We have been having a holiday from home and indulging in some serious exploring and walking. Tuesday found us across the border to an area near Cheltenham called Hailes Abbey. Though the abbey itself lies in ruins, what remains is preserved by English Heritage, and has a rich history. Our interests lay rather more prosaically in the five mile round walk we had planned. The weather was grey and grim, a blustery wind ripping the warmth from our cheeks, but there were still swallows bravely swooping low over the ploughed fields. We plodded along field footpaths, past a sleepy village, past two dead sheep and through a cluster of cottages which led us to the bottom of our goal.
The hill. It is a big hill. It is also part of the Cotswold Way, a popular walking route which takes in many historic sites. Once we had left the path, seen below to the left, it was steep clambering up the grassy slope, stopping every so often to turn round and admire the views.
Even on a dull day, the Malvern Hills - the pale strips in the distance - can be clearly seen.
Nearer the top and along the route, a gorgeous old pile of a farmhouse, settled into the rolling fields with sheep grazing nearby.
Someone has cleverly sunk a little swimming pool into the side of the hill, and one can only imagine what it must be like to float about on a hot day, with the abundant views. 
It was a trek and a half. At last I looked up to see Andy comfortably perched on the bench at the top and I blessed the person who had placed it there; it was dedicated to 'Pinky Dickins, who lived here for 26 happy years with her family and her horses'. 
We gulped down watery hot chocolate from a thermos and cold sausage rolls, nosying at the doll's house sized country pile below, with it's black Labrador guarding the drive.
We enjoyed more views. I sighed for a wide angle lens.
Now we were back on the flat, walking along the top of our hill. Down a mercifully easy track...
...past a jumble of farm buildings, this hut traditionally held up by stone 'mushrooms' more properly known as staddle stones, keeping water and rats out.
The lane leads to a wide series of fields, across which the wind whips fiercely; here are earthworks and a surprise - a newly planted avenue of trees. They march all the way from a lake at Stanway House, just visible, a tiny grey block mid-distance...
...and they continued their parade up to the very field we were stood in, disappearing over the horizon. I was torn between admiration for such an ambitious project, and regretful that the bleak, bare beauty of Beckbury Camp had been interrupted and would one day be divided.
Past the earthworks, jutting up from the ground like the backbone of a long dead prehistoric creature...
...and on to the copse of steely grey beech trees, locally known as 'Cromwell's Clump'. from where Thomas Cromwell (not to be confused with Oliver Cromwell) is rumoured to have watched the dismantling - or destruction - of Hailes Abbey. In a nutshell, Cromwell had compiled a report for Henry the Eighth, observing that the monastries, of which there were many in England at the time, were doing very well for themselves; maybe some of them could be closed, their lands and wealth seized and liberated to the benefit of the crown. Hence the Dissolution of the Monastries. Or state theft, as it might be regarded today.
Gusting winds have torn one of these old giants to the ground and whipped the trunks into contorted, outsized candy canes.
Overlooking Hailes Abbey and Malvern - wait for me, Andy!
The fields led to a little wooded track running along the side of a fruit farm, which would eventually lead us back to our starting point in Hailes.
Growing along the hedgerow we found, to our foraging joy, many plum trees laden with fruit. A few brisk shakes brought down showers of ripe plums, now simmering away to make pots of sweet, fruity chutney in time for Christmas.
The hill. It is a big hill. It is also part of the Cotswold Way, a popular walking route which takes in many historic sites. Once we had left the path, seen below to the left, it was steep clambering up the grassy slope, stopping every so often to turn round and admire the views.
Even on a dull day, the Malvern Hills - the pale strips in the distance - can be clearly seen.
Nearer the top and along the route, a gorgeous old pile of a farmhouse, settled into the rolling fields with sheep grazing nearby.
Someone has cleverly sunk a little swimming pool into the side of the hill, and one can only imagine what it must be like to float about on a hot day, with the abundant views. 
It was a trek and a half. At last I looked up to see Andy comfortably perched on the bench at the top and I blessed the person who had placed it there; it was dedicated to 'Pinky Dickins, who lived here for 26 happy years with her family and her horses'. 
We gulped down watery hot chocolate from a thermos and cold sausage rolls, nosying at the doll's house sized country pile below, with it's black Labrador guarding the drive.
We enjoyed more views. I sighed for a wide angle lens.
Now we were back on the flat, walking along the top of our hill. Down a mercifully easy track...
...past a jumble of farm buildings, this hut traditionally held up by stone 'mushrooms' more properly known as staddle stones, keeping water and rats out.
The lane leads to a wide series of fields, across which the wind whips fiercely; here are earthworks and a surprise - a newly planted avenue of trees. They march all the way from a lake at Stanway House, just visible, a tiny grey block mid-distance...
...and they continued their parade up to the very field we were stood in, disappearing over the horizon. I was torn between admiration for such an ambitious project, and regretful that the bleak, bare beauty of Beckbury Camp had been interrupted and would one day be divided.
Past the earthworks, jutting up from the ground like the backbone of a long dead prehistoric creature...
...and on to the copse of steely grey beech trees, locally known as 'Cromwell's Clump'. from where Thomas Cromwell (not to be confused with Oliver Cromwell) is rumoured to have watched the dismantling - or destruction - of Hailes Abbey. In a nutshell, Cromwell had compiled a report for Henry the Eighth, observing that the monastries, of which there were many in England at the time, were doing very well for themselves; maybe some of them could be closed, their lands and wealth seized and liberated to the benefit of the crown. Hence the Dissolution of the Monastries. Or state theft, as it might be regarded today.
Gusting winds have torn one of these old giants to the ground and whipped the trunks into contorted, outsized candy canes.
Overlooking Hailes Abbey and Malvern - wait for me, Andy!
The fields led to a little wooded track running along the side of a fruit farm, which would eventually lead us back to our starting point in Hailes.
Growing along the hedgerow we found, to our foraging joy, many plum trees laden with fruit. A few brisk shakes brought down showers of ripe plums, now simmering away to make pots of sweet, fruity chutney in time for Christmas.
