DOI issue:
September 12, 1874
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16939#0114
106 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [September 12, 1874.
HOLIDAY HAPPY THOUGHTS.
(Being Hints for a New Guide to North Wales.)
enmaenmawr is a capital
place to go to, and to go
irom. For excursions—to
Welsliise the Irish phrase,
“ it bangs Banagher "—it
bangs Bangor. The George
Hotel at the latter place
has a lovely garden for
lounging in, good service,
and satisfactory table
d'hote. It also possesses
one of the neatest-handed
Phyllises in the way of
dinner-napkin folders I
ever beheld. Out of fifty
table napkins there were
aot more than three or
four of the same pattern :
at least so it seemed.
With the exception of
this Hostelrie, which has
grown out of a small Inn,
there’s nothing much to
detain you in Bangor. Of
course there are the two
bridges; but there are the
Three Bridges on the Lon-
don and South Coast Line,
so no one will think much
of these. Then there’s Beaumaris Castle tin the other side, Penrhyn
Castle on Bangor side and the Penrhyn mo lei village, which looks as
prim as that humbug of a place. Brock in Holland, where you take
your shoes off for fear of dirtying the roads, or something equally
absurd. There are very few “ model ” anytbings that are not hum-
bugs. They protest too much.
No tourist who cares for Welsh scenery, for lakes, waterfalls,
sea, and mountain, would make his head-quarters at Llandudno,
which is a pretentious, half-finished, Welsh-Liverpool-Cockney sort
of place, with little to recommend it except that there are frequent
trains to take you away again, Llandudno hasn’t made up its mind
(and it’s been long enough about it) what sort of existence it’s
going to settle down to. It oscillates between Scarborough (without
its attractions aDd natural advantages), Margate Cockney ism, and
Weymouth gentility. Many of the shops, as yet, haven’t precisely
arrived at what their specialite, if any, is to be. A watering-place
must be in a very infantine stage of existence when you’ve got to
go to a toy-shop to get your hair cut. Yet so it is at Llandudno.
There is a rival establishment to this, where “ Hair-Brushing by
Machinery ” is advertised. It made me tremble to think of it.
If two heads are better than one, Llandudno, with the Great
Orme’s Head and the Little Orme’s Head, ought to be well off.
Perhaps these two brainless heads rule the destinies of Llandudno.
The place is between two seas, which is as bad, in its way, as being
between two fires. Wind and rain, wind and dust, find quite a
little holiday-ground at Llandudno.
As everyone staying at Penmaenmawr is safe to go to Conway and
see Conway Castle, description is thrown away. A guide-book
should tell us what to avoid. There’s something the tourist can't
avoid, and that is the Welsh gamins.
Warnings.—The Welsh children, I mean the dirty little girls and
hoys up to six years old, know this much of English, “ Gie me
y’ape’ny ! ” And for this half-penny they ’ll pester every visitor,
afoot or in a car.
Advice (as to dealing with these horrid little nuisances).—When
walking, pretend to feel in your pocket for the coin, and keep on
walking. Gradually they ’ll tail off one by one, except the ring-
leader, who has a character to keep up. Let him keep it up ; and,
if you’re ascending a mountain, excelsior! You’ll soon find a
convenient place to explain your practical joke to that boy.
In a Carriage,—Adopt the ancient method. Take the ringleader’s
cap and return it to him after a mile or so.
They are an avaricious set of little wretches, with dirty noses and
shrill voices, who ought to be in school. Any donor of a penny or a
half-penny to these small vagabonds ought to be fined heavily, and
—sent to Llandudno.
Thoughts which will occur, probably, to the bold Mountaineer,
making the ascent of any height, say of Penmaenmawr.—First: It’s
steeper than one expected. It’s more difficult than one thought it
would be. “ Do you ” (a question, after the last-mentioned thought,
to a companion) “ think that that workman who is throwing slates
and stones down from a height sees us coming up?"
Thought (on seeing a whacking lump come bounding down).—It
would be as well to choose a time for the ascent when they are not
rolling stones down.
After a certain height, you will probably find it convenient to
select a good place for stopping to look at the view. You will pro-
bably wish that your companion would stop oftener to look at the
view.
