My dad's first postings in WW2 - Teffont Evias and Fovant in Wiltshire.

Recently I re-read my dad's memories of his life, from his birth and upbringing in Southampton in 1919. He got as far as 1966, and one or two bits were added by family later. I looked up the two villages in the title, which are west of Salisbury and not that far from here, and thought I'd like to go and see where he had spent that very early part of the war, and felt a Brompton trip was in order.

Dad's story - 

After leaving school at 14, and having various jobs, Dad trained as a draughtsman with the Ordnance Survey. When war broke out in September 1939 he was not quite 20. He had met my mum not that long before. What follows is his account of that first winter of the war.

"I went later from Southampton to Fort Widley. From there to Teffont Evias near Salisbury. It was winter and we were billeted in bell tents on the vicarage green - the tents had paving stones as a floor - a mattress was filled with straw at the Q.M.'s store and each of us had three blankets. In the morning we broke the ice on the stream nearby and washed and shaved. At the time we found it very hard but more recently, having read of what was happening at the time, there wasn't any alternative - the necessary stores and equipment didn't exist! My khaki overcoat at this time had bone buttons instead of the regulation brass.

Froom Teffont I went to Fovant a few miles away. Here I was billeted with a Mr and Mrs Read, an elderly couple who lived in a thatched cottage. He was a county council employee working on the roads. He was also a preacher at the local chapel I remember him. On Sunday evenings, sitting in his basket chair one side of the fireplace while his wife sat on the other side. On his knees would be the large family bible from which he read aloud. The earth closet of the cottage was at the bottom of the garden facing the river a few feet away. The interior of the timber hut was papered with coloured American comics - I didn't know whether this was intended to make the place draught proof or whether it was considered the only suitable place for such trashy literature.

Other members of my company were billeted in various houses throughout the village. I remember one household had six soldiers. the village hall was taken over for use as a mess room.

We hadn't any technical work to do and we hadn't a parade ground so we did some marching up and down the village street. Afternoons were spent in cross country running. Somehow our days had to be filled.

Later I went back to Teffont [Evias] - this time to be billeted in the Manor house with the parish church in its grounds. I and three others had a small room at the top of the house. We worked in a room on the ground floor using small portable tables as desks. The lorries containing printing equipment were stationed in the grounds of the house."

Later Dad sailed for Cairo, where amongst other things he worked in Tura Caves (blocks of stone had been transported from there to build the pyramids). 

"The caves were enormous caverns which housed a number of drawing offices and vast printing machines for producing the maps. From Tura I went to G.H.Q. in Cairo working on target maps for RAF bombers."

I found this amazing image, and many others, on here . I don't think any of these men are my dad, but he would have worked right there -  

"Tura caves draughtsmen"

From there he went to -

"...Taranto in Italy arriving 31st December 1944. We travelled from there in cattle trucks of the railway. There were so many men in each truck there wasn't much room. It fell to my lot to sleep on the heap of coal which had been provided for the brazier in the centre of the truck. It was bitterly cold especially in the mountains. To let the smoke out of the truck both doors were kept open. When we went through tunnels we were almost asphyxiated."

________________________

So, I found myself an Airbnb in Fovant, which I soon learnt is famous for its "badges", and which I had a good view of from where I stayed. These badges were carved into the chalk hillside by soldiers during WW1.

Image from Wikipedia

Day 1

After being taken to the outskirts of Swindon by Husband, I cycled the 4 miles to the station. I had originally thought I would cycle the 18 miles there, but as the days were getting shorter I knew that that would take a valuable chunk out of the day, which perhaps wasn't a good idea. On the front of the bike I had my Brompton Borough Rolltop bag, and on the back I took a rack bag which has small drop down panniers. This gave me a good amount of space for my 5 days, with a bit to spare. I then caught the 11.05 train to Salisbury, changing at Westbury. I also took a home made cloth drawstring rucksack for walking. 

The journey was straightforward, with unusually kind and helpful railway employees on the train, and at Westbury station. They even had time to crack a joke with me - a small thing but it made such a difference.  I had a chat on the platform with a man about my bike. Bromptons are like babies and dogs - they get you into conversation with complete strangers!

