{"id":1349,"date":"2018-04-01T00:01:17","date_gmt":"2018-03-31T13:01:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/julesforth.com\/walkingtheblackdog\/?p=1349"},"modified":"2018-04-02T07:53:18","modified_gmt":"2018-04-01T21:53:18","slug":"day-28","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/julesforth.com\/walkingtheblackdog\/day-28\/","title":{"rendered":"Day 28"},"content":{"rendered":"

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From: <\/strong>Sapperton to Chedworth
\nDistance:\u00a0<\/strong>14m \/ 22.4km
\nCumulated distance:\u00a0<\/strong>359m \/ 578km
\nPercentage completed: <\/strong>34.9<\/p>\n

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At the end of yesterday’s walk, I jumped in a taxi and went home for the night. It was bliss to put everything from my rucksack straight into the washing machine, turn the dial to hot and leave it to wash itself. Washing out clothes in the bath at the various B&Bs has been ok but I’m sure nowhere near as effective as a deep Miele clean.<\/p>\n

It felt kind of strange having the run of a whole house again. I have developed such a routine over the last month when I’ve reached my pub or B&B room, that I was flummoxed by the tv being in one room, the bath upstairs, the kettle being in the kitchen and sockets for my recharging all over the place. Just for the hell of it I changed into a really heavy sweater and jeans .. solely because I could! It felt nice but still a bit strange.<\/p>\n

I always sleep with the curtains open and this morning it was the sun streaming through the window that woke me, rather than my alarm. What a joy! Looking around the garden there was much to prolong the feeling.<\/p>\n

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The t\u00eate-a-t\u00eate daffodils I planted a couple of years ago in memory of my Dad<\/p><\/div>\n

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Up close<\/p><\/div>\n

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Quenington flamingoes<\/p><\/div>\n

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Vacant birdbox with beautiful outlook<\/p><\/div>\n

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Resident family of warthogs<\/p><\/div>\n

Mid-morning I packed my very clean bag and got another taxi back to the place I left off yesterday. I felt refreshed and so lucky to be on the journey.<\/p>\n

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The Bell at Sapperton<\/p><\/div>\n

The tunnel at Sapperton was once the longest canal tunnel in Britain and was considered to be a fine feat of engineering, even attracting royal attention in the form of George III, who came to visit in 1784. It\u2019s 2.1 miles long and its construction involved much legal wrangling, as to its size and height. While it was eventually built high enough that loads could continue to be carried on barges, there was no room for a towpath. This spawned a whole new profession .. legging. You\u2019ve got it: two men would lie on a plank of wood, placed on top of the barge with their feet on opposite walls and then would side-step along the wall, to take the loaded vessel from one end of the tunnel to the other. Can you imagine the inner thighs!<\/span><\/p>\n

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Legging<\/p><\/div>\n

I will confess to feeling a little nostalgic today .. I am skirting past the Thames Head, where the Thames Trail begins .. or ends, depending upon which way you look at it. If you like the idea of a shortish flat walk with tons of culture and history, this is the perfect one. There’s a link at the top of the page if you fancy getting a flavour for it from my previous blog.<\/span><\/p>\n

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The sun had been banished<\/p><\/div>\n

As the day wore on, the clouds built up and eventually the sun was nowhere to be seen. The first few miles were across mostly flat terrain around the Bathurst Estate but then became undulating, even hilly. I cobbled together a route using the Macmillan Way and various tracks and lanes.<\/p>\n

There have been treats along the way on this journey which have been food for the soul. Today, on Easter Sunday, I was lucky enough to follow a sign to the ‘Saxon Church at Duntisbourne Rouse’. The tiny lychgate with it’s crooked little gate was a clue as to what lay beyond.<\/p>\n

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St Michael’s Church, Duntisbourne Rouse<\/p><\/div>\n

At the end of the narrow path and at the top of a perfect little valley, lay St Michael’s, a Saxon church dating to the 11th or 12th century. I sat for ages in the graveyard just contemplating how many years people had come through the lychgate to the church to worship. It was a sobering feeling. Many of the gravestones were so well covered in lychen that the dedications could no longer be deciphered.<\/p>\n

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St Michael’s<\/p><\/div>\n

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The tiny nave with round Saxon arch<\/p><\/div>\n

The flower arrangers of the parish had clearly been busy for Easter.<\/p>\n

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Welcoming flowers in the porch ..<\/p><\/div>\n

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.. and inside in the nave<\/p><\/div>\n

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Wall paintings dating to the 13th century created using red ochre<\/p><\/div>\n

There are small slit windows on the north and south sides. An inscription reads “THIS WAS BUILT BY JOHN HADEN MASON JOHN FREEMAN AND JOHN HOSKINS BEING WARDENS A.D. OI 1587”.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span>The small, squat tower has an internal staircase leading to its two bells; one from the 14th century and one from the 15th century.<\/span><\/p>\n

It may be clich\u00e9d but as I sat and contemplated both inside the little church and outside in its graveyard, I felt a palpable sense of the centuries and generations which had gone before me. I felt very small to know my insignificant place within the pages of history.<\/p>\n

I felt reluctant to leave St Michael’s and I’m sure I’ll return in time. But I needed to get on and so retraced my steps back through the lychgate and past the adjacent Old Rectory. After crossing the ford I made a climb up one of the many hills of the day. In the woods I passed by a neighbourhood of homes burrowed into the ground. There were upwards of 15 little dwellings, all created close to one another in a very community-minded sort of way. Badgers, I thought. What do you reckon?<\/p>\n

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Who lives here?<\/p><\/div>\n

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Fifteen or so homes in the parish ..<\/p><\/div>\n

Rendomb, not only home to the private school with a fabulous view, is also where the Aero Super Batics display team hang out. The team comprises half-lunatics who fly biplanes, first designed in the 30s, which have been updated with steel and plastic, to replace the wooden struts and fabric. Oh and yes, nowadays the engines are twice as powerful. And then there are the complete<\/i> lunatics, who stand out on the top wing and perform acrobatics, while the plane loops and rolls and turns upside down.
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Rencombe College<\/p><\/div>\n

As the afternoon drew on it became colder. I pulled on an extra layer and put on my gloves. There were lots of fields to negotiate, many particularly stony. When my mum researched her family tree, she found that a great, great, great grandmother or aunt of ours endured a terrible life. She ended up destitute, her occupation marked on the census as ‘stone picker’. This essentially meant she spent her days, come rain or shine, picking up stones from fields, as an agricultural labourer. The image of her, broken-backed, cold and hopeless really haunted me this afternoon.<\/p>\n

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Unforgiving stony fields<\/p><\/div>\n

I was jolted out of my contemplation by a field of bulls, which I needed to cross to get to Chedworth. I’m afraid I chickened out and instead of walking across the centre, I skirted around the perimeter. There was an unexpected bonus, however. A fallow deer appeared and for me, as a towny, I was enchanted by his white, ‘follow me’ tail’ and ability to stand stock still until I’d passed, I’m convinced he felt he was the winner in a game of ‘musical statues’.<\/p>\n

My bed for the night is in Chedworth at Baldwin House, where I’ve received the warmest of welcomes. I’ve had a fabulous dinner with Swampy and Nigel, which included the most plentiful and delicious carrots and am now ready for the deepest of sleeps.<\/p>\n

Black Dog Tails<\/strong>
\nThis black lab and his canine colleagues were recently indispensible in assisting the fire brigade at Grenfell Tower, London.<\/p>\n

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At the end of yesterday’s walk, I jumped in a taxi ..<\/p>\n

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