Rodings Rally Donation to Haven House Children’s Hospice

EFOG’s Roding Rally (2012) donation to charity this year went to Haven House Children’s Hospice in Woodford Green, Essex. Committee members Dave, Maz, Peter, Val and myself were taken on a tour by Charlotte, one of the fundraising team, prior to handing over the £100 donation from the proceeds of the Rodings Rally.

Haven House Children’s Hospice proved to be to so much more than I imagined. The staff and volunteers provide planned and emergency care 24 hours a day, 365 days a year to more than 150 children who have life-limiting conditions. It does this from their base in the superbly adapted ‘White House’ set in beautiful wooded grounds, just off Woodford Green High Road. They cater for children of all ages, from birth to 19 years old, serving as an invaluable support for the children and their families.

As well as providing temporary residential breaks for children in five specially adapted bedrooms they offer home support and specialist care training for many more within their catchment area. They also link with other organisations such as Great Ormond Street Hospital and have a toys and equipment loan service. Our tour included a look at a Music Therapy session, the Sensory Room and meditation / prayer room (in the former chapel of this once grand house).

We saw how raised floors in the bedrooms enabled the children to enjoy the amazing views through the windows. We looked at specialist equipment in care and work areas and walked around the gardens to see the play equipment. Maz, of course, couldn’t resist have ago at the hanging xylophone (made by the children). I would have liked to take an elephant or two home with me – but didn’t ask. I think Peter fancied the Pirate Ship. All this, and more, found in a delightful “home from home” environment which still provides the specialist care needed.

70% of the funding for Haven House needs to be raised from voluntary contributions. Their highly professional staff team is supported by a much-valued cadre of volunteers who undertake numerous roles, working anything from a couple of hours occasionally to a regular few days each week on specific tasks such as gardening. Many ‘donate’ their time in helping to organise several fundraising events and activities held throughout the year including walking and cycling challenges as well as several kinds of themed fun days and social events. PlaynNutz may even feature at a future event (Dave was wowed too).

Haven House advertise themselves as “a special place for special children”. This is exactly what we found.

To find out more please visit their website www.havenhouse.org.uk 

Canterbury Weekend - 12-14th April 2013

Friday

Explored Canterbury, walked along the river, did a bit of shopping, listened to an informal recital saxophone & piano in Canterbury Cathedral and enjoyed a delicious Thai meal in the evening.

Saturday.

Caught the bus to Herne Bay, enjoyed a coastal walk to Whitstable. Had a look around the picturesque seaside town & some people sampled the local seafood.  After lunch a few of us decided to walk the Crab and Winkle Way, which takes its name from the pioneering railway line - one of the first to be built in GB.

Pleasant walk through conifer-dominated woodland of Clowes Wood & Blean Woods, a RSPB nature reserve (needed Paul there to name the birds). 

When we arrived in Canterbury we visited St. Dunstans Church in which is St. Thomas More's head. (actually it was an excuse to have a sit down and dry off by the radiators). Had a cuppa tea in a delightful French style café, wandered around town and ended the evening at Wagamamas.

Sunday

Parked the car in town; after looking at the bargains in the Car Boot we walked the popular Great Stour Way, a 3 mile shared cycle/pedestrian route running along side the river to Chartham. After a short break at we followed the footpath across the fields back to town.

It was great to be by the sea - thanks to Ian for organising the weekend.  Enjoyable few days. 

Evening light at Canterbury Cathedral

On the seafront at Whitsable

 Jill V.   15th April 2013    Photos by Jenefer

South! - the story of EFOG's visit to the County of Dorset - March 29th 2013 - April 1st 2013

by Paul Ferris

(with belated acknowledgements to Sir Ernest Shackleton C.V.O.)

Day the First

It may be expedient to record here how, during a Spring-time which had produced weather the likes of which has not been experienced in these islands since that dreadful winter of 1947 (or possibly 1963), a group of some twenty-seven people made their way to meet in a windswept town in the south of England.

I left my home in the early hours of the morning, on Friday 29th April. What welcome awaited in the distant town of Wey-mouth, and what expeditions had our leader planned for us on arrival? It was no little trepidation that I handed my luggage to be loaded into the vehicle which would carry myself and four other members of the group to our destination. Some degree of concern had been given to which route we might follow on that day, for it is common knowledge that – being Easter-tide – many other travellers would likely be attempting those same roads.

Neither fully forsaking the compass and charts of old or totally placing our trust in a newly invented device commonly known as a “SatNav”, we found that our journey was a good one, with little inconvenience encountered from other vehicles. Our driver, Ian, performed his task speedily yet skilfully, and we did take just one rest-stop – in a hostelry known as the 'Hill Top Diner', in the county of Wiltshire. In due course, and replete after a good break-fast, we arrived at our destination in full good time, and set our eyes upon the fine building that was to be our home for a full three nights. As early arrivals, compared that is to the rest of our total party, it was our lot to inform the keepers of that hostelry that the advance party had arrived. It was not news to us that our rooms would not yet be available, for that is often the case with early arrivals; to make full use of the tiime gained by our uneventful journey, we thus set out to reconnoitre the township.

The Royal Hotel, Weymouth

This town, propitiously situated at the mouth of the River Wey and to some degree sheltered by the nearby Island of Portland from such prevailing winds as are wont to rage across the Atlantic Ocean, has for many centuries served as a fishing and sea port – though these and such other industries as once did flourish hereabouts are now greatly decreased. Instead, those newer industries of “tourism” and “holiday-making” have served to maintain the inhabitants of these parts. Whether our band should be considered as partaking in either of these during our residence there was a matter of conjecture – for in some ways we do consider ourselves to be more travellers and explorers than mere tourists.

The shelter afforded by the isle that lay to our west and south served little as shelter as we explored the town. Whether those we encountered were inhabitants or visitors it was hard to discern for all were well-wrapped against the raging wind and the cold which said gale brought with it. Indeed, forays into clothing-shops in an attempt to purchase hat and gloves for members of our small group proved fruitless, for all had been sold. The sand blown from the great beach that lines the bay had mostly found its way into the streets, both main and side, and much also found its way into our mouths, which led to a great crunching to be heard from my companions – and doubtless they would report the same from me.

At last, being exhausted by our efforts to maintain an upright position and to clear the sand from our nostrils, we repaired to the 'Royal Hotel', to await the arrival of more of our fellows. During this time, us five – for five we were who had travelled together thus far – did play a game with a name that was strange to me and thus of which I recollect not. This game – evidently designed to enable practise of the patience which is required to accommodate enforced incarceration whilst such weather as we were experiencing continued – consisted of a collection of regularly-shaped and equally-sized wooden bricks. These were required to be placed in alternatively directed layers – three bricks upon three bricks – into the form of a tower. From this construction, the instruction was for each person in turn to remove one brick – but not from the top level – without upsetting the balance of the tower such that it may fall, and then to place the brick upon the very top of the tower, again without causing a tower-fall. Thus committed, we were aware that party by party, large and small, others of the twenty-seven were arriving.

Against the wind at Weymouth beachIt was at the beginning of the meal provided us in the evening of that first day that the the first instances of less than adequate accommodation became manifest. One of our party, Jinan, who - later than others to arrive at the dining-room – was found to have no place at which she could eat and at the same time share table with her companions. Attempts were made to rectify this by the simple expedient of myself and my table-companion moving to a free table in the dining area. Although this would have accommodated not just the required three but even four persons, we were rapidly approached by a female member of the serving staff and informed that it would not be possible to sit there, as the table required setting. This, we pointed out, could be easily remedied simply by moving unused tableware from nearby. An attitude which might be reminiscent of a warden in the prison which existed at one time on the Isle of Portland denied this as a possibility. We determined, however, to stay true to our companion and ensconce ourselves in this position. We were aware that other members of our greater group were also engaged in controversy regarding seating – their complaint being that the extreme weather outside was finding its way inside, via the gap-prolific windows by which their table was situated. After short discussion, two tables were found in a more equable position at which eventually seven companions were able to sit and dine together.

Day the Second

I shall say no more of that first day, but continue my narrative at the stage of my awakening the following morning. A message arrived from one of the group - Val, an early-riser as am I – informing me that she would depart for a further investigation of the town forthwith. Forthwith was somewhat too early for my own state of dress, having suffered the indignity of finding that the water supply in my wash-room was faulty, but nevertheless, as soon dressed, I endeavoured to follow my companion on her exploratory venture. Thus it was that I left the sea-front hotel some hour or so before breakfast was due to find that the wind of the previous day had seemed not to have abated. However, the day dawned well and bright, the sea a surprising blue considering that early hour, but much disturbed by the white-horses that broke their gallops on the wide, sand shore. In small mean streets between the grand sea-front residences and hostelries, the inhabitants of short rows of terraced cottages in some cases had created some colour by use of boxes, tubs and ice-cream containers planted with flowers. On almost all street corners, and sometimes mid-terrace, public houses stood, but few showed signs of present-day usage. However to offset that placater of the populace – if so such businesses may be considered – churches and places of worship of a variety of denominations were also to be found.

Our break-fast was undertaken with none of the confrontation that had taken place on the previous evening, although it was noted that same staff member who yesterday had determined to deny us the unoccupied table-for-three seemingly held a sway over other members of the serving staff, much to their detriment. The image of a prison-wardress – a position with which it must be said I have no first-hand knowledge – was paramount in my mind and view as we dined.

We held a full-group discussion following our break-fast, with our leader, Ken Kennedy, describing in some more detail the expeditionary walk that he had planned. This – he explained – would entail a journey on the local transport – a bus – to a villagecalled Abbot's Bury, some ten miles distant. From here the party would strike north-west, climbing from the village to the heights to the north, then striking east along these hills – from whence views should be obtainable of a large expanse of sea and country-side in all directions. The intention was then to descend in a southerly direction, then bear west closer to the coast until Abbot's Bury was regained.

As the larger number of the full group set out on this journey, a smaller number – led by myself - travelled by local transport in much the opposite direction, heading for the town of Dorchester. I am unable to report on the travails experienced by the larger group, but may report here on those encountered by us five on our march from the town of Dorchester.

Dorchester is a fine town, long established and deriving its present name from the time of its occupation by the forces of Rome. Prior to then, the town had been occupied by peoples whose tribal names – as well as their names for the place in which the lived – are largely unknown due to their lack of either pencils or type-writers. However, these people have left us monuments within the present boundaries of the town which present to us the accomplishments of their prodigious works in the movement of the chalky earth which is the prevalent soil in these parts. We visited one of these monumental earth-works as we traversed the town towards the open countryside; this was “Maumsbury Rings”, which we were informed was of neolithic origin, though much modified by the Romans.

Tina - taking flight on the zip-wireNear to the end of the town, where only the newer “council” style dwellings are built as the town expands into the sheep-grazed chalk-lands, we came across a provision evidently built for the purpose of exercise for younger members of this community. This presumption on the age of the people for whom this “playground” was built was made more obvious to us as on some of these apparatus, members of our small group were hard-pressed to fit. But fit we did, and enjoyed our experimentation on “swings”, “slides”, a “trampoline” and – perhaps most exciting of all – a “zip-wire”.

Feeling exhilarated, we left the constraints of the town and Me - taking flight on the trampolineentered a broad and rolling countryside, much grazed by sheep and otherwise seemingly inhabited only by sky-larks singing in the clear blue sky, and other birds of the air and ground. Before us, a long, high, rampart-topped hill spread broadly across an already-broad horizon. This was our ultimate objective for this day – the great hill-fort of “Maiden Castle”. It is said that the name of this earthwork may derive from the Celtic-British words mai and dun, meaning “Great Hill”. And so it was that we five- myself often ahead as leader followed by Fozi, Gill, Tina and Fred - trudged on that bright, clear morning, gradually gaining height as we progressed towards the plateau which serves as near the highest summit in this vicinity. As we gained height the wind which had been our constant companion was felt to increase, and blowing as it was from an easterly direction, this wind chilled us not inconsiderably. Gaining the summit – here accompanied with the melancholy sound of the little Meadow Pipit, and the sight of hunting buzzard and falcon – we partook of the view and decided on our next direction.

We head towards Maiden Castle In the far distance towards the north, the western-most outskirts of the town of Dorchester was visible from this vantage-point, and from below our hill-top a tracked way could be seen to head in that direction. Thus we made our descent to proceed on our return journey, sheltered to a small degree from the winds by a track-side hedge. Between fields of either sheep or cattle, we walked a track which – although in most part dry underfoot – had been much-used by vehicles servicing the local agriculture, and thus presented us with occasional pitfalls so that care was required to negotiate this safely. It was at the end of this track that we encountered the first major obstacle to our so-far easy expedition. This presented itself as a major road crossing, with many vehicles proceeding at fast speeds between ourselves and the outskirts of the town. On our charts a foot-path was shown, but this was not evident on the ground. However, nearby was a well-made and well-surfaced track – not shown on our maps but at such an angle as should provide us with an access to the town. The track had been barred recently by a simple and not high wire fence, but this had been trampled somewhat to the ground, so after just a little discussion we proceeded to follow this way. Eventually, passing through a simple lift-latch pedestrian gate, we found ourselves on a farm-track which led in one direction to that road along we had earlier walked – in close vicinity to the “play-ground” and in the other – most providentially – underneath the treacherous highway and towards the now-nearby town.

Being so close to the protection of the town and the thought of a meal before our return journey to Wey-mouth, our spirits were high. Passing beneath the highway by way of a tracked-tunnel, we walked some hundreds of yards towards the end of the farm-track and the the houses at the edge of the town. It was with dismay that we found our way blocked by a long, double, metal gate, triple-padlocked and topped with barbed-wire. Due to the thorned hedges that flanked the track, and the preponderance of wire with which the gate was topped, we had no option but to either retrace our steps and negotiate the highway by the roundabout – a distance of a mile or so – or to make our way along the farm-track in the opposite direction to regain our original route towards Maiden Castle. Surveying from the heights of Maiden CastleThis we proceeded to do, and the way – we found – was easy, but with more mud than we had thus far encountered. On reaching the junction with the afore-travelled route, we found that our way was now blocked with a gate, similar in all respects with that which had thwarted us earlier. Our dismay was now even more advanced, as to return to a place of egress from this location would have entailed a long trek along paths already taken. Just a few feet from where we were was a good road, with other travellers passing with ease. To attempt to traverse this obstacle by way of the top-bar would have been foolhardy, and one which we were not inclined to take. The only alternative would be to attempt to make our way BENEATH the gate, a gap which might just allow us to pass. Gill went first, and undertook this process with an ease that perhaps reflects the agility practised by her dancing skills. Next went Fred, with somewhat more difficulty as by this time an old leg wound was proving troublesome – though as yet he had made no complaint. Fozi also made apparent light of the obstacle, her relative small size being of value in the undertaking. Next went Tina – reluctantly because of the state of the ground beneath, but agilely enough. Finally – having seen my companions safe onto the path to the town, I slid lengthwise beneath the gate and was helped to my feet on this accomplishment.

We passed close to the amusements in the playground, but were not – after our journey – wont to repeat our earlier playfulness. By way of diverse pathways passing through the outer suburbs of the town, we made our way towards such a place as we might board a bus for our return to Wey-mouth, pausing only to refuel our depleted energy levels at a primitive “caff” on the way. Here we were served mugs of the local tea – long-brewed, it must be said – and for those of us that wished to partake – namely Fred and myself – hearty platefuls of bubble & squeak, bacon, beans and eggs.

Our transport was not long in arriving, and thus we made our way to our hostelry in Wey-mouth to meet the rest of the twenty-seven, and recount our various experiences.

