The day doesn’t start well. I have planned a short day’s walking as I have first to cross the Pennines. The usual bus to Preston, then trains to Huddersfield, followed by another bus journey to the walk’s start. It’s all a little complicated, but I had figured on the 8.50 train to Huddersfield, changing at Wigan and Manchester Victoria. This would have me on a bus to the start at lunchtime. While having my coffee at home, an email informs me that the train has been cancelled. Any later, I would struggle to connect with the bus, leaving me short of time in the afternoon; it’s getting dark by four. I need to catch an earlier train, but time is passing. I skip breakfast, run for a bus, and arrive at Preston station with two minutes to spare. The rest of the journey goes more or less to plan despite Northern Rail at Victoria verging on the chaotic.
A familiar figure outside Huddersfield Station.
When we arrive at Birdsedge, I’m the only one left on the bus, a few houses and an old spinning mill.
There is a faded but encouraging waymark for The Dearne Way on the FP sign from the road. The path wanders through the trees, skirting the mill’s lodge. The infant Dearne River, feeding the dam, is barely a trickle, and yet, in the past, it spawned all the industries down its course.
I’m on my way, and the weather is perfect, sun and blue sky, as promised. A few higher fields and walled lanes before I drop back down to the valley, here a woodland nature reserve. The autumn colours and the chirping birds are a joy. The path is hidden by the fallen leaves, and I swoosh through them like a young child. The water of the Dearne is barely visible. The way is proving more up and down than expected, but aren’t they all nowadays?
As I drop into Denby Dale, the many arched viaduct dominates the valley, header photo. The village came to prominence in the Industrial Revolution with mills and collieries. The railway arrived at the end of the C19th.
I join the village Pie Trail on cobbled paths. They have a strange history of giant pie-making here.
I’m content with a pot of tea in a friendly, high-street cafe. I learn how to pronounce Dearne – it’s Durn.
The route climbs out of the valley and traverses fields and woods with views over to the landmark Argiva transmission tower on Emley Moor. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emley_Moor_transmitting_station
Somewhere up here, I walk into the grounds of Bagden Hall; I am staying in the hotel here tonight, but I see the opportunity of walking a little farther, thus reducing tomorrow’s mileage. I am trusting that I will be able to catch a bus back.
Down below is the village of Scissett, which, like everywhere around here, was previously dominated by worsted mills. I arrive at the main road by Spring Grove mill, which has survived, minus its chimney, manufacturing mats and carpets.
Spring Grove Mill Early C20th.
Paths lead through new housing estates and a long railway tunnel to meet with the Dearne again – time for a photo.
I broke my camera last week, so I am making do with my phone this trip; there will be no zooming. What with using it for navigation and pictures the battery is getting low, but sufficient to seek out a bus stop in Clayton West just in time for the X1 to arrive and take me back past Scissett to Nortonthorpe Mill. I find a sneaky, unofficial way into the grounds of Bagden Hall.
The hotel looks impressive with its extensive gardens, now a ‘Wedding Venue’ like many country hotels trying to survive. The price is reasonable and they give me a free upgrade. Bagden Hall was originally built in the 1860s for Charles Norton, a wealthy mill owner who made his fortune running Nortonthorpe’s weaving mills in the valley, which supplied quality yarn to weavers for ‘fancy waistcoat goods’.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I’ve walked quite a lot in the area around Bolton-By-Bowland, it is very special. I’m back here today with Clare and Zola to look at some of the highlights. It is too good to miss a day out in this September heat wave.
I have another of those Ribble Valley Walks of Taste to follow.
But we don’t follow it to the letter. For a start we leave the car in the little community car park by the bridge. I didn’t actually notice the Coach and Horses inn at all, so we fail to contribute to the Ribble Valley economy on this occasion.
Immediately by the bridge is a hidden well built into a wall, I can find no reference as to its provenance but it looks rather neat.
We are soon into fields, guided by clear signs but all warning of your dog being shot if not on a lead, we don’t tell Zola. My reason for taking this different route is to see the mediaeval cross base marked on the map and Grade II listed. The stone is obvious in the first field under a spreading oak. We are not far from Sawley Abbey here and there must have been tracks through the countryside with crosses for guidance and perhaps prayer.
