Ambling from Ansford to Wyke and back
26th March 2022
RW, BS , TO plus Scrumpy and Bill
It was an elite group setting off from Caryford Fitness Centre on another morning of blue skies and bright sunshine which soon took the nip out of the March air. We decided to stay local, saving more exotic locations such as Mells for a larger turn out. Setting off along Maggs Lane, we found the drying weather of recent days has improved conditions under foot and with just the three of us talking the pace was brisk…especially with Trevor returning to the team after a break.
The landscape below and in front of us is very open and flat, with the wide open fields of Wyke farms and the view across the Brue Valley stretching away towards Glastonbury. The route fell gently down towards the railway line where the path clearly jumped the tracks and led us to a hedge line. Bill is not in great health at the moment and despite our words of encouragement he refused to join us on the other side of a gate…until Trevor gave him the scruff of the neck treatment. Two orange guys approached us at this point…either fugitives from Guantanamo Bay or railway linesmen. Their cheery greeting in Somerset accents reassured us they were not terrorist runaways.
Turning eastwards along the hedge line, there was a feisty debate about the referee’s decision to ruin Trevor’s recent trip to Twickenham by sending off Harry Ewells for dangerous play within the first two minutes of play. It was at least agreed that it was poor tackling technique rather than an intentional foul but there then followed a contentious discussion about the rules of the game…old-school rough-housing versus the modern concern for player safety and a more attractive spectacle. Predictably, Trevor was not on the side of the angels but I was surprised that a cultured classical scholar like Brian should stand up for the good old days of skulduggery and scrums that take ten minutes. Noone can argue that scrums are a fair contest and policing them seems beyond most referees…why not just restart the game like they do in rugby league and avoid all the endless resetting and penalties?
We joined the Wyke road, turning left to cross the Brue and headed towards the cheese production site which dominates this tiny hamlet with a lyrical name: Wyke Champflower. Immediately before the bridge over the track bed of the redundant S and D railway, we turned into Wyke Lane which winds round to Cole. To quote Ivo Peters , the historian of the old railway, “After a two mile run south from Evercreech..the S&D curved sharply round to the southeast, to skirt the little village of Wyke Champflower. Scenically this was a delightful spot , the line being bordered on both sides by beautiful trees”…some of which are still standing.
Passing under an old railway bridge, standing as a solitary reminder in the landscape of past glories, we wandered along listening to Brian recounting his experience of British justice and the patronising comments of a country solicitor who explained to Brian “that’s Latin you know” only for Brian to point out his own expertise as an MA in classics. There was a lengthy adventure in the world of dodgy on-line tyre trading, a trip to Wales and the triumph of good over evil worthy of a whole episode of TV’s Watchdog.
We dropped down the hill to recross the river Brue at Cole and then followed the road round to a field gate on the right which gave access eventually to the Tilley’s apple orchards. Too early in the season for blossom, this section was notable for Scrumpy finding a fresh bone which she refused to yield in spite of all the bribes and threats of her owner. We climbed to the top of the ridge which gives great views across the valley to Bottom Barn Farm and backwards towards Bruton Dove Cote and in the distance Alfred’s Tower.
At the end of the ridge, following the overlapping Leland Trail and Macmillan Way, the ground falls away into Knapp Hollow. We turned sharp right as we joined the road for a brief period and then turned into the bridle way which eventually delivered us into Maggs Lane and so back to the car.
Breakfast was booked at the George and did not disappoint. As Trevor is standing for election for Cary Town Council, he stepped across the road to glad-hand his electorate of Saturday idlers in and around the Market House…in the old days he would have been offering to buy everyone drinks in the George. Let democracy prevail...is the world ready for President Oates?
