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O, To Be In England...

Floyd1 said:

Public rights of way blocked in 32,000 places​



Walkers wanting to enjoy footpaths across the British countryside are being blocked or obstructed in nearly 32,000 places across England and Wales.

But they are fighting back, with one rambler even training as a lawyer to force councils to keep the way clear.

A BBC investigation found councils which have responsibility for footpaths had 4,000 more access issues on public rights of way in 2023 than in 2022.
Campaigners said this showed a "growing abuse and neglect" of the path network.
Local authorities said "funding constraints" limited what they can do.

In Cornwall, which has 2,796 miles (4,500km) of public rights of way, Lucy Wilson is one walker determined to make sure countryside footpaths are kept useable.

Campaigner Lucy Wilson has trained as a lawyer in order to challenge her local council's work on access

Standing on a footpath tucked into the folds of the Tamar Valley, Mrs Wilson points up at a sheer muddy bank, topped with a thicket of brambles.

"That's where the path should go," she says. "You can't see anything. It's just gone."
Her finger traces the registered right of way on a map on her phone. We scramble up the bank but have no chance of forcing our way past the thorns.

She explains that people have been trying for five years to get Cornwall Council to make this path accessible.

"The council doesn't have the resources - but that's not an excuse, because they have a statutory duty to do this. It's not a choice," she explains.

All landowners have a duty to keep paths clear but the ultimate responsibility rests with the local highways authority - usually the local county or unitary council or national park authority.

The BBC asked 118 local authorities how many obstacles, blockages and inaccessible footpaths they had in their areas.

Meanwhile, across England and Wales, The Ramblers - Britain's walking charity - say they are coming across similar problems - but the true scale of blocked and obstructed footpaths has so far remained unknown.

So the BBC used Environmental Information Regulations to ask 118 local councils outside of London and national park authorities how many blockages and obstructions were recorded at the end of 2022 and on a specific day - 31 October 2023.

Seventy-three authorities were able to provide the data, with 31,816 obstructions - ranging from overgrown vegetation to deliberately fenced-off paths - recorded on 31 October, an increase from 27,696 at the end of 2022.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-67937253
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Quite right too Floyd old boy. We didn't work harder than everyone else and employ staff on minimum wage which they should be bloody grateful for just so we have to see plebs and riff raff on our land. :mad:
 
Swifty said:
Quite right too Floyd old boy. We didn't work harder than everyone else and employ staff on minimum wage which they should be bloody grateful for just so we have to see plebs and riff raff on our land. :mad:
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Surely your staff should be capable of keeping the lower orders out.
 
I'm sure the Hollywood stars, premiership footballers and their chums don't speak like that. And they're the ones who can most likely afford big places like that.
Even Vinnie Jones has 'only' 2000 acres of West Sussex. John Bishop recently had to sell his £6.8 million manor house, and Tim Henman's £2 million Grade II-listed mansion (including a 17th Century cottage he wanted to demolish to build a gym extension) seems paltry by comparison. The buying-in price is steep.
 
Stormkhan said:
I'm sure the Hollywood stars, premiership footballers and their chums don't speak like that. And they're the ones who can most likely afford big places like that.
Even Vinnie Jones has 'only' 2000 acres of West Sussex. John Bishop recently had to sell his £6.8 million manor house, and Tim Henman's £2 million Grade II-listed mansion (including a 17th Century cottage he wanted to demolish to build a gym extension) seems paltry by comparison. The buying-in price is steep.
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I don't know which one to be more shocked about? .. that Tim Henman didn't give a toss about demolishing a cottage built in the 1600's or that John Bishop was somehow able to amass £6.8 million.
 
True. Celebrities can often 'trade' on their names to get favourable terms.
Since the downturn of Bishop's fortunes - in all meanings - he's selling up and downsizing.
 
Swifty said:
I don't know which one to be more shocked about? .. that Tim Henman didn't give a toss about demolishing a cottage built in the 1600's or that John Bishop was somehow able to amass £6.8 million.
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If this was built in the 1600s, my cock's a kipper:

article-2034378-0DBC7EEF00000578-778_468x241.jpg


https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/ar...t-knock-17th-century-cottage-replace-gym.html

maximus otter
 
Isn't the actual cottage being demolished to make way for a modern extension?
Nice picture, but mayn't the 'old' bit be integrated into this more modern structure?
 
Stormkhan said:
Isn't the actual cottage being demolished to make way for a modern extension?
Nice picture, but mayn't the 'old' bit be integrated into this more modern structure?
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It might not even be the right building in the picture. I did a bit of digging on the Historic England website, and there is a cottage on the map in the grounds, on the far side of the house away from the road. Incidentally, only the main house was listed, unless they stripped the listing from the building to be demolished. It's a shame, I hiked through Aston Tirrold in 2017 and was struck by the beauty of the village.
 
