Day 12 (15 March 2009)

Westonbirt to Littleton Drew (8 miles)

I drove alone to our meeting point at Westonbert Arboretum via Malmesbury. Malmesbury is like a French town for all the signs say “All Routes” and all one does is go in circles ending up at Somerfield supermarket. There was however one signpost, that was for Sherston which I missed more than once.

Now Sherston features large in geological circles. The sub strata was laid down in a shallow sea during the Jurassic Period, between 165 and 160 million years ago. It was part of the same strata that manifests itself in Old Town. This was below the dull, featureless landscape we were to walk. The Ostrich some of us spied on leaving Sherston would have fitted in well as 165 million years ago when Sherston was about 30°N – roughly the latitude the Canary Islands are today.

With the minutes ticking down to 915am I drove past Westonbirt School, a jaw dropping edifice, which has produced young ladies, who historically, were not expected to pursue a career, but meet the needs the of dull lesser Royals who smoke dope wearing Nazi uniforms whilst visiting pubs in and around Sherston.

I was horrified by the £7 entry fee for a car at Westonbirt, but Paul facilitated our entry uttering the magic word: “Macmillan Walk”.

I received three separate greetings: “hello Carl, where’s Julie?”. Notwithstanding my friends disappointment on not seeing Julie present the company, weather and conversation was excellent and what was below the ground was fascinating.

As we walked I found myself inspecting the strata and springs that was revealed at changes in the geomorphology. My Geography and Geology teacher Mr Meldrum, I don’t think he had a Christian name, would have been proud of me; one of my rare achievements was to receive the George Arnold Prize for Geography at Gravesend School for Boys. That was in the hiatus between Grammar School status. Vaughan, at one stage enquired into the geology and a debate followed.

For my part, as we walked I imagined the warm seas with strong currents, similar to the modern Bahamas, that laid down the tiny egg-shaped bodies that we saw in ploughed fields on buttery stone, this was Oolitic limestone, everywhere we went we saw it.

The old houses in the village of Sherstone were different, aside from the conspicuous wealth, a “wine shop open”. I discovered subsequently the village was largely built of, and on, a hard Oolitic limestone called the Forest Marble. This rock, I read, underlies the whole parish, and could be seen in small disused quarries and road cuttings. Gill wanted to explore one such cutting with fresh water streaming, glistening, in the noon day sun. So, squids and cuttlefish, sea urchins debris all gathered in beaches in sandbanks here. There was a swampy forest plant maidenhair fern tree such as Ginkgo. A specimen of this “living fossil” species, apparently unchanged since the Jurassic planted outside Sherston Post Office – a living link to the time when its ancestral relatives grew on the islands round about the present site of Sherston.

After Sherston we entered a striking trench-like valleys holding the River Avon and its tributaries. A Yellow Brimstone was spotted by Chaz. Next the Ostrich farm. The valleys were shelved, the modern river is not large enough to have cut them. It is believed they date from the end of the last ice age, about 10,000 years ago. Though the main icecap did not reach Sherston, the landscape would have been tundra-like, with accumulations of ice and snow on higher ground. We now know that at the end of the ice age the temperature rose remarkably quickly and this would have generated large volumes of meltwater, roaring down the existing valleys and excavating them close to their present depth.

Thereafter we climbed to a boggy high ground populated by springs and inquisitive horses. One tributary of the Avon or another, all called the The Avon presented itself. Most impressive was the fords, with doves and churches at a place I cannot name. It was biscuit tin English countryside with the Audi in the drive. All stopped to observe a pair of Long Tail Tits and a Duffle Coat abandoned on a gate with a badge proclaiming “Never Mind the Bollocks”.

We arrived, hot and thirsty at Littleton Drew, a place that mapped every cottage on its notice board but no pub.

Bird of the day: long tailed tit
Tree of the day: prunus (in blossom)