The Stone Circle (3): Sandon Bank to Swynnerton

The Final Day of a 60Km Circular Walk around the Town of Stone

Leaving Sandon Bank

Staffordshire

Stafford Borough

Six weeks after the end of Part 2, the Seven Stars on Sandon Bank still looked as sad as only a derelict pub can look. Alison, Francis, Mike and I pulled on our boots in preparation for setting off west while Lee prepared to go south. Once we had pointed out which blue beer mug on the OS map he was standing outside, Lee agreed to join us walking west.

The Seven Stars, Sandon Bank, Looking as sad as only a derelict pub can

A stroll down the lane and a kilometre of easy field paths brought us to Marston where we rejoined the official Stone Circle route we had left above Hopton Heath. Walking on through the village, if three well separated houses, two farms and graveyard can be described as a village, we returned to the field paths.

The pattern of the day began to become clear. Francis, whose Duke of Edinburgh scheme commitments have had him out walking every week, and Lee who has been visiting the gym, strode off into the distance. Mike and Alison plodded along behind apparently discussing weighty issues, while I wandered along on my own, taking occasional photographs of those in front and those behind.

Francis and Lee stride off into the distance...

Silaging was in full swing and we watched a huge machine hoovering up the cut grass and depositing it in a trailer driven alongside. A large field was cleared in remarkably little time.

...while Mike and Alison discuss weighty matters

Across the A34 and down to Whitgreave

We heard the A34 long before we reached it. High-speed traffic is difficult to judge, but we reached the central reservation safely, climbed the stile over the crash barrier and made it to the far verge. I have driven that road hundreds of times and never seen anyone brave (or stupid) enough to cross it, or even realised there was a stile.

Approaching Whitgreave, squadrons of swallows swooped backwards and forwards above the lane. This seems a bumper year for swallows, though Francis says swifts have been much less successful. We passed a pond with an excellent duck house, though not, presumably, bought at public expense.

Not the home of the local MP, Whitgreave

Over the M6 and on to Shallowford and Isaac Walton's Cottage

A footbridge took us across the M6 and from there to Shallowford we crossed fields of cereals while skylarks fluttered and sang above us. Six weeks before it had been Blackthorn flowering in the hedgerows, now it was Hawthorn, with its white - and occasionally pink - flowers and distinctive scent.

Isaac Walton’s cottage soon came into view. I failed to photograph it (what an amateur!) but if you want to know what it looks like, click here. I crossed the little bridge at Shallowford every working day for sixteen years, but I had never before approached it over the fields; I was surprised how different a familiar place can feel when seen from an unfamiliar perspective.

Road Walking and Field Paths to Yarnfield and Lunch at the Labour in Vain

Three kilometres of road walking followed, though the roads were tiny and free of traffic. Here we were deviating from the official Stone Circle Route which follows the B-road to Norton Bridge before turning off alongside the railway.

Campion

The verges were thick with wildflowers: cow-parsley, speedwell, campion and many more. A chiffchaff sang, its brief performance followed and outshone by the liquid tones of a bird Francis confidently identified as a blackcap, ‘though the last time I heard a blackcap,’ he continued, ‘it turned out to be a garden warbler.’ I wondered how he knew this one was not a garden warbler. ‘It’s a blackcap’ he said, enigmatically, ‘you rarely see garden warblers.’ I was about to point out that we had not seen this bird either when he added, ‘Blackcaps prefer hedges, garden warblers hide in thickets.’ Looking about, I observed that hedgerows and thickets are not always distinct entities.

More cereal fields took us to bridges over first the Meece Brook, then the railway. Here, weed killer had been used to mark the path. It is not pretty, but I assume its preferable to having walkers crashing through the crops on whatever line they think might be right – it also excludes all possibility of navigational errors.

I wonder which way to go in this field?

Across the bridges and climbing round Lower Heamies, our path was blocked by a crop of rape growing so thickly as to be impenetrable. We had to walk round the field head, overgrown and deeply rutted as it was. With my ankle still sore from the Ramshaw Rocks I found this painful, and my problems were not eased by the plentiful stinging nettles. A bird sat on top of the rape, singing at us; Francis thought it might be a meadow pipit but was too busy failing to avoid the nettles to make a firm identification.

