A Bimble round Winchcombe

Winchcombe is a chocolate box Cotswold town that will be heaving in the summer but is a great location for a spring visit. Early warmth encourages the Vale of Evesham to bloom in hope that April is not the cruellest month. The delicate blossom is out on its way already. Late snowdrops, crocuses and early daffodils carpet the gardens as the wisteria shows first signs of growth after careful pruning for the summer show.

 

 

 

Winchcombe has the full range of Cotswold stone houses from a row of almshouses to fine Georgian townhouses; cottages on Vineyard Street to timbered buildings yawning at frightening angles.   The tiny gardens are manicured and pruned to perfection and there is still a sense that there is a community here which is not just dependent on second homes and holiday lets. 

 

 A vigorous band of charity reps selling daffodils for Marie Curie assured me that there was a very active community who planned plenty of activities in the town, particularly for the 'silver surfer' generation. These were not your usual chuggers but retired residents who recommended Winchcombe for dog lovers and antique hunters. I can add cheese lovers to that list with some excellent delis selling platters that have survived after the local cheese rolling festivities.  Ramblers are well catered for with walks around Sudeley Castle and along the River Isborne which is more of a stream. It is interesting to see investment in a laid trail allowing access for all in this age of increasing mobility issues and American visitors.

St Peter's Church is a good place to start a visit for famous gargoyles.

 

 Gargoyle is a great word on its own and a symbol of that British sensibility of injecting a bit of fun amidst all the puritanism. These are comical renderings of beloved local characters and some are better than others. My favourite was the mad hatter and the 40 carvings allowed some light relief after I found a headless owl in the graveyard. I took this to be a supernatural portent rather than a reminder of the vicissitudes of rural life. This place held ghostly echoes of 1643 when Royalists were lined up against the church and executed due to allegiance with Sudeley Castle.  Further talk of musket ball holes and a gilded weathercock made me retreat to the safety of the town.

 

Winchcombe station is a fair walk from the town and would benefit from a more scenic and well signposted route between the two. A horse and cart journey would be a boon for some local entrepreneur allowing visitors to park outside the congested town in Summer.   The 15 minute walk along the road passes a cemetery with a miniature gingerbread church straight out of a Hansel and Gretel tale.

 

 Two great spruce trees guard those in repose and offer shelter to weary travellers.

My Grandfather used to say the best part of a steam train journey is the soft clunk and pull as the great engine lulls the carriages from the stationary. 

 

 I remember him relaxing in a cabin with his pipe waiting for this moment, pondering a bygone generation of steam and civility.  He would be heartened to know that steam is alive and well and burgeoning in some of the most picturesque spots in the UK.

 

The Cotswold line is supported by many volunteers and allows a shared vision of the importance of this idyllic journey to the local economy which is dependent on tourism.  In its irrepressible push onward towards the gingerbread town of Broadway, all honey coloured Cotswold stone backed by the Cotswold escarpment, the line is about to realise the full potential of passing through such a stunning countryside. 

 

  It is a ‘not so secret’ gem of the Cotswolds running from Toddington near Evesham to Cheltenham Racecourse with views to the ridge of the Cotswold Hills and over to Bredon Hill and The Malverns. 

 

 

 

 

Weather comes in fast in the Cotswolds and like the topogrphy and geology is an endless fascination. 

 

 The Vale of Evesham can get very cold. I remember driving through the area on Boxing Day 2013 and it was -15 with cars pulled up on the hard shoulder unable to use the frozen screen-wash.  On many other occasions I could leave Birmingham at 3pm in rain and be in the vale an hour later in brilliant sunshine. Its micro climate means it has an abundance of sun as the surrounding hills carry all the rainfall, perfect for ripening fruit.  This creates a dramatic landscape at times where the approaching Westerlies darken the skies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

A Bimble round Clifton Oxon

As you whizz through the countryside between London and Birmingham, letting the train take the strain, you pass some pretty but seemingly unremarkable countryside. This is commuter country. Quant villages and rolling fields are punctuated by sights of the Oxford and Grand Union canals tangling with the M40.

There is a viaduct as you speed up after Banbury that carries you over a fairly non-descript area visited mostly for Bicester Village. However, the bimbler knows there is interest in all destinations and time will draw out the beauty in places. Commuterville is not the only reason this is a sought after place to live, it has secrets to unlock to the intrepid few.

 

Sometimes the weather itself can be all you need; light playing on the landscape can change ordinary scenery into magical moments.

 The November light of short days and cold clear nights can make for some striking scenes throughout the day. 

 

 Drab fields are animated by clouds full of life and the odd rainbow hints at pots of Gold. As the light dips through the sodden clouds magical things happen. In my case a double rainbow!

 

A clump of trees takes on a new dimension in the dusky light of a November evening. Late sun transforms the landscape in moments of clarity.

 

 How can I catch these fleeting glimpses in words? Perhaps a stab at poetry is my best option. Poems by William Carlos Williams came to mind as I came across this derelict barn.

 

The Red Barn

The Dance is nearly over.

Girders creak. Rust diminishes.

Colours fade and run.

Verdigris edges.

The ochre of November.

 

 

Ash and Alder line the ditches that bound fields as this is the plain of the River Cherwell. Transport routes abound invited by the natural advantages of flatter land following the route of the river.

The Duke of Cumberland’s Head is a mouthful of a pub name and a good spot for food.  It is found in Clifton which gained its name as a village which grew on the river bank.  Northamptonshire is north of the river and Oxfordshire stretches to the south and Clifton finds itself upon the southern edge and is mentioned in the Domesday book which outlines cottages and an agricultural community. The pub is a good place to start two circular walks. Both start on a green lane at the rear of the pub which takes you into fields of wheat, beans and maize. You then pop out into the manicured greenery of Banbury golf course where it is easy to lose the path. I headed East and eventually found the Oxford canal which took me to a marina or rather series of moorings by the Great Western Arms which you can just spot from the M40.  Beware of the deadly road back to Clifton as it has no verge and very fast drivers. I would push on a bit further down the canal and cross the fields back to Clifton as my life flashed before me on this twilit road as I dove into a ditch. 

https://great-westernarms.co.uk/

https://thecliftonduke.co.uk/