A 32-mile route following the River Dearne from its source in the Pennines to its confluence with the River Don.
No, I hadn’t heard of it either.
We seem to be in a settled period of weather so my mind starts wandering and thinking of a few days away walking. I prefer a place-to-place walk over a one-centered one. I hesitate to call them long-distance walks as I have recently chosen a medium distance of 50 miles or so, giving me an average of about 10 miles per day. Cicerone Press is a good source of likely routes with new titles coming out every month; it’s worth subscribing to their newsletters.
This month, I noticed a new guide to a Pilgrim Route in Fife from Edinburgh to St. Andrews. It seemed to fit the bill perfectly. A little research showed no transport or accommodation problems. My medical appointments are hopefully now dwindling and I was free until past the middle of the month. I started to book it when a nagging doubt came into my brain. Something is happening on the 12th, of course, a standing arrangement with a friend, which I was looking forward to and wouldn’t want to change. I wonder why I didn’t write it on the calendar in the first place. Phew. (That day went well and Sir Hugh has written it up, I have reblogged it with his permission)
My window of opportunity has now narrowed, but undaunted, I look for a possible shorter alternative. Fife can wait till later. The website of the LDWA has a search facility. I type in Yorkshire 25 – 35 miles. Hey, presto, The Duerne Way appears. There are links to downloadable maps, directions and background information, all sounding interesting. It is marked on OS mapping and I believe it has been waymarked at some stage, depicting a miner’s lamp. Start thinking coal, mills, canals, and rail.
Booking.com comes into action for the first night, but I must revert to Premier Inns for the next two. Seth is booked into his favourite cattery and a train ticket purchased to Huddersfield. Getting to the start of the walk from Huddersfield may be challenging, but I’ve planned a short afternoon for that day.
Here is where I’m heading. Time to get the flat cap out.
Tuesday 12th November 2024 Kemple End has been a fantasy location for a number of years with its quirky name tickling my imagination. Bowland Climber has mentioned it many times during our years of walking together but it has remained a kind of mystery for me, even to my questioning its actual existence, and somehow we…
My spirits are raised this morning as the sun appears for the first time in a fortnight. I have a few jobs to complete before I go away later in the week, but soon after lunch I’m up on the fell. I park up at Crowshaw Quarry, the scene of Probes’ brilliant new boulder problem last week. There is a good view of Pendle from up here, one for another time.
I take the small track, leaving the road just down from the parking. Years ago, this was the start of one of my regular fell runs. In fact, so many years ago, that the mature plantations hereabouts were cut down, and a new one planted, which is itself coming slowly to maturity. Forestry coming full cycle.
I haven’t been up this way for a few months, and I notice the increased erosion caused by mountain bikes with fatter wheels and, in many cases, electric assistance. I commented about this recently, so will let it drop today – after all the sun is shining.
Onwards through the trees towards the infant Brownslow Brook, where I brought my children and then my grandchildren to learn the art of dam building. As I said, I haven’t been this way for a while, and there ahead of me is another recently harvested area of forest, it does look unsightly. As you climb the hill away from the bridge, the track everybody uses goes through mature beech and pine trees. But now, one of those metal gates has appeared, suggesting the path goes up to the right of the fence towards Green Thorn farm. Looking at the map, the original PRofW does go that way. Let’s see what the ‘path’ is like. For a start, the gate, which must only have been up a few weeks, isn’t shutting correctly because one of the uprights isn’t vertical and is wobbling in the soft ground. The contractors have strimmed a corridor through the reeds, but the ground is boggy and will deteriorate quickly with much footfall. I suspect most regulars will use the well-worn path through the trees. The PRofW, which was long abandoned, went up to the farmhouse, but now another metal gate brings one out of their land, bypassing the farm, back onto the forest path. What a waste of money. Red dots on this map show the gates and the alternative paths. Time will tell.
I soon reach one of the main forestry roads but continue straight across and up on a smaller path through a felled area. Strange birds fly overhead. Yesterday, I managed to mangle my camera’s zoom lens, which I suspect is beyond repair, so now relying on my phone.
I have thoughts of continuing to the trig point but can’t face the struggle through the fallen trees and all the mud. I’m content to stroll back along the forest road; just look at that blue sky. Confusion creeps in at another recent area of felling. It is surprising how different things look when the trees I’ve walked past for countless years are gone. But Pendle is always there…
…as is my favourite beech.
***
I can’t believe it, but people are coming out of Sainsbury’s with Christmas Trees.
I’m catching up on some news while recovering from my second cataract operation. I am full of admiration for the surgeon’s skill. Please excuse any typos; I still haven’t regained full stereoscopic vision.
In the last few years, I have mentioned climbing with my mate Mark on a ‘secret’ crag high in Mallerstang in the upper Eden Valley. I showed the odd photo but never gave away the location.
I played only a small supporting role in developing this lovely crag, but I enjoyed the exploratory nature of the climbing very much. The epic walk up to the crag. The peace and isolation of the fell. The views down into Mallerstang and, in the distance, to many Pennine and Howgill Peaks. The occasional train trundling down the valley, even a low-flying Dakota or microlight passing by. We had a hidden cave where we could store gear and ropes to lessen the load on our walk-up. Hammering in those belay stakes and then abseiling to clean those soaring cracks. On one occasion, when a large block came careening towards me, I dodged at the last moment—freezing and baking in the same month—the best company with Mark, Jude, and other friends.
Just look at the opening photo. You would enjoy a day’s climbing up there.
*
On a different scale, up on Longridge Fell above Craig Y is a secluded quarry, Crowshaw, which is much more accessible.
We have been climbing in there for a few years now. Robin Mueller started the ball rolling with exciting boulder problems on the curiously shaped right wall.
I returned and cleaned up the slab right of his passages, then the lower walls to the left, which offered some easier boulder problems.
I had my eye on a 15-foot rock tower, but there was a nasty, pointed boulder below it. This was duly displaced with crowbars. Yes, I know we are mad. I played around bouldering out the start, but committing to more complex moves was getting me too far off the ground. I enlisted the help of Mark, of Wild Boar fame above, and he came over to belay me in September 2015. I was glad of the rope and protection on what turned out to be a decent climb – Tweeter And the Monkey Man, about VS 5a. We noticed the imposing blank wall to its right. My musical post describes the evening.
Tweeter, with that steep wall to its right.
My attention drifted back to the left walls again. That night, both Mark and I had attempted a high-level right-to-left traverse along the lip without success. Where the footholds ran out, it became technical and strenuous. I seem to remember I was going to France the next day, so I didn’t want to end up with a broken ankle.
That steep wall still attracted me, but after putting a rope down it, I realised it was way too hard. I did give the ‘Friend’ slots a clean, thinking somebody may lead it. That’s how it stayed for years; not many knew of the quarry or visited it. Local climber Paul of https://crusherholds.co.uk/ has done everything at CraigY, so I thought I would show him my wall. He was impressed, but we never got around to trying it until this year, when, with a new bouldering guide coming out, he bit the bullet.
Days of rain came and went; there was a short window in the weather for one afternoon. We met up, and I rigged a top rope for him to look at the problem. Tenous moves off layback creases and minuscule footholds had him off the ground. The following moves past slopers were obviously the crux; he struggled with the sequence. Eventually, opting for a slap through past the worst hold. It all looked very insecure, and his success rate was only average. Once at the slot, he said it was OK to the top. I suggested a roped lead with some gear at half height, but as he explained, that was past the difficulties, and he was confident of the upper section.
