These much ignored pieces of rural and urban furniture finally have a website of their own.
This is not the site to visit for technical information pertaining to telegraph poles. You'll find nothing about 10KVa transformers, digital telephone networking or even so much as a single volt. This is a website celebrating the glorious everyday mundanitude of these simple silent sentinels the world over. We don't care what the wires contain either. They all carry electricity in some way be it the sparky stuff which boils your kettle, or the thinner stuff with your voice in it when you're on the phone.
Visiting old friends
And a new one.
There was a wasps’ nest in our local letterbox. So apologies to those folk who felt we’d dallied a little in getting your book and membership orders out to you. I know this sounds a little like “the dog ate my homework” kind of excuse, but truth was our postie refused to collect from it until some young lady exterminator from Aberystwyth had sorted things with a big stick. I did, at one point, poke my endoscope camera down there to see them sitting there. The parcels that is not the wasps – they were too busy asking me if I’d mind awfully going away. Anyway, wasps relocated now and the packages have been delivered.
In an effort to sort my work-life balance so that it weighs almost completely on the side of life, my feet have barely touched the ground this summer. Jollys here, trips away there, pub crawls everywhere. And whilst I was out and about I took the opportunity to visit a few old friends. I don’t have many friends so what I really mean is telegraph poles. And it’s arguably my relationship with telegraph poles that leads to me having no friends in the first place. And the damned “e” key is sticking again on this laptop. And the “a” key.
Little gallery below for you to peruse. You might recognise the first picture – it featured as January in our 2024 calendar. I go this way to walk into the wilderness beyond “Soar y Mynydd” chapel. I keep hoping to be handed some stone tablets with words of wisdom carved on to them whilst I’m up there but so far, nothing. Next up was my favourite, and arguably the world’s best “B” road – the B5105. The lovely little run of vintage poles between Ruthin and Clawddnewydd are largely still there. Some hiding in trees to avoid the poling gangs who would brutally yank them up and replace with a tarry vanilla job. Not unlike that which you see in the next picture. A brand new pole. 9 metre Medium pole preserved in 2025 and, according to the Openreach rule book nailed next to it, was planted just 3 weeks before my visit. This one is at the beautifully named Burlingjobb in Powys. Finally, more wilderness walks – high up into the Radnor Hills, over the delightful but windy “Whimble” and on up to Black Mixen. The Radnors seem to have a monopoly on great names for their hills. Anyway this power pole is the last of the run before the cable to Black Mixen telecom tower goes underground. So windy here it requires 5 stay wires (only 4 visible in this pic). This path, incidentally, borders the Harley Dingle explosive and ammunition testing ground which makes for some interesting flashes and bangs some days as they test out the very latest in Royal Mail Postbox Wasp clearing ordnance.
Eigg Nog
The entire staff of TPAS Towers recently undertook a telegraph pole expedition to the wee small isles in the inner Hebrides. Starting on the Isle of Eigg – an island entirely comfortable with rabbits, sheep and generating it’s own electricity – we settled in to our shed-esque accommodation and plotted the week’s hiking. Day one we discovered the bizarre bed-spring Heath-Robinson effort you see below. This seemed to be collecting the output from a small stream driven hydro-scheme just up from Galmisdale. Nothing but a climb up Eigg’s wonderful “An Sgùrr” mountain (393m) on day #2 and a trip to the telegraph pole free island of Muck on day 3.
Then day #4 we were walking the island’s only real road towards Laig Bay in the north and my internal telegraph pole detector started to ping. Peeping between the leaves of some birch trees was the tip of a redundant five-armed telegraph pole. I had just, that very morning, been reading about an old telegraph system that ran from Eigg, under the sea and across to Rum and then over again to Canna further north. This must be a remnant from those days. Now lost, forgotten and unnoticed. Until now, that is. I had to clamber down a steep hill and hack my way through some severe brambles to get to it but what is a few slashes, infected wounds and dislocated knees in pursuit of such beautiful telegraphic history?
Day #5 took us to Rum and, whilst there was nothing much there to telegraph to, it did at least allow us to join up the terms “Eigg” and “Rum” and make Eigg Nog. Thanks to poet Simon Cockle for the punny title to this post.
Our final evening saw us back at Laig bay, only a different route off the beach and my internal pole alarm started going bezerk. I looked about to see what could be causing this mental commotion when we spotted the rest of the redundant pole run coming down the distant hillside. Seven poles in all. We had a ferry to catch so only had time to squeeze some distant shots with phone camera held up to my binoculars and avow to come back possibly next year for a closer look. We did find a dead one however being consumed by the grass and so liberated a small part of that as a souvenir before it’s lost forever.