There are a lot of beautiful mature trees to admire today in what was the estate of Bolton Hall. The original hall was built in 1229 and was set in a 2,000 acre estate. From the 14th century, the hall was in the hands of the Pudsay family until 1771. Henry VI hid here for a while after his defeat at the Battle of Hexham, he was later captured at Brungerly hipping stones over the Ribble. In another episode it is said that William Pudsay made a spectacular leap on horseback at nearby Ravensber Scar across the river to make his escape after being charged with counterfeiting silver shillings, the silver ore coming from mines on his estate near Rimington. The hall was demolished in 1958.
But we are not there yet. A bridge over the Skirden Beck means we don’t have to use the historic cobbled ford.
We climb up the lane to reach the drive to Bolton Hall, but before following it I indulge in another ancient cross diversion. It is in a field with no obvious access so I make do with a zoom photo, it looks very similar to the last one.
Now down the drive, the hall has gone but outbuildings, stables and cottages have been renovated to provide modern exclusive accommodation.
Of historical interest to us is King Henry’s well, where he may have hidden. It lies in the manicured grounds of the the Bolton Hall estate, but there is a gate for us to gain access for a photo at least.
Some of the renovated cottages bear witness to their antiquity.
I found this photograph of Bolton Hall in the early 1900s.
Moving on we traverse a series of fields and a pheasant cover which drove Zola mad, being kept on a lead. We are high above the Ribble now where Sir Ralph Pudsey was said to have made his horseback leap.
I have visited Fooden before and remember one of the house holders fitting a new weathervane, I wonder if it is still there. It is, though they have never got round to orientating the compass points.
It turns out the man is a stone mason and he shows us some of his finished work. The sandstone he uses comes from Longridge Fell. Seeing our interest in the house opposite he tells us of another one down the lane. Both are C17th and Grade II listed. Just about everything is listed hereabouts. In fact the parish of Bolton-by-Bowland contains 44 listed buildings.
Pleasant fields bring us back into Bolton-by-Bowland where we make a beeline to the C15th Church of St. Peter and St. Paul. Inside, next to the Pudsay Chapel, is a remarkable memorial to Sir Ralph Pudsay who died in 1468. A limestone slab carved with figures of Sir Ralph, his 3 wives, and 25 children, together with their names. It is difficult to photograph, I have tried before.
The village is a delight of stone houses and cottages around a village green where there is another stone cross and the village stocks. Well worth a visit.
One of the books I bought from Verey’s excellent shop in Pooley Bridge was a guide to stone circles in the Lakes. It transpires there are two circular early bronze age structures right next to the motorway as it passes Penrith. Though not technically stone circles they must be worth looking at. With a bit more delving I find a walk encompassing them as well as Brougham Castle and Hall.
I think I mentioned the base of a medieval cross on land next to where I catch my bus each day. It turns out to be grade II* listed and described as possibly used as a plague stone in the C14th.
The Dog Beck, Wetherspoons, where I supped a pint most nights last week also turns out to be an early C19th Grade II listed building. Was it originally an inn? I’m now able to say my drinking was for historical research purposes.
I have already looked around the remains of Penrith Castle but sadly not explored the old market town more thoroughly. One can’t do everything. But on my last morning I catch the 9 o’clock bus for the last time this trip. I only go a few stops to Eamont Bridge, here I pick up the trail.
King Arthur’s Round Table is marked on the map but the Henge circle is thousands of years older than him. A gateway gives access to the circle in a rough field right next to the road. In fact the road has cut across the northern side of the circle. I wander around trying to take photos that show up the banking.
Across the way is a slip road signed to Mayburgh Henge, I had passed it daily on the bus and noticed a large Millennium Stone on a verge.
From the visit Cumbria site –
“This fifty tonne block of granite was transported from Shap quarry, erected here and dedicated on July 2nd 2000 by the Bishop of Penrith at the culmination of the Eden Millennium Festival. The site was chosen because of its association with neighbouring Mayburgh Henge. The granite is 330 million years old, and the Monument is intended to last thousands of years. In a trench round the base are buried about 2,000 small stones decorated mostly by primary school children of Eden and placed there at the dedication service as birthday presents for Jesus’ 2000th birthday. The carved symbols on three sides of the Monument are an Alpha, a Cross with the number 2000, and an Omega. The Alpha and the Omega are the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet and represent the beginning and the end, the past and the future, God the Creator and God the Holy Spirit. The Cross and the 2000 represent the present, 2,000 years of Christianity, and Jesus Christ our Lord alive with us today”
On the side road right next to the motorway was the gate giving access to Mayburgh Henge.