We moved the ropes, and I got set to spot him on the first difficult section. That is when we realise that if he fell, we would both probably disappear down the steep, bramble slope below us. So I tied into the ropes and hung above the drop. The pads covered the base adequately. On came the tight edging shoes to cope with the ripples masquerading as footholds. The finger laybacks somehow kept him on until poised below the crux slaps. This time, his right hand didn’t connect well, and I could see his tendons straining to keep contact before the next slap. Only just made it. But then it was a triumphant romp to the top. Probing the Proud Line 7a+
It rained for the rest of the month.
There remains a sneaky little line to the left, if anybody fancies it before Probes has another look.
My phone counts steps for me every day, god knows what other information it collects. Those steps don’t mean much to me. I’m still recording miles walked and feet ascended, I know I should have gone metric by now. Today was a day of steps which were too numerous to count.
I find myself in Chorley for a hospital appointment. Once it is over I take the opportunity to visit B&Q and Halfords in town. A quick lunch is bought from the nearby Asda and it is decision time, what to do with the rest of the day? A recent post from Michael at https://michaelgraeme.wordpress.com/2024/10/28/out-and-about-around-rivington-and-anglezarke-again/ was at the back of my mind. I haven’t visited Rivington Terraced Gardens for years and in the meantime, a great deal of restoration work has been carried out unearthing many paths and ruins. Time to go and have a look with the added promise of the autumn colours highlighted in Michael’s post.
I park on one of the many lanes, I don’t have a map of the site so just set off on a likely path.
Soon I find one of the regular explanatory boards and take a poor picture of their rather indistinct plan, which may give me a general idea of my whereabouts. I would suggest that anyone visiting get a copy of a map and certainly, if you are interested in the surprisingly short history of the estate, (started in 1900, abandoned in 1925) read this excellent Lancashire Past article. I wish I had before visiting.
To start with the sun is trying to shine and the woods are resplendent. I find myself walking through some sort of remembrance garden planted with foreign-looking conifers. It is half term and there are lots of family groups out enjoying the day.
Coming to the steeper part I see a bridge over a beck tumbling down from the now misty heights and there alongside it a series of stepped paths. I set off up the steep and slippery steps built improbably into the hillside. They have been cleverly constructed of cantilevered gritstone slabs. Upwards I go, not knowing whether the steps will lead me anywhere. Should I even be here, there is certainly nobody else about all of a sudden. Up ahead a pallisaded bridge crosses the ravine and I pause to look back down. Eschewing the traversing trail I tackle more exposed steps winding up alongside the ravine, there is another bridge ahead and here I find a a board explaining the history and construction of The Ravine.
There doesn’t seem to be a way ahead until I spot more steps sloping across the steep hillside which eventually bring me onto a terrace with artificial caves. I had just read that these were the ‘Bear Caves’ constructed to house exotic ferns. There was abundant greenery everywhere, all this had been lost under heavy vegetation until the recent clearings in the last decade. No wonder I have never been here before.
Even more steps, until I suddenly come to a rocky embattlement and escape through an archway into the Japanese Garden with its romantic lake. Thomas Mawson who designed these terraced gardens between 1905-1922 for soap magnate Lord Leverhulme was heavily influenced by Italian and Japanese garden landscaping. I feel I’m exploring the remains of a lost civilisation.
The lakeside is a popular picnic area and I’m afraid that the ever-present problem of litter is evident here, and in other areas of the gardens.
Above the lake the stables and enclosed Kitchen Gardens are reached, all rescued from the undergrowth.Everything was done on a grand scale in Lord Leverhulme’s era.
I cross a wide track past one of the original entrances to the gardens and then a long flight of more steps and through an arch into The Lawns. At one time there were six ‘summer houses’, two have survived and been restored. They gave shelter and views out over the lawns and tennis courts. From the balcony atop one of the summer houses you can see how land had been escavated to create the level lawns.
I’m almost at the top of the gardens by now but, you guessed it, more steps take me up to a levelled site where once stood Roynton Cottage and then The Bungalow, one of Lord Leverhulme’s many residences. Read about the chequered history on that Lancashire Past post. All that remains now and recently uncovered is its footprint.
From here it was a short hop to The Pigeon Tower, Lady Leverhulme’s hideaway. Finally, I recognised somewhere I had visited before, usually on the way up to Rivington Pike and Winter Hill. I won’t be going up the Pike today as we are in thick mist now. Dovecotes are seen in the wall in the first photo.
I work my way carefully down more slippery steps until I’m on top of a small loggia looking out over The Italian Lake. The water level is low due to seepage and it’s not looking its best. The mist is creeping down the terraces.
The steps continue, I’m now looking for the Seven-Arched Bridge which I remember was hereabouts. I find it by unwittingly walking over it. The lane below is one of the many roads crisscrossing the estate.
Scrambling down the last bit of hillside I come to the South Lodge remains. Originally there were four lodges on the roads into the estate.
A wide track descends to the Great House Barn, which I remember as a basic cafe under a cruck roof. Now it looks more like a wedding venue, I don’t have the nerve to cross their threshold in my muddy boots.
All I have to do now is find my car, it’s down one of these roads.
My phone says I have stepped 5000 times, it felt like that. I probably walked no more than two miles. The sun disappeared early on so I never saw the best of the autumn colours, but I discovered a whole new world with a fascinating history, and the mellow mists added to the atmosphere. I wonder how many workers Sir Levehulme employed to construct his vision and how many to maintain it? Now we are mainly left with volunteers to keep the gardens accessible.
If you have two or three hours to spare come and get yourself lost in this lost world.
I didn’t know where I was heading for as I drove up onto the fell. Somehow the extra hour has thrown me today and it is lunchtime before I stir. I wondered about some bouldering at CraigY but a cold wind dissuaded me. I drove farther up, it looked like half of Preston had parked along the road to access the forest tracks. Too many people and dogs, so I continue to quieter Kemple End and squeeze into a parking spot. One of my favourite walks over the years was a small permissive path avoiding the forest roads, starting through a gateway, SD 689405, just down the hill and then snaking up through the trees eventually arriving at Sam’s Best View, if you remember it.
Things have changed. A few years ago a large area of forest on the Northern scarp was harvested and then we had the storms causing more damage to the remaining plantation. I tried to find a suitable way up this end of the fell in the heatwave of June 2023. here.
It will be interesting to have another look. That is how my walk for today evolved.
Through the gateway on a path of fallen leaves, I start the climb. The path here is quite broad and obviously used by mountain bikes. As it narrows they, the mountain bikers, have been trimming back the branches, filling potholes and creating jumps over obstacles.
Out of interest, a PRoW, marked on the map, crossing my track at SD678410 has to all extent disappeared. Blocked on the left by fallen trees and lost on the right from lack of use. Higher up some steep downhill tracks lead off right, specifically created by the mountain bikers. They look suicidal.
I become diverted by a prominent group of fungi often seen in coniferous forests. ?Hebeloma mesophaeum – Veiled Poisonpie.Moving on I recognise the dogleg in the path and follow it into the denser forest. Again branches have recently been cut back. This little used, at the time, path went right along the ridge but now after less than a quarter of a mile comes out into the area felled a few years ago.
An area of devastation which last June I couldn’t penetrate but now a path winds its way through the stumps and newly planted trees. The mountain bikers are to be thanked for this, they have carved out a track which can now be followed by walkers without having to trudge up the forest road.
