Gloucester

I left Dursley and headed off into the weakening gale. Deep in thought and as usual first thing in the morning I missed the B road and after a while thought the road unusually busy. After a quick GPS check I was astonished to find I’d missed the Uley turn off and was on the A road. Cursing my lack of concentration I struck into the woods (Folly Wood) and navigated my way back to the B road into the pretty town of Uley.

A woman I passed asked if I was crazy out walking in this weather but I smiled knowing I was dry and warm.

Just above Uley was yet another massive hilltop fortress; Uley Bury, so extensive I decided not to walk round it but to press on. Further on was yet another barrow; Nymphield Long Barrow, some 5000 years old from the Neolithic era. A man out walking his dog chatted to me. I asked if he had walked any of the Cotswolds Way and he said he hadn’t because he ‘lived locally.’ I noted that the Cotswolds Way has been the best maintained and signposted National Trail I had walked on, in spite of its meanderings.

The trail passed through the picturesque town of Painswick where I lingered for refreshments in the one pub still trading and to take photos and pressed on to Gloucester knowing it to be a longish hike.

My final approach to Gloucester was through the Council Estate and over Gloucester’s highest wooded hilltop which I was too tired to appreciate and finally down into Gloucester to meet Kathy who had kindly offered me a spare bed for the night.

Over a lovely vegetarian dinner Kathy had prepared we discussed places we’d worked and Kathy astonished me with her experiences teaching in countries that included the Falklands (twice), Sudan, Nigeria, Poland and her other travels in the Ukraine and elsewhere.

The following morning I was just not up to travelling and knowing something of the attractions of Gloucester Kathy offered to accompany me on a tour of Gloucester town centre and the Cathedral.

In the Cathedral we were joined by a Cathedral Guide who seemed happy to spend his entire day with us there. Thanks to his and Kathy’s knowledge I can now claim to have walked in the steps of William the Conqueror and Henry VIII. I was also able to admire the tomb of Edward II (reference Braveheart the movie) and the place in which Edward III? (check) was crowned and the Chapter room that was basically the HQ for compiling the Doomsday Book. And the beautifully vaulted cloisters used as a setting for one of the Harry Potter films.

Another of the Cathedrals claims to fame is in being one of the few former monasteries left standing by Henry VIII because its associations with former monarchs.

The Guide’s information on the ambitions and schemings of the rulers and influential families of the era were just too much to take in. The Guide then handed us over to another Guide to visit the Crypt where the Guide pointed out the structural aspects the cathedrals foundations, the corruption of the Church in the middle ages (payments for monks prayers to avoid Purgatory) and the place where hundreds of monks had spent their last night on mortal earth.

Sadly no one was playing the magnificent church organ with its 4000 pipes.

I spent much of the evening planning the next few nights accommodation, but advice from local Tourist Office indicated little in the way of accommodation up ahead in Tewkesbury. I also realised that I had not researched the Severn Way and that there was oddly little to offer on the web.

Dursley

I set off from the Portcullis Inn at Tomarton at 7am into moderate gale armed with a packed breakfast and litre of orange juice (the Landlord said he didn’t get up till 9am).

I made good progress across the fields to Old Sodbury. As I walked past the Dog Inn (where I’d considered staying) I spotted a very comfortable looking Village Hall. I decided to investigate and found it unlocked. It was warm and spacious and had toilets and showers. To think I could have camped there the night for free with the pub just down the road.

I continued on up to magnificent Sodbury hill fort further north. It was so huge it was difficult to capture on camera.

Further north I deviated away from the fields onto a B road to make faster progress and was glad of it because of the many lovely old buildings I passed. I stumbled upon the National Trust property of Horton Court and wandered into the grounds in spite of it being closed today. Some National Trust staff kindly let me stroll round and take photos. I must remember to discover its history.

Much of the day was just a trudge through the rain, but I had my thoughts to keep me company.

Just north of Wotton-under-Edge I passed three couples heading south walking the Cotswolds Way as part of an organised tour (no backpacks) and we chatted on features and accommodation options up ahead which they said were scarce and pricey.

After a short climb I found the monument to the Battle of Waterloo, then a further climb to the monument to local boy William Tyndal (BA Oxford 1512) who translated the New Testament into English (so people could actually read it). The German Emperor burnt him at the stake for his trouble for this and for one other religious thing or another. I would have climbed the spiral stairs to the top for a better view except the view from the ground was rained in so I passed, not needing the exercise especially.

