Ross to Newent (1)
Despite the rain forecast for the two days we were in Herefordshire, the sun shone steadily from a blue sky all the way. Chris had worked out a couple of walks in advance, both humdingers, making me think, Where has my leading role gone? And she's my navigator, without whom I would have been lost in a forest somewhere between England & Wales, cold, starving or dead.
We started at SO 624238, Lower Weston Farm (about a mile east of Ross, just off the A40) and walked east towards Linton. The first thing that struck us was the cutting at 625239 (#1), possibly something to do with the dismantled railway, not the road – it would have been an expensive item for a turnpike. Then on to the mock castle of Bollitree, built on the site of the Roman fort of Ariconum1. Commanding view! Here, in 1821 and later in 1826, William Palmer entertained William Cobbett, who was so impressed with Herefordshire (its trees, soil quality and beauty) that he waxes lyrical2. He sees the tallest walnut tree he has ever seen, including those in North America.
Enough! The truth is that we missed the original turnpike to Linton, which lay across a boggy field to Fidlers Cross. Instead, we continued to Bromsash, where we found a finer road just beyond the crossroads at 651242 (#2). It was tarmacked (#3) and led down to Pinford Farm. We had a long conversation with the farmer, Chris, who kept sucklers, loathed magpies (as do we) – he had shot two of them in fury after seeing a lamb blinded as it was emerging from the womb – and the Council. He said the thing that grated even more than magpies was that he relied on growing a crop of birdseed on one and a half acres to pay the rates. What's a farmer doing growing seed for birds? Especially magpies.
Chris lives in a beautiful house his family bought in 1944 (#4) which dates back to the 13th Century, but he finds it hard to keep up because the planning authorities want him to use goat-hair paint and all the rest of the medieval rubbish. Instead, it seems, they would rather see the house fall down. Well, that's how it seems. Meanwhile, anyone got any goat-hair paint to spare? The C of E possibly…
Then, up the steep hill to Linton (#5) where we found the finest pub in the world: the reward for enjoying ourselves. We'd seen the spire at Linton growing larger as we came towards Pinford, but here it was with its glorious yew tree, and beyond it, The Alma Arms. Time for a drink… before continuing…
1Recently some fine (almost mint) bronze Roman coins were unearthed there.
2 But not with its cider orchards, which he described as deserving “the contempt of mankind”. But all was forgiven: the Cobbetts and the Palmers became firm friends and in1841 WC's youngest son married Jane, William Palmer's eldest daughter.