There are good views back to Pendle Hill, down into the Hodder Valley and way over the Bowland Fells to Pen Y Ghent and Ingleborough.
I walk on and eventually come out at what was Sam’s Best View before the trees obscured it. I’m pleased that the path connects up again with the main ridge path and given time and use as the forest regrows will become a pleasant route sought out by the discerning walker. I suspect that the bikers will be more instrumental than walkers in keeping it open.
And there lies a problem. When I started ‘mountain biking’ 40 years ago we kept mainly to bridleways and there weren’t many of us. Most of the uphills we walked, or at least I did. Our tyres weren’t much fatter than road tyres but even then we were aware of the erosion caused by bikes on fragile ground. Fast forward four decades and there are mountain bikers everywhere, not necessarily strictly legally. The bikes have changed with full suspension, dropping seat posts and wider tyres. More importantly in recent years, electric mountain bikes have appeared. They are heavier and if used aggressively tear up the ground in an accelerating time. No more walking uphill. We are usually only aware of environmental damage when it is almost too late.
It’s great to see youngsters enjoying the trails on Longridge Fell and elsewhere but if used irresponsibly on footpaths may bring them into conflict with other users. Places like Gisburn Forest and Llandegla have been specifically ‘designed’ for mountain biking with trails for all abilities separated from other users. There is so much scope on Longridge Fell for mountain biking, as witnessed by the self-made innovative trails appearing everywhere. I wonder whether some input should be with the landowners, Tilhill Forestry, into developing a mountain biking environment. I’m well aware that could stifle and regulate the whole process. Pros and cons.
Let’s leave that debate to another time, there are far worse things happening in the world.
I wander back down the forest road, the clocks have changed and it will be dark a lot sooner today.
That only leaves me with the obligatory Autumn Leaf image. Pardon the pun.
I don’t on principle use Amazon, there is always a more direct online buying option. In any case, I try to buy local and support the shops in the village. So, you’ve guessed it I don’t have a Prime account. There will be a fair number of people in the Ribble Valley today cursing their Prime membership, their eagerly awaited parcels are stuck in the back of a van that is stuck on a bridleway not far from here.
I came out for a little exercise, to admire the autumn colours and do some fungal exploring. It’s that time of year, Prime Time.
The leaves are turning golden and falling fast at the same time. They are falling all around me like snow every time the wind blows. The stream is more lively than usual after some heavy rain in recent days. Excited children are playing poo sticks from the bridge, it is half-term for many. You may recognise where I am.
Most of the fungi I find are on dead wood, there are so many trees down from those frequent storms we are experiencing. A good find is a clump of ‘Jelly Ears’, its previous name now not acceptable, growing on a fallen beech. Auricularia auricula-judae has a soft, jelly-like texture. Though edible, it is not held in high culinary regard. It has been likened to “eating an Indian rubber” Though I read that it can be dried to give added flavour to stews. I leave it where I found it.
Wandering back along that bridleway I hear raised voices ahead, not the children I saw before. No there is some loud cursing going on. There, stuck half on and half off the narrowing track is a delivery van. Once alongside, I see that it is an Amazon Van, the blue type with ‘Prime’ blazoned down the side. It is a mystery as to how he progressed this far. Sat nav surely can’t be fully blamed, a hint of human error becomes apparent when the driver asks me “Can I get out if I drive on?” A resounding NO.
Another van appears at the end of the lane, no doubt sent Prime delivery from Amazon. The circus begins after some damming words between the colleagues. A tow line is set up and van number two starts pulling, only for the stricken van to slide further off the narrow track into the vegetation. More cursing ensues. The next try, I’m not sure that the two protagonists are on the same wavelength, only results in the ‘Prime’ van taking a decided lean to the port side. Now it is balanced on two wheels and in imminent danger of rolling down the hillside. My suggestion that they should remove the parcels before it is too late doesn’t go down too well. There is urgent talk on mobiles to the head office of tractors, cranes and winches.
Time to retire, it will be dark in an hour.
My curiosity is such that I am considering another nature walk along here tomorrow morning, purely for fungal research interests.
When is a short walk getting longer? When you combine Sir Hugh with BC.
It needed several phone calls to arrange this short walk, we seem to have developed busy diaries these days. It shouldn’t be like that for happily retired carefree outdoor folk.
I’ve been helping to keep Cicerone Press in business recently, ending up buying two copies of their new Sarsen Way guide and my latest acquisition is 15 Short Walks In Arnside and Silverdale. How can I even suggest to Arnside resident and aficionado, Sir Hugh, a walk on his territory?
Walk 4. Sandside, Dallam Tower and Haverbrack in the new book looks good and covers some new ground for me. My local guide suggests we don’t park on the roadside at Sandside, the tide often floods this area. I’m happy to take his advice and park higher on the outskirts of Storth. Take note, Cicerone.
Historical photo.
Fishermen are just getting set up on the promenade for the incoming tide of Dabs.
We escape onto a footpath that follows the old railway. This looks interesting.
And it was. An impressive railway* cutting through the limestone of some length. I was distracted by some enticing lines up the rock faces. Sir Hugh tells me there is a geocache up there somewhere.
Under two bridges and out of the cutting we hit the minor road past old warehouses, Sandside was from Elizabethan times a major port, Milnthorpe Port, when ships moored up with the high tide to staves in the estuary. Coal and goods were unloaded and lime, gunpowder, and wool were exported. The old customs house has survived and a warehouse has been upgraded to office space. The warehouse and limekilns are alongside the track. A on my map. When the Arnside viaduct was built in 1857 this trade was cut off. A business park has sprung up along the road and we passed RocknRun where I spent a small fortune in the past,
My first suggested diversion was to seek out Hollins Well. We were able to follow a RofW across fields until we came face to face with a local shoot. They don’t know of the well but Sir Hugh has vague memories of visiting it, so we trespass a little to find it. It wasn’t really much to look at – a small stone trough draining under a wall to a concrete one. B on my map.
Here is a video of Sir Hugh escaping down the trenches…
Backtracking we crossed the road to follow the old railway* embankment. The path information board has dire warnings.
The embankment didn’t go far before we were down on the marsh alongside the River Bela. The viaduct of the railway was taken down in 1963, its remains may be seen either side of the Bela.
Historic Bela Viaduct, Wikipedia.
And its red sandstone blocks scattered around the area.
* Arnside to Hincaster Railway was built in 1876 and closed in 1963. It was built primarily for use by mineral trains carrying coke and iron ore from County Durham to various ironworks in and around Barrow-in-Furness.
From the marsh, we have those wide views across the sands to the limestone escarpment of Whitbarrow Scar, laid down some 350 million years ago, It is difficult to get your head around that timescale and why is it standing proud when all around is eroded? The noise from the Greyag Geese is deafening from a quarter of a mile away. Now alongside the Bela River, we approach a fast-flowing weir and in the distance the shapely early C19th turnpike Milnthorpe Bridge. All very photogenic. We don’t cross the bridge but enter the grounds of Dallam Tower and follow the river upstream to the C18th footbridge, built as the crossing on the old lane from Milnthorpe to Storth. Lunch is taken on the parapets despite the fact we don’t seem to have walked far.