I then took NCN Route 24 out of Salisbury. I had familiarised myself with the route beforehand but it didn't seem like a cycle route at first and I wasn't sure I was going the right way, but eventually I found the blue signs. I stopped en route for coffee at a garden centre, and a call of nature at some surprisingly clean public toilets. At Wilton I was just heading to the church to see if there was a tap, when I spotted two Bromptoneers, a man and his wife, sitting on a bench, so of course I had to go and chat to them! They suggested asking in a local cafe for water, so I did while they watched my bike. I then had to cycle up a big hill out of Wilton - long and quite steep (for me anyway!). I made many stops....

Route 24 was actually quite busy, and not particularly pleasant to ride. Time was ticking on by then and I was flagging slightly, but my spirits were lifted by the lovely shop in Broad Chalke, in an old chapel (also a cafe) where I bought some supplies, though forgot two essentials - butter, and lard for my breakfast. I was annoyed with myself. I cycled on and saw a hedgeline in the distance, going up a hill, and thought - 

"Oh no, is that where I've got to go?". 

Yes it was - another steep and long one, but what goes up must come down, and after several stops again, I sailed down into Fovant, and found that the local shop was very close, so I was able to get my butter and lard! I actually used this shop several times - what a blessing it is for a village to have such a good shop (and Post Office).

I arrived at the Airbnb at 5.30, pretty tired.  It was self contained; much as I love a good B and B this time I wanted to be able to come and go as I pleased. Phone call to Husband, food, washing up (no bowl in the sink! how silly is that!), shower and bed. I should add that after my experience with heart palpitations, on my last bike trip in June, this time I came prepared, with a home made electrolyte mixture, of sea salt, magnesium and potassium. I took some every time I drank water, and was fine. If you're interested, this was the recipe I used  - electrolyte mixture.

About 18 miles - 4 to the station (easy ones!) and another 14 from Salisbury to Fovant (not so easy!)

Day 2

I walked through Fovant,  and came to the chapel which must have been the one the Mr Read, in Dad's account, preached. Sadly it was locked.

I couldn't see a cottage that might have been the one where they lived, and where Dad was billeted. As I walked up the village street, I imagined my dad marching up and down it. Many of the houses would all have been there then. Did he have to look straight ahead, or did he notice these houses as he passed? This was the village hall, which was turned into their mess room. It was a grey and drizzly morning when I took these photos.

Fovant village hall

At the hall, I saw a notice advertising coffee and biscuits for 50p the next day, and thought I must go, as there would be bound to be locals there that might know something about Fovant in the war.

But for now, I walked on, across wet footpaths, to Teffont Evias (rhymes with Elias). It was a lovely walk, going across the lovely River Nadder at Mill Farm -

The footpath had been diverted from where it was on my map, onto the virtually private road that led up from the old mill to the railway, which I crossed. I stopped by an old building to eat and drink, and then walked on up the slight hill, to the road that goes down into Teffont Evias. I had seen photos of the manor house before I came away, but then all of a sudden there it was. I looked down on it from the top of the hill -

Teffont Evias Manor (on the right) and church

Opposite was a beautiful lake - the hill that I walked down is to the left - 

Taken later when it was sunny

Teffont Evias Manor House

This was as close as I could get to the manor, which is now flats. I felt quite tearful as I thought of my dad, as a young man of maybe just 20, sleeping up on that top floor, and working down on the ground floor, and knowing, surely, that he would soon be sent abroad. He would have seen the views I saw. Did he have any free time to walk around the village, as I was doing? Did he notice the apple trees, and the apples that had dropped into the river at the side of the road? I read in a book in the church that a man from Teffont Evias had emigrated to Australia and had taken with him a graft from one of the apple trees in the village, of which I saw many, and had then grown them there, and that they became a very popular apple. I have grown a few apple trees from pips, and so brought home one of these lovely apples to grow a tree from, in memory of my dad.  My only regret is that I got so carried away with looking at the Manor, and inside the church, that I forgot to try to find the "vicarage green" where Dad had first been billeted. Another time perhaps.

Teffont Evias apples

I then decided to walk on to Chilmark, another couple of miles or so away, and famous for its stone. Salisbury cathedral was built from it.  I had read before leaving home that there was a shop there - I had eaten all the food I'd brought with me so hoped to buy some there to refuel me for the walk back. It was  sunny by then, my damp feet were drying out thankfully (my shoes are not waterproof) and it was a lovely walk. However, when I got there I asked the first lady I came across if there was a shop there, and she informed me that there wasn't! And no cafe. She said the pub had recently reopened but she wasn't sure of its opening hours. I was panicking slightly, to put it mildly, that I had at least 5 miles to walk back and I was hungry. I told myself I shouldn't have walked this far without bringing more food. I walked the half mile or so to the pub, and found it shut. I even walked round the back to see if I could see anybody who might supply this traveller with food! No-one. At the bus shelter the timetable showed that there was a bus back to Fovant! Ah, only on Saturdays..... this was Wednesday... And then I have to confess to stealing from the church - I went there for water and noticed the tomatoes in the porch, obviously there for Harvest Festival, but I felt my need was great and that nobody would suffer for me taking one, so I did, and ate it. It was not nice... and I spat it out by a tree. 

