On Thursday I had exited the dingle by following the rail track out, I had seen a way mark indicating a path up the south side of the dingle. I intended to find the other end of that path and follow it down into the dingle. I set a course to intercept the Shropshire way as the 1: 50k Landranger map shows this path leading West from behind Woodhouse farm to Farley and joining with the highway, whereas the 1: 25k explorer indicates a possible anomalous path that leads to the railway hardway and not to through to the highway.
The path is a delight as it breaks away from the Shropshire way, as a natural way that leads the walker across a small meadow to a break in the valley rim, from where it slants diagonally down across the slope breaking up into a number of paths, one of them took me to a recently constructed stairway that led down onto the hardway, immediately opposite a matching set of steps were adorned with a notice that told me there was no through way.
I looked about for signs of a way out in the direction that the map indicates, no visible evidence to give me a clue.
As I said previously the hardway is used and is clear to walk either way, it is a choice right or left, to the right it tunnels downward into deeper vegetation but to the left the canopy is open and the sounds from the road seem to filter through from that direction. Is this the direction that others might take, beset with the same quandary? It is the direction that will take me into the jaws of death.
I turn to the left, a brook is to my right, steep, well cleared banks ensured that I stay on the hardway, which curves through the trees and a hint of a clearing starts to emerge but just as I think I have found a way out, there is the kennel.
It is more of a wendy house, with its proud black and tan owner striding around in front, looking leaner and fitter that my earlier memory, when I must have roused him from a deep sleep.
With a menacing cacophony of canine fury I have a rerun of the previous event but this time I am standing watching, seeing the chain slick out across the grass, I am half expecting to see the wendy house explode. Before this can happen there is a shout from beyond, dog slows to reluctant halt still uttering aggressive vocals, another shout and vocals subside and dog starts to withdraw.
A figure emerges from behind a tree, mug in hand,
“Don’t worry about him, he’s as soft as a brush”.
Before I can make any explanations for my presence on his property, I am invited up to his house for a cup of tea. I stay rooted to the spot, until my unexpected host, comes forward and takes hold of his now docile pet, who gives me a suspicious sniff as I walk bye.
I am told, by John, as we walk through an area of ongoing building work that this is the site of Farley Halt (“Him down at the Mill house has the original sign”) and his house was ‘The Rock Inn’. He is hoping to re-open as a pub (“Don’t laugh, I bought the place in 1993”) and we talked about the difficulties of financing ongoing restoration work (“Especially when the Gypsies keep stealing my materials and equipment, that’s the reason for the dogs”).
I am invited to sit down at a patio table and a large ‘crunchy’ bar is placed there,
“You will be needing that if you have walked over from Morville, my wife and I like our walking”, John said as he went into the house to make tea. I slip off my rucksack and gratefully take my rest on a chair were I am able to look down on the tiers of newly built patios leading up to this one beside the house, from the old site of the halt which is being levelled as loads of rubble are dropped off by people in the know of John’s need. A few random piles are brooded over by a mature JCB basking in the sun, beyond which is the high arch of the bridge through which I entered this arena two days ago.
The blue engineering bricks glow and shimmer in the dappled sunlight, hard endurable bricks moulded from local clay and fired by local coal, the roadway above now carries traffic into a factory hidden behind trees in the disused quarry beyond, but the gaping mouth of this arch seems sullen as if resenting its redundant structure. I imagined groups of walkers, maybe a runner or two, even cyclists dropping down into the cutting by Farley crossing and emerging here to be surprised by John’s tiered patios, maybe a hanging pub sign and people filling tables.
John emerged from the house with two large mugs of tea and another large ‘Crunchy’ bar, we sat in the sun, sipped tea and nibbled on crunchy bar, whilst I absorbed his information that came from his love of this property and the history of the dingle. I also learnt of torrential flash floods that sporadically hit the dingle, there had been a recent one, it is on these occasions that the Estate that owns the woods are keen to disown them if any damage has been done.
I had to break it up before I got to seeing his collection of historic photographs, bus to catch, so he escorted me back to the line and untethered the Rottweiler. They are, apparently, not fierce when they are loose, so John informed me, only when they are on the end of a fixed line. I took his word for it and relaxed, the dog came up to me and sat, then leant his weight against my right thigh, I gave his head a stroke then a scratch behind the ears, at which point he looked up at me with great, brown, limpid eyes, where was the ferocity in this animal, I thought as I turned to take my leave and as I walked away only the terrier and a rather unfriendly ginger mutt vented their displeasure at my presence.
I walked on down to the property beside the footpath, where I had accessed the hardway, crossing the bridge with the ‘no through way’ sign I called through a doorway into an enclosed yard. I was immediately answered by a ‘come on in’ and given a friendly welcome, enquiring about my walk,(“ you’ve been up to Johns I expect, I could hear the dogs a while back, he’s had stuff taken by the Gypsies, so have I ”) I explained my difficulty in reaching the highway and was freely offered passage through his garden. No this was not what I wanted as I was keen to find the proper route through, so he happily led me back across the bridge pointing out all the hedge trimming he does to keep the trail open (“I walked most of the trails in the wood and like to keep them open, the estate do little, so when people come to stay they think the woods are mine”).
Barry, for we were now on first name terms, pointed out the continuing railway line, which had led through and joined up with a quiet lane that ascends through the wood to Wyke (“Reared my daughters here and when they had ponies it was safe for them to ride unattended to the Wyke lane and on out into the countryside beyond”).
Apparently when the road widening scheme, that had created the horrendous A4169 between Wenlock and Buildwas, was proposed, the authorities had been persuaded to make an extra wide verge to allow for safe passage through to the Wyke lane, this now no longer exists as a safety barrier has been added and is placed right in the middle of the extra verge.
Barry showed me the path between tall laurel hedges, at first I could not see it; then it became clear how he had clipped the hedges back to make a narrow footpath that led out onto his driveway then the highway, it was the flash flood that had taken away the signs and he was waiting for some more to be delivered.
I think Barry would be as keen as I to see the footpaths on the West side of the Dingle routed so that they could safely access the line of the old railway and as the hardway is still there, be used so that people could experience the Farley Dingle as nature intended and not as the builders of the A4169 have left it.
I left Farley Dingle walking the verge just to remind myself what a nasty stretch of road the A4169, the tragedy is that it would actually be unnecessary if Regulations and common sense weren’t such uncomfortable bedfellows.
If it is a choice between the traffic on the A4169 and the Rottweiler, I think I now have a soft spot for the Rottweiler.