Thoughts on getting higher up.—If this next point isn’t the top, I
shall turn hack.
Still higher up.—If this next point isn’t the top, I shall certainly
turn back.
Higher and higher.—Look here, if we ’re not at the top after the
next stone wall, I’m hanged if I see the fun of going any further.
And so on to the summit.
In order to assist you in reaching your lofty destination, the
mountain-climhist, will do well to provide himself with an alpen-
stock of some such encouraging thoughts as the following:—
Imagination will help one a long way up Penmaenmawr (or
Snowdon, or any mountain.)
When desperately out of breath, and your friend won't wait for
you, imagine you ’re somebody going to help a female in distress.
Imagine you ’re the Knight with the banner in “Excelsior!" (Up
to a certain verse—-not in the after part, “Lifeless, yet beauti-
ful,” &c.)
Imagine you ’re to have a sovereign on arriving at the top.
Imagine you will see such a view from the top.
Imagine how sorry you will be afterwards to have been in the
neighbourhood and left this undone.
Imagine that the eyes of Europe are on you.
Imagine that you are benefiting Society generally by your indi-
vidual experience.
Imagine what a lot of good it’s doing you.
Imagine how much better you will feel after it!
Imagine how delicious it will be coming down!!
But, if imagination will do so much, the contented mind, which
is a continual feast (what a bore that would be, even to an Aider-
man! ), might stay quietly at home, or on the beach, and imagine
the whole thing from bottom to top. It’s ten to one, or more,
against a view when you arrive at the summit of any place. As to
seeing the sun rise—bah!—smoke your cigar, and take your coffee,
on the terrace of Penmaenmawr Hotel, and see the moon rise. It’s
twice as pretty, and not a quarter the trouble.
Note.—Bring your own Washerwoman. The Welsh blanchisseuses
are angelic in their visits: few and far between.
Conveyances and Horses— Of all the miserable moving creatures
on four legs I’ve ever seen, the horses which, almost invariably,
drag the flys, cars, and ramshackle-any-how traps, are the most
pitiful. There are honourable exceptions, and some people can give
you good horses, comfortable traps, and decent drivers. But—see
them first, see the whole turn-out with your own dear eyes before
you hire it: insist on this.
The Drivers.—More often than not a stupid, pig-headed, dirty,
apparently unintelligent, and certainly unintelligible boy, who, it
may he, is learning his future business, and picking up English at
the tourist’s expense. These hoys, whom the tourist will come
across, and. from whom he will suffer much, seem to be out for a
holiday from some local idiot asylum.
Advice— Never travel without a Welsh conversation-book and a
dictionary. If the hoy can read (long odds against this), you can
show him what you think of him in print; if he can’t read, you
must depend upon the excellence of your pantomime for the expres-
sion of your feelings. My only complaint of the conversation-books
is, that there is no language, or, at all events, no one sentence suffi-
ciently strong for the occasions which are constantly arising.
More than once I have been out with what his proprietor called
“an intelligent boy.” He knew enough English to render him
suspicious. He was totally unacquainted with any objects of interest
on the route, and it ended by my pointing them out to him, and
showing him their names in the Guide Book. The artful proprietor
had clearly adopted this method of giving the boy a lesson : and I
was engaged, at my own expense, to teach the intelligent boy his
business.
There was another intelligent hoy of the same class. The only
sign of intelligence he showed, was, in having a three minutes’
wrangle, in high Welsh, with a toll-bar keeper, when the intelli-
gent boy came off victorious, and we saved sixpence. The leer
he gave me after this feat of financial diplomacy was something to
remember.
The local guide-book, price one penny—a Pennymaenmawr Guide-
Book—contains gems which deserve setting. Here are a few :
“ The sea-side is sometimes complained of for its monotony. * * *
But in lovely Penmaenmawr the mountain breezes whisper to the
sea, and the sunlit sea smiles back upon the mountain, except at
intervals, when the smile is exchanged for a song, and perhaps that
song”-What do you think ? No one will guess-“ a thunder.”
The tourist will very often hear the “ whispering of the mountain
breezes to the sea,” and will wonder what the shouting must he like.
