Down into the valley and up to the high castle

Although we've been back for a couple of days now, having arrived home tired but happy on Saturday evening, it's only now that I'm ready for my return to blogland and for making a start with my travelogue.

After all, with only two days until my return to the office on Tuesday, there has been the usual whirlwind of unpacking, doing a wash load or two, putting some food into our fridge, taking stock of the garden's triumphs and casualties and generally re-adjusting to daily life at Dove Cottage. Not to mention having extensive cuddling sessions with Bess, who has been claiming our laps whenever we've dared to sit down!

To put your minds at rest, I will already divulge that we had the most fantastic holiday! The weather was just glorious, and the weather gods were kind enough to only send showers our way when we were  back at the cottage at night.

But let's begin at the beginning, and cast our minds back to Saturday the 10th of June, when we got up at the crack of dawn (4 am Belgian time to be exactly) to start our travels.

Arriving at the LeShuttle (their innovative new name replacing the former Le Shuttle - no kidding!) terminal well on time, we had our one and only hiccup of our journey when we tried to check in and the computer screen kept telling us there was an oversized vehicle in our lane. At the push of a button we were connected to a real life assistant who swiftly arranged the check-in for us. Then, after going through customs - where the UK official looked at us disbelievingly when told we were going to Shropshire - and stocking up on croissants and other delicacies at the Flexiplus lounge, we were able to take an earlier train than initially booked.

Before we knew it we were whizzing along a succession of  UK motorways, where traffic wasn't too bad all things considered. It was just after 3 pm when we made our descent into Adstone valley - consisting of the huddle of farm buildings Byre Cottage is part of - on the by now all too familiar narrow, winding and increasingly potholed lane. 

With temperatures expected to reach the low thirties back in Belgium, we were glad of the more reasonable 25°C in Shropshire, even if it had started feeling a bit muggy by now. Sure enough, shortly after our arrival clouds were gathering, thunder could be heard rumbling in the distance and the odd flash of lightning flared up in the sky above the Long Mynd before a brief but refreshing shower spitted raindrops against the cowshed's windows.

What with our early start and long journey, it wasn't all too long before we climbed into the cowshed's four poster, whose pillow and duvet covers were a testimony to the fact that we were staying on a working sheep farm. No need for counting sheep here, which would have been virtually impossible anyway!

The one-hour time difference between Belgium and the UK meant that we were wide awake earlier than we would have liked on Sunday morning. It wasn't even 5 am when, on my way back from the bathroom, a glimpse through the kitchen window made me grab my camera to photograph the magical light of dawn.

We hadn't made any plans for the day other than to drive over to Bishop's Castle, at just under 20 minutes by car the nearest town from the cowshed with a supermarket. Before stocking up on foodstuffs for the next couple of days, we went for a little mooch around the small but delightful market town and the handful of shops which were open on a Sunday.

One of these was Rosie's, a treasure trove of a vintage and antiques shop where I bought this gorgeous brooch last year. Back then, Rosie explained that the silk woven Heliotrope flowers at its heart were part of a range of such flowers given away inside packets of Kensitas Cigarettes in the 1930's. 

Intrigued by Rosie's explanation, I did some googling after I got home and found that there were whole websites devoted to Kensitas Silk Flowers. Secretly, I hoped that one day I would be able to find one or more of these flowers on their original cards ...

When I mentioned the brooch to Rosie, she not only remembered, but told me that, as luck would have it, she'd recently come across a batch of Kensitas Silk Flowers, which she now had for sale. It goes without saying that I didn't hesitate for one single moment and snapped up several of them. Aren't they absolutely delightful? And to think that she normally doesn't even open on a Sunday!

I also selected these two brooches, the first of many which came home with me this year.

To recover from the steep climb up the 1 in 6 gradient High Street, we had cappuccinos and cakes at Yarborough House, which combines a tiny tea shop with a large second hand book and record shop Then we had a browse at The Poetry Pharmacy, a wondrous independent bookshop which found its home in an original Victorian pharmacy (linking cause I love!).

On our way back to the cowshed, we had a stop the car moment in Wentnor, the village closest to our little valley, as I simply had to photograph the magnificent display of fiery Red Hot Pokers (Kniphofia) in front of the Grade II listed church of St Michael and All Angels. 

We had lunch at the cottage, then after a little lie-down we somewhat reluctantly dragged ourselves from the sofa for an afternoon outing, not wanting to admit defeat by already calling it a day.

Although our weather app insisted it was just 23°C, clouds had once again gathered, some of them angry-looking and heralding the brewing of a storm. The air was quite stifling when we made our way down yet another bumpy lane towards the Bog Visitor Centre. Housed in a 150 year old former Victorian school building, it is one of the few remnants of a once bustling mining village in the shadow of the Stiperstones, part of the Shropshire Hills Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, and known for its quartzite tors.

