This is actually from a yomp I took with a few friends back in Spring 2011, I just discovered it in my drafts and thought you might like to see it. Not strictly a TGO 2012 post, but probably of interest to some of you.
The skies were overcast as we sat there. We were waiting at Addenbrooke's Bus Stop for a colleague to join us. He never showed up.
The skies were overcast as we sat there. We were waiting at Addenbrooke's Bus Stop for a colleague to join us. He never showed up.
The four of us stood up, adjusted our laces, straps and clothing before turning to the SouthEast and got going. Out through the 'causeway of oversized homes and into the countryside. A discreet gap in the hedgerow drew us through, away from the 'macadam and onto a grassy track flanked with myriad wild flowers and the associated invertebrates to boot.
We briefly entered Wandlebury's Northern tip before the new road embraced us again, if only for a short while.
A feathered friend stayed by us for a time, making occasional requests for just a little bit of bread that's all, no cheese. And the last bitter taste of civilisation came and went in the form of light industry, down a littered, potholed lane. We reached the end of the lane and, there it was flanked by hedgerow - The Roman Road of Worsted Street.
I imagined myself thrown back centuries to a time when the Romans were laying the foundations of the track that would be under our feet for the rest of the day. I pondered how many feet had marched where we were about to tread. I could count myself among them, for I had walked this way many times before.
The 'road' which calls itself "Worsted Street" is thought to be a trackway which has been in existence and in continued use since pre-history. It runs parallel to a 3 mile Anglo-Saxon earthwork known as Fleam Dyke which stretches from Fulbourn to Balsham (or vice versa). We were in a place steeped in ancient heritage.
There are no challenges in the navigation of Worsted Street, for it is, by nature, utterly straight. There are a couple of deviations, one such being the crossing of the A11 Dual Carriageway, and the other is the short section between the metalled Wort's Causeway and the brief encounter at Wandlebury.
I found myself tuning in and out of my surroundings on several occasions as I drifted into a bit of a daze, only to discover that I had gained a few score yards of distance between my pals who were being vastly more sociable than myself. I wished I was alone for a brief moment.
To find ourselves seated by a man's final resting place having our lunch was more than a tad odd, but in reality there is no sign, or evidence, that I can unearth surrounding the actual origins of the place name of Mark's Grave. Perhaps someone who read's this blog might offer some assistance on this.
As I sat chewing on my food, I learned that others had chosen to lunch at exactly the same spot as I. An army of Black Ants were taking nips out of me. I relocated. Pals were smiling.
Despite the anchoring effect the lovely warm sunbeams were having on us, it was possible for us to get back to our feet and back on the trail.
I probably didn't mention that one of our gathering was with child, and into her second trimester - it occurred to me, not for the first time, that so many pregnant women take a languid approach to their gestation. Avoidance of any effort, strenuous or otherwise, seems to befall many an expectant mother. This often results in the "can you get my files out for me" or "I'm not allowed to lift that" utterings that I realise have begun to irritate me. Pregnancy - the next reason to be provided with a blue parking badge? To clarify, I have two young children of my own, so I am not being anti-child or anti-parent, just anti-lazy git.
Thankfully, my mum-to-be friend was of the non-lazy git type and didn't utter any of these complaints.
We were grasped briefly by a pang to bag a geocache, a pang so brief, we merely peered into the undergrowth before giving up. The street of silver was now under our feet, having left the road of roman antiquity and a floating Buzzard keened above Howe Wood as if to draw us toward the closing of what had been a really terrific leg-stretch in the Cambs/Suffolk borders.
Have a look at www.frrfd.org.uk if you would like more information about this lovely, simple stroll in my backyard. Oh, and if you find out about Mark's Grave - let me know!
I found myself tuning in and out of my surroundings on several occasions as I drifted into a bit of a daze, only to discover that I had gained a few score yards of distance between my pals who were being vastly more sociable than myself. I wished I was alone for a brief moment.
To find ourselves seated by a man's final resting place having our lunch was more than a tad odd, but in reality there is no sign, or evidence, that I can unearth surrounding the actual origins of the place name of Mark's Grave. Perhaps someone who read's this blog might offer some assistance on this.
As I sat chewing on my food, I learned that others had chosen to lunch at exactly the same spot as I. An army of Black Ants were taking nips out of me. I relocated. Pals were smiling.
Despite the anchoring effect the lovely warm sunbeams were having on us, it was possible for us to get back to our feet and back on the trail.
I probably didn't mention that one of our gathering was with child, and into her second trimester - it occurred to me, not for the first time, that so many pregnant women take a languid approach to their gestation. Avoidance of any effort, strenuous or otherwise, seems to befall many an expectant mother. This often results in the "can you get my files out for me" or "I'm not allowed to lift that" utterings that I realise have begun to irritate me. Pregnancy - the next reason to be provided with a blue parking badge? To clarify, I have two young children of my own, so I am not being anti-child or anti-parent, just anti-lazy git.
Thankfully, my mum-to-be friend was of the non-lazy git type and didn't utter any of these complaints.
We were grasped briefly by a pang to bag a geocache, a pang so brief, we merely peered into the undergrowth before giving up. The street of silver was now under our feet, having left the road of roman antiquity and a floating Buzzard keened above Howe Wood as if to draw us toward the closing of what had been a really terrific leg-stretch in the Cambs/Suffolk borders.
Have a look at www.frrfd.org.uk if you would like more information about this lovely, simple stroll in my backyard. Oh, and if you find out about Mark's Grave - let me know!
That is a splendid stroll - I have often wondered about Mark's Grave as well - though I have never found out more about it.
ReplyDeleteIt's nice to divert down to the Pear Tree for refreshment (Hildersham). It shut for a little while but is now happily open again. The things they used to get up to with those ceiling chains... (according to Lord Elpus, ahem!)