August 19, 1981: Southend to Ashbury
Looking northwest as the “Herepath” approaches Liddington Hill
Almost three weeks passed before I was able to make a second trip to the Ridgeway. On this August Wednesday DeWitt Platt, who was staying downstairs in Clark’s flat on Kensington Park Road, was my companion. We really had not spent much time together in spite of living in the same building – DeWitt busy with Michigan State students and Dorothy and I trying to get our London act together for the first time. Now Dixie had returned to the states because of her father’s illness and I realized that today would probably be the last time for quite a while for me to spend some time with my old friend. We did not talk shop. All of my concerns over DeWitt’s stamina and his street shoes were needless. He did quite well on the trail.
We left 190 shortly before 9:00 and caught a bus to Paddington immediately. We bought our tickets (cheap day returns this time) and I made some enquiries about return times. Then we had coffee and/or tea – with me, the UK resident now, reminding Dewitt he had to specify in advance if he didn’t want milk in his drink. We boarded our train early, which was just as well since it was soon jammed with holidaymakers on their way to Weston-Super-Mare (or “Old Muddy” as one pessimist called it). One of my two canteens deposited two drops of water on the Telegraph being read by a businessman sitting on my left.
We detrained at 10:45 and marched over to the Swindon bus station, where I checked on bus times for the return trip. Then at 11:05 we started back to Ogbourne St. George – sun and cloud had replaced the gloom and mist of July 31. The bus driver, who had been dealing most gently with the cackling ladies of Wiltshire, agreed to let us down precisely at Southend, where the route crosses the road. I had trouble orienting myself until the bus pulled away and revealed the needed crossroads. I now wanted to walk back into this thatched hamlet, rain having prevented me from taking pictures last time. Shortly before 12:00 we were ready to begin our ascent of the ridge, a steep journey made easier because we were still fresh. DeWitt picked wildflowers.
There were some stretches on the top that were shaded by foliage. Flies buzzed in these lanes and views were restricted but on the whole the going was pleasant enough. DeWitt managed to dodge every puddle in the rutted track and ended the day with his white rope loafers still in pristine shape. After three miles or so we came out to more open country. Some farmer had put up a fence at the end of a brief path signaled with a Countryside Commission acorn – so we had to retrace our steps in order to proceed on the other side of the barbed wire. For a mile or so we had to walk along the edge of a wheat field whose stubble had been burned recently. Heat still rose from the blackened surface.
Having failed to master the technology of a gate (protected by a gang of cows into which we had to wade) we climbed over the thing and walked by Liddington Castle, the five-mile mark. There didn’t seem to be a path to the earthwork so we settled for lunch at an old pillbox that commanded wonderful views of the area to the north. Lunch was an instant replay of the one I had devised for Howard – and equally appreciated. At about 2:15 we began our descent to the M4, having to tread for a mile or so on the edge of a recently gravelled roadway – not an entirely happy experience. As I had expected, the pub at Fox Hill had just closed as we neared it shortly before 3:00. This was nevertheless a great disappointment.
Our last major uphill stretch began now. We overtook a Chow who has huffing more than usual. A number of nearby fields were smoldering in the distance and wonderful butterflies were often underfoot. I was getting weary. We lay down for a rest after we had cleared Charlbury Hill and here, to our surprise – for it was still sunny and clear – a fine dew began to descend on us from somewhere, moisture so light that it dried as soon as it arrived.
We passed the Ridgeway Farm and had a long level stretch along another sunken lane, passing the border into Oxfordshire somewhere along the line. We began a gradual rise to the Idstone road and had a last rest shortly before reaching the Ashbury road. I could see that we were going to be early for our 5:20 bus but it was getting quite gray in the west and I wanted to avoid another ninth inning soaking.
Ashbury was only a steep half-mile or so below the ridge. We left the path, therefore, and descended slowly, with no traffic to worry about. DeWitt commiserated with me over the necessity of returning up this hill on the next stage of my walk. Ashbury proved to be a delightful thatched village, though everything seemed to be closed. We sat on a 1936 George V bench in a traffic island next to the World War I monument. Flowers grew out of the boles of two long dead trees. It was only twenty minutes or so that had to be spent in this fashion but as we returned at 5:15 to the bus shelter above the Rose & Crown a light drizzle began.
The bus, which started its run in Ashbury, carried only the two of us for its entire run to Swindon, a delightful route through other interesting villages including Hinton Parva (or as the sign pedantically translated, Little Hinton). Once the bus had to stop to let some ducks cross the road.
We were quite early in Swindon and I remembered that there might be an earlier train than the one Howard and I had taken. So we dashed to the station and reached the ticket booth just as the train in question was being announced. DeWitt had discovered that we were due to arrive in only 45 minutes – since we had lucked into a non-stop 125. He had enjoyed himself tremendously on this outing, and talked about it for years. I recall that he read a lurid piece of Hollywood shlock and sipped a cup of coffee on the return ride. A huge Bassett Hound blocked the aisle of our compartment and uncomplainingly the other passengers scrambled over him as they made their way to the loo or the buffy car – many, including the conductor, pausing to scratch the beast’s ears.
We arrived back at about 6:45 and our luck (which had also included getting to the end of a roll of film in Ashbury) held to the last. We were on the right platform for the Metropolitan Line and were back in Ladbroke Grove around 7:45 – after a most successful day.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: