East Germany, as a tourist

With my current fiction serial set in East Germany after WW2, I thought I would re-post this old travel article from 2013.
It may be of interest, though quite a few of you have seen it before.
A long read, at 3,500 words.

Before I went to East Germany in 1979, I didn’t know much about the place, other than the propaganda that we saw over here. I wasn’t even aware that holidays there were possible, until I saw an advertisement in The Morning Star newspaper, for a company that specialised in holidays to places behind the Iron Curtain, as well as countries like Vietnam and Cambodia, that had so recently been ravaged by war. The East German trip seemed to offer fantastic value. There were direct flights to and from Dresden, the services of a guide throughout, and coach travel to numerous destinations in that country. All meals were included, and the ten-day holiday took in such desirable sights as Leipzig, Meissen, and Berlin. (East, of course) The total cost for this, was an unbelievable £110 per person, cheap even all that time ago.

By this time, it was usual for my wife and I to take two holidays a year. We were both working, and keen to see as much of the world as we could afford. Because of the North European destination, we decided it was best to book for the summer time, and still amazed that this holiday actually existed at that price, we took our chances, and booked. It was not my usual practice in those days, to fully research a holiday before departure. There was no Internet then, and guide books were notoriously out of date. Besides, holidays to East Germany, with its reputation of repression, doom and gloom, and the infamous wall, were hardly common, so travel guides were non-existent. As an arch Lefty, it seemed to me to be somewhere that I should travel to, to see another side of the argument. So, I decided to trust to luck, and politics, and off we went.

The flight was not full, and we scanned the rows, trying to decide if any of our fellow passengers were to be in our tour group. It seemed unlikely, as most were travelling solo, save one large family group from Northern England, talking loudly near the front of the aircraft. Arriving in Dresden, I was all eyes. After all, this city had been the subject of the famous ‘fire storm’ bombing by the RAF and USAAF, in February 1945, and I had not expected to see much still standing. We were met by our guide, an elderly lady, a grandmother in fact, and a lady of great dignity, warmth, and friendliness. She spoke excellent English, though I later learned that she had never left Germany, and had even been resident in Dresden as a teenager, during the terrible bombing raids. Making our way to the coach, we noticed that the talkative Northern family were in our group, together with a few couples, and most of the single passengers who had been on the aircraft. It was a small group, only fourteen, including us. We were introduced to our driver, who would stay with us for the entire trip, and we left the airport, heading for our hotel in the city centre.

By this time, we had already travelled to the Soviet Union, so were used to seeing Communist iconography, inspiring statues, and lots of colourful banners. The route from the airport to Dresden centre did not have that much to offer, seemingly consisting of many rows of shoddy looking medium-rise apartment blocks, set in large estates. These were modern-looking, so we assumed that most had been built during the 1960’s. Traffic was reasonably light, and we got our first sight of the ubiquitous Trabant car, a vehicle that would have caused laughter in the UK, but in this country, was an expensive object of desire. On arrival in the city, we were pleasantly surprised to find a modern central area, not unlike an English New Town. Our hotel, near the bank of the River Elbe, was a comfortably appointed and newly-designed building, which exceeded our expectations. The following day, we had a brief tour of the town, before going out to visit the Zwinger, a rococo palace, housed within the old city’s defensive walls. Despite being destroyed by bombing, it had been fully restored to its pre-war state, and made for a pleasant excursion.

Some of our group had American accents, and we discovered that one couple were Canadians, who had travelled to the UK specifically to take this trip. They had relatives near Dresden, who they had never seen. Part of the family had emigrated to Canada before the war, and had managed to keep in touch on and off, ever since. The couple’s family made the long trip to Dresden to meet them, bringing many gifts, even though they were desperately poor agricultural workers. The Canadians met them in the reception area, and it was a very emotional scene. The Germans had to stay in a different hotel, as our hotel was reserved for foreigners. They were able to meet up for a couple of days, and the two members of our group stayed with them, not bothering to go on any trips. It certainly brought home the fact that the East Germans were not allowed to travel to the West, even though the Canadians would have willingly financed their journey. Despite feeling positive towards the Communist regime there, I was not so naive as to be unaware of some of the shortcomings.

