Switchbacks to Sarum.

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.

• (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.

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 figure symbolises … 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.

I can’t resist thatched cottages.

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.

***

***

High plains drifter.

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.