Nostalgic adventuring.

 

Yesterday, as the day had brightened up as promised, my daughter and I, accompanied by Granddaughters Number Two and Number Four and Grandson Number Two went adventuring. Armed with snacks and drinks and insurance policy raincoats we set off from my house and walked through the village and on into the valley that leads eventually to Slackcote where we bought our first house in the 1970s and where our daughter was born in the front bedroom.

Because she was born in that house and because she has a large bump of sentimentality she has declared the valley to be HER valley. Okay! I also regard it as “belonging” to Phil and me but I’m not going to fight her for it.

There’s a point in the walk where we always used to be able to go straight on until the day came, long ago now, when whoever really owns the land decided to put up impassable fences, blocking the footpath, and we had to toil up a steep bit of hillside and down again, a group of us with babies in buggies! 

 

Yesterday the intrepid explorers, including the three year old, toiled up the same track, which was considerably overgrown, clearly not much trodden recently. 

 

 At the top, in a carport next to a house, we could still admire the vintage car which has been there for decades. Never to my knowledge has it moved from that place. 

We visited places that featured large in my offspring’s childhood: a bit of abandoned industrial architecture that became “Jim’s house”, named for a rag doll (we sent the photo to my son who declared that Jim has clearly been neglecting his garden);

a bridge leading to a bit of old stone wall that often became a fort for our offspring;

 

 

 

a broken-down bridge that tractors could once have driven over - no longer possible - at the end of a field where a horse used to block our way if we did not come equipped with treats for him.

We did not make it all the way to Slackcote Cottages yesterday. That was not our objective. We’ve done that before. Really we just wanted to walk the valley. When we reached New Barn, the complex of nicely converted and restored old farm house, always referred to as ‘the big house’ when we lived at Slackcote Cottages, we turned off up the drive, planning to cross the road, take a short cut up to a row of houses called West View and then walk down the lane back to the village. 

Before we reached the main road, however, we spotted pigs in the grounds of a house set back from the driveway. Large, black, friendly creatures they came trotting to the end of their enclosure to greet us, and presumably to see if we had food for them. The owner appeared and warmed us not to put our hands in - they have a penchant to try to bit the hand that feed them apparently - deceptively docile-looking creatures! 

 

Our nostalgic (well, nostalgic for my daughter and me) adventure ended with Granddaughter Number Two and me going ahead and buying sausage and chips for the small people, who had uncomplainingly walked the miles, stopping only to examine and admire slugs and snails and other interesting stuff along the way, while said small people stopped off at the playground in the village with their mother. Where did they find that energy? 

And that was that. This morning I ran in the rain again. Storm Antoni is forecast to hit us later today. We’ll see how that pans out. 

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!