 |
| ROTARY MAFIOSI IN ALCESTER |
 |
| FOOTPATH FOR THE PRIVILEGED |
 |
| OSTENTATIOUS FRONT GATE |
 |
| AVRO SHACKLETON |
 |
| CHIPPING CAMPDEN WHERE ONE PATH ENDS AND ANOTHER BEGINS |
 |
| PRACTICING 'GOOD VIBRATIONS' AT FARNCOMBE |
 |
| SHEEP SHEARERS RUSSELL AND BRIAN AT WORK |
 |
| PICTURESQUE STANTON |
After leaving Great
Alne, I walked down the road into Alcester, the home of Rotary International,
as the sign on entering the town clearly proclaimed.
The weather was wonderfully warm again, so I found myself a pleasant High Street cafe where I could enjoy an 'al fresco' breakfast. From my table I found myself observing numerous black-suited gentlemen being helped out of expensive black limos by their 'minders', and into nearby St. Nicholas Church. The minders were similarly suited, wore dark sunglasses in the strong sunshine, and spent a lot of time with their right hands tucked into their lapels. It all looked rather sinister - like a scene from The Godfather.
It turned out that the 'black-suits' had indeed come to 'pay their respects' to a deceased member of their nefarious organisation, but the giveaway was that the whole affair was being supervised by 'wardens' wearing yellow Rotary smocks. Apparently, I was observing a memorial service for a previous Rotary District Governor.
Having eaten breakfast, I spent several more hours at the cafe, writing and transmitting my blog. The proprietors didn't even look disapprovingly in my direction when I changed tables to plug the BlackBerry into their power socket. Eventually, the re-emergence of my appetite resulted in me ordering more food, helping to assuage my feelings of guilt.
It was nearly 4.00pm before I eventually left to continue south along the Heart of England Way (HoEW) through Bidford-upon-Avon, until I reached Long Marston. I could feel the wealth of the area - many of the homes I walked past were huge and showy. There had been a definite race-horsey theme ever since Great Alne, and I also noted the strange phenomenon of parallel footpaths; a private one for approved locals and a public one for the likes of me. Perhaps the idea is to ensure that class separation can be maintained when the oil runs out and both the aristocracy and the proletariat masses have to walk everywhere.
I had supper at The Masons Arms in Long Marston. The landlord allowed me to pitch my tent in the front garden, but as the evening wore on, some of the locals became quite drunk. The noise and shouting continued very late into the evening. I just wanted to get some sleep, and eventually moved the tent into the rear garden where I was less likely to be disturbed. I slept OK, but it had not been a great evening because I had felt uncomfortable in the environment, as if I was in a foreign country and couldn't speak the language.
The remaining distance to Chipping Campden and the start of the Cotswold Way was only about 8 miles, so I decided to take my time over it. I don't think I could have hurried anyway, because it was seriously hot. I took a short detour from the HoEW to visit Long Marston Airfield, which seemed to be the venue for a hippy festival. There was also a collection of derelict aeroplanes in one corner of the airfield that interested me as it included an Avro Shackleton (developed from the wartime Lancaster bomber), a Gloucester Meteor, a De Havilland Vampire and a Hawker Hunter.
My second detour from the HoEW was to enable me to climb Meon Hill (no relation to my local Meon Valley), from which I gained a magnificent view of the surrounding countryside.
I was in Chipping Campden by 2.00pm. Although the honey-coloured limestone buildings were undoubtedly attractive, the place had little soul and seemed to exist only for tourism. I gave it the once over, then sought a room for the night as I was due a break from my tent-bound existence.
The local information office booked me a room at the Farncombe Estate, which they initially said was 'just out of Chipping Campden' but turned out to be 2 hours walk away. Fortunately, three quarters of the walk was along the Cotswold Way path, so I had now started this phase of my trek.
The weather was wonderfully warm again, so I found myself a pleasant High Street cafe where I could enjoy an 'al fresco' breakfast. From my table I found myself observing numerous black-suited gentlemen being helped out of expensive black limos by their 'minders', and into nearby St. Nicholas Church. The minders were similarly suited, wore dark sunglasses in the strong sunshine, and spent a lot of time with their right hands tucked into their lapels. It all looked rather sinister - like a scene from The Godfather.
It turned out that the 'black-suits' had indeed come to 'pay their respects' to a deceased member of their nefarious organisation, but the giveaway was that the whole affair was being supervised by 'wardens' wearing yellow Rotary smocks. Apparently, I was observing a memorial service for a previous Rotary District Governor.
