A Clergyman’s Diary: A Wiltshire Transfiguration

The Wansdyke near Baltic Farm, 10 October 2021. © Gerry Lynch.

Nobody is quite sure when the Wansdyke was built, but the most commonly advanced theory is that it was built by the Romano-British after they were abandoned by the Imperial power to defend their stronghold in what is now Gloucestershire, Somerset, and northern Wiltshire, in the face of Saxon expansion spreading northwards from the English Channel. This would date it to around the end of the 5th Century. Regardless of exactly at which point in the transition from Roman Britain to Anglo-Saxon England it was built, it seems that the much later Anglo-Saxons had lost any idea about its purpose when, despite several centuries of Christianity, they named it Woden’s Dyke, after Odin, the king of the Norse gods, around the 9th Century.

The eastern section, in Wiltshire, has been much less disturbed over the centuries by agriculture and building than those further west, and this section, north of the village of Bishops Cannings, is particularly dramatic when lit by low late afternoon sun from the south in autumn and winter.

On a rainy day in midwinter, with the rain belting down for weeks, it can be a little disappointing, a flat bank of mud surrounded by dirty puddles. Yet the sun can transfigure it into mysterious magnificence in all seasons, always easy on the ankles, even for someone with my short legs and my fat belly. The ground remains springy and fast when in a hot dry spell when the surrounding terrain is drained and hard; and also when it is surrounded by wet muck.

Looking east from Morgan’s Hill towards Tan Hill, the Wansdyke just visible in the bottom of the valley, 10 October 2021. © Gerry Lynch.

It is as much as 4 metres high in places. It is followed by a long-distance footpath for all of this stretch. The view in the distance reaches to Tan Hill, at 294 metres above sea level the joint highest point in Wiltshire.

This is deep England. The countryside is not especially dramatic but rolls with a heart-healing, gentle, beauty. I walk here regularly, with various circuits of 12-18 miles (19-30 km) starting and finishing from my home in Devizes taking in stretches of it. When the light is like this, it makes my soul sing and fills me with gratitude for being alive.

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A Clergyman’s Diary: Along the Marches Border

If you’re here because you heard about my #50kInADay walking fundraiser – click here to find out more and support me.

An invitation to celebrate the Eucharist in a village in the Diocese of Hereford where some good friends live provided not only the opportunity for my first ‘away match’ since my priesting, but for some final preparatory walking before my 50k in a day fundraising effort. A march along the Marches border, as it were.

Herefordshire has some glorious walking country, especially when the thistles and foxgloves and buttercups are at their finest and the countryside is full of dancing butterflies and buzzing bees.

St Swithun seemed in good form on his feast day and we will not have to deal with rain for the next 40 days, it seems. It was, however, a frustrating day of blocked or unmarked rights of way and being forced onto main roads. But 30km was walked as planned, albeit on a different route to that originally planned. Some of it was quite steep.

Friday, which was the feast of St Osmund, was very hot indeed. There were fewer access problems as I walked Offa’s Dyke Path from Kington to Hay-on-Wye, shuffling back and forth across the English/Welsh border. This does not take the most ‘efficient’ route, but spends a lot of time going through sheep farms at the 300m+ level before ascending and descending very steeply indeed when it goes through a village. Idyllic scenery though, and squadrons of Red Kites at times.

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