Christopher Somerville

First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window

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A gorgeous cold blue day, a proper sunny start-of-spring morning over the Lincolnshire Wolds. Seen from afar as a modest green bar on the horizon, the Wolds loomed close to as a considerable wall. This long whaleback of limestone and ironstone rises some 300 feet above the Lincolnshire plains, a height lent grandeur by the flatness of the surrounding landscape. Views west and south from the top are quite spectacular in clear weather, and that’s exactly what today held in prospect.

Claxby to Normanby-le-Wold, suggested the map, and then on via Otby and Walesby to Risby. So many ‘-by’s in this part of the world – the Norse word for a farmstead, denoting where 9^th century Danish invaders settled and beat their swords into ploughshares (to some extent). I strode out up the hill from Claxby, picturing the village’s founder, one Klakkr – rather a fierce fighter, I guessed, carrying the smack and clatter of swords in his name. Up in the wind on the wold top at Normanby, I found the Viking Way long distance path and followed its horned helmet symbols down to lonely Otby on its ridge, then on to Walesby tucked into the valley below.

Walesby folk have not always dwelt in the vale. Their 14^th century forebears fled the plague-blasted settlement around the church of St Andrew on the hill. Today’s low sun picked out the ancient foundations of their houses and fields around St Andrew’s – known to generations as the ‘Ramblers Church’. It became the focus of local walkers’ expeditions in the 1930s, when it stood in romantic ruins. Nowadays there’s a most beautiful stained glass window depicting a red-robed Christ beckoning across a cornfield to a trio of clean-limbed young ramblers of the old school, while a brace of 1950s cyclists waits to attract his attention.

Medieval masons carved a jostle of cheeky, coarse-featured faces among the stone foliage of the nave pillars. I took some snaps and had a chuckle, then followed the Viking Way on along the ridge. Near Walesby Top a herd of 40 red deer watched me pass. The flock of pedigree Lincoln long-wool sheep at Risby – hefty beasts with a llama-like hauteur – stared through their floppy fringes as if mesmerised. And I stared back beyond them, way beyond my homeward path and out west to the edge of sight, where an apocalyptic setting sun sent Blakean shafts from blackening clouds to pick out the two towers of Lincoln cathedral on their ridge some twenty miles away.

Start & finish: Claxby, Lincolnshire (OS ref TF 114944)

Getting there: Claxby is signed from A46 (Market Rasen-Caistor)

Walk: (8½ miles, moderate, OS Explorer 282): Follow Normanby-le-Wold road (signed) uphill. Right by reservoir (118948; footpath fingerpost), up side of wood, through 3 gates to road (123949). Right past Normanby church; follow ‘Viking Way’/VW. After 3 fields, leave VW (125936); ahead (fingerposts, yellow arrows) to valley bottom. Left (130930; fingerpost) to end of paddock (133933); uphill to Otby House drive (139935). Right to road; right into Walesby. From crossroads by village hall (134924) follow VW for 1¼ miles past Ramblers Church (138924), Risby Manor and Castle Farm. In valley bottom beyond, right (152911; fingerpost) across fields to Catskin Lane (142917). Forward for 1/3 mile; right (136919) on footpath (fingerpost) into Walesby. Follow VW out of village; right (130924; ‘Mill House Farm’). Left at fork (129926; ‘Byway’); left off VW (127931); follow ‘Byway’ to Claxby.

More walks, maps: www.christophersomerville.co.uk

Lunch: Picnic

Lincolnshire Wolds Walking Festival: 22 May–6 June; info 01507-609740; www.lincswolds.org.uk

Info: Lincoln TIC (01522-873256); www.visitlincolnshire

www.ramblers.org.uk

First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window

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There’s definitely something strange about the river country along the Severn Estuary. Whether it’s the influence of the mile-wide tideway, the big overarching skies, or the highly idiosyncratic dwellings and their occupants down the twisty lanes that end abruptly at the river, to walk here is to step away from the everyday into some parallel, Severn-centred universe.

Setting out from Brookend, a few miles north of Bristol on the ‘English bank’, Jane and I found ourselves straight away in a tangle of wide old green lanes. You feel that the landscape must be flat, so close to such a big river, so it comes as a shock to top a rise of ground and find a 20-mile view unrolling. To the east the long South Cotswold ridge, May Hill and the heavy tree cover of the Forest of Dean swelling in the west, and between them the Severn hurrying seaward in a muscular double bend of low-tide tan and silver – we halted to gaze our fill before hurrying down the slope into Purton.

