Having dealt with breakfast and the fogged up window, as noticed at reference 1, we could move onto the main business of the day, which was to visit Shanklin Chine, via the Island Line. Which meant getting ourselves across to Ryde Esplanade Station.
Picking up this rather green bowling green on the way. Had they been given a special dispensation to water their grass during the drought, still running at the end of September, even if the heat had gone off? There were also traces of the pre-war railings, presumably ripped out during the drive for scrap at the beginning of that war. For some reason, more conveniently replaced inside the wall, rather than on the wall, where they started.
Various birds out on the sand, mainly white or grey.
But there was also this solitary, black and white oddity, rather smaller than the regular gulls. Inspection of the information board suggested that it was a turnstone, of reference 2, a bird of which I had never previously heard. While BH had: I suppose being brought up near a lot of sea, sand and salt marsh - that is to say the estuary of the River Exe - made all the difference.
A whole world of waders about which I knew next to nothing.
More turnstone. Right in the middle.
A channel.
Long had a soft spot for big open stretches of sand and shingle by the sea.
Some of the old railings had survived, even if the footbridge was a replacement. Island Line left, just entering the tunnel which takes it out of Ryde, to Brading and beyond.
Ryde Esplanade Station had been smartly redecorated, but was looking a little empty, a with lot of space and a number of vacant retail units. Perhaps it will pick up as the price of foreign goes up with the price of oil. As it turned out, we had just missed a train to Shanklin and wound up taking the bus instead.
Where we passed a bicycle sporting the very same carriers from Karrimor as I have on my own bicycle from Trek. Rather newer though, with mine being near fifty years old.
I fail to find them today at reference 3, but Google Images explains all. A heritage item from the days when they still did textiles in Lancashire, long discontinued. These particular bags must have been forgotten in a cupboard for years, or something of that sort. He gets quite gushing about this fine heritage brand.
Good bags, but a bit let down by the elasticised straps which tether the bottom of the bags to the frame. Apart from anything else, the elastic completely degrades over time.
Reaching the High Street, we took tea and lemon meringue pie in a little cafe which we have now used perhaps three times. Run by what appears to be a family from somewhere in the Middle East who put a lot of effort into customer relations and who seemed to have built up quite a decent pensioner trade.
And so to the entrance to Shanklin Chine, where there was a fine stand of carex pendula. A truly vintage attraction dating back to before the glory days of holidays at the seaside:
'... Jane Austen writing in June 1813 said, “we hired a Sociable and drove round… Shanklin Chine, lovely.” However, it was not until 1817, when a William Colenutt excavated the present path and opened it to the public, that the Chine began to attract increasing interest. It is not known what he charged but visitors were expected to contribute 6d (2.5p) in 1873. Amazingly, it remained at this figure until 1958...'.
A seaside attraction which has survived and you can read all about it at reference 4. Furthermore, the chap in the ticket office told us that the water had kept coming out of the hill above all through the drought. The water table or whatever it is had taken the heat.
Near the top of the chine proper.
Some of the curious plants growing on the damp rock. Some of them might be from the ancient family of liverworts.
Google Images thinks so too. Offering me reference 6 along the way - from which I learn of something called a chalybeate spring. There is supposed to be one in the Chine, but the most famous one seems to be at Tunbridge Wells. Possibly in the vicinity of the attraction noticed at reference 8, another major attraction from the olden days.
From further down the chine. Plenty of quite large people about, but I'm not sure if we saw such climbing back up the chine. Not something that we attempt ourselves - and I can't remember now whether we ever have.
The only fungi that we came across. I had thought that there would have been rather more of them, the place being mild and damp.
Further down still, the large bed of giant rhubarb was still there.
And on this occasion we took in the view point, on the right as you head down to the exit. A bright, clear day for it, with Culver Down visible behind the tree left. Possibly the roof of the public house from which we have taken crab salads in the past visible in the angle of the wall.
A relic of the past. That is to say a 6 pounder carronade, as invented at the Carron Iron Works in Falkirk in the late eighteenth century. This one said to be around 200 years old. Memory says that Nelson's Victory had a couple of rather bigger ones, right up front, at Trafalgar.
Gemini agrees and I had forgotten how much bigger they were. He goes on to say that the port carronade fired the opening shot of the battle, firing through the unprotected stern windows of the French flagship and smashing right through its length, more or less disabling it with that one shot. I check with Copilot which tells me of the flagship fighting for three hours before striking. I check back with Gemini, who explains that the French might have toughed it out for three hours, taking very heavy casualties, but they did not have much of a battleship left to fight with after that first shot, after that first broadside. So one might quibble about Gemini giving so much glory to the carronade, the subject of my opening question, but he was not that wrong.
We left the chine to investigate lunch. I had thought to the use the pub there, but they could not do a crab sandwich. It had to be something much bigger and more expensive. And something like the ham roll of old was quite out of the question. So back into the chine - one's tickets allows re-entry - to try the café there, where we got a couple of sandwiches. Nothing special, but fresh and more or less what we wanted.
There was also very diverse selection of souvenirs on offer, including a shelf full of royal mugs and another shelf full of monk mugs, that is to say mugs got up to look like monks. I leave their actual appearance to the imagination of the reader.
And taking in the echium snapped above on the way. Not quite up to Ventnor Botanic Garden standards, but probably about on a par with those at Hampton Court Palace.
We also had a poster about an important royal event. Gemini explains that the marriage in question was that between Princess May and Prince George, Prince George's elder brother Albert having defaulted due to pneumonia. They were second cousins once removed, so not that closely related at all by the standards of the aristocracy.
Gemini also tells me that it was one of the more successful royal marriages. And while the good people of Shanklin may not have been terribly interested in the royals, it looks as if they did like a beano. Bit more sparkle about the whole business than the sort of thing we manage now.
