The James plays

The James Plays

The earliest written use of the word ‘fuck’ probably appears in the play ‘Ane Satyre of the Thrie Estaitis’ by Sir David Lindsay, first performed in full in 1552.  Perhaps it’s not a coincidence that Lindsay was Scottish.  Rona Munro, in her new plays about the first three James, Monarchs of Scotland, obviously assumed that it was in common currency in the 1400s too, so that at times the dialogue on stage in these plays reminds one of the standoffs that occur between rival Celtic and Rangers fans at an Old Firm game.

One of the lines which has become famous is uttered by Margaret, Princess of Denmark, in trying to hold things together at the end of James III.  ‘The trouble with you Scots is that you’ve got fuck all except attitude.’  And there is certainly plenty of attitude on stage, in fistfuls and often fisticuffs.  But at the end of all this, are the plays any good?

We saw James III first, were unable to see James II (which most critics, and certainly friends in Edinburgh thought was the weakest), and finished off with James I.  In James III, the King, tautly and edgily played by Jamie Sives was an excellent foil for the undoubted star of the show, Sofie Grȧbøl, the Danish actress with an impressive curriculum vitae.  Sofie is best known to English audiences as Detective Sarah Lund from ‘The Killing’, where she usually ventures into dark buildings armed only with a Faroe Island sweater and jeans.  In James III however she is exquisitely dressed, and both her appearance and acting are regal and dominating.  In fact her diction and her English is so perfect that I found myself wanting to hear her to speak with more of a Danish accent!  Halfway through the first act of James III (subtitled The True Mirror) I was unsure how it was that the Scottish nobles hadn’t managed to get rid of James already, with his unsufferable and unrealistic ideas, together with a complete absence of funds in the privy purse to achieve them.  But as in Hamlet, one can’t end the play too early.  When Hamlet catches Claudius at prayer, he is able to kill him easily, but fails to do so for another two hours; and so we have to plod on until eventually James exits stage front right with his paramour and a bit of gratuitous male nudity.  Hamlet is a good play to keep in mind.  The machinations of Claudius have nothing on some of the Scots kings and nobles...

James III is also, probably intentionally, the funnier play.  Because of his apparent devotion to the arts, there is much more music, expertly provided by a band on stage (Red Hot Chilli Pipers take a bow), and a remarkably apposite and enjoyable version of ‘Don’t you want me baby’ by the Human League is a highlight, together with well-executed dancing from the ensemble.  Much fun can be had with James’ lamentations that all Margaret has brought with her as a dowry from Denmark is the Orkney and Shetland Isles.  ‘They’re very beautiful’ says Margaret, ‘You should get your Navy to take you there sometime.’  ‘When I want to see a bunch of Danish castoffs shagging their livestock and making bootees out of herring skins I’ll be straight up there’ retorts James.

James I (subtitled The Key Will Keep the Lock) is darker, and I missed the band, though there is some music.  There is an overlong scene in the King’s bed in Act II, which would have benefited from some editorial cutting, or at least honing.  The cast does not seem to be as strong either.  James McArdle, as James I, has a disconcerting habit of pausing for dramatic effect, but in a way which makes one feel that unfortunately he has forgotten his lines.  But he does at least make a transition from timid prisoner of the English to regal status.  Stephanie Hyam, Queen Joan, is undoubtedly pretty, but her voice does not carry further than the first ten rows.  Do Directors sit at the back in rehearsals to assess diction and enunciation these days?  One wonders.

There is an enormous dramatic opportunity which Rona Munro has not missed for James I to make a statement about Scotland and the quintessence of being Scottish.  He has emerged from the chrysalis of long term internment in England, seemingly at the wish of Henry V, to unite the Scots and to become a friend to England (a little known fact of English history is that Agincourt was not the be all and end all of skirmishes between France and England in the early fifteenth century, and the Scots were quite capable of joining with the French to fight their traditional enemy of England).  Plus cą change.  So James returns to Scotland, and bearing in mind that these plays were performed in Edinburgh, shortly before the vote on Independence, he delivers a stirring speech which must have had them cheering to the rafters in Scotland.  At the National Theatre in London it seemed to be absorbed, just like Queen Joan’s diction, about halfway back in the Olivier Theatre’s comfortable padded seats.

