Cotswold Way day 6-11: Cranham Painswick Thistledown North Nibley Little Sodbury Pennsylvania Bath

Day 6

My clothes didn’t all dry overnight, which is a bit rubbish. I eat breakfast by the reception and pack. My shoes are still very wet. Stupid me for not putting blueroll inside. I try to make everything as clean as possible, wipe mud off the floor, and put t he keys back in the safe. It’s nearly ten when I’m off. Making my way back to the trail, I stop a bit up the wooded hill out of Cranham to hang some of my wet clothes outside my bag. I know it will probably still rain but they’ve got more hope outside than inside. I take my first half hour drink and

phone Izzy. It smells pungently of wild garlic. I end up joining the cotswold way a lot closer to the point I left yesterday than Intended. The woods are peaceful. pigeons call. Drops fall. Smoke (someone is burning somewhere) and mist mingle between the trees. At the recommendation of two friendly walkers I take a detour to see the Roman villa which is definitely worth it. I feel like I’m back in Hadrian's wall surrounded by these ruined stone works. The clouds have lifted and I can see out across the valley and reservoir. I stop to take off my waterproofs. The spring gurgles. The remains show an extensive house, and There are mosaics apparently in the reconstructed bath houses.

I actually have views now, from coopers hill A huge factory sprawls below amoung red roofed estates of brick worth and Gloucester. Somewhere round here the cheese rolling takes place. . People are nice, a woman asks if I need anything. I trudge up steep slopes. I feel like I’m going far too slow. I’ve hardly made any progress it’s 12:30. a slightly annoying woman talks to me on a hill summer- she’s walking the way twice, there and back to her car each day.

Eventually I get to Painswick Beacon- I very pretty flowering common land. (A mother trying to control her small son says I should take him on the walk with me) I climb up the folding ground to get views of the wooded hills all around. Cranham must be down there. From the trig point I can see in all directions for miles and miles. There is a huge swath of water in the south west. I think it is the Severn . Little stone cotteges in the rolls of fields. This also was the site of Iron Age forts and battles. It would certainly be protected with this rampart after rampart of furrowed earth. Gloucester is a great brown sprawl in north west. As I lunch a Little boy rolls unsteadily down the golf course on a bike, his mum calling ‘use you breaks use your breaks!’ He falls off.

I head to painswick rococo gardens. Happily they let me in before my time slot. It’s a place full of delights, red follies, giant steps to the’ Blue bell walk’, scented flowering beds, twisting walks, and seats in nocks. Every turn brings something unexpected, a bubbling stream, a castle carved in a tree. The roses smell wonderful. I wander this way and that trying to cover every path. One path is heady with wafts of elder berry. After, I buy a coffee and cake from the cafe and have a nice chat with the lady in the till, they grow huge amount of fruit and veg

I walk down Into painswick, it’s is wonderful village, I really hadn’t expected much but it’s full of lovely stone buildings I take a slightly wrong route to my campsite (seems to be a. Pattern there) so cut through along a quiet little brook. The peace is Nice after the places I’ve walked today.

I reach the campsite, there’s a group of older women around but they’re leaving. The rain starts just as I pitch my tent, but thankfully this campsite has a big common room area, and I’m the only one here. I’m waiting for Izzy. I sit sorting out details for the future days, tommorrow is a terribly long haul. I drink pots of tea. (The milk powder is off, I learn too late). Izzy arrives after 7:30, unloads from her mums car, and wave her off. In the common room we sort out stuff, Izzy wants to camp tonight. She sets up her tent. I try and figure how to cook pasta in the jet boil. It’s wonderful having company. I talk a lot, after I’ve been alone a while.

