29th April RW, TO, PC, JB, DL, PC and Scrumpy
Things started promisingly with Trevor picking me up at 8.30. Trevor wanted to pay cash at the breakfast pub so declared an ambition to draw cash out in the High Street one-stop but surprisingly Phil was on time so we opted to go round again and call at Budgens for Free Cash Withdrawal – except that the cash machine was out of action. So we tried the High Street again without success and Trevor’s mood was not lightened by a seemingly endless anecdote by Phil about a trip to Iford Manor (which he never actually managed to enter.) We gave up on the cash search and finally, we left Bruton and arrived in South Brewham to meet the others at the entrance to the churchyard of St John the Baptist on Charcroft Hill.
Assembled in South Brewham there was a brief discussion about dress code…jumpers and gillets replaced anoraks and cagoules. Trevor in his green trilby was channelling Bing Crosby rather than Che Guevara. Having predicted a slippery patch en route I had armed myself with a stout walking stick and off we set. Scrumpy, missing her regular walking companion Sully, was content to stay within the pack. We struck out along Street Lane passing between some lovely old Somerset cottages with horse yards and well-maintained gardens until we reached a wiggle in the road and a footpath signed off to the right.
There was a discussion of the options to take a clockwise or anticlockwise route…until it was pointed out that as Deputy Routemaster I should be decisive. So we followed the footpath into the field and made our way to a fenced off area corralling nursing ewes and lambs. Our way was blocked by parallel strands of electric fencing. Stepping gingerly over the wire we walked over and followed the hedge to the corner where a kissing gate took us into the bottom of a wooded area. Ground conditions were indeed muddy here and a predictable mutinous muttering broke out. We paused to admire a fine old oak tree in the woods and then slid our way uphill to a collection of polytunnels at Shave Farm. Wry comments were made as to Government planners filling these tunnels with asylum seekers or refugees from the Sudan….
Breaking through the hedge-line into open ground we could now make out the landmark Alfred’s Tower above and ahead of us through the lifting mists. From this angle it really strikes you as a Gothic carbuncle like a Hammer Horror setting brought in from Transylvania. Skirting successive fields of young maze we continued to gain height as we passed into more manicured pastures with fenced off spinneys of native species. These felt like pastures for horses. The footpath was well-trodden as it led up up to meet the minor road which climbs Kingsettle Hill. There was a well-maintained gate out onto the road and another shortly taking back into fields where we paused for a breather and lollies provided by Deryck.
We forged our way across the 40 acre field , passing two solitary oaks into a corner gate/bridge over a stream and then climbed a slight rise to look down on Holland Farm. This featured a very large fairly new build mansion which we previously viewed from the heights of Alfred’s Tower. There followed a discussion about whether this is Sarah Beeny’s TV featured home (I don’t think so). The set up all feels a bit faked up and doesn’t sit well in a Somerset landscape.
We made our way back into South Brewham in strengthening sunshine, passing a lovely property called Haven Farm flying the Welsh dragon (not a Wyvern!). We paused to admire that classic feature of true Somerset farmyards…the collection of rusting old rubbish romanticised by local artist Michael Cooper.
We crossed over a lively tributary streaming into the River Brue (or Brew) which gives the village its name. At the junction of Street Lane with Charcroft Hill we viewed the long-closed premises of The Plough which Richard once had a beer in and remembers as an empty bar and a very old-style jukebox. John believes the owners may have won the lottery or pools and so packed in the dreary landlord caper for good. Arrived back at the cars.
We had a short journey to North Brewham and the Old Red Lion where we enjoyed the best breakfast as usual including black pudding and endless tea and toast. Great value. Phil then started reminiscing about his uncle who worked in an abattoir who brought the family a regular supply of oxlungs and then moved on to his gran’s machine for converting butter into fresh cream…to prove the existence of this wonder gadget he traced one online and shared it with us all. If you want one please contact Mr Phillip Clackson direct….. meanwhile here is the Victorian era postbox at North Brewham
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