Walk 387 -- Pembroke Dock to Hundleton

 Ages: Colin was 77 years and 43 days. Rosemary was 74 years and 185 days. 

Weather: Sunny and warm with a lovely breeze. (At last Summer has started!) 

Location: Pembroke Dock to Hundleton. 

Distance: 6 miles. 

Total distance: 3946 miles. 

Terrain: Some pavement-bashing. Paths through fields and woods. Slightly undulating. 

Tide: Out. 

Rivers: No.457, Pembroke River. 

Ferries: None. 

Piers: None. 

Kissing gates: Nos.946 to 955 — ten in all. (The 10^th was overgrown with goose-grass, but we still used it despite the main gate being wide open!) 

Pubs: The ‘Old King’s Arms’ in Pembroke where Colin drank Felinfoel ‘Double Dragon’ and ‘Gower Gold’, and I had a shandy. 

‘Cadw’ properties: None. (Pembroke Castle is privately owned, but is open to the public) 

Ferris wheels: None. 

Diversions: None. 

How we got there and back: We were caravanning in Freshwater East. This morning we drove to Hundleton where we parked near the bus stop. We caught a bus to Pembroke Dock Station. 

At the end we came out on to a lane about a quarter of a mile outside Hundleton. We walked into the village where our car was parked. We got in and drove straight back to our caravan. 

 

We started today's Walk at Pembroke Dock station. We walked to Asda hoping for a delicatessen counter and a toilet — they had neither. But there was a public toilet across the square at 40p a go! (Thank goodness for our RADAR keys.) In the square was a sculpture, it was a huge fish with its mouth wide open as if it was dying. It was made entirely from plastic bottles! We thought it was very clever, it certainly put a message across. 

Today's whole Walk was accompanied by NOISE! Horrible man-made NOISE! In Pembroke Dock it was constant traffic noise, and “disco” cars with their loud thump! thump! thump! We didn't enjoy walking through the town much — it seemed a little run-down though not nearly so run-down as Holyhead. Is it something to do with them both being ports? 

Also we had a lot of uphill walking. Before we started I had said it would be a “flattish” Walk mostly through towns so I wouldn't take my walking poles. I regretted that later, and Colin constantly reminded me every time we came to an uphill part. 

At the top of the hill there was a wood, and we realised there was a footpath through it which cut off a corner. That's better! Though we could still hear traffic noise. It was only about a hundred yards, but it made a nice break from pavement-bashing. Then it was back on the road with the traffic noise and “disco” cars. 

It was Colin who noticed the path leading off to the left. I almost missed it because it seemed obscure, but it was well signposted. It led down into a lovely wooded dell — lovely except for all the broken glass, drinks cans and plastic rubbish which was strewn everywhere! Then it led uphill into a housing estate. But at the end of that road we continued into a real field. That's better! 

We found a rock to sit on in the shade and ate some of our lunch even though it was only 11.30. (We were hungry!) But it wasn't the peace of the countryside that we had been expecting — in the adjacent field up a bank they were cutting and turning hay. The machinery was so NOISY, and could be heard a long way. When we got to the end of the field I was about to go the wrong way again, but Colin called my attention to a crossroads of footpaths. We had to go steeply up a bank and into the very field where they were noisily haymaking. 

The path continued for about a mile through fields, flower meadows and wooded dells

We crossed a couple of streams and had the occasional view of the Pembroke River. But all along there was Noise! Noise! Noise! First it was the haymaking, then it was a very loud drill (we couldn't make out where that was coming from) and as we approached Pembroke an extremely loud disco took over. (We think that was coming across the river from the castle.)

We think the birds were chirping in the woods, but we couldn't hear them above the racket! 

We came out into a housing estate, and signs led us immediately down to the river opposite the castle. What a grand view! We sat on a bench to admire it and ate some chocolate because we felt like it.

The disco over the castle way was still in full flow — it came over in waves, extremely loud and then fading away in the wind before coming back. Also, the nearer we got to the bridge over the Pembroke River the louder was the traffic noise. The traffic was nose-to-tail over the bridge and all the way through Pembroke. 

NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! 

On the bridge is a statue of Henry VII, the first Tudor king and father of the infamous Henry VIII. Henry VII was born in Pembroke Castle in 1457. After crossing the bridge we diverted into the town to seek out the real ale pub which we wanted to visit. Taking our drinks out into the concrete 'garden' at the back of the pub we were blissfully shielded from all traffic noise. But we had to listen to a lot of clattering and loud conversation from the adjacent kitchen. Then somebody started up a mixer, or something, which sounded like a large drill. 

NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! 

We returned to the castle so that we could walk between it and the river towards Monkton. (Hooray! The disco was no longer playing — perhaps someone had told them to shut up!) We didn't visit the imposing Pembroke Castle because it is not owned by Cadw. But we remembered visiting it way back in 1977 with our four small children. I have managed to find a photo of Colin standing on the topmost part of the keep where there are no safety railings with Paul, then aged six! 

In Monkton we were able to take a shortcut up Awkward Hill — the traffic now has to go round two sides of a triangle whereas we did the Pythagoras thing. We passed Monkton Church and then walked under some trees where jackdaws were squawking, making a hell of a racket. I looked at numerous spots of birdlime on the pavement and thought, “This could be dangerous!” Suddenly a wet splat appeared just ahead of me as a bird flew off — it missed! I moved hurriedly out of the danger zone. 

After half a mile of pavement bashing we turned into a lane that went sharply downhill to where an inlet came in from the river — the tide was well out so it was just mud. We crossed a bridge, the other side of which was an inland stream feeding into the inlet. But the water was coming through a large tap in a wall, it was quite extraordinary! It looked like something out of a children's cartoon.

Unfortunately, in the driveway of the dwelling next to this unusual tap, where a beautiful red Morgan car was parked, were two men drilling. The noise was excruciating and really hurt our ears. 

NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! 

We didn't hang about! We continued hurriedly up the lane, 'up' being the operative word — this 'flattish' Walk had long since ceased to be a joke. We were both flagging by now, Colin particularly. My back was playing up and Colin's leg muscles were cramping. Thankfully we didn't have to climb all the way up the hill. Partway we turned off into a field on a footpath which followed the contours, more or less, around the hill. 

Further on we came to a fallen tree, the trunk of which made an excellent seat. So we sat down and ate some more chocolate because we felt like it. As we sat there we realised that, for the first time on this noisy Walk, we could only hear natural sounds — like the wind in the trees, birds singing, etc. But wait a moment! What was that in the distance? Only big guns booming out from the Castlemartin Range a few miles to the south! I wonder what QUIET sounds like? 

The footpath continued through fields and wooded dells — it was quite pleasant. It crossed a couple of lanes and even passed a sewage farm (that wasn't very pleasant!) 

One of the stiles we came to was a real 'Granny's Teeth' affair. Colin had to help me get down off it — with my stiff back and metal knees I hadn't a hope of getting down those 'teeth' unaided. Eventually we came to a tarmacked track. We turned uphill — again, but only gently uphill — for a quarter of a mile through a dandelion meadow until we hit a lane. 

That ended Walk no.387, we shall pick up Walk no.388 next time where the coast path turns on to a lane leading out of Hundleton. It was twenty to four, so the Walk had taken us five hours twenty-five minutes. We turned left and walked into the village where our car was parked. We got in and drove straight back to our caravan. We didn't meet anybody in either direction walking the coastal path today, and we voted it the noisiest of all the Walks so far. 

 

My knees no longer cause me problems when walking, in fact I hardly ever think about them these days because they feel so normal. Well done the NHS! It's only when I'm faced with BIG steps — ordinary sized steps are OK — that I haven't got the strength in the muscles around the knee to pull myself up or let myself down. Also, steep downhill slopes can be a problem because of the pressure on my artificial knees. I can walk for miles on the flat, and enjoy doing so. 

It's my back that's the real problem — it's arthritis again. And I have sciatica all down my right leg, probably caused by me limping when my knees were bad. The NHS doesn't want to know. I self-registered for physiotherapy, but when I eventually got an appointment (after three months!) it was a complete waste of time. At the first session I was given an exercise sheet, and the therapist didn't listen when I told her I was already doing the exercises daily. She didn't even touch me! And she dismissed me after two short sessions, the second session consisted of me showing her the exercises I had been doing. Our chiropractic daughter now lives on a yacht and we hardly ever see her. I tried a McTimoney chiropractor, and enjoyed the massage (at least she touched me!) but it didn't do any good and I felt it was money down the drain. So I do the exercises, take paracetamol and try to live with it. 

Colin has been suffering leg cramps for eighteen months now, and can be in excruciating pain at times. The GPs have run out of ideas and interest in his distress. He had a similar experience with a physiotherapist when he self-registered. So he does the exercises daily, takes paracetamol and tries to live with it. 

To quote the actress Bette Davies: “Growing old is not for sissies!”