By this stage I thought - "I'll just have to start walking back." So I did. I picked, and ate, a couple of apples on the way, and drank plenty of water, and took my electrolyte salt, and made it back with nothing more than aching legs and feet. The sun had come out, and I was pleased to have seen the lake at Teffont Evias in the sunshine (see above photo). A total of about 11 miles.

Day 3

Today was a cycling day. I wanted to visit Tisbury, the largest village in this valley of the River Nadder, but I also wanted to go to the coffee morning in Fovant village hall. I cycled into the village, but being too early for the coffee morning, I went on to the church, where I walked round the Commonwealth War Graves. This is from the Fovant Badges website -

Thousands of men from all parts of Britain and overseas lived for a while in the area, passed on to the Western Front and returned from it. Many never returned but gave their lives on the battlefields in France. Others died of their wounds in the hospital [in the military camp] or from disease. Rows of silent War Graves in Fovant and other nearby churchyards are testimony to their presence.

War Graves in Fovant churchyard

Such a waste of life. I've learnt in recent years that wars are all about making money for somebody.

I cycled back to the village hall and was made very welcome by several ladies and a couple of men. I told them why I was staying in Fovant and one of them read out the above passage of Dad's memories. One long time resident knew of a Mrs Read in the village but didn't know if she was related to the preacher and his wife. They showed me some old drawings of the military camps in Fovant. A lady from Chilmark (the shop closed 20 years ago! How did I get that so wrong?!) highly recommended the food at the nearby Wyndham Arms at Dinton, and one of the men recommended a good place for coffee in Tisbury - Harry's on the Square. 

Then on to Tisbury, taking a lovely circuitous route through the very narrow lanes of Sutton Mandeville, calling in at a farm veg shop which I happened to see a sign to. I didn't really need any veg but I like supporting genuine small farm shops (not so much the supermarket type of farm shop) but bought a shallot anyway! - hoping to meet the farmer and have a chat about the state of farming in Britain today. I did meet him but sadly he wasn't of the chatty variety. 

At Sutton Mandeville I chatted to a couple of clearly serious walkers (you can tell - rucksacks, proper maps...) near the church, and the husband told me that the sundial there in the churchyard was very old (1685). He was carrying around a copy of a page of a book.

"Do you know Pevsner's books?" he asked me.

Yes I did. Not because I've read any but because I spent 4 years working in bookshops and was, and still am, good at remembering titles and authors. Pevsner wrote a series on the buildings of England.

 

1685 sundial. 2023 Brompton.

Tisbury was slightly disappointing somehow, almost giving a run down impression, though the dull weather didn't help. The area down by the church looked worthy of further exploration but I didn't have enough time. I did find two interesting graves - that of Rudyard Kipling's parents. And I too can recommend Harry's on the Square - it looked a bit posh for me, but I'm glad I went in as I had a delicious rarebit with egg and bacon and tomato. I gave the coffee a miss, as although my earlier cup had only been instant and I was feeling the need for a proper one, it was expensive - the price was "3.5". 3.5 what? You may well ask! Why do cafes and restaurants do that these days - not use the pound sign? It really gets my goat. Pretentious if you ask me. I can imagine my dad would have said the same.

Back in Fovant, I had a long look at various bits of information that had been collated about the soldiers from Fovant who were buried there. Also, I purposely had not brought any books with me, thinking that I'd be bound to find a phone box or bus shelter with some free ones in, but unlike round here where there are lots, I didn't see a single one. However, in the church there was a small pile of very dusty and musty-smelling books, and I borrowed one to read (I returned it by post later) - David Kossoff's Book of Witnesses. I remember David Kossoff being on television in the 1970s, reading what I now realize must have been this book. In it he tells the stories of imaginary witnesses to the gospel events. I couldn't put it down. They are amazing stories, and although of course fiction, they really make you stop and think about the events of Jesus' time on earth from others' perspectives.

A mere 12 miles.

