I cycled southwards, along Sulby Road. An ancient Road, which centuries ago was chosen as the county boundary between Northamptonshire and Leicestershire, taking up the role temporarily abandoned by the rivers Welland and Avon. Sulby Road in fact crosses the watershed between the two. At the time of the embryonic Saxon shires, or shares of land, the Midlands were an area of dense and near-impenetrable woodland. Boat travel along rivers was the principal and often only means of transport across country. Travel West-East at this point would have meant hauling a boat out of the Avon and dragging it on sleds and rollers over the watershed and into the Welland. Sulby Road, then a track in the woodland, may have witnessed the tortuously slow progress of such boat-haulings. Did Offa and the other Mercian kings pass this way as they traversed their Saxon realm.

Having passed through Welford, I headed towards South Kilworth, dropping down the steep contours of Downtown Hill from 554 feet at the roadside trig point, to 52 feet in the Avon Valley below. After first crossing the Grand Union Canal, the next bridge is over the River Avon. Were the Saxon’s boats dropped back into the water here after the long haul from the Welland, or did they manage the feat higher up at Welford? What does remain of the Saxons here is the county boundary between Leicestershire and Northamptonshire, a duty falling upon the Avon, as fulfilled by the Welland over the other side of the watershed.

To the left of the bridge over the Avon, the river has been dammed back as Stanford reservoir, named after the nearby village.The reservoir was built in 1928 and, as the Leicestershire & Rutland Ornithological Society
tells us on its website, lies on an imaginary line drawn between the Wash and the Severn, a proven ‘flyway’ for migrating birds across the centre of England.

That proven flyway follows the same trajectory as the proven waterway followed by the Saxons, the Welland flowing from the Wash in the East, the Avon flowing to the Severn in the West, but with this arduous overland connection up and over the watershed.

© John Dunn.

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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 a Christian community, a quiet place conducive to its aims of offering prayer, hospitality, and retreat.

Once through the grounds the landscape of little fields, pasture and woodland returned, as I followed a narrow lane, down and up the steep sides of the River Chater, and between two farms which, standing between Withcote Hall and Withcote Lodge, must be the survivors, or inheritors, of the long lost village of Withcote.

Riding beyond, reaching the summit of a rise at 633 feet, I reached too the ideal spot for a field gate picnic with a view.

Resuming my ride, now westward, I sought out the bridleway down an avenue of trees, which would lead me to Withcote Hall (fenced off and undergoing a protracted restoration after falling into near-dereliction), and there, though the pine trees, the object of my journey, the stunning Tudor chapel with windows fit for a king.

A towerless, pinnacled box made from pale gold ironstone, it looks like a miniature King's College Chapel, Cambridge.

Withcote Chapel is Early Tudor probably finished around the 1530s.

There was once a parish church somewhere serving Withcote in the 13th century, but at some stage this disappeared and the chapel became the centre of worship for the parish, undoubtedly due to population decline.

Stepping inside (yes - it was open thanks to the Churches Conservation Trust), was like stepping into a jewel box, such is the effect of 16th century stained glass attributed to Galyon Hone who was the King’s Glazier in 1517 and did extensive work at King's College Chapel, Eton college, Westminster, Windsor Castle and elsewhere.

Withcote Chapel, a treasure indeed, and a fitting way to crown a glorious day on two wheels in the Leicestershire-Rutland borderlands.

© John Dunn.

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I rounded a bend just north of Pickworth in Rutland, and passed a wide off-road area in front of a gated field. Picnic gold for this motorcyclist! I U-turned to the spot, pulled in, dropped the side stand, removed my helmet and threw my jacket over the saddle. Seat bag unzipped and coffee flask out, I commenced a meal in peace and glorious solitude.

Accidentally, I had found myself at the gate to Robert’s Field, a small meadow of restored limestone grassland managed by the the Lincolnshire Wildlife Trust. In the warmth of early Autumn sunshine, I passed through the gate to take a gentle stroll around the two clearly maintained fields that are sandwiched between Holywell Wood to the West and Newell Wood to the East. Too short and slow to be considered as bodily exercise, I nevertheless less felt soulfully invigorated by that walk.

Riding away from Robert’s Field in the direction of Pickworth, I immediately passed through Lincolnshire Gate, just a name on the Ordnance Survey Map, nothing visible, but which recognises that the Rutland-Lincolnshire border crosses the lane just south of Robert’s Field.

On the grass verge in front of the church at Pickworth is an information board. Needless to say I was enticed to pull up.