The next day, we departed for Liepzig by coach, with a stop on the way to see the lovely town of Meissen, home of the famous porcelain. This is an attractive town, with an imposing cathedral, and impressive castle. The red-tiled roofs of the old centre give the place a fairytale feel, something repeated many times throughout our stay in that country. We also stopped briefly at Colditz Castle, famous as a prisoner of war camp in WW2. We could not go inside, as it was then in use as a psychiatric hospital. Leipzig was a delightful city, at least in the centre. Our hotel was a marvellous old building, that had survived the war. Built sometime around the late 1800’s, it was a masterpiece of faded glory. The high ceilings, huge windows, and ancient telephones, all made me imagine the grandeur that once was, and the dignified guests who had stayed there in the past. The centre of Leipzig still had cobbled streets, as well as pavement cafes, and a relaxed, comfortable atmosphere. Young people were everywhere, as this was the home of a popular university too. Wandering around, it was hard to believe that we were in a country so vilified for repression and severity. It certainly did not seem like it, that evening.

I was keen to see the battlefield of the famous battle of Leipzig in 1813, which was a defeat for Napoleon, and the beginning of the end for his conquests in Europe. Despite what was said in the UK, we were completely free to come and go as we pleased. Our guide suggested that we get a tram to the site, which was on the outskirts, and directed us to the large tram terminus near the hotel. My wife spoke some German, and I was picking it up quickly, due in part to the similarity of many words. We asked an old lady for directions, and she took us to the correct stop, then waited until the right tram came, before ushering us onto it, and waving goodbye. Other passengers explained how to buy tickets, and punch them ourselves. When we reached the stop, the driver directed us to the short walk to the battlefield. There was a museum, a large model diorama, and lots of historical information, all in German, of course. After a good visit, we retraced the journey to the hotel, and remarked how friendly everyone had been.

The next destination for us, was the capital city, Berlin. Any signs for Berlin were always accompanied by the words ‘Haupstadt der DDR’. It was as if you might forget that Berlin was the capital, or maybe they were just very proud of the fact. Another thing I had soon realised, was that Berlin was actually deep inside East Germany. Despite having a Western Sector, this city was a hundred miles from West Germany, leaving the western side with a small corridor through which to enter the city. Having seen and read everything I could about the Second World War, Berlin had been on my ‘must see’ list for many years. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the Eastern Sector retained most of the ‘good stuff’, from a tourism, and historical point of view. The ruined Reichstag could be seen, (actually in the West, but visibly close to the border wall) The Brandenburg Gate, the Unter den Linden, the famous thoroughfare, The National Opera, and much more. There was also the huge Soviet war cemetery, the size of a large village, and the chance to perhaps see the famous wall. Our hotel was a five star affair; the modern Hotel Palast, designed like a stepped pyramid, all bronzed glass, and ideally located, close to most things we could want to walk to. As usual on this trip, it was a ‘foreigners only’ hotel, not accessible to East Germans.

So, we ‘did’ Berlin, and really enjoyed it. Those buildings destroyed during the war had been rebuilt, (except The Reichstag) and there were modern areas too. Alexanderplatz, with the tall TV tower nearby, was the natural centre, buzzing with all sorts of people during the day, and we took the opportunity to go inside one of the highest buildings in Europe, and take in the view. We toured the city, sometimes by coach, or on the underground, and saw all the sights during a relatively short stay. One morning, we were offered an outing, at no extra cost, to see the former Concentration Camp of Sachsenhausen, near Orianenburg. This had been in use from 1936, until the end of the war, and had been used to house political prisoners at first, and later, prisoners of war. This was the centre of the notorious money forging plan, where the Germans employed expert prisoners to forge banknotes in the currency of their enemies. The inmates would be forced to work in the nearby Heinkel factory, as well as making bricks, and undertaking other labouring jobs. Many companies still well-known today made use of this forced labour, notably AEG, and Siemens. Large numbers of the prisoners were executed here also, and it remained functional until 1945.

