Bredwardine, Arthur's Stone and Dorstone

That nice Mr Johnson has recently given us permission to travel further afield for our daily exercise, so I set about finding a suitably distant place to celebrate.  It would have to be in England, of course, as the Welsh are still firmly locked down, and it mustn't be too popular either. I had no desire to breathe the fresh air of freedom with dozens of other souls, all striving to stay 2 metres apart.

Walk 24 in my Wye Valley and Forest of Dean book sounded enticing...

"Bredwardine and Dorstone hills form part of a broad ridge that rises to almost 1000 feet, separating the Wye and Golden valleys...  Arthur's Stone, a prehistoric burial chamber, occupies the top of the ridge."

 

The walk would be 7½ miles long, but getting there would be half the fun – 40 miles, mostly along country roads. If that doesn't sound like fun to you,  just remember that I hadn't driven further than my local Tesco's (where I sit in the car as S-- shops) since early March.

This is Bredwardine Church, much of which dates from the Norman Conquest. I would love to have explored inside but, in common with every other church in the land, the door was locked.  I confess that the logic of that particular regulation is lost on me as I really can't imagine pews and fonts in rarely-visited country churches becoming hot-beds of coronavirus infection.

On the contrary, at a time when many are living in great stress, it would be nice to think that they could find solace and peace in these ancient  buildings where, for  generations, people have been drawn to meditate and pray... but no, it is not to be. All very sad.

All was not lost, though, for the lovely parishioners of Bredwardine had set up a plant stall in the porch. I bought an oak-leafed hydrangea and a pepper, and popped £3 in the box.  I've never heard of an oak-leafed hydrangea before, but I'll soon know what it's like as it's doing splendidly in my garden.  Indeed, it's looking so healthy that I'm feeling rather guilty for not putting more money in their box. Perhaps I'll send them a donation.  Yes, that's what I'll do.   

Here's Bredwardine Church again, this time with the late, great, John Betjeman sitting on the churchyard hedge. In a programme for BBC2, he's telling the story of the Revd Francis Kilvert, an acclaimed diarist who was vicar here from 1877 to 1879. Sadly Kilvert's ministry and diary-keeping were cut short when he died of peritonitis, aged just 38.  

Memorial bench to Francis Kilvert

  

Leaving the churchyard, we followed a pleasant footpath past the remains of a motte and bailey (too indistinct to photograph), then (just visible through the trees) beside the sleepy River Wye. After that came a long, steep climb on a quiet country lane to Arthur's Stone, at the top of Dorstone Hill.

The remains of this chambered tomb are about 5000 years old and would once have been buried beneath an earthen mound. Whilst it's no 'Stonehenge', one can but marvel at the energy and dedication of Neolithic mankind who raised these stones to honour their dead.

Legends associated with the stones are rather more recent. According to one, they were placed here to mark the site of one of King Arthur's battles, whilst another tells of Arthur slaying a dragon here. Both are, of course, complete hogwash.

Neolithic tombs like this one are quite common in my homeland of Cornwall, where they're known as quoits. Here's are a couple of my favourites – Chun Quoit and Lanyon Quoit, near Pendeen. 

C.S.Lewis drew inspiration for his classic Chronicles of Narnia from the area around the Golden Valley. In The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, Arthur's Stone became the stone on which Aslan was slain — 

Lucy and Susan held their breaths waiting for Aslan's roar and his spring upon his enemies. But it never came... "Bind him, I say!" repeated the White Witch. The hags made a dart at him and shrieked with triumph when they found that he made no resistance at all... and between them they rolled the huge Lion round on his back and tied all his four paws together.

 

Looking west from Arthur's Stone the distant hills seemed familiar.  I think that must be Lord Hereford's Knob on the right; if so then the Offa's Dyke path must run along that high ground. Skirrid on the far left, perhaps?  

Between us and that high ground, 150ft below, lay the Golden Valley, and that was our next destination.  

Walking downhill was easy, and soon we were crossing the infant River Dore, from which the Golden Valley derives its name. At some time in the past – perhaps when the French-speaking Normans were here – some articulate but misguided soul translated Dore as 'golden', as in the French d'or, and the name stuck.  The actual meaning is more mundane, probably deriving from the Welsh dwr, which means 'water'. 

Our walk book described Dorstone as one of cottages with colourful gardens, and with a charming, peaceful village green.  It was the sundial on the green that attracted my attention, though, as I don't think I've ever seen one like that before.  Isn't it splendid?

