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Rambling in Shropshire - A Collection of Historical Walking Guides and Rambling Experiences - Including Information on Clunbury, the Wyre Forest, Ludl
Rambling in Shropshire - A Collection of Historical Walking Guides and Rambling Experiences - Including Information on Clunbury, the Wyre Forest, Ludl
Rambling in Shropshire - A Collection of Historical Walking Guides and Rambling Experiences - Including Information on Clunbury, the Wyre Forest, Ludl
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Rambling in Shropshire - A Collection of Historical Walking Guides and Rambling Experiences - Including Information on Clunbury, the Wyre Forest, Ludl

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Many of the earliest books, particularly those dating back to the 1900s and before, are now extremely scarce and increasingly expensive. We are republishing these classic works in affordable, high quality, modern editions, using the original text and artwork.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateSep 6, 2016
ISBN9781473355729
Rambling in Shropshire - A Collection of Historical Walking Guides and Rambling Experiences - Including Information on Clunbury, the Wyre Forest, Ludl

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    Rambling in Shropshire - A Collection of Historical Walking Guides and Rambling Experiences - Including Information on Clunbury, the Wyre Forest, Ludl - Read Books Ltd.

    Hay

    FROM CLUNBURY AS CENTRE

    THE worst of telling your friends about some beauty spot which you have yourself discovered is that they may pass on the news to others, and its isolation and charm are then in serious danger. There is a pregnant passage in one of those essays in C. E. Montague’s delightful travel-book, The Right Place, in which he suggests that the foundations of the mountain railways of Switzerland were really laid by the poetry of Wordsworth, Byron and Mathew Arnold, and by successive editions of the homespun prose of Baedeker and Murray. But there is some comfort in the thought that though Clunbury and its three sisters figure in an age-long rhyme, which was repeated as far back as 1895 by A. E. Housman, they are still as unspoiled as they were half a century ago.

    ‘Clunton and Clunbury,

    Clungunford and Clun,

    Are the quietest places

    Under the sun.’

    So runs the distitch to-day; but a friend, Alfred Hamar of Bicton, assures me that the variant was originally true, and that the villages were really ‘drunkenest,’ because the farmers brewed strong ale and gave it freely to their labourers at harvest-time. Some would have us believe that the sterner epithet is still deserved to-day on the Herefordshire and Shropshire borders. ‘There is much secret cider-drinking in Herefordshire,’ said a witness recently before the Licensing Commission, and ‘Evoe’ in Punch made the remark an occasion for a mirthful poem. ‘Unspeakable carouses that shame the summer sky’ are said, in his poem, to go on near the Wye, the Radnorshire border and the dark hills of Wales. Ledbury and Leominster are stained with the same vices, and two of the four ‘quietest’ villages—Clungunford and Clun—are full of secret drinkers. But, in spite of these misdemeanours, which run through ‘the pleasant valleys where stand the pale-faced Kine,’ this borderland of Herefordshire, Radnor, Salop and Wales is a land of rare beauty and extraordinary calm, and Clunbury High Street must be almost the most peaceful High Street in all the world. When friends of mine were thinking of settling down there they asked a local light about the climate. They wanted to know if snow lay long in the lanes in winter, and they were soon reassured. The through traffic was so great that no snow could possibly last long. But when they settled under one of the twenty-five roofs that comprise the whole village, they soon found that the road climbed up the hill to become a cart track, which at last melted away into a field path, which was lost in a wood. True, there was a side-turning down to another secluded village, Twitchen, but the High Street just faded out. So much for the through traffic. Housman was right when he wrote of

    ‘valleys of springs of rivers,

    By Onny and Teme and Clun,

    The country for easy livers,

    The quietest under the sun.’

    And so, with fear and trembling lest a secret shared is a secret spoiled, I will tell you how to get there. You will probably start from Ludlow, a town of romantic beauty of a very high order, which demands a chapter for itself, and proceed by car, bicycle or on foot along the road that runs towards Shrewsbury. Through Bromfield and Onibury, with fine black-and-white houses, you take the road from Stokesay, where we enjoy a study of its exquisite mediaeval castle and its Elizabethan gatehouse, bearing west at Craven Arms along the way to Clun.

    There are two alternative routes there, and at the junction you glimpse a small section of Watling Street, looking very trivial and unimportant. At Aston-on-Clun you will find the village decorated with flags to greet you, or so it seems; but the truth is that some hundreds of years ago, perhaps when Charles II came back to his own again, the trees at the entrance to the Manor

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