A Beamish too far – Steve (Sept 1998)

As the long summer days gradually get shorter, the club prepared for the normal annual events, the BBQ, and the camping trip.  With complete disregard to Murphy's Law and the weather, the Club converged on deepest Hampshire in mid August for the BBQ.  As it turned out, we need not have worried as following a short period of rain in the morning, the sun continued to shine for the rest of the day.  Simply getting to the venue proved to be a bit of a challenge for some, but the result was one of the largest gatherings of club members this year.

It was good to see a couple of potential new members too. Nick had to shoot off early (literally) to launch a few fireworks, and as the evening got cooler, those left retired to Steve's flat.  Remember those attempts in the 60's to see how many could squeeze into a mini.  Anyway it was quite cosy.  Another club tradition seems to be that we always end up with plenty of spare booze.  Pity Michael could not come.  As the stocks were checked it became apparent that we had about five years supply of Beamish.  This was exaggerated by the fact that it was subject to a two for one offer in Tesco's. 

A couple of weeks later, the remaining stocks were put into Bill's boot for the trip to Tycanol Farm in Newport Pembrokeshire.  Although camping can be considered to be "roughing it", it was to provide me with one luxury, running water, following two days of having nothing but fresh air in the taps.  I know that I get little sympathy from those members from the New Malden area, as they have suffered a similar situation for several weeks now.  At least at the campsite I should not have to nip down to the river with the washing up bowl for a top up. 

The trip to Newport was fun as Bill decided to depart from the M4 at the Severn Bridge, and go cross-country.  This was achieved without any dramatics although it did seem to take forever, and it was nearly six o'clock before we arrived.  At the entrance to the farm we found the road blocked by a gate arrangement to allow the cattle to the milking sheds.  On the other side were Alison, Peter, Sheila Dave and Bob waiting to get out.  The farmer arrived in time to see one of the other campers opening the gate to get out, and he let fly with a load of abuse to the effect of "bugger off, we are full".  No problem for Bill as he was booked into the Youth Hostel, no roughing it for him.  The situation quickly eased and we all decided to trog off for a walk. 

Alison was heard to comment at the summit of a nearby hill that we looked like the tourists that we moan about, with our jeans, trainers etc.  A couple of us wished we had something more substantial on our feet by the time we returned to the cars.

That evening we decided to rendezvous at a pub in Newport.  Sheila drove down as she was going on to see Roger.  Bob, Peter and myself walked down and eventually found the town.  It was going to be one of those weekends.  We took so long that one of the locals managed to paint the front wall of his house whilst we decided where the town actually was.  In the end we all met up at the Llewingwair Arms.  Bob managed to get us off to a good start by ordering a rump steak, despite all our warnings about BSE/CJD.  When the food arrived, so did Bob's sirloin steak.  Yes, sirloin.  A great debate then ensued as the proprietor insisted that they did not do rump steak, although Bob was certain that it was on the menu.  The rest of us were now sure that eating too much beef was actually does drive you mad.  The menu was duly produced by the manager to prove that rump was not on the menu; to Bob's relief, and the bosses incredulity, there was the rump steak.  A few of the others had various curried dishes, which they apparently specialise in.  Well worth a try if you are in Newport.

The walk back to the campsite was more like "The Sky at Night” than the return from a pub-crawl.  "Was that Saturn",   "Where is Orion",  "Why is that star moving, is it a satellite? No it's a plane", and so on.

The following day, Mr Harris the farmer, seemed to be in better mood, trundling around on his quad bike, and we were invited to a BBQ that evening - bring a plate.  The planned walk was to hijack the 9.30 bus on the main road, get off at Fishguard and walk back along the coast path. A couple went into Fishguard for breakfast the rest started walking. After about a hour and a half, as we were approaching a campsite on the path, we managed to meet up with Sheila and the others. Good timing or what? Apart from being quite hot, the walk was relatively uneventful. 

The beer stocks were being cooled for the evening and it was generally decided there was not enough so a couple went out for a re-supply, returning with a few Boddies to break up the dominating black of the Beamish.  As it turned out the farmer had laid on a couple of barrels of bitter and refused to let anyone leave until it was used up, ably assisted by a couple of the farm youngsters who insisted on grabbing your glass and re-filling it.  At about 9pm a firework display was started in the town.  All in all, an excellent evening, and well worth a return visit next year.

On Sunday Khye who will be joining the club joined us.  I was surprised to see him there so early, but he left home at about 1am.  The day's walk was to cover the Preseli ridge.  This turned out to be a long trek to the turn around point where we left Sheila.  Unfortunately, Roger was under the weather all weekend and unable to join us.  We set off back at about 3pm and were beginning to wonder if our feet would carry us back.  In the event it only took a couple of hours.  At the finish, Dave decided that we had not done enough and went off to bag another small peak.  Everyone else declined and gradually headed off back.  We did after all have a date with some ale. 

In the event we had barely cracked a couple of cans when we decided to head back to the Llwingwair Arms instead of the planned pizza.  As Monday arrived we had a lot of fun watching Sheila dismantling her tent.  For some reason, out of a line of six club tents, mine was the only that got decorated by the birds.  Did they know that it was new?  Spooky!  The overload of ale was divvied up and the Beamish distributed.  I suppose it could always be used as a makeshift fire extinguisher, given a shake.

The plan for the day was a gentle walk around a reservoir.  It turned out again to be surprisingly long.  It did stay dry though.  As we headed back we agreed to meet at a pub near to my house.  It’s nice to see that old traditions never die.  The pub that I suggested was closed.  The alternative had run out of food but the third one was fine.  Alison managed to get the message to me on the mobile bone.  Although I could hear her, she could not hear me.  It turned out my phone was broken.  "What was that you called my phone again, Alison?"  All I heard was "**?~~###!!!"

As Bob, Dave and I stopped at my place to collect my car, I half expected to see a pile of Beamish cans on the front lawn, having being flung out of Alison's car as she drove past.  I can't wait for the next committee meeting to be held at my place.  If I paint the cans yellow, will the others notice?

As another Club year draws to a close, I am sure that we will all look back on the many trips that we have undertaken and look forward to some more to come.