All around are the signs of autumn in the grand oak, beech and chestnut trees.The English knew how to create a country park. Within the deer park, a pele tower was built on the site in about 1375 but demolished when the present house was built in 1720–23. But history suggests that there was a Saxon tower or motte on the hill above. On the OS map marked as Earthworks.C. This has been excavated to reveal stone ramparts. It is prominent on the hilltop but we skirt around just below it. Stopping to look at the views, getting one’s breath. There is the bridge over the Bela and there is nearby Milnthorpe, with St. Anthony’s Tower above it..
At the top of the field, we pass through a stylish stile into private lanes with private houses, with private views over to Farleton Fell. Time for another deviation. On the map close by is The Dog Hole, D. which I can’t pass by. Sir Hugh tells me of the occasion when he found it in 2015 with the help of a local lady. Read his report for more information. https://conradwalks.blogspot.com/2020/05/the-dog-hole-sd-482-802.html
Off we go deep into the forest, there are paths everywhere, whether human or animal we aren’t sure. Limestone craglets cry out for a bit of bouldering. Sir Hugh sniffs the vicinity and strides out ahead to come straight to the site, An old rusting metal winch and the hole itself fenced in next to it.
(That’s not all true – we used GPS on our phones to track it down and escape afterwards) Otherwise, we might still have been in there)
Dropping down out of the woods Sir Hugh remembered an ancient oak in the middle of a field, that same local lady had pointed it out to him. You couldn’t miss it. Without getting up close it looked to be getting on for a thousand years old. E.
A stroll down the village street, good to see they still have a PO/shop. That view across the sands imprinted on my mind.
It had been a warm day and I don’t think I drank enough leading to mild dehydration which unfortunately put me off the rails for the next day.
Having completed the highly enjoyable Sarsen Way I’m heading home. I need to get back to Swindon for a train. My bus from Salisbury takes two hours to reach Swindon, passing all those rural bus stops I Used last week. My bladder just lasts out.
I was impressed with the bronze statue by Elizabeth Frink in the grounds of Salisbury Cathedral yesterday. I read that the Swindon Art Gallery has a fine collection of contemporary art and as a bonus a Frink exhibition until November.
I’ve only got a couple of hours to spare so decide on the Art Gallery over the Great Western Steam Museum. Here I am walking past that bus station mural avenue once more, but you have had enough murals – let’s go and see some proper art. As soon as I wrote that I realised I was denigrating the street art which I much admire. Let’s go and see some alternative gallery art.
The venue is tucked away down a side street in Swindon’s Council Offices.
The gallery is understated. On the first floor of the offices is a small information office/shop. I glance briefly at the historical museum, all things Swindon over the years. Much of that history is related to the thriving C20th railway hub that would become one of the world’s largest railway engineering works. Where has it all gone?
A football programme catches my eye. “In1969 Swindon Town F.C. recorded the best result in its history, winning 3–1 in the League Cup Final against Arsenal at Wembley Stadium, a match watched by close to 100,000 people” – I was one of them. The scores were level 1-1 at full time but Don Rogers scored two for Swindon in a rousing extra time.
In the corridor are some exhibits by contemporary artists, the art is for sale.
Some of Swindon’s large art collection is on display in one of the smaller rooms. I’m always pleased to see a Lowry and I never knew Desmond Morris painted. A friend of mine has a small collection of Clarice Cliff ceramics.
A larger room was given over to the Elisabeth Frink exhibition.
“Dame Elisabeth Frink (1930-1993) is one of the most significant sculptors of the 20th century. This exhibition focuses on an important body of work produced between 1976 when Frink moved to her studio in Woolland, Dorset, and her death in 1993. This exhibition will explore her artistic process, personal life and the influences that shaped her work. Bringing together objects from public and private collections, celebrating the enduring legacy of Elisabeth Frink”
The display was diverse with sketches, paintings and sculptural pieces. Emphasis was put on her love of animals and her relationship with them in our environment.
A video was playing of Frink in her studio and gardens. Some of those heads were on display. exhibiting human repression, frailty, and hope.
Two rooms were closed, preparing for a Wessex and Hardy exhibition, but there were more paintings in the corridor. The best of the rest I thought was…
It’s a crisp, sunny autumn morning. Leaving town I cross the Avon by an old bridge and shortly afterwards cross it again. I must check the map to see what’s happening.
Up and down the downs again, why did I think it would be all flat today?
The first village, Great Dunford, was only a few houses and a church.
As usual, I make my way to the church, dating from the C10th with very little mdern ‘improvements’
But I am distressed to see dog s*** in the church aisle. Can you believe it? I had nothing to clear it up with and nobody was about in the village to report it to. Disgusting.
I again cross the Avon to arrive at the Bridge Inn just in time for a morning coffee.
Back on the east bank, past Little Durnford’s one house and then into the woods for some more undulations. The bridleway I am following is probably an ancient route across these downs. Ahead on the horizon the distinctive spire of Salisbury Cathedral made an appearance and was there for the rest of the day. At 404ft the tallest church spire in England. (Preston’s St.Walburge’s is the third tallest after Salisbury and Norwich)
Coming out of the hills I pass this delightful cottage, aren’t they all?
And there in front of me is the earthworks of Old Sarum.
I didn’t realise it was so large. I have progressed from Barbury Castle to Avebury, and now the grandest of them all, Old Sarum. Despite often visiting Salisbury and Stonehenge*, whilst I worked down in Bournemouth, I was unaware of the existence of this ancient Iron Age fort with its Medieval Castle and Cathedral.
The Iron Age hillfort was established here about 400 BC. It was then occupied after the Roman conquest of Britain when it became known as Sorviodunum.
William the Conqueror recognised Old Sarum’s potential shortly after the Conquest in the C11th A motte was constructed in the centre of the hillfort, and then an inner set of timber fortifications created an ideal army base.
The inner castle was established and a section of the bailey was selected as the site for a new cathedral in 1075. Old Sarum’s importance as an administrative base grew and the new cathedral became a religious and learned centre.
In 1226 the cathedral was moved to nearby Salisbury, although the castle remained an administrative centre into the 14th century and then all was mostly abandoned.
(Stonehenge was accessible on foot from Amesbury but I had heard awful stories of overcommercialisation so I gave it a miss. There were so many other sites to be visited instead.)
I first walk around the outer ramparts, sometimes on the ridge and others in the ditch, a mile circuit with the castle mound central to it all.
Some lovely beech trees have established themselves along the ramparts.
There is a short section of the wall that once guarded the outer ramparts.
I then examine the footprint of the old cathedral.
I reluctantly pay English Heritage to look around the inner castle, reached by a bridge where the old draw bridge had existed.You need an aerial image to realise the full extent of Old Sarum.
It is all well documented, and I enjoy the experience, but is it worth £6.50?
Back on track, the cathedral spire is coming closer. Chatting with dog walkers, I receive lots of advice as to the best way into town but I stick to the Sarsen Way and PAT signs to the end and enjoy a rural route, avoiding roads.
That is until I get involved with new flood defence and parkland improvements.
But by six o’clock, I was in the centre of town, only a few blocks away from the cathedral.
It certainly hits you in the eye when getting close up. As you have seen the original cathedral was located at Old Sarum, two miles away until it was decided to move it to Salisbury. Foundation stones for the new building were laid in 1220. By 1258 the nave, transepts and choir were complete. The cloisters were added in 1240, and the tower and spire were constructed by 1330.
I am too late to go inside but enjoy the surroundings in the late afternoon sunshine. There are many American and Japanese voices around.
Salisbury Cathedral.