There is much more than narrow Nationalism in the plays however.  The central theme is Kingship, and its use and abuse.  How to be a King is a recurring theme from Sophocles to Shakespeare.  The Key Will Keep the Lock refers to security and the rule of law which James is keen to implement.  James I gets it mostly right, but makes fatal errors.  James III never gets it right, but fortunately has Margaret to pick up the pieces.  There is something to enjoy in all this, especially James III, but Scottish ‘attitude’, especially in James I seems to be portrayed in a torrent of ‘fucking’.  Restraint is an excellent and too little used strategy.  In John Cleese’s famous sketch, where as Pope he is interviewing Michelangelo, he eventually comes out in exasperation with ‘I ought to know: I am the head of the fucking Catholic church’.  And the effect is uproarious.

‘You praise the verve with which they write,

I’m with you there of course.

They use the snaffle and the curb all right

But where’s the bloody horse?’

RIP (Restitutum In Patria – Gie us back wir Country) Alex Salmond.

A review by Andrew McLeod (Scottish but wasn't entitled to vote)

Edinburgh Festival Fringe 2014

Edinburgh 2014

Somewhere up towards the University around Nicolson Square a chorus of girls in flowing Greek dresses, well, neatly stitched old sheets, seem to be giving a performance of Aristophanes’ Parliament of Women.  Or perhaps Lysistrata.  Whichever it is doesn’t matter much, their chanting blown away on the Lothian breeze.  The choreography is good – Aristophanes gone disco.  I’m not sure if this is the entire performance or if it’s a trailer.  It doesn’t matter.  This is the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, and everybody is happy, everybody is enjoying themselves.  Well, mostly.  A retired medical colleague we have coffee with at the Book Festival in Charlotte Square, who works as a volunteer in Gaza, brandishes a newspaper article by Elie Wiesel calling for everybody to stop the killing.  He says that Israel rejected child sacrifice 3000 years ago (Abraham and Isaac in case your Old Testament knowledge is a bit rusty), now it’s Hamas’ turn.  See: http://mondoweiss.net/2014/08/wiesel-holocaust-trump.html 

Silhouettes of the Scott Monument and the North British (now Balmoral) Hotel

Trust my friend Glenys to come up with the unexpected.  At the Book Festival we also meet an American artist called Marie-Louise, a stick thin lady who lives between Nice and Monte Carlo and clearly doesn’t need to work.  However, she is here, inflicting her art work on the masses.

Glenys urges us to spend longer in Edinburgh, and being semi-retired I should be able to do so, but life seems to be so busy.  Two days of starting festival going at 10am and falling into bed at 1am after an average of five shows and two or more exhibitions take their toll and require a holiday to recover.  I guess if I was here for longer it would not be so frenetic.  So here are the highlights and the lowlights.

Guy Masterson (hit show Morecambe) is here again, this time a 1½ hour recitation and performance of some of Dylan Thomas’s best poems and stories, entitled Fern Hill and Other Dylan Thomas.  His rendition of the Visit to Grandpa and the Day at the Seaside are probably the best.  When it comes to the poems, I’m still thinking about those crackly Caedmon Records’ recordings of Dylan’s of 60 plus years ago, and I find it difficult to think of any other.  That wonderful musical sonority... A big year for Dylan, his centenary in fact, DT-100.

On to ‘Mallory - Beyond Everest’ by John Burns.  A one man show which imagines that George Mallory survived and achieved the first ascent of Everest.  Although this was perhaps not the best show I've ever been to, it was something of a slow burner in my mind, with the separate scenes where Burns recites from Melville’s Moby Dick initially jarring, but somehow coming to seem the appropriate literary parallel of an obsession overtaking a man’s existence.

Briefly a lunch, a trip to the Scottish National Gallery for the Titian exhibition (am I alone in finding Diana’s head in ‘Diana and Actaeon’ not quite naturally realised?) and reacquaint ourselves with the many masterpieces of Scottish Art on the lower floor.