Day the Third

As on the previous day, I found that my accommodation was lacking in a supply of water other than which had been heated for the purposes of washing. However, undeterred by this – and having found rest in both my sleep and entertainment in my dreams – I did join those of us awake and early to enjoy another break-fast, prior to assembling later with all of those who had determined to follow Ken's lead on an expedition to the Isle of Portland.

It transpired that a goodly number of the groups would be joining this trek, and so as to not over-encumber the local bus-service we divided into two groups – those who had broken their fast early and were ready to depart on an earlier transport and those who were later on a later one. I had taken the opportunity of having risen early from my bed to avail myself of the times of such transport as was to be had from our location to Portland, and its point of departure. Thus a group of us left the hotel to make our way the short journey to the bus stop, where we did board a number 10 bus to the Portland village of Fortuneswell. There, in a position where we might be clearly seen by those arriving on the later transport, we awaited their arrival.

The entrance to the Citadel at the Isle of PortlandThe group being fully assembled, and now with Ken leading the way, we climbed through the quiet streets of this small township to reach the windy heights of the island, near to a strange assortments of buildings of various ages and purposes. Amongst these, we were informed, were defence works in the form of underground citadels, incarceration complexes for felons, and listening and viewing points for warnings of invasion from French and Spanish fleets of old, and for factions many and varied of today. Following a clearly-marked route-way known as the “South-west Coastal Path” we passed more of these varied buildings, yet another institute for offenders, and quarries – both used and defunct – for the production of the much-valued “Portland Stone”. From these heights, great panoramas of extensive white cliffs known as “The Jurassic Coast” - after a park of a similar name - were visible, and at one point – in a commanding position – there had been erected religiously inspired representations of those crosses on which a prophet of the Christian faith had been executed, together with others of perhaps lesser character. Further on our route caused us to descend a tortuous cliff-side path, at the base of which we found we were nearly at sea-level. Here we were within clear sound of the white-horse waves rolling in towards distant Weymouth and nearer, breaking against the cliffs below.

Religious emblems on the Portland cliff-topsThe way now took us beneath high cliffs that had been much quarried and the sea itself, but in some places there was shelter from the otherwise incessant wind, and in such places the sun shone with a warmth for which we were grateful. In one such place, climbers practised their art on the sheer cliffs above, whilst we took our ease and such repast as each had carried with them overlooking the sea below. The way ahead, as we referred to our maps before continuing, showed a possibility of some strenuous climbs and descents, and there were those amongst us who felt that it may be provident at this point to make their way to a nearby village, from which it should be possible to board a bus.

Portland stone quarryThose of us who continued knew that, in just a mile or two, our hopes of finding cheap transport for all of us would be severely diminished, and that if we were to reach our ultimate goal – the Bill of Portland - then this would necessitate a return journey involving many more miles. Those of us that would pressed on, passing stone-quarries, a ruined fortification, strange sea-side huts on the beach of a lonely bay and then at last access to the last township on the island: Southwell. It was only after more of our group had left us here for the purposes of gaining convenient transport that we received news that the earlier absconders had been informed that there was – on this day – NO bus from Southwell! A discussion was held, for this news meant that if we were to reach Portland Bill then we would have more of a walk to gain transport than we had envisaged even a short while earlier – but we pressed on.

In a mile or two we had our first sight of our objective, the quaintly red-and-white painted lighthouse clearly visible - as should be the case - in the distance. More of the strange beach-huts were passed, these being quite unlike the sensible pastel-shaded regimental ones of our home counties, and people too became more numerous, with many processing either towards or away from the obelisk that marked the Bill of Portland itself. Lunch in the sunWe joined these procession-aeries, and I noted that as we passed the restaurant by the car park at which many of the other visitors had arrived, most if not all of our heads turned to look at the possibility of a hot drink, meal, or an ice-cream. Of the twenty or so of us that had set out for Portland that morning, only ten arrived at the Bill, and it was there that a group-photograph was taken as a record of our achievement.

