Day Sixteen

Sunday 12 December – Bourton-on-the-Water to Cheltenham

If you had handed me a menu of December days, this is the one I would have chosen. As I ate my breakfast, my shadow was pinned to the wall by the early morning sun. Outside it was cold, a degree or two above freezing, with almost no wind.

Bourton-on-the-Water looked stunning. The sun twinkled on the water as I walked over one of the little bridges, along the bank, and back over another bridge. The ever-present cast of feathered clowns did not disappoint, chuntering to one another, girding up their loins and charging under the bridges. The gift shops were being prepared for trading as I popped into the Spar for my lunch, then headed West out of the village along the road.

Soon I crossed the A429 and found a bridleway just above the River Windrush (the true identity of Bourton's stream). I crossed the river at Little Aston Mill, climbed briefly on the road, then headed South West on a footpath. Yesterday, late in the day, I had crossed from Oxfordshire to Gloucestershire, and the footpath I was following forms part of the Gloucestershire Way, a 100-mile long distance route with the rather twee motto, 'Forest and Vale and High Blue Hill'. I was planning to follow it for most of the day.

As I approached Cold Aston, a fox lolloped towards me in the middle of the road, regarded me unconcernedly, and hopped into the hedge. Cold Aston is a very attractive village, the main street lined with sympathetic buildings, and a nice little church tucked away behind the school.

I was now heading more or less due West, scuffing along the top edge of my map. After a short section of road out of Cold Aston, I turned on to a phenomenon. It was a bridleway, to be prosaic. But it was so much more. Three lines of trees ran dead straight, with two tracks between them. After a quarter of a mile, the whole edifice, lines of trees and tracks, shifted a few yards to the left and continued for another quarter of a mile. Why? Who? Somebody planned this and carried it out. It can't have been a grand drive – there was only space between the trees for walking and riding – and anyway, why two tracks? It was really quite intriguing and exciting.

Notgrove is another lovely village in a rather austere way. There is no show here, just good-quality buildings and roads between them. Beyond the village, the Gloucestershire Way uses a farm track to enter a beautiful green valley, dipping down and then up again, picking up an estate road through Salperton Park. The fine house (16th or 17th Century) is clearly visible from the footpath, as are some of the jumps which form part of the park's well-known eventing course.

A bit more tarmac led to a bridleway descending to the hamlet of Hampen, where I found a quiet perch on a tree stump to eat my lunch. It was still a glorious day. Some cloud was gradually building up on the Northern horizon, but the sun was still unobscured, and the breeze remained light.

Field paths led me a further mile into Shipton. Specifically, I first walked through Shipton Oliffe, still a village but bloated by a fair bit of new build. It was neither pretty nor ugly, certainly not unpleasant like some expanded villages. Leaving the main street near the attractive little church (with twin bells visible in the tower), I took a path which bypassed Shipton Solers, crossing a series of paddocks to reach a junction of two “A” roads. Having negotiated this, I walked alongside one of the roads for a few yards, turning off on to what clearly used to be the main road, past a mill converted into a hotel and restaurant.

Field paths led to Foxcote (some swanky cars lining the street), then I climbed quite steeply to a road. On the map here it says “St Paul's Epistle”. It doesn't say which one, and it doesn't say what it means in the context of the Gloucestershire countryside. The name of a house further along the road is my best guess.

I left the Gloucestershire Way, crossed a few fields, and briefly joined the Cotswold Way, a National Trail. I had a choice to make. To get as near the centre of Cheltenham as possible on paths, I would have to go round the edge for a mile or so, and do some more climbing. The alternative was to enter the City more straightforwardly along a main road.

The cloud had now spread across the sky and throttled the sun, so views were not high on the agenda. And looking down the scarp slope of the Cotswolds, I could see fog engulfing the trees on the lower ground. So I decided to descend quite quickly and take the road.

It wasn't as bad as it might have been; by referring frequently to the map I was able to take a few back roads and avoid the main drag. By the time I got near the centre, it was dark so, rather than go sight-seeing, I cut across the City to the South of the centre to find my billet for the night near the station.