Walking The Ridgeway

After roughly 35 years of my dad and I threatening to do so, following a rather formative experience I had in the Scouts, my brother finally sorted us out with a plan to walk The Ridgeway, popularly known as “Britain’s oldest road”. It was a blast.

Day 0/1. Cheddington Station to Ivinghoe Beacon to Aldbury

The three of us joined up at Euston station to head off. This is the first half-day, taking us from Cheddington station to the marked start of the Ridgeway and on to our first stopping point.

Day 2. Aldbury to Longwick

The first full day. This had the added excitement of walking through the grounds of Chequers, the country house of the British Prime Minister. It’s a public footpath, who’s going to stop you? Well, probably some very serious people with some very serious issues if you stray from the path—notice the signs about serious and organized crime and so on. But still, the path goes behind the gatehouse which I thought was pretty cool.

Also, lots of Red Kites towards the end, plus an exciting if ultimately misguided detour across a railway line and through some fairly intense nettles for which my shorts were not appropriate attire. All to get to the pub we were staying at 2 hours before it opened. A Conversation was had that evening as a result, and vows were taken that we would stop rushing and take a little more time—maybe as much as 20 minutes—for lunch in future. And maybe even the occasional break on the way just because we could.

Day 3. Longwick to Watlington

The last day wholly on the east side of the Thames. Lots of sun—it was pretty hot walking. More trainlines and fields and some moderately steep hills. A passage under the M40, the Oxford motorway. Many fine views, though obviously on the whole not as fine as on the west side of the Thames which is just better.

Day 4. Watlington to Streatley

The day we met the Thames. But first, the famous Didcot power station with its chimney (one of the tallest structures in the UK until demolished in 2020) and cooling towers (the three remaining at the time demolished in 2019). Used to be able to see those from the fields at my secondary school. A pretty big chunk of chalk-covered flint, such as what is increasingly common as we started to head west. The Church of Swyncombe St Botolph, a one millennium old Pilgrims’ church.

A slightly surprising number of peacocks at Ewelme Park House (some photos) a “Luytens-style country house” which apparently became the most expensive property in Oxfordshire some years later, at £18.7 million in 2023. An invitation to make yourself a drink at Nuffield¹ Church following closure of the Crown (apparently). More flinty churches containing some old paintings, a very sweaty (and now sadly lost) hat, a fine village hall, and for scale purposes, a dormouse.

And finally, the Thames and some bridges thereon. Across. Whatever. Also, yay verily, locks.

Day 5. Streatley to Letcombe Regis

September began with our Crossing of the Thames. Rolling hills with some tightly rolled, and faintly sinister hay bales on the ridge. They were coming for us, I swear. More views of Didcot Power Station. Another main road under-crossing, this time under the A34—containing part of the Oxford ringroad, which must be one of my least favourite roads—via a curiously brightly decorated tunnel.

The Robert Loyd-Lindsay memorial, apparently the first chairman and the co-founder of the British National Society for Aid to the Sick and Wounded in War, later the British Red Cross Society. More chunky chalky flint. And the best—not the cheapest, but worth it—pub we stayed at en route, The Greyhound Inn, Letcombe Regis. Excellent food, beer, rooms, and breakfast.

Day 6. Letcombe Regis to Ogbourne St George

The penultimate day began with a very sharp walk back up to the ridge. In which it was discovered that I do not change my pace for a simple incline, resulting in me having a bit of a sweaty sit down at the top while I wait for those with a more normal walking style to catch up. The way I see it, if you’ve found a rhythm, you’ve got to let it out.

A pair of galloping horses—this is, after all, Lambourn Down which is racehorse country. A tap placed in memory of a 14 year old Peter Wren who loved the area, a useful thing for those camping the route as it’s dry up on a chalk down. A sign to the Blowing Stone which we unfortunately did not follow to try it out.

The Uffington White Horse, being the only good White Horse—not only is it the oldest at maybe 3 millenia, it’s the only one that in my opinion actually captures horse, the rest looking like the sort of child’s scratchings that’s about all I can manage.² Adjacent is Uffington Castle, an iron-age fort, and nearby is Wayland’s Smithy though we had no horse to be shod.

After a curiously intimidating beetle, the same sweaty hat, a crossing of the M4, we found our way to an actual living well and our final stop for the night.

Day 7. Ogbourne St George to the Sanctuary, and home

The final stretch. You more or less know the drill by now: downs and views, but with increasingly cloudy skies. Slightly curiously, cows rather than sheep for some reason. Also, some extremely swift³ swallows and some light rain.

And then we finished and reached The Sanctuary.

And then the heavens opened and we went home. And it felt good.

Postscript

On seeing this, my brother and my dad sent me their recollections. In no particular order:

The swifts. Drizzle getting up toward Liddington Castle after the M4, hard flint underfoot approaching Ogbourne St George (that was a long day, over 20 miles?). Long uphill through a wood after passing a pub with water for walkers (looking at a map, maybe by Princes Risborough), opening up to a clear side of a hill with first view of Didcot. Sitting in the shade under a haystack. Walking up a sloping bridge over a road (A41?) far beneath. Stopping for a break by some old farm machinery (a plough?). Dad giving me the impression he didn’t believe me when I started going on about miles passing more easily when distracted, then me getting left behind as the two of you nattered off ahead (maybe around the Chinnor quarries). Walking down Grim’s Ditch just before Goring and Streatley, with a sense of meandering coming to an end. Not really knowing what to do when we finished. Walkers on the last day heading the other way, probably wild camping, with packs bigger than they were. Not knowing I had to bring a code with me to get the train tickets, buying new tickets at the office and then leaving my camera behind. Made it though.

Memory of getting on the train; just! I do remember the nettles and brambles with your brother leading the way to clear a path for the inappropriately dressed one [ed: me]. For me the killer was the last stretch walking over what I remember as a ploughed field followed by the pub not being open but it did have roosting red kites opposite. I think I lost the will to continue but thanks to your encouragement (Just get on and do it!) we did indeed make it. I remember a view of Didcot from the monument overlooking Princes Risborough (memory may be dodgy) after walking up a fairly steep hill. I remember the start at Ivinghoe Beacon where we met a group who had just completed walking the Ridgeway in sections over time and asked if you could take photographs. They had walked from West to East and I remembered them towards the end when we faced into wind and rain. There was a stop in Goring for a pharmacy but I can’t remember the reason: blisters? The stack of hay bales is where we managed to get some shade from the sun whilst discussing organ workshops.