Introduction.

Despite looking like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz at the end of the previous section, Justin had agreed to come for another stroll on the Ridgeway. Cat seemed less eager, and had negotiated us back from our original planned meeting time of 8:15am to what she considered to be the more respectable time of 9am. In return she’d got Justin to bring his Dad’s Volvo rather than his own 2-seater MG mo-ped, which meant a reduction in the amount of shuttling to-and-forth.

I had made her promise to be at our meeting point of Sparsholt Firs by 9am at the latest, but when Jim and I arrived there was no sign of them. A phone call revealed that they had gone the wrong way down the A4001, and were now somewhere near Hungerford. I had a job persuading Cat that they should have come up through Lambourne, but eventually she agreed and Jim and I amused ourselves in the meantime by playing an improvised game of cricket using a walking pole and chunks of ice broken out of a nearby puddle. There had been a couple of centimetres of snow on the ground when I left Wycombe and I had hoped the Ridgeway would be covered in the white stuff, but it was not to be.

Eventually they arrived, and leaving my Corsa at this remote, rutted and muddy “car park” we took the Volvo on to park outside the hotel in Ogbourne St George where we had finished walking on our previous trip. We headed back across the fields in a reversal of the route we’d taken to leave the Ridgeway last time. The over-engineered bridge still had no water beneath it, and the horses were still interested in Justin. This time he gave them the cold shoulder, and instead they turned their attention to Cat, who showered them with compliments and stroked noses.

Ogbourne St George to Liddington Castle

Once Cat had reluctantly left her new equine friends behind, we found ourselves back on the Ridgeway. At this point it failed entirely to live up to its name; the broad leafy track was in the process of crossing a broad valley. It wiggled its way into the hamlet of Southend, where we were slightly spooked by what appeared to be a couple of people sitting on a bench outside Badger Cottage. In the chill wind this seemed unlikely, and a more careful inspection revealed them to be a pair of particularly lifelike dummies. We couldn’t establish a reason for their presence, but were glad to see good old-fashioned English eccentricity still thriving.

At Southend we nervously made our way across the busy A346, and started a long ascent of the far side of the valley. To our right was a house, which – according to the Aurum Press guide – “has a drinking-water tap on its wall, kindly provided for use by Ridgeway travellers”. This may well have been the case, but as we approached the dwelling a dog behind the garden wall started barking at an almighty volume. Hurrying past, we were startled to hear another “woof” from above, and on looking up saw another hound standing proud as a figurehead on top of the six foot wall. We quickly moved out of reach before he could start an aerial attack! With a solitary house right by a main road, I don’t blame the owners for putting in canine defences like this, but it did mean that we never did spot that tap. Good job we weren’t relying on it!

The tranquillity of the Ridgeway was soon revived once we were out of sight of the dogs, and clumps of snowdrops at the trail edge helped to sooth our shattered nerves. After crossing another minor road the path sloped up ever more steeply through woodland, with occasional cats-eyes acting as an incongruous reminder that the path could (outside the winter months) also be used by motorised vehicles. Here Jim & I started to play one of our regularly improvised trail games. After seeing a partially concealed sign, we tried to think of words or phrases that could end in “way”. “Curds and Whey” and “Get out of my way” were two of the things that the sign might conceivably have said. Justin & Cat thought we were mad, but these sort of games are just one of the ways that Jim and I while away the time on a long walk, and thus maintain what little sanity we still have.

On reaching the top of the ridge, the trail turned northwards to run along it. Even though it was rather overcast, visibility was far better than on the misty first day on the Ridgeway, and great views opened out to the west. Unfortunately this also made the trail somewhat vulnerable to the icy breeze. Cat started to speed up and pull away from the rest of us. Not only did she not have a waterproof (and the icy breeze cut straight through her fleece) but she’d also forgotten her tobacco and thus felt a pressing need to get to the end of the trail!

A mile along the ridge we were momentarily disconcerted when the trial came to a minor road and instead of crossing it, turned and followed it for some distance. This was the first section of the Ridgeway to run on tarmac, and it didn’t feel right. Not to worry though – after crossing another road we were back to the standard wide, dirt-and-gravel track, which once again had sporadic cats-eyes to guide us on our way.

The next section of the trail used to be notoriously churned-up by motor vehicles – I remember one walk as a teenager it was thigh-deep in places. The winter ban on motorised vehicles, combined with improvements to the trail surface, has made a dramatic difference. Although occasionally rutted with puddles, there was now no impediment to us walking straight through. Jim in particular enjoyed stomping through the puddles and breaking up the ice, whilst the rest of us looked on in the vague hope that he would slip over in comic fashion.