This is a much larger banked circular Henge . The banking is up to 20ft high and is composed of millions of pebbles from the nearby River Lowther.One only sees the large central standing stone once on the banking or from the eastern entrance.
Looking at older documents there were four standing stones in place in the C18th. It is thought that these henges, there was a smaller one close by, were possibly meeting places or Neolithic ceremonial centres. It is difficult to appreciate their size and shape on the ground, aerial photos are needed.
Visit Cumbria’s image.
I cross the River Eamont not on the grade1 listed late medieval structure, but by the utilitarian metal foot bridge alongside.
A pleasant interlude of walking alongside the river follows. At one point I spot the abutments of a footbridge across the Eamont, has it been washed away in recent times?
Up ahead I catch the first glimpses of Brougham Castle. bruam is the local pronunciation. The castle was founded in the early 13th century. The site, near the confluence of the rivers Eamont and Lowther, had been previously chosen by the Romans for a fort called Brocavum. It has a long and convoluted history. Lady Anne Clifford who inherited it, along with a string of other castles in the area that she had refurbished, died at Brougham Castle in 1676. I only gaze at the remains across the river as I don’t have time for a lengthy visit. It shows off the local red sandstone.
I almost forget to look for the Roman Fort on the same site and my photographs are not that convincing of its foundations.
Not far along the lane is the entrance to Brougham Hall, a fortified home from the early C14th. Again one can read the history here. Privately owned, its restoration work is slow but some areas have been made habitable. Space is rented off to various artists and potters. One can wander over most of the site and hence get a feel for past living in such spaces. There is an honesty café so I’m able to get my late morning caffeine fix.
Back across the Eamont and I can catch a bus directly to Penrith Station for the train home.
I’ve enjoyed this mini break, reacquainting myself with the Northern Lake District, delving into a bit of history along the way. The weather has been kind to me and my B and B, The Blue Swallow to give them a shout, in Penrith was perfect.
The Marmalade March.
I thought the talk of Marmalade was all a gimmick, but as you will see, it has a serious side.
The 9am bus drops me off in Pooley Bridge as usual. I cross the new bridge and follow the River Eamont downstream. I’m on what is called The Dalemain Loop of the main Ullswater Way. I have driven past Dalemain House many times but never stopped to visit. As part of my walk today, I hope to put that right. Dalemain Historic Mansion & Gardens
The house opens at 10.30. I make good progress through the fields stopping only to chat to The Lakes National Park worker who is mending a gate fastener. Apparently, it is called a hunting latch. They have been used throughout this week’s walk on traditional wooden gates and are a delight to use. I don’t recall a single ‘modern’ galvanised one.
At the house I manage to book one of the limited places on the first house tour of the day. Our lady guide is knowledgeable and entertaining. Photography is not allowed in the house. She tells us of the history of the house and the families who have owned it, It has been the family home to the Hasells since 1679. bringing us up to date with the present Hasell family, Robert and Jane Hasell-McCosh. Each room is full of portraits, collectables, and personal paraphernalia, with a story behind each one. Fascinating.
From their website.
Time for a coffee and cake back in the tearoom. My ginger cake is glazed with Marmalade and the room full of jars containing exotic varieties of the preserve. ‘The World’s Original Marmalade Awards & Festival’ is held here annually in March. The story goes back 20 years, just after a serious outbreak of Foot and Mouth disease, which seriously affected this region. Jane the lady of the house decided on a local Marmalade competition, only a few dozen entered. Now, this has grown to thousands with money raised going to a local charity hospice, and the winner has their recipe marketed by Fortnum and Masons. I don’t think a jar of Marmalade would last long in my rucksack.
