Hotel,” a “noble and first-rate” house. All others were described to him
as “poor places, where no gent puts up.” What, then, had become of the
several mentioned in the works of Cary and Paterson; the hostelries that
had been sufficient for the needs of coaching times? Only four years had
then passed since the last coach was driven off these ultimate miles,
and yet Maran’s Hotel, the “Royal,” the “Hibernian,” the “Eagle and
Child,” and others, were already dismissed among those unmentionable
“poor places.” Possibly travellers by coach put up with a great deal
more than railway passengers would tolerate. An illuminating side-light
on these matters is shed by Jack Williams’ recommendation of the
Holyhead inns, quoted by Colonel Birch-Reynardson; and certainly Jack
Williams, who drove the Mail between Bangor and Holyhead, should have
been an authority.
“Coachman, do you know Holyhead well?” asked a passenger. “Me know
Holyhead,” said Jack, who spoke with a strong Welsh accent. “Yes,
inteed; I suppose I to; at laste I should to; I’ve lived there all my
life. Yes, inteed; I was pred and porn there.” “Then you can tell me, I
dare say, which is the best inn; for I want to stay a day or two at
Holyhead.” “How should I know the best inn?” said Jack. “Well, if you
know Holyhead so well, surely you must know which is the best inn.”
“Well, inteed, I know that there’s two inns in Holyhead, but I canna say
which is the pest; I never goes to either of ’em.” “Well, but you must
know which of them is called the best, and which would be best for a
gentleman to stay at.” “Well, inteed,” said Jack, at last, “I’ll tell
you how it is. Should you wish to get drunk, go to Spencer’s. Should you
wish to get lousey, go to Moland’s.”
“Maran’s” was probably the house meant. As Colonel Birch-Reynardson
remarks, it is not likely that the landlord or the landlady would have
felt flattered by Jack Williams’ account of what any one going to their
house was to expect.
No one need look to match Borrow’s experience at the “Railway Hotel,”
where “Boots” was a poet and critic of poets. “In those days,” says
Borrow, “there never was such a place for poets as Anglesey; one met a
poet, or came upon the birthplace of a poet, everywhere.” Every one is
now a great deal more matter-of-fact, and railway and steam packet
time-tables, are the forms of literature best known to the modern hotel
staff.
Holyhead, in short, is but a dependency of the London and North-Western
Railway, and wakes up only at those intervals when the steamers and the
trains arrive. Then, just as though it were an ingenious mechanical toy
of a larger growth, like those that used to be—perhaps are now—at the
Crystal Palace, and as though the necessary penny had dropped into the
mechanism, everything begins to work furiously. Trains roll in, electric
lights glare coldly from tall standards in the docks, mountains of
luggage are shot out upon platforms or quay walls; porters, sailors,
passengers, newsboys, and a miscellaneous crowd rush back and forth,
just after the fashion of those little clockwork mannikins in the glass
cases. Then the whistles of the steamer or train blow; the passengers
are all aboard, the porters trundle their trucks back whence they came,
the crowd disperses, the newsboys end in the midst of their shouting,
and out go the lights; all as though the machine had done its allotted
task, but would begin it all over again if another coin were
forthcoming.
Some day, when the oft-discussed project is realised of making Holyhead,
instead of Liverpool, the terminus of the trans-Atlantic voyage, the
melancholy wastes surrounding the town will be built upon or excavated
for docks. Even now, a large proportion of the American passenger
traffic comes this way: travellers landing from the great liners at
Queenstown saving time and escaping the tedious up-channel voyage and
delays at Liverpool by taking train from Queenstown for Dublin, and so
across to Holyhead.
More than five millions sterling have been sunk in harbour, lighthouse,
and railway works at this bleak port. Close under the sheltering hills
behind the town are the original harbour and the railway company’s
improvements upon it; and away in the distance the great breakwater of
the Harbour of Refuge, that occupied twenty-eight years in building, and
was completed in 1873. The breakwater stretches half way across Holyhead
Bay, a distance of nearly a mile and a half, with a lighthouse at its
seaward end; the greater lighthouses of the Skerries, seven miles away,
and the South Stack, on the other side of Holyhead Mountain, guarding
the approaches to this perilous coast.
LVIII
But to end the Holyhead Road in the mean streets of Holyhead, or by
merely tracing Telford’s modern highway, would be to conclude on a very
feeble and inadequate note. Fortunately, the “old post road” across
Anglesey still remains. It is three miles longer than Telford’s, and is
especially interesting because it affords an excellent means of seeing
with our own eyes what were the difficulties travellers had to contend
with in the days before road reform. The twists and turns, and hills and
hollows, remain just as they were, but as the road is still in use as a
means of communication between several villages, with one town midway,
the surface, it is safe to assume, is in better condition than in old
times. It branches off to the right from the modern road, half a mile
beyond Menai Bridge, and gives a taste of its quality at the outset, in
making straight for a steep hill. Having climbed this, and passed
through Braint and Ceint, up and down and to right and left, it climbs
the hill of Penmynydd, whose very name is significant. Here the
stage-coaches and the mails were accustomed to be overturned, and it was
at sight of this portion of the road that some London coachmen, imported
to work this stage, threw up their engagement and went home again.
Travellers were not so much interested in Penmynydd being the historic
place whence sprang the Tydyrs (“Tiddir” in the Welsh pronunciation and
“Tudor” in English), as they were concerned in getting over the ground
without broken bones; and the horsemen who preceded coach-travelling
looked dismayed in each other’s faces at such a wild spot as this;
reassured, however, on descending the rough and stony hill by a sight of
a gallows that then overhung the roadway. Cheered by this evidence of
law and order extending to the uttermost verge of the land, they removed
their hands from their pistol holsters and spurred onward with renewed
assurance.
Llangefni, beyond Penmynydd, has grown into a town since those times,
with a big “Bull” hotel. At Gwyndû or Glanyrafon, half-way across the
Island, an old coachman, not so handy as most of his fellows, failed to
steer so neatly as he should between the great stones that in the good
old days lay loosely about the road; with the result that the jolt
knocked him off his box and he suffered a broken leg. Gwyndû in those
times was a noted inn. It is now, like many another, a farmhouse, and
all the historian can glean of its history is found in the fugitive
notes of century-old tourists. Thus, a Mr. Hucks, pedestrianising in
1795, says he dined at Gwyndû inn, and that the hostess, a “fine old
lady,” paid him and his companion “the utmost attention, and appeared
particularly solicitous; gave us her blessing at our departure, with a
thousand admonitions not to lose ourselves,” which of course they did.
Rain and storm beset them, and they gladly quitted the “inauspicious
island.”
There is little difficulty in losing one’s way on this old road, for
when maps fail there is not a soul here who can understand the English
tongue. One might talk Hindustani with equal chance of being understood.
Welsh is the only language spoken, for the bi-lingual Welshman is left
behind when crossing the Menai. Anglesey is the great stronghold of the
Welsh language, and in many of its villages it is impossible to find a
single person who understands a word of English. _Dim saesoneg_ is the
sole reply the traveller is likely to meet with on the road, or if by
chance, in some more civilised townlet, he makes himself understood, the
broken and grotesque English of the replies he obtains is likely to be
quite unintelligible. Even those who can command a little “Saxon” are
chary of using it, and not a few of those who gruffly grunt _Dim
saesoneg_ do so because they are shy of their attempts at an unfamiliar
tongue being laughed at.
The scenery on the high ground near Gwyndû may be commended to the
attention of those who describe Anglesey as flat, dull, and featureless.
