ARE YOU already dreading those endless summer traffic queues, with a trundling
caravan at their head? Irritated by the ranks of caravans infesting seaside
beauty spots? Then heap the blame on the retired naval surgeon Dr William
Gor-don Stables. He was the first holiday caravanner — and he has an
estimated one million imitators in Britain alone.
Dr Stables spent the summer of 1886 travelling in a horse-drawn caravan from
his home, near Reading, to Inverness. His life at sea had left him with a
taste for nautical terms, and he described his hand-built vehicle as “a land
yacht” and christened it the Wanderer.
He wrote a best-selling book, The Gentleman Gypsy, about his trip,
which helped to popu-larise caravanning, and was a founder member of the
Caravan Club, which celebrates its centenary this year. His enthusiasm was
such that I, a caravanning novice, was tempted to follow his example and
journey the length of Britain — albeit in a modern motorhome.
But plenty has changed in the past 120 years. The admiring crowds gathering
along the Wanderer’s route to monitor the doctor’s progress have gone, and
so, it seems, have the local lairds queuing up to offer the traveller
hospitality and a stopover site in the grounds of their stately homes.
Caravanning has lost its cachet.
Even planning such a trip isn’t as exciting as Dr Stables made it sound. His
caravan was a mahogany monster weighing a couple of tons, with a crew and
accessories. Mine was a borrowed and far from spacious motor-caravan.
Then there was the matter of companions. Dr Stables settled first on
Peablossom and Cornflower, the horses charged with dragging his land yacht
along the rutted roads of the time. A groom had to be engaged to look after
them. Apparently the master needed a bit of looking after, too — he was
accompanied by his valet, John. A giant Newfoundland dog called Hurricane
Bob stood guard and the crew was completed by a singing cockatoo named Polly.
When it came to sleeping arrangements, the social niceties of the day had to
be observed. The doctor shared the caravan’s saloon with Hurricane Bob and
the cockatoo. John slept beneath the vehicle, and the groom, of course,
bedded down with the horses.
Caravanners were undoubtedly rather strange back in 1886, and little has
changed. It was raining when I arrived at Henley, my starting point, but
that did not stop my neigh-bours from donning sou’-west-ers, setting up
tables outside their caravans, and serving themselves tea with slices of
soggy fruit cake.
Noisy late-night parties, and a morning queue at the toilet block, were other
hazards, but if Dr Stables could find adventure on Britain’s highways, so
could I.
I headed out of Henley with high hopes. In Pangbourne, I decided on a comfort
call at The George, where Dr Stables stopped for refreshment more than 120
years ago. Did anyone know of the hotel’s link with the great man? “The
manager’s busy, and he’s the only one who knows about the history of this
building,” said the receptionist, dismissively. She added, as if in
explanation: “We’re a Best Western now.”
Many of the villages through which Dr Stables’s strange procession once
trundled have been bypassed by today’s roads. Others you have to practically
squeeze through: places full of tumbledown cottages, antique shops and badly
parked cars.
We stopped in the very spot where the doctor called a halt, in Burcot, and
brewed coffee. I harboured a faint hope that the owner of the stately home
opposite might pop out to offer hospitality — as his predecessor once did.
In fact, the only visitors to my little lay-by were the occupants of a
police car, and their sole offering was a demand that we move on.
There was another disappointment in Deddington, where the didactic doctor had
a bit of an adventure. He camped in a field, heard intruders around his
caravan in the night, and rushed outside with his cutlass in one hand and
Hurricane Bob, straining at his leash, in the other. He found himself facing
nothing more dangerous than a herd of cows.
Dr Stables also called in at Warwick, which now has a new statue of the boxing
hero Randolph Turpin. Next morning, beyond the red ruins of Kenilworth
Castle, blown up after the Battle of Edgehill in 1644, an attempt to emulate
the doctor’s drive to the battle site proved impossible: the access roads
will not accommodate a modern motorhome.
My 21st-century expedition arrived in York, damp and depressed. The city’s
caravan site, beside the River Ouse, would be a haven if it didn’t
occasionally disappear beneath floodwaters. York railway station suddenly
took on an unexpected allure.
Even Dr Stables got fed up when he reached Inverness, and took the train home.
I shamefacedly followed his example, promising myself that I would complete
the trip when the weather improved.
Then, on the train, I decided I wouldn’t do anything of the sort. Try this
kind of thing too often, and you could end up conversing animatedly with a
musical parrot. The Wanderer, now restored, can be seen at the National
Boat, Caravan and Outdoor Show (www.boatandcaravan. co.uk) at the NEC in
Birmingham, February 17-25, and will feature at the Caravan Club’s centenary
national rally at Blenheim Palace in May (0800 3286635,
www.caravanclub.co.uk).
Caravans of love: luxury lodges and more by Dan Bennett
Feather Down Farms in West Worldham, Hampshire, has large and luxurious
tents with meals from local ingredients. 01420 80804,
www.featherdown.co.uk.
At Deepdale Farm in North Norfolk, choose to stay in your own tent, a
tepee or the stables’ hostel. The farm is arable, so don’t expect to be
roused by an animal chorus, but there is a local petting farm for children.
01485 210256, www.deepdalefarm.co.uk.
Forest Tented Lodges in Marros, Pembrokeshire, offers visitors a Welsh
safari, based on the owner’s experiences in Kenya. Cycling and walking tours
are available, and there are children’s activities — the camp is near wide
sandy beaches and the Oakwood adventure park. 07985 169101,
www.tentedlodges.co.uk.
The Pot-a-Doodle Do Wigwam Village, south of Berwick-upon-Tweed in
Northumberland, is close to coastal walks and fishing. Family activities
include quad-biking, pottery and an outdoor play area. 01289 307107,
www.northumbrian wigwams.com.
Hire an original Romany wagon in a Monmouthshire field from Under The
Thatch. The caravan has views of the Black Mountains and is near
Abergavenny. Walking paths in the Brecon Beacons are near by. www.underthethatch.co.uk.
