Swynnerton to Whitmore: Cowpat Walks No. 3*

A Circular Walk Through the Hanchurch Hills

Swynnerton

Staffordshire

Stafford Borough

Swynnerton sits on a ridge on the western side of the Trent Valley. It is home to some 600 people, two churches, a pub and a post office. The ‘big house,’ Swynnerton Hall, is the home of Francis Fitzherbert, the Lord Stafford.

The original Swynnerton Hall was destroyed after the Fitzherberts backed the wrong side in the Civil War. Family fortunes, like the monarchy, were later restored and the present hall was built in 1719. Landscaped parkland was the fashion of the day and as the village blocked the Fitzherberts’ view of their domain, it was demolished and rebuilt on the top of the ridge behind the hall.

The relocated village was little more than a hamlet and most of Swynnerton’s several hundred current residents, including Lynne and me, live on an estate built in the 1970s in and around the Fitzherbert’s kitchen garden. It was here that Mike, Lee, Francis and Alison arrived for breakfast on Saturday morning.

A big ‘thank you’ to Lynne for doing the cooking; I did volunteer but she shoved me aside.

Swynnerton to Harley Thorn Farm, on the end of the Hanchurch Hills

Full of bacon, black pudding and fried egg we set off on the minor road along the ridge. The views from here can be exceptional. The last time we walked from Swynnerton (Stone Circle Part 1) I photographed the assembled company looking at the millennium toposcope rather than the view because it was misty. This time the visibility was worse, even the huge bulk of the Wrekin was threatening to disappear into the gloom. It was, though, mild enough for Francis and Mike to give an early season outing to their knees.

Naked knees in Swynnerton

We followed the path down to Beech, walked up to and acrossthe A519 and ascended to Harley Thorn Farm on the end of the Hanchurch Hills. Whitmore was now only 4km away, so we took a detour to Trentham Park.

Up to Harley Thorn Farm

A Detour Through the Trentham Estate

Dropping off the Hanchurch Hills on a rhododendron embowered path....

Descending through the Rhodies, temporarily leaving the Hanchurch Hills

...we returned to the A519 and followed it for a noisy 800m before turning onto a footbridge over the M6 and ascending Kingswood Bank.

Half way up, a notice informed us that the Trentham Estate has embarked on a five year restoration plan. The first stage involves felling the commercial pine forest and replanting with native sessile oaks. Much as I approve of this as a long term plan, it rather spoiled today's descent into the park. A high metal fence lined one side of the path while the woodland on the other was taped off. Horizontal trees and some impressive forestry equipment did not make for a scenic stroll.

Birches on Kingsdown Bank, with the condemned pines beind

The Trentham Estate, once the home of the Dukes of Sutherland, retains its artificial lake and Italian Garden but now also contains a retail village, monkey forest and huge Garden Centre. Our route saw little of these except the tip of the lake and back of the Garden Centre, where we turned left across Trentham Park golf course and headed back towards the main road.

Signs of Spring (1): a wild rose on the verge of the A519

Up to then Along the top of the Hanchurch Hills

Once over the A519 and under the motorway we climbed back into the Hanchurch Hills via the Hanchurch Pools. The day was brightening up, but you would not think so from the demeanour of the anglers sitting hunched over their solitary hobby. Doubtless they gain some pleasure from what they do, but they always look so miserable doing it.

Happy fisherman, Hanchurch Pools

A gently rising path took us to Underhill Farm. Farmers, not unreasonably, like walkers to close gates after them. This sign (once the property of the LNER) at Underhill Farm underlined the point. Americans and younger readers, even middle aged ones come to think of it, might like to know that 40 shillings was £2 ($3) – a tidy sum in the 1940s. [Interesting if irrelevant update. LNER, London and North Eastern Railway, operated from 1927 until nationalisation in 1948. Its network then became British Rail Eastern Region. After privatisation in 1992 a number of companies held the franchise until Virgin Trains East Coast ran into difficulties in 2018. Trains are now run by the Department for Transport under the name LNER. Full circle. Not that these lines go anywhere near here.]

'Any person who omits to shut and fasten this gate is liable to a penalty not exceeding forty shillings'

From the farm the climb to the ridge a little more strenuous.

Up the Hanchurch Hills

The path across the highest part of the woods was broad and dry,....

Through the Hanchurch Woods

but as we descended towards the misnamed Hobgoblin Gate (a hobgoblin was always a long shot, but surely some sort of gate was a reasonable expectation) the bridleway dropped into a hollow between earthworks. Here the ground had been badly churned up by horses.

