Since we stayed in Painswick for two nights, and since Byfield House where we did repose, was so remarkable and its hosts so extraordinary, more attention must be given this very special experience.

First, some examples of the decor. You may well ask, “What is so remarkable about that stuffed chair with its two exquisite needlepoint pillows?” What is remarkable is that you are looking at the bathroom, that’s what! Note the fine, wood chest behind the chair:

Just a detail of one of the rooms, which like the others, was full of paintings, fabulous books, lamps, furnishings of every variety, all of which quite boggled the mind:

This shot, taken by Wendy, captures the sense of the place. Isn’t it just so overflowing with colour and joy?

The people responsible for it all, Jill and Brett, were as hospitable and generous, and kind as can be. We hated to leave! We had an absolutely wonderful time with them, as if they were old friends.

But on we had to proceed, so we set out on our fourteen mile (give or take) slog to MIddleyard. As we left town, we noticed that houses had no numbers, but, as is common in the UK, they do have names, often beautifully displayed:

I loved this one, with the ivy hanging down the wall and the name etched into the stone:

Of course, Junipers suits this one perfectly:

Our snail friend is working hard, and, as you can see, making progress:

Why, he’s half way to Bath:

OK, so the poor little fellow needed a rest on a charred tree trunk:

That there slab with a triangle on one side and a circle on the other is “The Cromwell Stone,” apparently erected to commemorate the lifting of the siege of Gloucester. I say “apparently” because the plaque is illegible, but when one is told, one must assume:

Part of the day’s stretch was characterized by undulating paths, like this one:

Refreshed by a nap and off again:

We met a lovely woman riding her horse:

See how a well-marked way can cause a moment of indecision?  But one of those arrows is not like the others!

Cows and sheep blocking the way are one thing, but a public vehicle! I say, that is quite rude:

There were two routes we could take to MIddleyard, the direct route and the somewhat longer, scenic route. We opted for the latter. This choice took us first along a pretty enough canal, OK, maybe not so pretty, but on we pressed waiting for the good stuff to begin. This was the result of our efforts:

After the thick, soupy, trial of the most muddy mud, the scenery improved dramatically. “Look for two prominent oak trees,” the book said, and here they are:

A stile, exemplifying a unique type of metal stile in these parts, but this one is in the middle of nowhere:

When one espies a church, one knows that a town, and hopefully the one you are heading toward, will soon be in view:

After miles of trudging through mud, always having to watch our step, much upping and downing, and otherwise challenging-underfoot-walking-conditions—but many gorgeous views and the enjoyment of fine weather—we were, none the less, happy to reach our B and B.

Very different in kind form our last two nights’ apartments, Valley Views was inviting in its own way, run by a very lovely woman, Pam. Fragrant, muscle-relaxing bath oils, large fluffy towels, a bright common sitting room with views of a lush, bright garden were most welcoming.

See our little frig:

What more could anyone want!

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The walk from Ullenwood to Painswick was tougher than I thought it would be–about fourteen miles through almost endless mud. Wendy passed on this section; she spent a good part of the day in the Rococo Gardens and then watching Andy Murray lose at Wombeldon–sad for the Brits.

Heading out on the way, were some serious signs:

Forget the people watch around these parts. There is a race track at Cheltenham (close by) and many expensive steeds in the pastures. They are really elegant. Couldn’t get close enough for any shots, though.

People wonder, but usually do not ask, “Where do you, uhhh, pee, whilst walking?” Behind that little cluster of shrubbery, is one example, and fast:

Cows are irresistible, because they don’t move when you take their picture:

It was another grey day. See what I mean?

And like yesterday, it was a delight to come upon a patch of colour:

Almost all of the walk was through woods, which looked pretty much the same only the names changed. It was either a muddy path in the sun, which did come out a couple of times:

or a muddy path in the rain:

Slogging through all that mud is exhausting. It really is. Maybe that is because it makes your boots heavy, or maybe because you are working so hard to keep your footing, or both. Oh, and there were a couple of getting lost—but not too lost—experiences, which didn’t help any.