That wasn’t the end of our telegraph pole adventures though. On the way up I’d spotted a handful of neat four-armers roadside near Corpach, Fort William. As if that wasn’t enough already – further investigation and a nip up a side road revealed a stunning run of six-armers at Fassfern, also near Fort Bill. One final treat at Ballachulish – 3 armer with all it’s insulators missing (is that you Jake?) but a stunning backdrop of Sgorr Dheearg & Sgorr Dhonuill and also the road bridge itself. Well, well well as we say now back in Wales.
Canute’s Poles
A short walk down the coastal path from Llanon, Ceredigion, brought us to this rich stash of retired poles. They’ve clearly been part of a coastal defence scheme attempting to hold back the fierce Irish sea that smashes into this wild part of Cardigan Bay. The pole steps and inspection placards still visible on many of them. Ultimately the whole project was futile and the coastline has continued its eastwards march and is now some five metres beyond the “barrier” – now just an isolated run of skew-whiff sentinels, embarrassed at their own failure to be any help. Do see how the base of some of the poles has been gnawed away by the abrasive sand and pebbles. I spent a lot longer examining this wrecked wall than is decent even for an extremely curious nerd.
Resting in Peace
Quite recently I went to the fair county of Gwynedd in North Wales. Actually, I’d taken my missus to Portmeirion for a birthday treat, but by uncanny coincidence right across the road from the place is the telegraph pole be-jeweled Ffestiniog Railway. I know I’ve posted photos from there before. But the whole Porthmadog to Ffestiniog section alone has an amazing collection of fully wired up poles for it’s whole 13½ miles length. Then there is the Porthmadog to Caernarfon bit which is even longer, though I couldn’t tell you about it’s pole situation because it was my wife’s birthday and me just nipping off with a camera all the time when I’m supposed to be feting her is asking for an ear-bending at best and body-part excision at worst.
I took a whole lot of photos with my phone and with my swanky black-bodied camera, that has lots of buttons and menus and things. Most of those you see below were from the most amazing last resting place called Mwynwent Minffordd (Minffordd Cemetery). I can just see myself getting planted there when the time comes – when that Dorian Grey painting I keep in the attic finally stops working.
Anyway. These were all intended for the TPAS 2026 calendar, but as you can see it was a very grey day and I decided they weren’t quite up to scratch. There is at least one more shed full of photos but those were shot in RAW mode and haven’t quite worked out which photoshop buttons to press to get the best out of them. Those may yet make it to a grey November 2026 page.
Seasons Greetings
Yes, I know that it’s almost Twelfth Night and all that, but I can still issue forth seasonal salutations if I want to, can’t I? In any case, I live in West Wales, and we celebrate some peculiar things around here: Mari Lwyd*, Calennig, and the “Hen Galan”—which is sort of Christmas, only a week or so later. We never had a problem with the old Julian Calendar, you see. Then those blasted Gregorians came along and took away ten of our days, and this has played havoc with us for centuries, particularly when it comes to remembering when Christmas is, and, for me, my wife’s birthday.
Anyway, by way of Gregorian seasonal greetings, great friend of this society and arch-appreciator of telegraph poles, Charlie Warmington, sent us the photo you see below. Charlie has a famous nom-de-plume in larger and realler life and I’m not sure if I’m allowed to reveal it. So I’d probably best not.
Charlie’s photo says Happy Christmas in many ways: There’s the gracefully dressed carrier bag that flaps and waves delicately from the top of this handsome DP in Newtonabbey, Co. Antrim. And what a delightful spread of dropwires taking internet cat video joy into every home in the cul-de-sac. And, that rainbow just makes you want to reach for a large one doesn’t it. Charlie tells us that even the hanging baskets on the fence are ‘celebrational’ – they’re made out of wood from an IRA Anti-Internment rally bonfire! I think this has all the makings of a Christmas card.
Speaking of calendars – and I promised myself that I’d lay off it – I still have just two left. Two final chances to get yourself a piece of telegraph pole history. See our shoppe page.
*Mari Lwyd. This is an olde Welshe traditione whereby we come around your house at night with a horse’s skull on a broom handle and scare the bejesus out of you as we try to steal your mince pies. And sherry.
Poles of yore
A favourite correspondent of this fair society – and there are many – told us of his afternoon of television watching via the means of iPlayer a sort of BBC device that allows one to go back in time and watch things as they once were. Adrian Holmes – he also of August 2025 in our marvellous TPAS Calendar – was watching a 1945 Powell/Pressburger movie called “I Know Where I’m Going” and he thought we’d all appreciate this screen grab from said film. He also attached a BBC link to a great documentary about Powell and Pressburger’s work, presented by Martin Scorsese – clearly a big fan of theirs. As am I now.