As I approached Dursley I took a shortcut through a dense forest that had dozens of unmarked footpaths going off in all meandering directions. I learnt to navigate with map and compass today finally, what with the tree and cloud cover causing the GPS to give up on telling me where I was.

As I came down out of the forest I came onto the main road heading north west into Dursley. I was intent on pressing on northeast a few more hours to Uley and beyond, to whatever lean and expensive accommodation pickings presented themselves. I was definitely not camping tonight. Seeing Dursley not too far off I decided to head for the shelter of its nearest pub to make some phone calls for accommodation ahead. The pub mentioned another pub nearby that did accommodation.

Dursley is a pretty town with a lovely market square building (with an interesting history), a pedestrian mall with views of the wooded hills above from either end, a swimming pool and a huge supermarket which sold wine, baguettes and custard cream biscuits. It sold other stuff too.

The Bell Hotel offered a semi en-suite room for £24 including full English breakfast. All thoughts of trudging on another few hours into the driving rain evaporated. The landlord was the exact opposite of the landlord of the previous night and he immediately qualified as my best friend (my apologies to now diplaced best friends). The room was enormous with twin beds, a Digital TV that worked, free wifi and everything else one could expect for far more. The landlord also made his drying room available to me noting the miserable wet condition in which I arrived. I expect he even laid on the two hours of bell ringing in the church across the road for me. And the chippy several doors down.

Tomarton

I returned to Bath to resume Stage 2 of my walk after leaving my London ‘Base Camp,’ generously provided and managed by David and Marilyn.

I set off afresh with the Queens’ Jubilee celebrations in London behind me, a new smaller and lighter backpack, a few more items jettisoned, the laptop (less battery) taken on board, and the gross backpack weight down to a manageable 10kgs. This still includes camping gear (as backup) but no cooking gear or food. And the boots reheeled and strips of leather sown in behind the heels to stop the blisters.

It felt odd returning to Bath again. Two retired couples in the YHA were from Tasmania, travelling for several months after renting out their houses back in Australia. Not for them the Grey Nomad campervan tour round Australia. A couple of Dutch men were cycling from John O’Groats to Lands End.

The weather started drizzly but soon cleared and after organising a broadband dongle for my laptop I was away up the hill out of Bath. I missed out on the pretty route with views over Bristol and Wells because of my late start but took a direct route to Hanging Hill, then the site of the site of the 1643 Battle of Landsdown. Here Sir William Waller and Sir Ralph Hopton, school friends who’d fought side by side before, found themselves commanding opposite sides on that occasion. But they remained friends all the same (at least up to the battle). And at this battle ‘more men of quality died than private men’ apparently. I suppose there are several ways that may have occurred or could be interpreted.

Today followed the Cotswolds Way, a National Path that meanders all over the place. I took deliberate shortcuts here and there, and long-cuts sometimes by accident.

A group of walkers coming the opposite way filled me in on accommodation ahead, including not to stay at the very pub I’d booked into.

I passed a house that looked strangely sombre. An old woman standing at a side door dressed in black said it was haunted, and closed the door as she spoke. She didn’t appear in the photo I took – maybe because the door was closed.

Soon after I met Jim & Moyra sitting having a coffee on a bench, walking the Cotswold Way but having done most LEJOG; and the Camino de Santiago – from France and from Southern Spain. Being Scots they had all sorts of advice for me on the ‘top end.’

I reached Tomarton, just short of my destination Old Sodbury, but glad to shelter from the darkening skies. The landlord was certainly a ‘character’ who confessed to having  no enthusiasm for the accommodation side of the business. It showed. But it was cheaper by far than elsewhere, the shower was hot, the beds soft, the room warm and the tumble dryer at my disposal. Luxury! Better than a tent on a night of forecast gathering high wind and heavy rain.

Alas my destination tomorrow night remains uncertain. And accommodation ahead either scarce or exorbitant and no formal campsites to be found.

Bath

I woke felt terribly guilty about staying in a decent hotel when I could have wild camped nearby but the guilt quickly dissipated over the full English breakfast included.

The town of Haydon lay nearby (but not on my route) so I decided to visit it before checking out and without the backpack.

I asked a man passing, out walking his dog, to take a photo of me alongside the sign. This involved me holding his dog which then ran off and nearly came to grief under a passing minibus. It could have been worse - it could have been my dog.

I set off along my newly discovered route mostly along a former railway line and adjacent river and accompanying National cycle route.