I assume that at times the trail does still get churned up, particularly in the wooded sections, for Wiltshire County Council have helpfully provided extra “walkers only” paths off to the side of the main trail. Generally we ignored these paths, preferring instead the straighter, faster main trail, but we did investigate a small structure that we saw down one of them. It turned out to hold equipment linked to a tiny nearby reservoir. Shortly after this a lapse in attention caused us to miss the first trig point located directly upon the trail.

We now came to a section of the Ridgeway that Jim and I (and our Dad) had already walked when visiting the Swindon “county” top, over a year previously (see the separate county top report. We soon saw the top itself on the hill ahead, a trig point on top of the Iron Age hill fort of Liddington Castle. Before we reached it we wanted to reacquaint ourselves with the friendly shaggy horses that live up on this cold hilltop. Their black-and-white markings give a hint of bovine ancestry, but my predictable joke that they were only ”fresian” because of the cold wind fell a little flat. We fed them handfuls of grass for a while (why do horses in a field full of grass seem to take such pleasure in being handed identical grass by strangers?) before marching on up the hill

Despite the gentle slope, the hill made us all puff, implying that it was high time we had a break. I had planned to make our first stop inside Liddington Castle itself, but a rusty old farm wagon beside the trail seem to offer far better respite from the wind.

Liddington Castle to Waylands Smithy

Having refuelled and piled on more clothing, we felt a bit warmer. The permissive path around the field edge to Liddington Castle would have added a good half a mile to our walk. Jim and I had already visited it, and weren’t too bothered about seeing it again. Cat was desperate to move on and find some tobacco, whilst Justin was just too cold and tired to go there. So we decided to give it a miss (I think the thought of a warm pub a little further down the road may have influenced Justin & Cat’s decision a little!) and marched onwards. As the trail veered westward, the wind swung more behind us – this too helped cheer us up.

The trail now once again descended from off the ridge, this time in order to find a way across the M4. The descent took it between chalky white-grey fields full of startlingly bright white chalk molehills. This eerie colour scheme gave the impression that we were walking through a photographic negative (now there’s a phrase that will mean nothing to future generations!)

After passing the lengthy frontage of King Edwards Place, we finally (and much to Cat’s joy) arrived at the pub (“The Shepherds Rest”) where the other 3 soundly criticised me for ordering tea rather than beer. Jim and I, the hardened outdoorsists (is that a word? I doubt it!) decided to sit outside whilst Justin and Cat skulked into the bar. Jim and I were probably the first to sit in the pub garden this year – all the picnic tables had been stacked up outside and we had to unstack one before we could sit down. As we did, the sun came out and it started to feel thoroughly pleasant – we both agreed it was far more splendid sitting out here than in a smoky bar. My pot of tea was most enjoyable (although as a walker I’d rather have had a big steaming mug of it!) and Jim was served a superb pint of ale.

Having finished up we restacked the picnic table, returned our empties to the bar and began the lengthy process of extricating the other two from the pub. This took some time, and may not have happened at all if Justin had – as he wished – been able to order a steak sandwich. They were seriously considering quitting at this point, but we eventually managed to winkle them out and get them walking again.

Almost immediately the trail finally left the noisome road to follow a quiet trackway. This headed steeply uphill, but after our break at the pub the climb was very easy. It emerged onto a flat-topped ridge with mixed farming to each side and views to the north; identical to the majority of the trail we had so far walked. Whilst generally pleasant, the Ridgeway doesn’t lend itself to varied or dramatic landscapes.

There were, however a few points worthy of note over the next couple of miles. To the left of the trail, the bijou Charlbury Hill had a classic “kids’ picture” hill shape with a prominent trig point on top. If there had been a public right of way up it I feel sure Jim and I would have taken time out to “bag” it, so perfect was it in form. A little further on, a steep-sided and sinuous valley opened out to one side – by the mellow geography of these parts, it almost merited the word “chasm”. A farm had a tap besides the trail offering water for animals only. We wondered if sweaty hikers would fit into this category (fortunately we still had more than enough water).

These “highlights” seemed few and far between in what seemed like an endless hike to our chosen lunch spot of Waylands Smithy. It didn’t help that I’d got a bit ahead of myself on the map, and thought Waylands Smithy was only a few hundred yards away when in fact it was the better part of a mile. Still, eventually we made it, notified of its presence as much by the hordes of people as by the huge stones visible through the trees on our left.

Waylands Smithy to Sparsholt Firs

Okay, maybe ten or so people doesn’t count as a horde, but it was probably more people than we’d seen on the trail in the rest of today’s walk.