Is it really a shade before 1 o'clock, though?  My watch gave the time as 1.26, which would be 12.26 GMT. Subtracting 12 minutes or so (just a guess) as we're west of Greenwich would make it about 12.14. But GMT is only a mean time and sundial time drifts back and forth around the mean. So it just might be nearly 1 o'clock, though I suspect Dorstone's dial is actually running a little fast.  I only know this 'mean time' stuff, by the way, because I once helped a guy to re-calibrate a sundial on a Cornish church. 

If all this drives you to distraction, don't worry. You've almost made it the end of this post.  All that was left now was the climb back to the top of Dorstone Hill, then a long walk along country lanes to Bredwardine.  Several footpath signs tempted us away from these lanes, but the OS walk book warned:

"Many of the footpaths in the area are narrow and overgrown, blocked by crops or lacking in gates and stiles, and waymarking is almost non-existent."

Towards the end of the walk, though, we did risk one footpath.  Surely, we reasoned, the OS book is quite old (published 1991) and things might have improved over the intervening 29 years.

They hadn't!  But we finally made it through dense undergrowth and past fallen trees, which entailed splashing through a stream.  All part of the fun of escaping lock-down and rambling far from home.

Street Party for VE Day + 75

After almost 8 weeks of lock-down the 75th Anniversary of VE Day was greeted with great enthusiasm by Angie and her neighbours.

So much had been planned for this weekend – concerts, street parties, church services... – and all had been cancelled. So when an invitation for a Lock-Down Street Party landed on our doormat, we just had to be part of it.  "Place a table and chairs outside your house," said the invitation. "Make your own picnic food and have a few drinks." It wouldn't be the same as a real street party, of course, but would surely be a long-remembered, unique event.

Buying a 'shop' cake would not, I reasoned, be in the spirit of the day, for there can't have been many cakes in the shops in 1945. However, with only hours to go before the party, I realised that there was no caster sugar in the kitchen cupboard, so it would have to be Demerara. A tablespoon or two of strong coffee should turn it into a nice coffee cake, so that's what it would be.

Though I say it myself, I do make a decent sponge cake, though it's hardly rocket science – just 3 eggs, 6oz of self-raising flour, 6oz of sugar and a good whisk. Wish I'd taken longer with the icing, though. Not that it mattered – it was all gone by sundown.

You'll notice that we spent much of the afternoon taking photos of one another... whilst keeping a safe distance away, of course.

It's worth remembering that all this jollity did have a serious side. The joy of emerging from lock-down for one sunny afternoon is a pale shadow of the elation our parents and grandparents must have felt on Tuesday May 8th 1945, after being 'locked down' in bloody war for six years.  I envy their freedom to celebrate in crowds, but not what they'd been through.

Day 47: Bluebells, Broom and Bees on a May Day walk

One of the joys of walking so frequently in the Forest of Dean has been seeing the succession of Spring flowers come and go.  Primroses and celandines have run their course and the buttercups are beginning to fade. In their place bluebells have been appearing, and in the last week have really sprung to life. I took this first photo just over a week ago –  my first sight this year of a really impressive carpet of bluebells.

The middle of last week saw some heavy rain that seemed to freshen up the flowers and enrich their colours still more, so when I took a 4 mile walk on May Day through Lydney Park and Norchard Wood, I was in for a real treat.

First, though, a view over the fields in the direction of Lydney Park Gardens.

Around this time of year Lord Bathurst would normally open his gardens to the public, allowing us all to see his magnificent azaleas and rhododendrons.  Unless the lock-down restrictions are relaxed soon, I fear that the gardens will remain closed this year, so here are a couple of photos from my visit in 2018.

Back to the May Day walk, and part of the Lydney Park estate that has a public footpath running through it, so remains open.

Crossing the main Lydney - Bream road brought me into Norchard Wood, where bluebells gradually gave way to great splashes of vivid yellow broom.

At the bottom of the hill lies Norchard railway station, where the Dean Forest railway slumbers. The lock-down is seriously damaging their finances, as it is for the railway love of my life, the Lynton & Barnstaple. Both preservation societies have issued heartfelt appeals for donations.  I do hope that they're able to recover.

Now where were we?  Ah yes, I remember – Bluebells, Broom and ....

Obligingly, this little creature settled on a dandelion at Middle Forge.  I was still in the grounds of Lydney Park Estate, and his lordship is clearly keen to discourage exploration of the old ruins.

However, the well-worn footpath beyond this notice testifies to the fact that few people seem to heed the warning. True, the stonework of the old forge is in a parlous state and I certainly wouldn't risk going up there, but the approach is safe enough.  In truth, this is one of my regular haunts and I can rarely resist stopping to take a photo or two.