A Bimble around Christmas Common

The Chiltern escarpment ridge is familiar to anyone who has driven along the mind-numbing M40 bombing from Brum to Landan town. It is the place where interest picks up as you start a counting game. This is the land of the Red Kite, top of the food chain, majestic whirlybird.

 

One, two then they are everywhere, their wings catching thermals of heat from the blacktop and their beady eyes tracking roadkill. As the motorway cuts through the chalk of this ridge the Kites soar above. This is the scene made famous by the opening title sequence of The Vicar of Dibley a sit-com satirising all the clichés of middle England. The eponymous Vicar thrives in this most English of counties, Oxfordshire.  Within earshot of the roar of the motorway lies a typically quaint Oxon town, Watlington, in the heart of what is also termed the stockbroker belt. Weekend retreats from the hullabaloo of the city are carefully maintained to a manicured perfection.  Entering this world of model villages the Chilterns are a vision of the England of tourist brochures and an ordered rural idyll.

 

Wealth is evident and houses are status symbols; everything is in its right place. Wisteria is pruned and bushes are topiarised. Beautiful houses appear amongst the beech woodlands, wooden cladding on Oxfordshire stone. Architecturally stunning often with a tennis court or swimming pool to match the neighbours. There is a sense of space and light and the beech tree is synonymous with this area.

 

Its shallow roots and light canopy create a unique landscape that invites the walker to explore in an atmosphere of sun dappled wonder.  I had been reading 'Beechcombings' by Richard Mabey which inspired thus visit to dally in the glades that I often pass through without stopping. The poem by W.H. Davies also came to mind, 'What is life if full of care we have no time to stand and stare. ' THis time I was determined to get out and explore.

Christmas Common is above Watlington on the escarpment and is a short drive up Watlington Hill to the National Trust car park.  Degrees of wealth are measured in ever grander homes. The pub lies amongst private estates and the imperative on the door reminds you where you are, ‘Don’t bring the Chilterns in here with you.’ Fit in or you are gently unwelcome. You are not one of us.  Pubs in places like this are now really restaurants maximising the intake with some nod to the flagstone charm of the old village pub. It does a great Ploughman’s lunch if you are prepared to sit outside and pork pies are available at the bar.  A perfect spot for bumbling.

http://topfoxpub.co.uk/

From here you can dive into the beech woods and it is easy to lose oneself in a myriad of paths, surprisingly easy to feel alone and out of reach until you stumble across a sign saying private property of a palatial manor such as the Wormley Estate or hear a pheasant being shot.  To enable the estate to bring in money and function as a going concern, shooting, hunting and beating parties are popular; much as they were in medieval feudal Britain. This is where London city gents get their fix of shooting birds to register their status as a country gent. This feeling of trespassing sticks in the craw as there is a thin line here about what is common ground and footpath and what is privately owned.  I blundered on conscious that I may need to plead ignorance at any moment in case I was accosted by an angry gamekeeper or blasted by a fully loaded chartered accountant.  Bluebells adorn the carpet as the deciduous trees allow for biodiversity and really let the light in.

 

Enough of the status envy! It is no wonder those who can afford it move to the Chilterns, it is easy to fall for the tranquillity of the beech woods, the comforting home of Winnie the Pooh and the Wind in the Willows. Footpaths bear you through a range of topography and the loop from the pub at Christmas Common to Watlington Hill is a good example of the range.

 

 You begin in stately Beech woods and look out upn the plains of Oxfordshire scanning the horizon for the dreaming spires. Looking South you can see the last remaining towers of Didcot power station on the horizon.  You descend into the vale and then return via an ancient Holloway that has been restored by volunteers. Ancient Yew trees line this sunken way and one was sawn in cross section revealing the pattern in the wood.  The wood of this tree is striking in cross section. A chainsaw and some oil and varnish and this log could be turned into art.  I settled for a photograph.  

Further descent takes you into Watlington with some fine delis to reward the adventurous. An arrow carved into the hillside guides your way which is a local folly which aligns with the church steeple and is more impressive from a distance. The Ridgway also passes the base of Watlington Hill before it crosses the motorway or heads off in to Oxfordshire and I took the opportunity to bag another section toward Shirburn Hill.

 

 I had the hill to myself and the Moles with Kites circling above. A strenuous burst brought me back onto the escarpment and above the M40 where the track dives back into the beech woods of the Wormley Estate until you hopefully pop out again at Christmas Common.  I will visit again for a burst of nature and fresh air on the way to somewhere else.