Salisbury Cathedral.
In the grounds was a statue by Elizabeth Frink set me off on a search which would lead me to the Swindon Art Gallery. I have admired her work at the Hepworth and YSP in the past.
‘This figuresymbolises … human dignity and creativity over militarism and totalitarian disregard for human dignity and rights.’ Stephen Gardiner. Her tense but powerful presence exists beside the tourists and the worshipers.
I wanted to hold her hand at the end of my walk.
***
A convivial night was enjoyed at the Merchants House Hotel.
A series of small villages and churches along the Avon linked together by byways. My loss of the guidebook possibly means I walk on lanes more than necessary, but I make it to Amesbury, having enjoyed a shorter day.
I say my goodbyes to Swindon’s Travel Lodge and, carrying my worldly goods, walk up to the bus station for the last time. I need to choose a memorable mural for this last occasion.
She just wins over him…
In a more relaxed mood, I can take a later bus to Netheravon, where I finished yesterday. This morning, the little café/florist is open, so I can fuel up on coffee before departing. Whilst there, I witness an autumn floral display being created.
The River Avon is running high, but I am told by a resident that recent works to create bends and oxbows upstream have reduced the risk of flooding. The resident lives in this C16th cottage, the first of many I admire today.
Haxton, Figheldean, Ablington, Brigmerston, Milston, and Bulford all have their charms, with beautiful cottages and Saxchurches. The walking in between, often next to the Avon, is nice and flat for a change, not a down in sight.
Church of St. Michael and All Angels. Figheldean
The owner of this house in Figheldean tells me he needs to have the ridge repaired every 10 years and the whole thatched roof every 20. Finding the skilled people to undertake this and sourcing the materials is becoming more and more difficult.
Moving on….… the whole area is surrounded by MOD land. I never realised that the War Department was acquiring land way back in 1897 by compulsory purchase. At least it is back into community ownership now.
These puffballs were the largest I’ve ever seen, mobile alongside for scale.
Church of St. Mary. Milston.
The Avon is just over there.
St. Leonard’s Church. Bulford.
My arrival into town is still green but noisy from the busy bypass. It must be difficult for route planners to navigate relatively traffic-free ways through urban landscapes. I have no prior knowledge of Amesbury, but I read it may have the oldest continuous occupation in the country. Also in the news at the moment is the investigation into the Salisbury Novichok poisonings from 2018. The intended victims, The Skripals in Salisbury, just escaped with their lives. But Ms Sturgess living at the time in Amesbury wasn’t so lucky with the ‘perfume’ she used.
Lord’s Walk.
Strange.
My hotel is in the middle of town opposite the Abbey Church St. Mary and St. Melor. I have a look around it. Probably on this site since C9th, connected later to the town’s Abbey. The latter disappeared in the reformation, but the church survived for the local population. It remains an impressive building, Cathedral like.
*
My cosy hotel has a Thai restaurant which I enjoy in the evening. I’ve done well for food this week.
The trudge to the bus station is a little damp this morning. This is how I feel –
But the rain stops before I alight from the bus at Manningford Bonhue. I know the start from yesterday and don’t miss the path leaving Wick Lane this time. It is a strange start through an industrial site, part of the Manningford estate. The way is diverted well away from the manor house itself. I seem to be sharing my route with PAT – the Pewsey and Avon Trail, their waymarks come in handy.
Soon I am beside the River Avon, just a stream at this stage. It will be my companion for much of the way from now on. This Avon has nothing to do with Shakespeare or Bristol, I never realised this one eventually enters the sea at Bournemouth, despite having worked down there for some time.
A trout farm diverting the waters.
St. James church, dating back to the C13th, has a large yew growing alongside it. Farther on this is the most amazing hedge I’ve ever seen –
After the inn, I follow the river downstream, but most of the time it is hidden away in the vegetation.
When I cross it again into the little village of Upavon, it seems to have doubled in size.
Thatched cottages start appearing more often. One in the village is having its ridge repaired.
The shop provides me with a morning coffee whilst I watch the village squirrel picking up morsels and then darting across the overhead wires. The day disappears quickly and I have only walked a couple of miles. Before I leave the village I spot yet another Sarsen Stone – this one commemorating some jubilee or other.
The route goes up onto Salisbury Plain, and I have in my mind only to follow it if the tops are clear. it doesn’t look that interesting. The tops are visible so I have to start the climb, which is all on the tarmac. Workers are digging a pit for pipelines, and all is white chalk. Photo opportunity missed there.
Higher, I’m looking down into a valley where a driven partridge shoot is taking place. Guns are becoming part of this holiday. I chat to a farmer who normally beats for the shoots hereabouts but is having a year off recovering from a shoulder operation. Thousands of partridges are bred each year. The customers today are scrap metal merchants, of all people, from the Thames Valley. They pay about £40 for each bird shot. My man is joining them for lunch and some heavy whisky drinking. Not my idea of a day’s fun. He excuses the slaughter by saying the victims are not native birds but red-legged ones from France. Time to move on.
I reach the edge of the military’s training ground. The red flag is flying, but my way skirts the danger zone. The road cuts through the ancient Casterley Camp, an Iron Age fort.
The views are extensive but mainly featureless, Salisbury Plain stretches a long way.
I don’t feel easy up here. usually revelling in wide open spaces, and I’m glad to descend away from the range. Is it the background shooting disturbing me?
A bonus on the way down is a clear view of a nearby tumulus. Man has been coming this way for centuries.
Confusion comes into play at Compton, no idea what is going on here and I can’t find my way.
Thankfully I am now back in the Avon Valley at Enford with its picturesque cottages to save the day.
The last mile is through fields to suddenly emerge into Netheravon 5 minutes after a bus has departed. I’m left with over an hour until the next. The little café is closed despite saying it is open and there are no free samples at the brewery.
I have time to walk to the church whose origins go back to Saxon times. The tower is the oldest part and is the most prominent feature. The massive arched doorway is closed, but I gain entry around the corner. Inside the church is plainly featured with the tall arches of the tower dominant.
The next bus arrives, and I doze my way back to Swindon. The mural that catches my eye is one by Martin Travers of the South American native environmentalist Nemonte Nenquimo.
A long rambling route with a few surprises along the way.
I’m exploring alone deep inside the W Kennett Longbarrow, the tomb of some ancient dignitary or religious leader when I sense the rhythm of drums. Is this some strange mysterious happening? The area is full of legends and fanciful spiritual occurrences, try coming here at the Solcises. The sound of drums is growing louder by the second. Is there a hidden tape recording I’ve activated? All I can see at the deepest point, 30ft in, is a candle burning in a jar. I decide to get out, and once outside, discover the source of the mystic drumming – a merry group of modern pagans is heading up the hill with a drummer leading the way. My peaceful visit comes to an end, and I leave the barrow free for their ‘worshipping’.
Approach to the barrow.
Large sarsen stone.
Entrance.
Going in.
Deeper.
Farthest chamber.
The drummer approaches.
“The West Kennet Long Barrow was built sometime around 3650 BC. Over a period of between 10 – 30 years, the bones of at least 36 individuals were carefully placed in the five stone chambers before they were closed. It probably continued to be an important place for many generations after that. It is part of a cluster of around thirty centred on Avebury”
***
Let’s tell it as it is, I’m doing this stage backwards. Manningford to Avebury.