In the early 19^th century a 16-mile-long canal was dug from Gloucester down to Sharpness on the lower Severn, cutting out some of the dangerous river bends. Purton, right beside the canal, became a busy little place. Nowadays it’s a sleepy waterside hamlet once more, full of charm and possessed of a true classic of a never-changing pub. No food, no late opening and no nonsense at the Berkeley Arms under the admirable guidance of Mrs Wendy Lord – just a huge fire, stone floors, comfortable old settles, and beer so good it sits up and begs to be drunk. Resistance is useless.

Just down the river path we found an extraordinary elephant’s graveyard of redundant boats – dozens of concrete barges and wooden Severn colliers, rammed into the mud during the late years of the 20^th century to stabilise the tide-burrowed bank between river and canal. Lovingly labelled by the ‘Friends of Purton’, they cluster the margins of Severn in death as in life – Orby, Abbey, Huntley and Harriett, their timbers shivered, their sides split, tillers and hawseholes still bravely held aloft, a poignant gathering.

On down the canal, and through the abutments of a mighty railway bridge that once spanned the Severn. On the night of 25 October 1960, in a thick autumn fog and pitch darkness, two tankers – one loaded with oil, the other with petrol – collided with the bridge piers and exploded, sheeting the river in flame and killing five of the eight crewmen. The damaged bridge was eventually demolished, but the remnants of the tankers are still seen on the riverbed at low tide, and plenty of people around the river port of Sharpness retain vivid memories of that awful night.

Sharpness itself is a rare survival, a working port handling cement, fertilizer and scrap metal far up the tidal Severn. We stopped to watch the cranes swinging bags of fertiliser out of the hold of Shetland Trader, then crossed the canal and made for the field path to Brookend with a sharp appetite apiece. ‘Try the antelope and ginger sauce,’ suggested cheery Dan in the Lammastide Inn. I thought he was pulling my leg, till I looked at the menu board. You’re not in Kansas any more, Toto.

Start & finish: Lammastide PH, Brookend, Sharpness GL13 9SF (OS ref SO 684021)

Getting there: Train (www.thetrainline.com; www.railcard.co.uk) to Cam & Dursley (7 miles); several buses to Sharpness (www.carlberry.co.uk). Road: M5 (Jct 14); A38 (‘Gloucester’); B4066 (‘Sharpness’); right to Brookend. Park at Lammastide PH (please ask permission, and give the pub your custom!)

Walk (6½ miles, easy, OS Explorer OL14): From pub, right past phone box; left on bend (‘bridleway’). In 100 yards at gate, keep left on green lane. At T-jct, right (686023 – blue arrow). In 300 yards, opposite gate, left (689022 – ‘footpath’ stone) across fields (gates, yellow arrows/YAs) for 1 mile to Purton. Reach road left of church. (682042). Ahead across canal; left to next bridge (691044); right past Berkeley Arms PH. Riverside path joins canal towpath (687044). NB To see beached boats, detour right here.

Towpath into Sharpness; cross canal (670030). Up steps (‘Severn Way’); ahead past bungalows; right past Dockers’ Club (671029) to road. Left across the taller swing bridge that’s nearer the canal (673029). Ahead to road (677026); right (‘Sharpness’). Left beside Village Hall (674021 – fingerpost); cross stile; left to cross stile in hedge (678021); up hedge, through gate at top; YAs to Brookend.

NB – Online map, more walks: www.christophersomerville.co.uk

Lunch: Lammastide Inn (friendly and handy): 01453-811337

Drink: Berkeley Arms (open Wed-Sun, 7-10; Sat-Sun 12-2).

More info: Stroud TIC (01453-760960)

www.visitbritain.com/en/destinations/england/south-west/gloucestershire

www.ramblers.org.uk

First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window

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A brisk southerly wind scoured the North Norfolk coast, smearing livid silvery light between the clouds. The midwinter quiet over Burnham Overy Staithe was broken only by the snap and clink of halyards against hollow aluminium masts. Low-built old houses along the village lanes, barn-like sheds of flint cobbles and tarred brick along the staithe on Overy Creek; the fishwife screech of blackheaded gulls, and the estuarine stink of salt mud.