The odd turkey.  An hour of cabaret in the Spiegeltent concludes with the dire Phil Kay, a man who plays the guitar and makes up extempore songs on themes the audience throw at him.  The trouble is that he is unsuccessful at both.  Glenys says that he has quite a following in Edinburgh.

Dundas House, Palladian, early George III.  Home of RBS.  Opposite the Spiegeltent in St Andrew's Square.

Off to ‘A Room in the West End’ for dinner and then to St John’s Church for Simply Soweto Encha, the find of the day.  A five-strong a capella group in the tradition of Ladysmith Black Mambazo.  Great dancing as well.  Finally we end up at the Freemason’s Hall in George Street for ‘The Hat Pack’, late night cabaret, which is sort of okay.  The MC is a lugubrious Welshman called Dai Lowe, a friend of Glenys’s who has a nice line in witty poetry (published as ‘Parodies Lost’).  The final performer is a largish lady known as Woody, aka Woodstock Taylor.  In fact she looks rather like Jo Brand and gives us a rendition of several numbers including most of the notes of Georgia on my Mind, but not all.  A remarkable reunion with my former classmate at Medical School, Dr Rick Donmall, who is in Edinburgh for a three week residential piano course.  I have a wonderful memory of hearing some elegant piano music in the UCH students’ union building in Huntley Street, following the sounds, and finding Rick playing Satie, circa 1971.  So he must be pretty good at the piano by now...

I should mention the Scottish Diaspora Tapestry in St Mary’s Cathedral.  Tapestry from all over the world and still growing (see pictures).  Wonderful.

Scottish Diaspora Tapestry - a visual story from Prince Edward Island, Canada

Our next day starts with separation, me to the Museum of Modern Art for the ‘American Impressionism’ exhibition.  Glenys and Lindsay to the Fringe for Lavender Junction, an autobiographical piece about India.  I liked the American impressionists, Cassat, Benson, Hassam, Bunker, Merrit Chase, Sargent, etc, and many of them visited Monet at Giverny, so there was a smattering of Monet, Degas, etc.  In fact many were quite taken with Monet’s stepdaughter, Suzanne Hoschede, and one of them, Theodore Butler, married her.

Back to the Grassmarket and we sit outside for lunch!  Schiehallion beer.

On to Peter Henderson’s one man show, ‘Who did I think I was?’ in the loft at the Counting House, West Nicolson Street.  This is an autobiographical piece about his turbulent relationship with his father, Gordon Henderson, DFC, the C.O. of Lindsay’s father’s squadron in the RAF (225).  I am sure we all realise that war heroes are not necessarily the easiest human beings to get on with.  I know from a friend how difficult an individual Douglas Bader was, for example.  Gordon was a flawed human being (aren’t we all?), but he was clearly an inspiring leader in the Second World War.  After one of his later illnesses, due mainly to cigarettes, all of the surviving members of his Squadron came to visit him, and this was mentioned in the play.  This was an experience that I found deeply moving.  Peter laid his innermost thoughts completely bare.  His bewildered reaction to his mother’s schizophrenia and her eventual suicide brought tears to my eyes.  Despite the tiny venue (capacity audience 35), his 4 star review in the Scotsman has meant that he has played this piece to good crowds every day.  On the day we went it was clear that the audience were with me in opinion.  It would be wonderful if it could be redone on TV – whatever’s happened to the BBC’s New Writing experimental pieces?

Peter Henderson plays his father in 'Who did I think I was?'

Another turkey.  The St George’s Hospital Medical School revue, in the Wee Red Bar in the University.  What happened to the wealth of thespian and musical talent that Medics’ Revue used to be?  In the 60s and early 70s, St George’s had a musical group of near professional standard, in Temperance Seven style, called The Gonads.  No longer.