It was a quick visit, though, as we were both feeling tired and a bit out of sorts. Time to go back to the cottage to recharge our batteries. But not before showing you my outfit, consisting of my Think Twice denim skirt, a charity shopped blue and yellow zig-zag top and one of my stretchy belts. 

Oh, and that storm eventually and inevitably arrived that night, the rain having cleansed the air by Monday morning.

A veil of mist was still cocooning the hills when we woke up, but soon the sun was playing peek-a-boo with the layer of grey. It was relatively chilly in our windswept valley, which made it hard to believe the weather people got it right in forecasting highs of 26°C.

But never mind the weather: we had things to do and places to go. Well, one place in particular, that is. Just like we did last year, we'd ordered a National Trust Touring Pass before we left so, armed with our confirmation email, we drove to Powys Castle. About half an hour's drive, and just over the border with Wales, this is one of the properties where one can have the actual Touring Pass issued.

It wasn't the first time we visited the stunning Medieval castle rising dramatically above its magnificent terraced gardens - we were here in 2018 and 2019 and after being rudely interrupted by Covid, back in 2022 - but it certainly wasn't a hardship to come here again. 

In spite of the excellent value for money (the pass costs £84 for 2 people for 14 days), not many overseas visitors seem to be aware of it. In fact, the pass was quite a novelty at some of the properties we visited and we were generally treated like royalty. I cannot stress enough how friendly, helpful and knowledgeable the NT staff and volunteers are.

The mercury climbed ever higher as morning progressed towards noon, so we soon took shelter under the arches of the aviary terrace, where shepherds and shepherdesses are dancing on the balustrade.

While Jos was taking a breather away from the relentless glare of the sun, I climbed the steps up to the terrace at the back of the castle offering a magnificent view across the garden. Here Offa (the late 8th Century King Offa of Mercia - top right) and Edgar (the 10th Century West Saxon monarch King Edgar the Peaceful - bottom left) are guarding the Northern entrance. No fly in the ointment, but there is one on poor Edgar's left foot!

Hunger pangs made us return to the castle courtyard, where we were greeted by Colin the peacock who was drawing quite a crowd by fanning out his spectacular tail feathers.

Almost rivalling Colin's feathers were the wondrous cushions, quilts and carpets by internationally renowned fine artist and textile designer Kaffe Fassett, which were exhibited inside the castle.

Photography is not allowed inside, so the photo of the stunning carpet draped on the castle's stairs are courtesy of the National Trust. The exhibition is still running until 3 September, should you be in the area.

After lunch at the on-site café (and yes, Vix, we both had jacket potatoes) and a tour of the castle and exhibition, we sought some shade in the woodland opposite the castle. 

As we sat on a bench near the pond, we took in the sensory delights we had missed for so long. The air was alive with the verdant scents of early Summer and the buzzing of bees as we walked on the woodland path hemmed in by banks of red and pink Rhododendrons.

There's a sudden clearing in the woods about half-way along the path, offering a magical view of the castle and its terraces in all their glory. Even if I must have snapped the castle from this exact vantage point on every previous visit, I couldn't help zooming in with my wonderful new Sony Cybershot. Isn't it just glorious?

I fell head over heels for this colourful zig-zag patterned maxi skirt when I spotted it in a charity shop in the Summer of 2021 and it has definitely become a holiday staple since.

My red and white floral blouse from the Belgian Wow To Go label is charity shopped as well, as are the black and white chevron patterned stretchy belt and the green beaded necklace. The green butterfly brooch, which has blue and pink sisters, was a retail buy from a quirky independent shop in Antwerp.

The hat, which has seen better days, was a flea market find which I upgraded with a hair band last seen as a #Coronahair solution back in 2020.

Back at the cottage that evening, we were treated to a torrential downpour complete with horizontal wind and a volley of hailstones. 

We could only watch in horror as our car was completely exposed to the elements and we breathed sighs of relief as soon the worst was over and our car didn't seem to have suffered any damages.

The weather forecast for the days ahead was for continued sunny and warm weather. Now, what would we be doing next? I'll be back with more adventures in a couple of days!

Of sheep and hills

In the weeks leading up to the holidays, I'm having recurrent nightmares, in which I've accidentally left my camera at home, giving some indication as to how important taking photographs is for me.

In the old days before blogging, I would now be clicking through my photos in preparation of creating a digital scrap album as a reminder of our holiday, which I stopped doing about two years ago when it transpired that my favourite online software was no longer available.