Day 4

Today Husband joined me. He was there by 9.15 and we had a good long walk up over the hill where the Badges are, and down again and into Compton Chamberlayne, where again we found more War Graves. We could not believe the quantity of chestnuts on the ground, and brought some home, which I have yet to roast. I have read that it is a good year for them. In the evening we went to the aforesaid Wyndham Arms, and were not disappointed! We don't often go out for meals, or at least not in the evening - my favourite thing is to go out for breakfast. We went for the lasagne which the lady at Fovant had waxed lyrical over, and she was right! Best lasagne I've ever had, with garlic bread and a good bowl of salad. And then the best tiramisu we've ever had! With berries and chocolate ice cream. We were stuffed! 

It was a good end to my few days away, and I'm glad I went and saw these places that my dad had written about. Being that this is November 11th, it's intended as a kind of tribute to him.

Barbour jacket, repairing and re-waxing, for the third time

 

It was in 2016 that I last did this - you can read about it here. I have to admit that I don't like doing it, but it most definitely needed doing. As the jacket is now pretty old (I bought it in 2011) I didn't bother following Barbour's instructions to clean it by sponging it in cold water. Instead I just put it in the washing machine on a cold wash.

This is what it looked like after washing - 

Back before

Front before

After washing I did a few bits of mending on it, by hand. I also ironed it, in an attempt to get the awful creases out of it. It helped but they are so old that I think it's impossible to get them out now.

The worst thing about the whole process in the past has been trying to keep the wax liquid. Previously I have warmed it in a bowl in a saucepan of hot water, but unless you keep the water on the heat then it cools down and goes thick again very quickly using this method. But both times that I have done it have been in cold weather, so I have had to do it indoors. This time I did it on a hot day, outside, on the garden table - a much better idea! I kept the wax liquid by putting a lump of it in an enamel bowl, and rigging that up over a candle. This worked very well, and the wax stayed liquid. I think that because it was liquid all the time I used less of it, too.

It takes a long time working the wax in all over (with a sponge) and my fingers got in a greasy mess. I wiped it all over with a rag and then hung it up in the sun, to even the wax out a bit, in the same way, hopefully, that a hair dryer would do (or a heat gun which is what I have used in the past as we don't possess a hair dryer). The next day I wiped it all over again with a rag to remove any excess wax.

After waxing - (I don't know why this photo has come out with almost no background!) -

As you can see, particularly on the back, it doesn't look completely even, but I am happy with how it has turned out. It's a lot better than it was! I find myself wondering about the age of the oldest jacket that anyone, or Barbour themselves, has rewaxed, and the record number of times that one has been rewaxed. Perhaps I will write and ask them.

And I don't know what it is about rewaxing a Barbour jacket, but my post on it in 2016 has had over 10,000 views - most definitely my most popular post!!

A Brompton tour - learning a lesson about hydration the hard way.

 

A couple of weeks ago I did a little tour on my Brompton. There was an event at Farnham Maltings in Surrey, called “Thread – A Festival of Textiles” which I wanted to go to. I do like to have a purpose in a bike tour, whether it's just a day trip or a few days away; it gives me a starting point for planning a trip, rather than just vaguely thinking - “Where shall I go?”.

Before I begin, I bought the Brompton G line pedals a few months ago, and am really pleased with them. I like the feel of them underfoot, and the removable one is easy to remove.

So on we go.... I cycled from home to Didcot station, about 14 miles, leaving home at 7.15 am, and got the train to Bramley, just north of Basingstoke, changing at Reading. I then cycled another 13 miles or so to where I was staying, at Newland's Farm Bed and Breakfast, south of Odiham. The weather started off fairly warm, then wet, and then quite hot. I didn't eat before I went – I have found that eating later works well for me. At some points along the way I ate what I had brought with me – some cheese, a boiled egg, and a clementine. My plan was to find a cafe en route and buy a meal, preferably a cooked breakfast, which always keeps me going for ages. Husband had put the route from Bramley station to my B and B onto my Garmin, but I had a back up of my usual OS maps, and a cue sheet.  I put this in a plastic mobile phone holder, bought from Home Bargains for £1.45, which I rigged up over the handlebars. 

