In which I walk and cycle as much as I can of the now-closed Devon and Somerset Railway (D&SR)
I pass into Devon, knowing my next place to explore lies in Potter’s Wood, on a side road to the north of the B-road. The line once sliced through a cutting but trees and moss now grow over the old scar. Peering over the railings of Potter's Wood bridge, I begin to realise that I have been approaching this in the wrong way. I have been amazed at how quickly vegetation has grown over the track. But it has been fifty years. What I should have been asking is, why is the line still so clear in some places? Someone or something is still using the lines.
Land that has been compulsorily purchased should be offered back to the original owner if and when it is no longer needed. At the time of the post-Beeching closures this was a newly-established principle, based on the results of the Crichel Dowling affair. Some of the land I observe has clearly gone back to the estate from which it came. Divided fields are reunited, with nothing more than a slight extra contouring of the land. But what lies through Potter’s Wood is something else. It is a clear path. Some of the infrastructure on the old D&SR was sold but some remained with British Rail and is now owned by the Highways Agency Historical Railways Estate. I’d need to check, but I suspect that this stretch of track is part of the Historical Railways Estate.
I probably shouldn’t, but I scramble down the bank to take a closer look, leaving Caprice parked up. Even partially laden she’s the best part of 30kg and awkward to manoeuvre. I don’t fancy explaining to an A&E department precisely why I ended up at the bottom of an old railway line with an ebike on top of me, even though I know they will have heard much worse, and much funnier.
The bank gives me all the clues I need. The track shows me more. Deer slots. This is a deer run. I’m not a great tracker but I’d say some larger and heavier animals have been along here. To protect the deer I would be wary of publicising this, but if I can work out that they use the old lines as a run, any poacher or hunter worth their salt will know far more. There are some boot prints as well, but mainly it’s deer. I’m not an ecologist, but I very much hope that the tracks are being kept open by wildlife. We’ve failed to provide the facilities that we should have done for the young, old and less able-bodied humans to get around but we may have left pockets of land for claws, paws and hooves. The old line may just be providing something that enables wildlife to move around safely, free from the carnage of our roads.
From Potter’s Wood I go back to the main road to Berry Farm. There I find another substantial bridge. Another bridge that seems to have no point, unless you know about the railway. And although in this case I cannot readily go down onto the line, I can see a clear path below the bridge. I move on to my next point, Petton Cross, and find something very similar. The line is clearer than it would be if it were unused.
I decide that it will be better to revisit this part of the route another day. I want to retrace my steps and think more clearly about what is going on with this line. This makes me slightly twitchy. I have developed rules in my head for this project. It needs to be done in order, from Taunton to Barnstaple section by section. I want to do each point, to feel what it would have been like to undertake the whole journey. I don’t want to skip about and fail to follow a simple line. But I also sense I’m missing something. I comfort myself with the thought that this can the part of my musical notation that requires a repeat. I’m not skipping. I’m following the pattern I’m meant to be following.
Time to take Caprice home. She has done a good job, but for what I have in mind I need my push bike, and my own two feet.
I recommence my route a week later from Potter’s Wood bridge. This time I’m on Eva, the trusty, faithful pushbike. She does take more effort than Caprice and I have grown lazy over the winter, relying more on battery and motor, less on my own power. I’m reminded of this as I climb up the B-road and my legs tell me this used to be easier. But it’s a useful reminder. By Somerset and Devon standards this is barely a slope, but it is an upward pull and some indication of the engineering feats undertaken by early railway builders. I adopt a slow and steady, I’ll get there when I get there pace. I almost forget the bike has a big ring. And the pace enables me to spot a bridge in a field where I had no idea there would be a bridge.
I make it to Potter’s Wood and amble around where I probably shouldn’t. Scrambling down banks with Eva is relatively easy – relatively compared to say scrambling down a bank with an ebike. Not that I recommend anyone ever do this. The track is remarkably clear and you can follow it down to Berry Farm bridge. Whoever it belongs to, it seems to be used by deer and possibly to move between fields.
I’m walking in places I shouldn’t be and Eva’s pedals nag at my ankles, as if part of my conscience is bothered and wants to impede my steps. And it’s at this point that I become annoyed. I’m not mad or angry, just pissy. It’s just wrong really. This was public land. It could have stayed as public land. It could have become a beautiful greenway accessible to large numbers of people of varying physical abilities. Instead, using it feels wrong, not to say illegal, and requires one to be both able-bodied and fit. I start singing Woody Guthrie’s This Land is Your Land.
Back to Berry Farm bridge from the other direction, although I now know it has stalactites on its underside. I then continue along the B-road until I reach the smaller bridge spied on the way here and missed the first time. This is only visible on the old OS map if you’re really looking for it and it isn’t clear what it was for. There is no road, track or footpath now or, according to the maps, then. Later, back at home I investigate. From the tithe map of Clayhanger parish in the 1830s, this appears to have been pasture. It was either on the Leys, on Bury estate, or it was part of Broad Oak Coppice, both owned and occupied by William Lock. The bridge appears to have been purely for access for the landowner, as the embankment cut across his land. In effect it is a short tunnel under the railway and presumably allowed the movement of timber and livestock.
After this, there is a bridge over the River Batherm which is not accessible to the public, or visible through the trees, but which Somerset Rivers has recorded. I pass Petton Cross for the second time, my repeated section ending as I head for Lower Dayles. It seems likely to me that this was a level crossing. There are the remains of a kissing gate there and I am to become familiar with these as I go. I realise that I am finding out about the importance of places at the time the railway was built in the 1870s. Some warranted bridges as access, the reshaping of roads, tunnels to allow pasture not to be divided. Others must have been less busy, needing only a ground crossing in which people looked out for themselves.
Pedalling back down the road is fun. I’d forgotten that the compensation for all that effort going up is the fun of going down. It’s somehow not as rewarding if you’ve kind of cheated going up. Well, not cheated as such, just made less effort. At this point the railway line passes through long-established farm land near Shillingford. There’s a bridge at Bowden’s lane which is half-filled with rubble and detritus. On this occasion I know the land owner so I can safely walk part of the line, complete with the ghosts of many cars. It would have made a fantastic bridleway, linking up with many other tracks to give us a safe route away from motor traffic on the roads and increasingly irate and rather entitled drivers. It was not to be. We missed such an opportunity to provide dedicated space for things that aren’t cars.
Back to the main road and then off down a side road. There is a footpath that crosses the old line just to the east of Morebath station, the first of two stations near Morebath and the one slightly further away from the village. The station buildings are now private dwellings. The bridge over the road is small, narrow and deckless. It would restrict access to many vehicles otherwise, which again tells me something about the traffic that used to move around in this area. Back in the 1870s, nothing too tall was expected. Eva and I have some more doglegging to do onto the next station. This has been my most relaxed exploration so far. Partly I think because I’m nearer home but also because I’m not tied to battery life or bus times. Bikes are ace.
コメント