In view of the fact that we are near the Edinburgh College of Art, we go into the exhibition.  A bit curate’s eggish.  We participate in a contemporary piece of performance art.  "Participate in a new experimental artwork that explores proprioception, haptic communication and movement."  We go separately, shoeless, into a small dark room and Justine Lim, a lithe and sexy Chinese (MA Contemporary Art) places us in various postures.  I’m enjoying watching Justine bending into various postures placing the other subjects but she tells me that I’m meant to close my eyes.  My postures are somewhat unexciting and uncomfortable because she rushes off to reposition some of the other participants.  When I sneak another look only two or three minutes later I see that Lindsay and Glenys have already had enough and have sneaked out...

Dinner at Angels with Bagpipes in the High Street.  Then rush to Piaf – Love Conquers All, a re-enactment of Edith Piaf’s life with songs by Laurene Hope.  Pretty good, three to four stars.

Angel With Bagpipe - neo Scottish school?

Lindsay and Peter at Angels with Bagpipes

Glenys McLaren - my hostess, guide, and she claims, the sister I never had.  Made me feel welcome on my first day in Medical School and continues to do so xx years later

A long brisk walk through Prince’s Street Gardens to Glenys’s club, the Scottish Arts Club, a haven and time warp in Rutland Square, before a final dash to St Andrew’s Square again for the very good late night cabaret ‘La Clique’, a sort of Cirque du Soleil in the Spiegeltent.  Great live house band.  Amazing acrobatics from a couple of girls from Kiev (sort of pole dancing with a difference) and a repeat of Ursula Martinez’ famous disappearing handkerchief striptease to round off the show (sorry no photograph this time but you can find Ursula’s original on Youtube).

Edinburgh Castle at dusk from Prince's Street Gardens

My pedometer, which does overread a bit, suggested 15 miles walked on the second day.  All through a wonderful city, from the Waters of Leith to the Royal Mile.  The variety on show at the Festival is fantastic, but it’s difficult to choose good performances all the time, and if it’s good you can be sure it will be either packed out or sold out or both.  If you are physically fit it’s a great way to explore.  Old Edinburghers tend to be a bit sniffy about the festival, but I’ve been coming off and on for forty years, and if you get the dose right the tonic effect is marvellous!

Appendix – Carfest South 2014

A walk on the Hampshire downs, a sight of Highclere House (Downton Abbey), an underwhelming night at Marco Pierre White’s Carnarvon Arms, and a day at Chris Evans' Carfest.  At least it was in a good cause - for Children in Need.

Carfest South 2014

Lindsay with Innes Ireland's Ferrari

The Red Berets drop in to Carfest

Chris Evans auctions up a storm at Carfest

James Martin - Un Chef de l'Essence (Petrolhead)

Chris Evans in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

And it's goodbye from us...

Cycling North Dorset

I reflect on how lucky we are to live in Dorset.  While Scotland is being buffeted by rain and gales we have had two lovely days on our bikes.  Lovely but demanding.  Dorset is hilly.  One of our hills (which is not for cycling) is in the news today.  Hambledon Hill is to be taken over by the National Trust.  Spectacular iron age fort, visible from one of our rides today – the hill above Oakford Fitzpaine.  Our routes have taken us past some of Dorset’s most picturesquely named villages, Bradford Abbas, Milborne Port, Ryme Intrinseca, Yetminster, Sydling St Nicholas, Cerne Abbas, Bishops Caundle, Glanvilles Wootton, Winterbourne Stickland, Fifehead Neville – and many more.  One can imagine an Agatha Christie mystery in any of them.  Hedges full of Old Man’s Beard, Rosebay Willowherb, Scabious, and in one magnificent (secret) location, thousands upon thousands of ripe blackberries.  Thanks to the generosity of a friend we spent one night at Plumber Manor where the Prideaux-Brune family have managed to maintain a 70s or 80s time warp, and a feeling of peace and tranquillity.  Thanks also to the Royal Oak in Okeford Fitzpaine and the Plume of Feathers in Sherborne!

