The Wittering Walk – a walk of three halves and the final surprise

Part 1: Wittering Words and Pictures

Part 2: Into the depths

And this, in case you have lost count, is part 3.

My last report ended, you will recall, at a gate which revealed signs of the tributes left by a long forgotten civilisation that wish to be remembered – although why they wanted to be remembered I now have forgotten.

So undiminished and unperturbed we walked on, happily discussing this and that as we progressed, in the way that contented walkers are prone to do now that it has stopped raining.

And then very much to my surprise, we began to see signs of civilisation, to wit houses and indeed what appeared to be the tower of a village church.

Of course, I always had faith in our leader to get us back to the cars but other less-believing souls were much relieved to see this sudden development.

The only question was “what village?” Although I did feel discussions along the lines of “what country?” were pushing it a bit.

But these pictures do seriously show the incredible range of sights we can see on one 4.5-mile walk – from the rough tracks of parts 1 and 2 to this elegantly manicured lawn with large ornaments which could be giant birds but which might not – one can’t quite tell from this distance.

Thus firmly reassured we moved forward gazing at the manicured lawn and well-pruned trees (if pruned is the right word; I’m not a gardener so I could be wrong.

And again I would refer you if I might back to earlier chapters of this detailed review, to see just how different the terrain was earlier, with us marching knee-deep in mud and whatnot, unaware of all the glory that was to come later.

For those such as I who had not the slightest idea where we might be or how many hundred miles we had walked from the vehicles, there was a sign telling if not where my car was, where it was that we were now, as it were.

For lo!  It was an estate.  Not a garden as the likes of you or I might have, but a veritable estate.   With walls!  (You can always tell the posh gardens ‘cos they have walls.

Thus as befits such an environment, the walking was now on a proper road upon which upmarket delivery lorries could indeed deliver, and more importantly upon which we could spread out, talking, looking, nodding agreeably and (in my case) taking pictures before scampering hither and yon to make sure I hadn’t missed any of the good bits.

But I fear I did miss one or two which is why you will find some of the pictures are of the group from the rear, and some are of the group from the front.  It is what we photographers find comes as a result of “scampering” and which you will have seen if you haven’t skipped a bit to get to the end.

So, as you will have observed, even with some copious noting of all that was to be seen along the way nothing, but nothing, could have prepared any of this for this incredibly unbelievable signpost.

It is primarily a sign pointing to Polaris, which of course you will know is not a Cambridgeshire village at all, but in co,mmon parlance, “The Pole Star” named because of its fame for holding a nearly still position in the sky over England, while the other stars moves around it.

But that is not because Henry VIII so ordered it so he could find his way back to the Palace after a heavy night with the milkmaid, but in fact because it’s located very close to the north celestial pole, around which the northern sky appears to turn although it doesn’t actually.

From here it was but a hop and a skip before we were indeed back where we started and anyone who suggested otherwise was thus once more proven utterly wrong.

We were back where our cars were park, and the local developers had not moved in and pulled down the ancient church for some more housing.

Better still, the cars were exactly where we had left them.

Sadly there was no public house immediately available, although I may have missed it, oer perhaps everyone else scarpered off and didn’t tell me, so I proceeded back to my vehicular transport and drove forth (occasionally using 5th as well).

But there was still one final unexpected sight to be seen: a house flying the union flag.

Now I know that some people will like to tell you that this is a union jack, but I must disabuse you on this specific point, because it is only a union jack when it is flown on a vessel.

Sadly the official royal.uk website doesn’t quite get this right and I have written to his august Majesty to put him right on this fact, but as yet no reply.

And that was it.  A really superb walk, and I do hope my pictures and notes of what we saw, have helped you recapture, at least for a few moments, what it was like.  If I have got anything wrong, well, let me tell you, this writing malarky ain’t as easy as it looks!