So this is actually happening! I am pleased to report that I have started this rather fun adventure of exploring my home county.
This first idea for a mini excursion was inspired by a book
I read once called The Idle Traveller: The Art of Slow Travel,
where the Dan Keiran describes his journey home on foot, rather than by car. And
having recently moved out of the family homestead (no doubt to the relief of my
parents – Dad has been hoarding so much furniture in his shed that Mum was
particularly pleased to finally get rid of some, not to mention getting one of
their adult child out from under their feet!) I thought it might be nice to
complete a similar journey myself, walking back to my childhood home from my
current abode.
I’ve made the journey from Shrewsbury back to my house
countless times before, driving or cycling to and from school or work, but I
have never taken the time to walk the distance before, along the road or
through the countryside.
So it was simply a case of borrowing the right OS map from
the extensive collection at home, packing a bag with the trusty teapot (because
it wouldn’t be right to go adventuring without the Tardis) and heading out on
the chilly but bright Saturday morning – my first ever legitimate Saturday off
I should probably add; as someone who has only previously worked in
hospitality, this is a novelty that will take time to wear off!
I walked down to the riverside, and began striding alongside
dog walkers, cyclists, runners and drifters alike, all out enjoying the dry,
clear weather. My thoughts were slowly drifting away from the working week, my
mind relaxing and filling with wonderful memories of previous adventures. Soon,
I was beyond the weir, striking out along the narrowing path that still hugged
the meandering Severn.
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| Setting off! |
A group of horses witnessed my first tumble of the day,
their whinnies like laughter as I slipped and slid along the muddy track before
I eventually lost my footing, coating my knees and backside in wet mud…a
classic start Ballantyne…
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| I'm on my way....uh huh, uh huh.... |
It felt fantastic to be out in the country again, in a place
devoid of buildings so I could feel the full strength of that northerly wind
sting my face, and doing something different for me – before I could stop myself, my
head began to swell with more schemes, more adventures I could get my teeth
into.
I sauntered into Astley along a narrow country land, and
paused for lunch in the graveyard of the toy-sized church. It was also a good
moment to pause and empty my boots of mud and grit that had infiltrated after
so many miles plodding.
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| Lunchtime! |
With each passing mile I was greeted with ever-closer views
of Clive Church and Grinshill, knowing that my destination was getting that
little bit closer kept the energy in my legs and my mood uplifted, that
progress was being made.
After passing through Hadnall, along the woods by Hardwicke
Estate, I felt like I was on the home stretch – I knew exactly where I was, and
the hill was looming up ahead.
And yet I was brought to a standstill just before reaching
the village: the land here has recently been overhauled for extensive dairy
farming, and although the public footpath was still clearly marked, I was
forced to rethink my route by the swathes of knee-deep mud I’d unwittingly
managed to surround myself with. There was no real option other than to forge
along one of the cow paths and then re-join the path as quickly as I could…in
hindsight I cannot decide if this was the better or worse option: although this
route did not offer knee-deep mud, it offered calf-deep mud that was an
unpleasant mix of mud and cow poo, which proceeded to seep into my walking
boots…don’t get me wrong, I love mud generally, (there’s nothing more
satisfying that running a long way through a lot of mud!) but I’m pretty sure
this went a little bit too far...I don’t think I’ve ever wished for gators more!
When I managed to escape the mire mayhem, the short jaunt
along Sandy Lane into Grinshill was blissful relief – my feet were becoming
achy and sore, but I was unwilling to attempt untying my boots to remove the
grit; they were still smothered in thick orange-brown paste, my leggings and
socks caked.
I felt the wonderful upwelling of fulfilment with every
passing step as home came into eye line at long last. Completing a journey,
whatever the distance, will never grow old for me – the sense of achievement at
completing something I set out to do will always fill me with a sense of pride.
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| Beautiful Clive church |
There was no great homecoming: after 12 and a half miles of
tramping through fields, I was greeted by the usual suspects: Stewie, hopping
out the cat flap to see whose arrived, wagging his tail and yapping; Tallis
leaping at the door because she can’t quite fit through the cat flap; and
Candice-Marie, the actual cat in this trio, snoozing on top of the bread bin.
All that remained was to have a celebratory mug of tea,
brewed with the ever-faithful Tardis! And to plan the next adventure of course....until next time gang!
