Short and steep, between the churches.

Sat 14 Jun ‘25. DH, TO, DL, Albus & Maisie

We all have the great pleasure of being fathers and for some even grandfathers, so it’s no surprise that this Fathers Day weekend there were a few more absent on family duties than normal, leaving just three of us to keep the Walking Dead flag flying. Before I knew how few of us there would be I had planned a route over Frome way, but once the numbers were in I changed it to something more local. As such I opted to repeat some of the the first walk around Shepton Montague that Richard and myself undertook post Covid 1.1 as we met at the church hall, roughly mid way between Wincanton & Castle Cary. Despite living in the area for many years, and no doubt sinking a few pints in the Monty, Trevor had to research the RV location, having no idea where the place of worship was in the large sprawling parish of Shepton Montague.

It was a bright morning although there was a small percentage chance of some rain, but we all opted to leave behind any coats and with sun hats all round set off for a short but steep walk around the Somerset countryside. The 13th Century church of Saint Peter was looking good against the morning sky. It was seriously damaged by a fire in 1964 and restored two years later and has been designated as a Grade II listed building. We passed by the war memorial with just five names on it, one of who I have been in touch with the family of in recent years and have even had the pleasure of seeing his medals and World War 1 penny. I have also had the privilege to read his last letter home which was sent from the Wester Front but actually not received in Somerset before he had been killed in action in the Third battle of Ypres in August 1917. Private William Arthur King has no known grave but is remembered on the Tyne Cot memorial in Belgium.

We carried on down the road before turning left into a field of corn and then through to a orchard of young trees. On a post by the trees was a sign explaining the orchard layout and showing the type of tree on a row and column grid. There was a good mix of heritage dessert and cookers with names such as Lord Lambourne, Greasy Butcher, Blenheim Orange and Pomeroy of Somerset, as well as the more well known Cox’s Orange Pippin, Braeburn and Bramley. In the next field, with a similar list was another more mature selection with a good amount of young apples on their branches.

Dereck, always on the lookout of getting a good photo of Albus to send to his legitimate owner, managed to capture both dogs in a well timed selfie. We turned left at the end of the second field and walked up the first of our steep inclines through a small wooded area and into a field of young oats. (Not to be confused with the offspring of our own Oays). There was a gorgeous view eastwards across the field to Alfreds tower but considering all the effort put in in the previous couple of fields to encourage the growth of heritage crops, it was pretty disappointing to see a very large mound of old tyres just abandoned on this hill top, no doubt leeching lots of nasty chemicals onto the ground and eventually the local streams. Surely someone (maybe a not short of a penny farmer) , could pay to remove this huge blot on the landscape!

We turned right along a well hidden track and we’re soon coming out onto a small lane near the crest of a short hill. At this point, having turned a few changes of direction since we set of, both my colleagues were totally lost or disoriented for a short while as they tried to work out exactly where they were. It’s a good job we didn’t need to get to the aforementioned pub as Deryck would have happily had us walk 180 degrees in the wrong direction.

Once everyone had recovered their bearings we crested the hill by the gateway to the local fishing lakes and turned right, signposted to Bratton Seymour. There was a brief respite as we dropped down to cross a small stream, a tributary of the River Pitt of Pitcombe fame, before the climbing started again.

We knew it would be a long and steady climb so started off nice and slowly, stopping to ‘enjoy the views’ every so often as the gradient got steeper. At one point we could hear lots of talking behind us and before we knew it a group of half a dozen cyclists breezed past as if we were standing still, well actually we were to get out of their way. At one of the larger open gateways there were tremendous views eastwards towards Alfred’s tower so decided it was a good opportunity for this weeks rather exclusive group photo. We passed a couple of large properties and then as the road levelled out took a very narrow and seldom used steep path up to the church yard. For those interested the village is named in the Doomsday book as Broctune, an earlier version meaning Brook-town, possibly from the aforementioned stream which rises in the village and the ‘Seymour’ qualifier is a corruption of the French ‘Saint-Maur’, the family name of the local landowner who is supposed to have taken possession of the manor in the fourteenth century.

The 12th century church of St Nicholas is totally hidden from the surrounding countryside by the tall trees, but as we emerged from them the sight of its small Somerset square tower against the blue skies was stunning. The church is grade II* listed although it is also on Historic Englands Heritage at Risk list. We ventured inside briefly and opposite the door was the stone font, believed to date back to the 13th Century. On the near wall on the left side of the door was a list of the incumbents started back in 1311 and on the right side a memorial to a son of a local family who also lost his life in World War 1. Private John Charles Hodges was one of thousands who lost his life during the Battle of the Somme. How many colleagues he lost and how many brushes with death he went through between the start on 1 July and his death on 30 July 1916 we will never know. The Roll of Honour of the 12th Gloucesters show that they were in action in Montauban-de-Picardie, a small village to the east of Albert on the 30th. He has no known grave but is remembered along with 72,310 other soldiers on the Thiepval memorial, France.

Leaving the church we took the vehicular access road which leads up to the Bratton House, a large house now split into flats but once location of the Hall School, a girls school founded in Weybridge, Surrey, in 1898, which at the outbreak of war in 1939, moved to Bratton Seymour, where it remained until its closure in 1983. Once back on the road we eventually found the route through a farmyard and started our steady descent across fields. Looking back at the houses we we passing below they not only had great views but made the very most of them with large windows and bedroom balcony’s. Perfect for watching the sun rise over a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea. Alright for some!

We dropped height quickly as we passed through a very uneven field with the remnants of training cross country style jumps in. At the bottom corner we had to bash away the nettles and look out for low hanging brambles as we passed through a small wooded area, certainly not a path that’s walked by others too often. The dogs were quickly put back on their leads as a couple of dark fleeced sheep were spotted, although they soon headed off away from us. We approached the rear of a couple of bungalows and were a bit confused with a path diversion sign we came across by a bridge across a ditch, although according to my map this was the indicated right of way. Trevor pushed on through but Deryck and myself presumed the diversion was prior to the sign and so tried a different route. In the end we all ended up following the path exactly as shown on the map, so not sure what the ambiguous sign was all about.

We emerged on the road and started looking for our next path in the hedgerow opposite. There was no finger post visible but eventually we found a gap in the hedge with a gate at the far side, however it was so overgrown we decided to give it a miss and follow the road back to the cars, where we arrived having completed the 3.36 mile route with almost 300 feet of climb in 1 hour 50 minutes

Trevor headed straight off to ensure our breakfast orders were placed in good time at the George, with Deryck and myself following swiftly behind. By the time we arrived Trevor was still chatting to mates, so we grabbed a table in the rear area and took our seats to peruse the menu. Dereck went posh on us with eggs Royale (and a spare sausage for Albus), whilst Trev and myself opted for the traditional breakfast. Good service and another good tasty breakfast. We will miss this place if and when it eventually gets shut down and transformed by Mr Newt & co!

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