Experimental Travel on my Doorstep or I'ts All A Bit Wierd In Wiltshire

It is often quoted that adventures can be found in your own back yard if you look hard enough. But what does this really mean?

Currently residing in a picture perfect part of the English countryside, I often long for the wild and rugged fells of the Lake District, the majestic mountains of the Scottish Highlands and the soaring cliffs and secluded sandy coves of Devon. All places I have been fortunate to live in at some point of my life, and all places where the breath taking natural beauty and sense of untold mystery and tales of old, inspire a need to seek out adventure and discover what lies beyond the horizon. So, with the itchy feet of a global explorer but the financial and horological limitations of a civil servant, I was going to have seek my Everest closer to home.

A few years back, I purchased a book titled 'the Lonely Planet Guide to Experimental Travel', and although it's pages were occasionally ruffled as I flicked absentmindedly through it, it has languished on bookcases of various homes every since without serious thought. Yet every so often, one of the travel methods described would float up from the sediment of memories.

Just go for a walk and see what you can find!

Since my relocation to middle England, I have become intrigued by some of the legends and folklore abound in this history rich part of the country. With ancient standing stone circles encompassing an entire village, mysterious man made hills, burial chambers and white horses aplenty, one local legend has captivated me. The 14th century exploits of Wild Will Darrell of Littlecote Manor. Adulterer, murderer, debtor and all round bad boy of Tudor England, whose ghost is said to still haunt a selection of locales to this day. Vilified by both family and neighbours, and documented through history as a scoundrel of the worst kind, the more I found out about him, the more I questioned this less than advantageous description of a wealthy land owner from almost 500 years past.

Littlecote Manor, situated between the towns of Hungerford and Marlborough, is now a hotel and leisure resort also out of my price range, but with two public bridal ways running through it's expansive grounds, it was time for a mini adventure to 'go have a look see' at what foreboding a place such a monster could have called home.

So on an overcast late spring morning, with the threat of rain heavy in the air, I set off to the small village of Ramsbury, from which, according to the map I found on the internet, I could walk to Littlecote. Not having access to a working printer, I was unable to take a copy of the map with me, which meant relying on my poor memory skills and a reasonably good natural sense of direction. Both of which strongly added to the sense of adventure of exploration, like a modern day, and land bound Captain Cook.

According to local legend, should you count all 100 of the studs in the North wall door at midnight in Ramsbury church, the spectre of Wild Will Darrell himself will come out to greet you. So this seemed like as good a place as any to start my mini expedition. Maybe because it wasn't midnight, but mid  morning, or because I counted 102 studs, no bodyless soul popped out to say hello on this occasion.

A small village with high aspirations, someone had the foresight to place an interpretation panel outside the local inn to guide other mapless explorers and tourists alike to the hidden wonders of their neighbourhood. So thankfully, I was at least able to head off in the right direction for the bridleway to Littlcote Manor, although this was the first and only time I was sure of my destination.

Crossing a duo of chalk streams, I came across a fork in my path. One, a flat ribbon of black tarmac, following the course of the meandering Kennet, the other, an uneven dirt track rising gently to woodland cresting the summit of a hill. So, being without chart, this second route I followed, despite instinct telling me to follow the river, as it was along this way that a battered metal sign depicting three trotting horses pointed.

A hundred meters later I made my first discovery whilst pausing to read a rain drenched sign tacked onto the post of a now defunct gate.  A discarded pirate beanie, emblazoned with skull and crossbones. Nearby, a glimmer of something bleached white turned out to be the skull of a rabbit nestling in the hedgerow. Strange coincidence!

 

 

Further up the hill, and another split in the path, my route forward was uncertain. From memory, the track to the left should be the one to follow, yet large 'Warning Private' signs deterred my from this course. To the right, leaving the shelter of the trees, the full force of the drifting rain hit me. Momentarily uncertain to proceed or retrace my steps, I turned about heel and noticed something entangled in the branches of a nearby tree.

 

 

 

 

This was getting weird!

 

And just a little bit exciting.

 

 

On the right hand track I descended, passing only an occasional dog walker. Each junction marked not by the standard cheery yellow arrows so beloved by county councils, but a fine selection of Private and Do Not Enter signs.  On the lands of an estate impregnated with so much mystery, was somebody trying to hide something still?

