Woods, meadows and hidden history

20 September 2016

Just when I thought we had somehow missed the brick kiln and we were about to go through the gate and off of the Woodland Nature Trail I noticed another trail. It was fairly overgrown and I had an idea it would just lead us round in a circle but I decided to walk a little way just in case. This turned out to be a brilliant plan.

After a very short distance, less than a hundred yards, the trail came to a dead end. Feeling a little miffed, I turned to go back. That was when I spotted the brick kiln. It was down a steep embankment and surrounded by a fence but it was unmistakable. It was slightly disappointing not be be able to get nearer but I guessed the fence was there to stop people clambering all over the kiln. Then CJ spotted a wooden gate. It had a padlock but he used it as a kind of style and climbed over. This is not something I would advocate but he didn’t actually touch any of the bricks so I guess no harm was done.

While CJ was trespassing I had a look at the handy information board. No one knows for sure when these brick kilns were built but they were being used in the early ninteenth century. Oddly, apart from a few local legends about bricks being made here, no one knew the kiln was there until November 2003 when park staff stumbled upon a brick arch buried in the Woodland Nature reserve. A year later a dig was carried out to investigate and one of two Scotch Kilns, a rarity in Hampshire, was uncovered along with shards of pottery and clay drainage pipes.

Later a search of a different kind was undertaken, looking at deed documents and records. A map from 1899 showed the two kilns and some other buildings. It also showed the brickyard, now High Hill Field. These kilns fired hand made bricks, tiles and drainage pipes made from local clay using sanded moulds. The wood for the fires would have come from the nearby trees. What an interesting discovery and a reminder that you never know what’s under your feet, especially in patches of ancient woodland.

Once we’d had our fill of the kiln we headed back to the gate. The ground around it was littered with fallen apples and our footsteps were accompanied by a sweet, cider smell. We’d emerged into a field with several trails and, even using the park map and Google maps, I couldn’t quite work out where we were or which way to go.

In the end we chose randomly. The trail we picked took us to the high ground in the centre of the field where we discovered an interestingly carved totem pole and a bench in the shape of a dragonfly. The flattened grass trail took us to the opposite side of the field where there was a path into the woods but something didn’t seem right. We set off along it but it wasn’t long before I realised this was the very trail we’d set off on earlier. We if we carried on we’d be walking in circles.

There was little choice but to turn around and retrace our steps. We did eventually find our way back to High Hill Field by following the line of the trees until we came to another entrance. Now there was another field to cross but at least this time I knew the way. Soon we were approaching the car park. Oddly, right where grass met Tarmac a huge sunflower had sprung up. Quite how it got there is a mystery although CJ had a theory.
“Maybe someone had a cereal bar or one of those little packets of sunflower snacks and dropped some on the ground,” he suggested.
However it got there it was a bright cheery sight.

From the car park to the Forest Trail was simple and soon we were passing the wooden animal sculptures we’d seen right at the start. Back at High Wood Barn I breathed a sigh of relief. Now I knew exactly where I was and where I needed to be heading. The final part of my plan was to cross the water meadow and head back towards Mansbridge, then home. It should have been simple…

Finding the path to the the water meadows was no problem at all, it was a simple matter of crossing the bridge over the Itchen as I’d done on on my last walk here. Back then it was wet and muddy and my plans to cross the meadows to the Navigation Trail had come to nothing. This time, with firm ground, I hoped it would be different. On the other side of the bridge there is a nice, firm gravel path following the line of the river. This, I’m pretty sure, leads directly to Gaters Mill. It would have been the simplest route but, sadly, there are signs saying it’s a private path. Tempting as it was we passed by.

Now we were on the water meadows. These were part of an agricultural system developed in the seventeenth century where a series of sluices, ditches and ridge and furrow field systems enabled regular flooding of the meadows using water diverted from the river. The nutrient rich silt irrigated and fertilised the land and caused the grass to grow earlier in the season. The meadows were probably flooded twice a year giving two seperate grazing periods and two hay crops. There are two hundred and fifty acres of water meadow nature reserve here but they haven’t been purposely flooded for a hundred years.

The meadows are still used for grazing and we bumped into some cows right away. Unfortunately, what we didn’t find was a clear trail. There were several half trails, mostly just flattened grass and spaces between the scrub. We followed one that looked to be leading in the right direction. It was at least roughly following the river. Through a wire fence we got occasional glimpses of the private path beside the river and I felt fairly confident we were on the right track. Then the path, such as it was, disappeared. We couldn’t get over the fence, we couldn’t get through the bushes. All we could do was go back the way we came.

There was quite a bit of semi aimless wandering after that. Occasionally I thought I recognised a stand of trees. Other times I had the feeling we might be walking in circles. We stumbled upon a curved brick wall that looked very much like part of a lock. We were getting close to the Itchen Navigation, that much I was sure, but not close enough for a lock. Besides, I know all the locks on the canal.
“Perhaps it’s from when they diverted the path for the Motorway?” CJ suggested.
He could have been right. We were certainly close to both the motorway and the canal but I didn’t think we were close enough. Later research told me it was probably the remains of one of the sluice gates used to drown the meadows. No matter how many times I walk here I always seem to find something new and interesting,

Eventually we did find our way onto the Itchen Navigation, although not as close to Mansbridge as I’d originally planned. Walking along the familiar trail, slightly overgrown, pot hole and root ridden as it is, felt reassuring. We were homeward bound and we knew the way.

We stopped for a moment to say hello to some cows on the water meadows just beyond the fence. This is how I like my cows, with a nice strong barbed wire fence between them and me. This was especially true when I noticed horns on one of the cows and realised she was a he.

On we went, through the tunnel of tangled trees. Back in the seventeenth century, when the canal was built, the trees wouldn’t have been here. They’ve grown up, finding their way in nooks and crannies of the tow path, since the railways put paid to the Navigation in the 1850’s. Even so I like the sensation of walking through an arch of greenery.

Before too long we’d reached Mansbridge Lock and the first of the triangular Navigation markers.
“There’s an awful lot of water in the canal,” I remarked. “Especially for summer when it’s been so hot and we’ve had very little rain.”
Of course the water is green and stagnant. The canal has long since been blocked off and what water there is comes from the sky and has nowhere to go.

Then we were back at the river with real flowing water beside us. Like the canal, the water was far higher than I expected. We crossed the  Itchen at Mansbridge for our final leg of our journey. The water here was filled with ducks, including the one white duck that always seems to be near the bridge. Further along there were swans swimming upstream.

At Woodmill there were fishermen and the usual row of seagulls on the roof. The  sign that was missing from the front of the mill last time I came past is back. Why it was taken down and why it was put back is a mystery because it looks like the same sign to me.

The height of the water was highlighted when we reached the jetty. The bridge into it was half submerged near the steps. A young couple were on the other end throwing bread for the swans. The gulls were doing what gulls do, snatching up every morsel they could before it hit the water.  Almost under the jetty I spotted some young black swans. They’ve been conspicuous in their absence recently so it was good to see they’re still around.
“They must have got wet feet getting out there,” I said, looking at the couple and the submerged bridge.
“Unless the tide has come in since they walked out there,” CJ said.
“If that’s the case they’re going to have a shock when they come back to the path.”

So that was the last walk of summer. There was the usual amount of getting lost, a few disappointments that turned into victories, the odd surprise and a new slant on a couple of old routes. Now it’s time to dig out my boots for autumn walking.

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