Day 7

I wake ... to the sun on my face! It’s a wonderful morning. I bring all my stuff inside and leave the tent to dry out, boil a kettle and we have a nice breakfast packing time. It is just before nine when were off. The walk starts in broad light up to painswick. The CHurch yard is magnificent with yew trees cut into odd shapes and weatherd renaissance graves carved with children’s faces and figures. We walk through fields and come out to woodland, along curved ridge (there’s a well carved with a poetic dedication ) until Haresfield Beacon where broad views stretch out: the Severn shines sliver, forests line the horizon in Wales. Below towns sprawl. The recycling factory that you pass on the road south is below us. Grand, wide views. Up here the meadow is richly green and a herd of pretty cows munch on the flowers, watching the trig point. There is a group of other walkers who seemed to go the wrong way this morning if they meant to walk the cotswold way, but we follow, overtake and are overtaken by them for much of the day. The route continues on Through wooded scarp edges - the main feature of the day, now twisting south and we return back to fields to descend between Stroud and Stonehouse. In these woods the reoccurrance of blue strings dangling from the trees make us think up strange stories of men with ladders setting up swings and others cutting them down again in an unending war. Or other unsettling thoughts. We talk of time travelling stories. In the corner of a field we find an old oak completely hollow through the middle, big enough to crouch and lie down in, we eat lunch inside this living core. Then toing and froing between the direct cotswold way and the detoured way into Selsey common, we desided on the quicker routes. My feet are throbbing. It takes us past a huge old mill, through fields (two stationary horses) next to kings Stanley (where court farm campsite is) and to middleyard where we start a steep climb back up the scarp slope, greet some friendly walkers. As this morning, the path again sweeps round ridge faces in the cover of beech woods, quiet pleasant paths but with very limited views. Kilometres like this, feeling tired, foot soar, hips soar, shoulders soar (and I am have some really worrying waves of tummy cramps which fortunately fade) until we break out at Coaley Peak Picnic site. The site of another grand long barrow. The end of the walk is a painfully long road trudge to Nympsfield then road until we meet the thistledown farm entrance. The campsite it expensive for its value, but it is a very pleasant place. We set up tents and string paracord between to make a drying line. The toilets are compost long drops. The pizza restaurant is fully booked so we cook for ourselves as planned but it is very enjoyable, with the sun out, eating in the short grass. Pasta with pesto, and tomato salsa and chopped preparami, a go at the dried scrambled eggs which are edible, and the chocolate mousse which is great. Hot chocolate and washing up. There are a multitude of families here, kids playing all around, shouting crying,“I’m not proud, okay” . A busy bustling lively place. Very very different from somewhere like Colgate. As the sun sets we log rolll from the top to the bottom of a steep grassy slope. Exhilarating. The world spins. The sunset shines orange and blue through my tent as the day ends.

Day 8

The sun rises onto our tents around 7:30, we take our time eating packing sorting. The sky is clear. The sun is hot. I coat myself in Sun cream but still feel exposed. We stop at the cafe Izzy buys a croissant I buy a giant bag of crisps. Then out walking back along the road to Nympsfield and through corn fields under the sun. We join the way and come out to the awesome views at coaley peak. The sun is burning hot.

The way starts like yesterday along wooded scarp slopes, up and down, until we descend from the escarpment before a steep rising climb up cam long down an impressive flat topped outlier. At the top -my Achilles throbbing we sit to 360 views and stop for early lunch. 11 paragliders circle coaley peak. The tide comes up in the Severn estuary as we eat. An eagle or some big bird of prey swoops and soars on the thermals. The sun flits between clouds. Then we head down into Dursley. I get money out at the atm and we buy Solaris and eat them walking through town (the shop has huge inflatable swans in the window that make me think of our floating on the Avon). We have a steep climb straight out of Dursley straight up the scarp slope, where we find a golf course. The way takes a long rambling route around 7 sides of Stinchcombe Hill ridge that sticks out. It’s a long way round but the distance is impressively rewarded with a huge new views to the south. The Severn bridge seems much nearer , the Tyndale monument stands up, and we see a new horizon to the south. We sit for around half an hour in the shade of a stone hut placed at the viewpoint. Nibley House can be seen.

The final stretch drops down from the golf course high point then we climb again to Nibley. At the big house (grand,faded, Georgian classical manor) we’re not sure what to do so sat in the porch and ring the number. Diane showed us we could set up in the rose garden- maybe the most beautiful place I have camped. The sun is baking. We set up tents, I set up a washing line and lay stuff out to air. We shower then later start cooking under a little garden shelter. On the wall an old plough rusts . my tent is between sweet peas and lavender. We cook our pasta, drink our hot chocolate.

edit: forgot to record the awesome grass flavoured pasta rescue after one pot ended up in the weeds (it got scooped up and reboiled for safe measure and tastes great).

Three (french bull?)dogs cause the funniest sight I have seen, attached like a reverse Cerberus at the head to a big squishy ball, fighting, and growling, and tumbling, and tugging, until they meekly stop and leave the ball to one when ordered home. The shadow grows over our garden. The birds sing their load evening I call. We swing on the garden swing and stretch with yoga.