HOLIDAY HAPPY THOUGHTS.
(Being Hints for a New Guide to North Wales.)
enmaenmawr is a capital
place to go to, and to go
irom. For excursions—to
Welsliise the Irish phrase,
“ it bangs Banagher "—it
bangs Bangor. The George
Hotel at the latter place
has a lovely garden for
lounging in, good service,
and satisfactory table
d'hote. It also possesses
one of the neatest-handed
Phyllises in the way of
dinner-napkin folders I
ever beheld. Out of fifty
table napkins there were
aot more than three or
four of the same pattern :
at least so it seemed.
With the exception of
this Hostelrie, which has
grown out of a small Inn,
there’s nothing much to
detain you in Bangor. Of
course there are the two
bridges; but there are the
Three Bridges on the Lon-
don and South Coast Line,
so no one will think much
of these. Then there’s Beaumaris Castle tin the other side, Penrhyn
Castle on Bangor side and the Penrhyn mo lei village, which looks as
prim as that humbug of a place. Brock in Holland, where you take
your shoes off for fear of dirtying the roads, or something equally
absurd. There are very few “ model ” anytbings that are not hum-
bugs. They protest too much.
No tourist who cares for Welsh scenery, for lakes, waterfalls,
sea, and mountain, would make his head-quarters at Llandudno,
which is a pretentious, half-finished, Welsh-Liverpool-Cockney sort
of place, with little to recommend it except that there are frequent
trains to take you away again, Llandudno hasn’t made up its mind
(and it’s been long enough about it) what sort of existence it’s
going to settle down to. It oscillates between Scarborough (without
its attractions aDd natural advantages), Margate Cockney ism, and
Weymouth gentility. Many of the shops, as yet, haven’t precisely
arrived at what their specialite, if any, is to be. A watering-place
must be in a very infantine stage of existence when you’ve got to
go to a toy-shop to get your hair cut. Yet so it is at Llandudno.
There is a rival establishment to this, where “ Hair-Brushing by
Machinery ” is advertised. It made me tremble to think of it.
If two heads are better than one, Llandudno, with the Great
Orme’s Head and the Little Orme’s Head, ought to be well off.
Perhaps these two brainless heads rule the destinies of Llandudno.
The place is between two seas, which is as bad, in its way, as being
between two fires. Wind and rain, wind and dust, find quite a
little holiday-ground at Llandudno.
As everyone staying at Penmaenmawr is safe to go to Conway and
see Conway Castle, description is thrown away. A guide-book
should tell us what to avoid. There’s something the tourist can't
avoid, and that is the Welsh gamins.
Warnings.—The Welsh children, I mean the dirty little girls and
hoys up to six years old, know this much of English, “ Gie me
y’ape’ny ! ” And for this half-penny they ’ll pester every visitor,
afoot or in a car.
Advice (as to dealing with these horrid little nuisances).—When
walking, pretend to feel in your pocket for the coin, and keep on
walking. Gradually they ’ll tail off one by one, except the ring-
leader, who has a character to keep up. Let him keep it up ; and,
if you’re ascending a mountain, excelsior! You’ll soon find a
convenient place to explain your practical joke to that boy.
In a Carriage,—Adopt the ancient method. Take the ringleader’s
cap and return it to him after a mile or so.
They are an avaricious set of little wretches, with dirty noses and
shrill voices, who ought to be in school. Any donor of a penny or a
half-penny to these small vagabonds ought to be fined heavily, and
—sent to Llandudno.
Thoughts which will occur, probably, to the bold Mountaineer,
making the ascent of any height, say of Penmaenmawr.—First: It’s
steeper than one expected. It’s more difficult than one thought it
would be. “ Do you ” (a question, after the last-mentioned thought,
to a companion) “ think that that workman who is throwing slates
and stones down from a height sees us coming up?"
Thought (on seeing a whacking lump come bounding down).—It
would be as well to choose a time for the ascent when they are not
rolling stones down.
After a certain height, you will probably find it convenient to
select a good place for stopping to look at the view. You will pro-
bably wish that your companion would stop oftener to look at the
view.