Refreshment in Sherborne

Milton Abbey

Lindsay and Richard Prideaux-Brune at Plumber Manor

Plumber Manor - what we would all like our herbaceous borders to look like

And the sweet trolley hasn't changed

But the sweets are just as good

The South Downs Way - Eastern Section

South Downs Way – 25-26 July 2014

We walked the last 33 miles of the South Downs Way from Ditchling Beacon to Eastbourne.

On the day prior to this we attended La Traviata at Glyndebourne.  Wonderful singing from Venera Gimadieva as Violetta.  Our outfits for the opera differed somewhat from our South Downs Way attire.

A slightly belated start because of the drive from one B&B to another and the hassle of getting a taxi back to our start point.  It’s a sweltering hot, hazy, sunny morning on the top of Ditchling Beacon as we start Eastwards.  Within a few yards, an amazing figure walks towards us.  He looks to be in his 40s, is wearing walking boots, socks and shorts and using walking poles.  But his gait indicates that he has severe spastic diplegia – a form of cerebral palsy.  His scissored legs mean that he makes progress by a major rotary action of his frame and has no real distance to each stride.  He is sweating profusely and has clearly covered a number of miles already this morning.  What an inspiration for us supposedly more able-bodied individuals.  If you ever read this, South Downs Way walker, I would love to know more about you.  Congratulations on your perseverance and obvious endurance.

Along the ridge at Plumpton Plain, the Way is mostly over soft springy turf.  In general, only where paths slope more steeply up or down hill is the Way eroded away sufficiently to make it the rough chalk and flint track so characteristic of the South Downs.  Patchworks of fields recall the blocks of colour and pattern created by Eric Ravilious or Paul Nash.

As we descend to Housedown Farm, the long hot spell has turned the wheat and barley to dry gold and the harvesters are out mowing the fields in a perfect geometric pattern, no doubt guided by GPS, clouds of chaff streaming like smoke from their interior.  At Housedown, a luscious plum tree has grown over the wall and provides refreshment, as does one of the occasionally sited taps for fresh water supplies on the Way.

A typical SDW view

Rising up the Newmarket Hill on the opposite side of the A27 we turn East again on Juggs Road, a track heading Southeast past a number of ‘bottoms’.  There is Loose bottom, Stump bottom, Home bottom and Long bottom.  We pass above attractive villages such as Kingston near Lewes, Ilford, and Rodmell.  The latter contains Monk’s House, the home of Virginia Wolf from 1919 until her suicide in the River Ouse in 1941.  Leonard Wolf lived on here until 1969.  Nearby Firle contains Charleston Farmhouse, the home of her sister Vanessa Bell.  Despite our wish to improve our knowledge of the Bloomsbury set, we have ‘miles to go before I sleep’ and stick to the ridge until we descend to the beautiful village of Southease.  This is where the route crosses the River Ouse, the railway, and the A26, all in quick succession.  The church at Southease is very old and has an unusual circular tower (unusual for Sussex).

Southease Church

Then on up Itford Hill, occasionally passing one of the famous ‘dewponds’, and along the ridge until after a total of 17 miles we reach Bo Peep Lane, the road that takes us down to our farmhouse B&B.  All along the field borders, the hedges contain a profusion of wild flowers, with ox-eye daisy, knapweed, and scabious prominent, but many I don’t know.

Before we descend we look to the northwest where behind the hill to the East of Lewes stands the wind turbine which supplies the rather unattractive and unmistakable grey roof of the opera stages and the circular tower of Glyndebourne opera house.

Glyndebourne from somewhere above Southease

Dinner is in the lovely Rose Cottage pub in the nearby village of Alciston.  Excellent, as is the Harvey’s Sussex bitter.

