In which I walk and cycle as much as I can of the now-closed Devon and Somerset Railway (D&SR)
In theory, this second stage of the walk should be simpler than the first. There is a footpath that runs near to something like the first mile of the old track, which is now the B3227. Then, given time constraints, I have little choice but to walk along the road itself. I can’t say I’m looking forward to that, even though I know from google maps and the bus ride there that there are reasonable verges for parts of it. The hailstorms have cleared and the light is good. It’s turning into a lovely evening, it’s just my legs are tired and some of the contour lines on the map are suspiciously close together.
There is no real trace of Milverton station left. I cross to the north side of the B road and the footpath is clearly signposted. It is a beautiful area and it is perhaps here that you can most easily imagine a steam train sweeping through the countryside. I am, broadly, following a valley marked by Hillfarrance Brook. It’s not a bad route but again I’m following field margins and I’m also struck by how often I have to negotiate stiles and kissing gates. This isn’t a problem for me but the route would be impossible with a push chair and indeed anything wheeled would become unwieldy. Whilst I recognise that not everywhere can be accessible to everyone, the lack of a greenway here is a significant loss. Anyone with mobility issues cannot negotiate this landscape, or see what I’m privileged to see, whereas they could have done had the old railway line been maintained as a broad, surfaced path.
Somewhere around River’s farm I have an encounter with a dog and then fail to find the footpath that would lead me through to Croford Mill. I’m slightly panicked that I am still up against the clock and I suspect it’s a case of more haste, less speed. I end up doubling back on myself and cutting through onto the road which whilst unpleasant, is going the right way. It also gives me the choice, should I really feel defeated, of waiting at one of the occasional bus stops, since mine will pass along this road.
In fact, it seems I got lost somewhere around the point the road stops following the old railway line, which seems appropriate. The line skirted north of Hillacre farm and I should have followed the back road to see what I could see but feel I do not have the time. I make a mental note that I do need to go back there. Once home I check and Google Earth shows a clear, tree-lined track of some sort where the railway used to be and a bridge that I have missed at the crossroads of Croford Hill and Castle Lane. Curses. The dogleg of back lanes would have saved me some of the main road as well.
I plug on, vaguely wondering if anyone knows where I am and what would happen if I die here. Just when you think you’ve got a handle on this catastrophising depression stuff it does tend to come back and bite you. I’m not sure how you positively reframe “what if I die in a ditch” so I content myself with the thought that my legs and feet have given up grumbling at me. For now.
Just east of Manor cottages the dismantled railway runs right next to the road. I divert around the back of a garage. It is only quarter to five, I’m not much more than a grid square away from Wivey town centre and I think I can afford to get away from the road by taking a footpath that lies to the north of the old railway line. I find Castle Bridge, another structure which makes no sense in the landscape unless you know the railway was there.
There is a steep climb onto the first part of the footpath but it is a pleasant walk into Wivey. Shortly after 6pm I reach the roundabout that marks the spot where the line curved southwards down through the Vale of Taunton. There is plenty of time to catch my bus but my legs make it abundantly clear that they’re done for the day and there will be no wandering around Station Road this evening. I meander into the town centre and my neck, somewhat randomly, joins in the chorus of bodily complaints. Shut up neck, you didn’t walk anywhere.
This being Somerset, after I’ve boarded the bus the driver disappears for whatever supplies it is he needs. Freed from responsibility my legs and feet make it abundantly clear that this whole venture was bloody stupid. It wasn’t, but what could have been very pleasant was difficult and at times stressful. It is only 8 miles from Norton Fitzwarren to Wiveliscombe but my legs make it clear that over the previous 5 hours I’ve probably covered something more like 14 or 15 miles. The most direct path, the road, is just totally unsuited for foot traffic, little better on a bike, and I would only take a horse on for short stretches and only if I absolutely had to. We have knowingly designed active travel out of rural areas. We’ve pushed it to the margins and made it excessively difficult for all but the fittest and most persistent. This can only be to our detriment.
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