Before that, in the even older days, I'd be eagerly waiting until my precious photos - rolls and rolls of film - were developed, after which I'd be wielding real life scissors and glue for the messy business of making an actual album, which would include anything from entrance tickets and leaflets to candy wrappers.

Do I miss these days? Yes, and no!  I do love having the albums to browse through once in a while, but at this point in my life, I prefer to use my blog as a well documented travelogue.

As I already gave you Chapter 2, let's get back to the beginning, shall we?

We arrived at the cottage which would be our home for the next two weeks a bit earlier than planned, as our journey had been completely without hick-ups.

Byre Cottage, where once cows sought shelter from the elements, is part of a huddle of farm buildings nestling in a valley between the Long Mynd, a large, long heath and moorland plateau that forms part of the Shropshire Hills, and Adstone Hill.

Adstone, as the handful of buildings is called, is reached by the narrowest of hedged country lanes, and is about one mile from the nearest village. It is also about half an hour's drive to the nearest supermarket. Reportedly there should have been a village shop for essentials, but we didn't make the effort to find it.

Apart from our landlord, a friendly but rather timid man whom we hardly ever saw, our nearest neighbours were the sheep which grazed the hilly fields surrounding our cottage, their melodious bleating a soothing soundtrack.

Having spent so many holidays in our Welsh cottage, it was only natural that our new abode would be held up for comparison, but I can tell you that Byre Cottage compared favourably, especially as it was more spacious and generally better equipped.

There was room to swing a whole army of cats in the kitchen/dining room, which led onto a small terraced area outside, with seating for two. Then there was our bedroom, which had a wardrobe with plenty of hanging space, and which did not contain an ordinary bed but a four poster!

After we'd made ourselves comfortable and had a meal, we went for a little walk up Adstone Hill, soaking in the quietness and magnificence of our surroundings.

When we woke up the next day, Sunday, it was to solid grey skies and a bit of drizzle. As we couldn't wait to get started, this was a bit of a disappointment, but never mind.

First it was time for a proper fry-up, as Jos is a dab hand at making English breakfast.

Thus fortified, we were ready for our first adventure: we decided to explore the small town of Church Stretton, about 12 miles away, on the other side of the Long Mynd.

Along the way, we passed through our nearest village, a tiny place called Wentnor, which has a pub, a pretty little church and a red post box keeping a rare red telephone box company.

After skirting the Long Mynd, we arrived in Church Stretton, where we parked and paid for a ticket, minutes later realizing that parking was free on a Sunday. Typically, the silly machine didn't complain when we put in our money!

Soon it started raining again, so we escaped inside Stretton Antiques Market, situated in an early 1900s red brick warehouse, where we browsed the stalls laid out over several floors.

Nothing really took our fancy, but as it was lunch time by then, we made use of the on-site tearoom.

If at first there seemed to be a break in the clouds, they had now gathered to create a solid grey blanket and it wasn't long before the showers turned into a steady curtain of rain.

The town's charity shops, which mercifully were open on a Sunday, offered some respite, and our first purchases were made.

While Jos found a straw hat, I came away with a Phase Eight raincoat, two brooches and a vinyl case from a range Celia Birtwell designed for Boots in 2009.

Ditching our plans for a short walk, we then dived into a café for coffee and cake, after which we decided to call it a day and return to our cottage.

Setting our satnav for the return journey, we were mystified when the blasted thing made us drive in the other direction. When we started climbing and then bumped over a cattle grid, I knew we were in for an adventure of a different kind. Instead of skirting the Long Mynd, we were now driving right over it.

With the rain and low-hanging clouds diminishing our view, we continued our precipitous ride on a one-track lane which climbed ever higher until, thankfully, it swerved away from the sheer drop on our right, at which point I quickly hopped out to take some photographs with my phone's camera.

We thought we'd seen the worst, but how wrong we were! Suddenly there was a hairpin bend and the road started going downhill at a rather alarming angle, again with a steep drop on our right. As if that wasn't bad enough, a car suddenly appeared from the opposite direction. Obviously there was no way we could pass each other, so Jos made several attempts to back the car uphill. It comes as no surprise that I, a long time sufferer from vertigo, was getting a panic attack. In my mind's eye, I could see our car making a tumble over the edge, in which case I would never get to meet Vix and Lynn ...

But all's well that ends well. The other driver eventually took pity on us, and swiftly backed his car  downhill to a passing place, so that we could continue our journey unharmed. Phew!

Needless to say, we made it safely back to the cottage, where I insisted on posing with my new found treasures in the rain.

That raincoat really was the best buy ever, as the weather gradually started improving once I'd bought it. Nevertheless, I'm taking it, and my floral trousers to Patti's Visible Monday at Not Dead Yet Style.

But more about that in my next travel posts!