Day 9

The night was cold and my tent was dripping inside with condensation but the day heats up quickly when the sun comes up. We take over two hours to set off leaving our beautiful rose garden with its funny dogs, and cheerful birds. Out of nibley a sunken track leads up between towering beeches till we come out at the huge tynedale monument. The smell of the plants waking up, my back is waking up. From there through beech forests then descend, past a ring of trees with a long history (from the battle of Waterloo) to Wooten under edge which is ‘quaint’: eclectic colourful houses, independent shops and quirky buildings. A long climb out of the village(I was desperate find a toilet spot!)and up to another high point. Crickets buzz loudly in the side hedges “i wouldn’t spend my free time clapping my legs together”. We lunch on a grassy slope in Alderley, where two pretty cats greet us, and we meet another on the road out. To our surprise after a rise we find another monument towering above us, very similar to the Tyndale one, this one is called the Somerville monument. After passing through Hawkesbury Upton (and a break for now very tired feet) we start along ‘Bath Lane’ which is a wonderful stretch of high white road with views to east and west. It is hot on the track. The wheat is dry and ripe. Poppies grow within it. The sky is slightly hazy but air is baking. Onwards, after Horton Court we rise to the top of ridge and stop at a bench. The view is stunning- the best I’ve seen by far. Four eagles (or kestrels?) are floating in the updraft that rises from the hot plane. Irregular fields pattern below, tractors picking up hay, lush hedgerows, play mobile cows. The eagles are enjoying themselves in the afternoon heat - we hear their calls. Behind us wheat rustles up on the ridge. A descent past Horton primary school in a pretty Victorian school house, then slog up and down fields till we finally reach Little Sodbury. Here we leave the trail and head across a field then 1km of road to the west. Finally the road reaches a cotswold meadows camp sign and we turn in. A pretty shed common room with fairy light and bunting. I think it was after 6, or heading on. We lie under the warm sun, then set up tents then shower, it’s cold but there is Aussi shampoo and conditioner. We cook using the gas stove and pan inside the open air building, eat from sofas and proper plates while our phones charge, and stay up late watching horrible history songs. It’s a beautiful evening but will be another cold night. It’s 10:30 when we say goodnight. I leave me tent door open to watch the sun set and the stars appear.

Day 10

It is a nice night, starry. I leave my door open all night and it helps a little with the condensation. Morning under the common building using the kettle. The sun is shining now through a veil of clouds we expect rain in the afternoon. The blister on my right little toe is very painful when I walk. I wrapped it this morning but must have done it badly. Breakfast is relaxed. Our final camp complete. I think I’ve a headache coming in. Then the road back to little sodbury and start climbing. The hill forts’ huge area is visible within the ramparts. Again birds of prey fly in updraft. We descend into old Sodbury past a scool that looks just the same (even in its topography) as that in Horton yesterday. The way goes through the church yard which gives walkers a little leaflet, the tower is from the 13th century’s and church older. The views are nice from the grave yard. Some school children are huddled in t field. Down fields then through the village. Then we climb into Dodington Park- we feel soar at this point and stop for a rest. I remember looking up this park - it’s owned by James Dyson and huge- a product of the Immense, horrific wealth of 19th and 18th century Britain, of the wealth of the slave trade. On the way through we play alphabet games, and memory games: I went camping and I brought “boots, pumpernickel bread, an inflatable swan, a tractor, a hat, a high vis jacket, an acorn marker, a buttercup, five litres of water, turf, a litter tray, wheat, a pair of pants, a butterfly, a mountain, knowledge, William Tynedale, lipstick, my hopes and dreams, and the lord god himself. “ and then male up a story involving an old man, a boy, a lighthouse, Margaret the mermaid , a giant hermit crab, the slug woman at the bovril shop on the mainland, Tobias the emperor snail, and his heir Malachi. We walk through Tormarton then leaving it fly over the M4. We eat lunch on a green behind a farm shortly after, then plod on again, my blistered feet hurt a lot. It is cold and windy but then too hot with waterproofs. After leaving Beacon lane plantation we walk through large fields under pylons and see the heat of the motorway glistening up. The cars we walked over must be far away now.Izzy has passed this wind turbine before With a few more breaks we get to Dyrham Park, recorded as a deer park from Ad577!

My feet are so soar and my head is dreary and tired before we got near Dyrham park. The road goes ever on and in out from the door where it began and where it goes I can not tell but I will folllow if I can.

Near here an important battle took place between Saxons and ancient Britons- did this event change Britain forever?, did it change the world forever?. A sudden reveal of Dyrham Park house is immensely impressive, we chat to some people who’ve just started the trail, the women’s long skirt might be hard work in long grass. Onwards south, fields and in Dyrham wood we find a ‘messages’ box with a note book inside so leave a comment. one more road to cross, then As we head to the end the Cornflake cottage sign leans out into the path- a happy relief. The B &B is wonderful. Diane is lovely. We have a pretty twin room, good bathroom and a whole downstairs area with dinning table sofas and books. Rest, tea, wash and a game of drafts, in slippered feet, and then Diane comes out with our ‘ploughman’s ’ dinner, a lovely plate of bread cheese pickle lettuce etc, and ice creams and fruit to finish. After tea we have anothergame of drafts. Izzy wins this time, though I cling on as long as possible. I’m tired, and hoping my feet will deal with tommorrow. It is cozy and comfy here, wish we didn’t have to leave.