 

A patch of colour on an otherwise drab day sprouted in the undergrowth. Somebody had been a bit trigger happy.

 

 

The track now led through the bottom of the valley, bordered by towering Beech trees. Possibly an old entrance to the Manor itself. With no map to consult, I could do nothing but follow and hope.

 



 

 

Onwards I continued until cresting a small rise, I saw, away to my left,  a red brick Tudor manor house nestling on the banks of the Kennet. But alas, the path continued straight until it joined the main road, where ball topped gate posts announced a welcome to Littlecote House, a member of the Warner Leisure Group.

 

From members of the Kings court, it now courted members of the more affluent sections of society, so maybe little had changed over the past half millennia. Although I doubt Henry VIII would have wooed Jane Seymour by a plastic cow. Although he could still partake in the regal sport of archery.

 

 



At last, a close up view of the house I had come to see. Behind its wrought iron gates and manicured lawns, sat an impressive yet unimposing abode, exuding a sense of warmth and friendliness. Surely no evil monster could ever have lurked behind these doors?

 

 

Little could be found in terms of history of the house but a Llama lurked under a tree nearby tree.

 

 

 

Whilst a signpost pointed the way to the remains of a Roman villa and the Orpheus mosaic. Which on closer inspection appeared to depict images of a creature of the night more traditionally associated with Eastern Europe and Hollywood.

 

 

 

 

 

What did our forefathers know and who was the house in the tree home to?

 

 

Answers I didn't really wish to dwell on, so locating the path back to Ramsbury (which it turned out was the flat, tarmac track that looked so inviting earlier on), I hastily headed home.

I have a strong feeling that Littlecote was not home to a murderous monster called Wild William Darrell. Too much doesn't add up and I think it's more likely that he was tricked, exploited and outmanoeuvred by more powerful neighbours.

But as for that mosaic?

There's something a bit weird about that bit of Wiltshire.



 

Woodland Wanderings

Taking a group of teenagers for a wander through the woods can be a daunting prospect. Will they enjoy it? Will they be interested in the wealth of natural history facts you are so keen to impart? How long before the first cry of 'I'm bored' is uttered?

But this week, that is exactly what myself and my colleagues did - several times.

Yes we took along a few gizmos and gadgets to aid discovery, but mostly, it was mother nature herself that did all the work.

With a group of autistic young adults, we explored an area of native English woodland, using the Woodland Trust's brilliant winter tree id resources to identify ash, hazel, oak, cherry and birch. Then listened to the arrival of spring with the aim of a inexpensive contact microphone and some borrowed headphones that enabled us to hear the sap rising inside the trees.

The following day, a group of  'at risk' year 9 students spent two hours exploring the wilder reaches of the arboretum, armed with nothing more than a simple wildlife spotter sheet, a list of things to look out for, a single pair of binoculars, the collected knowledge of what we carried in our heads and the promise of a prize for the person who spied the most items. Throughout the two hours we watched buzzards soaring on thermals, listened to woodpeckers and a tawny owl (and tried calling them ourselves), found hazelnut shells nibbled by squirrels, woodmice and voles, spotted deer track, hedgehog pooh, squirrel dreys, badger setts and King Alfred's Cakes and walked to the end of the track just to see where it went.

And the prize for the person who spotted the most? First choice from a bag of left over birthday sweets.

Two days later, as the sun set over the arboretum, a group of girl guides crept around the tractor yard watching and waiting for bats to wake up. Pippastrelles were detected in two locations before we headed through the woods on a moonless night, with torches turned off to see what we could hear. A solitary tawny, a parliament of rooks and a gruffalo were all found as we made our way to the open spaces of the downs for a spot of stargazing through the breaks in the clouds.

Not once was the dreaded phrase 'I'm bored!' uttered, although Cliff Richards greatest hit 'summer holiday' was sang repeatedly.

But what did happen, was that give a young person a little bit of guidance, the opportunity to explore and a safe environment where it's ok to get things wrong or give the wrong answer, then they start taking in more of their surroundings, noticing things beyond those that are in front of their face and asking intelligent, thoughtful and enquiring questions.

Although I was stumped by

'Why's the sky blue?'

Time for google.