We stayed for just a short while at Portland Bill, for the way was long before transport could be reached, but we undertook necessary toilet in such facilities that existed here and one or two licked at ice-creams, albeit many of the group were now beginning to substantially feel the cooling effects of the wind. Our route back to – and potentially beyond – Southwell was in the main along a farm track, which met the village streets not far from what should have been a welcoming bus-stop. Our warning of lack of such services from here on this day had set us in mind for further perambulations, but the time-table at the stop informed us otherwise. In just a minute or two a bus was due to arrive, and duly that bus did, which we boarded gratefully for our return to Wey-mouth!

Day the Last

Little need be said of our last evening at the “Royal Hotel”, Wey-mouth, nor of the night, save that our earlier dining experiences seemed now to have been resolved; if any suffered lack of water in the morning, then I was unaware. Some of the twenty-seven had passage on a train leaving at 2.30 that afternoon, and some on a train somewhat later. Those that had used their own motor-vehicle transport loaded their luggage soon after break-fast, as it was required that we should leave our rooms by 10 of the clock.

This final day had dawned far less attractive than those before, for now the waves rolling in from the sea were overlooked by great grey cloud masses. Still the wind blew, and the prospect of an expedition before departure was not one that I approached with any enthusiasm. Too, we five who had travelled together on the outward journey now faced a journey which may well involve others also travelling towards London after their holiday weekend. Thus we loaded our vehicle, and saying fond farewells to other members of the group, we left. My last view of Wey-mouth's sea-front as we passed the hotel was a smaller group of our friends setting out – despite the now inclement weather- on yet another Ken-led walk. Where their destination was, I know not.

EFOG's expeditionary force at the Isle of Portland

Our journey home took us on a similar route as that by which we had come, passing Maiden Castle, the spire of Salisbury Cathedral and stopping for a short while at the hill-top diner. We denied the SatNav's insistence that we take that route which circum-passes London by a northerly route of many miles, and instead chose one closer to the city's centre. In good time did we thus reach our point of departure, near to our homes, in Wanstead in the County of Essex.

Paul Ferris, April 4th 2013

for an alternative view of this expedition click here

Windy Weymouth Weekend

A windy Weymouth weekend describes the overwhelming weather condition that accompanied twenty-seven EFOG members over the Easter weekend.

Whilst the larger number travelled to Weymouth by train, I elected to join Louise, Pam, Fritz and Ian, who was driving. We left Wanstead at 6.30am, and had an easy journey to Weymouth with relatively little traffic on the roads. The roads we used through Hampshire and into Dorset took us through some lovely countryside, a few easy villages, and with great views of the magnificent Salisbury Cathedral and equally impressive Maiden Castle.

On the beach at Weymouth, with the Royal Hotel overhed

Shearing's Royal Hotel at Weymouth was reached by the five of us quite a while before other Group members began arriving, but getting out of the car on the sea-front prior to booking-in gave us an instant foretaste of the wind and wind-chill that was to stay with us all of our stay. There was sand blowing down the High Street and just about every other street, and we were soon tooth-crunching on it, too.

An afternoon of intense concentration...A quick look around the town, a visit to a tea shop, then a walk along a lovely, sandy, easy-to-walk-on, tide-out beach before going back to the hotel to play table-games whilst waiting for others to arrive, and of course our meal in the evening and chats afterwards, completed the day.

Saturday morning was bright – and windy, and chilly. We split into two main groups for our walking day, with Ken leading a walk of something like 9 miles, I believe, starting and finishing at Abbotsbury. I led an alternative shorter walk from Dorchester, which proved to be a nice-enough town although we didn't look around for too long. As we walked out of town, we visited the Neolithic henge and later Roman amphitheater of Maumbury Rings, which I thought would make a nice precursor of what was to come. At the edge of the town, a children's playground proved irresistible, and we had fun on swings, slides, a trampoline and a zip-wire.