Here the road, to the backward glance, looks down towards Bodffordd, in
a deep hollow, and away across the island into a charmingly wooded
valley, with great bosses of granite cropping out here and there, and in
the distance the inevitable background to Anglesey scenery, the
Snowdonian mountains. The hamlet of Llynfaes, with whitewashed granite
cottages, very quaint and homely, and very like Cornwall, is pleasing,
and at Trefor there is a stretch of tree-shaded road whose like is not
often found. Bodedern only is somewhat commonplace, and even that is
transfigured by glimpses of the dark Holyhead Mountain and shining sea
unfolded as the road goes downhill to Llanyngenedl, and thence to
Valley. When it has crossed Telford’s road at this last place, the old
way enters upon quite another kind of scenery; very beautiful in its
sort. Hills, it is true, are not wholly left behind, but the prevailing
landscape is flat, with wide, wild stretches of gorsy and heathery moor,
threaded with salt-water creeks and pools. Holy Island is entered at
Four-Mile Bridge, a causeway spanning the tidal channel. Windmills, seen
in long perspective across the flats, shrilly piping gulls, salt pools,
lichened granite rocks, and the ruins of Druidical cromlechs, make up
the sum total of foreground and middle distance; with the sea at Penrhos
and Trearddur Bay on the left, and a long line of roofs and chimneys in
the background under Holyhead Mountain, standing for Holyhead town.
LIX
If a grand and awe-inspiring finish to the Holyhead Road be sought, let
the pilgrim, instead of making for the town, ascend the misty steeps of
Holyhead Mountain, and make his rugged and circuitous way to the South
Stack. The road runs past some peculiarly depressing outskirts, and by a
long row of empty and forlorn cottages offered to be let at fourpence a
week, and not finding tenants even at that modest sum. These desolate
dwellings were built for the use of the men employed on the Holyhead
Harbour Works, and have not been occupied since the Harbour was
completed.
The South Stack, at the rocky edge of Holy Island, cannot be gained
under four miles of wandering by winding roads across the heathery
uplands: the way traced by whitewashed stones placed at intervals to
mark the track in foggy weather. Long before the traveller gains the
cliff’s edge, he will perhaps be suddenly overtaken by one of the sea
fogs, and at last come to the place unawares. Then he may be grateful
indeed for the strong breast-wall of masonry that saves the strayed
visitor from walking over the precipices into the sea some five hundred
feet below.
A sea-fog is a ghastly and chilling phenomenon, but in no other
circumstances does the South Stack rock appear so impressive, or the
fog-horn of its lighthouse seem so uncanny. As a light wind springs up
and gradually clears away the fog, like clouds of white smoke, the first
object looming in ghostly fashion out of the absolute void is the
lighthouse lantern, apparently detached and swimming in air; while the
strange bellowing, like that of a dyspeptic cow, that has been coming at
half-minute intervals from some unknown quarter, is located from it. The
distant wail, throbbing in a higher key across the invisible water, is
the fog-horn on the Skerries.
[Illustration: THE SOUTH STACK. _After T. Creswick, R.A._]
As the fog gradually dies away, the lighthouse becomes revealed with the
island rock it stands upon. This is the South Stack: a great mass of
seamed and crannied rock torn off from the cliffs and standing as an
island, itself rising to a height of 212 feet above high water, and
looked down upon by sheer granite cliffs three hundred feet taller. In
the narrow chasm below the sea dashes savagely in and out of the gloomy
caverns, with a sound like muffled thunder. The grandeur and scale of
this terrific scene—a fitting climax to all the varied scenery of the
Holyhead Road—are not fully realised when looking down upon it. There,
on the island rock, stands the white lighthouse, with whitewashed stone
walls zigzagging along the verge of its cliffs, and forming a little
compound where the store-houses and the cottages of the staff are
situated; and the whole looks so neat and toy-like that its dimensions
are not at first grasped. But when the slow and winding descent to it
down the face of the cliff by 381 rude rocky steps has been cautiously
accomplished, the awful savagery of the spot is realised. There may
possibly be a few places on these coasts to approach the grimly
bristling rocks of the South Stack in their wild beauty, but none can
surpass them.
At the foot of the long descent, but still perched high above the
fearful waves that even in calm weather run and recede, hissing and
foaming, for a distance of thirty or forty feet up and down the face of
the cliffs, is the entrance to a suspension-bridge hung from side to
side of the channel. Before this was built, the only means of access was
by a line and basket, followed at a little later period by a rope
bridge; but the risk was so great that the present one, a miniature
reproduction of the Menai Bridge was constructed.