‘A land that is thirstier than ruin;

A sea that is hungrier than death;

Heaped hills that a tree never grew in;

Wide sands where the wave draws breath.’

That was the quotation from Algernon Swinburne’s ‘In the Salt Marshes’ that I found posted on the staithe. Looking seaward to the long ridge of the sandhills and the lines of pinkfooted geese hurrying across the windy sky beyond, I thought how winter seemed caught to perfection exactly here and now.

Burnham Overy Staithe was one of North Norfolk’s string of coastal settlements that prospered until silt choked off their direct access to the open sea. A broad barrier of saltmarsh developed seaward of the little ports, threaded by winding creeks unnavigable by ships of any decent size. Horatio Nelson, born in Burnham Thorpe a topmast hail away, sailed these muddy rivulets as a lad. Nowadays Burnham Overy Staithe sits brooding in its green prison of marshes, as chockfull of salty atmosphere as any sea shanty.

The curleek! of curlews and wistful piping of oystercatchers came up the ebbing Overy Creek. Its fringe of reeds bent in the wind, tossing a million feathery heads together, and the hiss and rustle of the reedbeds followed me out through the piled sand dunes. Hawthorn bushes leaned out of the sandhills, their lichened twigs whistling with wind. Marram grass seethed like a crazy man’s hair. The sand of the dune slacks was full of minuscule snail shells, each whorl scoured to a pale ghost by the rushing sand grains.

Down on the beach the wind forced me along. A girl ran ahead with her dog, making it leap for driftwood, her long black hair streaming. What magnificent good fortune to be out here among the sand dervishes in a good-going gale, lord of a strand half a mile wide, crunching across an epic graveyard of razorshells with the sting of salt and the tang of pine resin in my nostrils.

The pine trees bounded Holkham Meals, the landward margin of the beach, all the way to Wells-next-the-Sea. Beach hut owners were repairing the winter’s ravages with a great clunking of hammers. Wells lay a mile inland, a painter’s dream with its colourful harbour houses and big waterfront granary. The dredger Kari Hege was hard at work clearing the old port’s lifeline of a channel. As I stood idly watching, a dozen brent geese flew low overhead and went barking away towards the sea, intent on their own purposes, utterly oblivious of the works of man.

Start & finish: The Hero PH, Burnham Overy Staithe PE31 8JE (OS ref TF 843442)

Getting there: Coasthopper Bus (www.norfolkgreen.co.uk); A149 from King’s Lynn or Cromer

Walk (6 ½ miles, easy grade, OS Explorer 251): Opposite The Hero PH, turn down lane to quay. Right along coast path (yellow arrows, white National Trail acorns) for 5 miles to Wells-next-the-Sea beach huts (915455). Inland along embankment (‘Norfolk Coast Path’) to Wells-next-the-Sea. Right along B1105 to bus stop.

NB – Online maps, more walks: www.christophersomerville.co.uk

Lunch: Plenty of places in Wells-next-the-Sea; The Hero, Burnham Overy Staithe (01328-738334; www.theheroburnhamovery.co.uk)

Accommodation: Victoria Hotel, Holkham, Norfolk NR23 1RG (01328-711008; www.victoriatatholkham.co.uk) – characterful, cheerful and welcoming

Info: Wells-next-the-Sea TIC (01328-710885); www.visitnorfolk.co.uk; www.ramblers.org.uk

First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window

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Twenty-four hours of solid, stair-rod Cornish rain had given way to an afternoon of patchy, wind-streaked blue sky. At Gweek, where the winding Helston River pushes its blunt finger-ends against the land, the houses lay quiet along the quay. Houseboats both ramshackle and trim, ebb-fast yachts, ancient storm-decked trawlers and families of ducks shared the mud companionably with mournfully piping oystercatchers. On Naphene Downs above the village, wind seethed in over the oak woods and battered the hedges of the bridleway that Jane and I were following. Among the bushes a crude little shelter of sticks called to mind Eeyore’s house. We half expected to hear a squeaky and a growly voice chorusing, ‘And nobody knows, tiddly-pom, how cold my toes, tiddly-pom …’

Which way around Napheane Farm? ‘Do you like my little black Dexter cattle?’ said the woman of the house at her door. ‘The path? Oh yes, climb over the gate, you’re welcome – just don’t let the horses out!’