Having eaten breakfast, I spent several more hours at the cafe, writing and transmitting my blog. The proprietors didn't even look disapprovingly in my direction when I changed tables to plug the BlackBerry into their power socket. Eventually, the re-emergence of my appetite resulted in me ordering more food, helping to assuage my feelings of guilt.
It was nearly 4.00pm before I eventually left to continue south along the Heart of England Way (HoEW) through Bidford-upon-Avon, until I reached Long Marston. I could feel the wealth of the area - many of the homes I walked past were huge and showy. There had been a definite race-horsey theme ever since Great Alne, and I also noted the strange phenomenon of parallel footpaths; a private one for approved locals and a public one for the likes of me. Perhaps the idea is to ensure that class separation can be maintained when the oil runs out and both the aristocracy and the proletariat masses have to walk everywhere.
I had supper at The Masons Arms in Long Marston. The landlord allowed me to pitch my tent in the front garden, but as the evening wore on, some of the locals became quite drunk. The noise and shouting continued very late into the evening. I just wanted to get some sleep, and eventually moved the tent into the rear garden where I was less likely to be disturbed. I slept OK, but it had not been a great evening because I had felt uncomfortable in the environment, as if I was in a foreign country and couldn't speak the language.
The remaining distance to Chipping Campden and the start of the Cotswold Way was only about 8 miles, so I decided to take my time over it. I don't think I could have hurried anyway, because it was seriously hot. I took a short detour from the HoEW to visit Long Marston Airfield, which seemed to be the venue for a hippy festival. There was also a collection of derelict aeroplanes in one corner of the airfield that interested me as it included an Avro Shackleton (developed from the wartime Lancaster bomber), a Gloucester Meteor, a De Havilland Vampire and a Hawker Hunter.
My second detour from the HoEW was to enable me to climb Meon Hill (no relation to my local Meon Valley), from which I gained a magnificent view of the surrounding countryside.
I was in Chipping Campden by 2.00pm. Although the honey-coloured limestone buildings were undoubtedly attractive, the place had little soul and seemed to exist only for tourism. I gave it the once over, then sought a room for the night as I was due a break from my tent-bound existence.
The local information office booked me a room at the Farncombe Estate, which they initially said was 'just out of Chipping Campden' but turned out to be 2 hours walk away. Fortunately, three quarters of the walk was along the Cotswold Way path, so I had now started this phase of my trek.
It turned out that my accommodation was at the Cotswold Conference Centre on the Farncombe Estate, which meant that I would be amongst people on weekend residential courses on Acrylic Painting, Modern Burmese History and Singing the Songs of the Beach Boys. By the time I arrived the manager, William, had learned about my charity venture and did everything he could to make my stay comfortable, which included a free evening meal which I ate along with the course participants. He even made an announcement about my venture to the participants which resulted in charitable donations of over £100! Thanks everybody.
In the evening William told me of his own plans to ride a horse between thirty English Cathedrals, announcing his arrival at each with a bugle blast. We spent some time looking at my website and talking about planning and logistics. Kindred spirits.
Next morning I took full advantage of the relaxing atmosphere and didn't leave until midday. William drove me to the point where I'd departed from the Cotswold Way to stay at the Centre. From there, based on William's advice, I decided to stick to the high ground and by-pass Broadway, a village that I was told had similarities to Chipping Campden. The advice was good. My route took me past Broadway Tower and then Snowshill, a beautiful village where I stopped for a cider. Shortly after, I watched local sheep shearers Russell and Brian at work in the fields and then had a late picnic lunch at Stanton, sharing a bench-seat with chatty Vera and Val.
The weather was just glorious, and being a Saturday there were lots of people about, so my walk became a bit of a social occasion. I was happy to keep walking for as long as the sun kept shining. By evening I had reached Wynchcombe where, as I walked down the main street, I was fortunate enough to be approached by Peter Campion who had seen my rucksack banner. Not only was he interested in my walk, but he guided me to a nearby field where I could pitch my tent.
The day's story didn't quite end there because I later took a stroll around town. On my way back to the tent I looked in at the Conservative Club and inadvertently gate-crashed local Kathy's 50th birthday bash. From my brief acquaintance with Winchcombe, I gained the impression that the town had a good community and was a genuinely pleasant place to live.