I spotted a house that I thought might be a former railway house and got chatting to the owner, a New Zealander long since retired to England. He mentioned a 5000 year old longbarrow nearby that one could enter and easily  explore its many chambers with a torch, and the remains of a Roman Villa in an nearby field. Once again I felt compelled to diverge from my already diverged path.

After exploring the long barrow I returned to my route which led me back to another charm packed village with an equally charming tiny pub.  There the landlord mentioned some nearby former railway buildings including a signal box and station, now both converted into homes.

At The Station I met Janet the owner and her visitor Caroline. Janet was a wealth of information on alternative accommodation having cycled LEJOG before it was popular and now walking the entire coast of Britain in installments.

Janet was very kindly the first person on my journey to offer me a glass of  something refreshing - in this case elderflower. Small world; I bumped into Caroline in Bath as I approached the Railway Station on my 'resupply' visit back to London.

The entire day was punctuated by so many magnificent old railway viaducts that I stopped taking photos of them.

As I neared Bath I decided to divert from my path opting for a more direct approach into Bath YHA. At one point I mistook the path and walked through someone's garden and out the back gate before I realised my mistake.

The Bath YHA was at almost the highest point in the city (aren't all YHA's) to discover another spacious Georgian mansion.

After checking in, showering and changing I decided to visit the local store (at the bottom of the hill) to discover the adjacent Avon Canal. By taking the shortcut to the YHA I'd missed the best bit (according to a woman in narrow boat I got chatting to) so have decided to return to it tomorrow and linger in Bath, the end of the South West England leg.

In the YHA I met several 'interesting people:' Julian from the Czech Republic was cycling here and there and camping in people's gardens where people took pity on him.

Also in the YHA was Fiona (originally from West London) and her son Thomas from Sydney having some quality time travelling here and there in Britain.

And the relief manager was from Melbourne. There's just no getting away from them.

Before hitting the sack I met Carlos from Argentina, traveling here and there by bus. His English was not so good so  shared his views with me in  Spanish till late about the dire state of politics and the economy in his home country.

Midsomer Murders

As I left Glastonbury I passed the church in which I'd missed the organ recital yesterday. I decided to attend the service in progress to spend some moments in tribute to my brother-in-law who'd died unexpectedly and suddenly a few days earlier. It was the first

time I'd attended a regular church service since my childhood. Vale Graham.

As I left Glastonbury I realised I hadn't yet finished with the 'Levels' and set a course for the town of Wells. It was not on my planned route but I recalled it had a magnificent cathedral.

A short part of the route lay across farmland (Bishops Way) and once again I was confronted with a big herd of cattle -  Herefords I think. One of them persistantly tried to outbluff me with a charge but my own charge and yelled profanities won the day and they gave up trying to scare me. I think it must be just this breed because most cattle ignore me as I walk through them. Even bulls generally ignore me (but then so do a lot of people). I'd heard too in recent days that a farmer had died somewhere in the South West under his heard of cattle.

I reached Wells just on lunchtime and stopped at the first pub to rest and rehydrate after yet another day of high temperatures. As I ordered my usual (disappointing for some) pint of cordial I noticed the entire bar spread with a banquet of counter snacks of pies pasties and the like. The barman seeing my sunburnt and sweaty state urged me on in spite of my modest drinks outlay.

The closer into the town centre I reached the more interesting Wells became. I'd no idea it was of such ecumenical importance with a beautiful moated Bishops Palace and too much antiquity to describe here.

Sometimes the best discoveries are those made before reading the guidebooks.

After touring the grounds if the Bishops Palace I then entered the cathedral proper. And I might add made the recommended entry donation - unlike the whole German tour group in front of me.

The cathedral and cloisters are among the moat stunning I've seen. I found it so hard to tear myself away. Even as I did yet more beautiful ecumenical buildings lined my route out of town. I will return!

I returned to my planned route feeling a little delinquent. I came to a cross roads of back lanes that had, all in the radius of about one kilometre, the following:

- a cafe (attached to a rural landscape supplies centre) that made nice cappuccinos;

- a castle mound;

- a roman road (site of);

- several railway bridges; and

- and old railway station.

At first the 'Private Property' and 'Beware of Dog' signs made me pause in approaching the Sation. But I thought the dog threat a challenge so wandered in to find a very friendly and informative Lee (from Deptford), who recounted what he knew of the station's fascinating history (too much info for this Blog).

