Wensley, Croft, and Ludlow (sounds like a law firm)

You know those days when you never seem to have enough time to accomplish anything you set out to accomplish? Today was one of those days.

The overall plan for the day was to drive from the Peaks District to Wales and we managed this plan. The first detail of the day was to stop in a tiny village called Wensley, just south of the Peaks, because my mom's maiden name was “Wensley” and we thought it would be fun to get a photo of her next to a sign with the name of the town.

Photographic proof that something went right today.

Next stop was a town called Ludlow. It's a charming medieval town built along the side of a hill. We wanted to just stop here briefly and then keep going in order to reach Croft Castle. I've felt really bossy during this trip – I know the overall plan for our route, I've arranged the places we'll be visiting, I know the geography of the UK better than my parents so at any given time I can point at a map and tell them where they are – so there are times when I try to just stay quiet and let my parents lead the way so I'm not always the one in control. Letting my mom guide us back to the car wasn't a good time to give up control.

Ludlow.

Today I discovered something about my mom I had no idea about until now. My mother has absolutely no sense of direction. Don't get me wrong – she has many amazing qualities and is able to do many things skilfully, but find her way through an unfamiliar town isn't one of them. I gave a few comments like, “Mom, are you sure it's this way” or “I think we have to go more to the left and wrap around the hill to get back to the car” but she seemed confident so I backed off and let her lead. As we watched the clock tick by and I realized how lost she was, I started challenging her more and she finally said, “Well I really have no idea where we're going – I thought it was this way but I have absolutely no sense of direction!” I burst out laughing, took back control, and found our way back to the car.

Along our "detour" we passed this comically low doorway into somebody's back garden.

An unavoidable route forged through a low hedge and along the edge of a lawn-bowling green. Just slightly embarrassing.

Mom isn't allowed to give directions anymore unless she has a map, and even then I ask clarifying questions because the experience in Ludlow has made me gun-shy.

Croft Castle was closed by the time we got there, but we still took a quick walk around the property. I would love to go back to enjoy the gardens – the walled garden was especially beautiful but we didn't have time for more than a quick peek.

Croft Castle.

A walled garden.

We stopped for supper in a small town called Ludford, walking about two blocks to find a pub that was open. When we finished eating, dad went to pay while mom and I went outside to wait for him. Dad called me back and quietly told me to just follow mom and see if she could find her way back to the car without any help. As soon as mom walked out the door she looked in all directions with a confused expression but I just acted as if I hadn't noticed and waited to see what she would do. After a bit of stammering she turned to me and said, "Do you know where the car is?" and I burst out laughing and ran back inside to tell dad what happened. Mom did manage to find her way back to the car without any wrong turns, but the effort it took was quite comical.

We stopped on the outskirts of Ludford when we saw some beautiful old homes - a good excuse for a quick walk.

Beyond the beautiful homes we stumbled upon a tiny church called St. Giles and it had an old graveyard begging to be explored. So we obliged.

A gravestone with griffins caught my eye.

This gravestone with a skull also intrigued me.

The doorbell was a pull-chain with a bell attached. I think both mom and I wanted to pull it but we resisted.

Swan in a river flowing through Ludford.

As we neared the town where we're staying tonight we came upon this old toll bridge, in operation since 1774. It was almost an honour to insert fifty pence in order to pass by.

A sign comparing the original prices (long lists of animals) and the modern prices.

Tonight we're staying in Hay-on-Wye at a B&B called Rest-for-the-Tired built in 1623. The ceiling and floors are sloping, the rooms and bathrooms are tucked tightly under the eaves, and the place is beyond charming.

My bedroom tucked into the eaves.

This shot looks a bit odd as the camera was set to wide-angle, but it still clearly shows the height of the doorways to our suites.

Sometime over the past couple of days I told my parents that the Welsh are extremely patriotic and if you ask one of them whether they're English or Welsh they'll emphatically tell you they're Welsh. It's almost offensive to imply that there might be a remote possibility they could be English. When we arrived at the B&B, located just barely across the border into Wales from England, we visited with the hostess for a little while and dad innocently asked her if she's Welsh or English and she defensively exclaimed, "I'm Welsh, of course!"