I arrived at Bramley about 11.30. There was a cafe right by the station, but I didn't fancy it somehow, and anyway I really wanted to get on a bit further. By then it was raining – I donned my waterproof jacket, and sometimes I cycled, sometimes I sheltered. I couldn't see the route on the Garmin very well (mine is quite small) - the rain didn't help - and so I used my cue sheet. There was no rush. I took NCN Route 23 out of Bramley as far as Old Basing. There I was delighted to come upon what looked like a very nice cafe – The Street Bakeshop – and went in and ordered, only to be told, as I produced my £20 note, that they did not take cash. I refuse to patronize any establishment that won't take cash – I could have used a card but I think it's very important that we have the choice. A kind lady offered to pay for me with her phone, but I declined, as a principle was at stake. Instead I asked a man trimming a hedge if there was a shop nearby, and he directed me to the local Co-op – not quite what I was hoping for but at least I was able to buy food. I ate scotch eggs and a yogurt on a bench outside the shop.

I rested here - 

At Up Nately, near Odiham

A few miles further on, at Odiham, I began to feel a bit funny – or, to be precise, my heart was racing, and at times I felt slightly lightheaded. I have had this before, the first time probably decades ago. I do sometimes get lightheaded when standing up too quickly. I have since discovered that this has the grand name of orthostatic hypotension - when your blood pressure drops after standing up. It usually only happens after I have been crouching down for a few minutes, e.g. to look at something on a bottom shelf in a shop. Then the cure is to stand still and put my head down. More recently the racing heart has occurred when I've been out for long bike rides, and I have tried to work out why. I do not believe the cause is anything serious, just something connected with my activity at the time, the temperature, and with what I have eaten and drunk. Usually after a rest it has gone away, but even after resting in the very green and pleasant Odiham cemetary, or just walking, I didn't feel much better. I was fearing that I would have to call off this trip.

However, I only had about 2 miles to go to my accommodation – bed and breakfast at a farmhouse - and so after refilling my water bottle at the bar of a cricket club, I took the last bit of the journey very slowly and arrived safely, albeit later than intended, at about 5.45. Quite a long day, as I'd been up at 5. I thought that after a good night's rest, and a good breakfast the following morning, I'd feel a lot better.

What went through my mind was that maybe I should still be taking magnesium, which I have taken on and off for a year or two, mainly for night cramps, but I know it can be of benefit to the heart as well. I am not a big fan of supplements but as most people are deficient in this mineral I reasoned that it would be a good idea to take it anyway. I also thought that I should have brought some sea salt with me to take whenever I drank water – something else that I do when I'm at home, or at least whenever I remember. I began to think about electrolytes, and how athletes are not supposed to drink just plain water, and considered that this might be at the route of the problem.. The day had turned out quite hot, and I had sweated. I also had not eaten very much, partly because I simply hadn't felt very hungry. I resolved that the next day I would buy either magnesium (though I wouldn't be able to buy my preferred make, as I get it online from Clive de Carle) and/or some sea salt.

In bed at 8.15.

MILES: 28

I didn't sleep well, but I never do the first night in a strange bed, and I was also disturbed by helicopters from RAF Odiham, doing night training until about 10 pm, seen through my open bedroom window. Husband would have loved them! I'd seen these odd yellow things all across two fields on the farm the day before and wondered what they were for. Now I know that they are lights to guide the helicopters in -

The next morning I was up at 5.45, went for a short exploratory walk, and then had a very nice cooked breakfast. I was the only one staying, and I had a very interesting chat with Mary, my host, who told me a little about her life on the farm since 1969, and the house, which dated from about 1550. Her late husband had been a very talented woodworker, and had made all the doors, with all the latches and bolts -  

My bedroom - with some history of the farm buildings in the photo on the wall

I was definitely feeling better than the previous day, but still not quite right. Nevertheless I enjoyed the ride into Farnham – about 10 miles, slightly more than it should have been but then I went a bit wrong (despite my cue sheet) which is usual for me! I enjoyed the festival; it's not often that I get to see such a lovely array of everything connected with sewing. There were some very talented people there, and some lovely fabric, but I knew I hadn't got room to carry much extra home so just treated myself to some linen thread.

It was busy and hot though, and after a couple of hours I'd had enough. I went into the town, knowing I must not leave without food for the ride home, sufficient water, and magnesium or salt. I went to the first likely shop I came to, which was Sainsbury's, and bought some BLT sandwiches, a clementine, and, as they didn't have any magnesium, some Maldon's sea salt – the one I normally buy as it happens. Then I went to a lovely quiet garden and sat on a bench, carefully cut open the bag of salt (good job I had scissors in my first aid kit) and sucked on several pinches, and drank water. I did wonder what others in the park might have though of me sitting there carefully pouring out white stuff into my hand and consuming it...

