The lovely Irene packed us into her tiny car – four people,
three rucksacks, two dogs, one of each of the latter underneath the parcel
shelve in the boot – and drove us back to the path in the picture book village
of Tealby.
Irene has an Olde Worlde sign in her breakfast room saying
No Singing, No Dancing, No Swearing. We spent the first half mile of the
walk thinking up the Breakfast Themed Songs we might have sung if we were feeling
rebellious. I started off with renditions reminiscent of Gilbert and Sullivan
and Rogers and Hammerstein, but soon Johnny joined in with the punk version,
followed swiftly by hip hop, blues, rockabilly, opera. Wilf did death metal and
country. We laughed ourselves silly on the way up Bully Hill, which is a
respectable hill for Lincolnshire.
Soon the path turned left along the fields and we were
joined, on the other side of the fence, by a crowd of lively bullocks, who kept
pace, running and bucking and scaring the life out of Betty who ran ahead with
her tail between her legs.
We saw a hare which ran towards us, then stopped and posed
in profile for a few seconds before disappearing into the wheat. I didn’t want
to spoil the moment by fiddling with my phone, so no pictures I’m afraid. It
was the first of four hares we saw today, although one was already roadkill.
We hadn’t much food with us, but that was OK because four
miles in was Ludford, a big village, bound to have a shop. Wrong! It had a pub
which was closed down, a school – also closed down, a churchyard, a house with
the words fish and chips painted on the side which wasn’t a fish and chip shop,
and another pub which only opened in the evenings. I accosted a man and he
laughed and said the shop closed down years ago. But he took me to his house
and gave me a bottle of water and told me the pub owners used to live in Hebden
Bridge.
When I returned with the water Johnny was chatting to the
pub owner who was wearing a top which said Stubbing Wharf on the front – the
name of our local in Hebden by the canal. She moved
away 13 years ago, the year before we arrived.
We walked on. Johnny’s feet were very painful.
I was enjoying myself. It was more varied than on previous
days, with medieval villages, lakes, cows and isolated churches.
Wilf was pleased to see water too.
Wilf was pleased to see water too.
But we were all glad to get to Donington Bain. The question
was – would there be a shop? We found the post office – but it closed on Wednesdays
at 1pm. It was 2.15pm. We sighed. Maybe a pub – but no, that was closed too. Maybe
a bench where we could sit down – and Hallelujah! – next to the bench was an off
licence with a friendly owner who sold us sandwiches and cold drinks. Johnny
took off his socks and shoes and another layer of skin.
... we were on top of the wold...
Eventually we arrived at Hideaway Cottage where we have a
whole cottage to ourselves. Unfortunately we didn’t think to bring a bottle of
wine and it’s too far to a shop, but heyho, there’s ice cream in the freezer.
14 miles
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