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Irish Post
04-07-2025
- Irish Post
The Wye Valley: A grand tour re-imagined
TO CLIMB to the Eagle's Nest—365 steps above the Wye Valley—you must be prepared. Not just physically, but philosophically. It helps, for instance, to know that your exertions through steep, shaded woodlands will eventually be rewarded with confit duck leg or Welsh lamb rack, elegantly served at the region's finest restaurant. Welcome to walking, Wye Valley style. The view across the Wye Valley (Pic: Kevin Pilley) Where you stay matters, and there's no better base camp than Parva Farmhouse: a riverside gem near Tintern Abbey, just a scone's throw from the teacakes of the Abbey Mill and close to the historic trails once trodden by Wordsworth, Thackeray, and even the donkeys who delivered coal and bread in the 18th century. At Parva, the gourmet dinner menu is handed out the night before your walk—a clever move. Visions of lobster samosas and beef cheek in makhani sauce give even the most reluctant rambler a spring in their step. The following morning, a full English or poached eggs with Bovril crumpets provides fuel for the day. Each dish, like the view from Symonds Yat Rock, is its own Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. The grand tour We were following in the footsteps of the Reverend William Gilpin, the 18th-century English cleric, artist and writer who arguably invented British tourism. He pioneered the concept of the 'picturesque', celebrating natural scenery with a painter's eye and influencing Romantic thought. He also advocated educational reform and parish improvement—a good egg all round. In 1770, while headmaster at Cheam School, Gilpin sailed down the Wye and later published Observations on the River Wye (1782), the first British guidebook to view the countryside through the lens of this new-fangled 'picturesque beauty.' And, according to him, if you hadn't navigated the Wye, 'you have never seen the world.' Tintern Abbey (picture by Martinvi, image licensed under under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license) River romantics and cannon fire IN THE late 1700s, the Wye Tour became a fashionable pursuit for the Georgian elite. Tourists travelled by boat from Ross-on-Wye to Chepstow, pausing to watch the harvest moon rise through the east window of Tintern Abbey. Wordsworth was among them. 'No poem of mine,' he said of the valley, 'was composed under circumstances more pleasant for me to remember.' One such path leads from the boat-building cottages at Llandogo to Cleddon Shoots waterfall - a two-hour climb through the oaks and birch. It's not hard to imagine Wordsworth breathlessly composing new lines as he huffed uphill, with the ever-patient Mrs Wordsworth trailing behind, muttering about the difficulty of the "moderate ascent." A gentler option is the six-mile 'Picturesque Piercefield' walk from Chepstow Castle through landscaped parkland once owned by sugar magnate Valentine Morris. Lookouts—then as now - are 'judiciously placed among dense foliage.' Coleridge praised the view as 'the whole world imaged in its vast circumference.' Gilpin himself recommended bringing a small quantity of gunpowder. Hand it to Mr Morris's gardener, he said, and have him fire a cannon as your boat drifted below the cliffs. The echo, he promised, would be 'wonderfully affecting'. Above sits the Eagle's Nest, the highest viewpoint on the Monmouthshire side of the Wye. Built in 1828 for the Duke of Beaufort, it commands a sweeping panorama: both Severn Bridges, the Cotswold hills, and the meandering river below. Nearby Wintour's Leap—named after Sir John Wintour, who allegedly galloped his horse off the cliff to escape the Parliamentarians—is another showstopper. Victorian and Georgian tourists would also picnic at Coldwell Rocks, take in the romantic ruins of Wilton Castle, and marvel at the iron foundries which, according to one 18th-century guide, 'brought animation to the romantic scenes.' At Ross-on-Wye, river cruises had already begun in the 1740s, thanks to Reverend John Egerton, rector and son of the Bishop of Hereford. His boat tours eventually sparked a local industry of pleasure boats, launching from riverside inns like the Hope and Anchor or the Saracen's Head at Symonds Yat—the world's first river cruise terminals. Today, you can still board the Kingfisher or Wye Pride for a one-hour cruise. At £10, it may be the best value historic voyage on the island. Parva Farmhouse from across the lake (Pic: Kevin Pilley) The original filter Gilpin's passion for 'charmingly grouped' scenery wasn't just literary; it was technological. The Claude Glass—a tinted, convex mirror used to frame views—was the Georgian equivalent of a photo filter. Tourists held them up to distort or "improve" the scene. If the lighting wasn't right, a tinted glass could simulate dawn or dusk. Gilpin wasn't shy about altering nature: he once proposed knocking down parts of Tintern Abbey with a mallet to make it 'more ruinous,' and thus, more picturesque. He may also be the spiritual godfather of Instagram: 'the picturesque,' he wrote, 'is that kind of reality which is agreeable in a picture'. The Wye Valley's carboniferous limestone cliffs attract birds of prey—most famously the peregrine falcons that nest on Coldwell Rocks. From April to August, you can watch them from the viewing platform at Symonds Yat Rock. Goshawks, sparrowhawks and buzzards also patrol the skies. And on sun-dappled slopes