The Wakerley Wood Walk, 4 May 2023

Commentary and pictures by Tony Attwood; as ever somewhat bemused.

Nearest postcode: LE15 8PA.  That is indeed correct for the walk through Wakerley Wood, with a touch of forest bathing on the side, BUT, and I emphasise the word, that is not quite everything you need to know.

For the LE15 8PA postcode actually covers a region of 2581 square miles (although I may have exaggerated that a trifle) and I went to the wrong end of it, desperately a-searching for woody things until I was stumbled upon

by fellows of like mind and thus I pedalled ever faster to catch them up and be at a place I could have got to via the jolly old A43, of which it has been said.

Anyway, there was much taking of the photographic evidence to show that the ensemble were indeed celebrating the birthday of Henry IV or the seige of Agincourt or something (I am not much of a one for news) and we were reminded of something rather important but I regret to say I was in such a flap that I forgot to take note of what it was and once we had started walking no one would tell me, which I thought a trifle unfair.

This walk, we were told, would split into two, as had happened last year with one ensemble wandering into the wood for some forest bathing, while the rest would march off with fearless tread.   Now forest bathing has been reported in these fine columns before.

and thus it was that I chose to venture further along the piste as it were, and find out what those who a-bathing do not go, got up to upon the moment the bathers left, as it were.  We set off, waving farewell to dear friends who we might not see for some time (or at least half an hour.)

Plans were laid, the earth examined for signs of previous civilisation passing this way, and knowing nods given by those charged with leading us on the rest of our way, before we would meet up again with “those who bathed in yonder forest.”  The track ahead was bleak and empty, and I for one feared there might be something lurking within these forests of which I knew little and fancied knowing even less.

On and on we marched  and indeed I did begin to fear that at any moment we might be coming across Russian troops that had perchance lost their way (or were seeking refuge), but no it was the hooting of the blackbird or the call of a East Northants Owl, or perchance nothing of the kind, but merely the rumbling of the earth below asking for its breakfast, or so one of my helpful companions explained in words of under one syllable, what with me not being so good with the words as ‘twere.

Now personally at this point I think I might have ventured fifth, but my fellows would have none of it and instead insisted on venturing third.  We compromised and were assured that really the sound was merely the rumbling of the earth below asking for its breakfast, (or so one of my helpful companions explained in words of under one syllable, what with me not being so good with the words).

Anyway the thicket was thick and the muddy bits were muddy until eventually we came upon a clearing at which point our leader instructed us to take up positions on either side of the roadway, as is the done thing in Rural Parts.  And thus we did, with much peering into bags and the like to find out where one had put the luncheon which no longer seemed to be where it was meant to be.

Now new instructions were laid and when all were ready we sallied forth as we were all by then ready for the next site which was…. cottages.  If these houses of years gone by were indeed

inhabited the locals did not show themselves and we did not venture closer fearing perchance that they perhaps had not seen the likes of us since last year and were sore amazed as we passed within the green and verdant whatnot.

In the distance, you can see to the right upper side remnants of ancient civilisations on what I believe were previously known as poles.  But we did not venture too close as with poles one can never tell what they might get up to.

And so we knew that we had returned from whence we came.

Much wondering was there upon this time as to whether the forest bathers would also have escaped the activities of the evil dragon monster being thing, that lived within the forest but we were reassured by the postbox because if anything had happened we would be able to write and tell people about it.

So as can be seen, the merry band walked on leaving your intrepid correspondent snapping away (as we photographers call it, and it is always good to use the jargon because otherwise people won’t know if one is serious or not.)

Further signs of civilisation were spotted and eventually the big house came into view.  I paused for several minutes to practice once more the doffing of my cap, in order to show the fulsome deference to those of higher social orders than me but it turned out there was no need as no one from within ventured forth.  Or fifth.

And thus with a jaunty flip of the wrist I put away my trusty phone for another day as we marched back, one merry band, each of us wondering where on earth we had put the car keys.