Thoughts on getting higher up.—If this next point isn’t the top, I
shall turn hack.
Still higher up.—If this next point isn’t the top, I shall certainly
turn back.
Higher and higher.—Look here, if we ’re not at the top after the
next stone wall, I’m hanged if I see the fun of going any further.
And so on to the summit.
In order to assist you in reaching your lofty destination, the
mountain-climhist, will do well to provide himself with an alpen-
stock of some such encouraging thoughts as the following:—
Imagination will help one a long way up Penmaenmawr (or
Snowdon, or any mountain.)
When desperately out of breath, and your friend won't wait for
you, imagine you ’re somebody going to help a female in distress.
Imagine you ’re the Knight with the banner in “Excelsior!" (Up
to a certain verse—-not in the after part, “Lifeless, yet beauti-
ful,” &c.)
Imagine you ’re to have a sovereign on arriving at the top.
Imagine you will see such a view from the top.
Imagine how sorry you will be afterwards to have been in the
neighbourhood and left this undone.
Imagine that the eyes of Europe are on you.
Imagine that you are benefiting Society generally by your indi-
vidual experience.
Imagine what a lot of good it’s doing you.
Imagine how much better you will feel after it!
Imagine how delicious it will be coming down!!
But, if imagination will do so much, the contented mind, which
is a continual feast (what a bore that would be, even to an Aider-
man! ), might stay quietly at home, or on the beach, and imagine
the whole thing from bottom to top. It’s ten to one, or more,
against a view when you arrive at the summit of any place. As to
seeing the sun rise—bah!—smoke your cigar, and take your coffee,
on the terrace of Penmaenmawr Hotel, and see the moon rise. It’s
twice as pretty, and not a quarter the trouble.
Note.—Bring your own Washerwoman. The Welsh blanchisseuses
are angelic in their visits: few and far between.
Conveyances and Horses— Of all the miserable moving creatures
on four legs I’ve ever seen, the horses which, almost invariably,
drag the flys, cars, and ramshackle-any-how traps, are the most
pitiful. There are honourable exceptions, and some people can give
you good horses, comfortable traps, and decent drivers. But—see
them first, see the whole turn-out with your own dear eyes before
you hire it: insist on this.
The Drivers.—More often than not a stupid, pig-headed, dirty,
apparently unintelligent, and certainly unintelligible boy, who, it
may he, is learning his future business, and picking up English at
the tourist’s expense. These hoys, whom the tourist will come
across, and. from whom he will suffer much, seem to be out for a
holiday from some local idiot asylum.
Advice— Never travel without a Welsh conversation-book and a
dictionary. If the hoy can read (long odds against this), you can
show him what you think of him in print; if he can’t read, you
must depend upon the excellence of your pantomime for the expres-
sion of your feelings. My only complaint of the conversation-books
is, that there is no language, or, at all events, no one sentence suffi-
ciently strong for the occasions which are constantly arising.
More than once I have been out with what his proprietor called
“an intelligent boy.” He knew enough English to render him
suspicious. He was totally unacquainted with any objects of interest
on the route, and it ended by my pointing them out to him, and
showing him their names in the Guide Book. The artful proprietor
had clearly adopted this method of giving the boy a lesson : and I
was engaged, at my own expense, to teach the intelligent boy his
business.
There was another intelligent hoy of the same class. The only
sign of intelligence he showed, was, in having a three minutes’
wrangle, in high Welsh, with a toll-bar keeper, when the intelli-
gent boy came off victorious, and we saved sixpence. The leer
he gave me after this feat of financial diplomacy was something to
remember.
The local guide-book, price one penny—a Pennymaenmawr Guide-
Book—contains gems which deserve setting. Here are a few :
“ The sea-side is sometimes complained of for its monotony. * * *
But in lovely Penmaenmawr the mountain breezes whisper to the
sea, and the sunlit sea smiles back upon the mountain, except at
intervals, when the smile is exchanged for a song, and perhaps that
song”-What do you think ? No one will guess-“ a thunder.”
The tourist will very often hear the “ whispering of the mountain
breezes to the sea,” and will wonder what the shouting must he like.