Day 11

The bed was wonderful, I slept a full night. Then we have a big brekafasy, cereal and bacon and egg and tomato. We leave at 9:30 and cross some major-dangerous- roads early in the day. Cold Ashton is a really nice village with a stunning Elizabethan prodigy house. Then down hills and up hills expectantly towards the Granville monument. The descent is actually pretty steep and the ascent the same. A bench overlooking Lilliput farm. Over and out to face a curving valley summited by a dry stone wall and a blue and orange metal flag. The marker describes the battle of Lansdown 1643. I carved stone shows a soldier looting. We walk along the field and round and through trees to the grand Granville monument (the earliest war memorial in Britain),Granville, a royalist, he died the night of his wounds in Cold Ashton manor. We cross a road and head down a track passed the AvonFire Brigade station, then come out to see a huge city now stretched below is for the first time. I wonder if it is Bristol. We leave the view, see volunteers working on some wall, and through a golf course. The sky is grey and rain drips in and out. Izzy tells me about Coriolanus as we head through yet another (the final) Iron Age hill fort- steep slopes guard two sides, a rampart the third - memory of War and tale of War (what influenced Shakespeare, the ancient chroniclers? The English landscape soaked with memory of blood?). I’m anticipating lunch at ‘the prospect stile’ - where I’d imagined the great of Georgian Bath might have taken the views, but there, Below the race course a group of men are waiting with a huge drone , screens and tech, they are friendly and we have a short chat- they’re there apparently to watch the horse racing. But we move on to find a different place for lunch: below the summit of Kelston Round Hill. My final pita, with preparami and Izzy’s salsa. A group of older people climb up the hill (‘it’s the shorter way’), their comments make me think - one says something like ‘I wish we’d done that when young’ or ’we would do that when we were young’ . Just after we get marvellous first view of Bath then descend a steep slope to Weston (Talking about gothic- Izzy know lots of awesome things about Dracular, Portrait of Dorian Gray). A church yard where a group of women are picnicking between ancient graves. Another hill, pretty houses then into the park. ‘Look at my little oolites.’ Suddenly after coming down to royal Victoria park it is familiar. We stop before an out of place park keepers cottage, behind a large obelisk - rest before the final walk. The final walk is grand: the great arc of the Royal Cresent, and the perfect symmetry of the circus (engravings look like Lyra’s alethiometer). The sunken garden on the house in the corner releases heady scents of honeysuckle. It starts to get busier on ‘quiet’ street, then union street, then a classical entranceway, then there the Abbey.

It is as grand and soaring as I remembered: angels climbing ladders up the tower (one of the kings-or bishops- had a dream of angels that inspired its construction). We finished! We take photos at the finishing circle, then circle the cathedral to get all four views (miss out on Javert’s bridge) and explore the area of cafes to see if any are open for tea (and toilet) - most aren’t. Then heading back i see mum - we take more photos then return for coffee and cake at ‘mrs Potts chocolate house’ - cake smothered in chocolate, strawberries too - perfect! Mum parked near by so soon we’re off: I ‘persuade’ her on a route passing most our sites- soon were speeding back past Pennsylvania (todayS start point), pointing out the place we crossed the road the day before: the beacon lane plantation, over the m4, at Dyson’s park. From the road we see the opposite side of the little Sodbury hill fort (back to day 9), then Nympsfield is in our left and in through the industrial history of Stroud, delightfully the road goes through painswick (where Izzy joined) and we can resee that gorgeous churchyard full of blobby yews. The wonderful painswick beacon common can’t be seen from the road- but, wait, wait, there!, again I crossed it. Now on our right the steep slopes of Coppers hill (cheese rolling) and Cranham scout centre signed off to the right. My memory is tied to this landscape, the way it folds, the strangers i passed, the paths I walked. Now the route has bent away, we speed over the vale, rare glimpses of the rise of Cleeve common in the east, where I walked in rain, through Brockworth, through Cheltenham (I see the grand stone faces of Izzys school, the route is complex here, an experts advice useful!), through Bishops Cleeve. We speed over the vale, through Evesham, through Bidford, through to Stratford: white wheel, and ballet roundabout. Then home- there and back again.