Day On The Downs
Entry posted by caldrail
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So far this year I 've been no further up on the Marlborough Downs than Barbury Castle. Once the fog had lifted, I decided it was time. The call of the Downs is peculiar to those who know it. There's a strange sense of timelessness up there. At first glance it's nothing more than rolling hills, weatherbeaten stands of trees, and farmland, but then the isolation of the area gets you. I'm not the only one who finds the solitude of the Downs so engaging. There's a memorial stone to a hillwalker of the Victorian period near Barbury. Mr Morris and I both share an affection for what is closest to wilderness in our area.
People have lived on the Downs since the Ice Ages. Neolithic flint mines, Iron Age hillforts, Saxon lynchetts, and lost medieval villages can be found. Now it's a haunt of the local shepherds and hikers like me, at least until April 30th when it becomes legal for dirt bikes and 4x4's to drive up and down the Ridgeway, reckoned to be Britains oldest track. For now though, the noise of traffic is too far away. What a difference it makes. The silence is incredible. Slowly you become aware of the chirping birdsong, the odd whooping calls of small hawks, the ugly chorus of crows, even the gentle breath of wind, and the only intrusion is the transatlantic white speck with its fiery rumble so far above me.
Low Flying Airliner
My reverie was interrupted by the very loud sound of an airliner somewhere behind me. Suddenly I realised he must be low. I search the skyline and there it is, an airbus descending through the haze the other side of Barbury Castle. He's too far east to approach Wroughton Airfield. Draycott Foliatt is way too short for an aeroplane of that size. Please don't tell me this is a crash about to happen?
He's a few hundred feet up and my mouth is wide open. Then he begins to climb. I hear the engines spooling up, I see the undercarriage fold away. He turns west for Lyneham Airbase, leaving me wondering if this was a practice emergency, or else perhaps the worst example of navigation ever. Don't worry mate, I won't tell anyone.
New Species Found!
I saw the monstrous creature on the road outside Wroughton Airfield. The old airbase was built in the second world war to house a maintenance unit, who took aircraft fresh out of the factories, fitted them with military stuff, and sent them to frontline squadrons. The Royal Navy still use a yard on the southeast corner and some of the hangars house local businesses.
A taxi driver slows down beside me and with a cheery smile asks "Hey mate, do you know where Swindon Carting is?"
You just passed it, there. That old hangar. That's my good deed for the day. But I also spot the large mammal sneeking in through the fence. What a monster! I've discovered a new species of giant fox. I name it Foxus Megabiggus.
More Low Flying
Walking home - or should I say struggling home? - I pass Wroughton Airfield again. A group of radio control enthusiasts are flying their creations and I cannot believe my eyes. A humungous model of a Lockheed Hercules four-engined transport was circling around making the loudest racket you imagine. You have to admire the work the creator did on this model, it really is huge. The Hercules is a familiar shape to me, I've seen them flying over Swindon for forty years, but it was spooky watching this familiar shape fly at what looked like twice the speed of the real thing.
It takes me back to a Great Warbirds air show one year in the 90's, here at Wroughton. Despite the low cloud, the RAF transport plane gave a display with its wingtip barely above the grass. The Hercules, or 'Fat Albert' as we call them, certainly proved agile for its size.
Happy Ending of the Week
It seems after checking the ordnance survey maps that my day on the downs was a thirty mile round trip. The frog hadn't made it across the path. Heading for the pond the other side it lay there clutching the grass lifelessly, cooked dry by the sun. He was only three yards away from safe wetness. Well, the happy ending to my day was that I made it home, and drop bruised and battered into a hot bath. Oh no... I caught the sun... I look like a lobster...
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