It is hardly a pleasurable experience to visit a Concentration Camp, but we felt compelled to go, to see for ourselves the extent of Nazi atrocities during the war. Like most other camps, the gates are emblazoned with the legend ‘ Arbeit Macht Frei’, the cynical notion that hard work would win freedom. Much of the camp had been razed to the ground, though some huts, including the medical experiment block, remained as small museums. A large memorial obelisk dominated the site, and there were outlines to show how many huts had existed when the camp was open. During this sombre visit, we began to take some photos. One of our group, a single man with an American accent, asked if we felt it was appropriate to do this. During a short discussion with him, the first time he had addressed us during the trip, we discovered that he had actually been a prisoner there as a young man, later moving to the USA, as he had managed to cross Germany after liberation. He also told us that one of the other single men, again with a US accent, had lost some of his family in the camp. Both men had travelled from America, for the sole purpose of this visit. We agreed that photography was probably in bad taste, though I did buy a tiny commemorative badge, from the small souvenir shop. One of the things we saw in the camp remains fresh in my mind. There was a large cinder running track, circling the centre. We were told that prisoners had to run around this, wearing new boots, often in the wrong size, to break them in to be worn by army recruits. They also tested different styles of footwear on this track, crippling prisoners in the process. On the way back to Berlin, we decided that we were glad to have seen it, but it did make you feel very uneasy about the association of tourism with so much depravity.

The next planned excursion, was an overnight stay on the Baltic Coast, in the seaside district of Rostock, called Warnemunde. This was an interesting diversion. In reasonable weather, we saw family groups of East Germans enjoying themselves by the seaside, eating ice cream, or sausage and sauerkraut in rolls, and behaving as we might, at any resort town in England. It was short and sweet though, and a little pointless, other than for the East Germans to show supposedly sympathetic Westerners that such places existed in the DDR. It is true that some of the group were sympathetic to the politics of East Germany. I certainly was, and the noisy family from Northern England turned out to be from The British Communist Party. However, most were nothing of the sort, including my wife, and at least five North Americans, with diverse reasons to be there, as well as some others from England, who had German relatives, and wanted to see it for themselves.

Back in Berlin, we were due to leave the next day, to return for one more day in Dresden, before flying home. We had not had the chance to visit the West of the city, so we approached our guide, to ask if that might be possible, expecting this to be politely declined. Once more, we got a pleasant surprise. Not only could it be done, she would arrange for us to stay an extra night in our Berlin hotel, with no charge. It would mean us taking a train after that, at our expense, and making sure we arrived back in Dresden in good time to catch up with the group, to fly home to England. She explained the best way for us to get over to the West sector, and sorted out train times for the trip the following day. It was even arranged to take the bulk of our baggage on the coach, to save us lugging it around. We were very happy, and it showed once again, that we were more or less free to come and go as we pleased. It also gave us the reasonably exciting prospect of being on our own, in the sinister capital of the DDR! As it turned out, no Stasi agents, or secret police appeared, to throw us into cells for interrogation, from where we would never be heard of again. It was all very normal.

The next morning, we waved goodbye to our group after breakfast, and headed off by underground train to Friedrichstrasse Station. I had hoped to cross through Checkpoint Charlie, like the spies in the films, but the guide had suggested this alternative as being quicker and easier. The situation at the station was one of the strangest I had ever found myself in. Arriving on one side, we were in East Germany, but the opposite platform was in West Germany, and we had to go through border control and customs, to enter it. The East German guards gave our papers a cursory examination, and waved us through. It was the West Germans who were perplexed. They couldn’t understand how we were coming through from the East, as they were so unfamiliar with tourists entering from this direction. They even asked us if we knew that we had come from the East, then grew suspicious and sullen when we laughed, and said ‘of course’. Leaving the station exit, we were back in the ‘Free World’, at least that part of it that was West Berlin.

The differences were instantly apparent, and not necessarily in a good way. For the first time since arriving in Dresden, we saw vagrants, drunks, shifty-looking characters hanging around, and young women who were obviously prostitutes. And it wasn’t even 11am! All the trappings of Western living were there, clustered around the station. Gaudy advertising, traffic jams, fast-food outlets, people of all races, and lots of military, many openly drinking outside bars, in uniform. As well as German Police and troops, there were American soldiers and British soldiers, some wearing kilts. Despite the reputation of the DDR as being police-controlled, and militaristic, we had not seen a fraction of the uniformed men there, that we saw in minutes, after crossing to the West. Once we had stopped for a coffee, we were at a loss what to actually see, now that we were there. There was the famous Zoo of course, but we could go to zoos in England. Outside the centre, there were apparently some nice parks, with ornamental lakes, but they would be the same anywhere. We settled for a trip to the Tiergarten, the large area of parkland, containing the famous Victory Column, and supposedly a pleasant area to stroll. We found the column, and went inside, up to one of the stages, that give panoramic views around. Otherwise, it was just like a large park in any city, so we set off for a look at The Wall. On this Western side, there were actually places erected not far from the Wall, where you could walk up and get a look at it. But it was just a wall after all, and other than its historical interest, hardly worth the effort.

