Every now and again the weather gods smile down on my walking companion and poet, Peter Gibbs, and I as we follow our year-round progress of walks across Britain every twelve weeks and have been doing so for over forty years.
For we had chosen the perfect spring week for setting out on the third of our walks along the Chiltern Way for some thirty-five miles from the village of Woodcote near Reading to Wendover Dean.
We had booked into a most comfortable Airbnb, called Chambers Place, the previous afternoon and taken a short drive down to The Swan Hotel in Streatley for an excellent dinner in their popular Coppa restaurant overlooking the River Thames.
Early the following morning without a cloud in the sky we set out along a series of footpaths across undulating open country often ablaze with brilliant yellow oil seed rape and through shady woodland awash with bluebells and other shade-loving plants.
While our feathered friends including blackcaps, robins, blackbirds and tiny wrens kept up their chattering all around, the occasional red kites could be heard issuing their haunting whistling calls high overhead.
Climbing steadily through deciduous woodland we reached a minor ridge before gently descending to the small rural community of Hailey, where we slaked our thirst with pints of lime and soda sat outside The King William IV.
The way now led us along a series of farm tracks across open country until we reached a patch of woodland, where we came upon a sad reminder of WWII.
For it was here so close to the end of the war in1945 that an Avro Lancaster bomber on a test flight clipped a tree near Ipsden Church and crashed into a field bursting into flames and killing all seven members of her crew.
A poignant memorial together with a poppy wreath records all their names and pictures.
The walk now continued up through beech woodland awash with bluebells and other wildflowers and then down into a small valley at the end of which we began making our way west along the iconic Ridgeway and then north towards higher wooded ground and to the tiny 11th century pilgrim church of St Botolph’s in the quiet hamlet of Swyncombe.
It was here that Peter’s life-long friend John picked us up and took us back to his home in Caversham for an overnight stay and then dropped us off further along the walk at Stokenchurch, because of the dictates of time and the availability of en-route accommodation.
The way now took us down and along a wide valley to climb up and over a wooded hill down into the hamlet of Radnage and then steeply up again to reach the aptly named village of Bledlow Ridge.
From there it was down yet again to cross a wide valley carrying the busy A410 and accompanying railway and then remorselessly up again to reach our overnight stop in the village of Lacey Green.
By now we were hot, weary and thirsty, having walked all day under clear blue skies and simply could not resist stopping off at the extremely-friendly Black Horse for pints of chilled lager before continuing along the road to our Airbnb at Windmill Farm.
There was absolutely no chance of going astray because a magnificently-restored smock windmill, the oldest of its type in the land, stood just across the way.
Originally built in Chesham in 1650 it was dismantled and re-erected on its present site in 1821.
But after becoming disused in 1920 and falling into disrepair, it was restored to working order in the 1970s and 1980s by Chiltern Society volunteers.
We returned to The Black Horse for supper and a friendly local gave us a lift back for a check-in call with my wife, Jenny, and an early night which saw us back out on the trail by 8am.
Our way now led us north-west past the windmill and across a series of open fields until we came to Grim’s Ditch, an ancient earthworks of unknown origin believed to date back beyond Saxon times.
The way now led through woods and some magnificent parkland until we came upon imposing Hampden House. the family’s most famous forebear being the soldier cousin of Oliver Cromwell.
After walking past the front of the house, we descended through Lady Hampden’s Woods and across a quiet valley and up again to the tiny hamlet of Little Hampden.
From here we should have proceeded to Wendover Dean but instead diverted north-west along a series of bridleways towards the thriving little town of Wendover, where we were booked in to The Bell and Dragon at the end of our three-day walk.
But alas there was one last obstacle to overcome and that was a diversion around a huge scar that was the ongoing construction of HS2.
We had suffered that inconvenience several times before, but that is another story related in our Amazon-published book, Paths & Poetry.
Peter’s poems
Bluebell Lining
Down footpath lined with bluebells
Lit by the early sun
Striding out on Chiltern Way
When day has just begun
Through sunlight dappled woodland
With birdsong all around
The piping call of blackcap
Replacing traffic sound
Beyond old gate a vista
Of rural farm landscape
On edge a splash of yellow
From ripening oil seed rape
Pheasants in the distance
A track that winds to where
The green trees clothe horizon
Amid the warming air
Contouring the hillside
Upon an earthen track
Pausing in the leafy shade
To view the pathway back
Glades of blue haze wonder
Carpeting the ground
Hidden blackbird singing
And Springtime magic found.
Grim’s Ditch Walking
From ancient fine smock windmill
The oldest in the land
Another day of walking
With each route carefully planned
Past horses gently grazing
In paddocks in the sun
Down to join the Grim’s Ditch
‘Fore Saxon world begun
Through leafy tree plantation
Amid the filtered light
With early morning chorus
Sounding left and right
On paths criss-crossed by tree roots
That bear the walkers’ mark
Then blue skies showing overhead
To greet each rising lark
All around their singing
Fills the morning air
A joy in simply living
That one and all can share
Joined by sound of church bells
From out a distant tower
Which ring cross Hampden parkland
To mark a passing hour.