TPAS 2025 Calendar
Christmas is coming, the geese are getting worried and turkeys everywhere are wondering “What does January mean?” As advertising copy-writing this opening paragraph seems to be floundering just two sentences in. How to rescue it? I know, here’s the 2025 Telegraph Pole Appreciator’s calendar – yours’ from this very website for a mere £10.99 + postage. These calendars already have heirloom status guaranteed. Your kids will want yours after you’ve moved upstairs. If only to line the cat’s litter tray.
They’re not back from the printers yet, but you can order one now and we’ll get it out to you in good time. To whet your appetite, below is what March 2025 looks like. If you haven’t received yours by then you’re very patient. I’d have gone nuts long before.
And here’s a little teaser for what might be in one of the other months…
We reserve the right to have lifted our advertising copy from a post we made 2 years ago. Nobody remembers anyway.
Telegraph Pole Appreciation Day
21st September is the day to celebrate the glorious everyday mundanitude of these simple silent sentinels the world over. So why not get out there and really appreciate something tall, wooden, sticky-uppy with wires all coming out the top.
Meanwhile here is a photo that member #666 Dave Bennett took of pole revellers down at Pelehenge in Ceredigion a couple of years ago. With some cross pollination going on here it’s also mini golf appreciation day.
And because it’s such a special day here’s a very recent photo of the Fabled Lost Pole of Bala Leisure Centre.
Pole of the Month – August 2024
This photo landed onto our mailing clerk’s desk back in July. But TPAS Towers is a huge building and, as the world’s premier Telegraph Pole appreciating society, things can get a bit caught up in our bureaucratic processes. Anyway, our adjudicators have selected this fine specimen as the Pole of the Month for August. I shall quote the accompanying letter verbatim:
“This happy fellow can be found strutting around a field next to an obscure lane not far to the south of Truro. I am not sure of the source of his pleasure but I am always greeted with the utmost jollity whenever I happen to pass that way. I call him ‘The Laughing Cavalier’ because of his enduring expression of mirth. Whether he qualifies for ‘pole of the month’ status I know not, but thought you might enjoy him anyway.
Regards,
Peter Burton (member no. 0685)”
Our adjudication team have not the faintest idea what sort of power pole configuration that is – this is not that kind of website – but they completely understand and approve of Peter’s anthropomorphisation of said tall wooden sticky-uppy thing with wires coming out of the top. It was such telegraphular pareidolia that was the basis of pole appreciation from the outset. Given them names is said to be the ultimate in appreciation. The head of the jury for POTM selection said that he once had a pole called Audrey outside his house in North Wales. Congratulations Peter and thanks for sharing with our connoisseurial society.
Aurora Telegraphpolealis
Who could ever forget February 2023? For it was after that last day of a cold dark and windy January that most of us flipped our TPAS Calendar over to a new month revealing Hazel Long’s magnificent dawn pole (above) – bringing renewed joy and hope into the hearts of this telegraph pole appreciating nation. Or something like that.
Well, Hazel has moved house. Not that far from the original Brighouse photo – and still within Yorkshire – where they play cricket, throw rocks at Lancastrians and make tea. To a place called Scapegoat Hill to join the 1,246 other inhabitants who all came out to marvel at the new pole (right). Said pole is so new it hasn’t been wired up to anything yet. Once connected it will doubtless allow residents to add Yorkshire Tea , Terry’s Chocolate Oranges and Henderson’s Relish to their weekly online grocery order.
Hazel tells us she likes a spartan life and to be in bed by 8pm and so missed the aurora borealis northern light show that not so long ago blessed our skies. Luckily, son James was still up and captured the DP of magnificence you see below. I presume this too was in Yorkshire. Actually, it looks like the old place. Anyway, this has all prompted me to do some research on a county I’ve only ever visited once: Puddings of course. Those flat, soggy, slightly burnt things that people have with their sunday dinner. They’re from Yorkshire. The world’s yappiest dog breed comes from Yorkshire too. These handbag sized mutts have yapped their way under the skin of many a quiet-loving neighbour. Seth Armstrong was the county’s most famous beer drinker and supped more than 3,750 pints of ale during his tenure at the bar of the Woolpack Inn, Emmerdale, between 1978 and 2004. Emmerdale, formerly Emmerdale Farm, now regularly competes with Coronation Street for the most train crashes and aviation disasters in a half-hour light drama series.