Alison among the nettles

With tingling legs we crossed the low hill, descended past an army shooting range to Yarnfield and found our way to the Labour in Vain. Although it is the second closest pub to home, this was, surprisingly, my first visit. A pint or two of Hook Norton, low in alcohol but full of character, and the landlady’s cheerful co-operation with Mike’s rewriting of her menu ‘I don’t want pickle or red onion and crisps, I want pickle and red onion but no crisps…’ might persuade me to venture there again.

The present inn sign shows a farmer sowing a crop while a flock of birds render his work futile; the old sign showed a couple trying to scrub a black boy white. Considered no longer suitable it was removed some fifteen years ago amid grumbles about ‘preserving traditional pub signs’ and, inevitably, ‘political correctness gone mad.’ We walked outside and sat in the garden – it was just about warm enough after our morning’s exertions. The old sign hangs outside the back door in the area frequented by recalcitrant smokers. As a painting, it is both a pleasing piece of early twentieth century whimsy and a historical document in its own right, but attitudes have moved on and it is now undoubtedly inappropriate for display on the public highway.

Wooded lane out of Yarnfield

Across Swynnerton Park and Home

It had been a long morning and a late lunch, so the afternoon was short. A pleasant wooded lane took us as far as Highlows Farm and then a kilometre and a half across Swynnerton Park brought us to the road behind Swynnerton Hall, from where home is only a couple of hundred metres. It was a simple stroll compared with December’s epic crossing of Swynnerton Park; this time the route was uncomplicated and sunshine replaced the blanket of snow and mist. The very last field was the finest wild flower meadow of the walk, carpeted in the usual buttercups and clover, but with other blue and yellow flowers I only wish I could identify.

The road behind Swynnerton Hall

And so, ten weeks after we set off, we finished in exactly the same place as we started. The 60 km walk is described as the Stone Circles Challenge, though this moderately fit sixty-year-old did not find it particularly challenging – at least not when taking three days over it. It can hardly be described as one of the world’s great walks, there are no hills to climb, rivers to ford or sweeping vistas to see, but it is a very pleasant walk and surprisingly varied. Mostly it crosses rich farmland, some of it arable, some grazed by cows or sheep, but there are also woodlands, streams in hidden dells and country villages. Even better, it started and finished on my own doorstep; what pleasanter way to spend three unusually sunny, and completely rain-free spring Saturdays?

The Stone Circle

Part 1: Swynnerton to Fulford
Part 2: Fulford to Sandon Bank
Part 3: Sandon Bank to Swynnerton

The Stone Circle (2): Fulford to Sandon Bank

The Middle Day of a 60Km Circular Walk around the Town of Stone

Leaving Fulford

Staffordshire

Stafford Borough

Fulford is a pleasant village, but we spent more time there than intended. After pulling on our boots Mike, Lee, Francis and I spent some time wandering up and down the road trying to find the footpath. A gap between two houses did lead into the fields but was clearly in the wrong place and not obviously a right of way. After satisfying ourselves there was no other route we were about to set off when a passing paramedic stopped his ambulance and confirmed we were heading in the right direction, which was nice of him – I just hope he wasn’t on his way to an emergency.

Beyond the houses we found an overgrown and dilapidated stile in roughly the right place and crossed the fields to Greensitch Farm. Looking back, we could trace our path through the dewy grass, but the unseasonably warm sunshine suggested the dew would not last long. Finding our way through the farmyard was a challenge, but eventually we struck out southwest on a well-defined bridleway. The official Stone Circles route takes the minor road out of Fulford, linking with the bridleway later. The footpath, though, is clearly marked on the map, if apparently rarely used.

....we could trace our path through the dewy grass...
Fulford

Fulford to Millwich

Despite some mud - horses churn up the surface in even the driest spring - the bridleway was a pleasant path, rising gently to the minor road where we turned west onto a concrete track past New Buildings Farm - not the most resonant of names, nor any longer, the truest.

Undulating fields

Turning south, we spent the rest of the morning in undulating fields with the occasional bosky dell and meandering stream. Francis described this countryside as bland, and to some extent he was right; we climbed no steep hills, descended into no deep ravines and saw no great views unfold before us. On the other hand, it is always pleasing to walk in gentle sunshine through rich pastures lined with trees bursting into leaf. The varied greens were fresh and full of promise, the blackthorns were covered in snowy-white blossom, and the stinging nettles - and this is important when you are wearing shorts – had hardly raised their heads above the ground.