Nightfall at Bo Peep farm

On Saturday we can start walking straight from the farm.  Up the lane and onto the broad back of the downs at Bostal Hill.  Down into the pretty village of Alfriston.  As we exit the bridleway a man in a car labelled ‘Plod’ is directing us left and not straight on as the SDW sign indicates.  It turns out that the ‘Plod’ refers to a walk and not a policeman.  It’s in aid of a medical research charity.  Walkers started the previous midnight at Devil’s Dyke (West of Brighton) and are walking 40 miles to Beachy Head.  Assuring him we are not on the ‘Plod’ we walk on, but further on we come across some unfortunate plodders, by now mostly walking in agonized postures, though there are a few who still look as if they are just out for a weekend stroll.  Along the Cuckmere River in the valley it’s intensely hot.  At Lillington the ladies of the W.I are selling cakes which we buy.  Resisting the temptation to ask about their version of this year’s calendar we climb up and down in woodland until breaking out on the last hill we look down on the beautiful meandering Cuckmere River as it reaches Cuckmere Haven at the start of the Seven Sisters Country Park.

The White Horse of High and Over

The Cuckmere River reaches the sea.  Cuckmere Haven and Seven Sisters Country Park

Cuckmere Haven by Eric Ravilious

Up and down over the Seven Sisters (the famous undulating chalk cliffs leading to Beachy Head) we find that there seem to be more than seven.  Indeed the apparent lighthouse on the cliffs at the end of the skyline turns out to be Belle Tout lighthouse, the original 1831 light structure, and Beachy Head itself is another substantial haul along the cliffs, the smart red and white lighthouse of Beachy Head itself mounted on rocks in the waters below.  

Looking West on the Seven Sisters

Beachy Head at last.  Looking East

The End - or perhaps the Beginning?  As TS Eliot would say... or to paraphrase Churchill it is 'the End of the Beginning'

After this it’s a straightforward mostly downhill slog into Eastbourne, where we see the pier just a few weeks before it’s gutted by fire.  Taxi back to Bo Peep farmhouse where the lady owner has had a power cut and unfortunately has to cancel her Saturday bookings.  Improvements in the A27 mean we are back in Poole two hours later...  We will be back on the South Downs Way some time in the future.

Yorkshire – Le Grand Départ 2014, or, Walking With Giant-Shimano

Burnsall bridge and Wharfedale

Best bike award - Grassington

Having walked the Dales Way from Ilkley to Lake Windermere in 2009, it seemed only appropriate to visit once again to take in the territory planned for the opening of the 2014 Tour de France.  The Dales Way is 83 miles long and it took us about six days.  On day one of Le Tour the boys in Lycra were going to cover 131 miles in a clockwise circular route from Leeds to Harrogate.  The atmosphere, when we reached Burnsall in Wharfedale, was terrific.  Everywhere, Yorkshire’s oldest bicycles had been dragged from shed and storeroom, painted yellow, and put on display.  Sadly we missed seeing the sheep that some farmers had painted in the colours of the tour jerseys – yellow, green, and white with red polka dots.  Yorkshire tourist authority had recreated their logo of a ram’s head on a hillside – entirely made out of shorn fleeces.  Settle and Copper Dragon breweries had produced their own special beers for the occasion, Golden Fleece Tour de Yorkshire and Hill Hammer respectively.  Both excellent – I can vouch for it.

Settling in to the Devonshire Fell in Burnsall, we quickly set off to walk the Monks’ Road known as Mastiles Lane.  This green road leading over the moors from Wharfedale to Malhamdale is part of an ancient system of routes that the wealthy monks from Ripon would take to walk over into their vast estates in the Southern parts of the Dales.  It later found use as a drove road, and detouring off it to the south brings you to one of the most inaccessible hamlets in Yorkshire – Bordley – consisting of two farmhouses.  Throughout our walk we had only some raptors and lapwings for company.  Fortunately, the daylight in Yorkshire is noticeably longer than in Poole in late June and we were able to do a six mile circuit before returning to an excellent meal and a bottle of New Zealand chardonnay (Muddy Water 2011 for future reference).  Total walk distance about six miles due to a detour to avoid some cows.

On Tuesday 1^st July, we set out early for Malham, which looked beautiful in brilliant morning sunlight, the lovely steeply humped stone bridge crossing the Malham beck which whirls and bobbles its way on down to become the beginning of the river Aire.