like Coppett Hill, you might spot the rare pearl-bordered fritillary butterfly. Historic inns and modern delights TO WALK the Wye properly, you must promenade the Prospect in Ross-on-Wye and perhaps take a drink at the Royal Hotel, where 18th-century guests descended river-facing steps in elegant dress. William Thackeray once praised the George Inn in Chepstow for its fresh salmon and friendly hosts—though sadly, it no longer lives up to its literary billing. Happily, Parva Farmhouse exceeds expectations. Run by Roger and Marta Brook (formerly of the Walnut Tree in Abergavenny), it offers seven en-suite rooms and gourmet dining from Wednesday to Saturday. After a long hike, every plate looks like an oil painting and tastes even better. The Regency fops and Victorian ramblers may have had bonnets and beaver hats, but they never had lobster samosa. Whether you're hiking to Whitestone in the footsteps of Wordsworth or cruising past the crumbling cliffs admired by Coleridge, the Wye has a way of combining effort with reward, poetry with plate. The full Wye Valley Walk runs 136 miles from Chepstow to Plynlimon in Wales and celebrates its 50th anniversary this year. But even a modest stroll brings you close to the Valley's twin spirit guides: Gilpin the aestheticist, and Wordsworth the romantic. Where to look/book: / Tel: 01291 698411 See More: The Wye Valley, Travel


Glasgow Times
06-06-2025
- General
- Glasgow Times
Fireman from famous Glasgow photo shares story of dramatic night
At the top of a towering ladder, a fireman is just visible as he directs a jet of water on to the burning building below. Smoke fills the sky, as flames inside the building cast an eerie glow into the October night. The building in question is the St Andrew's Halls, and Jim Gallagher remembers this moment well – because he was the man at the top of the ladder. Jim, centre, with colleagues from Glasgow's fire service (Image: Gordon Terris/Newsquest) In the first of a two-part Times Past special feature about Jim's memories of Glasgow, he reveals the real story behind the fire that shocked the city. 'It was freezing, and I was up there for four hours,' says Jim, now 85. 'I was numb and shaking like a leaf when I came back down.' It was October 26, 1962, and the drama began for Jim and his colleagues just before midnight. 'Our bells started ringing about 11.30pm, and we raced down North Street to Charing Cross – this was before the motorway, of course,' says Jim. Retired firefighter Jim Gallagher, 85 (Image: Gordon Terris/Newsquest) 'We were confused when we got there, though – no smoke, no flames, all you could see were what looked like wee bits of steam coming out at the pillars. 'We waited for our orders to go in.' Jim adds: 'One of the men said, 'I think we've lost it,' but I couldn't understand what he was talking about – there was no sign of a fire. 'He told me to jump out the engine on to the street and then I understood. You could hear it 'breathing', the building, a kind of whoomp, whoomp noise, in and out ... 'Then all hell broke loose.' As more fire crews and fire prevention teams arrived, Jim watched as the doors to the hall were kicked in. 'And of course, that let the wind in, and the place went up like a light,' he says, with a shake of his head. 'I was handed a belt with two big clips on it, and I knew what was coming. I'd done the drills. I knew I was going up the turntable ladder.' Jim looking through old photos of the St Andrew's Halls fire (Image: Gordon Terris/Newsquest) Jim recalls being lifted 120 feet into the air, and the 'wham' of the water when it came out the end of the hose. 'It was some force,' he nods. 'The roof had gone by this time, and the heat was incredible. The water was just turning to steam as it hit the flames.' Jim spent four hours at the top of the ladder. 'It was a cold October night and the uniforms weren't the fancy outfits they are now,' he says. 'We had a heavy jacket, some leggings and rubber boots – and the helmet, which was made of cork. 'I was frozen. I can still remember the mug of Bovril the Salvation Army handed to me – it was delicious.' Despite the best efforts of Jim and his colleagues, Glasgow's premier concert venue was completely destroyed that night. While up the ladder, he recalls, amid the smoke and heat, Jim spotted a 'stop gap' between the walls of the hall and the library next door. 'It was a big space, a fire wall created during the war, and that's what saved the Mitchell Library,' says Jim. There were no fatalities, thankfully, but the loss of the hall was devastating to the city both architecturally and financially. Records in Glasgow City Archive include the firemaster's report, which notes the cost of the damage to be around £1 million. Jim was brought up in Bridgeton. His dad was a carpenter and cabinet-maker, his mum ran the house and looked after Jim, his two brothers, Alan and Sandy, and sisters Margaret and Celia. He now lives in sheltered housing in Kirkintilloch, where he enjoys regaling staff and visitors with his tales of working in the city. Jim has been a police officer, a taxi driver, and a Glasgow Corporation bus driver, but he particularly enjoyed his four years in the fire service. 'It was a great job - the boys loved pulling pranks,' he says, smiling. 'All your uniform was stored on the fire engine, and occasionally, you'd pull on your boots to find them half full of water.' Don't miss Tuesday's Glasgow Times for more of Jim's memories of living and working in the city.