Churned up bridleway

To Lunch at the Mainwearing Arms

We emerged from the woods onto the minor road down to Whitmore. Signs of spring were everywhere, crocuses in full bloom, daffodils almost ready to burst and spring lambs trying out their wobbly legs.

Signs of Spring (2): new lambs

The Mainwearing Arms in Whitmore has a way of looking closed from the outside, but has always been packed whenever I have been inside. It provides a good sandwich and a choice of real ales, though today neither of my selections proved to be beers I would seek out again.

The Mainwearing Arms, Whitmore

The Cavenagh-Mainwearing family still live at nearby Whitmore Hall, built in 1676. The Whitmore Estate owns the pub which is packed with local and family memorabilia. Connoisseurs of toilet humour may like to know that the estate came into the Mainwearing family in the 16th century when Edward Mainwearing married the Whitmore heiress Alice de Boghay. Prior to that the Mainwearings came from Peover. During the 19th century the house was leased to porcelain manufacturer Thomas Twyford, whose name is the most peed over in British history (except possibly Armitage Shanks).

Whitmore to Shelton-under-Harley

The sun made some sort of effort to come out as we left the pub and I removed my jacket during the walk down the minor road to Shelton-under-Harley. Here we turned up a farm track running alongside the woods. The colours in the still bare trees below the pines were remarkable.

Gentle colours in the bare trees

To the Hatton Pumping Station

At the end of the track we turned onto Dog Lane and then onto Common Lane, first passing through Nursery Common Wood and then between fields. The surface was dry but unexpectedly sandy and there were times when it felt like walking on a beach.

Along Common Lane

The lane emerges at Hatton Pumping Station. Built in 1890 in response to increased local demand for water – due, in the main, to the popularity of Thomas Twyford’s flush toilets – it as a magnificent construction. Whatever shortcomings the Victorians had, lack of confidence was not one of them; despite its humble task, the building is a temple to the gods of engineering. The original beam engines were replaced by electric engines in the first half of last century but pumping continued until 1990. After lying derelict for some years the pumping station was bought by developers who converted it into luxury apartments. This has not been the best time for the property market and some of the apartments remain empty, but it is good to see the building restored and well cared for again.

Approaching Hatton Pumping Station

Back to Swynnerton

From here we passed through Little Hatton and up the lane past the kennels. The owners store – I can think of no better word – some fearsome guard dogs and I never feel comfortable here until I am over the stile and half a field away.

The final field before our fourth crossing of the A519 had been rough pasture when I walked it recently, but has since been ploughed and we had to pick our way along the field margin among the badger sets.

The final fields into Swynnerton are over the working rather than landscaped part of the Swynnerton estate. This is usually a good place to see the village’s resident pair of buzzards, but a smaller bird with a louder voice dominated today’s sky. Skylarks flapped above us in their frenetic way, each generating an unlikely volume of birdsong for their small size.

Returning to Swynnerton beneath the skylarks

A final sunken lane brought us back into the village. The afternoon had been shorter and flatter and walked at a brisk pace. Back home Lynne had the kettle on and hot cross buns in the toaster.

Back in Swynnerton

Approx distance: 23 km

*According to Francis this was Cowpat 5, as he insists in counting a couple of inquorate walks. I will humour him by giving a brief mention to Cowpat ½: Codsall (October 2011) and Cowpat 1½: Haughton (December 2011).

The Cowpats

1 Ironbridge Gorge

2 Eccleshall and Cop Mere

3 Swynnerton to Whitmore

4 Biddulph, The Cloud and Rushton Spencer

5 Shutlingsloe and Danebridge

6 Crowdecote
7 Scaling the Mighty Weaver Hills

 8 Morridge and Onecote
9 Codsall
10 The Roaches and Lud's Church

Out to Lunch in Corsica, Tamil Nadu and the Western Desert

Three Lunches Enjoyed in Three Very Different Countries with Very Different Cuisines

I do like eating. I also have a sad tendency to photograph my lunch, or have myself photographed eating it, or to photograph my companions eating theirs. It may be mildly weird, but it is (probably) nothing to be ashamed of, so here come three lunches Lynne and I have enjoyed in various places at various times.

Spiny Lobster, Cargèse, Corsica, July 2006

France

It is hard to believe this blog has reached its 77th post and this is the first mention of our nearest neighbour. We have probably been to France more often than any other country, but we have visited less often of late, being seduced by more exotic locations - Vietnam, coming up next month or previously unexplored parts of Europe - The Baltics last year, the Balkans next May.

