It was at last a day of sunshine and summer cloud after an apparently endless stretch of rain and very strong winds. July this year has been more like October. A change of scenery beckoned, so we set off from Nayland to revisit an old friend of a walk along part of the Stour Valley Path.
We nearly didn't get much further than Nayland bridge, after stopping to admire the new isolation pods installed in the garden of The Anchor. They looked like an encampment of extra-terrestrial igloo dwellers, washed up on the riverbank, contentedly learning to enjoy the bizarre traditions of a typical English pub in summer 2020. Socially distanced fish and chips beckoned, but we had a walk to do!
Turning right after the bridge, we took the path along the bank to the weir. We watched a pair of swans with their large family of signets (the first of two cygnine family encounters today) waiting patiently at the end of one of the riverside gardens, their eyes and beaks trained fixedly on the garden's owner and his young son.
Across the endlessly busy A134 we trudged, then down the Bures road, with the intention of taking the footpath to the left shortly after the junction, which is the official Stour Valley Path route. The field was filled with dozens of young cattle, skittish and intimidating, occupying almost the whole length of the path through their field. We eyed them and they eyed us. We approached. They eyed us again. We walked along the road instead, towards Wissington church.
The enchanting spot around the church seems to have stood still for centuries, oblivious of the changing world down the road. Seemingly abandoned meadows and woodland stand empty, waiting for labourers who last downed their tools hundreds of years ago. Just behind the church stands a wooden cart lodge, raised on spindly legs, which looks as though it belongs more in rural Transylvania than on the Suffolk-Essex border.
The church itself dates back to the 12th century, its modest structure with its simple, wooden-clad tower hiding many treasures, including medieval wall paintings. Its only ostentatious decoration is a weather vane which looked like the tail of a comet, shining gold in the bright sunshine.
In the churchyard is the grave of Dr Jane Walker, who was one of the first women to qualify as a doctor in Britain. We met her again a bit later in our walk.
We followed the path through the grounds of Wissington Hall, along the side of what seems to be an ancient moat, then right on to the bridge across the Stour. A second family of swans caught sight of us on the bridge and came gliding purposefully towards us, making remarkable speed against the strong current. Along this section of the river the water is fast moving and deep enough to have engulfed a whole fallen conifer, which was just visible, gesticulating helplessly with its useless branches in the green depths.
After the bridge, we walked through a plantation of slender willows, perhaps destined one day to be cricket bats, but for now ordered to grow in strict, ruler-straight rows. The quiet discipline of their trunks stopped at their waving, feathery canopies, which twirled with abandon in the wind, producing a sound like the water over the Nayland weir.
Over a small footbridge, we came out at the bottom of a steep field of nearly-ripe barley, leading up to a wide-reaching view of the Stour Valley. Right on to the road and right again on the continuing path, past an old maltings building and back down a steep hill, through fields of grazing for horses, to an ancient house in a hidden valley. Various signs warned us to beware of the electric fences. I did just that, having once inadvertently touched one here with my elbow as I climbed over a style. I was keen not to repeat the experience.
Back on to a small road called Garnons chase, possibly an old drovers' road, then right down through another steep meadow, stepping carefully to avoid large and very recent-looking cow pats. Thankfully, this time the culprits were absent. A few years ago, I was walking with my dog along this route. Unsure whether to take the path through the cattle field, I watched a dogless walker just ahead of me set off down the hill at a determined march, which rapidly became a full sprint as he was pursued by an equally determined herd of dark brown steers. He flew head first over the style at the bottom and I was relieved to see him walk away. The danger posed by cattle in fields is no joke.
The steep path led down to the bottom of another small valley, complete with a picturesque mini lake, then back up the other side of an idyllic meadow where long, uncut grasses grew under centenarian pear trees. Along the top of another grassy meadow, the path then led down to the old school at Wormingford.
Here, the Stour Valley Path continues towards Bures, past the church and up another very steep hill (who said Suffolk was flat?) to a crown of fir trees. However, today, we turned right along the road and took the path through the stunning gardens of Wormingford Hall. We stopped to admire the yew-hedged garden rooms, but felt guilty about intruding on the occupants, who seemed to be trying to have a quiet cup of coffee on their patio, which was in full view from the footpath. We wondered whether they had ever tried to re-route the path, whether this was one of those local feuds that would continue for decades of applications to the local council. We left them in peace - for several minutes, when they will have been invaded again by a couple walking in the opposite direction with their frisby-chasing dog.
Back on the road, we crossed Wormingford Bridge and followed the road for a couple of miles, through lines of trees reminiscent of northern France. Just before Ager Fen, we turned right on to a bridlepath track called Dead Lane. It's not the only Dead Lane in this area and I wonder whether these were old routes once taken by coffin bearers in an attempt to avoid crossing the path of the living.
At the end of the track, a small road leads back to the Nayland to Leavenheath road. We took a left turn at a footpath sign and followed a narrow track through a sheep field and past a house marked on the OS map as Wissington Grange (although it is some distance from Wissington). This lovely section of the path leads through a small wood, wild raspberries growing along either side, down another steep field and through a kissing-gate.
The other side of the gate is a notice stating that this is a "private nature reserve". These are the grounds of the old Jane Walker hospital (I said we would meet her again later). Coming through the gate was the couple with the frisby-chasing dog we had met at Wormingford Hall: today was clearly a day of double meetings.
Now a high-end housing development, the hospital was built around the turn of the 20th century as a sanitorium for TB victims. The extensive grounds are filled with mixed woodland, brooding ponds complete with yellow lilies and attractively gurgling streams. It has a not-quite-wild feel, half way between wilderness and stately-home garden. It adds yet another aspect to this route of many changes.
Back on the road to Nayland, we walked through the village, where a large gathering of canoe enthusiasts were occupying the banks of the Stour, enjoying picnics, paddling on the water, or simply walking to and fro bearing canoes above their heads. Children not paddling kayaks were peddling bikes at speed up and down the road. It was a joyful scene and lovely to see after months of watching humans treating other humans as though they were toxic. The extra-terrestrial igloo dwellers were probably taking note - if they weren't too deeply engrossed in their fish and chips.
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