The verge itself was part of the wide droving road called The Drift, that passed through Pickworth. During the golden age of droving between 1700 and 1850, today’s quiet lane would have been, occasionally, packed solid with beasts of all kind, principally cattle but also pigs, geese, turkeys and more, as they were driven to and from markets. Why The Drift? As it was important that the stock ended the journey in good condition, beasts were ‘drifted’ at only 12-15 miles a day.

Looking at the Ordnance Survey Map it is possible to see how The Drift connects with lanes and bridleways that run in a broadly West-East direction. My personal assessment is that the livestock passing through Pickworth would have been ‘drifted’ from the markets in Melton Mowbray and the Midlands more generally, on a route eastwards to Downham Market and beyond to Norwich, Kings Lynn and other population centres.

And Pickworth’s church? I had a look inside. A small affair reflecting the shrunken size of the village. A bigger church once served a larger village here in the Middle Ages. That fell into ruin with the depopulation of the village, but serving to inspire a poem of social commentary by John Clare. Here are the first four verses of a longer poem entitled

ELEGY ON THE RUINS OF PICKWORTH, RUTLANDSHIRE.
HASTlLY COMPOSED, AND WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL ON
THE SPOT.

These buried ruins, now in dust forgot,
These heaps of stone the only remnants seen,—
" The Old Foundations" still they call the spot,
Which plainly tells inquiry what has been—

A time was once, though now the nettle grows
In triumph o'er each heap that swells the ground,
When they, in buildings pil'd, a village rose,
With here a cot, and there a garden crown'd.

And here while grandeur, with unequal share,
Perhaps maintain'd its idleness and pride.
Industry's cottage rose contented there,
With scarce so much as wants of life supplied.

Mysterious cause ! still more mysterious planned,
(Although undoubtedly the will of Heaven :)
To think what careless and unequal hand
Metes out each portion that to man is given.

© John Dunn.

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Cycling up the hill through the pretty village of Gumley, I was struck by the sight of an Italianate campanile type tower at the top of the hill. It vies for attention with the steeple of the nearby church and wins easily. Later research revealed this to be a highly embellished water tower set above the stables to Gumley Hall (demolished in 1964). The tower held water for the horses stabled below.

I took the lane towards Saddington, which passes over a ridge of 540 feet at the trig point by the lane-side, just above Holloway Spinney.

I pulled up at a laneside gateway on the steep descent from the ridge alongside Holloway Spinney, and contemplated how the field full of very pronounced ridge and furrow across the lane, now full of sheep, would once have been full of hardworking peasants cultivating their individual strips of land in vast open fields, before enclosure, hedgerows and sheep revolutionised the landscape laid out before me. The field stood out from the others, which have long since had their ancient ridge and furrow ploughed out.

The top of the field which coincides with the top of the ridge, has a heath-like feel about it. It is rough, wild, scrub, unfarmed. There is I think gorse amongst it all at the highest point. Why unfarmed? There’s probably a rocky outcrop below it all.

Looking out in the direction of Fleckney and Newton Harcourt, I could see hills on the horizon, in the distant haze. Were they beyond Leicester? Yes I think so. Likely Charnwood Forest or the Leicestershire Wolds.

© John Dunn.

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Cycling along the quiet lane from Clipston to Sibbertoft, I was drawn to a halt by my curiosity when I saw an information board, erected in a field just before Lowes Farm.

I was surprised to see that it had been erected by the Woodlands Trust; surprised because there is no woodland in the immediate area.

Nevertheless, The Woodlands Trust informed me that in the field beyond were the remains of a medieval settlement called Nobold (a name supposedly derived over time from New Build), remains which lie underground.

An agricultural community once scratched out a living here, before the place was abandoned in the 14th century.

It had already been abandoned 200 years previously when the Royalist Army commanded by Charles I and Prince Rupert tramped past here, on their way to meet their fate on the battlefield of nearby Naseby in 1645.

And it was after passing through Naseby that I cycle down the quiet, narrow and delightfully rural lane to Thornby, a village straddling the old turnpike connecting Leicester and Northampton.

Soon after crossing the main road, I pulled up at a T junction in the lanes, whilst riding towards Guilsborough. I noticed a grand looking house over the fields ahead. The Ordnance Survey map told me this was Thornby Grange, and post ride research revealed that King George VI, before becoming king and as the Duke of York, and his wife Queen Elizabeth (The Queen Mother) leased Thornby Grange for two hunting seasons in the late 1920s and early 1930s.

For I stood at the heart of fox hunting country, home to the Pytchley Hunt, across the rolling hills where Northamptonshire meets Leicestershire, a region of picturesque villages, undulating landscapes, and grand country houses, rather like Thornby Grange.

