Spernall Park

Spernall Park from Bannam's Wood, Warwickshire

A little bit of nick nack shopping and a coffee at Ardens saw the morning through. Cath was involved in rehearsing for this evening's show, so I shot off to Morton Bagot. The church at Morton Bagot is a little affair with matching timber bellcote. Pevesner described it as 'That rare thing; an unrestored and unneglected church.' It lacks electricity and mains water. Winter services are by candlelight. For the second time in a week, I wrongly supposed that one or two paths might run off from it for the countryside. Which was a pity, since gentle hills rolled above and I fancied getting there for a look-see.

So instead I wandered a short distance down the road to the nearest stile and embarked upon a northerly course towards the neighbouring village of Oldberrow. The first field I encountered harboured an unusual crop. Reedy stuff eight foot high. From here, crossing the road joining Outhill with Wootton Wawen, I arrived at Bishops Farm. From the farm I headed south-east. Leaving the farm buildings behind me, the sun was ahead and in my face, as were the pylons which hinder the quality of views. Whereas the path was true SSE, I could not ignore the possibilities of a tree alone in this field. So I went to investigate. On drawing by, I got in amongst the tree. Though the tree was now illuminated I could make nothing of it. Had I used my noggin I would have appreciated a short ascent would have placed the horizon half way up the tree with a line of pylons heading off into the distance. So I continued along onto higher ground over spongy red soil clumps, the shortest way to meet all tall field boundary, where I began a descent to the lowest corner to rejoin the path. Through the next gate and into a new field I saw two trees at the summit of the hill I had left 15 minutes earlier. So I re-ascended with this new target in mind. There were obstacles to any potential picture. There was the pylon itself, fizzing ever louder as I drew closer, and the cables stretching to the pylon beyond, hanging over the tree tops. Provided I detoured into the field and crouched low, an image of one of the trees, seemingly lost and alone at the rounded hill top could be achieved without revealing the tree's near neighbour, nor much to suggest the fine brow was in truth the edge of higher, flat ground.

Turning back on myself, my boots felt like lead weights and looked more like flippers. Each sole had a 3 inch skirt of mud and leaves. Though I ran my feet thorough a puddle in a tractor tyre track, the boots re-stocked as I trekked over land at the bottom of the hill. The trek took me to the Outhill-Wootton Wawen road and here the ground rose steeply, perhaps more of the earthworks of yesteryear's Morton Bagot. The road avoided the high ground, but curved gently around it, falling from left to right. I marched left. I could see on my map a path would take me to the higher ground. It was simply a flip of the coin whether the path would enable me to get to the rising ground I saw from the road.

In the event, the path was the wrong side of the hedge. But no matter. It took me higher where views unfolded to the south and valleys of the River Alne and the lower Avon, from the direction of Stratford on Avon in the south-east to Evesham in the north of Worcestershire. It was about 3:30, and light streaked across the field turning green shoots yellow, while the poplars at the foot of Spernall Park shone silver against the dense, unlit wooded hill. I happily spent my time bobbing around these parts until the streaks were all but gone, marking the time when I should be away, for I was without a torch and had Bannam's wood to pass through. It was as I returned to begin the walk through Bannam's that I noticed the stile bringing me to that higher ground I had seen from the roadside. Walking to the edge, so those pylons crept into view. But at the eastern corner of the hilltop there stood a thorn tree and where the ground tumbled to the north and east, it was possible to frame the tree against the sky wile retaining something of the distant woods and fields around Wootton Wawen.

By now, Cath was at her dress rehearsal. The show was to begin at 8:00pm. Dan said he's like to come and we had a spare ticket. Parking was a 'mare as per usual but that little mii tucked in a treat. His worthiness The Lord Mayor was in attendance. Singing a cappella, the choir produced a concert of mixed language numbers, from 60s and 70s hits to a modern day 'Happy', and traditional songs largely from the southern hemisphere. My favourite was the maori, complete with hand and tongue gestures.