It’s a sign: Penarth

I haven’t published a blog about signs for a while so, without further ado, here are some I’ve seen on my local exercise walks.

Dogs must be led
To mark the passing of 117 years since its opening, I blogged about Penarth’s Alexandra Park back in June 2019. This sign, mandating that ‘dogs must be led’, can be found on one of the park’s main entrance gates. I’m not sure if the sign is as old as the park or, indeed, what dog control bylaws were in place in 1902. Regardless of the instruction, or the current bylaws, almost every dog owner ignores this sign and allows their dog (or dogs) to roam at will. This may surprise readers in other countries, as it also surprised me when I first moved to Britain from New Zealand, where dog control laws are much stricter and more tightly policed.     

Do not cut bait on the decking
I also blogged about the opening of Penarth’s pier on its anniversary, this time the 124th anniversary (Penarth: the opening of the pier, April 2019), though this is, of course, a much more recent sign. Fishing off the pier is actually banned during the summer months of June, July and August, and, at other times, is restricted to specified areas but, even there, it seems the anglers have been damaging the wooden boards with their knife work, hence the need for this sign. It’s not one I’ve seen anywhere else.

Dangerous cliffs. Keep away
I rather like the contrast between these new and old signs, warning those who dare to walk along the shore beneath the Penarth Head cliffs, of the danger of falling rocks. Unfortunately, despite plenty of visual evidence of recent rock falls and even, in places, the sound of constantly falling pebbles, many people ignore these signs and walk far closer to the bottom of the cliffs than is healthy.

As you can see, the old sign also warns the unwary of being caught by the high tides. This should also not be ignored, as the Bristol Channel has the second highest tidal range in the world, at between 12 and 14 metres, and there is literally nowhere to go if you get caught below these cliffs when the tide is at its highest extent. 

I find it particularly interesting that, while both signs give their warnings in English and Welsh, the old sign also repeats the message in French. Were the majority of tourists visiting Penarth in times past of French origin, or were the locals expecting an invasion?

Hedgehog crossing area
I definitely approve of signs like this, warning vehicle users to be aware of animals, of all kinds, crossing roads, though in this case the sign seems rather superfluous. 

It’s at the blocked end of a little-used lane, where at most two residents’ cars would pass. Also, the gate to which it’s attached doesn’t have a hole at the bottom for hedgehogs to pass under and into the garden beyond. 

Perhaps the residents just want to show their general appreciation of and support for any hedgehogs that happen to be passing. Can hedgehogs read, I wonder?

It’s a sign: Covid-19

I count myself extremely fortunate this year not to have contracted the coronavirus, and feel nothing but sincere sympathy for the millions who are currently having to cope with illness, the grief of losing a loved one, the anxiety of employment uncertainty, the despair of this ongoing global pandemic. 

Here in Wales, we have been living with lockdowns and restrictions of various types since mid March, and there is as yet no end in sight – in fact, as I write this, our infection, hospitalisation and death rates are all increasing again, and it’s quite likely that we will go in to another full lockdown immediately after Christmas.

 

Signage is everywhere, warning of the dangers of infection and stressing the need to wear a mask, wash your hands or use sanitizer when entering shops, and observe the 2-metres-apart social distancing rules. 

This post includes a few of the latter type of signage I’ve encountered while out on my solo, always distanced, daily exercise walks, and you’ll note that the instructions are in both English and Welsh.

Barry: the Fry’s sign

What a treat this was to see!

I was slipping and sliding down the rain-wet pavement in one of Barry’s many steep streets, Canon Street, when I looked up and spotted this fabulous old advertising sign on the side of one of the houses, on the corner with Romilly Road.

The house didn’t look to have been a shop and it’s not exactly a prominent street, so I don’t know why this particular site was chosen to advertise the products of J.S. Fry and Sons, chocolate-makers extraordinaire. I’m sure every chocolate aficionado knows their name: Joseph Fry and John Vaughan began the chocolate dynasty, when they purchased the chocolate business of Walter Churchman, in Bristol, way back in 1761. The company passed through various family hands and name changes, becoming J. S. Fry & Sons, the biggest commercial producers of chocolate in Britain, in 1822.

Dentists have a lot to thank them for, as they produced the world’s first mass-produced chocolate bar in 1847 and, in 1873, Britain’s first chocolate Easter egg. Fry’s merged with Cadbury in 1919 so their famous name has almost disappeared, though Cadbury (now part of the Kraft empire) still produce at least one Fry’s-branded product, Fry’s Chocolate Cream.

