Feet of Cley

Today

Recently I've broken my habit of catching the coach to London and have been driving instead. The drive takes me past Cley Hill near Longleat. This hill has been much reshaped by Iron Age farming and its steep and stepped sides dominate the driver's view for a long distance.

In My Day

Back in about 1991 or so Beatrice often used to drive down from Sussex to see us. Jacob was about ten and he became fascinated with Cley Hill; maybe by its shape and also by the fact that its appearance signalled that he was nearing the end of  a long and tedious journey. 

One time Beatrice said when she arrived, "I've promised Jacob that we'll climb Cley Hill this year." All right, whatever you want, Beatrice. So, on the day in question, we packed sandwiches, put on our walking shoes and set off. Cley Hill is owned by the national Trust, but it's hardly a tourist spot. We wedged the car in beside the stile that bore the fingerpost to the hill and set off.

Some things are just better observed from a distance. First there was a dullish walk along a flat footpath that led to the hill that took much longer than we expected. The hill seemed to be receding. Eventually we started the ascent. This was steep and hard going. The hill was grazed by very large cattle and there were cowpats to avoid wherever you tried to put your feet. This didn't impress anyone, least of all Jacob who protested loudly. "Now we're here, we going to the top", Beatrice said firmly, marching forward. 

You never really can predict what the weather's going to do in the West Country. As we toiled upwards the sky came downwards. Now we were avoiding cows and their leavings in a nasty mizzley mist. Plus Jacob was hungry and hell hath no fury like a hungry pre-teen boy. We couldn't find anywhere to sit that wasn't wetter than ourselves and I can't now remember what my carefully prepared sandwiches tasted like. We might have been better off with Kendal Mint Cake. The view from the top now didn't exist at all and it wasn't only Jacob who was complaining. We slithered our way downwards, back to the car and gratefully home for hot tea.

They say that Cley Hill was created when the Devil, carrying some soil to dump on Devizes, dropped it, appalled by how long it would take him to get there. I don't know about that, but it was a Devil of a day.