Joanne's long walks: Road to Home 2022 Day 11: Swayfield

35.5 km

I long for scenes where man hath never trod

A place where woman never smiled or wept

There to abide with my Creator, God,

And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,

Untroubling and untroubled where I lie

The grass below—above the vaulted sky.

- John Clare, "I Am"

At some point yesterday afternoon I realised with dismay that my printout of the directions for the next couple of days had fallen out of my pocket, probably in the rush to take off my rain poncho when it was flapping in the wind by the Macdonalds outside Colsterworth. I downloaded the directions from the St. Bernard's Way website again and took screenshots of them, but these were not so handy to consult and so I followed the gps track to find my way out of Swayfield.

However the gps signal was slightly inaccurate among the buildings, and I ended up in the churchyard; there was a footpath leading into the churchyard but no path going out again on the other side. I was fiddling with my phone trying to bring up the directions when two large dogs strolled into the churchyard, accompanied by the one and only person I could claim to know in Swayfield: the bartender from the pub where I had spent the night. She soon set me off down the right path, which took me back to The Drift!

I learned today that The Drift was the ancient route taken by farmers driving their livestock to the markets in London. All right, Tony, so why can't I just follow The Drift all the way? It would be so easy!

But I imagine there is a reason, because my route soon left The Drift again on a footpath through some beautiful country of rolling hills, which I unaccountably failed to photograph, through the village of Swinstead and across Park Farm, where a sign warned that worrying the sheep was a punishable offence.

A house in Swinstead all decked out for the Jubilee

These sheep don't look too worried

I made my way on a signposted detour around the field full of sheep, being very careful not to worry them, and then down a dirt track, turning onto a footpath which brought me onto the magnificent estate of Grimthorpe Castle.

I followed Grimthorpe Park Trail along a paved lane that stretched ahead as far as the eye could see. This was just as easy as walking on The Drift! And no mud puddles, either!

I passed the former site of Vaudey Abbey, nothing of which remains, and through a stand of giant oak trees, some of which showed signs of damage in a fairly recent storm. The woods gave way to fields of sheep and cattle on either side of the road, which was lined with centuries-old horse chestnut trees and had practically no traffic: only the occasional park maintenance vehicle.

My route eventually took me off the road and onto a grass track into the village of Little Bytham. I hoped there might be a café here, but there wasn't, at least not in the corner of the village I crossed, so I stopped on a bench by a stream on the way out of the village and consumed the heel end of the malt loaf I have been gradually nibbling away at since Conisbrough!

From here I walked along a quiet country road to Holywell. Very few cars passed, and they travelled at a very civilised speed. At Holywell Quarry I left the paved road to walk down a dirt track through Pickworth Great Wood to the village of Pickworth, home of the "peasant poet" John Clare (1793 - 1864). The son of a farm labourer, Clare wrote in praise of the beauty of the English countryside and his despair at its destruction (already, 200 years ago). "I found the poems in the fields, and only wrote them down," he said. John Clare spent his final years in a lunatic asylum.

John Clare, portait by William Hinton

I sat on a bench in Pickworth and ate some nuts and dried fruit, while perusing the menu at the Collyweston Slater on the Internet and salivating with expectation of my evening meal!

You can't get lunch in Pickworth, but you can get your dog washed

Don't know what lives down that hole, but I'd rather not meet it!!

From Pickworth I followed a dirt track across the fields and then a road, where I came across the first long-distance walkers I have met on this trip! They were going the opposite way, on their third day of the 65-mile Rutland Round.

The Rutland Rounders

I didn't even know until today that Britain had a county called Rutland! I have some knowledge of the north of England, where I have family, and the London area, where I have friends, but I am now walking across the big unknown area in between. Rutland seems to be a very civilised place, despite the slightly impolite sound of the name: there are no nettles, bulls in fields or blocked paths! The Rutland Rounders told me it was a particularly expensive part of the country, and one where there are very few walkers. Fantastic! 😅

I continued along the road to Great Casterton, a town on the site of a Roman fort established shortly after the Romans conquered England in AD 43. A town grew up around the fort which was important enough to have walls built around it by the year AD 180. The Roman road later became the Great North Road, the most important stagecoach route to London from the north.

This road still exists, but has now been replaced in importance by the A1, which I safely crossed via an overpass. I turned onto the footpath at a house where three large dogs barked at me from the other side of the fence. This was only the third or fourth time I had been barked at, in eleven days! I had to go right past the dogs' yard to get onto the footpath, which I almost missed because I was trying to stay far away from them. A lady was out in the drive and I said to her, I'm just trying to figure out how to get onto the footpath without worrying your dogs, when actually the opposite was true 😅!

The footpath led through an ocean of wheat, rippling in the wind.

Then it curved around in a very wide U shape to get around a limestone quarry and cement plant. This took quite some time but I finally emerged into the charming little village of Ketton.