A tangled lane led down to a brook in a secret dell, then up to a wonderful ridge-top view across the patchwork landscape of the Lizard peninsula. Beautiful to walk through, this west Cornwall countryside of small fields and granite rocks, but tough to farm. Polanguy among its tumbledown sheds showed broken windows, holes in the roof and a jumble of tractors and bailers abandoned where they last stopped. A skinny cat, sole occupant of Polanguy, ran off down the flooded lane. We followed its paw-prints through the mud and came up to the old stone cottages at Merther-Uny, a hamlet whose name commemorates the martyrdom of St Euny, one of the first Irish missionaries to reach Cornwall back in the 5^th century. Opposite the cottages we found a gateway to a walled enclosure choked with scrub, the site of a chapel dedicated to the Irish hermit. Old tales tell how a prosperous family who farmed Merther-Uny lost all their worldly goods after they were unwise enough to use the font from the ancient chapel as a pig trough.

Buzzards mewed over the wooded valley beyond Little Trussall. At Boskenwyn the primary school wall was studded with climbing aids – sky-blue footholds, red and green handholds. Lucky kids, to have a school with fun on the timetable and a high and mighty view each playtime.

Down through the fields we went, passing Boskenwyn Manor, down to the stream valley that led east to Gweek, where horses lifted their head to check us out with long, deliberate stares. Under dead trees bearded with lichens on a seek-and-ye-shall-find path, and a final step along the muddy margins of Gweek Quay where the oystercatchers had never left off piping.

Start & finish: Gweek Inn, Gweek TR12 6TU (OS ref SW 707268)

Getting there: Bus (0845-600-1420; www.firstgroup.com/cornwall) service 35 (all week), 32 (Sunday)

Road: A30, A39 to Truro; A39 towards Falmouth; A394 towards Helston; Gweek signed to left.

Walk (7½ miles, moderate grade, OS Explorer 103): From Gweek Inn, turn right up Redruth road. Right at Tolvan Cross by white corner house (706282; bridleway fingerpost). In 200 yards cross footbridge; in another 200 yards leave gravelled track and keep ahead along grassy track (blue arrow) over Naphene Downs for ½ mile to road at Carwythenack Chase (716279). Left (‘Falmouth, Truro’).

In ⅓ mile, pass entrance to Napheane Farm. In another 50 yards, left over stile (717285); diangonally left to cross farm drive. Bear right round field edge; cross stile opposite farmhouse, then next one (714284); right and right again over gate, to turn left along green lane past Napheane farmhouse and on (yellow arrows/YA). In 100 yards, at left bend in lane, go through gate on right; left along hedge, then over stone stile (YA). Bear right with hedge on right; over next stone stile, cross field, over another stone stile (712286); forward (YA on pole) down tangled green lane (YAs) to cross stream (711287). Steeply up to road (707288). Right; pass staggered crossroads; in 200 yards, left past ruined farm of Polanguy (706294).

On along boggy track (half path, half stream!) among trees; cross brook by stone slab bridge (704294); bear left up path, through gate at top, past houses of Merther-Uny (702293) and on along lane to road (697293). Right for ⅓ mile. Left by Little Trussall house (692294; bridleway fingerpost), past cottages and on along path through wood for ½ mile. Path turns uphill to leave wood and reach Woodside Farm (691284). Left through gate, right past farm to road (691283). Left for 350 yards to Boskenwyn primary school (691280). Right along road for 250 yards; left (fingerpost) to Boskenwyn Manor Farm (686279).

Pass manor house on your right; bear left in front of barn conversion; left again into open area; sharp right round right edge of field, with hedge on right. At far end of field, cross stile; cross next field to go through gate to right of barn. Pass Pollard Farm house (685275). Bear right through farmyard; follow track past houses for ½ mile to road; turn right. In 200 yards (684268), two signed bridleways diverge to left. Take left-hand one, between granite gateposts, and follow bridleway signs. At Millbrook (686267) follow left fork (concrete track); then through fields, keeping just up slope with valley bottom on your right. Pass Pollard Mill (688266); continue for nearly a mile to reach green lane by cottages (701265); follow this to road (704264); left to Gweek.

NB – This walk is not dog-friendly (farm dogs!). Online map, more walks: www.christophersomerville.co.uk.

