August 5th Sandford Orcas RW,TO,AC,JB,CH,BS and Scrumpy
Sandford Orcas is one of those English villages where nobody visits accidentally while driving somewhere else. You need to have the firm intention of going there or it won’t happen. Nobody takes a short cut to any destination via Sandford Orcas. Even though it nestles in the beautiful Dorset landscape not far from Sherborne or Yeovil, it’s a genuinely hidden gem. On a recce I had demonstrated why Dave normally organizes the routes by arriving in the village with the wrong OS map and zero power on my mobile so no way of finding my way around. But the visit did confirm what a lovely spot it is with some attractive buildings and clearly waymarked walks. We retired to the local pub for coffee and casually asked if they provide breakfast and so we found The Mitre would be happy to feed us on Saturday morning.
On the day we gathered in the car park of the pub and looking at the leaden skies estimated we might get a couple of hours walking before the heavens opened. Trevor discovered that he had left his spray at home and was offered the chance to return but he decided to press on, with the option of baling out if he felt unwell. Noone else in the group could offer compatible meds and the closest we got was Chris Holland advising him to chew foxgloves….they may contain digitalis but not in a carefully moderated solution. Chris later shared with us his expertise gleaned from a foraging course near Bristol which had provided a nourishing meal of various native leaves, herbs and roots…supplemented by noodles which I can’t believe you can pick even in the bosky dells of Knowle. This did not encourage Trevor to rely on his medical advice.
We set off from the pub along the high street, passing Shillers Lane and the village hall before clambering over our first stile of the morning into a large field with cows in the middle distance. To our left we had a super view of The Manor, a Tudor mansion surviving many generations in the same family and accumulating so many ghosts it has the reputation of being the most haunted house in England. With its conveniently placed church alongside, this is a classic film set for anything ranging from Elizabethan tragedy to Poirot gathering everyone in the drawing room to accuse them all of being murderers. (By the way, does everyone agree that David Suchet is Poirot whereas Kenneth Branagh is just Kenneth Branagh with a weird moustache?) Anyway, the property is on the market for six million if you want to be regularly frightened out of your wits (by the electricity bill if not the ghosts…)
We contoured round the field with our eye on the cows assembled above us until Brian spotted a very young calf nested into the hedge to our left…not moving very much which might have led us to investigate. However, Brian our farming professional advised giving the calf a wide berth as any approach might provoke the herd into protective action at the risk of injury to ourselves. Following the path, which is a stretch of the Macmillan Way, we crossed over the stream and arrived at Stafford’s Green; a farm settlement which we visited on our Rimpton walk some weeks ago. Through the farm yard, we turned left onto Winter Lane and climbed gently towards Poyntington Down. We paused briefly to ensure Trevor was ok and then turned off onto the Monarch’s Way; crossing a field of flourishing clover which Brian confirmed is planted to capture nitrogen organically rather than spray artificially. Clover also provides great food for bees.
To our left there was the wooded ridge which had started at Parrock Hill and bent round as Corton Ridge in the general southerly direction of Sherborne. Two fields away a deer grazed calmly whilst Scrumpy remained oblivious to its presence. As we approached it slid gently into the protection of the woods. We were faced with a succession of double stiles between each of the fields we left and entered. Curious that this created so much more work for farmers to build and maintain as well as challenging the knees of mature walkers. As we approached the exit stile, we noticed a gathering number of calves moving together towards us so we picked up our pace and got out just ahead of them. On the ground I found a handwritten notice warning that the field contained young stock who would follow anyone passing through…handy.
So, we came out onto Shillers Lane, heading towards Holway. At this point John showed his hand…he was very familiar with the route and predicted that we should shortly encounter llamas. He was right that we would come to Holway Farm but all we found there were assorted chickens…nothing from the Andes. We have seen these beasts on previous walks so coped with our disappointment by ribbing John…like our own Putin, his air of all-knowing invincibility punctured by lack of llamas. Branching to the right we were sloping down towards the cottages of Higher Sandford and a familiar sound arose…Adrian asking when we would get to the breakfast venue. We came out of the fields at a road junction where we paused for a photo of the letterbox and local notice board…outdoor production of Robin Hood anyone?
We turned right on the final leg of our walk back into Sandford Orcas and an appointment with bacon. At this point, one of John’s venerable walking boots took centre stage…the sole parted company with the upper and he was forced to flap his way all the way back to the Mitre. Sir John Franklin became famous in the nineteenth century as the explorer who ate his own boots when his expedition got lost in Canada. I imagine Sir John wandering in the frozen waste saying to himself “I fancy pan-fried sole for breakfast this morning”….sadly Sir John later disappeared without trace on his ship Erebus attempting to find the northwest passage through the arctic.
So we arrived back at The Mitre. Trevor had made it round the whole route and we had experienced nothing worse than a very brief shower. Our hosts made us extremely welcome with a sturdy English and John enjoyed an interesting take on the vegetarian option…featuring a rasher of bacon. Trevor snaffled the bacon before the rest of us could raise a fork. We were offered liberal quantities of toast and tea/coffee so this proved to be a great find for future outings. The confirmation of a perfectly executed plan was provided by the terrific downpour of rain as we breakfasted in the dry…the great team leaders: Alexander, Caesar, Napoleon, Captain Mainwaring and Waller!
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