As you realise by now, I’m based in Swindon, at the functional Travel Lodge, and using buses to get me to and from the stages. This inevitably causes some anxiety
Is the timetable up to date? Do they run every day? Where is the bus stop? There is also some pressure on the day’s walking to avoid missing the last bus. I have had to endure, for me, some very early breakfasts in order to catch a suitably timed bus.
So it comes to today. Avebury is no problem but Manningford, or rather the Manningfords, there are three of them, all part of an ancient manor. They seem to be in the middle of nowhere. The main road bypasses them, but there are bus halts along the way. It will be safer to be dropped off in the middle of nowhere than to try to find those stops at the end of the day. Avebury will have plenty of buses into the evening.
On top of ‘bus anxiety’, I’ve now added ‘phone-map battery anxiety’. Somewhere last evening, probably on the bus, I lost my precious Sarsen Way guidebook. I’m now relying solely on my phone for mapping, which I’m never completely happy about. I miss the chatty information from the guide as much as the detailed route instructions and OS mapping. I scribble a rough version of the map as a backup, let’s see how I get on. ***
I choose a railway theme for this morning’s murals. Swindon was once the centre for building Great Western engines and rolling stock.
LukeGray depicts Brunel, one of the great railway engineers.
Another rail-themed mural takes my eye as I head for the bus station. This one was painted by Manchester artist Gavin Renshaw depicting a Castle Class locomotivefrom Swidon workshops.***
The X5, Swindon to Salisbury, goes my way. Alighting at a little bus shelter near Manningford Bohune. Someone has placed two chairs inside, I wouldn’t think many use this stop, it is as I said, in the middle of nowhere.
Thatched cottages start to appear as I walk up Wick Lane. I feel ‘down south’ at last. The walls have a lovely mix of flints and old bricks.
Still half asleep, I walk on too far and have to retrace my steps to find the almost hidden path over a wooden footbridge.
I’m the first to tread these fields this morning. I’m heading to the little St. Peter’s Church of Manningford Bruce. Built on a Roman site with evidence from the C12th. It was restored in 1882 when most of the painted interior was added. The reredos screen from that era is particularly fine.
I slip out of the back of the churchyard and along a wall, guarding the Manor House.
There is some primaeval swamp to be crossed in the next half hour, all alongside the infant Avon. Difficult to navigate without the guidebook.
From time to time I hit a minor lane with those exquisite thatched properties.
A railway appears out of nowhere. Could it be the main SW line?
A little farther on I come across a standing Sarsen stone, marking Swanborough Trump where in 871, Alfred the Great (of the burnt cakes fame) met his brother, Ethelred, on the way to fight the invading Danes,
I next find myself on the peaceful towpath of the Kennet and Avon Canal. In a mile or so I only see one boat moving. High above on the Pewsey Downs, I spot another ‘White Horse’.
Coming off the canal onto a road, I notice a sign for a farm cafe, Honeystreet. A small cluster of outlets in an old sawmill. As well as the café there is an antiques unit and a crop ring centre! I just opt for a coffee and lemon drizzle cake. An unexpected treat.
The Saxon church of St. Mary down the road in Alton Barnes has a plain interior with the remains of some lime paintings.
Across the stream, by unusual wooden turnstiles, and connected by a Sarsen paved path, constructed in 1830 for the rector serving both parishes to keep his cassocks clean, is All Saint’s Church in Alton Priory.
The perpendicular tower dominates the surrounding fields. The barn-like interior has big rustic roof trusses and open timbering. The chancel arch is all that remains of the church’s Norman past. The church still contains Jacobean pews. There are two trap doors, which I fail to open, above ancient, ?pagan, Sarsen stones.
Trapdoor.
The yew tree in the grounds is 1700 years old. So the tree predates Christianity. can you imagine that?
I notice on the outer walls of the tower what look like musket shitholes. Has somebody in the past been having target practice?
Here is a video with more information about those trapdoors.
The two churches have survived but most of the medieval villages they served have disappeared.
Leaving Alton Priors I notice this sarsen stone embellished with a white horse.
An old sunken bridleway, an extension of the Ridgeway, known as ‘The Hollow’, starts the climb onto the downs. It doesn’t receive much footfall. Small but distinct animal tracks cross it regularly, I try to imagine the little creatures on their nighttime wanderings. Fallen crab apples crunch under my boots with a heady cider aroma.
Now, onto the open down, I make my own way to the top of Walkers Hill, at 262m possibly the highest point of the Sarsen Way. I miss the obvious path. All around are earthworks and dykes, but I fail to find ‘Adam’s Grave’, a long barrow. The views over the vast array of downs are possibly the best I have had, but I know so little of them. They do look good for striding out on. There is a car park down below, so I meet walkers for the first time today.
Walkers Hill, with the White Horse out left.
The summit views eastwards.
Is this Adam’s Grave or was it the summit itself?
Once down near the road, I’m soon going back up again for a long stretch over another down. Somewhere I cross the, probably Saxon, Wansdyke but fail to spot it, there are so many grooves, ditches and depressions around here. My virtual drone isn’t working. In the woods descending, I have a close encounter with a princely Buzzard before it weaves away through the trees. Then on across Lurkeley Hill and through the folds of the downs to East Kennett.
Recognise this/
By the time I’m through the tidy hamlet of East Kennett, more thatched cottages, I’ve walked about 10 miles, but I want to complete the day by visiting the West Kennett Longbarrow farther to the west. I missed it when in Avebury yesterday.
So back up the down I go, hoping to have the place to myself – I almost do.
***
Backtracking I hit the busy A4 through West Kennett. The bus halt, by an abandoned telephone box, doesn’t look used and I wonder about walking on to Avebury but a bus appears on schedule to take me back to Swindon via a change in bustling Marlborough.
***
***
This evening’s mural, unknitting the past?
It’s been a long day, so I just get a quick Indian meal in the friendly Chaat café, on the way to my hotel.
I’m sorry for the delay in writing up this post, but my laptop gave up the ghost and died on me last week. Now back up and running with a new one. For an explanation on SARSEN STONES check back here –
This morning’s message on the way to the bus station.
The no 49 drops me off at the Broad Hinton turnoff. It doesn’t visit the village so I don’t know what delights I may be missing. I do know I have to climb the hill back onto the downs. I even consider hitching a ride, but there are few cars, and I don’t suppose any would stop.
Ahead, I can see Hackpen White Horse just below the skyline. I leave the road at the bend and climb straight up the field to it. Once up close, it becomes white chalk where the soil has been scraped away. The horse was cut in 1837 by the Parish Clerk of Broad Hinton to commemorate the coronation of Queen Victoria. An off white horse was there to greet my arrival. There is a white horse back across the Vale on Snow Hill, Broad Town White Horse, but I couldn’t spot it. I mentioned the White Horse Trail yesterday.
Back up on The Ridgeway, I make good progress on the well surfaced and distinct path. I last came along here in 2010 when I was walking the Ridgeway LDW with my good old mate Mel. In parts It seems more enclosed than I remember. I meet a lady just setting off to walk the whole route, and a couple of cyclists doing the same. There are rough sarsen stones at the side of the track from time to time, whether these are just random or of somesignicance is hard to tell. All around are views to unknown downs.
I’m looking for a short detour on the left. A gate opens onto a field full of cows, and I don’t like the sign. In the field is a sarsen stone that has been polished and grooved thousands of years ago by stone age men sharpening their stone tools? I summon the courage to venture across, the cows and maybe their bull seem far enough away. The large ‘polissoir’ stone is easily found.