I spend some time looking around the extensive gardens, a bit late in the season to see it at its best, but there is still so much to admire. Terraces, knot garden, wild areas, massive Silver Fir, Sleeping Giant, Dragon Yew, beck side. All surrounded by the beautiful Cumbrian scenery.
Wow! that is some garden. Back outside I march on through their estate towards the village of Dacre. The rebuilt peel tower, ahead of me up the hill, belongs to the estate but is now a private dwelling.. The surrounding moat could just be made out.
There are a few cottages scattered around the village green, where the original stocks still stand. Up the lane is a welcoming looking Inn, The Horse and Farrier.
I want to visit the church that has close connections with Dalemain House and its occupants. All the Hasell family being buried here. I fail to find their graves in the extensive burial grounds. But I do find three of the four stone ‘bears’ thought to be warding off evil spirits. I’m not sure of their antiquity or purpose.
The church is open, so I’m able to see the superb William Whitelaw stained glass. A piece of a Saxon cross is propped up in the chancel.
Lanes go over a brow with the familiar views of Dunmalland and the hills at the head of Ullswater. Soon, I’m traversing a path within Dunmalland’s forest, I still haven’t seen a red squirrel on this trip.
Back in Pooley Bridge, I make my pilgrimage to Verey’s for a browse at their books and an excellent coffee whilst waiting for the bus.
Before you know it, I’m relaxing in Witherspoon’s with a pint of Ennerdale Darkest, looking back over a long loop but another successful day.
On the way to the steamer I pass a walled terrace with the Birkett Memorial, it could have all been so different.
The Lady of the Lake, launched in 1877, glides into the jetty at Pooley Bridge. An enthusiastic crowd buoyed by the perfect weather climb aboard. The lake is mirror calm. Only a handful disembark at the Howtown jetty and all disappear into the surroundings.
I go in search of The Howtown Hotel, which I used to frequent when we holidayed here with our young children. Sadly, it is closed. But there is a nearby tea room They tell me that the hotel may be booked in its entirety only, eight rooms. Maybe a place for a family and friends celebration weekend! They have a lovely view from the garden.
Anyway, I enjoy my coffee and get into conversation with a couple of cyclists from the North East. One always comes across a lot of northeasterners in this part of the Lakes . I meet more as the day goes on, all very friendly.
It’s time to get walking . I’m already off route at the café so just follow the road up the hill to join the bridleway, traversing the fell side at about 200m under Bonscale Pike. I have to keep stopping to take in the views of familiar hills across Ullswater, especially up to the head of the lake. I watch the steamers and boats coming and going into Howtown Bay. What an idyllic setting.
The Ullswater Way comes up to join the track I’m on, and I pick up the daffodil waymarks. It was on the shores of Ullswater that Wordsworth apparently saw the daffodils that inspired his well-known poem.
Shortly after, I’m faced with a choice – a higher route visiting the stone circle up on Askham Fell or a lower route above the lake. I was around the antiquities before so I don’t feel guilty about choosing the lower route. Dunmallard at Pooley Bridge is getting closer, Sharrow Bay is down there somewhere, its famous hotel being refurbished at present.. One last look from ahigh up the lake.
Now mainly through fields. There are a lot of very muddy sections, even at this time of year. A few farmhouses and derelict barns are passed on the way, I spot a chicken of the woods.
Now, down on the road, I come to the entrance to Waterside House Camp Site. A massive endeavour. It is fairly busy with all sorts of campers, the attraction being its lake shore access. Paddle boarding seems to be the most popular pastime on the water.
Dog walkers are out from Pooley Bridge, and for the last half mile, there is litter, which hasn’t been a problem elsewhere. The holiday atmosphere ramps up a notch.
I’m early, so escape into the relative normality of the Verey bookshop who also serve good coffee whilst I’m waiting for the bus back to Penrith. I resist book buying to a single one but make a mental note of lots more to seek out.
My after walk pint in The Dog Beck back in Penrith is an excellent Eden River Brew Co. Emperor IPA. Looking at the guide book I’m not finished with the Ullswater Way yet.
