The Old Passage

Until 1966, when the original Severn Bridge opened, the only way into South Wales by road was via Gloucester - a very long detour if you were starting from the Bristol area. But there was a car ferry, which drastically shortened the journey - if you didn't mind queuing to get on it. The delays were notorious, the cost something to think about. But if you felt lucky, you'd always consider it. 

Coming from South Wales, you headed for Beachley, down a dead-end road on the other side of Chepstow. There was a slipway there, and you pulled up at the back end of a long line of cars. It wasn't a beautiful spot. I definitely remember only one ride on the ferry, in June 1960, when Dad took our already-ancient Ford Popular - EHT 411 - from Barry, where we lived, to a caravan park at Burnham-on-Sea. This car had been owned by my Uncle Laurie, and was on its last legs. I recall the windscreen wiper unscrewing itself and flying off into the road on the journey to Burnham. (Fortunately Dad managed to retrieve it and fix it back on) This wayward car was remarkable in having a heater for the comfort of its passengers. It was rather all-or-nothing. It would roast the front passenger's legs - mine, in fact. It was always my privilege to have that seat, Mum and my little brother Wayne being relegated to the back seats. 

I went back to Beachley in October 2018, on a wet afternoon, and parked Fiona underneath the original Severn Bridge, which had once carried the M4. The M4 was now carried by a newer bridge a few miles to the south, and the old motorway that towered over Beachley had become the M48. This map may help:

As I say, there had been a slipway at Beachley, and it was still there in 2018, despite being out of use as a ferry slipway for fifty-two years at that point. It was off to my left from where I had parked. The old ferry offices seemed to have been drastically altered. The nearby pub, the Old Ferry Inn, had its car park fenced off. Perhaps it had closed, and the site was being redeveloped.

You have to imagine the modern (well, 1966-vintage) bridge not being there. Off in the distance, on the other bank of the Severn, can be seen what remains of the ferry pier near Aust, at a spot known as Old Passage. It's that speck to the right of the nearer bridge legs. I'm not entirely sure that I'd be happy, venturing out on the fast-flowing Severn in a well-laden ferry boat, from one slippery slipway to another, even if it saved a tedious sixty-mile detour. But people did. We did too.

What was left to see at Old Passage? The rest of this post reveals. 

I visited Old Passage on a sunny afternoon towards the end of May this year. If Beachley had rather end-of-the-road feel to it, Old Passage was even more so. There were a few pleasant houses there, but it was very quiet. This section of pre-1966 Ordnance Survey One-inch mapping shows what used to be there in ferry days:

The old car ferry (marked 'Ferry V') is clearly marked. I should think that the push and pull of the tidal stream would make the crossing anything but a straight line. Rather odd that this important (and nationally-known) car ferry was served at both ends only by meandering B roads. Here is the modern scenario:

The pier at Old Passage was still there - but in what state? The map said 'dis', meaning disused. Hmm. 

Arriving there and parking Fiona, I saw that the local coastline was part of a comprehensive flood-defence project, and that the road south of Old Passage was closed for the time being.

All very interesting, but not my objective for the next hour or so. I took a path that cut through to the shore. This brought me to a some concrete walls, and stout steel flood gates. But there was a definite (though probably unofficial) footpath into the reeds, along the line of the old wooden pier that must once have taken cars out to the ferry boat.  

At this point I had a double view: the old Severn Bridge to my right, with an electricity pylon in front of it, set on its own pier; and in the distance on my left, the newer Severn Bridge:

Well, let's take that path.

I was walking on some rickety wooden planks laid on top of much stouter wooden cross-beams. I'm guessing that this was the remains of a pier footway that must have run alongside where the cars would be driven. It would have been left, if there were a hazard beacon at the end of the pier to be serviced at intervals, or if the pier were popular with local fishing people. 

Not so the vehicular part. There were glimpses of those big cross-beams here and there, but mostly they were buried beneath the reeds and not visible. The planking that had once been laid on top of them seemed to have disappeared. Perhaps it had been worth salvaging, and had long gone. In its mostly-dismantled state, it was very hard to picture how the pier had looked in its busy ferry days. 

And then the footway planking ended. Or rather, a single plank carried on ahead. I wasn't going to risk a balancing act on that!  

I could by now see the seaward end of the pier. Tantalising!

But how to get any closer? Well, there was a way. One had to step off the wooden footway and onto a rough path that seemed to be mostly dried mud. For me - with my bad right knee - stepping down without anything to hang onto wasn't that easy. But I managed it. 

The 'path' was now that barely-discernible trodden bit alongside the pier beams. At least the structure of the pier was now clearer to see. I cautiously made my way forward, acutely aware that at any moment I could hit a patch of soft mud. But it was worth the effort and the risk of getting mucky.

Those thick wooden beams were still substantial, even in their decay. With longitudinal planking laid on top, they would have been perfectly good for the lighter weight of cars in the old days. 

Aha! The main part of the pier came to an end, and then dipped down towards what looked like a dilapidated and sea-damaged slipway. Presumably, then, cars had at low tide boarded (or disembarked from) the ferry boat at the slipway end. But at high tide, the boat was moored against the upper main deck of the pier, and cars had to turn onto it. 

I'd have liked to have gone right down to the waterline, but that was obviously impossible because of the cloying Severn mud. I still felt a sense of achievement though.

It was a bit sad that the pier was being left to rot away, especially as it had, in its heyday, been quite famous. But it was difficult to see what modern use it could have, and it had no real tourist potential. Nice to see it in such fine weather, though, especially as I may never go there again.