Windmills on my mind

2 June 2916

Last night I had a dream about a windmill. The memory of it was hazy when I woke but I couldn’t get the thought of it out of my head, white sails against deep blue sky. It felt as if something was telling me to walk to the windmill at Bursledon, although I had no idea why. It seemed wise to listen to my dream though and, when I said where I was going, CJ said he’d come along. He even offered to buy me a coffee! Once I’d picked myself off the floor we set off.

Straight away it was obvious my dream wasn’t going to come true. There would be no white sails against the blue today. The sky was grey, heavy with a threat of rain. There was colour as we walked down the first hill, a bright flag flying on the allotments. Neither CJ or I could identify the country or organisation it came from.

We stopped for coffee at the Costa at the bottom of the hill and, true to his word, CJ paid. Then we set about the up hill down hill business of getting to the windmill. It really isn’t the nicest walk along the busy, hilly road. At the top of the last hill there’s a roundabout and between the roads is a green island with a bench made from a tree. It’s been slowly rotting away for years and now it seems to have completely collapsed. In front of the bench is another dead tree carved with a grumpy looking face and an owl, it’s wings spread wide about to fly. CJ was impressed. We stopped for a while to look at it properly and discovered a splendid crop of shelf fungi.

Our next stop was the windmill itself. As we came down windmill lane I could see a new she’d had been built since my last visit. What it’s used for I have no idea and, as the windmill is only open at weekends, there was no one around to ask. While I was looking at it, CJ was staring up at the windmill.

Even without blue sky those latticed sails against the grey clouds were an impressive sight. CJ had never seen it before so, as we stood there looking up, slightly dizzy from the movement of the clouds, I told him the story of Phoebe Langtry whose husband, William, became the Miller here in 1787, twenty one years after the first wooden mill was built. By 1813 the mill was in a bad way and, against her husband’s wishes, Phoebe had the mill rebuilt in brick. Without her brave defiance of her husband, there might not be a mill here for us to visit.

When I pointed out the little window near the top of the mill where I thought, just for a moment, I’d seen the ghost, CJ’s eyes widened and he stared at the window willing the ghost to materialise. Of course it didn’t but I told him how I’d been up to the very top of the mill, through a hatch so narrow my rucksack got caught up, to the room inside that window. This, I explained, was where William Langtry fell from the ladder. He didn’t die but he was badly injured and spent the rest of his life in terrible pain. The ghost is William’s, wailing and moaning in pain as he walks about the mill.

When our necks were aching and our heads spinning from all the looking up, we turned our attention to the other buildings. First there was the sixteenth century Chineham Barn, rescued from demolition in 1984 and moved from a farm in Chineham, Basingstoke. These days the barn is used as a visitor centre and I told CJ about all the interesting objects I’d seen inside.
“Perhaps we can come back one Sunday when it’s open and you can have a tour,” I said.

In front of the barn is the mill pond and a wild area filled with flowers. It was pretty as a picture but the gates were shut so we could t go closer to look for the dragonflies I knew were dancing above the water. On the other side of the pond is the Hiltingbury Granary, sitting on nine saddle stones to protect the grain from rats and mice. The granary dates from the late eighteenth century and was rescued from  Hiltingbury farm at the same time as the barn.

The old windhsaft, replaced during the recent refurbishment, was laying on the grass near the pond. It was hard to get a feel for the scale of it from outside the fence and I wished I could get a closer look. Another reason to return then.

On our way through the village I’d grabbed some little cartons of iced coffee and a small chocolate bar for each of us and I knew just the place to sit and enjoy them. At least I thought I did, but, when I led CJ into the small copse behind the windmill, the seat I’d sat on in the past had rotted away and was just a pile of logs on the ground. We wandered along the trail looking for another likely place to sit and, eventually, found a large fallen tree amongst a tangle of smaller branches. It was surprising how quiet it was there considering how close we were to the motorway and we enjoyed our snacks accompanied by the sound of birdsong.

Our green bower was such a beautiful spot we lingered a while. Then, with time getting on, we headed back to the windmill. The sun was trying to break through the clouds by now and, for the a moment the little patch of blue sky took me back to my dream.  With one last look at the wild flower garden and the mill itself, along with an old millstone we stumbled upon, we were homeward bound.