Corsica

And now I have turned my attention to France, it is not to the mainland but to the beautiful if occasionally rebellious island of Corsica. I cannot be certain that Corsica is the only unspoiled Mediterranean island left, but I know of no others of any size. Corsica has its own language (though everybody speaks French too), its own flag and its own distinctive cuisine.

Cargèse, on the west coast of Corsica

Unusually for an island, the traditional Corsican diet did not involve fish. With the low lying east coast a malarial swamp and the rocky west coast plagued by pirates the Corsicans turned their backs on the sea and lived among the mountains. The chestnut forests provided their flour and polenta, the sheep provided their pungent cheeses, several of which the UN have officially designated as WMD, and their meat came from the demi-sauvage black pigs which roam everywhere - and from wild boar in the hunting season.

Pirates and malaria, though, are problems long banished - from the Mediterranean, a least. The island’s capital is no longer the hill town of Corte, but the port of Ajaccio, and seafood has joined pork on the island's dinner tables. In the small coastal town of Cargèse, some 30 km north of Ajaccio, spiny lobster features on the menu of every restaurant. It is never cheap, two spiny lobsters and a bottle of Corsica’s crisp, clean dry rosé cost over €100, but it is good to treat yourself occasionally. And you do at least get a long lunch for your money; it takes time to ferkle out all the meat from the various parts of the crustacean, even using the special ferkling instruments provided.

About to tackle a spiny lobster

It is a weird looking beast with plenty of spines, but no claws. It may be the size and – very roughly – the shape of a lobster but it actually tastes more like a crab – and that is no bad thing.

South Indian Thali, Thanjavur, Tamil Nadu, Feb 2009

India

Tamil Nadu

Most of the citizens of India’s southernmost states are vegetarian, and a Thali is a perfect introduction to the local cuisine. A thali consists of a tray holding several (in this case eleven) small metal bowls each containing a different vegetable curry. Rice and a poppadum or chapatti are dumped in the middle, the rice being replenished as often as required. Thali is available everywhere and costs anything from 50 to 500 rupees. The quality of the food varies little, the difference relates to the surroundings in which you eat. More upmarket restaurants will also sell beer but elsewhere you make do with a bottle of water. For a little extra upmarket restaurants offer meat or fish thalis, which means a slice of meat or fish is balanced on top of the rice. In my opinion there is nothing wrong with most vegetarian dishes cannot be improved by a slice of ham, but vegetarian thalis are an exception to that rule; they are absolutely complete in themselves and need nothing extra.

Eating a Thali, Paristhuram Hotel restaurant, Thanjavur
Posh enough for a beer and a table cloth, humble enough to be cheap

It is not always entirely clear what the vegetables are, partly because many are unfamiliar, and partly because they are less important than the spices. The difference in spicing from bowl to bowl, the richness of the combinations and the subtlety in variation is a delight. One bowl usual contains what might be called a dessert, often tapioca sweetened with jaggery and laced with cardamom. I remember being given tapioca pudding as a child and hating it; it has long disappeared from the menus of childhood but if it had only been this way, then things might have been different.

Egypt

Lunch at Cleopatra’s Restaurant, Bawiti, Egypt, Nov 2009

Bawiti is the main settlement in the Bahariya Oasis some 360 km across the Western Desert from Cairo.

The morning commute, Bawiti

Apparently Cleopatra runs a restaurant there now, which must be less stressful than being Queen of Egypt. It is not a big restaurant - indeed this is the only table - nor does it have much of a menu, offering a choice of ‘meat or chicken.’ There is also rice and potatoes, salad and bread. No one would accuse the cooking of being complex or innovative, it is simple stuff but done as well as simple stuff can be.

Lynne at Cleopatra's Restaurant, Bawiti with Mohammed (nearest camera) our driver and a man with a fine sense of humor, and Araby, linguist, archeologist and all-round good egg

The vegetables we buy at Tescos, Morrisons - or wherever - are varieties bred to look good, be disease resistant and of a consistent size. They are then treated to ensure they have the maximum possible shelf life. Nowhere in the process is consideration given to how they might taste. I have no idea where Cleopatra’s patron buys his supplies, it may or may not be the El (or Al) Senbad Supermarket, but wherever it is, it is somewhere that lacks the ‘benefits’ of Tescoid civilization. His potatoes tasted like potatoes, his cucumbers like cucumbers and his tomatoes were not just a glass of water in a shiny red skin.