Back out again, it was a nice bright day, so we decided to walk back to Sandown, rather than climb back up into Shanklin.
We found that the crochet gang had been busy with the letter box, next to Shanklin clock tower. There was a lot of this in Epsom around the time of the plague, but I think that the Epsom ladies have worked themselves through that phase.
I don't suppose that the water fountain at the base of the clock tower has worked for a long time. Unlike the lift back up to town, just beyond, which was working.
Then there was what gmaps calls the pier head, a reminder that Shanklin once ran to a pier. I am reminded this afternoon of the pilot of Part I telling us that when he was young - he was getting on for ten years older than us - all the seaside resorts had piers, no-one much had cars, and paddle steamers ran regular services between the piers. The piers really were piers in those days, rather than elderly structures housing run down fun fairs and sea fishermen. Outings on steamers was all part of the holiday fun.
From where I associate to the rather funny yarn about going to sea and having trouble - or not - with seasickness in 'Three Men in a Boat'.
Between Shanklin and Sandown. Not the retired fish smoke house I had thought it might have been at all, rather the Hope Beach wastewater pumping station.
Lots of Michaelmas daisies growing in the cliff. Google Images says rather the sea aster (Tripolium pannonicum), a variety of aster adapted to the salty ambience of the seaside. Notwithstanding, it is a sort of daisy and it was the day after Michaelmas. See reference 9, where I read of the designer of an Irish artist who designed a stamp celebrating this flower called 'Susan Sex'. I wonder how she coped with the inevitable ribbing about her name? Just a couple of years older than myself.
The sea was well up for the second leg, splashing right over the esplanade at places. BH associated to her days travelling to school on the small steam train then running between Exminster and Teignmouth. A train which got well wetted when the tide and wind were right.
Sandown the white sector to the right.
The cafés along the esplanade were mostly shut, but we were able to manage choc ices on sticks at one point. A first since we bought one (rather than two) from the man who works the Palace end of Hampton Court Bridge, an event noticed at reference 10.
Along the way, more people of weight and quite a sprinkling of smokers, some with real cigarettes. I did not notice any pipes. At some point there was also an old-style gaff rigged yawl, somehow getting along with just the mizzen set.
The derelict hotels at Sandown were still there, but there had been action in the form of the council buying a protective strip of land between the dereliction and the esplanade.
Shortly after this, we walked up to the library and caught a No.8 bus to Ryde. A bus which turned out to be taking the scenic route through Bembridge and St. Helen's, a route further enlivened by diversions in and around Bembridge, possibly to do with gas.
The outing closed with a fine fish and chips from the chipper opposite the Ryde bus station, aka railway station. A busy place with a steady trickle of customers, seemingly run, once again, by people of Middle Eastern origin. Perhaps, like the sub-continentals before them, people prepared to earn their tickets with hard work, long hours and probably modest returns. In any event, the fish and chips were very good. And Oasis was better than Fanta.
We thought about taking a refreshment, perhaps in the Veteran, perhaps in the busy bar at the Ryde Castle, perhaps at the Solent Inn behind the hotel, but decided that a late siesta first was the way forward. We did not get out again.
PS: a little later. I have now checked the carronade story against reference 11, and go back to Gemini with the supplementary:
'Going back to carronades, I have now consulted 'The 100-gun ship Victory - John McKay - 1987'. I find that two large carronades were indeed mounted at the time of Trafalgar, but they were only there for around 2 years of her long life. They might have been destructive but they must have had serious downsides'.
To which Gemini responds by explaining about all the various downsides. The upside was their destructiveness at very short range - less than a hundred yards - an upside which was cancelled if your enemy chose or was able to fight at a longer range - as the USN did in the war of 1812. He closes with:
'... Nelson had the rare tactical audacity to bet everything on a plan that completely erased those downsides: he simply shoved Victory so close into the French line that you couldn't possibly miss, turning those two years of awkward, temperamental carronades into the most famous opening salvo in British naval history'.
I seem to remember Forrester and Hornblower talking about much the same sort of thing. So much the closer, so much the better. Provided, of course, that your guns and your gunnery were better than theirs...
Along the way, in explaining one of the downsides, Gemini had said that:
'... A standard 32-pounder naval long gun had an effective range of 1,000 to 1,500 yards. A 68-pounder carronade, firing a low powder charge out of an extremely short barrel, was virtually useless beyond 300 to 400 yards, and truly dangerous only inside 100 yards...'.
I try another supplementary:
'1,000 to 1,500 yards seems like a long way for a 32 pounder. These guns were pretty primitive, after all'.
Gemini now explains that this sort of distance is how far such a cannonball might go. But your chances of hitting a ship at more than about 300 yards were close to zero, and RN captains really liked to close to 50 yards or less and rely on a faster rate of fire than the enemy could manage.
So I think 'effective range' was an error, but also that the more important point is that we have yet another illustration of the difficulty of compressing a complicated story into a few sentences. If you want real information, real learning, you have to do real work. Something my teacher mother was quite hot on. And sometimes the pressing need for telling punch lines to carry the reader along can get you into real trouble with the truth.
References
Reference 1: https://psmv6.blogspot.com/2026/10/the-other-island-part-ii.html.
Reference 2: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turnstone.
Reference 3: https://www.karrimor.com/.
Reference 4: https://shanklinchine.co.uk/.
Reference 5: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liverwort.
Reference 6: https://iwnhas.org/groups/mosses-and-liverworts-bryophytes/.
Reference 7: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chalybeate.
Reference 8: https://psmv2.blogspot.com/2013/10/shorter-notice-2.html.
Reference 9: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tripolium_pannonicum.
Reference 10: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2025/05/hampton-court.html.
Reference 11: The 100-gun ship Victory - John McKay - 1987.
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