Back to The Ridgeway for a short distance before I veer off again to Fyfield Down Reserve. There are only sheep to contend with this time. The farmer is doing his rounds in a beaten up Discovery. He has a thousand sheep and 600 beef cattle. After a few hundred yards, I enter the top of a chalk valley whose surface is strewn with sarsen stones of all sizes. The largest collection in Britain.
I even find a stone perfect for my lunch stop. My Tesco cheese and onion slice is a fraud, virtually hollow inside. Next time I’ll go to Gregg’s.
My next diversion, and you couldn’t miss it out, was down a chalky path straight into the henge at Avebury. Being a Sunday, the crowds are out. Everyone is free to wander the site except for the ramparts of the henge. I have used figures to give some scale to my photos. There are a few stones on the outer ring and two smaller inner circles. Some of the stones are truly massive. Strangely, the road comes through the middle of the henge, and part of the village also is within it. One can only surmise that some of the missing stones will have been used as building material. Dating back to 2800-2500 BC, it is thought that the site might have been a grand meeting place, though the smaller circles suggest other ritual origins. We may never know. I have used an aerial shot from English Heritage to show the extent of the site.
I leave the village in fields along the Avenue, a double row of stones, with many missing, leading directly south, possibly to the West Kennet Long Barrow.
I consider visiting the barrow this afternoon, but more sensibly decide against it. Instead, I have more time to focus on the wide variety of lichens on the stones, a world of their own circles.
Climbing over the brow I come up close to Silbury Hill. What a view I get as I descend the other side. How and why come to mind? This rivals the pyramids, in my opinion, and maybe even older. It is on private land and, therefore, has been protected from erosion the masses would have inflicted. I am the only person admiring it, most don’t venture far out of the Avebury delights.
A small, clear, chalk stream comes down the valley, its willows bending in the strong wind. It is in fact bitter, and I’m relieved to reach the visitor centre and have a coffee. None of this tourist infrastructure was here the last time I visited. The National Trust own it all and makes a hefty profit on its coffee sales and no doubt parking fees.
I wander past those two big stones again to catch the number 49 bus outside the Red Lion Inn.
Back in Swindon, I navigate my way through the hoardings, which at least have some interest. “Sling shooting green energy into the future”. EdPoster.
After a rest, I visit a Nepalese restaurant, Ghurkha, in town where the food I order is quite authentic. Vegetable Achar and steamed Momos. The owner is from Nepal, and we have a lovely conversation based on my several visits to that beautiful country. Nirvana, I could get used to this..
This morning’s mural on the way to the bus station, a lively fox.
It is an early start at the bus station, which becomes very familiar to me over the next few days.
I’m not looking forward to walking the old railway track out of Chiseldon alongside the noisy main road. But it turns out to be quite pleasant, much more pleasant than the middle of the day above the shooting range on Burderop Down, which left me reeling. How to ruin a good walk.
Halfway along is the site of Chiseldon Army training camp, established in WWI with its own rail station and hospital, at one time it boasted a cycle brigade. All has completely disappeared, demolished in the 60’s.
A mile or so of the old railway, heading to Marlborough, the NCR482, perfect for cyclists, then I start climbing onto the downs. A narrow track where I become distracted by red berries in the hedgerow. Autumn is definitely here, it was only 4 degrees this morning. There is already loud distant banging. A young couple pass me bound for Avebury in the day, I think back to those days when all was possible. I’m happy to stroll along at 10 miles a day now and have time to spot this bee on a cornflower.
Ahead is Burderop Down, a small section of the Marlborough Downs which stretch across Wiltshire.
A well-defined tumulus is best photographed from above.
But by now, the noise which I’d heard since early on becomes deafening. My ears are taking a battering. Seriously, I wish I had earplugs with me. Marked on the map as a ‘Shooting School’ I feel under attack, they seem so close. This isn’t just the sound of clay pigeon targets. There are some very loud, high-velocity weapons being used. Why do we need to teach people to fire weapons of war, isn’t Hungerford near here? It’s not the army down there. Here is a short video to give you some idea. The noise stayed with me for the rest of the day.
What do local people think of this? Apparently, they shoot every day. Walkers I meet are equally distressed by it, one couple fearing for their safety.
Moving on, but not away from the continuous noise, which stays with me the rest of the day, I climb to the top of the Down where the views become outstanding. I am attracted to a standing Sarsen stone. This one isn’t ancient but a memorial to two local poets, Alfred Williams and Richard Jefferies.
“Still to find and still to follow,
joy in every hill and hollow.
Company in solitude” Alfred Williams.
“It is eternity now.
I am in the midst of it.
It is about me in the sunshine” Richard Jefferies.
I sit on a bench in the car park for Barbury Castle to ponder the above quotes and eat my lunch, looking out northwards over Swindon and much more. There is a toposcope, but I don’t know the geography from up here.
A gate leads into the country park and a short walk to the earthworks of Banbury Castle. They are massive. An outer ditch and an inner rampart enclosing an area of several football pitches. I estimate 400 metres across. The trail goes through the middle, but I take to the ramparts for a scenic circular navigation. I wonder at the labour that went into its construction nearly 3000 years ago. These earthworks are all better appreciated from the air.
Dropping down, we now join The Ridgeway, possibly Europe’s oldest road. This is classified as a Byway, and hence used by motorbikes, all today driving slowly and considerately. It heads south along the ridge with ever opening views of the chalk downs.
Looking down at one’s feet, the track is made up of chalk and flinty rocks, I can’t resist picking a nice piece to take home.
Several beech copses stand out by the ridge. There are lots of dog walkers out from the high carparks. Dumping of litter is a problem because of the ease of access.
At the road, I notice a sign to the Hackpen White Horse down below and a board telling of the White Horse Trail, a ninety mile route linking – you’ve guessed it – white horses, eight of them. Now there’s an idea, I even have a whitish horse pose for me.
I walk down the steep lane to the main road at Broad Hinton, to catch the number 49 bus back to Swindon. Using buses sometimes means short divergences from the trail, but I have no choice in view of the lack of accommodation. I will have to walk back up here tomorrow morning.
Swindon is my home for the next few days. I need to find a supermarket to top up on supplies it’s not easy in the centre where major building work is in progress. Today is Saturday, and I think I’ll give the busy restaurants a miss for a night in.
The weather has been perfect and hopefully will last.
The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. Lao Tzu. Thankfully I’m not doing a thousand miles, the Sarsen Way is only around 50 miles.
On my train journey down I am pleased I’m not returning to Telford. All trains from Wolverhampton to there are cancelled due to flooding. On the other hand my train to Bristol makes good time, but I notice all the water lying in the fields. I then receive a text telling me that my train to Swindon has been cancelled.
I look at other means of transport between Bristol and Swindon, i.e., the bus. There is one in a couple of hours, I’m tempted to book it as a safety net. Let’s see what happens in Bristol first. Yes, my train is cancelled, but the express to London is going even if delayed. I jump on, and we make very slow progress through the actual flood waters. Announcements talk of claiming for delays on the internet, I will leave that until I’m home, What do the people without internet do?
I am pleased I postponed this trip down south for a week, I would have been caught in all the downpours over the last few days.
I’m in Swindon to start my walk, the Sarsen Way, down to Salisbury. I’m hoping to do a few miles this afternoon to Chiseldon. I arrive with time to spare, so catch a bus to the start at Coate Water Country Park.