El Senbad Supermarket, Bawiti

Synagogues in Krakow, Kochi (Cochin) and Sofia

Three Synagogues, One Each in Poland, India and Bulgaria

Synagogues are different from the other places of worship I have written about (see the Religious Buildings Page - soon). Churches, mosques and temples may be dedicated to the glory of God, but they are most usually built by the powerful to demonstrate their wealth and power. Other than in present day Israel, Jews have always been a minority. Synagogues have not been built by the powerful, and there has always been a feeling, even in times of security, that an ostentatious synagogue would be a hostage to fortune.

We have come across surprisingly few synagogues in our travels, and even fewer that welcomed visitors. We have been inside only two (two of the three in this post) and neither were functioning synagogues. But this little thread on religious buildings would be incomplete without them, and they so often have interesting, or terrible, stories to tell.

The Old Synagogue, Kazimierz, Krakow, Poland

In medieval times Jewish and Polish citizens of Krakow lived together peaceably. Relations deteriorated in the 15th century and in 1495 the Jews were expelled from Krakow and sent to the nearby city of Kazimierz. The Old Synagogue, built soon after, is the oldest surviving synagogue in Poland. Damaged by fire in 1557, it was promptly reconstructed in Renaissance style.

Lynne outside the Old Synagogue, Kazimierz

Krakow expanded and absorbed Kazimierz, which became a Jewish suburb. Co-existence was sometimes more, sometimes less peaceful, at least until 1939.

The Old Synagogue is now The Museum of History and Culture of Krakow Jewry. It charts a steady progress from the middle ages to the early 20th century. The later pictures show prosperous and confident people, pillars of Krakow society. The people in the pictures had no idea how the story would end, those of us looking at them could think of little else.

Next day we went to Auschwitz; you can read about that here. We revisited Kazimierz that evening. The Jewish community numbered 70,000 in 1939, today there are 150. With Krakow’s tourist boom Kazimierz is enjoying a renaissance and restaurants serving Jewish food surround the old square. We sat outside the Café Ariel eating jellied carp and tcholent stew. It was Friday and men wearing yarmulkas strolled in the square greeting friends. As dusk fell they drifted towards one or other of the two remaining synagogues. I wondered why they had stayed in Krakow, but I had neither the language nor the impertinence to ask. Even in the worst days there were oases of sanity, the factory of Oscar Schindler lay just across the river from where we sat.

Outside the Café Ariel, Kazimierz

As night fell children danced outside the synagogue singing traditional songs in a joyous affirmation of the survival of an ancient culture.

The Pardesi Syngogue,Kochi, Kerala

Matancherry lies immediately south of the old colonial Fort Kochi. It contains the rather understated Raja’s Palace, the largely redundant Kochi International Pepper Exchange – spices are now traded on-line - and the Pardesi Synagogue.

Matancherry, Kochi

Built in 1568 and rebuilt in 1664 the synagogue is famous for its richly decorated interior with its hand painted blue and white Cantonese tiles. Sadly photography is not appreciated inside.

The Pardesi Synagogue, Matancherry

This may be a synagogue unconnected to the Holocaust, but that does not mean that Kochi maintains a thriving Jewish community. It was never large and somehow, over the last century or so, Kochi’s Jews have either drifted away – often to Israel– or become assimilated by the local community. They have left their synagogue as a reminder of their presence.

The Central Synagogue, Sofia, Bulgaria,

Having sidestepped the Holocaust for number 2, there is now little option but to return to it. I could have written about the slaughter in the Baltics and included the last surviving synagogue in Vilnius, or the chilling preserved remains of the Great Synagogue in Riga, burnt down in July 1941 with over a hundred worshippers inside. Instead, I have chosen a different Holocaust story.

Sofia’s central syngogue is a large, solid building; a construction of confidence and permanence. There was some justification for the confidence, but permanence was not to be.

The central synagogue, Sofia

The Bulgarians chose the wrong side in World War Two, though less out of conviction than political necessity. Jews had always lived peacefully in Bulgaria and even the fascist government saw no good reason to change that. When ordered to round up and deport Bulgaria’s Jews to the death camps they prevaricated, prevaricated again and kept on prevaricating until the war was over.

The communist regime that followed proved less than sympathetic so after watching the Holocaust sweep round them but not over them, Sofia’s Jewish community upped sticks and set off for Israel. There is enough of a community left to maintain and look after the building, but not so many that it can remain a functioning synagogue.