Stage nine - Old Sodbury to Toghill House Farm

We had already pre-booked accommodation for the night between the penultimate and final days of walking and a hotel in Bath at the finish. Now that the time was upon us, we heard the news that storm Ciaran was due to hit sometime during this period. As the time drew closer, it became apparent that we would encounter poor weather on Thursday, but there was a good chance of reasonable weather on Friday (the final stage). 

All things considered, we thought this was a fair outcome and so we braced ourselves and got up on Thursday morning for the train down to Yate, some thirty minutes or so by rail from Gloucester. We arrived at the basic, modest Yate railway station, as light drizzly rain began to fall. With about an hour until the 620 bus, which passes Old Sodbury, we decided to call a taxi, which turned out to cost exactly £10 and was much more comfortable and convenient than waiting for the bus. Soon, we were being off-loaded at The Dog Inn, Old Sodbury, exactly where we had stood five days previously and we quickly assessed that the pre-packed ponchos would be optimal given the now increasing downpour.

As you can see, the spirits were high despite the rain and strengthening breeze at about 10.30am, with some four hours of walking ahead of us. What we were soon to discover; our worst suspicions, the ground under foot was very wet indeed and our boots were not the waterproof kind.

As is now becoming the norm, the route soon begins to climb, but this didn't affect the amount of water lying on the ground, which was only increasing with every metre covered. After leaving Chapel lane the route rises to higher ground near the source of the river Frome, before crossing the main A46 and then a ploughed field, which was even more wet and muddy. Soon we arrived at Tormarton, where the way meets tarmac again, then loops through another field to the northeast to take in the lovely village church of St Mary Magdalene. Here the route rejoins the road, as you pass out of the village to the south and cross over the M4 motorway.

Due to some undefined 'antisocial behaviour', the way is now diverted to track opposite sides of an imaginary box, so as to avoid somewhere. We were unclear what it was we we being diverted away from, but we seemed to rejoin the old route some way later such that so far as I could tell, we had not walked much less or further than we would have done via the old route. The route now directs you south at a field (where the route originally went right), and you are led first southeast then southwest across a minor road, another muddy field and then a track, emerging onto Dunsdown lane. We walked northwest up the lane until we met the busy A46 once again and crossed carefully to continue in the same direction. Here we continued along another lane for a short distance before turning onto a path skirting around Dyrham park estate. 

We were getting tired now and in need of somewhere, preferably dry to rest and eat lunch. As we arrived at Dyrham village, hoping to enter the park from that side, we found the gates all locked, but spotted the beautiful St Peter's church in the grounds to the north of the park and we sheltered in the entrance of it and enjoyed dryness, food and hot coffee.

We passed by the rear gate of the park and along Upper street and Sands Hill before taking a right turn onto a path leading south and away from Dyrham. The path stretches some 1500m before cutting through Dyrham woods. My second choice of 'shelter' had been in the woods, at a bench, where a message box sits, waiting for visitors to leave their comments/experiences. It was fortunate that we'd found the church, because there was no shelter to be had here, I could barely write in the message book, and the bench was sodden wet. I had been refining a little rhyme to keep me amused whilst plodding through the rain and it was my plan to write it here, which I did. The rhyme goes:

I went for a walk with the Ku Klux Klan. 

I could have stayed at home, like any normal man. 

I could have been warm, I could have been dry, 

I could have got drunk, I could have got high. 

I could have had toast with raspberry jam, 

but I went for a walk with the Ku Klux Klan.

Unfortunately, this didn't meet with Lara's approval at all. She felt it was disrespectful I suppose, which it is absolutely not intended to be. Rather it's gently mocking my companions in their 'off-whitish' pointy hooded ponchos, resembling (in my eyes) the evil Klan. Nothing evil about this trip. Except perhaps for the weather, which was unrelenting and now pouring down more heavily than ever and the wind getting steadily stronger, especially on the higher ground.

After crossing the A46 yet again (though not for the last time) we were once again plodding uphill across a wet, muddy field, where we saw a large flock of birds, or perhaps I mean a 'Murder' of crows, sitting on the power cables above our heads, warming their toes. I couldn't help but think of Hitchcock!

Now we skirted then crossed the A420 and finally passed through Cold Ashton. As we passed the small, modest, but nonetheless lovely Holy Trinity church there, we notice that someone was in there. A lady had just come to attend to a few quick chores, testing the heating and lighting etc and was only too pleased to have us pop in for a quick look around. I am not in the least religious, but I always enjoy a look around ancient buildings such as these and I can always appreciate the beauty of a structure for what it is. Leaving the church, we carried on and passed the manor with its lovely view across the fields.

Now I reckoned we were probably only a couple of miles from our destination and overnight accommodation at Toghill House Farm on the worryingly named 'Freezinghill lane', and the rain was definitely easing off. Over the next few hundred metres it stopped completely and I took the opportunity to shed my poncho. It had done its job; mainly keeping my rucksack dry, since I had a waterproof jacket to keep me dry. A few more hundred metres and we crossed the A46 for the final time today and were onto Greenways lane, the last lane before we would break off across the fields for the bed and breakfast. The fields had one last treat for us; as we had a couple of farm gates to negotiate, gates with deep muddy water surrounding them. By now, that didn't matter, as we all had extremely wet feet anyway, though they were quite warm from the generated heat of many miles worth of foot-falls.

Across the final field before our accommodation we found ourselves being first watched, then followed by a flock of sheep. I was convinced they thought that my two off-whitish companions were a part of their flock and they seemed interested to see where we were headed.

Toghill House Farm is located on a busy lane, so we had to be careful on the approach, but by virtue of our trek across the fields, that approach was only a couple of hundred metres or so and finally, we were there. 

A working farm, the buildings have been converted, adapted and extended to make quite a sizeable set of holiday accommodations. We were given a bedroom in the main house and it was wonderful to get inside. I needn't have worried about the name of the lane, since the farm was wonderfully warm inside and it was blissful indeed to get a hot shower and remove the muck of the day off of us. Our hosts very kindly even took our boots to place in the kitchen in front of the Aga/range cooker to dry out overnight. There being no facilities within a couple of miles, and neither of us wanting to walk anywhere, we did the lazy thing, dialled for a delivered curry, and settled down to a little TV before turning in for a very satisfying and comfortable night's sleep.