Blackthorn covered in snowy-white blossom

Not so long ago the sight of a buzzard was worthy of comment, now it is commonplace to see a pair circling overhead or being chased off by an anxious crow (or possibly rook). We sat in a field to drink our coffee and watched a chaffinch perching on the fence and two blue tits checking out a hole in a gnarled oak as a potential nest site. Further on, the clear and unmistakable song of a chiffchaff (well, it was clear and unmistakable once I had asked Francis what it was) filled the valley.

Coffee with added birdsong

After 5 km of field paths we reached Milwich, a pleasant village though its name presents a pronunciation problem. Francis lives in Baswich, pronounced ‘Baz-itch’. Nearby Colwich, on the other hand, is always ‘Coll-witch’. Milwich looks like a word where the ‘w’ is asking to be pronounced, but Mike’s local knowledge assured us ‘Mill-itch’ is correct. Consistency was never the strong point of English spelling.

Milwich to Weston

However it is pronounced, Milwich features a pub, which is still open, and an old and characterful school building. A sparrow hawk flew down the street just above ground level and perched on a garden fence.

Milwich's old school

From here we reversed the route we had taken in the Baswich to Swynnerton walk until Coton Mill Farm. On Mill Lane, the first swallow of summer sat on a telephone wire, enjoying the sun but maybe wondering if he had arrived a tad too early.

Later we breasted a low rise and crossed a stile into a field of sheep, each ewe accompanied by one or, more often, two lambs, still at the age when they stay close by their mothers. From this elevated position, and amid much baa-ing, we were able to gain the mandatory glimpse of Rugeley power station, its cooling towers just poking above the distant hump of Cannock Chase.

The mandatory (if distant) view of Rugeley Power Station

After Gayton we left the official route, which precedes directly to Salt via the Sandon Estate and diverted through the village of Weston in search of lunch.

We approached the A51 intending to take a field path to what we assumed would be an underpass. Seeing no obvious exit from the field we walked towards the A51 and then took a slip road beside it – presumably an earlier incarnation of the main road itself. We soon realised we were walking into a cul-de-sac, the only underpass being already full of the main West Coast Railway line. As we turned the landowner chugged up beside us on a sort of motorised bedstead, turned off the ignition with a screwdriver and engaged us in conversation.

He did not mind there being a footpath across his land, he said, but wondered where it went. He had a point as it clearly went nowhere. He then wondered why the council had sent two men to spend a day putting a stile next to his gate, which he never closed. He furthered wondered why they had planted the post for a finger sign right next to the railway’s nine foot iron fence. He seemed to think we should have answers for these questions, but we could offer little but sympathy and a suggestion that he write to the County Footpaths Officer. To ensure he had his story right he explained it all to us again, and then once more to be certain. We tried to leave as he started the fourth run through, it was half past one, lunch was still twenty minutes away across the A51 and the beer was calling, but we heard him out again, just to be polite.

It had been a long morning by the time we reached Weston. We sat in the sun outside the Saracen's Head and enjoyed a sandwich and a couple of pints of ‘Dog Father Ale’, an excellent beer though the name must have looked better in the planning meeting than it does on a beer pump.

Weston to Salt

Our afternoon walk was a mere 3 kilometres as the crow flies, but our non-corvine navigation turned it into 5. We started with a zig up the Trent and Mersey canal and followed it with a zag through Salt and south towards Hopton Heath. Just after leaving the canal we re-crossed the Trent. I remarked on how much it looked like the Danube at this point, but nobody took me seriously.

Along the Trent & Mersey Canal

Salt, Hopton Heath and Sandonw Bank

From the canal, we were again briefly on the official route. We walked through Salt and up the steepish slope to the woods overlooking Hopton where the Parliamentarian rearguard stood at the battle of Hopton Heath.

Looking back towards Salt

Leaving the official route again to avoid repeating last autumn’s walk over the battlefield and past the somewhat underwhelming monument, we zigged northeast, making a long, gentle descent to the minor road. A swift climb up Sandon Bank took us to the Seven Stars Pub where Francis’ car was parked. The building looked as sad as only a derelict pub can look.