After a late lunch, we reversed the process at Friedrichstrasse station, once more cautioned by West German guards that we were entering the East, until they discovered that we had DDR visas, and again eyed us with great suspicion. Back in Alexanderplatz, we actually felt relieved to be out of the West Sector, and strange as it may seem, felt almost at home back in the ‘Haupstadt’. For me, the most enjoyable part of the excursion, had been the process of entering and leaving, feeling like defectors, or undesirables, fleeing behind the ‘Iron Curtain’. So, despite being fairly bored during our time in the West, we were happy to have had the opportunity to see it. Back at the Palast Hotel, we went out for dinner, and then packed our few things, ready for the train trip to Dresden the next morning.

In the 1930’s, it used to be said of the Nazis, that they at least made the trains run on time. Nothing had changed in that respect, so we were sure to be at the main station in good time to get tickets, and not to miss our train. At the ticket window, I got a real shock; we were asked if we wanted first or second class tickets! I was staggered. There we were, supposedly in a ‘Socialist Republic’, and they had first class on the trains. Yes, you’re right, we went first class! It was still very cheap, and I really wanted to try it, as I could never afford it back home. It was nothing grand though, a somewhat old-fashioned compartment train, and we had the seats to ourselves. There was a buffet car, and very clean toilets at each end of the carriage. The ticket inspector arrived soon after we departed (on time, to the second) and he was grandly uniformed, as well as impeccably polite. The journey to Dresden was reasonably fast, and uneventful, and we got to the hotel a few hours before the evening departure to the airport. We did some last minute shopping, buying lots of chocolate, and other sweets, to give to our guide, for her grandchildren. She had been so lovely, and we knew that it was hard for her to buy goods from the foreign currency shops. We gave her the sweets at the airport, as well as some ladies’ tights, that were supposedly hard to find there. We also gave her £20 as a tip, that she could use to purchase luxuries. That was about a month’s salary for her then, and she burst into tears.

Flying back to England, we reflected on what a surprising trip it had been. The people had been friendly, and we had been free to come and go with no restrictions. The sights had been interesting, and the experience of our trip to the West had shown us that maybe things were not as bad in the East as we had presumed. However, we were not blind to the poor living conditions we witnessed in the large estates, or the poor quality of construction, the occasional power cuts, and shortages of many things we would have considered essentials. Mostly, I was sorry that the citizens were not allowed to travel outside of the Soviet Bloc, and that there was no fraternisation in the tourist-only hotels. I felt sure then, and still do, that many of them would have soon realised that those much-desired streets were not as golden as they had imagined.

Heybridge Basin


(All photos can be enlarged by clicking on them, so please do that.
Then use the extra icon to see all the detail!)

Last week, I visited my cousin in Essex. She lives close to Heybridge Basin, so we made the short drive to there, in very nice weather.
This article will tell you about the history of the place.
http://www.itsaboutmaldon.co.uk/basin/

Where the River Blackwater meets the sea, the tidal estuary is the place where freshwater joins seawater.
This lock allows boats out at high tide, and the lock-keeper’s cottage is still lived in by the lock-keeper.

On the canal side, some people live full-time on the water.

In a garden on the bank, ‘Marie’s Garden’ has become famous for the statues of wild animals displayed there.

When the tide is out, thick mud-banks and wading birds can be seen.

A Thames Sailing Barge was passing by. Now restored, these classic old ships were once a common site in the docks of central London.
If you enlarge the photo, you will see that the name is ‘The Blue Mermaid’.

Boating and sailing is very popular there of course, and there are many clubs operating in the area.

One of two local pubs, The Old Ship has been around for a long time and is popular with local people and holidaymakers too.

Still home to some light industry, the floating crane gives some idea that there is still work going on nearby.
The name of the crane ship is ‘Spartacus’. If you enlarge the photo, you will see that.

If you are ever in the Maldon area of South Essex, make the easy trip to Heybridge Basin, and enjoy a peaceful afternoon.

