Tarporley to Nantwich. 12 miles.
As soon as I arrived in Nantwich I searched out a chemist before they closed. I was in need of more Brufen and some gel heel pads as I had been in increasing pain during the day. I was still considering catching the train home, the station was close by. But let’s see what difference a night’s rest makes. The Railway Inn where I was staying weren’t doing meals, shortage of chefs at the moment with Brexit and Covid. I was content with a pint and a sandwich and that early night.
This morning I had rejoined the Two Saints Way on the Shropshire Union Canal at the Shady Oak pub for a short stretch to Wharton’s Lock. I’d been here before on the Sandstone Trail which was followed up to Beeston Tor, arriving before the castle opened – another time.
Then I ended up walking along quiet Cheshire lanes, as apparently the right of way across fields has been disputed, time the Council sorted that problem, it sniffs of rich landowners to me. At least from up here there were good views back of Beeston Castle.
Bunbury was a spread out village where I stopped off at The Nags Head for a coffee, surprising how many people were drinking in the bar at this early hour.
St. Boniface church, C15th, was on the highest point and as I arrived a funeral service was just finishing with people milling around outside. Out of respect, I was going to move on, but a chance conversation with the funeral director assured me they would be gone shortly. In fact, this had been a memorial service for a local resident who’d died during last year’s lockdown. A Scottish piper headed the ash scattering procession into the churchyard. Then I eventually looked around the beautiful sandstone church, featuring some outstanding stained-glass and historic tombs. The friendly vicar, who was very proud of his church, was interested in my route and pointed out not to be missed churches further along the way. The day was getting on, so I didn’t visit the Dysart Arms opposite.
I walked on to rejoin the canal at Bunbury locks, where there was the old stabling for express horses of days gone by.
Continuing along the canal I passed the equivalent of a motorway service station busy with barges and boating people. It appeared as though some regulars along this stretch were vying for floral boat of the year. I came across an unexpected café at a cheese factory. I don’t often pass a coffee stop, so I was soon ensconced with a brew. Lots of friendly people to chat to and a chance to put my foot up.
The canal continued alongside a busy road and industrial estates. I was distracted enough to photo all the different flowers on the towpath. Up to 30 different species in a short stretch, I won’t bore you with all the pictures.
Slowly the walk became more rural as I passed the Middlewich branch of the canal. The waters became much busier with traffic, everybody seemed to be having fun.
I decided not to take the Llangollen canal as my heel was playing up, I just continued along the Shropshire Union into Nantwich, a busy section of the canal.
Soon I was in Nantwich, with its many attractive and historic buildings.
The church could wait until tomorrow, I was in need of a rest.
*****
I camped on the camp site of the Shady Oak on the penultimate day of my Sandstone Trail on !st July 2013. it was part of a long story but here is the bit about the pub from my blog post:
“I quit the day at the canal-side Shady Oak, which I mistakenly christened the Dusky Oak in a post. That may have been more appropriate; its only merit was the camp site, but even that in foul rain and with no other occupants was uninviting, and just far enough from the pub to make the trek in the rain off-putting.. The pub appeared to have been furnished from several differing house clearances, and was so remote that it had no land line telephone, hence no credit card facility. I paid for my meal with cash.”
Looks as though it has bitten the dust. More crossing of paths.
Glad your heel recovered enough so as you didn’t have to bail out. This looks a fascinating and varied walk. The story of the Jane Johnson’s buried statue is hilarious.
There have been lots of little gems so far.
Keeping my fingers crossed that gel heel pad provides sufficient cushion comfort for you to continue. Like George, I was taken by the story of the buried statue. I was hoping for a picture of the bulging udders that caused such offence, but I presume you felt they should be omitted on grounds of common decency, and rightly so if poor Jane had to be buried on account of them.