These little guys aren’t going to get very far on The Way, but they are trying to hitch a ride anyway:

Make your way through THAT, my friends:

Relieving that woods is always a golf course:

At the end of the day, I stopped in to see the Rococo Gardens, too. There were several odd sturctures:

Triangular patches of gardens:

this great, old, red house:

wherein was a window with this etched into the glass:

You are thinking, “Who cares?” Why I do! It is from Song of Songs! (Flowers have appeared in our land; the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land—works better in Hebrew, but I was all excited to realize what it was.)

There were lots of surprises in the garden, such as this birds nest fern peeping through that stone opening:

and a maze, which was no attraction for the likes of moi:

Now, who is this!

The garden actually did have some flowers:

But this satyr was the cutest thing there:

Painswick boasts a grand church, in the grounds around which are ninety-nine yew trees, some rather oddly shaped. They are fantastic! Someone told Wendy that they have tried many times to plant the hundredth, but it always dies.

The church (cut off), but it gives some context”

The yews are even better in real life. Most things are!

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After our very wet and very long day yesterday, Wendy opted to take the bus this morning to Painswick, where we are staying for two nights, not in a day off sort of way, rather as in a pick up and drop off sort of way.

So, at 8:45 a.m., I set off solo for the thirteen miles that would end in Ullenwood. The sky was threatening and I wondered if I would beat the clouds:

I was not completely successful, but the weather was not terrible. You know it is a slow day when all you can think to photograph is a BIG snail on the path:

Hmmm, are those white fluffy clouds, promising a bit of sun, competing with the heavy rain clouds?

After much wetness and grey, it was a delightful surprise to come upon a bit of colour around a bend in the path:

The Cotswald Way is very well sign posted. That noted, each time you see that official acorn (denoting a national trail), it thrills the heart:

It was very muddy a lot of the way:

And it only got worse:

This sign was a puzzlement because there are no people around these parts:

Fuscias:

And these little bits of purple peeking through a fence:

I was picked up at Star College. See the star?

Whilst waiting, I heard the barking of a dog, much barking. Finally its owner let him out to investigate. The dog was an extremely old Newfie:

We are staying at a great B and B–it is full to overflowing with art of many kinds and objects collected from all over the world. Going from room to room, which the most wonderful owners encouraged us to do, is like visiting a museum. We are having a wonderful time in Painswick.

Stay tuned for photos (tomorrow) of the ninety nine yew trees in the church yard.

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Today it rained. It rained almost all day and it rained many kinds of rain: light misty rain, plain garden variety rain, pelting rain, driving rain, rain like hail. It was, in a word, wet:

It was also very very muddy, and it will be for the next two days, at least.

There was a sign noting that there was a bull in the field and were we ever scared to see several. The bulls, baruch hashem, turned out to be big cows, so all was well. Among the bovines was a bison. Go figure.

It was also misty:

By the path:

This little lamb ran to its ma-a-a-a-ma-a-a as we approached:

This even littler one did not:

The countryside and houses here look like Brideshead Revisted. See what I mean?

Sheep penned for sheering causing a slight diversion in the path:

We ended up walking 18.06 miles today, about three more than we should have walked, because we missed the turn-off to the B and B. When it is pouring, it is hard to get out the map stuff. It was discouraging to realize the mistake, but we turned back and eventually came upon two elderly gentlemen, who looked as if they were straight out of Sherlock Holmes. One of them, walking his dog, when asked if he knew where our B and B was, told us that he was going that way, and escorted us down the hill, saving us about a half to three quarters of a mile more walking in the pouring rain.

We were so happy to get to the very nice B and B. The shower felt wonderful!