From where I sat I could see the tops of two churches, where I hoped there might be a tap to get water. As it happened one of them had a cafe, where they let me fill my bottle. Then off I went. I pushed up the hill out of Farnham, but after that I got up all the hills. I stopped soon and wolfed down my sandwiches and clementine, and then carried on. I felt a million times better!! I have since read up on all this and understand that taking in salt can indeed have a very quick positive effect. I have watched, in particular, videos by Dr David Brownstein, on the importance of salt in our diet – e.g. this one - but good salt, full of minerals, not table salt. He recommends, as do many others, Celtic sea salt, or Redmond's salt (only available in the US I think), as both are indeed full of minerals. I'm not sure about the Maldon's sea salt I've been buying, and intend to email them to ask what minerals are in it. I have, however, bought some Celtic sea salt, which I know is full of essential minerals, and am now using that when I drink water.

I decided to treat myself to an ice cream in the village of Crondall, where I had a nice chat to another cyclist who was doing the same thing. Interestingly, he had worked for BMW as a salesman, but had been diagnosed with some form of epilepsy, so was no longer allowed to drive. He now did gardening jobs, and travelled to them by bike (10 mile radius from home) and loved it!

On the way back I tucked myself away into some long grass and obeyed a call of nature. More on this subject later! I was pretty tired when I got back and after a shower was in bed at 7.15!

MILES: 20

No helicopters that night, but I woke in the night, and for some reason felt the inside of my right knee, and felt what seemed like a small scab. I couldn't think of any reason for a scab there, but then I thought -

“Uh oh.... could it be a tick?”

I've had a few in recent years, so wasn't quite as horrified and panic stricken as I was when I discovered the first one in 2021. Guess where I probably picked it up... having that nature wee! Beware of long grass!! I couldn't see to remove it, so just left it as a job for Husband when I got home. I discovered I'd also got one in the same fleshy spot on the side of the other knee. What I want to know is – why are there so many ticks now? There are all sorts of rumours, but I'm not sure if they are true. However I do know that prior to 2021 I had never head of anyone getting ticks - I had only ever seen one on the sheepdog we used to have.

The third day was basically a slow and gentle ride back to Bramley station, taking a different route, via some lovely quiet lanes, and the village of Sherfield on Lodden, where there was a big fete.

I asked a couple if there was a cafe, and they directed me to one. We chatted quite a bit, and the husband was very interested in my Brompton. Bromptons are a bit like babies and dogs – they get you into conversation with complete strangers!

Getting on and off the trains was easy again. A couple with their small daughter stood in front of me at one point, speaking a language I didn't recognise at all, and after a while the husband asked me -

“Are you travelling alone? Don't you get lonely?”

“No – I love it!”

And it's true. As Josie Dew, my cycling hero has said in one of her books, when you cycle alone you can stop where you want, and when you want, and look at whatever you want. And I meet plenty of people to chat to, so I don't get lonely.

Husband is always telling me what the weather forecast is, and today he had warned me it would be windy. So far it had indeed been quite windy, but it wasn't unpleasant. Once back at Didcot, I decided to go back a different way to the way I'd come, which in hindsight wasn't a good idea... There are a couple of places in my neck of the woods where there are several villages all quite close together, and despite having lived here for more then 40 years, I can still get lost in either of them! I did this in the villages of East and West Hendred, near Wantage, and so my estimated time of arrival home got later and later as I tried to find my way out. In the end I found my way, on a footpath, where a kindly gent lifted my bike over a stile and a kissing gate. Actually, I know now that I could probably do this myself, as with the bag taken off the front of the bike, it's not that heavy.

Husband had also warned of rain, and it did start to drizzle. He had offered to come and pick me up at any point if I felt I couldn't make it home, and being pretty tired by then, and feeling the rain start, I hoped I wouldn't have to make a call of shame. However, I just kept encouraging myself that it wasn't far to go, and I made it home, all under my own steam, by 7 pm. 

Husband removed the two ticks – oh, and another on the back of my thigh. And another on a buttock!!! And the moral of that story is – don't have a wee in long grass!! Not ladies, anyway.... As I said, I couldn't see to remove any of these ticks myself, but I have read that if you don't have a tick remover with you, then a good idea is to cut a slit, or very narrow V shape into a credit card, slide it under the tick, and remove it that way.

MILES: 31

All in all, a good trip. I've gained confidence on the Brompton, and learnt a valuable lesson about the correct way to hydrate.