There is no big send off, only a small waymark on a post. The high diving platform juts out into the lake, swans and pigeons are being fed. Walking around the lake is very pleasant, with lots of mature trees. Everyone else is dog walking, the nation must be getting fitter with all these dogs.
A straight, tarmacked, broad path leads to the pedestrian bridge over the motorway. The bridge must have cost a fortune with its spiralling concrete.
The noise of the traffic slowly subsides as I wander across lowland downs. A few waymarks are spotted, but l mainly just follow the trodden path on the ground.
In parts the summer growth hides the way, not a lot of traffic.
The rest of the afternoon is alongside a lively little chalky stream which was at one time dammed for the village to wash their sheep. There is nobody about.
I climb up into the village of Chiseldon, where there used to be a railway station. I pass my first Sarsen stone, forgetting to take a photo of it, and the first thatched cottage of the trip.
The first test of my logistics comes at the lonely bus stop, but the number 80 appears and I’m back in Swindon in no time. The centre of Swindon is a mess at present with major road and infrastructure changes taking place. My walk to my hotel is hemmed in by metal fencing which is relieved by artworks painted by local artists on the boarding. Some are commissioned and accredited, others are more graffiti-style.
Once settled in the Travel Lodge, my home for 5 days, I wander up the road to Regent Circus where it is all happening. There are restaurants and cafes toe to toe. Seeking peace and quiet I search out Chennai Dosa, a chain of southern Indian restaurants. For a franchise their cafes offer really good food at reasonable prices. Rasam Vadai and Masala Dosa.
Meanwhile the girls are arriving at the Meca for a Friday night out, modesty prevents any photographs.
It is always good to get a few miles done after all that travelling and more to the point it will make tomorrow shorter.
Am I pleased I didn’t set forth on the Sarsen Way down in Wiltshire last week? They have had more than their fair share of rain. Pottered around at home, took delivery of a new cycle (more of that later), done a bit of easy bouldering in the quarries, and had a few walks up the fell on the better days.
My eldest grandson came to stay for a couple of days and we ventured onto the now, once again, boggy fell. It will only get worse as the year progresses.
What struck me was the amount of fungi already springing up amongst the trees. Using the phone’s aps we tried our best to identify most of them. We have been short of insects this year so let’s hope for an abundant fungal autumn.
I have made it my intention this autumn to become more proficient at fungal identification, did I say that last year? There are plenty of trees down in the woods for them to grow on. Must remember to take my camera next time.
First the scientific bit from a Gerald Lucy, (GeoEssex).
The story of how sarsens were formed starts in the Palaeocene epoch, about 55 million years ago, just after the extinction of the dinosaurs. At this time a thick layer of sand and gravel, known as the Reading Beds was laid down over much of southern England on top of the Chalk, and after it was deposited it was raised above sea level. This was around the end of the Palaeocene and the beginning of the Eocene epochs, which was a time of great warmth on planet Earth. During this time ground water containing dissolved silica (quartz) cemented patches of the sand into a tough layer of sandstone called a ‘silcrete’. This layer was extremely resistant to erosion but it eventually broke up into boulders. As the sands were washed away the silcrete boulders remained on the surface of the ground and these are known as sarsens.
*
I receive regular newsletters from Cicerone Press, that wonderful guide book publisher. What popped up this week was a new guide to The Sarsen Way between Swindon and Salisbury in Wiltshire. Part of the The Great Chalk Way which runs from Lyme Regis, Dorset, to the Wash in Norfolk. The new guide traces a route through the Downs south of Swindon, visiting many of the pre-historic sites. Neolithic henges and Stone Circles, Bronze Age barrows, Iron Age forts as well as many village churches and I hope cosy pubs. I’m always looking for something new and not too challenging.
The route has been developed by The Friends of The Ridgeway who have long campaigned for the preservation of the ancient Ridgeway paths. It has made an appearance on the latest OS maps and is apparently waymarked on the ground, in some places sharing with other LDWs.
Apart from the larger towns, accommodation is thin on the ground. The ends of many stages have no suitable one night lodging. The fashion now is apartments or houses booked for a week, which are of no use to the backpacker. Several of the village pubs have the ridiculous two night minimum stay even mid week, and don’t have many vacancies. Its a popular area with the likes of Avebury, Stonehenge and Salisbury to visit. So as I did in the Lakes, the other week, I’m going to town base and hopefully make use of the buses to move me around the county. Three nights in Swindon, three in Amesbury and the last in Salisbury.
The guide book also includes a shorter continuation walk to Shaftesbury, the Cranborne Droves Way, taking two to three days, with even more accommodation problems and convoluted transport logistics. Originally I planned to return from Salisbury to be home for my next cataract operation but that has been delayed so if the weather is good and I’m feeling fresh I may try and include the Droves Way.
*
As I write this the TV has just given a weather warning for the south west. Thunder, lightning and heavy rain for a few days. I think I’ll postpone my trip for a little while.
PS. Thunderstorms and heavy rain have hit many parts of England and Wales since Friday, causing some disruption. Throughout Saturday and into Sunday morning, there were 13,000 lightning strikes recorded.
The rockman comes to Longridge for a short walk, where else would I take him, apart from up Longridge Fell? I have an ulterior motive. Some new groundwork has been carried out on the fell, and I want to investigate.
It promises to be a hot, sunny day once more.
A new dog-poo bag bin has been installed by the gate, courtesy of Thornley and Wheatley Council. I hope someone empties it regularly, as it is not that large. The first two pieces of littering on the track are guess what?
Steadily up to the trig point, which is already occupied, we get employed as official photographers of the couple on their first visit. The views are stunning with Ingleborough and Pen-y-Ghent clearer than usual.
We warn the couple of some difficulty getting along the ridge in the forest due to all the windblown trees. Some have been cut back but more seem to have come down in the most recent winds.
Just the other day, my son sent me a picture he took in 2002 when I camped up here with my oldest grandson, who was about five or six at the time. He remembers it well, particularly the baked beans and the deer that wandered past as it became dark. Today, as we snake the easiest way through the carnage, I recognise the very spot where we had camped. A WhatsApp photo is sent to the family.
I head for what used to be ‘Sam’s Best View’ if you remember it. But new growth is obstructing what was a Bowland panorama. Time for a drink and snack anyhow, the day is heating up. The rockman is checking for additives.
We loop the loop and start heading for home. More tree debris is circumnavigated and eventually we come out onto the south side of the forest where the fell drops away to the old Clitheroe road. And there it is, right in front of us, where before was all open land, a five-foot wire fence topped off for good measure with two strands of barbed wire. I have previously reported drainage ditches being dug on the moorland, ponds being enlarged, and lots of heavy machinery damaging the fragile surface and trees. A drainage ditch has been dug on land in different ownership, on the north side of the wall, whether with permission or not. The owner, for whatever reason, doesn’t want us on his land. I won’t go into the legal wrangles that are transpiring or local speculation about what he is up to. Does he not realise deer roam this open moor and their leap will probably result in serious injury from the unnecessary barbed wire?
On the way off the fell we pass the spot where my ‘Grim up North’ pine tree stood until it was mown down by the ditch digging, It had been lying on its side and I had hopes of some regeneration when I passed it in March. Those hopes were dashed today as it has been well and truly logged up. Criminal.
So more questions asked rather than answered. I have a feeling that this will become an ongoing saga on which I will report back from time to time.