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I was out walking in rural Northamptonshire yesterday, on a damp, overcast day with intermittent drizzle constantly threatening to turn to real rain but never quite managing it. Underfoot was thick, cloying clay mud that made for heavy walking. Hardly a person to be seen all day, until I hauled into Market Harborough around sunset. The Fortean interest of the day was hiking past the Falls, Harrington. No, not some impressive cascade, although perhaps it was once, centuries ago. The Falls is the site of a medieval manor and formal gardens, all long gone, leaving only the earthworks behind. The manor was established by the 13th century, and demolished in 1745. The formal gardens rose up the hillside from the house towards the modern site of the village, in stepped terraces that once had water features and ponds, perhaps the origin of the current name. Harrington Park, as it was known, was favourably described by contemporary writers.

The local ghost story has the air of folklore rather than an active haunting. The house was originally held by the Stanhope family, then later, by marriage, by the Tollemache family. Many years ago, when the house was still in its prime, the young Lady Jane Stanhope loved the gardens. One day, her elderly gardener committed some long-forgotten fault, and Lady Jane, in a fit of rage, seized his spade and struck him repeatedly on the head, killing him. Overcome by remorse for her actions, she spent the rest of her life wandering the locale, racked by guilt. It is said she walks there still, her grieving ghost wandering her former gardens, dressed in flowing white robes. I contemplated this, as I viewed the earthwork remains of the house and gardens. The overcast sky should have given an eerie doom-laden atmosphere, and I should have felt a sense of presence, or perhaps seen a misty white form out of the corner of my eye; it is therefore with some regret that I must report that I sensed nothing at all, and saw nothing amiss - just another wet field in the middle of nowhere.

The garden terraces rising towards the modern village:
20240210_142202.jpg

Looking towards the site of the former house:
20240210_142348.jpg

The site of the house now:
20240210_142930.jpg

On my way into Harrington, I crossed the remains of a World War II airfield. It is said to be haunted by ghostly airmen or aircraft, but the stories are vague. I did imagine running into the forlorn figure of a 1940s US airman, but no such luck:
20240210_134746.jpg

And one last photo, so you can appreciate just how muddy it was. Sorry, no ghost story with this one:
20240210_144202.jpg
 
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SimonBurchell said:
The local ghost story has the air of folklore rather than an active haunting. The house was originally held by the Stanhope family, then later, by marriage, by the Tollemache family. Many years ago, when the house was still in its prime, the young Lady Jane Stanhope loved the gardens. One day, her elderly gardener committed some long-forgotten fault, and Lady Jane, in a fit of rage, seized his spade and struck him repeatedly on the head, killing him. Overcome by remorse for her actions, she spent the rest of her life wandering the locale, racked by guilt.
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Is that actually true?
 
Mythopoeika said:
Is that actually true?
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Who knows? Elizabeth Stanhope apparently married Lionel Tollemache in 1612, so Jane Stanhope would have lived in the 16th century, or earlier.

Edit: Having said that, I just found this:

Did you know, our very own Falls Farm is notoriously haunted by a restless, once murderous-now guilt ridden lady of the manor, locally known as the White Lady of Harrington?

Jane Stanhope, Countess of Harrington (1755-1824) was a society hostess & heiress who served as a lady of the bedchamber of the British Queen Charlotte, the wife of King George III.

The eldest of five children, the death of her father in 1763 left her and her sisters co-heiresses to an enormous fortune of £100,000.

Although she became a gambler like many of her class, Lady Harrington was 'blessed with domestic happiness' & surrounded by aristocracy of generally loose morals, she was considered the epitome of virtue...However, legend has it she killed her gardener with a spade for planting something somewhere he shouldn't...(!) And her ghost now walks the falls, & the sight of her is said to be the premonition of your death...

However, I think the writer just fixed upon the first Jane Stanhope he/she could find, because this Jane Stanhope was born 10 years after the house was demolished!
 
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hunck said:
That looks horribly claggy. I’ve walked across fields like this in the past & the mud sticks to your boots which get bigger & bigger & heavier & heavier as you walk.
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Yep, that's the stuff.
 
maximus otter said:
If this was built in the 1600s, my cock's a kipper:

article-2034378-0DBC7EEF00000578-778_468x241.jpg


https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/ar...t-knock-17th-century-cottage-replace-gym.html

maximus otter
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A friend of mine had what looked like a 1930's detached house (by about a foot from the house next door ) but which had been built around an older house that must have dated back to the 1600s and included most of the original interior features including a gallery - the sort that is upstairs, rectangular, and had an open space making the original downstairs room 'double height'. And a cellar, original fireplace, etc. etc.

Oh, and a ghost, which I never saw - but I did see doors pulled shut unexpectedly.
 
Hiking across Wiltshire on Saturday was very atmospheric, setting out from Warminster and hiking to Tisbury. I'd had my eye on this route for a while, because of the Iron Age hillforts just east of Warminster, but had been waiting for the days to get long enough to put me at least in the general vicinity of my destination before nightfall. There was thick, low cloud cover and intermittent drizzle for most of the day, with the expectation that the rain would really set in just before dusk. It felt pretty wild up on the downs.