BBC News
28-05-2025
- Science
- BBC News
Bovril: A meaty staple's strange link to cult science fiction
Alamy Invented to make beef last long journeys to market, Bovril became a famous British kitchen staple. Less well-known is its link to an odd, pioneering science fiction novel. A stout black jar of Bovril with a cheery red top lurks in many a British kitchen, next to tins of treacle and boxes of tea. The gooey substance, made of rendered-down beef, salt and other ingredients, can be spread on toast or made into a hot drink, but what many people don't realise is that this old-fashioned comfort food has a surprising link to science fiction. The "Bov" part of the name is easy enough to decipher – from "bovine", meaning associated with cattle. But the "vril" bit? That's a different story, literally. In 1871, an anonymous novel was published about a race of super-humans living underground. The narrator of The Coming Race, who has fallen into their realm during a disastrous descent into a mine shaft, is shocked to learn that they are telepathic, thanks to the channeling of a mysterious energy called vril. "Through vril conductors, they can exercise influence over minds, and bodies animal and vegetable, to an extent not surpassed in the romances of our mystics," the narrator realises. Vril gives them strength, as well, rendering them capable of incredible feats. The people call themselves the Vril-Ya, and their society seems in many ways superior to that of the surface dwellers. (Read more from the BBC about the weird aliens of early science fiction.) Alamy The Coming Race was a runaway bestseller. It eventually became clear that the anonymous author was Edward Bulwer-Lytton, the prominent politician and writer (and, to give you a sense of his prose, the first person to start a novel: " It was a dark and stormy night…"). It became such a cultural touchstone that 20 years later, the Royal Albert Hall in London played host to the Vril-Ya Bazaar and Fete, to raise money for a school of massage "and electricity". In 1895, a writer for The Guardian newspaper started a review of a new novel with this statement: "The influence of the author of The Coming Race is still powerful, and no year passes without the appearance of stories which describe the manners and customs of peoples in imaginary worlds, sometimes in the stars above, sometimes in the heart of unknown continents in Australia or at the Pole, and sometimes below the waters under the earth." The work under review? The Time Machine, by H G Wells. And so you can see how, in the 1870s, when John Johnston, Scottish meat entrepreneur, was coming up with a name for his bottled beef extract,"vril" was a tip-of-the-tongue reference. Beef extract was not, on its own, a terribly compelling product. Johnston and other makers of the substance were responding to a demand for beef products in Europe, where raising cattle was prohibitively expensive, and the growth of cattle ranches in South America, Australia and Canada. How do you make a salty meat paste sound nourishing? By linking it to a fantastical substance with great powers There was no way to get fresh meat from these far-flung places to Europe. But rendering the meat down into a paste and sealing it in jars yielded a shelf-stable product that could make the long journeys involved. (Johnston was not the only player in the meat extract game – Justus von Liebig, one of the founders of organic chemistry, founded Leibig's Extract of Meat Company to commercialise his process. The company later went on to produce Oxo bouillon cubes and Fray Bentos pies.) How do you make a salty meat paste sound nourishing? By linking it to a fantastical substance with great powers. An excitable advert for Bovril in the program from the Vril-Ya Bazaar reads, "Bo-VRIL is the materialised ideal of the gifted author of 'The Coming Race'… it will exert a marvellous influence on the system, exhilarating without subsequent depression, and increasing the mental and physical vitality without taxing the digestive organs. It is a tonic as well as a food, and forms the most Perfect Nourishment known to Science." More like this: • Can your body become intolerant to meat? • An odd-tasting oil that packed a healthy punch • The rise and fall and possible rise of the oyster The Coming Race has had a somewhat ominous afterlife. Members of the theosophy movement, including the spiritualist medium Madame Blavatsky, claimed that vril was real. Willy Ley, a German rocket enthusiast writing about conspiracy theories in Germany during the rise of the Nazis in the magazine Astounding Science Fiction, said there was a society in Berlin that believed in vril: "They knew that the book was fiction, Bulwer-Lytton had used that device in order to be able to tell the truth about this 'power'. "The subterranean humanity was nonsense, Vril was not. Possibly it had enabled the British, who kept it as a State secret, to amass their colonial empire." Odd bedfellows, for a cup of meat tea. -- If you liked this story, sign up for The Essential List newsletter – a handpicked selection of features, videos and can't-miss news, delivered to your inbox twice a week. For more science, technology, environment and health stories from the BBC, follow us on Facebook, X and Instagram.

