THE B-ROADS OF SOMERSET

The Bakelite Museum might have closed down, but you’ll be glad to know that the passage of time hasn’t yet affected the Watchet Boat Museum! No sir! Nor indeed the Radio Museum! - we toured both extensively this morning.

I like a museum. You get to find out things you didn’t know about, see real artefacts and objects, and interact with history as it unfolds in the story in front of you. You can see human nature stretching into pockets and corners you might not have considered, and you can discover how, why and when things were thought of, invented, explored and debated.

Or, you can stand around in a big room full of boats. Watchet Boat Museum is one room, with boats in it. I liked it. I learned about the tsunami of 1703, the design of the Somerset ‘Flatner’, how to tie a bowline, and of course the International Maritime Signal Flags! Gosh, I love a code. Hanging up around the room were several strings of flags which I went round decoding as I learned the letter-symbols. Admiral Nelson would be proud! After all, England expects every man to do his duty!

After that we shuffled across to the Radio Museum. That appears to be run by one guy who’s somehow turned a lifelong hobby into an exhibition. We wandered round, chronologically from the 1920s to 1978, from the marconiphone to the tuppence Radio Times. In the background, he played a collection of gramophone records.

I couldn’t work out whether it was coincidence, but as I stepped back out into the bright sunlight, I spotted that the Radio Museum is right next to a pub called The Cat’s Whisker. I chuckled about that, and then the radio guy gave me a knowing wink.

Next was a quick lunch, back on the beach. I wore a long-sleeve shirt today, under which my arms itched as I ate my salad. It was nice though. The sun was really pleasant.

This afternoon then, we went to Wellington to see some friends who had invited us over for tea while we’re here. I’ve driven to Welly before, a couple of times, so I kind of know where it is. I’ve never had any real trouble.

It seems though, that approaching it from the North West (where we are) involves driving through several farms, single-track country lanes, and dirt roads that the map-makers must have referenced as little more than smudges. Meanwhile the satnav programmers went ahead and counted them as actual B roads, which I would like to state for the record is a stretch.

We got there. I was a little frazzled having had to concentrate intently on undergrowth-navigation for half an hour round the hairpin bends of rural Somerset.

That being said, we actually had a really lovely time in Bob and Maggie’s garden. As ever with them, I felt confident, relaxed, free, and above all loved. It was a couple of hours of joy, much as I might imagine Heaven. The sun twinkled over the garden, the shade fell over the cake plates and teacups, and we said our goodbyes.

This is ‘Yankee Jack’ by the way. He’s in Watchet Harbour, where apparently, he was from. He had a voice that carried two miles on a clear day. Sometime in the early 1900s he met up with a musician and sang through all the sea shanties he’d heard on his prolific voyages as a first mate and able seaman. With something of a precise ear for a tune, he remembered hundreds of variations, and was able to boom them out with a fine baritone, even as an old man.

The musician wrote them down, and so now for us, there exist things like ‘Spanish Ladies’ and ‘Donkey Riding’ and a whole load of other shanty standards. Without Cap’n Jack, we’d have no reference for Quinn to make in the film Jaws, and probably no Wellerman flooding through TikTok, as it did a while ago in the great sea shanty craze of 2020. Way to go, Jack.

A seagull landed on his head and gave me a wry look. I wish I’d captured that moment.

I was determined to get back the easy way (there was no way I was going back through FarmVille and the scratchy collection of unnamed roads, even though Bob said it would be fine. I like the countryside but I think my courage might be urban) so we flew back up the A39 and reached the cottage unscathed.

One more watch of S4C’s round-the-coast screensaver and it was time to draw a close to the day. This time it was Criccieth and Pwllheli (P’thelli) on the Llyn Peninsula. The Intrepids were, once more, enthralled. I stayed until Aberdaron and then went to bed.

Had it been the B roads of Somerset, then maybe I’d have paid more attention.