First stop, Battlesbury Camp, an Iron Age hillfort, perhaps of the Belgae. With low, scudding clouds and fine views that opened out and closed in with the vagaries of the weather.

20240217_111039.jpg

As I came down off the eastern side of the hill, with views across to Middle Hill and Scratchbury Camp, I found it very easy to imagine the Wild Hunt charging through the air in the desolate valley to the north. On the imaginatively named Middle Hill, I approached this fine barrow, unnamed as far as I know, and with no folklore attached, but I would be deeply disappointed if it is not said to be haunted, it practically radiated otherworldliness:
20240217_114759.jpg

From there to Scratchbury Camp, another fine hillfort:
20240217_121654.jpg

Then down across the Wylye valley. The following isolated farmhouse filled me with foreboding; why on earth would you call a place this? Perhaps "gore" has some dialect meaning of which I am unaware. One can hope.
20240217_125202.jpg

Over the river and onwards:



20240217_125759.jpg

20240217_125953.jpg

And then past the ruined St. Leonard's Church in Sutton Veny:
20240217_133130.jpg

The chancel was preserved as a mortuary chapel, complete with funerary bier, but at least it had a roof and was sheltered from the wind and drizzle, allowing me a dry spot to stop for lunch:
20240217_133518.jpg

Some miles onwards, and after dropping into the ancient church at Tytherington, I came across a bleak crossroads that should have been a haunt of Woden, standing besides an eight-legged horse, perhaps with a noose hanging from one hand:
20240217_144003.jpg

Then up over the remote downs:
20240217_144345.jpg

Over the forested Great Ridge, it was early twilight by the time I passed through Fonthill Bishop, and darkening twilight as I walked along the shore of Fonthill Lake, imagining a ghostly White Lady walking across the water in the gathering dark. The rain had set in by this time and soon both my printed paper map and my soaking wet telephone were useless. I lost the path just outside Tisbury and set off along field boundaries in the dark, clambering over a barbed-wire fence, and tresspassing through a frightened-looking resident's courtyard, apologising profusely, to reach the road, Tisbury village, and a fine pub with a hot meal and decent cider.

I'm not aware of any specific folklore in the area I crossed, but there must surely be some, fantastically remote and desolate, it should be crawling with ghosts, phantom black dogs, fairies, Thunor, Wayland, Woden and others of the old crowd...
 
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SimonBurchell said:
Hiking across Wiltshire on Saturday was very atmospheric, setting out from Warminster and hiking to Tisbury. I'd had my eye on this route for a while, because of the Iron Age hillforts just east of Warminster, but had been waiting for the days to get long enough to put me at least in the general vicinity of my destination before nightfall. There was thick, low cloud cover and intermittent drizzle for most of the day, with the expectation that the rain would really set in just before dusk. It felt pretty wild up on the downs.

First stop, Battlesbury Camp, an Iron Age hillfort, perhaps of the Belgae. With low, scudding clouds and fine views that opened out and closed in with the vagaries of the weather.

View attachment 74087
As I came down off the eastern side of the hill, with views across to Middle Hill and Scratchbury Camp, I found it very easy to imagine the Wild Hunt charging through the air in the desolate valley to the north. On the imaginatively named Middle Hill, I approached this fine barrow, unnamed as far as I know, and with no folklore attached, but I would be deeply disappointed if it is not said to be haunted, it practically radiated otherworldliness:
View attachment 74088
From there to Scratchbury Camp, another fine hillfort:
View attachment 74089
Then down across the Wylye valley. The following isolated farmhouse filled me with foreboding; why on earth would you call a place this? Perhaps "gore" has some dialect meaning of which I am unaware. One can hope.
View attachment 74090
Over the river and onwards:



View attachment 74092
View attachment 74093
And then past the ruined St. Leonard's Church in Sutton Veny:
View attachment 74094
The chancel was preserved as a mortuary chapel, complete with funerary bier, but at least it had a roof and was sheltered from the wind and drizzle, allowing me a dry spot to stop for lunch:
View attachment 74095
Some miles onwards, and after dropping into the ancient church at Tytherington, I came across a bleak crossroads that should have been a haunt of Woden, standing besides an eight-legged horse, perhaps with a noose hanging from one hand:
View attachment 74096
Then up over the remote downs:
View attachment 74097
Over the forested Great Ridge, it was early twilight by the time I passed through Fonthill Bishop, and darkening twilight as I walked along the shore of Fonthill Lake, imagining a ghostly White Lady walking across the water in the gathering dark. The rain had set in by this time and soon both my printed paper map and my soaking wet telephone were useless. I lost the path just outside Tisbury and set off along field boundaries in the dark, clambering over a barbed-wire fence, and tresspassing through a frightened-looking resident's courtyard, apologising profusely, to reach the road, Tisbury village, and a fine pub with a hot meal and decent cider.

I'm not aware of any specific folklore in the area I crossed, but there must surely be some, fantastically remote and desolate, it should be crawling with ghosts, phantom black dogs, fairies, Thunor, Wayland, Woden and others of the old crowd...
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Dusk (along with scullery) - my two favourite words.
 
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