Tuesday 25th May 2021
The birthday of the second Mrs Jelltex.
Sadly, she passed away a couple of years after our divorce. Her story has come up a couple of times in the past few days, a heartbreakingly sad story, and one of her being unable to break the cycle of pain.
All I can do, we can do, is hope she found peace.
But she was the most selfish person I have met, and that is up against my own Mother and the first Mrs Jelltex.
Anyway.
Travel.
Yes, travel, and a night away. In a hotel. Overlooking a railway station, three railway lines and the lst remeaining steam locomotive shed in the UK. But that wasn’t even the reason for going.
That was for an orchid.
Yes, I know you’re shocked at that news. But to drive six hours each way to see a single plant, or two in this case, next to each other, they would have to be either rare or spectacular. In fact, they were both.
The original plan was to set off just after nine in the morning, but I saw a wasted day, so in the end I rose at ten past four, had a coffee and breakfast, then loaded up the car with bags and cameras I had packed the day before, as well as a piece of paper with postcodes, grid references and so on for the two days I was away.
I put the radio on, but didn’t set the sat nav, as I knew where I was going, at least until within half an hour of the site.
I went via the A2/M2/A2 to Dartfird, the radio played in the background, the sun rose away in the east and traffic was very light indeed. In under an hour from leaving home, I was driving under the Thames at Dartford, into Essex, then round to the start of the M11, then up past Standstead to Cambridge, getting there by half six, and before the expected rush hour into that city.
I turned west on the A14, now upgraded into a virtual motorway, cutting a swaithe through the Cambridgeshire countryside like a seeping wound.
At the A1 junction, in a change, I turned north, mainly to avoid the roadworks on the M6 and rush hour in around the towns and cities along its route. Up to Doncaster, the A1 is a four lane road, so I got caught being lorries struggling to overtake, but I had all day, and once I got to Newark, I knew I was well on the way, a road north to Pontefract I have driven up for many years.
Once at Pontefract I turned up the M62, which runs from Hull to Liverpool, but crosses the Pennines, which could be an interesting experience over Saddleworth Moor into Lancashire. It usually rains. Or snows. Or both.
Traffic was heavy, but I pressed on past Heddersfield, and up across the moor. In fact the weather improved, it had been raining up through Essex, but was cloudy but dry. I followed the signs to Preston and places further north.
There be dragons.
Onto the M6, and once past the turning for Blackpool, traffic was very light, the motorway ran beside the West Coast Mainline, but I saw no trains, I was half-concentrating on driving.
At Lancaster Services, I stopepd to program the sat nav: half an hour to go. It was ten fifteen, I would have nearly a full day here.
Eeeek.
I turn off at Carnforth, then follow ever narrower lanes, up into the foothills, through villages with roads barely wider then the car, fields and woodlands lines with moss-covered dry stone walls. There was rain in the air.
I came to the postcode I had programmed; there was a hostel and further on a bridge over the Furness railway.
I turned round and parked on the side of the road, across from me I could see the start of a bridleway into the reserve. It was less than half a mile from my goal.
I got out, stretched, then fitted the ringflash to the camera, put on my coat and walked to the gate and down towards the lake. The path lead me round an aread separated by another dry stone wall. I looked over and could see no orchid, nor no way in.
On the other side I found a gate, which didn’t say we couldn’t go in. So I went in.
There was a path, so I followed it. There were cowslips, and a few fare Alpine Bird’s Eye Primroses, which looked fabulous. I snapped those. But still no orchids.
And then, there it was.
Or, there they were. Two plants, robust, each plant with a single flower. THe flower was spectacular: yellow lip that had curved upwards to make a "slipper", and three burgundy sepals, twisted reaching out at 120 degree angles.
It was an emotional moment.
I took lots of photos.
Most were repeats, but best to be sure.
Behind there was a larger clump, that had been in flower the week before, but were already going over. Their time is very short, I suspect these two plants will be the same be the weekend.
As I leave, a guide with a group of 29 ramblers were being prepared to go and see the orchid, they being another tick in the box on their day’s walk. It is good people know, but this is a sensitive site, and 29 people plus a guide, after by mighty plates, creates damage. I hope they srvive here, as these are pretty much the last publicly accessable site for these left.
I walk round the lake, but realise I needed a comfort break, and a place to find something to eat. So I walk back to the car, and drive round looking for a pub in which to eat and refresh.
I find one, but the door is locked. An old guy comes out, asks me what I want. He gives me directions to another local, but he must have got his left and right mixed up, as I don’t find one. So, using the sat nav I go from village to village, until I come to a small market town, and there was a parking space next to the public toilets.
Phew.
Once refreshed, I look round and decide I wasn’t that hungry anyway, so drove back to the reserve, to the main car pak. I say "main", it had space for five cars.
I walk down the track, it was lined with primroses which held hope for seeing some of the local colony of Duke of Burgundy. I don’t see any, but I find there is a protected area of the reserve I fail to make it to.
I come to open meadows, and a path leading off up a hill. I walk over one meadow and halfway across the second where my feet says, we’ve had enough. So I lay down in the long grass and look at the clouds passing overhead. Birdsong filled the air.
It was half two, I was footsore and hungry.
I walked back to the car, then drove into Carnforth, parking at the station, which was opposite the hotel I was booked into staying.
The hotel’s bar wasn’t open, so I walk up the main street, and find that the Carnforth Hotel was open. I went in and took a table in the corner. I order aCumberland sausage ring and chips, and order juice and lemonade instead of beer.
The food is simple pub fayre, but hearty stuff, and the landlady was very friendly, and nothing too much trouble.
Once I pay the tenner, I go back down the street to the hotel, check in and take my stuff to the second floor room that had views to the station, the mainline in the foreground, the line to Barrow beyond, and behind those, Steamtown, where a loco was being fired,a nd black smoke weaved into the cloudy sky. Trains hammered by on the main line every now and again, I got a 20m glimpse of the line between the end of the station and the bridge. It was enough.
I put the radio on, make two brews and relax.
I was to meet a fellow orchidist later, and he was to take me to see some more sites. But, easy as it is for me with no family or commute to speak of, to drop things and head out, for Richard who has a young family and commute from Preston, it wasn’t until half seven he got free and came to collect me.
He had an Audi, that looked normal, but under the bonnet had 400 plus horses, which he would engage to get past slower cars when it was safe to do so.
He took me to an industrial site where there were dozens of Fly Orchid spikes, but others had been before, some had been trampled, which is always a pain, as the people who trampled the spikes had actually came to see the orchids.
We go to his hometown, or where he lives now, Silverdale. We park on the main street, then walk though a gap in the dry stone wall, to the first of two meadows that lead down to Morcombe Bay, into the second meadow, which was carpeted with thousands of Green Wing and Early Purple orchids, some almost impossible to tell apart.
All the while, Richard is telling me of orchids from all over the UK, Europe and the globe. He knows his orchids, and how the plants "work" in creating variations and hybrids.
We retre to the local pub, he orders us pints. I have a pint of shandy, just in case. It still feels daring, with my gout.
After we had supped, he took me back to the hotel, racing down narrow lanes, and racing a train from Barrow.
I get back at just gone ten, I go to the Co-Op over the road for a sandwich, a drink and some crisps, then walk back to the hotel and up to my room to have supper, and look at the shots I had taken.
I was pooped.
I slimb into bed just before eleven, trains hammered by all night, I heard them not.
