The Wild Rover_ A Blistering Journey Along Britain_s Footpaths - Mike Parker [40]
Vague timelines are something of an occupational hazard whenever we wind the clock back beyond the Romans, but there’s no doubting that the Ridgeway, or parts of it at least, have been used for as long as people have roamed across our landscape. Nearly all of the route lies 300–800 feet above sea level, higher than the swampy forests that once occupied most of the lower ground. The swift-draining chalk would have provided the ideal texture underfoot, its baked-white surface visible for miles in all weathers and times of day or night. Over five or six millennia, usage of the track waxed and waned, for trade, transhumance, droving and driving. No driving any more, though: a byway open to all traffic (a B.O.A.T.) it may be for large sections of its route, but after fierce and bitter battles, the Ridgeway has now been declared officially motor-free, and concrete blocks have been placed along its length to enforce this. It survived 6,000 years open to all for every purpose, but only when it became a route solely for our leisure have we had to block and police it.
The official National Trail is only around a quarter of a longer prehistoric route stretching from the Wash to the south coast. The 1940s committee charged with establishing our first long-distance paths suggested that a Ridgeway trail should go from the Chilterns to Seaton, in east Devon. The irrepressible Tom Stephenson spent long, happy hours with his pencils and his Ordnance Surveys and came up with an idea to extend this proposed path northwards to Cambridge. But it was the section from the Chilterns to Avebury that was the first to be designated as the Ridgeway, and although it was suggested in the 1940s, it wasn’t until July 1972 that the Environment Secretary gave his assent. Unlike the Pennine Way, whose route had taken 14 years of difficult negotiation to sort out, the Ridgeway took just 14 months, the opening ceremony taking place on Coombe Hill, above Wendover, on 29 September 1973. It was much shorter, of course, and needed very few new paths, but there was also a far greater acceptance of public access along its route than in the Pennines. Furthermore, the opening of the first few National Trails had been hugely popular; momentum was on its side. Since then, paths extending it at both ends have been created, and it is possible – though not for me this time, thank you – to follow what has become known as the Greater Ridgeway, 363 miles from Lyme Regis to Hunstanton.
The lesser Ridgeway path is neatly divided into two halves, with the River Thames between Streatley and Goring as its midpoint. The eastern half, from Ivinghoe Beacon, near Tring, trills up and down the northern edge of the Chiltern escarpment, often parallel to or following the prehistoric track known as the Icknield Way. West from the Thames, the route to Avebury has always been known as the Ridgeway: it is a distinct, wide track that scorches its ghostly way across the upland plains of Berkshire, Oxfordshire and Wiltshire.
Since the official path’s inception in 1973, all the guidebooks have recommended that you walk it from west to east, Avebury to Tring. The only reason given is that this will prevent you having to stride into the teeth of the prevailing westerly winds, but it was hard to imagine that that was likely to be a massive consideration on the outskirts of Aylesbury. Not once did it occur to me that I should follow the route this way: walking our oldest track is a pilgrimage, and who the hell ever went on a pilgrimage to Tring? Looking at the maps too, it was obvious that the eastern half of the Ridgeway through the Chilterns was far comfier than the windswept heights of the west. It seemed more logical, and a far more rewarding experience, to edge