As the trademark for Fry's Pure Concentrated Soluble Cocoa was first registered in 1885, I imagine the Barry sign dates from some time in the late 1800s or early 1900s. Certainly, in the newspapers of those years there are many advertisements for the product, at that time designated a food and endorsed by the medical profession. The examples above are from, left, the Chepstow Argus of 18 September 1899 and, right, the Weekly Mail, 10 February 1906.

Now, all this talk of chocolate has made me peckish …

Barry Island sign

I’m a sucker for a good sign and this one, alongside the main road link to Barry Island, is a cracker!

Until the 1890s, Barry Island really was an island, with access restricted to Shanks’s pony at low tide and a ride on a ferry when the water levels got too high. In the 1880s, docks had been built at Barry to export Wales’s coal to the world and, to help expedite those exports, in 1896, a railway link was constructed via a long causeway. Barry Island has ever after been firmly attached to the mainland.

These days, Barry Island – Ynys Barri, in Welsh – is known not for its docks and exports but rather for its family friendly fairground-type attractions, fish and chip shops, amusement arcades, its apparently thrilling rides – the quintessential British seaside resort. The sign, then, is the perfect pictorial advertisement for the pleasures of an island visit.

Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to discover anything about the sign itself so can’t credit the artist or maker. It’s wonderfully done – the expression on the man’s face, the boot that is his catch, the fish lurking under the waves, the complete relaxation of the woman’s posture, the skinny face-masked kid clinging to the side of the boat (or is it a bath tub?), and, of course, the ubiquitous gull. It always makes me smile, and I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a better place sign.

East Sussex: fire insurance plaques

I spotted one of these fire insurance plaques the last time I was in East Sussex and during my latest visit I saw three more, two in the lovely old historic town of Alfriston and the other, the one shown at the bottom of this post, was attached to the 15th century Bridge Cottage in Uckfield.

Fire insurance only came into being after the devastating London fire of 1666. The Phoenix Fire Office was the first company formed, in 1680, followed soon afterwards by several other companies: established in 1710, the Sun Fire Office was one of the earliest, while Guardian Fire and Life was not founded until much later, in 1821.

Each of these insurance companies operated its own fire brigade so they needed a quick and easy way for their firefighters and assessors to identify which buildings were insured with their company. The plaques, originally made of lead but later also made of iron, tin and other materials, were the solution.

Some plaques, like the two Guardian signs shown here, simply displayed their company’s name and insignia; others, like the Sun Fire Office sign below, also included a number for easy reference to their customer ledgers.

Helpfully though, fire brigades didn’t just extinguish fires in buildings displaying their own plaques – after all, a fire could easily spread to an adjoining building that was insured by them – so they would fight a fire in any building displaying a mark and charge the other insurance company for their efforts.

It’s a sign: Lewes, 1

Judging by the number of signs on its buildings, I think it’s fair to say that the small East Sussex town of Lewes must have had more famous people per capita living within its boundaries over the centuries than any other town in Britain. And what an interesting assortment of people they have been.

First off, Albion Russell (1821-1888), who opened a boot and shoe shop in Lewes in 1861. He was joined by George Bromley in 1873 after Bromley married Russell’s daughter Elizabeth, and, if you know your shoe brands, then you’ll know the rest. Together they formed the now-famous and still highly successful high-end footwear-manufacturing partnership of Russell and Bromley.

Portrait of Richard Russell by Benjamin Wilson, in public domain via Wikimedia Commons

Next, there’s Dr Richard Russell F.R.S. (1687-1759) (I wonder if he was related to the bootmaker). In 1750, he was the author of a dissertation that prescribed the drinking of sea water as a cure for diseases of the lymphatic glands, and he further recommended that people should try the waters near Brighton, both for drinking and for bathing. The popularity of his ideas contributed to Brighton becoming a fashionable bathing resort, and there is also a plaque for him in Brighton.

Here’s another famous Lewes-born doctor, Gideon A. Mantell F.R.S. (1790-1852). 

The son of a shoemaker, Mantell was apprenticed to a local doctor in 1805 and was later awarded his diploma as a Member of the Royal College of Surgeons. 

In his spare time, Mantell was a keen amateur geologist and he and his wife Mary would take long walks collecting fossils. 

It was on one of these walks that Mantell discovered the fossilised bones of a prehistoric reptile he later named the Iguanodon (though rumour has it that Mary made the actual discovery!).

