Stour Valley Path: Some Comments

Walking down the Stour Valley Path is to travel through an archetypal slice of England with pubs, churches, village fetes, green fields, thatched houses, bluebells, scattered trees and winding rivers. Artists such as Gainsborough and Constable sympathetically painted the landscapes of the Stour Valley and evidently loved its meadows. Historic villages like Clare with its castle ruin and Long Melford with its stately homes add depth to your exploration.

There is accommodation along the route but in places can be somewhat scare so planning is needed. I also found a few campsites. The trail is waymarked reasonably well, but you will need a map or the track loaded on your GPS to be sure of finding your way.

Stoke-by-Nayland to Mistley: E2 Day 98

The highlight today was a detour to Flatford lock, a place painted by Constable.

My walk this morning took me down more bluebell lined paths, as wells as over fields. I was distressed as always by the number of "Private" signs. Public rights to access and the use of footpaths needs to be protected, as landowners often do not want people walking by. That is the reason why I pay a subscription to the Ramblers, who work to defend and extend Rights of Way and access to the countryside and coast. One particular sign also stated that anti-climb paint was used. As there were only hedges nearby I was tempted to leave the public footpath and try and find the fence on which the paint was applied.

Bluebell lined path.

Crossing freshly tilled fields. 

Later I was walking in meadows, open areas of grass often grazed by cows, close to the River Stour or its backwaters. I was thinking very much of the landscape painter John Constable, who was born and brought up in the area and painted scenes along the river in the early years of the 19th century. I tried and failed with my camera to reproduce a Constable scene. Some of his most famous pictures were painted around Flatford Mill. Although the E2 leaves the Stour Valley Path to join the Essex Way at Stratford St Mary, I stayed with the Stour River to visit Flatford. The National Trust owns the site, there was a small exhibition of Constable's work and you could stand at locations where he painted famous works such as the "Hay Wain". There was the added benefit of lunch in the café. Constable loved the scenes he was painting and consequently they look beautiful in his pictures, even if the reality was not quite so nice. Although actions are taking place in his compositions they have a stillness, as if time had stopped and everyone is at peace.

People enjoying the meadows by Denham.

This is where the "Hay Wain" was painted, the house on the left was in the picture.

Flatford lock, paddle boards rather than barges ply the river today..

Leaving Flatford I followed a well signposted path to Manningtree, then walked through housing on a pedestrian route to join the Essex Way, waymarked by two red flowers. After a trip in the outskirts by a school disgorging its children, the route took me down to the shores of the large estuary of the Stour, out of proportion with the size of the river. The tide was out leaving many boats stranded on the sand or mud. My hotel room at Mistley looks out on the estuary. Before the railway arrived, Mistley was a transhipment port. Goods brought by boat from the sea were transferred to barges which travelled up the Stour all the way to Sudbury. No longer, although the lock at Dedham was restored in 1990, it is no longer in use. There is still a wharf at Mistley with building materials lined up on it and what look like large, old warehouses (which I later discovered to be a maltings).

Beach by Mistley on Stour Estuary. 

Sudbury to Stoke by Nayland: E2 Day 97

A walk over rolling hills, by bluebell woods and churches with a village fête near the end.

Lone tree in a patch of sun.

Although it rained overnight it was dry when I packed up and a few light showers later on were offset by patches of sunshine. The hills continued as I walked over mixed farmland to the first village of the day, Lamarsh where I stopped to view the church. Most churches in Britain have square towers but the Holy Innocents has a round tower. From a leaflet inside from the Round Tower Churches Society I learnt that of the 180 churches with round towers in Britain, the vast majority were in Norfolk and Suffolk. Although I was in Essex, I was close to the county boundary, throughout the day I was crossing back and fore into Suffolk. Sadly the nave of the Holy Innocents had bits falling off its ceiling and was barriered off, repair work was urgently needed so I put a few pounds in the donations box. I had made a number of similar donations to churches that I passed which were open to passing wanderers, and allowed me in for a quiet pray and to view the interior. I also visited the church at Wormingford with its conventional tower and white walled interior, reading the Dedham Vale and Stour Valley News in its porch while I rested.