The National
28-05-2025
- Sport
- The National
Of course cup success meant more to Aberdeen than Celtic
As chance would have it, the print press were seated in the Aberdeen side of the national stadium, close enough to see the grown men cry, the parents bearhugging their offspring just a little too tight for the kids to actually enjoy the moment (or breathe) and that instant where all the misery and expense that comes with following a club that doesn't win very much is finally rewarded. Every last pound spent on cold, greasy pies and watery Bovril, every last hour schlepping around the country, this was what it was for. It was brilliant. Read more: It was also hard not to feel just a little jealous. I have attended five such occasions supporting my team. Not since 1991, when I was eight, have I seen them win. And when I did, I was probably too young to really appreciate it. Instead, I was the kid being hugged too tight, as my dad grabbed my brother and I under each arm and banged our heads together after every goal. Entirely uncharacteristically for Motherwell, they would have to score four, wouldn't they? (Image: Jane Barlow - PA Wire) There would have been many a headache too in the Granite City come Sunday morning, Monday morning and probably Tuesday morning as well, as a city starved of Scottish Cup success since their heady heydays of the late 80s and early 90s celebrated the old trophy coming north once more at long, long last. I have also witnessed both sides of the Old Firm win trophies on many, many occasions. Mostly professionally, but also, more's the pity, more times than I would have cared to as a punter too. One thing I have heard and read quite a lot since the weekend as the wonderful videos of the Aberdeen celebrations have circulated around social media is that 'it just means more' to fans of non-Old Firm clubs. Or probably more specifically, given the recent domestic domination that Celtic have enjoyed, that a Scottish Cup win for Aberdeen on Saturday meant more than it would have to those in the other half of Hampden. And you know what? I think that's probably true. But it's all about the context. Would a Scottish Cup win mean as much to Aberdeen next May as this one did? It would mean a great deal, sure, but no, it wouldn't. Such has been the run of Celtic success that even trebles have become a somewhat regular occurrence, but even if securing another on Saturday probably wouldn't have meant quite as much to their fans as that one singular Scottish Cup did to the Aberdeen support, I well remember the scenes back in 2017 when the shoe was on the other foot. The explosion of joy, the noise, the passion, it was all there around the green and white half of Hampden back then as Tom Rogic's mazy run and finish in the dying embers of the season delivered an 'Invincible' treble-winning campaign for Celtic. You can't tell me that feat – that moment - didn't mean as much to the Celtic fans as Saturday's victory did to their opponents. (Image: SNS Group) What it all boils down to I suppose is that it is the out of the ordinary achievements that really move us as football fans. And in fact, extending the argument further, with the Celtic support these days so conditioned to success, a defeat in a final to a 'lesser' opponent probably stung them more than it would have stung an Aberdeen fan to lose to Celtic. What may move fans of one club may not move fans of another quite so much. Making history might mean something different to each. For Celtic fans, any one Scottish Cup win amid a sea of them may not particularly stand out in the mind, or carve out a special place in the heart. A treble might. A European trophy definitely would. That's just the reality of differing expectations. No Celtic fan will likely forget Adam Idah's last-gasp goal to win the cup last year, mind you, but that is in large part because the triumph was over Rangers. Again, context. How long would the euphoria of a penalty shootout win over Aberdeen last? A few hours? The memory of it probably not much longer. By contrast, no Aberdeen fan who was at Hampden on Saturday will ever forget it. Even as a neutral, neither will I. Celtic's routine swatting aside of Inverness to win the cup under Ange Postecoglou, on the other hand? I can barely recall it. I remember the equally predictable triumphs over Motherwell in both League Cup and Scottish Cup a few years prior, but had it not been for my personal stake in those games, would they even register? I wonder, in fact, how fondly even Celtic fans recall these contests. In the words of my dear old dad, had Motherwell won either of those cups, you wouldn't have seen me for a week. He passed on last year, and he never did get to see his team win another trophy. I'm glad we got to share that one though, all those years ago, even if a dull headache was the price. (Image: Jane Barlow - PA Wire) And this is the point. It's the sharing of these extraordinary moments with the people you have also shared the misery with that really mean the world. For your club, that might be a first Scottish Cup in 35 years. Or for another, it might be a last-minute treble-winning goal. In football, no one's joy is more worthy than anyone else's. It's out there on offer for any of us. It was Aberdeen's turn on Saturday, and it was glorious. And it is the promise of these moments, whatever they may be to your club and however distant they may seem, that keep us all coming back.