[Image of Mantell's Maidstone fossil Iguanodon, 1840, via Wikimedia Commons]

Thomas Matthew was a generous man. A Presbyterian and a woollen draper, in his will of 21 December 1688 he bequeathed his house, St Michael’s Court on Keere Hill, for the use and benefit of the poor (chiefly poor widows) of the parish of St Michael-in-Lewes. The local County Court later ordered that the building ‘should be used as a residence for six deserving poor widows or poor single women not less than fifty years of age’, and it continued to function as an almshouse until 1960. Nowadays, this early 18th-century flint building contains two substantial and rather expensive private houses.

At 12 Keere Street, there once lived an author called Eve Garnett (1900-1991). She wrote The Family from One End Street, thought to be based in Lewes, which won the Carnegie Medal for Best Children’s Book in 1938 (beating Tolkein’s The Hobbit) and is still considered a classic. Garnett was also an accomplished artist, illustrating many children’s books, including Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses, and exhibiting at The Tate and the Lefevre Gallery. One of her paintings, ‘Lewes Gasworks from South Street’, is in the collections at the Barbican.

And last but most certainly not least – in fact, this last was a man of international fame, the man who wrote Common Sense and The Rights of Man and The Age of Reason, the man who has been hailed as the intellectual inspiration behind the American war of independence, the great Thomas Paine (1737-1809). Just to be clear, Paine wasn’t born in Lewes but he did live in a house here, now called Bull House, from 1768 to 1774, at which time he was a plain old tobacconist and exciseman. Paine married Elizabeth Olive, the daughter of the owners of Bull House, in 1771 but then he left her in 1774, moved initially to London and subsequently to America to stir up revolution.

Lewes: some street signs

I found much to love about Lewes during the day I spent there on my recent visit to East Sussex, as you will see in this and the blogs that follow.

Church Twitten

Move over road, street and boulevard, in Lewes we have the twitten. As the Oxford Dictionary defines it, a twitten is ‘a narrow path or passage between two walls or hedges’, and the word’s origin may be Low German, from the word tweite meaning lane or alley. If wiktionary and William Douglas Parish (from his 1875 book A dictionary of the Sussex dialect and collection of provincialisms in use in the county of Sussex) are to be believed, this is an exclusively Sussex word that is a corruption of betwixt and between. The word is obviously rather old as Church Twitten, and the many other twittens in Lewes, are the subject of a book by Kim Clark, The Twittens: The Saxon and Norman Lanes of Lewes (Pomegranate Press, 2012).

Pipe Passage

As well as the twitten, Lewes also has the passage, several of them in fact, leading hither and yon. 

This one had its own plaque explaining that Pipe Passage is ‘named after [a] 19th century clay pipe kiln’ and that the route ‘follows Saxon and Medieval access to [the] town wall defences’. 

I found out a little more:

... formerly Westgate Passage. It follows the line of the old town wall which still remains in this quarter of the town. A little way up Pipe Passage on the left is a small piece of ground between it and the town wall. It was formerly roofed over and was used as a workshop for making clay pipes, and the kiln for firing them still partially remains built into the north wall which owes its survival to the fact that it is a retaining wall for higher ground behind. [From N.E.S. Norris, ‘A Victorian Pipe Kiln in Lewes’, Journal of Post-Medieval Archaeology, Vol.4, Issue 1, 1970]

English’s Passage

What can I say? The story behind English’s Passage has eluded me. 

The alleyway itself is certainly very old as one of the buildings at the High Street end is heritage-listed and dates from the 16th century, and these old lanes and passages are all thought to date from Saxon or Norman times. 

The very picturesque row of cottages shown in my photo at right is not so old – the houses date from the early 19th century. They may perhaps have been built for the managers and overseers who worked at nearby Harvey’s Brewery. 

But the reason why this passage is named English’s will have to remain a mystery for now.

Cockshut Road

England would not be England without its weird, wonderful and sometimes downright rude place names. Just as Stonesfield in Oxfordshire has its Cockshoot Close and West End in Surrey has its Cocknmouth Close, so Lewes has Cockshut Road and, indeed, a Cockshut stream. The word Cockshut is actually pronounced Cock-chute by the locals and is apparently derived from a 13th-century Sussex word to describe a place where woodcocks or geese could be ensnared. The waterway, The Cockshut, is a tributary of the River Ouse and its course has been much altered over the years: back in the 12th century one of its branches flowed through the grounds of Lewes Priory and was used to cleanse the reredorter.

I do enjoy flushing out these fascinating dollops of local history.

