Cerne Valley Walk
I never can resist walking in the Cerne Valley in May. It is so very, very green. Perhaps the greenest place in this green county.
Left the car in the little car park for Minterne Gardens, very lonely (it was well before the gardens open), and set off up the stone track onto the hills. The sky mostly white cloud. A very cool wind blowing
But once on the hilltop, the bridleway goes into hiding:
A tunnel of green. No views, it is true. But also no cold wind, no hot sun.
Mud though. There is certainly mud. Even in May, when the hilltop paths should be dry.
Where the bridleway divides, one track leading down to Up Cerne, suddenly there are views again. But only because the hillside woods have vanished due to Ash Dieback. A lot of young trees in plastic protectors have recently been planted.
The sky shows signs of becoming blue. On a Bank Holiday. This is most strange.
Down the hill to Up Cerne, where the River Cerne rises. Beech and sycamore, these woods, and still shady.
The bridleway has its own avenue. At least one inhabitant of the manor at Up Cerne seems to have been very fond of avenues. Everywhere around the village there are little avenues of plane, of beech, and of lime.
Along the lane to Up Cerne, with the baby River Cerne, still crystal clear, burbling alongside in a ditch.
Up Cerne. A hamlet rather than a village. Half a dozen houses, and a little shelter to sit in at the crossroads. I proceeded to sit in it. I didn't want to appear ungrateful.
Up Cerne manor house. Early 17th century, but much altered in the 19th and 20th century.
Fields at Up Cerne. It shows what an incredibly wet spring we have had, when you see fields not long ploughed and sewn in May.
Along another avenue. A pause at the foot of the hill to listen to the wind in the lime trees.
Then it was time to head back up onto the hills, following a long chalk byway. A very long chalk byway. Which climbs and winds and climbs. And then, when you think you have surely reached the hilltop, it climbs again.
Looking back down the valley to Up Cerne.
I suppose this would have been a proper green lane once, with hedges to both sides, but the farmer ripped out the hedge on one side to make his arable fields bigger.
Still, it's a pretty path, lined with a white cow parsley, pink campions, foxgloves. Above the path, the skylarks are singing their hearts out. From the hedges, yellowhammers are singing a-little-bit-of-bread-and-no-cheese and buntings are singing short jangly bursts of song.
And the migrants are here: Painted Lady butterflies and Silver Y moths.
On the hilltop. The rights of way around the Cerne Valley are unusually well signposted. (The owners of the local shooting estates really don't want people straying from the path...)
The Wessex Ridgeway long distance footpath passes through a hole in the hedge. I did think about following this path back to Minterne, but when I saw that it headed straight through the middle of a field of oilseed rape - no path even visible - I decided to head for Hilfield Hill, and follow the lane for a while.
The path to Hilfield Hill. Much nicer than walking through arable fields.
Following the lane along the hilltop. (Not as peaceful as it looks - a lot of traffic, even on a Bank Holiday Monday).
And all along the lane the ash trees are dying, their branches black, their leaves scanty. The blight is upon them.
It breaks my heart. All the beautiful hillside ash hangers that were a glory in May... They will soon be gone. Other trees may be planted. But what can replace the gracefulness of ashes?
Márgarét, áre you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
Nope. Pretty sure it's the trees unleaving, old chap.
Walk on. Walk on.
Onto the bridleway that runs along East Hill. For a while there are views framed by long oak branches:
And then the bridleway disappears back into its green tunnel, and the views are replaced by robin song, and Speckled Wood butterflies basking in patches of sunlight:
Back down the track to Minterne Magna, with the warm sun on my back and the fresh wind in my face.