Walks – Page 3 – I Walk Alone

In the here and now

Lately, I’ve been posting about 2021, the lockdown, and life slowly getting back to normality. All the while, life in the here and now has been moving on. The threat of COVID may have been downgraded, but the spectre of war has taken its place in the daily news. If researching and writing about the first half of the twentieth century has taught me anything, it’s that the newspapers and the media are not to be trusted. They may be great for propaganda, but they’re not so good for solid facts. Even so, the invasion of Ukraine can hardly be ignored. The parallels between these days and the dark days of the late 1930’s are clear for all to see and my heart breaks for the ordinary citizens of Ukraine.

A very long, short walk

When we left Manor Farm we were still at the start of our four, or so, mile walk to plot marshal points for the upcoming race. The sky was bright blue, the sun was out, so it was a nice day for a stroll, but with all the stops and starts, I was beginning to think it would be dark before we got to the end. As it was Halloween, I wondered if we’d see any ghosts and ghouls if that happened.

Not Sunday Runday at Manor Farm

Sunday mornings usually involve me sitting in my dressing gown far longer than I should, writing, editing, or staring into space thinking of what to write while Commando is off on a Sunday Runday. Occasionally, they involve early morning trips to watch and photograph lunatic runners, usually in the cold. having squelched through acres of mud. On those Sunday mornings, I may sometimes be more than a little grumpy due to frozen hands and lack of sleep. The last Sunday in October 2021 was different. I was not wearing my dressing gown, and I was far from home. There were runners with me, but they weren’t running.

Church Green and the Leys

More by luck than judgement, we found ourselves back where we started. There was a little assistance from Google Maps in there somewhere too but the sun shining on my phone screen didn’t help matters. By now it was almost four O’clock, and apart from our short lunch break, we’d been walking since midday. As several of the Witney locals were lounging about on the grass in the sun, we decided to rest our weary feet and join them. This also gave me the chance to peruse my list of family members. Thomas Haley, my great great great grandfather had lived on Church Green.

The River Windrush and a surprise blanket factory

It was late afternoon when we left Crawley Road and headed down the footpath I’d spotted on the map. I wasn’t entirely confident that I knew where I was going but I was keeping quiet about that fact. We passed a row of picture postcard cottages. There was a grassy field to our left and the track was wide and mostly paved. It must lead somewhere, even if that somewhere was not where we wanted to go. I hoped where it led was not a wild goose chase because we’d been walking more or less constantly for several hours at this stage and Commando might like to run marathons, but he’s not so keen on walking them.

In search of Narrow Hill

We left The Angel Inn refreshed and eager to see as much of Witney as we could in the short time we had. We’d seen the houses of Corn Street where Alice was born and we’d seen the church where several of my ancestors were baptised, married and buried, even if we hadn’t found any graves. I knew that my great great grandfather, Thomas Haley junior had moved from Corn Street to Woodgreen by 1861, but the only address on the census was Private House. Ten years on, he’d moved to West End but there was no address I could trace. By 1881 though, he was living on Narrow Hill and, due to a stroke of luck, I knew exactly which house he’d lived in. After a quick stop to take a closer look at the Town Hall, we set off to find it.

St Mary’s church Witney, an angel and a cursed stool

They say there has been a church in Witney since the tenth century but St Mary’s, standing at the far end of a long, wide expanse of grass called Church Green, is not the original church. In fact it was built in the twelfth century on the site of previous Norman and Saxon churches. It has also undergone many changes over the years. The tall spire, rising one hundred and fifty six feet into the blue sky, was added in the fifteenth century. It dominates the Witney skyline, so it was hard to miss, even for strangers like us. Such a large and imposing church shows that Witney was a wealthy and important town in medieval times. This was where many of my Oxfordshire ancestors were baptised, married and buried. As we walked towards the church I was hopeful that I might be able to find some Haley graves.

Expect the unexpected

The last time I had a wander through Hatch Grange I was suffering from a numb mouth after a bit of dental work to repair a cracked tooth. It was August 2019, I was training for a marathon walk, blissfully unaware that a little cold would turn into a chest infection disaster and my marathon would end at the half way point. COVID19 was not even a thing, or that cold would have been much more of a worry. My mind was full of research on Spanish Flu for a book I was planning to write. Two years on it felt as if the whole world had changed. The word pandemic had certainly taken on a whole new meaning. Now, the book was written and in the throes of being published, Commando was the one visiting the dentist and I had an hour to kill. Hatch Grange was the obvious answer. At least there was one thing that wouldn’t have changed, or so I thought . . .

Thickening the plot

Kim and I wandered down Cutbush Lane towards Mansbridge talking about the things we’d seen in Marhill Copse. We both agreed that the signs, both literal and figurative, looked promising for this little piece of woodland. We walked past Gaters Mill, and down the hill towards the White Swan. The sky was overcast but it was a warm day. The meadows were bright with wildflowers. If it wasn’t for the tarmac road, lampposts and crash barriers, we might have stepped back in time to when this was all farmland and copses and the Itchen Navigation still carried barges filled with wool and coal.

What’s going on at Marhill Copse?

Mid August 2021, and it really felt as if the worst of the pandemic was behind us, so for the first time in a long time, I met up with Kim for a little stroll. Well, I have to be honest, it was more march than stroll and it wasn’t exactly little either, but still . . . For once I had a plan, and it mostly involved finding out what, exactly, was going on at Marhill Copse. The last time I walked this way was in June 2020. I was meant to be walking with Kim but she had a terrible headache that turned out to be the start of her brush with COVID, so I went on my own. Now, as I walked across Riverside Park towards Woodmill to meet Kim, it felt as if I was was completing the circle somehow. We were finally going to get that lost walk.

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