Malham Beck in the morning sunshine

Our circular route took us south across the fields, spotting a heron drying its wings in the sunshine by the beck, before turning east and north again to Janet’s Foss, a pretty natural waterfall.  A dipper hopped from rock to rock in the foss, clinging to near vertical moss covered surfaces on the falls.  On emerging from Janet’s Foss, the path directs north to Gordale Scar, an impressive natural gorge dramatized by the Lakeland poets.  A lower and a higher falls are accessible to rock climbers, but we decided against going directly up the gorge.  At moments like these I always think of Boswell and Johnson and their trip to Scotland.  On Skye, despite proximity to a fine hill immediately behind their dwelling, Boswell noted ‘The hill behind the house we did not climb...’  and I take heart from this in places like Gordale Scar.  We detoured up a steep enough ascent, which gave fine views into the scar, and then set out across the bleak upland plateau which takes one to Malham Tarn, England’s highest freshwater lake, beloved of Charles Kingsley.

Gordale Scar seen from the detour

En route today we occasionally came across schoolchildren, clutching their clipboards, on the end of term school trip.  What a nightmare for the teachers!  Across the moorland we became aware of numerous bright little birds – wheatears – which were identified for us by the RSPB group at Malham Cove.  Walking south from Malham Tarn, the moor descends into the famous dry valleys, finally emerging on a high plateau, Malham Cove, and the remarkable limestone pavements, with a spectacular view down into Malhamdale.  This enormous ledge is a part of the same fault – the Craven fault – which created Gordale Scar.  Peregrine falcons nest on the cliffs.  The curving limestone cliff, which falls abruptly 260 feet sheer into Malhamdale, was used in the Harry Potter movies.  The Lister Arms provided an excellent final destination with the aforementioned Golden Fleece pale ale.  Distance about ten miles.

Limestone pavement, Malham Cove

Malham dale, seen from the Cove

Malham Cove

Wednesday 2^nd July.  A long drive to Horton in Ribblesdale.  Ideally we would have done the Pen y Ghent climb and circular walk from Litton, which is closer by road.  But this is a good 14 miles and Lindsay didn’t feel her feet or her shin splints were up to it.  So we did the shorter route.  At least it allowed us to come back by the famous Ribblehead viaduct and Hawes, with a venture over into Wensleydale and a return over the pass (Le Cote de Cray as the guide calls it) into Wharfedale which Le Tour would be ascending on the 5^th of July.  The weather was beautiful at the start – sunny, blue sky, etc.  Having forgotten our maps and guidebooks we had to buy yet another in the tourist information shop at Horton.  We also chatted to a very professional looking walker, kitted out in a black outfit which reminded one of the Paris riot police.  He had two Springer spaniels with him, all of them looking rather fit.  He came from Scunthorpe and spoke broad Yorkshire.  Starting out on the route which leads to the northeast up part of the Pennine Way, we detoured to Hull Pot, an enormous hidden hole on the hillside; the water far below could be heard murmuring into the ground.  Then the ascent of Pen y Ghent from the West, turning south to reach the trig point.  At the top we found our friend with his dogs, having ascended the direttissima.  He advised us about the direct descent over the cliffs to the south and enquired whether we were doing all three peaks.  Answer: ‘no’.  ‘Yer can doo it in twelve hour’, he observed.  ‘I would have dun it meself ‘cept I got ‘ere a bit lait.’  We were to meet him finally back in the car park where he averred that he ‘were pleased that yer enjoyed thissen.’  We climbed carefully over the cliffs, descended on the Pennine Way, then turned right to come back past some more ‘shake holes’ and Dub Cote farm.  Meeting other walkers in Yorkshire on the way down, accompanied by the inevitable ‘Ow do’ and a ‘Hi’ from us.  It allowed us to be back in time to change for dinner in the excellent Burlington Restaurant of the Devonshire Arms at Bolton Abbey.  Distance about 7½ miles.