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Before recounting the events of the day, which day was the official beginning of The Cotswald Way walk, I must tell the curious reader why one must carry a Swiss Army knife on one’s person or in one’s pack at all times. When one is walking through fields of barley or other grains, as we were yesterday, and one has to deal with rain gear a lot, as we also did yesterday, one could discover at a critical moment, an embedment of barley in the zipper of one’s rain jacket. A finger nail may not serve to dislodge the particle and relieve the blocked mechanism, and thus the zipper is prevented from operating. It is for such a task that a blade is needed, ergo, the necessity of the knife.

Now on to the walk. This unimposing sign is to be replaced next year for one much grander, and when that is done, I hope they correct the mileage to 102 miles, because that is what it is.

After The High Street, we turned onto…..

Some sheep said good bye:

And so did some chickens:

Part of the walk was through fields of flowers, flowers as far as the eye could see. This is the first really blue sky we have experienced:

A landmark of the day was the famed Broadway Tower, which you can see in the distance. The wall top in the foreground is a definite discouragement to climbers:

The Broadway Tower had exhibits worthwhile to study, but, being in need of refreshment, we did not linger there. We did, however, see and tour a bunker that was used first during the war, manned (and later womaned), completely by volunteers, thousands of them, as a first line of defense. Their task was to watch for enemy planes or other threats. After the war, the bunkers were used, again by volunteers, in a nuclear threat capacity. (That sentence doesn’t sound right, but I am kind of tired now, so to heck with the grammar and no more details about that; it would be worth looking it up, though, if you care to.) There were bunkers every ten miles, but now only a few have not been destroyed.

Anyway, the one at Broadway Tower has recently been opened to the public, and we were lucky enough to be there on a day when one could take a tour. I got to power up the siren! You turn this great big crank and it starts to sound just like an air raid siren–very loud. Then the guide took me down. (Wendy took the photos–she did not like the look of the ladder.)

One should always wear a hat when descending into a bunker:

It was very moving to see the conditions (bad) in which the volunteers served their 24 hour shifts and to learn about the work they did.  Two could sleep on paper-thin mattresses while two were on duty. There were many radios for keeping in touch with various commands, and equipment for performing other tasks. There was one small vent to the outside for air. Food was tinned rations. The toilet facility I will not even tell you about. What is so shameful is that these volunteers—those who served during and after the war—were never given any formal recognition.

Now back to the walk. There were bridges:

and more fields of flowers:

After about fourteen plus miles we got to Stanton, a beautiful little village. I can’t even describe the exquisiteness. But here are some samples. A wrought iron gate decorated with brass flowers:

Oh–in Broadway, a very up-scale town, we visited an art gallery, which had a sculpture garden:

This sculpture, not so great:

How pretty is this?

And this grand approach and door?

Clouds threatened, but the day was dry:

Can’t resist these houses, either with their slate roofs:

or thatch:

Not to mention the steps with flowers growing in between:

Just one more garden:

and a view through an arch:

One of two planters in by a doorway:

Our accommodations were nowhere near as luxurious as those in Chipping Campden, but we had a special sink for washing our muddy gators and a heated towel rack for drying all our other laundry, both very nice features. It was a lovely day!

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This post belongs to July 3, after Poole and before Chipping Campden to Stanton, but it was not written (or maybe not saved for later posting) when it should have been, so it may be out of place. Anyway, we couldn’t get out of Poole fast enough. Not only was it pouring there, but the city was dreary and the B and B truly awful in every way. Even the pigeon at the train station was beating it out of town on the 9:13.

Chipping Campden more than compensated for the unpleasantness of the previous day. It is a town utterly captivating and our B and B was elegant, gracious, comfortable, and run by a supremely lovely woman.

Here is a view out of our bedroom—more like a suite—window:

What our room looked like:

Even the way the curtains were hung was thoughtful. The rods were on the diagonal giving the curtains a graceful swag, and showing off the print:

On the landing, up to our room, was this sculpture, just one of many eye-catching touches:

From this market place, we left on a rather dull tour. We tried to ditch the group, but the leader chased us down. (A two pound tip per person at the end of the “free tour” was suggested, so maybe that was a motivating factor.)