Holidays and Travel: Tunisia 1975

Last week, Tunisia got a mention on Cindy Bruchman’s blog. She wondered why it might be a holiday destination. That reminded me of this old post from 2013, which I think only Jude and Eddy have seen before.

beetleypete

This looks like a new category, but it is not.  Nine categories is sufficient for one blog I believe, so this will be posted in Nostalgia.

Between the ages of 11 and 23, I had been abroad. I had been on school trips to France, to Calais and Paris. I had later ventured further south, to the Atlantic coast of France near Biarritz, and on another occasion, to Perpignan. Including a short visit to Figueras, in northern Spain, that was the sum total of my travels. This had all been done by ferry boat, then train, or in some sort of motor vehicle. I had never been in an aeroplane up to that point.

By early 1975 , I was seeing the girl who would later become my first wife. As her father had always worked for Thomas Cook, she was unusually well-travelled, and there were few places she had…

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Passport not required

Not long after I moved from London to Norfolk, my passport expired. Years ago, I would have renewed it immediately, without giving that a second thought.

When I got my first passport, in the 1960s, it made me feel very grown up. UK passports used to be blue, with a hard cover. They felt like a very official small book, and the old-fashioned words inside imbued the small document with a sense of history. Even the cover was impressive, and though I was unhappy with the photo of myself, I didn’t mind. After all, who likes their passport photo?

(Not my actual passport, obviously)

Once I started to use it to travel abroad, I was excited to see the stamps placed inside it by foreign customs and immigration officers. Dates and places, foreign languages inside the oblongs or squares. They were often stamped carelessly, with no attempt to center the mark on the page, or to follow on from previous stamps by using the same page at the back. For me, that all added to the mystery of travelling abroad.

As I ventured further afield, I got new stamps and visas. These were often distinctive and quite lavish, as in the case of my trip to China. I was also disappointed to discover that some countries only stamped in the accompanying visa, (like the DDR) so I returned home with no visible evidence of my trip. When the first passport expired, I applied to have it returned to me with the new one. They would cut the corner off to invalidate it, but I still had the opportunity to look back on my old stamps with fond nostalgia, and to smile at a photo of me taken ten years earlier.

When our passports were changed to EU national documents, the colour changed to red, and they were more like a thin ‘paperback’. But I still got my stamps in them.

I last used a passport to travel to Prague, in 2011. Since then, I have not ventured outside of the UK. One reason was that we got Ollie in 2012, and didn’t want to leave him in kennels so that we could go abroad on holiday. There was also the expense. On a retirement income for me, and lower salary for Julie, it seemed unlikely that we would ever have the money to explore places we hadn’t already seen, short of an unexpected inheritance, or lottery win. Even if money became available for some reason, that still left the problem of what to do with our much-loved and loyal pet dog.

Almost seven years later, and I have settled into the idea that future trips abroad are unlikely. If they ever do happen, they will probably be no more than a weekend city break, so Ollie can be accommodated with friends or neighbours. My passport has still not been renewed, and sits in its ‘safe place’ in a drawer. I don’t even need it as an I.D. document any more, as my driving licence or bank card is acceptable almost anywhere.

Almost fifty years after I received my first passport with excitement and expectation, I am now wondering if I will ever need one again.

Aldeburgh

All photos can be enlarged for detail, and look much better that way.

The Suffolk coastal town of Aldeburgh has been a settlement since Roman times, when it was used for the production of salt. It later became very prosperous, and was a thriving fishing town. The local museum is housed in the Moot Hall. (Meeting hall). This building dates from 1520, though the brick chimneys were added much later.

We arrived on a rather grey and windy day, though the sun did appear later that afternoon. There is still a small fishing industry operating there. Because of the shingle beach, and the absence of a harbour, boats have to be lowered into and raised from the water, using tractors on the beach.

My cousin and her daughter took their spaniels down to the water. The dogs, Jess and Dennis, were enjoying the change of scene.

Meanwhile, Julie was browsing the fresh fish shops along the front, where she bought the ingredients to make a fish pie.

Not all of the boats there are seaworthy. These two look as if they have been abandoned to the elements.

