June 23, 2002: Air Balloon Inn to Painswick
The tea garden, Cooper’s Hill
I had pancakes for breakfast at the Wyastone this morning, another sunny day in a dining room that was again dominated by young golfers – though far more subdued in manner than the previous lot. An elderly gent said to me that he had heard on the radio of the death of an American baseball player, though he couldn’t remember which one and the event was too recent for the newspapers. I prepared our bags for the Compass Company and called Starline for the last time. We were picked up at 9:30 and deposited at the Air Balloon ten minutes later. Tosh refused to tip the driver because he had charged £9.00 instead of the £7.50 we had paid for the same distance the previous day. I did point out that perhaps rates were higher on Sunday.
The walk began along a pavement adjacent to the A417. I stopped in a bus shelter to tie a shoe and we followed the pavement, which soon became a footpath, into a series of fields. Behind us was a chap with two dogs, Cherry and Jessie, and heading for us (in spite of the no cycles signs on the stiles) was a hard-charging biker. We got out of the way but the chap behind us gave the cyclist a telling off. We entered woodland and emerged at a viewpoint opposite yesterday’s Crickley Hill promontory. I tried to lure Tosh into the adjacent parking lot with the promise of two topographs, including a geological one, but she was not interested.
After a stroll along the top of the escarpment we re-entered woodland to descend to another promontory view site, then doubled back to continue in a mostly southerly direction. We crossed the Birdlip road and continued to descend – eventually finding a trackway where we turned left. We were in deep woodland now and much of the day was spent under the canopy of leaves. Views were often obstructed but I found the environment to be full of charm, my only objection being to the occasional fall and rise of the bridleway itself – since I always begrudge losing altitude that I know I will have to regain later.
On the whole walking was easy and there were only occasional anxieties about taking the correct fork and, with few landmarks in evidence, figuring out just how far we had come in the long westward circuit we were undertaking. Occasional breaks in the woodland on our right provided some relief and some views; one of these offered a view of the remains of a Roman villa, Great Witcombe, just below Cooper’s Hill Farm.
On the side of Witcome Reservoir below us a village fete was under way and we were accompanied for an hour or so by the sound of the loudspeaker – just another intrusion from the world I thought we had left behind – along with the golf greens, radio masts, joggers and parking lots that seemed such a presence on the Cotswold Way. One feature of the event below was a fun run and as we rounded Cooper’s Hill we encountered the occasional marshal and many panting runners churning up the muddy bridleway as they ran toward us. Tosh cheered the women runners. I greeted both sexes.
Eventually we took a turnoff up the hill and escaped all this excitement, but it was a surprise when we rounded a corner and arrived at the first buildings of the hamlet of Cooper’s Hill. I had promised the others refreshment here and things didn’t look promising at first, but I persevered and at 12:00 I discovered a small cottage on the right, the Haven Tea Garden.
There was an “open” sign on the gate so we passed a wall full of homemade announcements and circled the cottage – but there seemed to be no one at home. I had seen a neighbor nearby so I decided to ask her about this – but just as I reached the front gate a car pulled up and the proprietress of this establishment, Rosemary Hellerman, struggled out of the back seat – just returned from church. She must have been in her late seventies but she was happy to cater to our needs and we were soon settled in her back garden for a nice rest.
Each of us ordered a sandwich and a glass of squash. Then there were lots of biscuits and homemade teacakes. The cats, Pé Pé and Jasmine, were much in evidence and seven geese were honking down the hillside. You had to be careful where you sat because the grassy surfaces were a bit uneven but we found the place to be quite delightful. Rosemary asked us to sign her guest book and used my camera to take our picture: “Don’t say cheese, say sex.”
Other customers were arriving at this most remote site and after an hour or so we decided to pay up and depart. Almost immediately, at the foot of Cooper’s Hill itself, we encountered a very steep pull up to the maypole – site of the famous annual Whit Monday cheese rolling lark – but it was hard to know how the locals could chase the cheese without disappearing over the hillside forever.
Our walk returned to woodland, with more up and down as we made our way through Buckholt Wood. Eventually we reached a minor road – which we followed down to the A46 at Cranham Corner. We crossed this busy highway to re-enter wood at a spot where someone had used chalk to advise walkers that sex could be had a few hundred yards ahead – “Pay on site.”
The Royal William, Cranham Corner
Again we crossed a minor road and continued forward to the Castle Lodge access road – where I suggested we have a look for a pub that I had spotted on the OS map (though its proximity is not mentioned in Burton’s text). Almost immediately we could see the back of the Royal William and in a few hundred yards we were inside this comfortable establishment, drinking our beer. Everyone used the loos and then we returned to our route, passing Castle Lodge itself and continuing forward into the open country beneath Painswick Beacon.
Another golf course had to be traversed and there were dozens of people and kids about, few of them playing golf, but most of them with balls of some sort. We just followed our waymarks in this pleasant environment, eventually dropping down to a woodland path where a junked sculpture marked the way – a giant aluminum Swiss Army knife.
At the end of this path we reached the first avenues of Painswick, turning left to descend on Gloucester Street. The CW has its own route through this town and we followed it first south then west, passing the Royal Oak pub and entering the churchyard with its famous 100 yews. I was trying to figure out where our route would begin the next day and, while I was doing this, the others found some public loos. We also visited the ancient stocks, but they were locked so there was no way of trying them out on any of our common scolds. Then, after nine and half miles, it was time to climb back to the main street and to search for our hotel, the Falcon Inn – which we quickly located on the north side of the churchyard.
Harold, Tosh and Margie approach the Falcon Inn, Painswick
Just as we were checking in the man from Compass, with three of his children, came in the back door with our packs. It was 4:40. Marge and I had rooms on the second floor but we merely deposited our bags here (after I finally figured out how to use the key) and returned to the bar for tea and biscuits. The Falcon was a very nice, though elderly establishment, and we enjoyed it and Painswick, a village of great charm noted for its pale yellow stone.
I obtained a Stroud taxi number here and I was also offered several Painswick numbers when we visited the Royal Oak for drinks before heading back at 8:00 for dinner at the Falcon. This was quite good, though Tosh denounced the vegetables. I had medallions of a beef in a green pepper sauce. Service was pretty slow and they kept running out of things (no rum and raisin ice cream – I had to join Margie in mint choc chip).
I called Dorothy but she had no idea who the dead baseball player was. My room overlooked the churchyard and the ornate clock on the tower and this was a very lovely spot but soon I had to draw the curtains and drop off, shortly after 10:00.
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