We used to camp in Patterdale at Side Farm before the children were born, I have memories of a stressful walk with my wife. We had already climbed the hills behind the farm, Place Fell?, and ended up in Howtown for a meal and drink at the hotel. I dismissed her idea of catching the steamer back suggesting it would be a lovely walk back along the shores of Ullswater. Hours later we staggered back into camp. the way had been rough and difficult, seemed never ending and had tried our tempers. This was at the back of mind for this same section today. If I was slow could I end up in Howtown after the last steamer had departed? People with electric cars have developed ‘battery anxiety’ I was having steamer anxiety. So lets be safe – catch the steamer over to Howtown first and walk to Glenridding where there are frequent buses at the end of the day. That is why I’m queuing for the first steamer of the day, the Western Belle, leaving Pooley Bridge. What a contrast to yesterday, a wet and windy crossing to Howtown.
Dunmallard and Pooley Bridge disappearing into the gloom.
Approaching Howtown with Waternook under Hallin Fell.
I head to the tea room for a coffee, alas too early – they are closed, as is the Hotel. I walk back down to the bay and pick up the Ullswater Way.
The path climbs above the white property of Waternook, which must have splendid views.
Open land covered in gorse follows before descending to the diminutive Geordie’s Crag. Outward Bound students are learning abseiling and being encouraged to jump from a height into the lake. No doubt all good fun.
The landward side of Geordie’s Crag.
The steep jumping side.
The next section through the trees is difficult, rocky ground and an indistinct path on the steep slopes of Hallin Fell. Up and down to rocky bays. There are no daffodil waymarks to be seen. I miss the ‘poetry stones ‘ or rather I forget to look for them. As I come out of the woods, the views down the lake improve dramatically, coinciding with the day brightening up.
The holiday cottages at Beckside Farm, above Sandwich Bay, look idyllic for a secret getaway. More climbing and rocky terrain ensue, setting a pattern for the day.
I am hoping the tea room in Lowther Barn will be in operation, but sadly not. I do, however, make use of their picnic area for my lunch. It’s a good spot to watch the steamers go by with yesterday’s Gowbarrow as a backdrop.
Through the bracken, the path remains rocky, with Scalehow Force coming down from the slopes of High Dodd.
Back into the woods, silver birch and oak. There are more people about now coming out of Patterdale, dog walkers, mainly.
I’ve turned a corner and have a differed view southwards down the lake to Glenridding with the Helvellyn range ahead. A rocky bluff is a favourite viewpoint. A lady is sketching the scene, far more creative than my point and shoot camera work. Though she does complain about the ever changing light.
There is always some activity on the lake.
A few more ups and downs, ins and outs, well a lot more actually, and I spot an ‘art’ installation, I haven’t done well with these so far. I’m not sure of its value artistically, basically just a plaque to tell you of the painters who found inspiration here. Also in the vicinity are some more of those posts with QR codes linking you to a painting of the scene in front of you. They seem a good idea but I struggled to get them to work. To browse these paintings look here https://www.ullswaterheritage.org/heritage-knowledge-bank/inspired-by-ullswater/virtual-art-gallery
By now I reach the basic Side Farm camp site which I mentioned in my introduction. It is on the shore facing across the lake to the landing stages at Glenridding. What a great situation. The farm now has a tearoom, I can’t go past without visiting. I enjoy a pot chatting to a couple originally from Preston.
Refreshed I walk into Glenridding where I could catch my bus bit it is a beautiful afternoon so I decide to walk on along the lake shore and catch the 5 o’clock bus at Aira Force . The way is close to the road but mostly in pleasant woodland close on the lake.
Halfway I come across a stone fold with a young oak growing inside it, Taking the Long View, one of three in Cumbria by artists Harriet and Rob Frazer highlighting the value of trees.
But look across the fields and you see this magnificent tree…
I arrive with time to spare but on reading the timetable more carefully realise the school holidays are over and the buses are every two hours. I have an hour and a half to ‘waste’. The café is closed, I wander down to the boat pier and realise there is a boat going back to Glenridding. It’s a lovely evening for the short cruise on Lady Dorothy rather than sitting waiting for the bus. Its a magic evening.
But I’ve kept you long enough, time to get the bus back to Penrith. Wetherspoon’s, The Dog Beck, is too handy when I alight, so I pop in for a relaxing pint of Eden Black, from the Eden River Brew Co, to contemplate the very successful day sat in an easy chair in the corner.
