Beaminster to Meerhay

[puddleshark]

I went walking the wild garlic paths from Beaminster.




Old flax mill, Beaminster (pronounced "Bemminster").


Beaminster is very pretty, especially in May, when the wisteria is in flower. A town of peach-coloured stone cottages, nested among the woods and the rolling green hills.



I took the lane north towards Newtown, where there's a modern school - 1950s, brick, functional yet still with a little elegance to spare - and a small hamlet of 1960s brick bungalows. There's also a small estate of houses built in the early 2000s: but perfectly mimicking the local vernacular architecture, and getting the proportions just right (which is rare), so that it's only when you see the date plaques on the walls that you realise they are modern.

From Newton along a narrow lane, with streams running beside it (and sometimes down it).





Past a farmhouse, where a black gelding, untethered in the yard, and no gate between him and the lane, is nibbling at a pile of haylage.

The lane dwindles to a stony bridleway, with streams flowing alongside it (and sometimes down it).



And the bridleway climbs. And climbs. Each time I think I must be nearing the top, I pass a bend in the track and see another climb ahead of me.




Running water to the side of the track.


Upwards, with the air scented with wild garlic and bluebells.




Hurrah, I reach Buckham Down, and the road at the top. (It may only have been 3/4 of a mile, but it was a very uphill 3/4 of a mile).



When I planned this walk, I read all about the marvellous views to be had from Buckham Down...


Panoramic views to the sea at West Bay, my arse.


The lane down to Chedington looks interesting. I should come back and follow it on a day when there are views. A blackcap singing from the ghostly trees. The drip of fog from sycamore leaves.

A short stretch along the hilltop road. Few cars, but those travelling fast.



Then it's onto another bridleway, back down to Beaminster. The first stretch very steep, very stony, under a beautiful arcade of beech branches. At Higher Meerhay, the bridleway turns to tarmacked farm lane. Here a man and woman were busy loading a horsebox in the lane, while their four dogs came up and barked at me very enthusiastically: an elderly black lab, a cocker spaniel, a Jack Russell, and a small hairy nondescript sort of fellow.

Of the black labrador, the gentleman said: "She's a retired guide dog. I'm not sure why she's barking." But as I walked on I decided it very reasonable that a retired guide dog should be allowed to bark at people, after having restrained herself for so long. She should have taken the chance to nip at my ankles while she was at it.




Down the lane, and down the lane. Water running everywhere: down the lane, beside the lane, in culverts under the lane. In places where the lane is permanently underwater, algae growing, and the footing very slippery.




The high walls of Meerhay Manor.


1610, with 17th century additions.




Fields full of buttercups. You can just about make out the misty outline of Buckham Down above the trees.

Sweet Be'mister, that bist abound
By green an' woody hills all round,
Wi' hedges reachen up between
A thousan' vields o' zummer green...

William Barnes

Back down into Beaminster, where the flags are flying in the Square, but the only café in the town is not open. (Tea, not flags! Get your priorities right, Beaminster).

Comments

[puddleshark]

Yes! That wonderful underwater light you only get in May woods!