Written and read by John Dunn.

© John Dunn.

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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 follows the contours round to an area of woodland called the New Cover, a patch of woodland created and managed to provide cover for foxes. For here I’m at the heart of what was once prime fox hunting country.

The farmhouse called Top Lodge stands above the line of the tunnel on high ground, I guess upon an outlier of Oolitic limestone. There’s an airshaft across the lane from Top Lodge, confirming the presence of the tunnel below.

There was a not too distant hum from the A14 away to my right, the sound level exacerbated by a brisk south wind, a warm wind keeping temperatures high.

A water tower noted on the OS map was totally shrouded by dark, dense, ivy-covered trees. It stands opposite the entrance to Wheatfield Lodge Farm, beside which the OS map also notes a “disused camp”. I presumed at the time that this must have referred to an army camp, but why here?

Turning right at Harrington, I headed south, crossing the A14. Immediately on my right a sign reads “Aviation Museum”. As I press on I’m struck by the plateau of flat land opening up to my left, strangely detached from the gently undulating land that I had cycled across until then. Connecting with the Aviation Museum not long passed by, I asked myself, was there an airfield here once? I saw no evidence to confirm my suspicion.

Passing on to other thoughts, I forked left at Foxhall, intending to cycle on to the village of Old. Near Kites Hall Farm, my lane passed through fields planted with purple-blue phacelia and sunflowers. I paused at a gate, surrounded by flowers and breathing in the perfumed air. How wonderful.

After pausing at Old, a village name derived from the (w)old on which it was located, and talking for ages to another cyclist who pulled up beside me at the green for a chat, I cycled on through Lamport and Draughton , before heading back to Foxhall and Harrington. Once more the flat plateau stretched out before me, and shortly before Foxhall, I came upon the roadside memorial.

My earlier suspicion was confirmed. The peaceful lanes and countryside I had cycled through once resounded to the noise of aircraft taking off from a giant airfield, constructed during the Second World War. Home to the US Airforce group known as the “Carpet Baggers”. Clandestine airdrops and bombing missions left from here en route to Germany and other targets on the continent. The memorial commemorated the two hundred airmen who gave their lives flying from this very spot.

One war was over, and another took hold. The airfield now under crops, trees and fields of flowers held Britain’s first nuclear weapons of the Cold War. Should the worse have befallen the world, Thor missiles would have been launched from near where I was standing.

The Thor missiles were removed in 1963, and the buildings, runways and

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The road to Rutland

I turned right off the A427, just to the east of the A6 Market Harborough bypass, picking up the B664 northeastwards, the Road to Rutland.

The road starts on a similar course to the River Welland, but soon cuts out a wide bend in the river, passing straight over high ground between the spring line villages of Sutton Bassett and Weston by Welland.

The high ground here is an outlier of the iron infused Jurrassic limestone, formerly quarried further east to feed the furnaces of steelworks at Corby.

It is the iron that gives the rich golden hue to the stone in the cottages and churches that I passed by, village to village. These villages offer visual delights only surpassed by the beauty of the undulating landscape, as the road descends to cross the River Welland and its flood plain, to rise once more after Medbourne, only to descend once more to Stockerston, after which it crosses the Eye Brook over a narrow humpbacked bridge.

Crossing the Welland I passed over the ancient boundary between Northamptonshire and Leicestershire. Crossing the Eye Brook, I passed an equally historic boundary between Leicestershire and Rutland.

Once in Rutland, I climbed steeply out of the Eye valley via two dramatic doglegs on the King's Hill, after which the Jurassic uplands plateau out, appropriately enough around the hilltop town of Uppingham.

Out of Uppingham, I rode northwards through the hill country between Uppingham and Melton Mowbray, passing through the villages of Ayston, Ridlington, Brooke (where I pulled up to look at the old Brooke Priory, and its ancient earthworks, the evidence for a minor house of Augustinian monks), Braunston-in-Rutland, Owston, Newbold and Burrough on the Hill. The latter village's name means 'fortification on the hill’; and sure enough, Burrough Hill, an Iron Age hillfort rises up near the village on a promontory 690 feet above sea level, commanding views over the surrounding countryside for miles around.

I picnicked beside the little lane to Great Dalby, between the hillfort and Salter’s Hill, on a bridleway which might well have been an old salt way in ages past.

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I cycled down Haselbech Hill, through the shade of Shutterdown Spinney, to the village of Cottesbrooke in Northamptonshire.

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. These I photographed.

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.

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