Lunch: Gweek Inn (01326-221502) – handy village inn.

More info: Falmouth TIC (01326-312300)

www.visitcornwall.com; www.ramblers.org.uk

Low over the undulating countryside where southernmost Suffolk tips over into northern Essex, rainclouds rolled heavy and grey. At the crossroads in ridge-top Stoke-by-Nayland, the village’s brace of inns, Crown and Angel, faced each other like mutually suspicious cats.
First published in: The Times Click here to view a map for this walk in a new window

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I had a pint of Adnams in one and a ploughman’s in the other, in the interests of good neighbourliness. Then I set out under dripping ash and hazel along roads glistening from a midday downpour, into a landscape smoky and insubstantial behind the golden sheen of a vaporous, sun-splashed winter afternoon.

The deeply furrowed landscape hereabouts would astonish believers in the old canard about East Anglia being pancake flat. I crossed grazing fields sloping sharply into oakwoods that lifted and swung back up to the ridges. Farms founded before the Reformation stood under acres of red pantiles. This timeless landscape of rural England on the borders of Suffolk and Essex gave expression to the genius of local lad John Constable, and there wasn’t a prospect in sight this afternoon that might not have come from one of his canvases.

Down in the valley of the River Box the stiff clay plough lay dark and flat. How strange it felt to be walking empty-handed through fields where, twenty-five years ago, I never strolled without a child’s mouse-like paw in my fist. The sinuous Box was one of our favourite family walks when we lived in Nayland just up the valley. On one of those expeditions a chance kick at a clod of earth had uncovered a Stone Age scraping tool, its delicately scalloped cutting edge still sharp as a razor.

Time moves on. Wrens, roses and thistles still adorned the pargetted walls of Farthings house at Thorington Street, but I found the Rose Inn closed and turned into a private dwelling. Back in the day, a big treat for the children was lunch in the Rose’s garden, where a straw-stuffed cage marked ‘Silver Water ‘Otter’ fascinated them. A tug on the chain brought forth nothing more exotic than an aluminium kettle – the landlord’s little jest.

In the grounds of Tendring Hall shotguns were popping. A cock pheasant scuttled across the path with head and tail strained high, like a brightly coloured barge scudding before a breeze. Neighbouring churches framed the walk – St James’s at Nayland low in the south near the River Stour, its stumpy spire rising among leafless trees, and on the ridge to the north the great brick tower of St Mary’s. I steered for the latter by way of Poplar Farm, a gorgeous old tall-chimneyed house tucked away in the trees. Looking up from here, the Stoke-by-Nayland ridge stood innocent of buildings, as though village and church had been magically drawn down into the earth. But as I climbed the field path the tower of St Mary’s appeared again, rising in apricot light as the sun went down over the valley.

Start & finish: Crown Inn, Stoke-by-Nayland CO6 4SE (OS ref TL 989363)

Getting there: Bus – Chambers Coaches service 84 from Colchester or Sudbury (http://www.carlberry.co.uk/rfnshowr.asp?RN=EX084A). Road: M25, A12 to Colchester; A134 to Nayland; B1087.

Walk (5½ miles, easy, OS Explorer 196): Lane opposite Angel Inn (‘Hadleigh, Shelley’); in 400 yards, right (992365; fingerpost) up path. Through kissing gate, left and follow field edge, then yellow arrows/YA for ½ mile to Valley Farm (001361). Ahead along River Box (YA) for ⅓ mile; then (005358) follow YAs away from river to lane (010356); right to B1068 in Thorington Street. Right for 50 yards, then left (010353; fingerpost) past reservoir to Wick Farm (011349). Right along road; left between barn and Grove Cottage (007351; fingerpost) along farm drive. Skirt right of Tendring Hall Farm (994353); follow drive to B1087. Right (take care!) for ¼ mile; left opposite ‘fishing temple’ (986355) along farm track to Poplar Farm (978359). At 3-finger post, right up track into Stoke-by-Nayland. Through churchyard to crossroads and Crown Inn.

Lunch/accommodation: Crown Inn (01206-262001; www.crowninn.net) or Angel Inn (01206-263245; www.theangelinn.net), Stoke-by-Nayland

More info: Sudbury TIC (01787-881320);

www.visitsuffolk.org.uk; www.visiteastofengland.com; www.ramblers.org.uk