Round tower church at Lamarsh.

Wormingford marked the start of an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB). As the lengthy name implies these are rural parts of the country considered of particular merit. A sign informed me of a proposal to call them "National Landscapes" in the future with greater protection. From the start of the day the area had more trees and woodland than in recent days.  Bluebells frequently covered the ground beneath the trees creating a blue, hazy covering. I was entranced by one particular section of bluebell lined path leading me under oak trees just starting to grow bright green spring leaves, the colours vivid in the afternoon sunlight.

As today was a bank holiday I was not doing well for coffee or tea shops, their owners taking the day off, however I was rewarded at Nayland by a May Day village fête, with funds raised being used to maintain the local church. After paying an entrance fee I was able to buy modestly priced tea, cake and a beefburger, while listening to a jazz band playing. There were lots of stalls with Bric-a-Brac, vintage items, clothes, jewellery and similar for sale. Activities included an inflatable slide, throwing a wet sponge at someone, Tombola and cuddling animals. Classic cars of various ages, all highly polished, were lined up and there was a fire engine. Unfortunately I was too late for the mens' sack-race or egg and spoon race, maybe next time.

Fete for May day at Nayland.

I am now in a very comfortable Bed & Breakfast. As is good practice I checked where the fire escapes are. One of them is under a trap door in my bedroom cupboard.

Our host provided me and another customer with coffee on arrival. In conversation with the other person staying, he said that he and wife planned a tour of Wales, he was keen to see Cardiff Castle and his wife wished to visit some gardens. While in the Cardiff area I wanted to suggest they visited Duffryn Gardens but I could not remember the word "Duffryn". There was an empty, white hole in my brain where the word should have been, despite having visited it many times since I was a child and being able to describe the layout and how to get there. Much later I remembered but it worried me especially as my mother died of Alzheimer's disease. Not that there is much you can do about it, there is no cure to age related dementia. Exercise is supposed to help so this long distance walk is a benefit, and they say to keep your brain active, so this blog is part of the treatment!

Glemsford to Sudbury: E2 Day 96

Another sunny day to enjoy England's green and pleasant lands.

My first conversation of the day was with the lady serving me a breakfast Cornish pasty at the local convenience store (helpfully opening at 6:00 am). We agreed that a lot of strange ingredients go into some vegan foods but that at least with a proper Cornish Pasty you knew what you were getting (meat, potato, pepper and pastry). As I was taking down my tent my second conversation was with the campsite owner, a man of mature years who drove around in a golf buggy. He told me in his younger days he was a long distance runner, even though it was not obvious from his current figure. We then discussed the grass, how it had suffered in last year's heatwave although it now looked green and healthy. I was glad it had not been cut recently as the clods of cut grass tend to stick to your shoes and get spread to the toilet floors, tent and anywhere else you go.

Leaving the little community of Glemsford behind I was soon crossing large fields of young, green wheat, the haze making trees a progressively lighter grey the further away they were. As I walked, there being no-one nearby, I was singing "Jerusalem", or at least the bits I could remember. 

Approaching Long Melford I began to see people in clothes similar to those worn in centuries past. Then I saw the grand façade of Kentwell Hall. They were hosting a Tudor themed May Day festival, hence the clothes some people were wearing. As the event did not appear to have started yet I carried on down the long straight drive. The driveway, lined with trees, must have made the hall look very important to people arriving. Now old and ravaged by age, many of the trees had large growths of mistletoe, easily visible as this year's leaves were still in the making. Ahead of me, peals of bells were sounding from a grand church of many tall windows. Judging by the length of the performance, the bell ringers were enjoying themselves. 

Kentwell Hall.

Mistletoe.

So entranced was I that I missed a turning. On recovering the Sour Valley Path I was led past the church as the Sunday service was starting. Beside the church was an old, red brick Almshouse of ancient foundation (1573) but still providing accommodation for the elderly. Long Melford seemed blessed by old buildings. Melford Hall was nearby, a National Trust property that looked closed when I walked by, and the towns attractive main street had houses, pubs and shops in various pastel shades.

