July 31, 1981: Avebury to Ogbourne St. George
Smeathe’s Ridge
Six weeks or so after Dorothy and I arrived in England, permanent residents now, I began to walk my third long distance footpath, the Ridgeway. Earlier in the month I had retraced most of my first South Downs Way journey by walking with Bunny Dexter from Eastbourne to Exceat. Now I was ready for an entirely new route. Once again, however, I had a walking companion and the assistance of a Sean Jennett HMSO guidebook.
After a short bus ride from Kensington Park Road to Paddington I met my Michigan State University colleague Howard Anderson at the ticket queue. We were both chagrined to learn that our journey to Swindon would cost £12.90 (not £8.80) because we had arrived too early to qualify for the cheap-day return. Howard bought us coffee, which we drank during the high-speed journey west. I cannot say that the weather was too delightful. In spite of the assurances of the experts it was turning gray and wet and there was a drizzle beginning as we walked the short distance from the Swindon train station, where we arrived at 9:45, to the bus terminal. Howard consumed two more cups of coffee while we waited for the 10:25 bus to Avebury. I was getting quite gloomy because I had brought only one rain cape and the prospect of any extended walking in rain was most disheartening. Howard said that I was not to blame myself for the weather, but then Howard is a most sensible person. We got off the bus at 11:06 and I put the cape on my walking partner. It had been getting brighter during the bus journey and now, as we strode through the famous standing stones of this ancient borough, the rain stopped altogether.
I was mightily relieved. I took the camera from my knapsack and took some snaps, never knowing when I might be forced to end photography for the day. As we walked along the road to West Kennett the sun actually squeezed through the clouds. Howard said that since I had blamed myself for the rain I could now take credit for the sun. I said that as long as I was now even I would henceforth accept no further responsibility for either.
At West Kennett we ascended Overton Hill along the busy A4 and reached the Ridgeway Cafe at the top. Howard had another coffee and a small custard pie. At the rather late hour of 12 Noon we left the A4 for our first steps on the Ridgeway proper. Howard took a picture of me next to the appropriate signs. I wore my brown Borsolino hat most of the day.
For almost three miles we trod steadily northward, gradually ascending, along a wide but rutted and overgrown track. We met a few walkers coming in the opposite direction, but none going our way. It was cloudy bright but visibility was restricted and there was a haze in the valleys below. Still, it was warm enough and the air was sweet with the aroma provided but a wonderful array of wildflowers that grew everywhere at our feet. Birds were singing and sheep bleating, but the only wildlife observed near at hand were slugs and snails. Flies also buzzed about us as we made our way though a kind of sunken lane lined by trees. Near the summit of Hackpen Hill we found a spot breezy enough to discourage the pests and here we sat down for an excellent lunch which I had organized at Tescos the previous day. Salami and cheese sandwiches, prawn cocktail flavored crisps, hard-boiled eggs and chocolate biscuits were washed down with lemonade. I waved to a farmer who was tractoring a barley field nearby.
When we resumed our walk we tried in vain to spot a white horse figure below the ridge. Afraid of losing too much altitude we gave up and continued to Barbury Castle. On this stretch, and at Howard’s request, I told him about some of the discoveries I had made during my writing of the biography of my stepfather, Ingolf Dahl – the man whose walking adventures have always inspired my own. Howard proved to be a most sympathetic listener. We smoked some of his cigars.
After we had crossed through the green walls of the hill fort we sat for a while on the rim of the interior earthwork and drank some more lemonade. I could already calculate that we would not arrive in time for the 4:20 bus and I didn’t want us to be too early for the 5:20. A nearby car park was bringing a steady supply of day-trippers to the ancient site. “Where’s this castle?” one of them asked me. “Your standing on it,” I replied.
It had been so warm on the earthwork that I had taken my sweatshirt off, but five minutes later it was cool again and I had to change back. We began a descent of Smeathe’s Ridge, using a wonderful grassy ride, pursued by twin infants pushed by their mom in a double pram chair. After a while these competitors gave up and Howard and I threw ourselves down for a last rest – sharing an apple. Smeathe’s Ridge was a wonderful place, a sinuous bridge separating steep valleys, with wheat fields bending and bobbing gracefully in the pink gloom of late afternoon.
Two raindrops descended from on high and I decided to push forward. We had been pressing our luck all day and as we descended to Ogbourne St. George Camp and turned into a leafy lane to Southend village a true rain began at last. I took advantage of the trees to cover Howard in the green cape. We had a little less than a mile to go to reach our destination and only the section from Southend north to Ogbourne St. George itself was completely open. I was getting wet in front, but not too badly.
After passing one bus stop I went into a petrol station to ask if this was the right place to stop. There was considerable confusion. “I’ve never been too sure about it myself,” seemed to be the universal reaction – “Sometime it stops here in the village and sometimes it stops on the highway.” After I explained to them some of the mysteries of their own local bus system, derived from my studies in the Kensington Library, they concluded that we were to wait, indeed, on the main highway. Here there was a bus shelter where we had to wait for fifteen minutes, soon joined by a village lady – who had a cloud growing over one eye.
We were now tired, after twelve and a half miles or so, and Howard was nodding off as we rode back to the Swindon bus station. We had some tea and chocolate in the cafe at the RR station and at 6:22 we were heading back to London. Each of us slept through Slough before arriving at Paddington at 7:26.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: