A Walk at Henfield and Westerleigh

It stopped raining, and the cloud cover lifted just enough to reveal a moon in all its blueness. A straggling flock of pigs flew past. 'Let's go for a walk,' Son the Younger suggested. 'I've sorted a route.' 

Our walk started in Howsmoor Lane, a rural relic that now staggers through the ever-expanding suburb of Lyde Green. Much of the start of this route we'd already covered more than once: Lyde Green Common, the oak in the field by the M4, passing under the M4 and heading north along the Dramway towards the lakes at Windmill Fishery. 

From here, we crossed Westerleigh Road and - shortly afterwards - a disused railway line that once served nearby Ramhill Colliery (for we were once more walking the South Gloucestershire coal field).  The colliery wasn't on our route, but I made a mental note of its location and will aim to visit some other time. 

The lane leading to Box Hedge Farm

Just before we reached the farm, we turned right and walked along a ridge with views to Lyde Green in the south. It was cold, with a thin wind blowing, and boggy underfoot, and I couldn't help thinking what a lovely walk it would make on a breezy summer afternoon. 

On the edge of Westerleigh, we encountered some ponies, which were the highlight of the walk for me - though not for Cwtch. They ignored her barks and little rushes from the other side of the fence and strode over, apparently hoping for sugar lumps or carrots, of which I had none. 

We were now heading south, back across Westerleigh Road towards the local slaughterhouse, where the squealing of pigs reminded me of the one just down the road from where I lived in Taunton forty years ago. It's a horrible sound and a horrible business. 

We crossed the Westerleigh branch via the level crossing ...

... and headed back towards the M4, crossing Folly Brook and under the carriageway where the railway line terminates.

We were now back in familiar territory, having walked this part of the route - along the Bristol and Bath railway path - almost a year ago when we visited Brandy Bottom colliery. 

The remainder of our route took us along the side of the ring road and the edge of some of the new housing. It was starting to rain and I felt that, had I been in charge of the walk, I might have cut it short at this point and returned the way we set out, but I wasn't and the full six miles had to be completed, come what may.  It was mostly enjoyable, though, with good company, and I plan to explore some more of the area soon. 

Old pits and puddles

Just over a week ago it was time to catch up with my Son the Younger and go for a walk in his neck of the woods, which is Lyde Green.We'd decided to visit two nearby disused collieries, Brandy Bottom and Parkfield, so set off along the old Dramway that connected them and other collieries to the north and south with the docks on the Avon.

Coppiced hazel

Approaching the chimney of Brandy Bottom Colliery and Old Pit

New Pit

Cornish Engine House 

The two halves of a winding wheel on either side of the path just beyond the colliery have no connection with it. Apparently, they're from a colliery in Wales and were installed by Sustrans to mark where the Dramway crosses a Roman road; in fact, they're far bigger than the one that would have been in operation at Brandy Bottom.

We then doubled back and headed for Parkfield Colliery, of which little remains apart from the chimney, which can be seen in winter from the adjacent M4 ...

... and the former mining cottages, here seen from the rear.

We wandered back to Son the Younger's neck of the woods along the lane that turns to a river in winter, but which was merely muddy and puddled following the spell of dry March weather. At one point I nearly slipped and fell, but managed to regain my footing. 

At the end of the lane I felt in my jacket pocket and realised my phone was missing. We retraced our steps up and down the lane for half an hour, as far as the point where I remembered taking a final photo, with Son the Younger ringing my phone in vain. No sign of it. In my head I rehearsed the various scenarios: the having to get a new phone when I still have two years to pay on my lost new one; the trip to Vodaphone in Cribbs Causeway, where there would be a long wait for help; the sheer bloody inconvenience and expense of it all. Then, advancing on the puddle from a different angle, my son pounced and raised my dripping phone to the sky with a howl of triumph. It must have flown from my pocket when I slipped and there it had been all along, in about five inches of muddy water, but still, apparently, working.

It was a day before it would charge without making a horrible alarmy noise, but is now in full working order, thank goodness. March 13th, lucky for some.