Aldeburgh (pronounced All-bruh) has enjoyed a recent popularity as a place where wealthy southerners buy second homes. House prices in the area have increased dramatically, and the shops in the town also reflect the needs of their rich customers. The town is mostly associated with the famous composer, Benjamin Britten. He went to live there in 1942, and later founded the renowned Aldeburgh Festival. He died there, and is buried in the town. It was also the home of Ruth Rendell, the popular author.

Along the beach is a sculpture in the shape of a scallop shell, erected as a tribute to Benjamin Britten.

Despite looking dramatic in its isolated setting, many residents have complained about this sculpture, and it has often been vandalised. This is a section from Wikipedia, explaining the controversy.

On Aldeburgh’s beach, a short distance north of the town centre, stands a sculpture, The Scallop, dedicated to Benjamin Britten, who used to walk along the beach in the afternoons. Created from stainless steel by Suffolk-based artist Maggi Hambling, it stands 15 feet (4.6 metres) high, and was unveiled in November 2003. The piece is made up of two interlocking scallop shells, each broken, the upright shell being pierced with the words: “I hear those voices that will not be drowned”, which are taken from Britten’s opera Peter Grimes. The sculpture is meant to be enjoyed both visually and tactilely, and people are encouraged to sit on it and watch the sea. Approached along the road from the Thorpeness direction it has a totally different silhouette appearing to be a knight on a rearing charger. The sculpture is controversial in the local area,[22] with some local residents considering it spoiling the beach. It has been vandalised with graffiti and paint on 13 occasions. There have been petitions for its removal and for its retention.”

So, a snapshot of an attractive English town. If you are ever close by, I recommend a visit.

*Photo information, for those interested. I used the Fuji X 30 camera that day, with all shots taken on Aperture Priority setting, mostly at F 5.6. I did not use any film simulation modes, just the standard setting. All these are straight j-pegs from the camera, with no alteration other than to reduce the file sizes by 50%.

Lincolnshire: Chapel St Leonards

Ollie enjoying the view along the deserted beach.

All photos can be enlarged by clicking on them, and look better that way.

On our last day, we headed eight miles south, to the seaside village of Chapel St Leonards. This popular holiday destination is all but deserted out of season, and we took full advantage of being some of the few people there. Julie headed off to the shops to buy a new jacket, and I took a reluctant Ollie onto the beach.

He didn’t settle though, and was constantly looking back, to see where Julie had gone.

Along the promenade, closed-up beach huts set the mood, with threatening skies behind.

This theatre-style seating is for the popular Punch and Judy show. It could do with a clean.

Like much of the rest of the places there, the Punch and Judy was closed.

And the seafront cafe too.

But not everything had finished for the season. The cafes in town were open, and we stopped for a hot drink. The small amusement arcade was still open too, a real British tradition.

This is the last photo post from our short holiday. I hope that you enjoyed this look at the British seaside, out of season. Next time, I will ditch the Sony lens hood, and not keep getting it in the corner of some wideangle shots!

Lincolnshire: Tattershall Castle

All photos can be enlarged for detail, and look better that way.

Across a double moat separating it from Holy Trinity Church, (see previous post) lies the imposing building called Tattershall Castle. Originally built as a defensive structure in the 13th century by Robert De Tatershales, (hence the name of the village) the present building is a fully-restored fortified house dating from 1434. It was the home of Ralph, the 3rd Baron Cromwell, famous for its double moat and drawbridges. It is by far the finest example of a Medieval brick-built structure to survive in the UK.

Closer to the castle, you can see Julie and Ollie admiring its grandeur.

In the foreground, the circular stonework is all that survives of De Tatershales’ original fortress.

The lower window allows light into the cellar.

Inside, the rooms on each floor have been left empty. However, the wonderful fireplaces in the main rooms are still there to be admired.

I was very excited to discover that visitors are allowed to access the roof and battlements. So with Julie taking Ollie on another tour around the grounds, I scampered up the 149 steps to the top, to be greeted by this lovely bastion.

Inside that, I got an archer’s eye view from this place of safety.

The well-chosen spot really commands the surrounding area, and feels a lot higher up than it looks. This view from the top shows how close it is to Holy Trinity Church. The outer moat is now overgrown with bulrushes, but there is still water in the inner moat, closer to the castle. (Not visible in this photo)

I really enjoyed that visit to the castle, especially as it didn’t rain until we got back to the car park!

One more holiday post to come soon.