It’s a sign: Cornwall

As well as the collection of pub signs from my Christmas holiday in Cornwall, I also have a selection of miscellaneous signs to share.

St Just Holy Well

Along a little path from the Church of St Just in Roseland there sits a scheduled ancient monument. It may not look like much but this holy well / spring is likely to have been revered as a sacred site for several thousand years, certainly prior to the coming of Christianity to this area. There is an interesting write up about the site on the Historic England website.

St Just church and bar

This one just appealed for its rather odd combination of holy and alcohol, and I do like these old fingerpost signs.

Farrier and blacksmith, St Agnes Head

You don’t see too many signs for farriers and blacksmiths these days, though I’m sure these traditional skills are still much in demand as sports like horseracing, show-jumping and eventing, as well as riding at pony clubs and on hunts, are still very popular here in Britain.

Cameron Camp Sentry Box, St Agnes Head

As the sign explains, this ‘sentry box is all that remains of a training camp for the 10th Light Anti-Aircraft Battery’. It was built in 1939/40 and was ‘also used later by American troops prior to the D-day landings’. Named after a local landowner, this Second World War camp once contained bungalows, Nissen huts, a NAAFI and a theatre and, though the bungalows were occupied by local people after the war, all but the sentry box have since been demolished.

The Golden Maggot, Mevagissey

This was intriguing! 

It seems there used to a television programme of this name, which consisted of a competition to see who could catch the most fish. 

The winner’s prize was a golden maggot. 

As the sign gives a list a people and their associated boat names, I assume the Mevagissey concept is similar.

John Moor & Son Boatbuilders, Mevagissey

As well as mining, fishing has long been an important industry in Cornwall and fishermen obviously need boats, so there is also a long and strong tradition of boat building. Wooden boats, ranging in size from dinghies through racing yachts to ocean-going trawlers, have all been built in Mevagissey, and the traditional skills of the local boatbuilders were known, admired and sought after around the world.

Chip Ahoy, Padstow

Clever!

Cornish ice cream, Perranporth

Cornish ice cream is traditionally made with the clotted cream they also spoon in great dollops on to their scones and raspberry jam. As my visit was in mid winter I didn’t try any ... just one more reason to return in the warmer months!

Cornwall: The signs of Tintagel

After spending time in Newquay and Padstow, we were racing against time on Boxing Day to reach Tintagel before the light failed: I was hoping for a stunning sunset-over-the-ruins photo but you’ll have to settle for this rather uninspiring sunset over the local parish church instead. You see the days are short in Britain in winter and, because of that, tourist attractions often close earlier, so Tintagel Castle was closed by the time we arrived.

Since we were there, we did have a meander around Tintagel village, partly because we wanted to buy a present for the folks who had very kindly lent us their cottage for the week. Unfortunately, the shops had already shut as well. However, there were some mighty fine signs scattered around, so here’s a rather different look at Tintagel.

This place will forever be associated with King Arthur so, of course, there is a pub called King Arthur’s Arms. We didn’t venture in but it seems from their website that the publican has a sense of humour:

Jerome George Dangar is your host and is a native of Tintagel, he was born and brought up in Tintagel.

Jerome's father, Terry Jerome Dangar, was born and brought up in King Arthur’s Arms.

It is interesting to note that the historical notes of Tintagel record that John Dangar (who died in 1578 ) had two grandsons who both had sons called Jerome and from that time to this there has been Jerome Dangar in every generation except one!

Since names such as Zias, Rychabb and Jease were also chosen by previous Dangars, Jerome had a lucky escape.

Not surprisingly given the number of tourists that flock to this place, this small town boasts more than one pub. Just up the road we found the Tintagel Arms Hotel. The building dates from 1750 and was originally a private home. It has a very attractive pub sign, showcasing the ruins we didn’t get to see.

Another of the many hotels was The Wootons. It has a very minimalist website which tells nothing of the hotel’s history, nor does it explain the sign, which appears to show a crow looking over the ruins. Perhaps Wooton was the name of a previous owner. It’s an ancient surname, dating from Anglo-Saxons times, if not earlier. It’s a combination of the old English words wudu meaning wood and tun meaning settlement or enclosure, so the very first Wooton lived in a town by a wood, which I imagine would apply to 90% of the population in Anglo-Saxon times.