Francis was unimpressed by the morning’s walk, but I enjoyed strolling over lush fields under a cloudless sky. The afternoon section, though brief, had been more varied and involved more contours - and had been completed under the same warm sun. We encountered one path which should have been signed but wasn’t and one that was signed but should not have been – and took an ear-bashing for our trouble. Otherwise the footpaths were well signed and the stiles in good repair, as they usually are in Staffordshire.

It would be nice to think that Part 3, scheduled for May 21st , would attract the same benign conditions. Unfortunately, when it comes to weather, all the planning in the world guarantees nothing.

The Stone Circle

Part 1: Swynnerton to Fulford
Part 2: Fulford to Sandon Bank
Part 3: Sandon Bank to Swynnerton

The Stone Circle (1): Swynnerton to Fulford

The First of Three Sections of a 60Km Circular Walk around the Town of Stone

Staffordshire

Stafford Borough

Over a thousand stone circles survive in Britain and Ireland from the Neolithic and early Bronze Ages. This post is about none of them.

This Stone Circle is a 60 km circular walk centred on the Staffordshire town of Stone. We are indebted to Stone Ramblers, who designed and way-marked the Stone Circles Challenge, though Francis has planned occasional variations from their route to arrive at an appropriate pub at lunchtime or pass through an area of particular interest. Unintentional variations may crop up later, but navigation in Part 1 presented few problems.

Alison, Francis, Brian, David and Mike preparing to set off, Swynnerton

Swynnerton to Tittensor via Beech

Despite my protestations and offers of help, Lynne insisted on cooking us all bacon and eggs, then we donned our boots and set off towards Beech. From the upper lane out of the village (sometimes known as Stabb Lane, for reasons lost in the mists of time) it becomes clear how exposed Swynnerton is, with no higher ground to provide protection from the prevailing westerlies. Unsurprisingly, we endure a dank and chilly microclimate. On a bright day the views are extensive with the Wrekin, 20 miles distant, in the fore ground, and the Long Mynd, and even the Berwyns 50 miles away in mid-Wales clearly visible. So why does my photograph show Alison, Francis and Brian looking at Swynnerton’s Millennium Topograph rather than the view itself? Because on a clear day you can see all these wonders - on Saturday we could just make out a blurry lump in the mist where the Wrekin ought to be.

Looking at the topograph, not the view, Swynnerton Millennium Topograph

The path to Beech starts as a green lane between fields still bare in early March, though the hedgerow broom was beginning to flower. A flock of fieldfares wheeled beside us; according to Francis they should have already left for their summer residences in Scandinavia, but they had clearly not read the textbook. A pair of buzzards quartered the same field watching for small careless mammals. As the path dipped into the woods a flash of colour signalled the first of several jays we would see in the day.

Beech is small, even for a hamlet. We turned east down a metalled lane to approach the M6 bridge. Mike questioned if it was the right motorway crossing. ‘Shouldn’t we have gone through Beach first?’ he asked. It really is that memorable.

The M6 Staffordshire

We crossed the M6. I post the picture above merely to put it alongside that of another road also designated as the M6 in its national classification. This M6 is the main road connecting Gyumri and Vanadzor, the largest towns in northern Armenia. And we complain about potholes.

The M6, Gyumri to Vanadzor, Armenia

We emerged on Winghouse Lane outside Tittensor by a large private duck pond. I have driven past it many times, but never stopped to look. Brian and Francis excitedly identified teals, pintails, tufted ducks and mandarins. When Francis spotted a smew joy was unconfined. Smew sounds like an ailment in a Victorian novel (Aunt Glegg, being severely discomfited by as nasty a case of the Smew as ever…), but is, apparently, a particularly handsome duck. I spotted none of my favourites, confit, Beijing and à l’orange.

Tittensor, Barlaston and on to Downs Bank

Reaching Tittensor via a more natural but less well-populated lake, we enjoyed an unnecessarily long meander through the houses to locate and cross the A34. Beyond the village we descended to a footbridge over the River Trent. It is hard to believe this insignificant stream becomes one of England’s largest rivers. Mike said he once canoed the Trent from above here to past Stafford. On a warm day with the high banks restricting visibility, he said it reminded him of the Dordogne. I closed my eyes and squinted; I flooded the area with mental sunshine, but eventually had to admit that Mike has a better imagination than me – either that or he is delusional.

