19th March , Bourton in North Dorset
RW, PC, IP, DL, Scrumpy and Nimbus
There was last minute change of plan this week as our Red Leader succumbed to Covid, joining a list of absentees that stretched to the Cheltenham race track. So, we postponed a trip to East Pennard and assembled at the White Lion in Bourton. Too early for the pub, we decided to follow a circular walk round the interesting village which has been a significant stop on the old London road and a centre for heavy industry and munitions production during world wars. Now it has been bypassed by the A303 the village nestles in the landscape at the upper reaches of the river Stour and provides some very nice places to live and attractive walking country.
It should be made clear at this point that as we got our boots and coats on, Deryck was definitely preparing his extendable Nordic pole for use on the walk. However, he soon got drawn into conversation with Richard about the proposed route…using the old-fashioned methods of ordinance survey map and the position of the sun in the sky. It probably didn’t help that Deryck didn’t have his reading glasses with him. Fortunately, it was a glorious sunny morning with blue skies all around us so we set off in optimistic mood.
Following the course of the old High Street (now very much reduced to a back lane) for a brief step, we then branched off northwards on the clearly signed footpath across fields until we reached the entrance to Bullpits Golf Club. By now, Deryck had realised he did not have his stick with him and as this is our equivalent of a machete we were all hoping not to encounter too much jungle growth on the course.
Even for non-golfers, it was apparent that this is an idyllic setting and a challenging course and Iain was soon regaling us with tales of disaster where the whole foursome had smacked their golfballs into the pond or leat. The site was previously a water-powered mill and there is evidence of the Stour being harnessed for power…which eventually ended in a disastrous flood in 1917. We climbed gently behind the course towards Penn Selwood village where we briefly followed a section of a route we had approached from the other direction to visit a motte and bailey site at Row Farm.
We passed a settlement called Castle Orchard and encountered the only stile of the whole trip. There arose a discussion between Richard and Deryck at this point as to the next move and we decided to turn southwest and skirt some woodlands to head more or less back towards Bourton. We paused by a disused letterbox where the owners specifically requested the postie not to put anything in the box for one of Deryck’s customary lolly-breaks. This restored morale (there had been a lot of muttering in the ranks about missing Dave and how we didn’t seem to know where we were going) and we dropped down onto Coombe Street, crossing the inevitable section of Monarch’s Way. Charles the Second seems to have taken a walk in every district we have visited as a group.
We encountered a very cheery old gaffer who was either totally confused or shared a waspish sense of humour with us…he could have fitted in very well with our group. We turned left off the metalled road onto a clear footpath which dropped us back down into Bourton.
Crossing the main road through Bourton, amazingly the course of the A303 until the 1990s, we then followed Brickyard Lane past some attractive stone-built cottages. The path for the first time became very muddy underfoot and the muttering started up again but as we stepped out into green fields the mood improved and we came down to a ford across the Stour. Fortunately there was a sturdy iron footbridge as well so we crossed into a lane leading past Card’s Farm. Here some very old and attractive mill buildings featured an outside brick oven…presumably once enclosed by a long-gone kitchen area.
We recrossed the old A303 and followed the High Street round to the waiting cars to be greeted by the sight of Deryck’s Nordic walking pole helpfully stuck in the ground where he had left it. The whole walk had taken about an hour and forty-five minutes which meant we were well-placed for a short drive to the Cale Park Café in Wincanton and a sturdy breakfast. The sun continued to shine brightly as we sat outside and enjoyed the grub..my fried eggs arrived as a separate item for some reason but everyone was happy with the fare. Although Scrumpy missed her companion in adventure, Sullivan, she had enjoyed a lively walk and Nimbus had restrained his natural urges towards any other dog so Iain’s arm had not been wrenched out of its socket at all.