Perhaps as remarkable a feature of this strange place as anything else
to be seen is the vast concourse of sea-birds inhabiting the
rocks—shags, penguins, guillemots, cormorants, sea-gulls, puffins,
razor-bills, and even peregrine falcons, screaming and chattering loud
enough to drown even the sound of the waves. The lighthouse-keepers and
other observers tell how the gulls all migrate to other and warmer
climes on or about every 12th of August, returning in a body about
February 10th. The keepers state that in midst of the February night
they are advised of the birds’ arrival by a great noise, as though it
were a mutual greeting and cheering. These feathered inhabitants of the
South Stack are under the protection of the Government, and are as
useful to the Trinity House as any of the lighthouses, buoys, beacons,
or fog-horns on the coast; their incredible numbers and deafening noise
warning mariners just as effectually as any mechanical devices. As no
sportsmen (so-called) are allowed to disturb the birds, they are
wonderfully tame, and present an odd sight, row upon row of them perched
upon the ledges like some vast and patient audience. The cliffs for long
distances are populous with them, and one particularly noisy and
turbulent place near the North Stack has acquired the name of the
“Parliament House.”
[Illustration: HOLYHEAD MOUNTAIN.]
Here, then, where the sea-birds scream and fly, on the rocky ramparts of
this wild land, overlooking that broad belt of water known by choice
either as St. George’s Channel or the Irish Sea, shall the Holyhead Road
most fittingly end. From this outlook one may watch the great liners
coming by, bound for America, or within an hour of ending their voyage
at Liverpool, and may see the packets set forth or come in from Ireland.
Whether Ireland itself, or that other Mona, known better by its modern
name of the Isle of Man, can be seen, lying afar off, like cloudbanks
upon the horizon, is a matter for the most favourable weather, the
keenest eyesight, and the most robust faith to decide in the
affirmative, or for scepticism to deny.
INDEX
Allesley, i. 301
Anglesey, Isle of, i. 20; ii. 288, 292–295, 320
—— Marquis of, i. 165; ii. 295–297, 313
Ashby St. Ledgers, i. 241–243, 251
Atcham, ii. 89–91
Atherstone, i. 210–217
Baddesley Ensor, i. 217
Bangor, i. 20, 22, 219; ii. 112, 265, 273
Barnet, i. 27, 34, 38, 65, 66–79, 96
—— Fair, i. 69–72
Battlesden, i. 156, 162
_Beneventa_, i. 232
Berwyn, ii. 209
Bethesda, ii. 260–262
Bettws-y-Coed, ii. 87, 112, 218, 232–245
Bickenhill, i. 307–311
Bicton, ii. 145
Bilston, ii. 36–38
Birmingham, i. 4, 10, 11, 15, 24, 27, 188, 277, 307, 312–314; ii. 1–27,
109
Bodedern, ii. 320
Bodffordd, ii. 320
Boningale, ii. 64
Bordesley, i. 313
Boscobel, i. 225–227
Braint, ii. 318
Braunston, i. 182, 240
—— Hill, i. 239
Breidden Hills, ii. 88, 145–147, 151
Bridgetown, i. 221
Britannia Bridge, The, ii. 298–302
Brownhills, i. 5, 220
Brown’s Wells, i. 58
Brunsford Bridge, i. 208
Burcot, ii. 78
Caer Ceiliog, ii. 305–307
Caldecote, i. 213, 215
Capel Curig, ii. 108, 112, 249–253, 271
Catesby, Robert, i. 243, 252
Catthorpe, i. 205, 207
Cave’s Inn, i. 205, 207
Ceint, ii. 318
Cernioge, ii. 225–230
Cerrig-y-Druidion, ii. 223–225
Chirk, i. 2; ii. 162, 171–175
Churchbridge, i. 221
Coaches:—
“Accommodation,” St. Albans, i. 121
“Albion,” Birmingham, i. 37