Sorry that this has been back to front if you are following The Ullswater Way the usual anticlockwise.
On the nine o’clock bus out of Penrith, into Pooley Bridge in no time. My plan to use public transport seems to be working. All I have to do now is walk. It’s a scorcher of a day, so I will take things easy, there’s a lot of ups and downs to come. already the café alongside the river is busy.
I read the stone and cross the new bridge over the River Eamont.
The waymarks have a daffodil theme, it was on the shores of Ullswater that Wordsworth apparently saw the daffodils that inspired his well-known poem.
A short stretch by the road at first in the trees, then in the open with shapely Salmond’s Hill ahead and then I’m heading across fields on a well-used path towards Waterfoot Park. A large caravan site around an old mansion.
I follow one of their estate roads and then start climbing up to Maiden Castle, marked on the map but nothing to see on the ground.
There are good views back to Dunmallard and ahead to open country around Ullswater. The high hills are in the haze.
I come out onto a road next to a farm with a pet Macaw, i didn’t see him. Farther on in one of their fields is a ‘tuck shop’ with drinks and snacks for sale using an honesty box, well actually a pot rooster. The day is already very hot so I buy a can to supplement my water supply and enjoy their bench with a view as I drink it.
Downhill I join a road through the hamlet of Bennethead.
The guide warns of muddy fields ahead, but they are fine today. Even the animals appear to have heat stroke.
Watermillock, or is it Longthwaite, a dozen houses at the most, but I make a short diversion to visit the church. A squat sandstone building surrounded by yew trees, one reputably dating back to the C16th, I think I find it. The inside of the church is cool and calm. Stained glass windows honour previous notaries. There are lots of little interesting historical details. I sit on one of their benches in the shade and have an early lunch before all the climbing to come
Back on track, the heat is intensifying, and there is little breeze. I pass below Priest’s Crag and follow the path through the bracken. Entering Swinburn’s Park plantation. I’m on the lookout for Herdwick Stones, celebrating the sheep associated with the Lakes. The Herdwick sheep is the native breed of the Lake District, championed by Beatrix Potter. They are thought to have been brought to this country by Norse settlers over 1000 years ago. There are carved stones, created by letter carver Charlotte Ruse, with the shepherd counting numbers depicted. yan, tyan, tethera. I only find two of them.
Whilst I’m in the trees, I stop for some chocolate and more water before embarking on the climb up Gowbarrow. I’m finding it hard going in the heat and humidity. The Ullswater Way has a choice here, follow a level terraced path around to Aira Force or climb up over the summit of Gowbarrow 481m.
Despite my lethargy, I opt for the summit for it’s 360degree views. I start meeting people for the first time today as they descend on what is a popular short circuit. The last few feet need hands on the rock. There is a trig point for all those selfies. I sit quietly on a nearby boulder drinking even more water. The views are disappointedly hazy, not surprising given the conditions.
It’s a lie.
This is what the view could look like on a better day, from the web site.
Coming downhill towards Dockray is again steep and stony, needing care.
I arrive at the top falls of Aira Force, which most people don’t climb far enough up to see. There is plenty of water to give a decent display. Paths go off in all directions, some getting close to the edge depending on how brave you are feeling.
The main fall is one long drop with a couple of viewing bridges across the narrow chasm. Despite all the tourists milling around, the falls are indeed very dramatic. Well worth a visit.
I find a new way down which keeps close to the water below, The Sika Spruce route. It’s name becomes obvious at the end where there is enormous Spruce, hundreds of years old no doubt.
Aira Beck, mow tamed, runs off down to the lake. The café is closed, but there is a tap for rehydration. I just wander down to the bus stop to await transport back to Penrith. I’m feeling rather tired with all the exertion in the heat, one of the hottest days of the summer, Sept 5th.
The Eamont Way was designated and signed recently, 2023. It leads directly from the front of Penrith rail station, giving a pedestrian route to Pooley Bridge. What an excellent start to reach The Ullswater Way. https://www.ullswaterheritage.org/eamont-way
Rain is in the air from early this morning as I walk to catch the bus to Preston. The Glasgow train is on time, and I’m in Penrith just after 11 am. There was not much to see on the way up.