As I neared Midsomer Murders (woops I mean Midsomer Norton) I started to get anxious about a bed for the night. The hotel I thought I'd lined up weeks before was not answering the phone. Nor was my fallback B&B.

I checked with every Pub / Inn / Tavern that I passed but it all pointed to wild camping or more up market accommodation then my normal range for this adventure.

The prevailing opinion of the locals was that a hotel in the next town of Radstock was my only option. As it turned out my route there took me along a new and charming 'Rail Trail' at the end of which I found my accommodation finally at 7:30pm. In fact I found several perfect wild pitches within  a few hundred meters of the hotel but the opportunity of a shower and all the other pleasures of a decent hotel room got the better of me.

And just up the road was the town of 'Haydon' waiting for me to explore tomorrow.

Glastonbury

Tess and Richard kindly dropped me off at the same place from where Richard had picked me up yesterday and I set off for the Somerset town of Street without any accommodation booked.

I knew it wa going to be a long day because I stopped short of Taunton yesterday and set off late today.

Once I reached Taunton I followed  the canal until I'd seen enough of it (with not a canal boat, lock or other canal paraphernalia to be seen) and decided to follow some back roads to the 'Somerset Levels.'

The 'Levels' were interesting in their own way; formerly marshes long since drained. A ruined church above a mound within the Levels was impressive, but not enough for me to climb up to it.

Once across the 'Levels' as I neared Street I looked for accommodation but apart from an Inn well short of Street there was none to be found. I stopped at a pub to rehydrate and the locals suggested  I pushed onto Glastonbury that had a Travelodge and Backpackers pub so I decided to take the first thing available.

The Travelodge had no vacancies so I rang the Backpackers pub which had a bunk so finally arrived there at 8pm and booked in without further ado. It was the usual dive but I was deperate after walking 26 miles (a marathon) and the fourth day of 28 degrees heat. Not that I noticed.

After checking in and showering I had a walk to discover two decent hotels  with vacancies nearby but I was too tired to decamp.

Glastonbury certainly has it's fair share of antiquity and pubs on offer so I did a quick recce of both and after checking my route for tomorrow and accommodation options for the next few days collapsed into bed.

It had been my longest haul yet and fueled only on a slice of toast for breakfast and a 'Somerset pastie' picked up along the way plus countless rehydrations of blackcurrent at every pub I passed. As a consequence I have noticed that once familiar modest rolls of fat have now deserted me.

And oddly I'd met no one along my way to share my day.

Wellington

Frank kindly dropped me off from where Maisie had picked me up in Tiverton and I climbed to the start of the 'canal to nowhere.'

After a few miles I realised I had not taken the opportunity to visit Tiverton itself. Oh well some other time.

The Grand Western Canal extends about 11 miles from Tiverton to a small pipe under a back road well short of Wellington. It's completion and connection to the nearby Taunton to Bridgewater Canal (and thereby the sea) a victim of the then emerging age of steam railway.

The canal itself was beautifully clear revealing all the sticklebacks, various pond insects and plants I recalled from messing around in English waterholes as a child.

 
 

Shortly into my walk another walker approached in hi-viz gear. He was walking the JOGLE - in 30 days - in aid of Motor Neurone Disease, doing 30 miles a day along mostly major roads.

 

As I neared the end of the canal the urge to have a 'wild swim' overcame me. Alas the cool temperature urged me not to linger too long.

 

After leaving the canal end I briefly followed the nearby watercourse then struck a course cross country to find a pub for my now routine lunchtime pint or two (sadly of blackcurrent cordial).

It was a sunny day, I was listened to my Irish music, and today I had 2kgs less in my backpack. Coming down a hill towards an intersection I found myself dancing a jig. I expect the woman driving by thought she'd come across the dancing hillbilly from the movie 'Deliverance,' or the dancing yokel from the movie 'Far from the Madding Crowd.'

Early in the afternoon I was persuaded to follow the signs to a local antique fair being held in Cothy Manor.

As I wandered round the Manors' gardens I recognised the woman bustling across the lawns and realised it was the Cothy Manor that had featured in the BBC program Country House Rescue. I'd seen it only a few weeks earlier.

 




After chatting to one of the son in laws I set off at a fast pace to try to make the time so as to reach Taunton at a reasonable hour.

Somewhat shorter of Taunton than I hoped Richard picked me up at our rendezvous and took me back to Tess and their house just a short distance from my wild swim opportunity.

Over dinner Tess & Richard entrtained me with their experiences travel in Australia New Zealnd and Mongolia.