ALL THE LINKS INCLUDED WILL TAKE YOU TO MORE COMPREHENSIVE AND DETAILED SITES COVERING THE HISTORY OF THE SITES MENTIONED HERE.
Although we have lived here now for seven years, there are still many pockets of the area we have not discovered. We may have seen their names on the map, or passed the road signs, but ignored them; this is the (largely) protected Cotswolds and they will be here tomorrow, next year and, God willing, the years after. Last Wednesday we trod a new walk, only 15 minutes away on the motorbike. Like many tiny villages here, Chastleton is awkward to get to and long may it be so. Undisturbed by behemoth tourist coaches, it snuggles warmly into the landscape - a large house, a 12th century church and a scattering of farms and dwellings. The house and estate are now cared for by the National Trust; such is the delicate fabric of this rare Jacobean treasure, visitor numbers are limited and pre-booking is advised. We were simply here to do our usual tramp around the fields, though as always, we popped in the little church which lay in the shadow of 'the Big House'.
Our churches nowadays appear plain affairs - even austere. But once, in Mediaeval times, the walls were brightly
painted with frescoes, from which a largely illiterate populace could easily understand the teachings of the Bible. Over the course of time, they have been covered over, desecrated and *improved*, but it is still possible to find fragments uncovered - and more are coming to light each year.
Here is a comprehensive record of such places and if your interest lies in such things, it is a rich treasury. I catch my breath when we stumble unexpectedly on these faded beauties.
Some more snippets -
Chastleton House itself has some high ranking claims to fame; not only was it once the home of the inventor of that most English of games, croquet, but a mere couple of centuries earlier, the estate was owned by one of the originators of the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, to which we owe our 'Bonfire Night' of November the fifth. Today it sat quietly in its grounds, replete with history.
We continued round the bend and began our walk.
It was a pleasant enough route; a winding, stony, path flanking ploughed fields and lined with hedgerows. But it was flat and nothing spectacular. As we neared the outskirts of the next village we found bounty - overhanging damson trees, the fruit on the verge of turning. As always I had a couple of bags with me and we quickly picked 3 kilos. (There would have been more but Andy literally dragged me away from the tree, my greedy paw still clutching a handful of dripping plums).
House spotting - which one would you choose?
It was Andy who sighted our first Little Owl, peering rather confusedly from his perch. Holding my breath I managed to snap him just before he disappeared.
His home is not as picturesque as the others, but equally as precious. Our owls need tumbledowns such as these.
We were nearly at the end of our walk and it was time to stop. When we had started out, the skies were overcast and I was wishing I'd worn a jumper. Now the sun was high and beating down, and I was feeling uncomfortably overdressed. The last lap of our journey took us along part of the Macmillan Way.
Wait for me Andy - I've got the picnic!
We found the perfect spot.
Our picnics are humble; our purse does not allow foody feasts. Tinned ham rolls, the last tomatos from our garden, eggs from a village not four miles away from where we sat, and a little fruit cake. There is always a thermos of watery hot chocolate, which is how we like it after a long trek. The setting however, was priceless.
Stuffed with carbs and sleepy from the sun, we lazily ambled the last half mile back to the bike.
This circular walk ended back at the estate, passing by a splendid 'Cotswold Lion' ram, our very own once-endangered rare breed, whose venerable ancestors were key to bringing wealth to the Cotswolds.
The track brought us face up with Chastleton House again, standing out magnificently against the darkening sky.
To see why the Cotswolds landscape appears so harmonious, look at the path you are treading and then look for the nearest stone building. Usually its bricks have been quarried from a nearby location which changes in hue from area to area. Here in Chastleton it has a warm, orange tint -
- and a close up of an old window. The famous 'honey coloured' Cotswold stone.
In our own village the older buildings are a pale grey with a hint of cream, and our footpaths show a whiter, more chalky soil: there is a small disused quarry less than a mile away from which it was originally built. So villages were hewn from the very earth on which they would stand, each having it's own characteristics and over time, aquiring a weather worn gentleness and coverings of bright lichens. On a sunny autumn day, the Cotswolds glow.
With lots of work on my desk and the weather being so dreary, walks outside of the village are sparse. The last one was (spoilt as we are) rather unsatisfactory. It was a new one and we should have done it the other way around, because as Andy observed, most walks have natural directions and had we started where we finished, we'd have had a pub at the end and lovely views to look at, instead of which we had our backs to the landscape most of the time. However, here we were last week in pretty Temple Guiting, before we realised the error of our way (as it were). Even the Cotswolds struggle to look interesting when the clouds are sat on them, but there were points of interest; for instance, someone had been hedge laying, pollarding the nearby trees for material.
There are many different styles of hedge laying, but I could not quite pinpoint this pattern. My knowledge of this old country craft is limited, but for further information there is the National Hedge Laying Society. It seems to just about survive, thanks to renewed interest in the countryside, an acknowledgement that we need hedgerows (and so does wildlife) and invaluable volunteer work. 
Where the branches are laid back and not broken, new growth will appear, turning this into a living barrier and if you look at many of our field hedgerows you can clearly discern the pattern of decades old patterns in thickened trunks. 
After a rather hairy journey along a road, with car drivers oblivious and uncaring of pedestrians, we were back in fields, plodding up a hilly footpath. I turned round to see the view (which would have been even better had we been coming the other way...) and there is Jackdaws Castle laid out in all its glory. We are near Cheltenham and this is racing country. Owned by renowned trainer Jonjo O'Neill, these gallops are spectacular - on the home page of the Castle site can be seen a video of jockeys training here. There on the right, the racing tracks, and there on the left, the jumps, (best seen if you click on the picture, which is much larger). 
Further along the way, a more mundane Cotswolds activity - not as glamorous but even more vital. Quarrying the soft yellow stone for housing and renovation. It can never be a pretty sight, but it is necessary to keep our region alive and in the traditional manner. This quarry has supplied stone in renovations ranging from the Houses of Parliament to Blenheim Palace.
Hard to get a good look, as sensibly the footpath is well away from the quarry edge and hedged thickly with hawthorns.
And of course, always present no matter where you walk - the favourite of the Cotswolds, sheep. Everywhere. 