After a look around the castle, a coffee from the outside kiosk, and a bit of faffing whilst it poured down, I’m ready to leave by midday. Welcome to the Lakes.
There is a map of the route on the wall of the station. The waymarks depict an eel, more on that later at Pooley Bridge.
So I’m on the lookout for an eel as I leave the station forecourt. And sure enough, there is one on nearly every lamppost along the busy road.
The guide mentions Macdonald’s as a café, but there is a proper one down the road on the route.
The motorway passes close by Penrith, and there is a maze of slip roads and roundabouts. Not the calmest start to a Lakeland walk .
But after less than a mile, the way enters the countryside and the sound of traffic recedes.
Under the railway main lines via a couple of atmospheric arched brick tunnels and onto bridleways and quiet lanes. There are no distant views in this weather. I catch a glimpse of the River Eamont over to my left and am soon crossing it on a substantial footbridge. It is running full with all the rain.
I come into the little hamlet of Sockbridge. A miniature village green provides a bench for lunch. These are mainly simple cottages, but a larger property stands out. Wordsworth’s House, built in 1699 and occupied by William’s grandfather, Richard, in the late C18th.The first owners, Reginald and Elizabeth Dobson, have their initials (RED) carved over the door. Their granddaughter, a Mrs Collingwood, sold the house to Richard Wordsworth.
What a charming hamlet, worth exploring further, there is a trail including Sockbridge and Tirril.
Quaker Lane leads out of the village. There is a Quaker burial ground in nearby Tirril. Charles Gough, who died on Helvellyn in 1805, is buried there. His dog was said to have stayed by his dead master for several weeks. Charles Gough (artist) – Wikipedia
The bridleway brings me onto the main road, which the Eamont Way follows for some distance. I pass the Gothic Kirkbarrow Hall, now a dairy farm.
When the footway runs out I have other ideas and want to visit the parish church of St. Michael’s at Barton. So I turn up the next bylane.
An ornate Lynch Gate, a WW1 memorial, leads into the churchyard surrounding the squat church itself. The Church has Norman origins, but only the central nave remains from that period. The inside is dark and low, with the central tower splitting the aisle. Many tombstones are old, and I know are listed, but it is difficult to decipher them.
Curiosity sated I walk farther up the lane towards Barton Church Farm. A public right of way goes through the farmyard past Glebe House and then right through buildings via an archway. (Both are grade II listed). I have a feeling they would prefer it didn’t, and this may be why the Eamont Way doesn’t come on this otherwise historic route. Why would the Eamont Way go down a busy road with no footway? I suspect some C21st skullduggery at play.
Glebe House 1637
Barton Church Farmhouse C16th
More open fields now, with limited views westwards towards Ullswater, a smart bridleway, and then open fell with wooded Dunmallard Hill above Pooley Bridge prominent.
A crowded ‘green holiday village’ is passed. Not my idea of the countryside.
I pass some ‘Inspired by art’ posts placed at the viewpoint used by previous artists. The QR code supposed to reveal the original painting, a good idea, but I fail to get it to work on my phone.
Some grand tree lined slopes, and I’m suddenly in the crowded Pooley Bridge village. Pubs , cafés and gift shops vying for the throng’s trade.
I stand below the famous fishing wind vane in front of the Crown Inn and read of the history and connection to the eel waymarks.
Pooley Bridge had a weekly fish market until the C19th. In the 12th century a charter was granted by King John to hold a fish market in Pooley Village square in front of what is now the Crown Inn. It continued into the C19th. In the summer months large numbers of eel were caught and sold in the area. A market cross with a fish and weather vane, similar to the one you see today, was erected. It stood near its current site, was repaired by Lord Dacre in the 1680s but was removed in 1890s to allow a turning space for the omnibuses bringing visitors to Ullswater. The current Market Cross was erected by Barton Parish Council in 2000 to commemorate the granting of the charter and as a reminder of the village’s fishing origins. The Coats of Arms of the Dacre family and the Hasells of Dalemain are inscribed on the north and south faces of the Cross to acknowledge their historical attachment to the ancient Parish of Barton.
***
I’m not staying here, hotels are busy and very expensive, so I board the crowded 508 bus and whizz back to Penrith. My B and B, The Blue Swallow, seems excellent with friendly proprietors. It’s good to get out of my wet garments. Let’s look at the weather forecast for tomorrow.
