Skylarks after Naseby


Oh how it raineth every day in this year’s month of February. In a mood of self-mockery for trusting my fate to the various weather forecasts, I found myself, nose to pane, staring through sliding globules at the drenched driveway. The forecasts pronounced confidently rain, but for now it was easing off to a still-visible, but fine drizzle. This was my free day of the week. I’ll chance it I thought.

On with the gear. To my bicycle, waiting and pre-prepared the day before, I was off into the gloom. But immediately I felt the relief of an escapee, free from confinement and celebrated my decision to get out. If I don’t cycle on days like this in February, I thought, I’ll never get out.

Nothing from now on could spoil the admixture of self-congratulatory delight and the joy from my lifting my face into the breeze as I turned to confront the east wind, nothing could quell the elation, not even the road closures that scuttled my plan to cycle into the wind for the first half of the ride, to freeride on the wind for my return.

An on-the-wheel change of plan led me down a narrow winding lane to Naseby. Not even the lane’s passing twice under the A14 could quell my elation, the proximity to the drone-like roar only serving to enhance the self-consciousness of my meandering place in the landscape, in contrast to the dehumanised river of traffic that seemed manically possessed with a driven intent to get from source to sea.

My heart was gladdened by call of skylarks, heard shortly after passing through Naseby on the lane to Guilsborough. Not to be seen, they offered a positive rain, their rain of melody, that poured from some sky-high source to symbolise my own unrestrained joy and freedom.

An outlier shower drove me to seek out a place to consume the coffee and sandwich packed in my saddlebag before the overdue rains reasserted their hold on this winter’s day. My field gate picnic was under a dripping oak tree as the rains returned. The field drains were singing and on this pouring morning I seemed to hear all the cascading water music of the February land.

Cycling through the rain along Thornby Lane, in silence and isolation, I gave thanks for whatever urged me to pass beyond the pane of sliding globules and into a forgotten land, perhaps the very heart of England itself.

©John Dunn

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Withcote Chapel in the Leicestershire and Rutland border-lands

Image
I rode across a landscape in need of a collective name, rich in rolling hills, pasture, small streams, woods and ponds. I’ll call it the border-land between Leicestershire and Rutland for now. I motorcycled on the Leicestershire side through Hallaton, passing close by the church, village green and the strange conical structure topped with a cross, known as the Butter Cross, which stands where a market was once held.   I left the village from its north side, riding on to pass through East Norton and Loddington. The wind was from the south, making this an unseasonably warm day, occasionally bright and sunny day. Following days of rain, the roads were treacherous where tall hedges and tree cover left roads damp and slippery with the help of Autumn leaves. This inevitably induced slow riding to keep the bike as upright as possible where tyre grip was low. Over a cattle grid and into the wide open acres of Launde Abbey, once an Augustinian Priory, then Tudor Manor House, and now home to...
Read more

Through Shutterdown Spinney to Cottesbrooke

Image
The Grange, Cottesbrooke I cycled down Haslebach Hill, through the shade of Shutterdown Spinney, to the village of Cottesbrooke. After passing the entrance to Cottesbrooke Hall, I pulled up to look at The Grange, a substantial, elongated manor house, with impressive chimneys. I turned to look behind me and chanced upon a delightful view of thatched cottages, nestled amongst trees by the roadside. Riding back through the village and beyond, I turned left, passing through a gate to follow a lane through a wide open field grazed by sheep. The ridge and furrow were extensive, bearing the imprint of their medieval creators, much as they were before the sheep were introduced to replace the strip field peasantry. The open nature of the large field gave just a flavour of what the treeless landscape of strip farming must have been like before enclosure changed communities and landscapes forever. Passing through another gate, I cycled on to join the undulating road to Naseby.  © John Dunn. ...
Read more

Was there an airfield here once?

Image
      Carpet bagger at Harrington       I cycled up the rise to Kelmarsh, through a chorus of birdsong, after a shower of warm summer rain, passing the church at the summit to my right. Crossing the main road, I passed estate cottages to my left. A plaque recorded a project at the height of World War Two to rehouse people rendered homeless by a domestic fire which got out of control during a strong wind. THESE 10 COTTAGES WERE REBUILT IN 1948 BY COL. C. G. LANCASTER MP  ON THE SITE OF 13 ELIZABETHAN  COTTAGES DESTROYED BY FIRE ON  4TH MAY 1943. There are undulations and ground workings in the fields at the top of the rise after Kelmarsh, unmentioned on the OS map. Was there quarrying for stone in the past, perhaps providing building materials for Kelmarsh Hall, the church, or estate workers’ cottages? Or were they something to do with the tunnelling work for the now disused railway up ahead. An avenue of trees leaves those earth workings and...
Read more