What a shame the Tintagel Toy Museum and Collectors Shop wasn't open – I imagine I might have spent rather a lot of time there and perhaps a little money as well. It is, apparently, a family-run business which, as well as being a model and general collectors’ shop, also houses Cornwall only toy museum, including ‘The Geoff Cann Collection’ of toys dating from the 1920s to the 1980s. I was certainly very impressed with the wonderful collection of old signs afixed to the building’s exterior.

We conclude our tour of Tintagel’s signs with these two rather bizarre offerings. I confess to knowing nothing at all about Spriggans until that day in Tintagel. I knew Cornwall was a magical place but I had no idea it was populated with faeries of all different kinds:

The more ill-tempered cousin of the piskie or browney, Spriggans were especially spiteful to those who offended them. Reputed to be the security force of the faerie society, they stood ready to measure out justice to those who would harm their otherworldly brethren. Some of the punishments believed to have been doled out by the Spriggans were storms sent to blight crops, and the leaving of changelings in place of stolen mortal children. They were most often found in old castle ruins and barrows, guarding buried treasure. Spriggans are described in literature as grotesque, with wizened features and crooked skinny bodies. Though small, they were purported to have the defensive ability to expand themselves to gigantic proportions.

Cornwall: Nosing around Newquay

It’s fair to say that neither Sarah nor I are women who enjoy nosing around the shops so, although we visited a lot of Cornwall’s towns and villages and did venture in to the occasional gallery or craft shop, we mostly avoided the bigger town centres. Newquay is a case in point. We drove straight through the town and headed for the coast to explore.

Newquay war memorial

This impressive war memorial loomed up in front of us when we parked the car. Unveiled by HRH Prince of Wales in 1921, it was erected by Newquay ‘to bear lasting witness to her sons’ supreme sacrifice in the Great War 1914-1918’ and ‘to the lasting memory also of those who gave their lives in the World War 1939 – 1945’. As well as a list of the names of local people who lost their lives during those two wars, there is also a newer plaque inscribed with one name of a soldier lost in conflict in Afghanistan in 2006.

Fistral Beach and the Boxing Day dippers

Fistral Beach looks like a magnificent place for a summertime swim but, if you look closely at the photograph above, you may just be able to make out figures in the water, a couple in the background and a couple closer to where I was standing. They were some of the mad idiots who routinely venture in to the freezing seas around Britain’s coast for the annual Boxing Day Swim. Fistral does not have an organised swim like Charlestown or Poldhu, where swimmers dress up, the swim is done to raise money for charity, and lifeguards are on hand to ensure everyone’s safety. To be honest, I think these Fistral swimmers were extremely foolhardy!

Little Fistral

Beside the large stretch of Fistral Beach sits Little Fistral, a small stretch of sand between great clumps of upthrust rocks. It may look pretty but, judging by the signs, it’s a very dangerous place indeed!

Towan Head

This headland juts out into the sea between Fistral beach and Newquay harbour, and is topped by a small white octagonal building that used to be the Coastguard Lookout Station. According to a nearby sign, it was previously ‘used by preventative men to keep a watchful eye for smugglers and free traders, engaged in illegal pursuits. Holes in the cliffs were used to hide illegal gains of China tea, brandy, wine and silk, although evidence here suggest smuggling wasn’t common.’ The building still offers a good vantage point for views up and down the coastline.

‘Enforced winter closure’

Towan Head had a very impressive toilet block, larger than almost any other public convenience I’ve ever seen and, from a certain angle, shaped a bit like a submarine sitting above the water. However, there was nothing convenient about it. The doors to the Ladies, Gents and Disabled were firmly gated and padlocked with a sign above reading ‘Enforced winter closure’. What does that even mean?

The Huer’s Hut

From the sign: ‘The Huer’s Hut ... thought to date from the 14th century, was used as a look-out by a huer at the time of the year when shoals of pilchards were expected in the bay. A call on his horn raised the hue and cry alerting the townsfolk to the arrival of the fish. By means of hand signals the huer enabled the fishermen to position their boats and encircle the shoals with their nets.’

Harbour signs

There was another fine selection of signs along the wall of Newquay harbour. I had to ask Sarah what tomb-stoning was but my favourites were the two signs about vehicles, which I decided meant: ‘If you bring your unauthorised vehicle on to the harbour wall, we will push it into the sea!’

Newquay harbour

The now-old quay that protects tiny Newquay harbour is the origin of the town’s current name. A fishing village from medieval times, it was known by the Cornish name Towan Blystra until the 15th century (in Cornish, towan means sand hill or dune and blystra means blown) when the Bishop of Exeter provided the funds to build the new quay to shelter the harbour from the blustery north-easterly winds.