I must admit I have crisscrossed these paths in a corner of the Ribble Valley many times long before the Tolkien Trail appeared. It’s a popular area made more so by those well known connections of the Tolkien family to Stonyhurst College. I’ve never been a fan of The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings and I don’t know who came up with the idea of this themed walk, but it has been a great success. There are local guides and videos to the walk, some days Hurst Green is overflowing with visitors, many here for the Tolkien Trail. Local businesses must be rubbing their hands.
This afternoon I need a quick walk somewhere and the pin falls on the Ribble at Hurst Green. Parking up at that well known bus stop at Winckley, just up the road from Cromwell’s Bridge.
I happen to be on the route of The Tolkien Trail but I don’t follow it directly, I walk up the road to meet it where it enters the grounds of the college below St. Mary’s Hall. I pass Gardener’s Cottage which always brings back memories of an engaging young woman who worked as my secretary for awhile, she lived in that cottage, her father being the head gardener to the college.
St. Marys.
I approach the Chapel but take the well worn path leftwards near the observatory into the field below the cricket pitch. This is the one where you can ring a bell if clay pigeon shooting is going on, I’ve never known it. This path used to be very muddy approaching the village, but recently has been ‘improved’, all very brutal but perhaps necessary. Instead of heading for Smithy Lane, my usual way, I take a vague path across a field to emerge directly into the busy village green. Millie’s is doing a good trade in ice creams and I avoid the temptation of the cosy bar of the Shireburn Arms.
The trail slips through the carpark of the inn.
There is a wedding celebration going on in the garden, lucky with the sunny weather, and the band is playing Tainted Love which I didn’t think was the best choice for a wedding. The field is full of cows and calves and a lurking bull. I’m not comfortable in the vicinity of bulls but he seems to have other interests.
Again the footpath has been upgraded all the way down to the Ribble through the woods, which must make coming up the other way from the river measurably better. Himalayan Balsam is taking over in places. You arrive by the river at the impressive aqueduct carrying water to Blackburn.
It is along here that the path has been surfaced with strips of artificial turf recycled from some football club. Don’t step offside! It is wearing well, a good solution to ‘over’popular paths and preferable in my eyes to the linear gravel overlay that has appeared a little farther. Straight line next to a curvy river don’t go.
People are sat on the seat overlooking Jumbles Rocks where I had planned my usual drinks stop.
The river is low and lazy above Jumbles and I watch this swan drifting about. In winter floods you can’t even walk this stretch, it is under fast moving water.
I move on up river, there is a popup campsite on the other side of the river at Hacking Hall, looks idyllic for families. The reviews for the site are enthusiastic.
Along here I spot a Heron standing guard, he or she is oblivious to the chattering Sand Martins swooping around the sandy banks.
I eventually get my sit down and drink by the confluence with the Hodder, the day is getting hotter. I’m hoping the recent storms haven’t damaged the Winckley Oak, no it is looking very impressive in full leaf. I realise I don’t often see it like this, I must mostly walk this route in winter, that’s also probably why I have never seen the campsite before.
But what’s this? A sign stating the footpath is closed and a newly erected finger post,
I wonder whether this is an official diversion or just the farm sending you round their buildings. I will contact Lancashire County Council about it, no luck yet as I’m having trouble navigating their new website, they never seem to get any easier. As it happens it is a decent diversion coming out above the farm buildings. It gives a different view of the oak and a good vista to Pendle Hill.
The path across the once very muddy fields has also been improved in recent times and I’m soon back at the bus shelter. The domes of Stonyhurst College are fittingly on the skyline.
I lose count of the number of people, and dogs, I have passed. I only miss out the loop around The Hodder today. One wonders what is the average yearly footfall on the Tolkien Trail? The number of recent ‘improvements’ bears witness to its popularity. How far do the authorities, with diminishing cash, go to promote and gentrify the trail?
Bagden Hall was originally built in the 1860s for Charles Norton, a wealthy mill owner who made his fortune running Nortonthorpe’s weaving mills in the valley, which supplied quality yarn to weavers for ‘fancy waistcoat goods’.
