city’s diamond district deals with almost 60% of the world’s diamond trade. For visitors there’s a diamond museum and a diamond showroom.

You can take diamonds home as gifts without breaking the bank. In recognition of the city’s place

Chocolate Diamonds

in the world of diamonds, chocolate diamonds are a favourite local speciality. Dark chocolate, milk chocolate and white chocolate diamonds are all available. So is a combination of any two or all three, swirled together to give a sort of marbled effect.

Another sweet Antwerp tradition is Handjes, or ‘little hands’. These are sometimes little hand-shaped sweet biscuits, often served with coffee after a meal, but, most usually, they’re hand-shaped chocolates.

In ancient times, they say, a giant called Antigoön lived on this bend in the River Scheldt, and demanded an extortionate toll from each passing ship. Those skippers unwise enough to refuse to pay had a hand chopped off. Until, one day, along came Roman hero Silvius Brabo.

‘I say, Giant!’  he said ‘This is hardly acceptable behaviour, y’know!’

‘Take a hike, Sylvia!’!’ said the giant.

The statue of Silvius Brabo, on a fountain outside the Town Hall.

Then, Brabo killed Antigoön, and chopped his hand off, and threw it into the river, an act commemorated in a statue outside the Town Hall. This, says the legend, is how Antwerp got its name; originally it was ‘Hand-werpen’ or ‘hand-throwing’.

There are, unfortunately, people who like spoiling good stories with facts. It’s nothing to do with hands, they say … the name comes from ‘aanwerp’ which simply means ‘a mound’.

 But, even if the legend is untrue, say the bakers and chocolatiers, their handjes can also symbolise the hand of friendship which Antwerp extends to its visitors.

Handjes

It rains rather a lot in Britain. Even the Tourist Board aren’t unwise enough to pretend it doesn’t. Most of our seaside resorts have, therefore, been spoilt by over-development to ‘cater for’ visitors when it’s too cold or wet for the beach.

Whitby’s different. Certainly, there are amusement arcades, fortune-tellers and gift-shops in plenty. But, since Whitby is still a working fishing port, it hasn’t been taken over completely.

Anyway, I was in Whitby researching for an article about explorer Captain James Cook. So, the weather didn’t really matter. I’d brought some no-messing mountaineering waterproofs with me, and faced the rain and the howling wind, and gained some amusement from the few tourists struggling with their cheap plastic ponchos.

But, I hoped it would brighten later, because I also wanted some pictures of Whitby Abbey for a calendar project. I didn’t get them, but walked in the footsteps of Whitby’s fictional villain, as well as its real hero!

James Cook looks out from the West Cliff

Whitby Harbour is a narrow river-mouth. On each side, a red cliff towers, and to its slopes, the old town clings. The West Cliff belongs to Captain Cook. His statue stands looking out to sea, atop the cliff. As a young man, he lodged with, and worked for a merchant named John Walker, in Grape Lane. Walker’s house still stands, and is now a museum, devoted to the achievements of his protégé.

It was probably from the West Cliff that, on 31st October, 1885, Irish novelist Bram Stoker witnessed the cargo ship ‘Dimitry’ out of Narva, run aground on Tate Hill Sands. When, some years later, he wrote Dracula, he had the Count arrive in the ‘Demeter’, from Varna, steered by the dead hand of her Captain.

The East Cliff is ‘Dracula Country’, but it doesn’t belong exclusively to him. On top of the cliff stand the ruins of 7th Century Whitby Abbey, where a simple herd-boy once sang to, and captivated the Abbess Hilda. Hilda went on to become a Saint; the Song of Caedmon is said to be the pioneer of English religious music.

‘Caedmon’s Trod’ is the name given to one of the two sets of steps leading up to the Abbey from the old town. Curiously, though, the commemorative Cross of Caedmon stands at the top of the other steps, called the Abbey Steps, or, more usually, simply the 199 steps. Don’t ask; I didn’t count them!

Both sets are good for pictures looking across the red-tiled roofs of old Whitby. The sun shows the tiles to their best advantage … but, wind and rain ensures that the steps aren’t too crowded! You pays your money … or, you gets up early, or you comes in winter!

The Abbey steps lead, as you might expect, to the Abbey. But, in front of the Abbey stands St. Mary’s Church, and its churchyard. Here, Stoker had Mina and Lucy watching the approach of the ‘Demeter’ … and here, the ill-fated Lucy Westenra met the Count while out sleepwalking … with the inevitable result!

The graveyard on East Cliff ... haunt of Count Dracula!