I continued south, following the Valley Trail, an old railway line now a good path shaded by trees. Deviating onto riverside meadows I soon reached Sudbury, where, despite bring a Sunday, I found a café open for lunch. On the table next to me one of the other customers seemed very "picky", of his various complaints he said the bacon in his lunchtime cooked breakfast tasted like sweet ham. After his harangue of the apologetic waiter, the cook came out and assured him it was bacon but without success. Leaving the dispute unsettled I left and shopped for a few items then continued through the meadows as my campsite lay a few miles to the south. Gainsborough, the landscape and portrait painter was born here and drew and painted meadow scenes. I tried to take a photo that would capture a similar view, but the camera is too literal, when painting an artist can enhance attractive features in brighter tones, make ephemeral details disappear and move objects around. 

My Gainsborough shot, but the cows were too far away and modern signs intrude.

I passed one of the many weirs on the Stour, which controlled the water levels, and maybe made the water deeper for fish. Sometimes they were associated with old, wooden clad mills that used the power of the falling water. It is a pity that this renewable source of power is not still used in micro hydroelectric plants. The mill buildings that remain have been converted to other uses, such a pub and restaurant that I walked by today. As I crossed the meadows a man with his daughter asked how far I had come and other questions. On telling them I had walked from Darlington, the daughter, about five, said she was going to walk to her Grandma's in Yorkshire. They were impressed that I had been walking for over a month, which gave my morale a boost, it helped as the edge of my heel was hurting. The landscape also become unexpectedly hilly for the last few kilometres to my campsite.

From where I pitched my tent I could see down to the river on which people on paddle boards and inflatable kayaks were enjoying the afternoon. A beer garden ran down to the river and later I walked to the pub for some food. I chose the Sunday roast, which was nicely arranged in a tower, with vegetables and roast potatoes on the bottom, slices of roast beef in the middle and Yorkshire pudding as the castle on top. After finishing with a cheesecake I wondered how long it would take them to bring me the bill.  In the congenial atmosphere of the pub's restaurant, surrounded by the hubbub of other people's conversation I read several chapters of a book on my kindle before I gave up the test and went to the cash register. After paying a slightly harried young man, I walked down to the river and looked at the meadow beyond with grazing cows, trees in the distance and a willow to my right, and thought of Gainsborough and the composition of a bucolic scene. Turning to my left the image was jarred by another concrete pillbox, with its empty black holes for guns should the Germans have invaded Britain in World War II. It was my second today, and I had seen several since leaving Peterborough. There must have been a very real fear of invasion to have built so many, so far from the sea.

Great Wratting to Glemsford: E2 Day 95

Sunshine made this a beautiful ramble through fields and villages.

Sunshine and blue skies greeted me this morning as I peered out of my window. Such good weather can turn a walk that might otherwise seem mundane into a special event. Today the young wheat was a deeper green, the oilseed rape a brighter yellow and in the verges blue, white, yellow and purple flowers were bursting out. Although the sky clouded over later, it could not spoil a delightful day.

Crossing one of the large fields of young wheat.

As I crossed freshly tilled fields and those with crops already growing. I was puzzled by one particular crop that was widely planted. A passing walker told me they were broad bean plants, and that the local practice was to rotate fields between wheat, oilseed rape and broad beans. 

Reflections in a pond at Baythorne Park, helped by perfect weather.

Stretches of countryside were broken by villages, first Kedington, then Stoke-by-Clare. Stoke is a common place name meaning a settlement linked to a larger one or a religious place. As it is so common it has to be qualified in some way, so Stoke-by-Clare is near the larger village of Clare. I purchased an ice cream and "boutique" lemonade (plum and cherry) from the village shop before continuing to Clare.

Clare had an attractive high street of old houses, although a number of the shops seemed empty. However the historic highlight was the remains of a castle, not that there was much left of it, a wall standing on top of a large mound or "motte". Beneath there were ponds and people picnicking and enjoying a sunny Sunday. I planned to lunch here but the service was so slow in the nearby café that I gave up and walked back to the High Street for a coffee at a quieter place.

The Castle ruins on the motte.

View of the town of Clare from the castle. 

