One of the first "exotic" sights we saw was a 5,500-year-old barrow. Many skeletons had been taken out of it. (Why do we take skeletons out of their burial sites?) Because several of the skulls showed signs of having been clobbered, it was hypothesized that they were victims of a raid or war.
The rest of the trip, relatively speaking, was of a more recent vintage. We saw more hedges, more fields of wheat, and more pigs, horses, and cows. What we didn't see was some place to eat lunch. For the first time this trip, we had to take our food with us. We found a teeny-tiny stream and sat at a footbridge to eat. The flies were happy we chose their home.
Everytime we climbed up and could see a panoramic view, there was Winchcombe in the distance down below. Wait. Hadn't we been walking in a straight line for two/three/four hours. How could that be Winchcombe still in sight? Alas, it could, it was. Rats. Sunday bells accompanied our exit out of town at ten o'clock, and I thought I could still hear them from my hilltop perch at one o'clock.
We got to a golf course and finally bid goodbye to the sight of Winchcombe. There were sheep everywhere on the course. They were eating the manicured greens, and then rudely using them for restroom facilities as well. We humans probably would have been told to get lost if we tried to walk on golfers' tee-off spots, but sheep were queens of the pasture. The Way went right through the middle of the course. Ignorance is bliss, I guess, because no one yelled "fore" at us, and we didn't hear balls whistling past.
Luggage. In Stanton, we did not have our luggage ready for pickup. Our delivery person had to wait 15 minutes as we crammed everything in our cases. The last time this happened, on the Coast to Coast walk, I wound up packing all my socks by accident. I had to borrow some from my hostess and they gave me blisters. I made sure in Stanton that I had a pair of socks to wear! In Greet, we brought our cases down only five minutes before the driver showed up. I'm impressed. In Scotland our luggage sometimes sat around until noon or later.
Our B&B, again, was out of the way. The note sent to us on how to get here from The Way was to take the footpath. Which footpath? There are millions. Tom said if someone wanted to get from there to there, bingo, there was a new footpath. The GPS helped us locate the right one, but it proved to be less a footpath than a bushwacking adventure. Something hiding in the tall grass slipped down my sock and bit me. England is a jungle.
Anyway, Tom had wanted to take the standard route, involving a journey down the side of busy A40. I concluded that the travel company wouldn't have suggested the footpath unless it was a reasonable alternative. Obviously, the footpath was a bust. But a couple of Swedish women are staying at our B&B, and they said the A40 was horrible. No one wins. We obviously needed to have hitched a ride on a tractor.
We walk again tomorrow. Tom is battling blisters and I still have problems with my knee, but that's getting better. I feel we're like Jack Sprat and his wife. Tom can't go uphill and I can't go down.
Finally. Not Winchcombe. Cheltenham, day walkers, golfers, and sheep, though.
Wondered where to have lunch. Finally settled on the bridge by a stream. Of course, about a half mile later ... a bench. Several benches, actually.
The barrow.
It was rainy in the morning, so my camera stayed packed in my backpack. I used the iPhone, but managed to choose a strange green filter, rendering the pictures unusable. :(