Everyone who’s ever been to Whitby remembers ‘a great fish and chip shop by the harbour’. Most people I spoke to said the best of all was ‘Trenchers’… which, unfortunately, was destroyed by fire!

But, there are many, many more! A lady in the Tourist Information Centre told me that it isn’t actually illegal to serve bad fish and chips in Whitby, but the competition is so fierce that anyone who does so, or is miserly with the portions, is unlikely to last very long.

From the many, I chose the ‘Endeavour and Resolution’ because of the ‘Captain Cook’ work I’d come to do. I wonder if there’s a fish and chip shop named after the Count, though? There ought to be; it would be the ideal place to pop into for a quick bite!

A 'close encounter' at the Samburu Game Park

From Kenya’s capital, Nairobi, to the Samburu Game Lodge is about 150 miles as the crow flies. But, if you leave Nairobi in the middle of winter, you’ll arrive at Samburu in midsummer. However, that’s not because the roads are so bad, or the little Nissan safari buses which most tour operators use being anything other than quick and efficient.

The reason for the seasonal shift is that on this journey crosses the Equator, at a place called Nanyuki, where the buses always stop. Ostensibly, it’s just to let passengers stretch their legs and attend to essential comforts, but, as often happens where tourists frequent, there’s quite a bazaar atmosphere, where ‘quality African craftwork’ (it says here) can be bought.

Lorraine at the Equator

Usually, too there’s someone there with a container of water, a funnel and a few match-sticks. For a fee, he will demonstrate the phenomenon where, if you pour water into a funnel, or let it out of the bath, or something, it swirls out clockwise to the south of the Equator, and anti-clockwise to the north. Although my ‘day job’ at the time was in aviation, nobody loves a smart-ass, so I resisted the temptation to lecture about Buys Ballot’s Law and the Coriolis Effect!

Having had our pit-stop and coffee, we left Nanyuki behind, and headed down into the Great Rift Valley and Samburu.

The Samburu Reserve takes its name from the Samburu people who live in the area. The Samburu are often to be seen in their traditional garb of wrap-around blankets and metal and bead bracelets and necklaces; sometimes the men wear red clay on their faces and in their hair. Most tours to the area include a visit to a Samburu manyatta (a fenced compound which acts as a sort of outdoor village hall/meeting place/club-house) to see a display of Samburu dance.

Grevy's Zebra

Samburu tribesmen dancing for us

The reserve consists of several adjoining game parks on either side of the Ewaso Nyiro River. One of these is the Buffalo Springs Nature Reserve. There are springs, to be sure, but Jacob, our guide/driver said that buffalo never frequented them. But, what were those bovine-looking animals drinking from the springs?

We had discovered Jacob’s system. ‘Elephants?’ he would say ‘There are no elephants around here.’ This usually made sure that we would see elephants … and soon! ‘We will see no lions today!’ usually meant more lions than you could shake a stick at … not that anyone shook any sticks at them; we stayed safely in the bus, which has a raised roof, to act as sun-shade and observation platform.

The guides aren’t allowed to use radios to talk to each other, and animals are not tagged in any way. But, if one guide sees something interesting, the others will arrive very shortly! One day, Jacob spotted a leopard in a tree, with the body of a recently-killed gazelle. Within 15 minutes, nineteen safari-buses had arrived on the scene!

Elephants at Samburu

We saw elephants, zebras, giraffes, ostriches, lions, cheetahs and many kinds of antelope and gazelle … including the tiny ‘dik-dik’ and the amusing gerenuk or ‘giraffe-gazelle’. And, of course, there were many buffalo! And, as a bonus, we had a rare glimpse of the usually haze-shielded and cloud covered Mount Kenya in the distance.

Seeing animals at their best usually calls for a pre-dawn start, with another drive around sunset. At these times, the animals are at their most active. So, when breakfast beckons, we returned to the Samburu Lodge. The cabins at the lodge are thatched, round huts of a design based on the African hut called a rondavel. Like all good game lodges, there are two watering holes … one within the compound, that is, the swimming pool, and one outside. A bank about three feet high surrounds the compound, this, we were assured, ensures that visitors don’t have too close an encounter with the game … especially the crocodile, which is usually seen basking by the water-hole.

One thing the bank won’t keep out is the baboons. The barman said that it has been known for them to snatch food from the plates of diners in the restaurant. Then, we were summoned to dinner … not by a gong, but a relentless thunder of African drums.

‘Oh, yes! Very Hollywood!

’ I said. But, the barman explained that the drums served an extra purpose. They scared the baboons away, and they wouldn’t be back for several hours!

Samburu Lodge