The next settlement, Cavendish, was a quintessentially English village with an ancient church, an old pub, a village green with trees and even a duck pond. In fact I spotted three pubs in the village. Avoiding the temptation of the tea shop I continued to Glemsford, where I am pitched at a campsite on the village outskirts. The afternoon sunlight helped dry my tent, wet from the rain when I last slept in it. I am now at the Angel pub, an ancient hostelry where I had a vegetable curry with chips and an Eton mess (not simultaneously). For the second night running I have over eaten. I will need to take care otherwise I will soon have a belly like some of the pub's other clientele. Afterwards I wondered around the village. It seemed like summer had suddenly arrived. People were in tee shirts and I was managing without my padded jacket this evening. The settling sun was giving me and the village a golden glow.

Brinkley to Great Wratting: E2 Day 94

An opportunity to visit churches on a shorter, drizzly day.

Overnight the rain fell as forecast and much of today's walk was in light rain and drizzle, the trees grey on a misty skyline. My early paths were squashed between hedges, so people had been forced to walk over the same ground which had been made wet by the rain and turned to slippery mud by the repeated footfall. Path conditions underfoot improved as I turned off the Icknield Way and headed south on the Stour Valley Path. Initially this was through a tunnel of bushes and trees. Bluebells bloomed in the woodland to my left, their heads drooping in the wet conditions. 

Landscape through the drizzle.

The path followed a stream which had a number of small weirs, I then joined the River Stour itself which had further weirs. I wondered what their purpose was. Internet searches suggest it was part of a scheme to move water from the Fens to Essex in order to meet demand. There is apparently a pipeline along the same route.

Although the Stour Valley Path passed a number of villages none seemed to have a café to nourish the body, however they all had churches to service the soul. As today's hike was a mere 18 kilometres I had time to visit a few of them. All were constructed of local flint, cemented together, and all seemed be of ancient foundation, although the current buildings had been much altered, restored or rebuilt in the last 900 years. Only one church was open, although I was able to sit in the porch of the others and enjoy a snack while reading the Benefice newsletter. As there are fewer churchgoers than in the past, Sunday services rotated around different churches in the area. While the church newsletter spoke of Easter and the joy of the resurrection, a separate village newsletter advertised the planned celebration for the upcoming coronation of King Charles III. Earlier I had seen a post box decorated with a knitted cap shaped as a crown, a celebration in wool of his ascent to the throne.

Monument to Sir Stephen Soame.

The church of St Peter at Little Thurlow was open letting me look inside and obtaining a donation as a result. Beside the chancel was the mausoleum of Sir Stephen Soame, a grand affair sculpted out of alabaster showing Sir Stephen, his wife and their many sons and daughters. He was Lord Mayor of London, a successful business man and public figure but came from relatively humble beginnings at Little Thurlow. He died in 1619, before the English Civil War tore up the structures he had worked within. The church at Little Bradley also attracted my attention due to its unusual round tower.

Another church at Great Thurlow.

Ever since I began this trip in the Tees valley, blasts of what sounded like shotguns disturbed the sounds of the countryside (birds, tractors and cars on nearby roads). Some, maybe all of these load blasts were produced by bird scarers. Devices which consisted of a tube mounted on a support, supplied by a gas bottle and with a battery to provide, I assume, an ignition source. They would produce two or three load bangs a few seconds apart and then remain dormant for a long period. I saw no birds being scattered by these contraptions.

Stour Valley Path.

I was now in Suffolk. There were a few buildings clad in black, wood siding like the traditional barns, and also thatched houses and old, brick buildings. My destination for the day was Great Wratting, a little off the Stour Valley Path. As I approached the Airbnb, the long, thin nose of a lurcher appeared through the cat flap, and its brown eyes looked up at me. On the door being opened I was greeted by four lovable dogs, all lurchers, eager to say "hello", along with their owners.

For my evening meal I went to the local pub where I ate generous portions while a group of people of a similar age to myself were chatting and popular songs from our joint youths were being played in the background. The pub looked vaguely old. A child ran around, ignoring its parents. It was a scene that could have been from many of the villages I visited.