Follow The Green Path

In England, as well as roads linking adjacent villages, there'll almost always be a few winding, half-forgotten paths running through the deepest green countryside. It's surely no coincidence that the mapmakers have chosen to show these paths pecked out in green on our most detailed maps.

We'll start our meanderings in the village of Great Bardfield in Essex. By pure chance we found ourselves parked opposite "The Brick House" which was home, from the 1930's till 1970 to the artist, Edward Bawden. For a time during the 40's and 50's the village became the centre of a gathering of artists known as the Great Bardfield Group. Perhaps the best-known member of them, Eric Ravilious, also lodged at the Brick House during part of that time.

But we're here to thread our way through some of the countryside that inspired these artists. After a few slightly overgrown paths by field-edge and streamside we found ourselves on a generous grassy track that looks as though it must once led to somewhere of local importance.

At the end of the lane we came to a stylish old house with honey for sale. And sneaking down beside it was a track leading to a little bridge over the River Pant.

Right behind the house were the remains of an old watermill. Yes, this would have been the house of the miller, once a man of some importance in the local community. There was good money to be made if you owned a watermill or windmill to grind their wheat or barley; though that wealth came at a price, for many people thought they were being cheated, however honest the miller might be.

An unexpected sighting of a zebra!

The path doggedly made its way through thick vegetation with quite a lot of Comfrey growing amongst the Cow Parsley.

We passed just a few houses as we followed the tiny Finchingfield Brook on our way to the village of Finchingfield itself. The thatched cottage above has been extended to form a luxurious country retreat for someone with a lot more money than I have. There are two mushroom-shaped "staddle-stones" standing outside. They once had the vital job of lifting the floor of a granary away from the attentions of mice and rats - now they reduced to being mere decorations.

The map's green line led us behind Finchingfield Church as we came to the village. I'll show you more pictures of the pretty villages of Great Bardfield and Finchingfield next time, but for now lets continue our walk.

We followed streets lined with ancient houses down to the village green and duckpond. This can be an exceedingly busy and touristy place on fine weekends in midsummer; it was plenty busy enough at ten o'clock on a Tuesday morning.

As we left the village our eyes were attracted to this handsome grouping of trees.

We're going back by a different, more circuitous, path. Unusually for a footpath this one has a name - Winsey Chase - and I'm pretty certain that it was once a road leading to a farm.

This wooded area, where the track makes a double bend, is, I think, where the road passed through the farmyard and in the trees on the right there are the remains of an old moat, which perhaps surrounded the farmhouse. I couldn't see the moat for all the trees and undergrowth, but it's right there on the map. The old road led on from there to Beslyn's Farm, which I know was a scene painted by one of the Great Bardfield artists.

Artistry of a different kind was displayed on the ridgeline of the Beslyn's Cottage.

Maybe I had one of Eric Ravilious's paintings in the back of my mind when I took the picture above; a signpost, overhead wires and a road junction (but not this one) certainly feature in one of his more famous works, though he probably balanced and finessed his composition with more care than I did.

 

On we went, through every shade of green in an artist's palette, as we gradually approached the little River Pant one more.

Red Campion sang out from the shadows. It's a common enough wildflower, but one that always attracts the eye at this time of year.

And here's the Pant itself, which we can follow almost all the way back to Great Bardfield.

There's time to pause for a final time and glance back on the way we've come. It seems unlikely, if  not impossible, that a path could slip and sidestep its way through all that rampant greenery and lead unfalteringly to its intended destination. But here we are, back in Great Bardfield, right in front of the Brick House with its colourful display of flowers.

Take care.

Big Skies Over Little Ouse

Sometimes I wish there was an ancient or more poetic name for some of the places I visit, but in this case there isn't; so "River Little Ouse" (pronounced the same as "ooze") it has to be. It's a frequent companion on our wanderings as it winds its way through Breckland and the Thetford Forest, though on a fine spring day this stretch alongside Lakenheath Fen is as choice as any. Mind you, it can be a bleak place in mid-winter.

The valley, as it approaches the Fens, is very wide and very flat, with the river inching along almost imperceptibly. The floodbanks, on either side of the river are set back at a distance to allow the riverside meadows to flood in times of heavy rainfall. These washes, as the flooded lands are known, look like deep lakes till you spot wading birds out in the middle of them with the water barely up to their knees.

It's easy to spend all your time scanning the floodplains without paying much regard to the river itself. That would be a mistake.

That's not a log in the water but an otter, a bit of a speciality of this little stream. We spotted two of these secretive animals and apparently they have a family of young cubs, so we were told. They are mostly nocturnal so we were lucky to see these around nine in the morning.