The Trent (or is the Dordogne?) near Tittensor

Across the water meadows we reached Barlaston and paused for coffee by the Trent and Mersey canal. The local mallards were doing what mallards do, which in spring is gang rape. I am sure no cultured smew on a duckpond would ever do such a thing.

The Trent & Mersey Canal, Barlaston

Modern lines of communication, like the M6, power in and out of the Trent Valley at their pleasure, but the eighteenth century canal and the nineteenth century railway run side by side along the valley bottom. Walking a kilometre up the canal towpath took us from Barlaston Station to Wedgwood Station where we crossed the canal bridge and then the railway. The Wedgwood factory moved from Etruria to its current, somewhat improbable, parkland setting in 1940 and Wedgwood station was opened the same year. There are fewer workers now and those that remain never come to work by rail as no trains stop at either Wedgwood or Barlaston – though oddly neither station is officially closed.

Having zigged up the canal, we zagged back across the fields past Barlaston Hall. The Hall was built in 1786 as a manor house and was later home to the Wedgwood Memorial College. The College moved out when the building was seriously damaged by mining subsidence. After threats of demolition, the house was sold in 1981 to SAVE British Heritage for £1. Now restored it is again a private residence.

Barlaston Hall

Given the eccentricity of our route and the village’s elongated S-shape, we should not have been surprised that two kilometres after passing Barlaston station we found ourselves re-entering Barlaston. A quick stroll round the boundary at the cricket club took us out into the fields again where we deviated from the Stone Circles route, turning south towards Downs Banks.

Downs Bank, Oulton and up to Moddershall

We reached Downs Bank only after wading through a kilometre of country odours, first pig effluent then silage. The 67-hectare glacial valley was donated to the National Trust in 1950 by John Joule of Stone’s long defunct but still missed Joule's Brewery. A pleasing piece of countryside, it functions officially as a nature reserve, and unofficially as a dog-walking facility.

From the end of the valley we climbed to the village of Oulton with its collection of attractive brick buildings - Oulton Grange, Oulton Hall and Oulton Abbey - all hiding behind equally attractive but not so photogenic brick walls.

After a couple of pints of Timothy Taylor’s ‘Landlord’ and a bite to eat at the Wheatsheaf we descended to the Stone/Meir Road, and climbed up the other side toward Moddershall. It was a stiff climb, the last part under the watchful eye of a young but sizeable bull who allowed us to proceed unmolested once he realised that we were not interested in any of his ladies.

Mike and Brian climb towards Moddershall

Past Idlerocks, Over Stallington Heath and on to Fulford

By the Boar Inn we entered the Idlerocks defile. There is nothing obviously indolent about the local geology, but the path at the valley bottom is narrow and the drainage ditch deep. Foot watching seemed important, but we did not miss the deer on the skyline observing our passing.

A Deer watching us from the skyline, Idlerocks

At the top of the defile the valley opens out and a moment’s map consultation was called for before proceeding up to Stallington Heath.

A moment's map consultation

Stallington Heath greeted us with a large padlocked gate labelled ‘Danger – do not enter’. Next to it was an open gate and a ‘public footpath’ sign. We followed the footpath through deciduous woodland, the floor carpeted with last season’s leaves. What was ‘dangerous’ about the larger parallel track was not obvious, unless the inhabitants of Fulford have taken to mining the approaches to their village. Our path became narrower and muddier and we found eventually ourselves pushing past rhododendrons just coming into bud.

Stallington Heath

Reaching a minor road, we strode into Fulford where Brian’s car had previously been parked.

It was a pleasant day’s walk with perhaps a little more tarmac and housing estates than the ideal, but warm enough for early March and, most importantly, dry (almost) all day. We walked some 18 km, though finishing less than 12 kilometres from where we started. That is the first third of the Stone Circle completed. Part 2 will be on the 9th of April.

The Stone Circle

Part 1: Swynnerton to Fulford
Part 2: Fulford to Sandon Bank
Part 3: Sandon Bank to Swynnerton