“Balloon,” Birmingham Post Coach, i. 28
Birmingham Mail, i. 157; ii. 12
Birmingham and Lichfield Flying Coach, i. 291
—— Stage, ii. 12
Birmingham and Shrewsbury Mail, i. 16, 31; ii. 112, 129
—— and Holyhead Mail, i. 16, 40
“Caravan,” the, London and Shrewsbury, ii. 104
Chester and Holyhead Mail, i. 16, 81, 102, 157, 162; ii. 113
—— Stage, i. 3, 6, 12, 291
—— and Shrewsbury Stage, i. 5
“Coburg,” Manchester, i. 85
“Coventry Flying Machine,” i. 291
—— Stage, i. 205; ii. 101
“Defiance,” Worcester and Shrewsbury, ii. 110
Diligence, Shrewsbury Stage, i. 32; ii. 107
“Eclipse,” Birmingham, i. 261–263, 291
“Economist,” Birmingham, i. 27, 32
“Emerald,” Birmingham, i. 31; ii. 16, 118
“Gee-ho,” Shrewsbury stage waggon, i. 32; ii. 102
“Greyhound,” Birmingham and Shrewsbury coach, i. 27, 32, 37, 152,
157; ii. 39
“Hero,” Manchester and Coventry, i. 292
“Highflyer,” Shrewsbury and Chester, ii. 120
Holyhead stage, i. 15
—— Mail (see “New Holyhead Mail”)
—— Post Coaches, ii. 113
“Hope,” Halifax, i. 156
“Independent Tally-ho,” Birmingham, i. 24, 28, 29; ii. 14
“Little Wonder,” Coventry and Birmingham, i. 292
Liverpool Mail, i. 311
Manchester Mail, i. 193
New Holyhead Mail, i. 16, 22, 31, 81, 87, 102, 152, 157, 193; ii.
14–16, 98, 112, 113, 210, 223, 246, 267–270, 281
“New Shrewsbury Flying Machine,” or “London and Shrewsbury New Fly,”
ii. 105
“Nimrod,” Shrewsbury, i. 27, 30; ii. 116–118, 133
“No Wonder,” Birmingham, i. 27
“Old Times,” St. Albans, i. 119
“Original London and Salop Machine,” ii. 106
“Original Tally-ho,” Birmingham, i. 24, 29
“Oxonian Express,” Holyhead, ii. 113
“Patent Tally-ho,” Birmingham, ii. 14
“Peeping Tom,” Manchester and Coventry, i. 292
“Prince of Wales,” or “Prince Regent,” Holyhead, i. 32; ii. 53, 113
“Real Tally-ho,” Birmingham, i. 24; ii. 14
“Shrewsbury Flying Machine,” ii. 105
—— —— Stage-waggon, ii. 103
—— Long Coach, ii. 104, 107
—— Machine, ii. 105
—— Stage, ii. 104, 107
“Stag,” Shrewsbury, i. 27; ii. 117
“Tally-ho,” Birmingham, i. 23, 24, 28, 44, 155, 192; ii. 12, 19
“Union,” Shrewsbury, i. 30; ii. 113
“Wolverhampton and Birmingham Flying stage,” i. 6
“Wonder,” Shrewsbury, i. 24, 27, 32; ii. 64, 74, 75, 91, 97–100,
114–119, 122, 155, 223
—— St. Albans i. 116–119
Coaching, i. 2–6, 12–18, 23–37, 43, 81–91, 98–102, 116–119, 121,
156–162, 192–194, 261–263, 291–298, 311; ii. 11–26, 39, 46, 91,
99–122, 152–155, 210, 223, 267–270, 280–282, 318
—— Accidents, i. 30–32, 81–88, 156, 192–194; ii. 39
—— Notabilities:—
Chaplin, William, i. 82, 169
Clarke, Thomas, i. 293
Evans, Richard, ii. 46–49
Harper, Charles, ii. 267–269
Hassall, Robert, i. 263
Hayward, Sam, ii. 91, 97–100
Horne, B. W., i. 24, 29, 37; ii. 116
Jobson, John, ii. 116, 133
Kenyon, Hon. Thos., ii. 121, 150–155, 164, 223
Lawrence, Robert, i. 15; ii. 105, 108–113
Lee, Harry, ii. 16
Lloyd, Mrs. Sarah, ii. 19
Mountain, Mrs., i. 23; ii. 19
Peck, Tom, i. 263, 293
Pinner, Tom, i. 249–292
Rothwell, Nicholas, ii. 12
Rumney, P.J., i. 119
Sherman, Edward, i. 37; ii. 16
Taylor, Isaac, ii. 75, 114, 117, 133, 155
Tresslove, Harry, ii. 14
Vickers, Dick, ii. 223
Waddell, William, ii. 12, 20
Williams, Jack, ii. 268–270, 314
Williams, William, ii. 120–122
Corwen, i. 15, 18, 20; ii. 109, 211–218
Cosford, ii. 65
Coventry, i. 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 15, 29, 34, 210, 214, 266–301, 307; ii.
