Druids, a urinal and frost on the Frome

I usually make promises to myself and promptly forget them, but the one about trying to walk somewhere new at least once a month through the winter, even if it's just somewhere in Bristol, I have remembered; not only that, I've exceeded my goal, as I've walked to two new - well, newish - places in the last month.  

First, the Bristol suburb of St George, in the east of the city. I parked next to St George's Park, which I don't think I'd been to before, though it's hard to be sure, as it reminds me very much of nearby Eastville Park, which I definitely did visit as a child. 

After walking through the park, I headed for Troopers Hill, but detoured slightly on the way in order to walk along Marling Road, where, for a couple of years, as a very small child, I learnt to ride, thanks to two elderly women who lived in our street but who kept a stable of ponies across the city. The lock-ups just visible through the gate in the photo below occupy the site of one of the stable blocks. I can still remember some of the ponies' names: Chloe, Penny, Buttons, Dinky, Bambi, Oberon, Bubbles, Aramis ... 

Before I got to Troopers Hill, I accidentally got locked in at some allotments, through which I thought (mistakenly) that l could access the hill. Luckily, my incarceration didn't last long, and I did see some quite picturesque sheds.

please don't make me go there!

Cwtch was keen to go down the track into Crews Hole, but it looked steep and slippery to me, so I promised her we'd go there next summer.

It wasn't the first time I'd been to Troopers Hill, but it was a much brighter, clearer day than my previous visit, so I took a few minutes to enjoy the view of the Avon valley and the centre of the city in the distance. 

We made our way along a couple of footpaths and then emerged into Avonview Cemetery, which doesn't actually have a view of the river, at least not while there's (still) leaves on the trees, but which was nevertheless quite beautiful in the November sun.

This is the grave of Henry Hodge, who died aged 65 in 1912. It was, it tells us, 'erected by the officers and members of the Bristol and West of England United Ancient Order of Druids, in recognition of faithful services rendered for 30 years as District Secretary.' Even Druids need administrators, it seems.

A cast-iron Victorian urinal, uncomfortably close to the chapel and bearing - on the inside - the legend 'Please adjust your dress before leaving'. 

Back at the entrance to the park, I noticed a plaque commemorating the pub and florist just over the road, the Elizabeth Shaw chocolate factory, and one Bob Hope - yes, that one - who was born in London and lived briefly in Bristol, on nearby Clouds Hill Avenue, before emigrating to the United States with his parents at the age of four.

My second walk took me to Winterbourne, and down the footpath to Huckford viaduct. I've been there a few times this year, but the prospect of getting to the hill fort at Frenchay always lures me downstream; this time I headed north towards Frampton Cotterel.

Strange how trees you walked past without noticing in summer are suddenly stunning in early winter

It was a frosty morning, which are just rare enough on the edge of a southern city to bring out the child in me who thinks it a bit magical. Even better, the sky had just enough cloud in it to make it interesting, and the sun was bright but not so high that all the ice had melted.

Our walk took us past fields on the opposite bank of the River Frome where I went riding for a couple of years as a teenager. And yes, I can still remember some of the ponies' names: Musket, two Cognacs (one bay, one skewbald), (Puffing) Billy, Jamie, Buster, Treacle, etc ...

Our walk came to an end when we got to a wooded area near Watley's End. The path by the river was blocked by a fallen tree, which meant we had to take a higher path through the wood. After about twenty minutes of scrambling up steep muddy slopes in my wellies, I remembered I'd have to slither back down again, and decided that maybe that was enough for one day. The Frome is definitely best walked in the summer.

Mist rising from a little stream in the wood ... 

... and from the Frome

A foliage-bombed kissing gate

The Frome encroaching on part of the path

The path back out of the valley