Horton-in-Ribblesdale station with Pen y Ghent

Selfie with Pen y Ghent

King and Queen of the Mountains

Thursday 3^rd July.  Drive to Appletreewick (pronounced Aptrick).  We would have walked it but anticipated that we needed an early start to get to Leeds for the opening ceremony of Le Tour at the First Direct Arena.  We had a marvellous walk up a hidden gem – Trollers Gill, above Skyreholme.  A hidden valley, to the west of the estate of Percevall Hall, and then a tricky ascent up the stones of the Gill, past the old lead and fluorite mines, and back over the plateau to the Craven Arms in Appletreewick, ‘Gateway to the Ales’.  A quick Theakstons and then it was time to head for Leeds.  Walking distance about six miles.

We were fortunate to reach the Merrion Centre car park just after 2pm.  Thereafter it rapidly filled up.  The atmosphere in Leeds was abuzz with pre Tour activity.  Trick cycling demonstrations, bands, steel bands, and sales stalls.  We walked around the centre and passed some time by visiting the Leeds City Art Gallery.  An exquisite ceiling in the cafe.  Although small, the gallery has a good collection of many 19^th and 20^th century works, from pre-Raphaelites via Atkinson Grimshaw to Corot, Impressionists and Fauves.  There are a couple of beautiful Sisleys and a very characteristic Derain.  The 20^th century collection is perhaps ‘to be discussed’ or ‘shall we re-evaluate in 100 years’ time?’  A Damien Hirst catches the eye, mainly because it is one of those works that one feels one could have painted oneself, and a few other works that look representative of one’s children’s efforts (Castle Court School, circa 1994).  In the ground floor galleries, there is an exhibition of what looked like Mondrian, but turned out to be by an associate, Marion (‘call me Marlow because I don’t really want to be female’) Moss.  Her main contribution to geometric art turned out to be the double line, which Piet Mondrian himself had not thought of.  There were some strange photographs by a strange woman who lived in Jersey in the first half of the 20^th Century (Claude Cahun).

Back to the First Direct arena.  The opening ceremony was supposed to have been modelled on the 2012 Olympics, but was not quite as lavish (understatement).  The opening with Opera North and local children was effective, but we should have had more of it.  A trio of Yorkshire presenters did their best to do the warm up, but with an hour to kill it was a bit difficult for them.  There were some unmemorable bike films.  The two main presenters, Jill Douglas (ITV sports commentator) and Sebastien Piquet (the voice of Radio Tour) did the team presentations.  Between each team a short clip showed some Yorkshire stalwart doing Yorkshire things (Sheffield steelman, Scarborough street cleaner, etc) and ended with them saying ‘Bienvenue à Yorkshire...  Welcome to Yorkshire’.  Since there are 22 teams they had a few breaks for music, Kimberley Walsh (very pregnant) and some chap from Yorkshire sang ‘The Road’, the theme for this year’s tour, which sounds a bit like John Denver’s Country Roads...  The chief exec of the Yorkshire effort gave a speech.  Christian Prudhomme, the race director gave a short but fine speech, in English, and used the phrase ‘God’s County’ to describe Yorkshire, which predictably went down well.  The organizers missed a trick because there were some well known people in the audience who weren’t introduced, e.g. Lizzie Armitstead and former multiple Tour winner Bernard Hinault.  The formal event ended with the introduction of Yorkshire’s own pop Megastars, Embrace.  They sang some of their top hits – I knew none of them except the first one which I gather is called something like ‘Nature’s Life’ and has a memorable chorus which goes ‘Oh oh, oh oh, oh oh’.  Unfortunately as soon as they came on people started leaving in droves (perhaps they’d heard them before) and although the final set was only half an hour before it all ended, the hall was half full by the time we left.  No news is good news however, and it meant that we had easy exit from the car park and a trouble free journey back to Burnsall, through the darkening Dales, where we relaxed with a drink before bedtime.

Leeds Town Centre

Chris Froome and the Sky team

Appletreewick - pronounced 'Aptrick'

Burnsall

Swinden Quarry

Malham

Bienvenue a Bainbridge, Wensleydale

Near Hawes

So that’s about it from God’s county.  Glad we went.  Would have loved to have been at the race as well, but we’ll be back in Yorkshire, no doubt.  Gutted for Cavendish on day one, but both days in Yorkshire were held in good weather with fantastic scenery...