The Herald Scotland
28-05-2025
- Sport
- The Herald Scotland
Of course cup success meant more to Aberdeen than Celtic
Every last pound spent on cold, greasy pies and watery Bovril, every last hour schlepping around the country, this was what it was for. It was brilliant. Read more: It was also hard not to feel just a little jealous. I have attended five such occasions supporting my team. Not since 1991, when I was eight, have I seen them win. And when I did, I was probably too young to really appreciate it. Instead, I was the kid being hugged too tight, as my dad grabbed my brother and I under each arm and banged our heads together after every goal. Entirely uncharacteristically for Motherwell, they would have to score four, wouldn't they? (Image: Jane Barlow - PA Wire) There would have been many a headache too in the Granite City come Sunday morning, Monday morning and probably Tuesday morning as well, as a city starved of Scottish Cup success since their heady heydays of the late 80s and early 90s celebrated the old trophy coming north once more at long, long last. I have also witnessed both sides of the Old Firm win trophies on many, many occasions. Mostly professionally, but also, more's the pity, more times than I would have cared to as a punter too. One thing I have heard and read quite a lot since the weekend as the wonderful videos of the Aberdeen celebrations have circulated around social media is that 'it just means more' to fans of non-Old Firm clubs. Or probably more specifically, given the recent domestic domination that Celtic have enjoyed, that a Scottish Cup win for Aberdeen on Saturday meant more than it would have to those in the other half of Hampden. And you know what? I think that's probably true. But it's all about the context. Would a Scottish Cup win mean as much to Aberdeen next May as this one did? It would mean a great deal, sure, but no, it wouldn't. Such has been the run of Celtic success that even trebles have become a somewhat regular occurrence, but even if securing another on Saturday probably wouldn't have meant quite as much to their fans as that one singular Scottish Cup did to the Aberdeen support, I well remember the scenes back in 2017 when the shoe was on the other foot. The explosion of joy, the noise, the passion, it was all there around the green and white half of Hampden back then as Tom Rogic's mazy run and finish in the dying embers of the season delivered an 'Invincible' treble-winning campaign for Celtic. You can't tell me that feat – that moment - didn't mean as much to the Celtic fans as Saturday's victory did to their opponents. (Image: SNS Group) What it all boils down to I suppose is that it is the out of the ordinary achievements that really move us as football fans. And in fact, extending the argument further, with the Celtic support these days so conditioned to success, a defeat in a final to a 'lesser' opponent probably stung them more than it would have stung an Aberdeen fan to lose to Celtic. What may move fans of one club may not move fans of another quite so much. Making history might mean something different to each. For Celtic fans, any one Scottish Cup win amid a sea of them may not particularly stand out in the mind, or carve out a special place in the heart. A treble might. A European trophy definitely would. That's just the reality of differing expectations. No Celtic fan will likely forget Adam Idah's last-gasp goal to win the cup last year, mind you, but that is in large part because the triumph was over Rangers. Again, context. How long would the euphoria of a penalty shootout win over Aberdeen last? A few hours? The memory of it probably not much longer. By contrast, no Aberdeen fan who was at Hampden on Saturday will ever forget it. Even as a neutral, neither will I. Celtic's routine swatting aside of Inverness to win the cup under Ange Postecoglou, on the other hand? I can barely recall it. I remember the equally predictable triumphs over Motherwell in both League Cup and Scottish Cup a few years prior, but had it not been for my personal stake in those games, would they even register? I wonder, in fact, how fondly even Celtic fans recall these contests. In the words of my dear old dad, had Motherwell won either of those cups, you wouldn't have seen me for a week. He passed on last year, and he never did get to see his team win another trophy. I'm glad we got to share that one though, all those years ago, even if a dull headache was the price. (Image: Jane Barlow - PA Wire) And this is the point. It's the sharing of these extraordinary moments with the people you have also shared the misery with that really mean the world. For your club, that might be a first Scottish Cup in 35 years. Or for another, it might be a last-minute treble-winning goal. In football, no one's joy is more worthy than anyone else's. It's out there on offer for any of us. It was Aberdeen's turn on Saturday, and it was glorious. And it is the promise of these moments, whatever they may be to your club and however distant they may seem, that keep us all coming back.