Sheepscombe valley 'was a childhood dream'

HOT days have meant quiet days. Days in which memories come flooding back of summers years ago when “we were young on Cotswold and shared the summer sup” as Frank Mansell writes so evocatively.

Yes it could be idyllic but not always so. There was a visit to Stratford Park in Stroud where I was told there was something called a Lido and I could go in it. No-one said it was full of water that was cold and deep. Then I was chased by a swan. I never went back.

There was a trip to Weston-Super-Mare for a day. Buckets and spades appeared; we took a picnic and embarked on a journey to the sea-side. I imagined the sea as vast, wide and wonderful.

The day started well, I found the trains huge, frightening but thoroughly exciting. The engines were hissing monsters breathing steam and smoke. We settled down on a wonderful sandy beach with donkeys and coloured chariots to ride in. So far so good, but where was the sea?

I could see stretches of mud and was told it was beyond these. To see the sea was the main purpose of the visit so as any intrepid five year old Cotswold lad would, I set out to find it. This was not a life enhancing experience. When we arrived home it was into the bath for me. You can guess why! I never went there again either!

I did not need to. The Sheepscombe valley was a childhood dream. It was my playground. Our house was the last as you leave the village heading for Saltbox, and being visible from all parts I could never get lost. Confident and curious there was much for me to explore. Names like Jack’s Green, Magpie Bottom, The Flock Mill and Far End all with their own identity were discovered, sometimes with Rob Morey, Pat Mason or Nigel Ross.

Best of all was Sheepscombe Hill. This was big, and in those days free of the scrub and brushwood that now pollutes it. Wild flowers grew in abundance. Bring back four types each time you go there said mum and dad. We will tell you what they are. My knowledge of the Cotswold flora and fauna grew rapidly, encompassing such delights as bee-orchids and bachelors button. I have one regret; no-one told me how lucky I was. I know now.

Like Sheepscombe Hill, Bulls Cross is another wide area ideal for picnics. Now both are covered in brushwood, small trees and scrub. This is not an improvement.

It was customary in March for dead grass to be burnt leaving the way clear for fresh spring growth to flourish unhindered. Of course for the time immediately after burning the hill was black and ugly but the vitality of the new growth made that a small price to pay.

We would set forth from school, led by Head Mrs Foy on nature walks, picking and taking back to school flowers for pressing. Our collections were a sources of pride. We all took them home at the end of term. The irony of our “nature study” was that some of us knew more about Cotswold wildlife than Mrs Foy. We never let on as we did not want our afternoons on our beloved hill to spend in the classroom.

When and why did the burning stop? I believe it was in the early sixties when I was away from the Cotswolds, failing to make my fortune. It would be easy to blame incomers to our Cotswold villages who were influenced by the brief unsightly look which followed the burning without realising that this practice was essential for fresh new growth. It is understandable that newcomers would not realise the pattern of the whole country year. In any case no-one could anticipate the rapid growth of self-seeded undergrowth. Perhaps the real reason may have been that the true countrymen who knew what had to be done were dying out and with them countryside common-sense. At times with nature you have to be cruel to be kind.

My favourite among the grasses that covered the hill was what we called shaker grass. It produced brown flowers in abundance that shook in the breeze. Can this be found anywhere else?

Perhaps I need to explore the Daneway Banks as many naturel wonders can be found there.

Returning to Sheepscombe Hill would be too painful a process.