David outside a shop door? No, the toga suggests otherwise.

A garden showing off yellow roses:

A row of attached houses behind a stone wall with flowering shrubs growing out of it:

A peek over the churchyard wall:

Back at the B and B, the owners’ dog looking toward the garden:

We had a free day in chipping Campden, which we spent going to two gardens, Hidcote, a National Trust site, and the name of the other, I do not remember. Sarah, our hostess, most kindly drove us there; we were to walk back late in the afternoon.

Different shades, shapes, and textures of green:

Groups of high-school kids were rehearsing Alice in Wonderland, which they were to perform in the gardens that evening.  It was great fun to watch them:

A formal, groomed area, different from most other sections in the gardens:

Like this one, for example! What a colour! And don’t you love the way these flowers will not be contained?

These are just so gorgeous:

Lilies:

And fuscia in abundance:

Just a couple of stalks of this bright blue against a massive, shaved green hedge were stunning:

Fluted stone steps:

Delicate white cups:

Loved that doorway hollowed out of the great big hedge:

A vegetable garden needs protection:

Some vibrant colours. Pinky-purple:

Pink, pink and white, and blue:

And this unusual coral

As we walked back the six or so miles, through many a field and farm, guided by public footpath signs (these do not have acorns, nor do they tell you where they lead) and some more or less accurate written instructions, the scenery changed:

We used our rest day to advantage, enjoying a rare interval of perfect weather and amazingly beautiful sights.

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We had a delicious dinner last night and a happy reunion will Mandy and John, then returned to our nicest B and B of the walk so far. Our room was large and bright, the proprietress accommodating, and after several tries, the wi-fi worked! After breakfast this morning, we left in the rain to meet Mandy and John to walk the last leg of the SW Coast path. The rain became heavier and heavier:

(By the way, to-day’s pictures are from Wendy’s camera.) The cliff tops were so windy it was almost impossible to stand up. If I were not wearing a pack, I think I would have been blown into the fence. Fortunately, there were no severe ups and downs. In fact, there were hardly any ups and downs at all.

A famous formation along the way was Old Harry, but no one knew who old Harry was:

John and Mandy had counted on fair weather, so did not bring proper rain gear, as you can see.

All I can say, is, “Oy!”

People have to be careful, too:

After wallking a couple of hours in the wind a rain, we happened upon Old Joe’s Shack where we warmed up with a cup of tea. This adorable, sixteen year-old boy is not Old Joe, but is his grandson. All alone and all day long, he tends the stand. I don’t think he had many customers today:

The highlight of the day was a two plus mile stretch of beach, which, because of the weather, we had all to ourselves. Despite the rain, it was a glorious and gorgeous walk. I wanted it not to be over.

But it was and here is the monument at South Haven Point that marks the official beginning or the official end, depending on where you start:

And the other end is:

We caught the ferry over to Poole, where we are spending the night:

A three and a half mile walk brought us to our most depressing B and B. We were almost knocked out by the smell of plugged-into-the-walll scent bombs, and the room is really dreary, but we shall survive! Just a disappointing way to end the first half of the walk, which, may I say, seemed too short. Looking forward to getting to the Cotswalds tomorrow.

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Adrain, the amiable taxi driver, who also provided much interesting information about the area, brought me back to Kingston b(right) and e(arly) in the a.m. It was another perfectly clear day.

Right at the start of the path were some cows. They do like having their picture taken:

A marker and sheep:

See that line yonder that looks like a ski lift? It is an uphill. The shot is from about half way down the downhill:

But at the top, there is rest for the weary:

Some holes in the rock, clearly manmade:

They are the Tilly Whim caves. Let the interested read:

Learning that the caves are a haven for bats squelched my curiosity for a visit, which is just as well, seeing as there are no visits.

These are the caves from the other side:

On the way to Swanage, there was a castle–really it did not look all that much like a genuine, old-fashioned castle, but it had a cafe, “facilities,” and exhibits, including an art exhibit. Because of the light, I could get only the head of my favorite piece. What a shame, the rest was fantastic!