Waylands Smithy is a Long Barrow, and at first glance seemed far more impressive than the West Kennet barrow we’d seen on day 1 (despite actually being much smaller). Mature trees neatly encircled the long grassy mound. Just as at West Kennett, huge sarsen stones guarded the entrance to the barrow; here they were more symmetrical, and either side the front face of the barrow was neatly built up with small stones. Stone steps led up to the top of the barrow. It seemed that the barrow had been subject to extensive restoration – it seemed odd that a 5,000-year-old tomb had been gentrified!

Stepping over the low stone guarding the entrance, we found (again, just like West Kennett) that the huge mound was an anti-Tardis, having a tiny interior – just a corridor with one small chamber off too each side. There was a lot less headroom than at West Kennett, and having stuck our heads in for a brief peek Jim and I went back outside. Cat went in next, but she did not re-emerge. We called out “have you set up home in there or something?” to get the reply “yes”. Not having a wind-proof jacket she was freezing, and was glad to find somewhere to have lunch out of the bitter wind. Justin crawled in to join her, and Jim and I left them to enjoy some privacy (and to experience their first house of their own!)

Jim and I sat down with our backs to the front wall of the barrow. Legend has it that if you leave a coin and your horse here overnight the horse will be re-shod. We didn’t need new shoes but it felt great to rest our feet – it had been a long hike in the cold with few breaks. Our cup-a-soups tasted wonderful (something that only happens when you’re cold and tired). There was plenty of action for us to enjoy as we ate. A chap turned up with a rucksack full of photographic equipment. He pulled out a wire rectangle, and started to pace round the barrow, alternately framing views and glaring at us. It was clear that he wanted us to move. If he’d have asked us politely we’d have been happy to move, but we were darned if we’d shift for an angry glare. We couldn’t understand why he wanted to take what looked like a professional photo on what had become a very overcast and murky day.

Other day-trippers arrived and were rather surprised on looking inside the tomb to find it occupied by Jus & Cat. Instead they went off to closely study the trees that surround the site. At the time we thought this odd behaviour; later we discovered that each tree trunk was totally covered in carved graffiti. Whilst one bit of graffiti would have been vandalism, en masse the carvings were rather impressive, and I could easily imagine them gracing the Tate Modern!

As Jim and I moved on from soup to hot chocolate, Jus & Cat finally emerged from their hovel. The photographer gave up waiting and stomped off to look at photograph opportunities at the far end of the barrow. As we left he came running back – only to discover another enormous group of visitors just arriving. As we returned to the trail, all saying how much we’d loved the barrow, there was a brief snow flurry. It looked like the surly photographer faced a long cold wait!

Cat seemed a lot happier following lunch, and as we marched along we all chatted about our favourite TV programmes from our childhood (strangely we talked most about the slightly obscure G-Force). This is a conversation that normally occurs after about three or four pints at the pub, which is probably a good indication of the state that long-distance walking leaves your body in.

We soon saw the embankments of Uffington Castle Iron Age hill fort ahead of us, busy with daytrippers. To the left was Dragon Hill, reputed to be the place where St George slew the dragon. Uffington is, of course, most famous for its ancient white horse, carved into the hillside. You can’t see it from the trail, and as we’d all seen it before we had no wish to divert to see it again.

The trig point at Uffington Castle is the highest point in Oxfordshire, and as such Jim and I had visited it previously. I think Justin and Cat were well past caring, but we decided to drag them to the trig point anyway – it would be Justin’s tenth county top and Cat’s first. We admired the great views to the north from the trig point, and laughed at kids throwing themselves down the fort’s embankments like enthusiastic lemmings.

This was the last proper landmark of the day, and from here it would be a short stroll to my car at Sparsholt Firs. On the next hill (Rams Hill) the map showed another smaller hill fort, but I didn’t see any sign of it. A final couple of hills were a bit more challenging than anything we’d seen for a while (but were still very easy). We were passed by a mini full of smug-looking ignorant townies who had either been unable or unwilling to read the sign banning motorised vehicles from the trail in the winter months. A minute later we were back at my car, with 29% of the trail under our belts.

Once again Jim and I had found it a very easy day’s walking. Even though we’d walked a little further and had double the ascent of the first section, Justin and Cat weren’t suffering nearly as much either (disappointingly, Justin didn’t look like the Tin Man the next day). More to the point, I’d enjoyed this section far more than the first one. Wayland’s Smithy in particular had been stunning. The Ridgeway was still by no means as varied as the LOOP or as stunning as the South West Coast Path, but it had ceased to be a meaningless plod – I was actually looking forward to the next section, which would lead us down to the Thames.

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