Wandering and Pondering – Warren Wood

It is cardigan and walking boots weather. Soon the ground will soak up the autumnal rain and wellington boots will be the footwear of choice but today the ground is still firm.

                The long grass thrashes about my ankles as I make my way up the hill.

                I’ve been walking here for over thirty years now and I love it.

                I love places where you could be any-when.

                The Downs, where I am walking today is a large, open system of grassland and woods on the hills above the town where I lived as a child. This ground has been sheltered by by-laws and covenants for centuries. The most recent building work here is a bunker put up (or more accurately dug down) in World War Two.

I am heading for one of the two enclosures of trees here, Warren Wood. The woodland is a big, bold shape of oak leaves, brambles and holly bushes just in front of me now. A path runs all the way around the bottom edge and I walk along it, heading for southern gate. On my left, as I walk the perimeter of the wood, are memorial benches. I knew some of the people behind the name plates.

                The old gate is heavy but swings well on elderly hinges. I automatically hold it open for the hound but she has stayed at home. She has already had a long walk today and when I left she was on her comfy bed having dreams about tennis balls and wide open beaches.

                Looking to the south from here, you can see the range of the Malvern hills. They are ghostly shapes jutting out of the horizon on this misty day. I wave at some friends who live over there, wishing them well.

                Intentionally I have not looked into the history of Warren Wood. I prefer its origins to be a blurry myth of my own creating. In my imagination those ancient trees were left alone to stand watch over us.

                Dense, rich smells, full of rotting leaf mulch and wet earth, fill my mind and I take a big breath in as I walk through the gate. The main path forms a looped walk around the wood. I opt for a counterclockwise trip today.

With its vaulted ceiling of crossing limbs and gentle light I feel that it is better, more appropriate, to move quietly and respectfully through this place.

                I climb the wooden and mud steps up the last climb to the top of the hill. These steps have been repaired recently. They have done a great job. The fresh sawn timber will mellow and merge with the colours around it soon.

                The trees in this wood range from young and supple to ancient and damaged. I run my hand over the bark of a tree who bears the scars of many years and many storms. There are trees who cling to a muddy bank. Rain and time have eroded the soil that they cling to and their roots are now exposed for all to see. My footsteps crunch over the year-round carpet of leaves as I continue along the path.

                This is a replenishing place for me. I come here to think, or not to think. Here I am closer to memories. Past walks, with those who have left, are fresh in my mind. Loved ones feel like they are just ahead, just up the path. There is the glimpse of a tail disappearing behind a holly bush and the echo of a familiar laugh, full of happiness, from just behind that oak.

A cold, wet sensation drags me back from many years ago, making me jump. A collie has snuck up on me and pressed their nose into my palm. My hands had been trailing by my sides and now this lovely new friend is nuzzling me with their snout.

                A voice from back down the path calls out “it’s okay, he’s friendly.”

                The collie runs off. Having said hello he now has important jobs to do. With so many things to sniff and pee on, he has his work cut out for him. I tip my cap in greeting at the man as I let him overtake me.

                I amble to the stile at the top, northern edge of the wood. I’m up and over then out into open air and the big sky. From here you can see bits of Powys, Shropshire and Worcestershire. I enjoy the view then turn for the car and home. I opt to walk on the outside of the wood on the way back. I am distracted on the way by four spaniels racing each other, two long haired Dachshunds being fabulous and a Cairn having the time of her life sniffing and snorting in the long grass.

                I kick a little mud off my boots and then clamber back into the car. I feel happy to have had a walk in the fresh air and to have spent some time with my memories.