Loggerheads and King Arthur’s Unlikely Leap

I am aware that my last few posts have been wandering off the primary objective of the blog - to give people ideas about places to take the elderly for a short afternoon out. So this week I will redress the balance and ask you to take one of the many roads out of Wrexham towards Mold and thence the A494 towards Ruthin.

On a day like today, we bask in the smugness that only a sunny day in mid-September can bring. We talk about the strength of the sun and the pleasantness of riding through the countryside. It is indeed, 'nice under glass' as we are warmed through the glass of the car by the sun giving its last display before autumn must surely take hold.

We pass the standing stone that is known as Carreg Carn March Arthur - The Stone of Arthur’s hoof. Like many areas in the UK, Wales has associations with the ubiquitous King Arthur. The stone is said to bear the hoof print of King Arthur's horse as he leapt from a nearby cliff to escape the invading Saxons. Although my preferred version – the best legends always have to have a magical quality about them – is that the horse leapt from the adjacent Moel Famau mountain to thus mark the old Flintshire/Denbighshire boundary - presumably without breaking its neck.

As we come in sight of the mighty Moel Famau with its iconic Jubilee Tower on the top, we turn right into Loggerheads Country Park. Mum tells me that Loggerheads used to be run by the old Crosville bus company who bought it in the 1920s to run bus tours from Liverpool. They handed it over in the 1970s and now it is run by Clwyd CC. It has a real draw for walkers of all abilities as Loggerheads is the starting point for walks which explore the rolling gentle hills of Clwydian Range. There are many times when I have dragged myself there footsore, weary and happy having completed another 6 miler.

Lovely flat, even walk through the trees.

Our time of arrival was 3.30pm when many walkers were ending their walks with a visit to the centre. It has a good car park but we were still quite lucky to find a spot. As well as walkers, there were families with small children, buggies, babies and dogs playing on the grass with no thought of walking anywhere.

The site is beautifully maintained site at the base of imposing limestone cliffs. It has a lovely and mercifully flat, walk through the river valley under dappling trees.

There is the occasional bench on which we sit and watch the parade of dogs, children and all forms of life in between as they debate how far to go before turning back for an ice-cream or cake at Caffi Florence. We strolled for about 30 minutes before we went in search of refreshment.
We sat outside with our tea to take advantage of the sun I would like to say that we shared our thoughts about King Arthur and more on his legends, but we didn’t. But we did decide that Caffi Florence served up the best cup of tea we had had in a long time….

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The Case of the Disappearing Grandmas

Viewing the entire process of ageing is almost impossible. We see our children grow up and we watch our parents age, but rarely do we see an entire life span, as we inevitably die ourselves and (hopefully) never have to see our children's lives end.

I believe that ageing speeds up and slows down throughout our lives. The first 5 years of a life sees huge changes as the child's bones in the skull re-arrange themselves after birth and the child learns to walk and gain posture. The following years are often characterised by the child having to listen to the phrase 'hasn't he grown?' many times as they shoot up and out in all directions. As they approach adolescence their faces lose that baby cuteness and the change can sometimes be startling.

But past 20 and through to 40 the changes are fewer and far more subtle. I am often quite at a loss to guess the age of someone in that age bracket. Of course, we are getting very good at hiding the classic signs such as grey hair and wrinkles so I like to think that we look almost the same until we reach our mid 50s. Depressingly, I read that the age I am now-57-is the age at which it all starts to happen. But I still feel 20!

Similarly, I think that once the greying and wrinkling process has finished and a person has given up using the hair dye and the Botox, then it is very difficult to tell the difference between a 75 year old and a 90 year old.

Mum and her Danish son-in-law Steen
in April 2013

I look at photos of Peggy and Mum over the past few years and yes, there are changes, but they still look 75. Apart from one thing.... they are shrinking.