The path runs along the top of the floodbank and at this time of year it's lined with bright yellow buttercups.

Cows, and the occasional bull, are grazed along here, though they generally stay on the lush grassland down by the river and rarely bother to climb up to the footpath.

Bully's on the extreme left of the group, if you're interested. With all those wives he's not bothered about you.

The relative smallness of the river, compared to its huge valley, was first noticed by Rev Osmond Fisher over 150 years ago. He convinced himself (but nobody else) that this was something to do with glaciation. Recently it's been shown that the sandy soil of Breckland was deposited in a large lake, formed by meltwater from the ice sheets which spread as far south as this at the end of the last Ice Age. The water from the lake eventually escaped down this valley, making it much larger as it went.

The skies were not as threatening as they look in the above photo. However it's time to turn away from the Little Ouse and make our way back through the reedbeds of Lakenheath Fen.

A Greylag Goose had some goslings hidden away in the thick green reeds. 

The wide skies continued to entertain as we wound our way back.

The line of trees are poplars: whole plantations of them were planted here by Bryant and May, manufacturers of matches. I wonder how many matchsticks you could get out of one of those trees? Since the RSPB (Royal Society for the Protection of Birds) took over the site, the water level has been allowed to rise, which is good for reedbeds, of course, though I've noticed that many of the trees are blowing over in the wind lately. I'm not sure if the two are connected, but I think they may be. The little building you can see is a lookout, just a bench with a roof over it, so you can look out over New Fen in comfort.

 And here is that view (above) and another look across the river valley (below).

         *********

Which brings us to our mystery object......

Some of you were in the right general area. In 2008 the Salthouse Annual Art Exhibition, which takes place in the church, organised a Sculpture Trail. It was some 14 miles (22.5 Km) in length and had a mixture of permanent and temporary exhibits. After fourteen years this is the only one left. It's called Monument to Salthouse Mariners and is made from parts of the old sea defences. Here's what it looked like in its prime:

(found on the internet)

As usual when searching, I found out something that had never occurred to me. These ports, even when the river channel was fully navigable, must have been incredibly difficult harbours to get in and out of. This was actually an advantage, as pirates, who were unfamiliar with the idiosyncrasies of the currents and sandbanks, could not gain access.

Take care.

A Seaside Saunter

 A seaside saunter from sunny Salthouse, in fact.

Parking in Salthouse is a free-for-all scramble for any available space around the green. It's busy on a weekday in May - probably best avoided on August Bank Holiday weekend. The cream-coloured building on the right is the village pub, The Dun Cow; but even more to my brother's liking this morning is the sign announcing that Cookie's Crab Shop is open today.

A short stroll beside the coast road brings us to the footbridge over the Catchwater Drain and onto the marshes.

The raised path leads towards the coast, between reedbeds alive with the songs of Sedge Warblers and Reed Warblers.

Glancing back over my shoulder, with Salthouse Church dominating the skyline.

Then we're down on the "beach", which here is a long shingle ridge which stretches for another six miles (9.5 Km) westwards, forming Blakeney Point, which sheltered the old ports of Blakeney Haven from the North Sea gales. It's not a very comfy surface for sunbathing, but the pastime of piling stones on top of the old sea defences is always popular.

The trudge along the shingle (no, we're not doing anything like the full six-miles!) is relieved by occasional clumps of Sea Campion.

Or cast your eyes inland across the marshes, towards the village of Cley and with Blakeney Church appearing on the horizon. The shallow pools, which are home to many birds, are all that's left of the channel which once allowed Salthouse to be a port. The distant figures are walking along the bank which leads between Arnold's Marsh and the Cley bird reserve. That's where we're heading.

The path leads us back to the coast road and the bank of gorse which bears the name of Walsey Hills. Now it may not look like much to you (apart from being so colourful), but to a migrating bird it's a vital oasis, providing shelter to recuperate after an exhausting sea crossing. For ornithologists it's a place to trap, weigh, count and then release birds, gaining insights into their movements which inform attempts at conservation.

From here there's a path leading beside and across agricultural land, all the way back to our starting point.

I've been walking paths like this all my life and like to think I can recognise most things I see, but then I find this. An elderly gentleman was coming our way, lets ask him if he knows what it is. "Ah, have you heard the cuckoo this morning? Wonderful to hear them, isn't it? I've heard a number of them today. One of my favourite birds..." and so on and so on. But he did answer my question.....eventually. Any ideas?

And there's the church appearing on the horizon. Not far now.

And we're back to Cookie's Crab Shop. If your looking for my brother Les, you won't see him; he's inside buying his crab. On our way home there's just time to stop on Salthouse Heath where the gorse should be in full bloom.

That's all for now,

Take care.