Jill making light of a tube-slideThe landscape opened out to rolling chalky countryside with the horizon ahead dominated by Maiden Castle - an Iron Age Hill Fort and the largest in Britain. We gained the top of the hill-fort then made our way back down to gain a footpath leading towards the west end of Dorchester. Sheep, cattle, skylarks and wheaters were all commented on during our walk along an easy-enough path. This eventually set us near to a roundabout on the busy A35; a footpath shown on my O.S. Map was not only non-visible on the ground, but would have entailed crossing the by-pass. Luckily(!) there was a brand new gravelled track leading in the direction we needed to go. A temporary fence which had presumably closed it during construction had been trodden down, which left the path open for us to follow. It led us to a farm track, which fortuitously passed underneath the A35. Chatting merrily, we walked up the track... to be met by a padlocked, barbed gate. Gill, Fred, Tina and Fozi en route to Maiden CastleA few feet away was a path leading between the houses to a Dorchester suburban road, but the padlocks and barbs were something of a deterrent. Somewhat reluctantly, we turned back to take the farm-track leading in the opposite direction conveniently to the access road we'd used to get to Maiden Castle. At the junction of our farm track and the road we desired was a locked, barbed gate! It took a bit of limbo-ing for each of us to get under the gate, but we did so, had a lunch-stop at a real caff (a very real caff!) in a Dorchester car-park/bus station, then caught the bus back to Weymouth. This was a 6.5 mile walk for those who'd preferred the shorter option: Fozi, Gill Light, Tina, Fred and myself.

Happy Days... Lynne awaiting the next busSunday's walk was led by Ken, and most of the Group joined it. So as to allow other passengers than EFOG members to travel, we caught two separate buses 15 minutes apart to Fortuneswell on the Isle of Portland; we were a large group and they are only single-deck buses!

Portland Bill is a bit of a strange place with something of the feel of a remote part of Britain. The villages are perhaps slightly down-at-heel, and much of the architecture a mix of military and prison. It's one of the few parts of Dorset that has much industry, and this of course is the quarrying of Portland Stone. Our route followed the SW Coastal Path, so of course we were well accompanied by winds and wind chill. Lunch overlooking the sea on the Isle of PortlandOur views of the sea itself was also one of lots of white horses, but the sky was blue and the visibility showing the whole length of the Jurassic Coast between Weymouth and St. Adhelms Head. There were a few places that people could easily access the bus route if they'd had enough of the walk, and some took advantage of these as we walked towards Portland Bill. There are just a few beaches on the Isle of Portland, and one of these is at Church Ope Cove, with its lovely collection of beach huts – not the multicoloured regimental ones we find typically in Essex but rather dark and strange ones scattered around the cove. Shortly before descending into the cove we'd sat by the coastal footpath beneath climbers practising on the cliff, and ate our packed-lunches just about out of the wind and with enough warmth in the sun to actually feel warm!

L-R: Parviz, Jill, Fritz, Ken, Pam, Ian, Ralph, Lynne, Gill and Paul at Portland BillWe gained Portland Bill with a final contingent of 10 people, took a group-photo at the obelisk, did not avail ourselves of the restaurant at the end of the island because most of the car-visitors had ensconced themselves out of the wind there already, and made our way back towards the village of Southwell, where we had been warned via mobile by Val that there were no buses. This news – which we'd received earlier - meant an extended walk back to where we might catch a bus, but apart from hitching or getting a taxi or two, we set off for Southwell with the prospect of a few miles before we got to the bus at Easton. At Southwell the farm-track we'd followed gave way to a main road. At the main road was a bus stop, and in a minute there was a bus! Val had obviously been misinformed – to our somewhat relief as by now we were perhaps a bit walk-weary, and certainly a lot wind-chilled. This amounted to 7 miles for those that did the whole walk.

Monday morning dawned not with the wind and sunshine as the previous days, but with wind and drear cloud. After breakfast Louise, Pam, Fritz, Ian and myself set off for home, choosing the route we'd travelled down on for our return journey. We didn't take the prescribed M25 route, and – considering the Easter Monday – had an easy journey back to Wanstead.

Paul Ferris, 2^nd April 2013

for an alternative view of this trip - click here