Swanage is a sizable town with a very ugly developed area along the beach. Too bad, but on the up side, the B and B is quite decent, and we are meeting Mandy and John—from last year’s Coast to Coast walk—tonight for dinner. Tomorrow we will walk with them to Poole where this half of the walk ends.

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After being sent off by the proprietress whose parting words were, “You brought your suitcase down N O W?” I set out in the rain to to meet Ruth and Paul at their B and B, which was a gorgeous old rectory, a mile further down the coast path. We needed the rain gear for only about an hour after which we enjoyed perfect weather. We passed an establishment called something like Ye Olde Smuggler, which, despite its name, had definitely entered the modern age:

Charming cottage beyond a clothesline:

By and by, we came to a tiny, wooden church. It is a shame that the etching in the windows does not show:

Maybe the congregants need more fire and brimstone from the pulpit:

One of many spectacular views

Approaching the famous Durdle Door:

Closer:

For those who care to read about the formation, which will not be forever, here it is:

Just two more photos of the Door. One with beach:

And one without:

Lots of photos of this formation are necessary because getting here was not easy. There was a lot of long ups and long downs, a whole lot, and a lot of wind.

Durdle Door was not the only excitement of the day. See this? Doesn’t it look just like Qumran!

But, no, it is an empty hole in the cliff. There are many.

The stones on the beach were unusual and very pretty:

Ruth and Paul enjoying the view at the end of a vigorous, rewarding day.

As cranky as the last B and B lady was, that is how nice the next one was. In a teeny tiny four-hundred year-old house, are teeny tiny rooms and two bathrooms. I think the place is adorable, but Wendy, not so much. But anyway, here she is with some of her stuff:

The B and B, called Tewkesbury Cottage, looks a lot like the house across the street as seen through our window:

Don’t you love the thatched roof? Such roofs are common in these parts and ever so picturesque. The thatch is eighteen inches thick, provides excellent insulation, but raises the insurance policy considerably. These facts I learned from a local taxi driver, so I am assuming they are correct.

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Today’s walk was supposed to be from West Lulworth to, Kimmeridge, a modest distance of seven and a half miles, but in fact it was just about double that because Ruth and Paul were going further on to Kingston, whence they could catch a bus to get back to Weymouth, where they had left their car. Wait! I forgot to tell you who Ruth and Paul are!

They are my wonderful friends whom Wendy and I met when we did the Tour de Mont Blanc in 2008. They live in Macclesfiled, some two hundred miles from Weymouth, and four times they have come to meet me to walk for a day—this year two days—in the UK. They are loads of fun and it is always a treat to meet them. I took advantage of their company, going a few miles past the designated spot where a taxi was supposed to collect me to bring me back to West Lulworth for a second night’s stay, and then return me (Wendy is not walking theses portions) in the morning. The taxi driver is a whole other story, with which I shall not bore you. Let me just say that it is always wise to have plenty of extra cash on one’s person at all times!

The section of the walk we did today was VERY DEMANDING! Huge ups and huge downs and they came one after another after another. Many with steps so far apart that they created their own mini climbs. There wasn’t one mile of flat walking except for the last bit where we got off the path to divert to Kingston. But despite a gusty wind, we did have fine weather.

The photo does not capture the height, but it is a view:

A feature of today’s walk was passage through the Lulworth military firing range. That the range would be open was a critical part of the planning process. To have missed this would have meant to miss the most spectacular views. I am so glad we got to experience such a grand section of the coast in clear conditions.

Don’t think that it was without potential danger:

Or other restrictions:

A better camera—or a better photographer—would have captured the view more dramatically:

Ruth and Paul in front of a target.

There was a patch of dead trees covered with yellow lichen. What an unusual sight they were, very striking when you see lots of them together, which you do not in the photo:

At last, back in the teeny tiny room again:

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