Ludlow

Feathers Hotel, Ludlow

Stokesay Castle and Gatehouse

Travelling back from Cornwall was a good opportunity to visit some new places. We crossed the Severn Bridge entered Wales at Chepstow and drove up the Wye Valley, which was resplendent in the spring sunshine.  I had spent a day climbing here in 1971 with Tim Crouch from Eastcombe but could not recognise any outcrops we had scaled. Arriving at Monmouth, we stopped for a late afternoon drink in a square by the town hall, a veritable sun trap. Youngsters on their way home from school were having a few pints and smoke, we were hoping that Ruth Jones would pop in to fire some saucy Welsh rhetoric at them.

We drove through the Welsh Marches and eventually decided to halt at Ludlow, somewhere I cannot recall visiting before. It is celebrated for the number of listed buildings (almost 500),  a food festival, three Michelin-star restaurants and an impressive 11th-century castle. We stayed in the Feathers Hotel because it looked interesting and we were offered a room at a very good rate.  Food proved difficult to find, many of the restaurants had not yet opened for the summer so it was a pub meal in a place that sold 10 varieties of real ale and was home to the Ludlow Pie.  The Wye Valley Bitter was a good choice and went well with the local beef.

The Feathers Hotel had been described by the New York Times as the most beautiful hotel in the world.  I am not sure about that accolade but on returning home I found the following description on a website: The hotel is reportedly haunted and is often subject to "ghost hunts". A Victorian gentleman has been seen by guests and staff walking his dog through room 232 into room 233 before vanishing and room 211 is said to be home to a jealous spirit who appears to have an aversion to female guests; one female guest was reportedly dragged out of bed by her hair and later soaked in water while her husband slept peacefully. 
Needless to say, we had been given room 211. I slept well but returned from an early morning run to find Aileen drying her hair. She said she had been in the shower. 

The still air and perfect blue skies meant that it was well below freezing as I explored the environs of the town on my run. Ludlow was not a runner-friendly town; the absence of pavements and fast traffic on the narrow roads suggests that the car is king. 

We drove north through Church Stretton, a straggling small town that sits in a beautiful setting between the Long Mynd and Wenlock Edge. We were tempted to stop at Stokesay Castle which was set like a jewel in the early morning light. Stokesay Castle is a fortified manor house built in the late 13th century by Ludlow, a local wool merchant.  We were too early for it to be open so clambered over the gate and had a quick dash around the grounds before continuing the journey. 

The countryside ebbed into the flatlands of Shropshire and Cheshire by which time we were travelling in what seemed like convoys of Bentleys and other limousines. Cheshire County Council had signs that boasted about the high number of road deaths, full marks for transparency but it's not a good outcome. nor did it seem to slow the cars of the nouveau rich of celebrity Cheshire pinged past us.