109.
Cox, David, ii. 234–239, 243
Crackley Bank, i. 228
Crick, i. 205; ii. 224
Cross-in-Hand, i. 208
Cycling, Historical sketch of, i. 278–291
Cycling Notabilities:—
Drais, Baron von, i. 281
Dunlop, J. B., i. 287
Johnson, Dennis, i. 281
Lallemont, P., i. 282
Lawson, Harry, i. 286
Macmillan, Kirkpatrick, i. 282
Marriott, Jas., i. 280
Mayall, John, junr., i. 282
Niepce, M., i. 281
Spencer, C., i. 282
Starley, J. K., i. 286
Turner, R. B. i. 282
Cyfyng Falls, ii. 249
Dancer’s Hill, i. 81
Daventry, i. 29, 182, 188, 193, 210, 229, 232–239, 244, 245, 249
Denbigh Hall, i. 36, 169–171
Deodand, Law of, i. 86–88
Deritend, i. 313; ii. 236
Digbeth, i. 313
Dinas Hill, i. 18; ii. 231
Dirt House Hill, i. 193
Dodford, i. 230–232
Dordon, i. 217
Dove Bridge, i. 205
Dudley, ii. 9, 29, 37
Dunchurch, i. 188, 249–259; ii. 14
Dunsmore, i. 250, 251, 254, 259–263
Dunstable, i. 6, 101, 136, 139, 140–146, 204
—— Downs, i. 146–150
_Durocobrivæ_, i. 142, 204
Dyrham Park, i. 79
East Finchley, i. 58
Easton Neston, i. 185
Elmdon, i. 312
_Etocetum_, i. 218, 221
Fawkes, Guy, i. 250
Fazeley, i. 217
Fenny Stratford, i. 167–169
Finchley Common, i. 8, 58, 61–63
Flamstead, i. 134
_Forum Dianæ_, i. 204
Foster’s Booth, i. 194
Frankwell, ii. 142
Friar’s Wash, i. 133
Gaerwen, ii. 304
Gailey, i. 221, 224
Gibbet, i. 208
Glanyrafon, ii. 319
Glasfryn, ii. 225
Glyndwr, Owain, ii. 144, 172, 214–216, 271
Glyndyffws, ii. 221
Glyndyfrdwy, ii. 210
Gobowen, ii. 156, 169
Godiva, i. 270–273
Great Wyrley, i. 221
Gunpowder Plot, i. 241–243, 250–253
Gwalchmai, ii. 305
Gwyndû, ii. 319
Hadley Green, i. 79
Hammerwich, i. 219
Handsworth, ii. 27
Hatherton, i. 221, 246
Havencote Houses, i. 184
Hay Mills, i. 313
High Cross, i. 209–213
Highgate, i. 44–59
—— Archway, i. 44–54
Highwaymen, i. 5, 61–64, 93–96, 124–127, 137–140, 142, 223, 261; ii. 28
—— : ——
Cady, William, i. 61
Garrett, Tom, i. 125
Simms, Harry, i. 137–140
Simpson, Jonathan, i. 261
Whitney, Captain James, i. 96
Hilltop, ii. 30
Hints, i. 217
Hockley, ii. 27
Hockliffe, i. 27, 28, 29, 102, 139, 140, 151–162
Holloway Bank, ii. 30
Holyhead, i. 10, 11, 18, 19, 20, 37, 38; ii. 273, 307–317, 321
Holyhead Mountain, ii. 306, 317, 320–326
Holywell Hill, i. 111, 115–117
Horsebrook, i. 224.