By the time Mum and Faye got back to Morley that Monday night, Faye’s holiday was more than halfway over. They’d crammed so much into it that the time had simply flown by. Now they just had four nights and three-and-a-half days left before they were due to meet up with Faye’s grand-daughter and her husband in London so that Faye could return to Canada with them.
Mum was determined to make the best of that time, however, starting the following day with a quick tour of her home-town of Morley, with its grand Town Hall and two lovely parks alongside part of the main shopping street.
Then they went on to Wakefield to give Faye the chance to do a little bit of last-minute shopping in the Ridings Centre where she didn’t have far to walk from the car.
After that, they were on their way South. And, as Faye had travelled north to Yorkshire on the M1, Mum decided they would go back there on the A1, joining it at Doncaster and heading in the direction of London.
Having spent most of the last week travelling up hill and down dale, however, Mum thought it would be good to show Faye that the UK also had some very different scenery. So, as Lincoln began to appear on the roadsigns, she decided to take a short detour from her planned route and go there.
But Lincoln itself is on quite a steep hill which Mum realised Faye wouldn’t be able to manage to walk up, and so their visit there was limited to a quick ride round in the car, seeing what they could of the cathedral and other interesting buildings.
Then they were on their way back to the A1, rejoining it near Newark-on-Trent and heading South once more.
Mum planned to stay in St Albans that night, so that she and Faye could leave the car there and get an early train into London the next morning and have a good long day sight-seeing in the capital. But, as you know from some of my earlier posts, Mum’s plans don’t always work out – and this was another one that didn’t!
The A1 wasn’t as good a road then as it is now and, with around 110 miles/175 km to travel, Mum reckoned on doing the journey in around 3 hours, including a comfort stop along the way. That would get them to St Albans by early evening – just in time to find somewhere to stay and somewhere to eat.
And at first it seemed they would do it easily, but just south of Grantham the traffic on her side of the road slowed right down and then stopped completely – and, as it was dual carriageway, there was no chance of turning round and trying to find another route. All they could do was sit and wait and wait and wait.
An hour passed and then another before they started moving again – and then it was only one car-length at a time. At that rate they weren’t going to get to St Albans before the middle of the next week – and they were getting hungry.
Then Mum saw a sign for a service area, complete with a cafe, a little way ahead and decided that, when they got there, they’d pull in and have a meal and a bit of a rest before getting back into the slow-moving traffic.
At least that part of the plan went well and an hour later they rejoined the traffic. Thoughts of getting to St Albans that day were abandoned, however, as they spent yet another hour waiting for their turn to get past whatever was causing the hold-up – which turned out to be a huge tipper-truck which had somehow left the northbound carriageway, crashed through the central reservation and turned on its side on the southbound carriageway, spilling its load of several tons of podded peas in all directions and almost completely blocking the road.
By that time they were almost at Stamford, but St Albans was still 75 miles/120 km away. Then Mum made a snap decision. They’d come off the A1 at the next junction and find somewhere to stay for the night.
Within a matter of minutes then they were parking up and booking in at a lovely bed-and-breakfast in the village of Collyweston. Having eaten well a couple of hours before, they’d no need to go out looking for an evening meal, but there was a bit more driving Mum wanted to do before they settled down for the night.
As they’d left the A1, she’d seen a roadsign for the village of Ryhall and, checking on her map at the bed-and-breakfast, she realised that it was only 7 miles/11 km from where they were staying. Visiting there was too good a chance to miss when they were so close – and especially as it had turned into such a beautiful evening, though I think she’d have gone even if it had been pouring with rain.
I’ll tell you why in my next post, but meanwhile please take care and stay safe – and look out for more tales from me soon.
Follow my next blog:157. MY MUM THE STORY-TELLER – PART FIFTY
05/08/2021
Wilf the bear-faced blogger 