While we’d been resting I’d formed a plan for our return journey. I’ve never been keen on retracing my steps, especially when it means a walk up and down three steep hills along a busy road and I thought I’d come up wth an interesting alternative.
“It’s a longer walk,” I told CJ, “but, if you’re up for it, I thought we could go through Netley Common and then cross the road near Costas and then along Shoreburs Greenway.”
CJ said it sounded interesting so we crossed near the roundabout and headed off along West End Road towards Kanes Hill.

The common was further than I expected, which goes to show half baked plans formed sitting in woods without the aid of a map are probably not the best idea. Still the road was quieter than the one we would have been on and a sight less hilly. The entrance we found wasn’t the one we came out of on our search for boundary stones back in February. This put us at a bit of a disadvantage but there was a clear trail and a sign with a map. Last time we came this way we learned there was a Bronze Age burial mound but we’d not found it. The map clearly showed it just off the Romam Road at the end of the trail we were on. We both agreed it was worth a quick detour.

When we reached the Roman Road we found a gate. Obviously the barrow was on the other side somewhere. This was when I realised a photo of the map would have been handy but, by now, it was far behind us. We carried on along a narrow trail through scrubby heathland dotted with trees. The barrow should have been to our right but all we could see were clumps of trees.

The land was fairly flat and a barrow suggested a hill so I still thought we might spot it if we kept going. Sadly, we didn’t. The trail led us in what must have been a wide circle, back to the Roman Road. We came out right by the boundary stone. Our half mile detour had all be in vain.

In an effort to make up lost ground we crossed the main road a little earlier than I’d originally planned, thinking to pick up Shoreburs Greenway from one of the many cutways behind the houses on Butts Road. The problem was I’d only ever been this way going in the opposite direction and, while I thought I knew the route, I was sadly mistaken. Confidently, I led CJ down a steep street expecting to find an entrance. It turned out to be a cul de sac with no cutway onto the greenway and we had to climb back up to the top. To his credit CJ didn’t moan.

Our detour down the next street was more successful and, six miles into our walk, we were back on a trail. Had we taken the straight route along the road we’d have been walking in the front door about now. Sensibly, I didn’t tell CJ this and he didn’t seem to notice. Besides, the greenway is well worth a few extra miles.

CJ was very taken with the strange carved posts and odd wood sculptures dotted along the trail. We stopped at each one, trying to decide what they were supposed to be. Some looked as if they could be giant wood lice, others almost looked like clam shells or maybe some kind of fungi.

Thankfully the trail wasn’t as muddy as I expected and, for the most part, we were able to easily skirt the few boggy patches we found. When we came to the break in the trail at Bunny Hill CJ was surprised to realise where it had led us. He’d never walked this way before and had no idea where we were heading.

On this part of the trail we found huge drifts of ragged robin, tattered pink flowers alive with bees. Further on we smelled the heady scent of philadelphus long before we saw the pretty white flowers. Then we came out onto Botany Bay Road, more a lane at this point than a road. CJ still had no idea where we were as we crossed to the final part of the trail but I knew he’d soon start to recognise things. We were now on the meadow behind Millers Pond, where the horses graze. Sadly, there were no horses today.

When we came to the big cement drains that were once used as tethers for anti aircraft balloons, I thought CJ would get his bearings. He stopped to take photos of the tethers and even said, “there are some of these at Millers Pond,” but still didn’t put two and two together. I smiled but said nothing.

He didn’t work it out until the pond came into view and even then it took him a few seconds to realise this was Millers Pond and not some other pond he didn’t know about. Today the water was filled with lily pads and ducklings. We stood on the viewing platform and watched the cute little things swimming about and clambering on and off lily pads that must have seemed like islands to them. It was hard to drag CJ away, he loves animals and birds, especially baby ones.

When we finally got home it was almost three o’clock. We’d set out meaning to walk six miles or so and ended up walking more than nine. My dream of white sails against blue sky had not quite come true and we never did find the barrow but we’d had quite an adventure and CJ had learned about a whole new trail he could walk. All in all, I’d call that a success.

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