Getting away from it all is hard

It was a grey and murky Sunday, as expected. But the evening before I had resolved to get away from it all by going on the walk behind the house. At the very least I would earn myself another 8000 steps and so be up-lifted by a warming sense of virtue. So off I set, squirming first through my hidden exit from the back of the paddock into the field behind. Ever since someone stole an old plastic water-tank I'd kept back there to help water some tree saplings, I have been paranoid about thieves swarming through my defences. So the hidden exit/entrance is camouflaged with devilish ingenuity which makes it a bit hard to get out of. 

     Along the field margin to All Cannings Cross, peering at the ground as I went. The soil had been harrowed the day before, all dark and friable, freshly turned over. But not a Roman sword or Saxon coin to be seen. Some lumps of chalkstone, a few scraps of plastic, a coke tin or two - and two crisply fresh, folded £10 notes. In the grass by the side of the field. It's faintly possible I had dropped them on the previous visit - I've certainly never seen anyone else ever walking where I go. People usually walk along the road, but you can't spot for Roman swords or Saxon coins from there. 

     At the Cross up the left shoulder of Clifford's Hill. A place of memory. The family, Grandma included, came here quite by chance on just one occasion on a trip back in 1980's. At that time life at the RN College Greenwich was pretty depressing with talk of closure and up the top on the edge of Rybury camp, I'd had a quiet think and made some plans for the future. If only I had known then that 30 years later I would be living in a house you can easily see from there ! 

     Anyhow through a little copse spotting en route and photographing a bush with half closed near purple leaves and bunches of sinister-looking black berries. No idea what it is. Then across a great empty field now covered with sprouting corn seeds-the kind you get with corn-on-the-cob. The hills look down and surround the field on nearly three sides. Perhaps for that reason it used to be a feast site, full of roasted animal bones but since thoroughly pored over by university archaeologists. 

    Up the old drover's track which they used to get the sheep up from and down to the Vale. Very Thomas Hardy. It makes one puff too. Really steep hill sides below, ideal you would think for kamikaze sledging in the snow. And still it goes up - to the hill behind Clifford's hill where you take a very necessary breather, look back and take a photo of the neolithic hilltop Rybury camp. 

The old lines show up well, even after 3000 years or so. Clearly it's not a military site, although you might think so given the fact that by the time your attackers had struggled up to you, they'd be fairly wasted. Probably a cattle compound and living accommodation. Behind it the Vale of Pewsey and behind that on the horizon the rising slopes of Salisbury plain. It's a grand sight even on a murky day. 

    No hang gliders about today. But plenty of ?Red Poll cattle (or South Devons ?). Seriously big they stand in your way and peer at you. Calculating, expressionless, well, bovine - and then skip away at the last moment   The hill levels up a bit, as it's near the top. They seem to have removed the trig point that used to be here. Introduced in the early 19th Century to help the military plan for fighting off the French should they get ashore. Nearby similar defences - the base of barrage balloon point. One was flown here to help protect the several airfields down in the Vale from another foreign invader - the German airforce. Scattered around it a group of sarsen boulders which would look very nice in the garden. 

    The Wansdyke appears. A place to stop and have some tea from my little flask. to the left the sheer scale of effort required to dig the great ditch as it goes off east towards Marlborough. Nobody really knows what its for. The name is misleading as while it's probably named after Woden its got nothing to do with the Saxons. Why should so much effort be devoted to a demarcation symbol between tribal areas ? But how could it serve any useful military purpose ? It's all very strange. 

    Not quiet and deserted either,  on this murky midday Sunday. Like Piccadilly circus, heaving with people. Two couples out sedately walking. Half a dozen cyclists, one group hauling their bikes over the gate marking the track up from from Avebury, Silbury Hill and the West Kennet long-barrow. So much for quiet contemplation. 

     Then off westwards along a white chalky track following the Wansdyke until striking the Manor farm tarmacked track going south back to Allington. Leaving the Wansdyke to snake its way to Bath, 25 miles away.

     Down the track that Simon on his bike likes whizzing down. Once going down with a saddlebag of flints for my latest walling project, my bike brakes failed. Terrifying. I only controlled it by deliberately running into the grassy verge. Past the large unsightly chalk pit, looking out over the Vale. One misty night we all came up here in a couple of cars with fireworks to celebrate the New Year and to look down at other gatherings in the far distance. Primeval. The end of time. When our rockets exploded, the bang echoed around the hills in the most satisfactory way.

     Further down, voices off. Over the in the big field to the left, hidden by trees and scrub. By the new barn artfully concealed by the copse where the old lime kiln used to be, two dozen cars neatly parked. The metal detector club from Devizes were having a meet - the rolling field full of people sweeping the freshly harrowed earth looking for those same Roman swords and Saxon crimes. Interesting to watch as they sweep, stop, stoop, dig their trowels in, stand up. Lean the instrument against their leg, pick with one hand at a handful of dirt in the other, flick it away, carry on across the field. All muffled up against the wind. And so back to the field behind the house, squeezing in the through my hidden entrance.

     More tea, then back to the reality it had proved hard to leave. The night before in another fit of virtue I had stewed up some more cooking apples. As is my wont, I then wandered off and forgot about it. Disaster. A spectacular boiling over followed by a some hard baking in and a ruined hob and casserole. An hour or so of scraping and cleaning half-restored both - but only half. Mute witnesses to my incompetence. I needed to get in some apple juice for Peter, arriving the following day. Out to the chest freezer in the garage. But the first uncovered battle seemed sticky, adhering to the bottom of an over-loaded freezer. And the second and the third. With gathering dismay I realised that about a quarter of the 30 odd bottles in there had either split or had their lids forced open. Presumably over-filled. Curiously the resultant gunge hadn't frozen but was like a viscous glue. No choice but to empty the entire thing and clean it out. Tilted right over reaching down with wet J cloths to wipe it all away, batting away the wasps, while one's sausages, bread etc began thawing around one's feet. Finally as the wind had whipped the first batch of leaves into convenient piles, I thought I would gather some in for my 'leaf-mould factory.' A sudden savage pain in my hand, stung by a wasp lurking in the leaves - no doubt peeved at being batted away earlier. At that point I decided to give up getting away from it all and retreated to the safety of my study and computer.

Starting to batten down.....

Someone one day is going to have to show me one of these days how with this wrteched new system you put paragraphs in. I have cheated and put xxxwhere they begin. xxxConscious of the fact that, with the revival of Coronavirus fears, I and everyone else will be going in for the long haul, I have instituted a new regime to cope with a programme of 'keep-fit walks' to the village and around the hills behind the house and to try to differentiate between weekends and the other days. Otherwise the passage of time would be un-calibrated and I could well end up not knowing what day it was even more than this happens already. I must admit that the weekend regime is shamefully self-indulgent. Sitting by a woodburner with my laptop or an improving book with Madam Butterfly warbling away in the background takes a lot of beating if you ask me - especially with a Portuguese 'Black Red' to hand. This latter is a new discovery for me, rivalling if not surpassing my preference for Argentine Malbec. xxxIn fact the whole lockdown experience has been a voyage of discovery for me. With the aid of various members of the dynasty I am on a steep learning curve in everything from how to make a beef casserole to being able to arrange how my e-mails come in, individually or in chat strings. And come in they do ! The connectivity of this locked down and physically isolated world strikes me as quite extraordinary. I was invited last week to both Istanbul and Karachi something that's now much easier faster and cheaper than it was (and better for the planet too). The only drawback is that I don't get to sniff around and find out things about my hosts that one can only get in person through chatting with people and being shown around. The Karachi thing is virtual but weirdly the Turks seem to want it to be in-person. They have got to be kidding. xxxI took one of the walks over the hills last weekend, going round by the neolithic camp at Rybury and over to the Wansdyke. From here one can see it snaking its way to Bath. A great ditch with a bank to the south, no-one quite knows what it is. Probably not really a defensive position as such more likely a frontier between the three pre-Roman tribes who lived in this area, the Durotiges where we are, the Atrebates to the East and the Dobunni to the north. Strangely this area has always been a kind of disputed frontier land. In the Civil War, we were in the nomansland between Royalist Devizes and Parliamentarian Marlborough. In the Second World War we were part of the blue-line along the Kennet and Avon canal, skirting the edge of Allington, complete with pill-boxes and dragon's teeth anti-tank barriers, where the Home Guard and what was left of the Army was planning to resist the Germans if ever they had invaded. Even now as far as weather forecasts and television areas are concerned, we're the forward edge of the Southwest. Obviously in Allington it is the custom to hunker down and peer suspiciously at strangers from behind the parapet. xxxBut we do still do feast amongst ourselves every now and then. The old university gang got together in Salisbury last week and had a delightful time swapping anecdotes and slagging off Boris and Donald, to varying degree. There's nothing quite like real human contact rather than the synthetic version on a computer screen. xxxThis weekend though the rain bucketed down and my keep fit walks were just around the garden. Just as in Newport I am beginning to notice things about it I had never seen before. Like a couple of enormous Tulip trees leaves, nearly a foot square, and much bigger than the normal ones. I stood back to look properly but just couldn't see where in the tree they had come from.

Pampus grass 10 feet tall and with gracefully fluffy heads now looking bedraggled, and of course the leaves and straw of harvest time blocking up the road drain and causing a flood for me to deal with. Obviously battening down means starting to get jobs done. I was pleased to do the annual lime-wash of the house, or at least the ground floor and was pleased with the glittering result of about 3 hours work ! And then, unbelievably after the family effort a month or so again, there are still apples coming down that need to be dealt with. Whatever happens this winter I won't be starving.