Mud, dragon’s teeth and Testwood Lakes

9 March 2017

Although we were both feeling a little hungry CJ and I decided to keep going forwards. Turning back would only have saved us a mile or so of walking after all and neither of us like retracing our steps much. So far we’d been on nice firm roads for the most part and now we hit the mud.  After our last muddy adventure, my fingers were firmly crossed it wouldn’t get too deep or go on too long. 

Beside us the River Test flowed towards the mill we’d just left. Earlier we’d crossed the Test close to the fencing shop, now we were approaching another crossing. This was one I remembered well from Care For a Walk last spring. There were tank traps near the bridge, conical concrete pyramids called dragon’s teeth, and I knew CJ would be interested in them.
“They were put here in World War II,” I told him when he spotted them, “back when everyone thought the Germans would invade. The idea was to stop tanks getting to or from the docks, or at least slow them down.”
“But the invasion never came,” he said. “The English Channel was too much of an obstacle.”
“It was but, at the time, the possibility of invasion seemed very real and the south coast was one of the most likely places they would land. There were a series of anti tank ‘stop lines,’ the longest ran across southern England, around London and on as far as Yorkshire. It was called the General Headquarters anti Tank line or GHQ line for short. I guess these dragon’s teeth were part of it.”

We stopped and looked at the dragon’s teeth for quite some time. Covered in moss and crumbling slightly, they didn’t look much of an obstacle to tanks any more. Some had even been tipped into the river. Back in 1940 though, when they were placed here, I expect there were more of them and, had the invasion ever come, they may have slowed the march of the enemy across southern England a little. If they’d come in spring the mud would have caused them a few problems too.

Looking at the river gently bubbling its way downstream towards the mill, it was hard to imagine a time when bombs were dropping from the sky and enemy troops could, at any moment, be stealthily creeping through the undergrowth. We walked on across the bridge the dragon’s teeth had once protected, glad to live on a little island surrounded by water too difficult for enemies to cross.

On the other side of the bridge we came to a muddy track surrounded by fields. We passed a stile with a puddle beneath it so large it might have been a small pond.
“That’s one style I’m glad we don’t need to cross,” I laughed.
“You’d really want to be wearing waders if you were going to cross that field,” CJ agreed.

Ahead we found a narrow track, muddy but not impassable, with fences and trees on either side. To our right a tiny tributary of the Test ran across the field following the track and joining the Test to the River Blackwater. The Blackwater  meanders from Redlynch, near Salisbury, into Hampshire where it meets the Test a little downstream of where we stood. A huge tree, its massive trunk riven in two, stood in the water, its branches bowed towards the ground. How the poor thing survived with its roots so drowned was a mystery but it looked to have been there for many, many years.

On the other side of the Blackwater were Testwood Lakes, the next stop on our day’s itinerary. Despite their appearance, the two lakes we passed between are not natural. They were created by Southern Water to provide drinking water for the west side of Southampton. To our left was Little Testwood Lake, completed in 1997 and to our right Testwood Lake, the younger of the two, dug in 2002. The gravel track between them seemed more ford than path as we approached it. This was not too much of a problem for me with my stout leather walking boots but CJ’s less sturdy neoprene boots were not as high.

While I paddled across with dry feet CJ hesitated. After a lengthy stop to look at the water he decided to head across the muddy grass instead. His feet stayed dry but his boots were caked with mud.

While I waited for CJ to catch up I stopped to look at yet another tree standing in the river. The trees here seem to like having their roots in the water, or perhaps they just don’t have any choice in the matter.

Man made or not, the lakes were quite beautiful, especially on such a bright, blue sky day. We stopped for some time just looking at the still water thinking about how it would all end up coming out of someone’s tap sooner or later.

The lakes were created on an old gravel extraction site and, during excavation, a Bronze Age rapier and part of an ancient bridge were uncovered. These are now on show in the Education Centre on the site. Later, staff and volunteers built a Round House with oak posts from the New Forest, ash and alder rafters and wattle and daub walls. Along with the Education Centre and a Visitor Centre the one hundred and fifty acre site is a nature reserve with wetland habitats, bird hides and a sand martin nesting area. With more time we might have explored more of it but we’d spent too much time on horses and dragon’s teeth and, by now, we were beginning to get quite hungry and more than a little thirsty. The latter was something of an irony given all the drinking water surrounding us.

With the aid of the map on my phone we wandered towards the exit.
“Next time we come we will have to bring a picnic and explore the place properly,” I said.
“I wish you’d thought of that before we left today,” CJ grumbled.
“So do I.”

Soon enough we’d reached Brunel Road and our exit from the lakes, which was in fact, the official entrance. In time honoured tradition we’d managed to do everything the wrong way round but I don’t suppose it matters much. We were now over half way through our walk and the route ahead was completely new territory. Getting lost was a distinct possibility.

Please see my copyright information before you copy or use any of the above words or pictures.