Mum's posture has always been pretty good and only recently has she developed the widows hump so characteristic of old age. She is also very much shorter and thinner. Peggy, who has always been a healthy weight, also says that she is losing weight. They both eat well and are healthy in most respects, but are diminishing before our eyes. I am only 5 feet tall, but I feel as though I am towering over my little Mum and as I am her child it feels wrong somehow....

They were discussing how difficult it was to get their skirts to stay on now that their waists are smaller. Action needed to be taken to prevent an embarrassing 'skirt round the ankles' scenario. So turning a negative into a positive, I decided this was the perfect opportunity to make a Nice Under Glass trip to M&S in Ellesmere Port to buy clothes that fitted - sorted.

They both agreed to this trip .... as one thing they have in common is that they believe that 'letting yourself go' is a slippery slope down to dementia which should be avoided at all costs. So complementary scarves are applied to outfits, lipsticks to their faces and regular hairdresser's appointments are kept. Their bodies may be getting smaller, but their pride and determination is as big as ever.

 

 

  

The Sad Story of Uncle Frank and Tea at The Plassey

Last day of summer  - Sunday 31st August 2014

The further our 92 year old Mum gets from her childhood, the more she seems to retreat back to its memories. Over our Sunday roast chicken this week, she brought up (in the random way that memory does) the sad story of Uncle Frank. She and my mum in law Peggy’s stories often go back to Wrexham in the early 1930s when their respective families knew each other.



Nana & Pop - hard working business people
who lived to make money
 

Mum was the youngest of 8 children of staunch, cold and teetotal Roman Catholic parents (pictured) whose only focus (apart from having too many children) was their fish, fruit & veg business. My only memories of them are the smell of Pop's tobacco mingled with the smell of fish and a complete lack of physical contact or regard from either of them for me as a small child.

Of her 2 brothers, Frank was Mum's favourite by far. He was very popular and well-liked by everyone he met. Despite an early aspiration to go into the priesthood, he ended up running the transport for his father's business. Frank was fit, strong and handsome and played for a local football team. Peggy too remembers Frank as someone special – the unspoken implication was always that Frank was the direct antithesis of his parents and he was that way despite, not because of, his parentage.

Although he attracted the attention of many local girls, Frank remained unmarried, until at 31 he at last met a girl and told my Mum that he planned to marry her. But then he cut himself shaving, contracted septicaemia and died in Wrexham War Memorial Hospital all within a few days. Legend has it that the streets of Wrexham were lined with mourners such was the shock of his sudden death and his huge popularity.

In the great scheme of things (especially during the war that followed a few years later) there are probably many more terrible stories to tell, but every tragedy of loss is no less terrible simply because others exist. All deaths (ones like this so very common in those days before anti-biotics) still mar and strike at the heart of a family life and remain there forever with repercussions throughout the following years impacting the following generations.

On Sunday, with this sad tale still ringing in our ears, we set off along the country roads on the North East side of town, turning right to the Crewe-by-Farndon road through Worthenbury and turning right towards Bangor On Dee.  Despite this, on a sunny day such as this with the green lanes surrendering their late summer wares of butterflies, birds with bounding flight and brightly coloured petals, the ride was pleasant and enjoyable with roads free from traffic. I idly wondered whether Uncle Frank ever took his lorry along these lanes on his day off with his new love and how little and how much has changed since then.

Our final destination today was The Plassey. Uncle Frank might have driven past it and seen its


Still smiling - outside the new children's
playground at The Plassey Leisure Complex

Edwardian glory, or perhaps it was one of the places on his deliveries list? A former farm set around a striking large red brick Edwardian house, it has successfully made the transition to another business entirely - a 5 star leisure complex complete with pool, shopping arcade and much more. As well as an a la carte restaurant (imaginatively converted from the old shippon) there is a small snack bar where we had our refreshing cups of tea.

A small silence ensued and I reflected that although Frank’s sudden demise was sad, at least he did not end up old and frail with few friends and only memories of loved siblings for comfort - he will be forever young. I resolve once again to treat Mum’s memories with respect as she relates her past. It’s the least we can do for the older generation.