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.
Turning off, past skittish sheep - eventually our walk would take us to the avenue of trees seen in the distance, marching up the hill.
Now the nights are cold and even by day, the countryside is perfumed with hint of smoke as stout woodburners warm stone houses and cottages.
An undemanding footpath wound lazily ahead. 
Just hidden behind the trees, towards the right hand corner, Stowell Park House sits, plump and grand. It owns the estate and the houses and farms on it; it is thanks to large, private estates like these that so much of the Cotswolds retains its character, both architecturally and in the landscape.
Now we were rather slowly trudging up the long tree lined hill, which we had viewed from our starting point. 
An enticing little driveway leading the eye down to stone cots. 
Near the crest of the hill we had a broad view across to Yanworth, glowing comfortably in hazy sunshine.
Round about and round about; the footpaths of Britain sometimes seem like a tangle of yarn. If you follow the right strand you can make a full - if wonky - circle. 
And it is always worth pausing on a steep climb to see where you have been. 
A final treat; a cluster of houses, barns and a tiny Norman church, silent and old, as if preserved in aspic. The church, dating back to around 1200, was sadly shut, so it will be explored another time: this is a very good walk, and one which we can extend - we will be back.
