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Riding on the knob

...well, not exactly on the Knob, more just to one side of the Knob really. Churn Knob, a bronze age round barrow near Blewbury in south Oxfordshire.

My wonderful friend Les and I do the horsey thing (no smirking, thanks!) together occasionally; she takes her beast, Oscar, and I borrow a big gelding cob called Webster. On Saturday, we did just this. I hadn't ridden for 8 months and knew that pushing it too far was going to hurt me, but hey, I hoped enthusiasm (and indeed Webster) would carry me through, even if my muscles were screaming out 'stop, you stupid tart!'

Editorial
(Just to clarify here - I DO NOT approve of foxhunting or indeed any other form of hunting live game for any purposes other than to feed oneself and one's family) and I especially abhor the 'posh' and 'expensive-girls-called-Jemima-do-this' label that horse riding has. I am not 'posh', 'expensive' nor called Jemima. No, no, my interest in the sport has to do with the beauty and grace of horses, their beautiful round bottoms, their deep, limpid eyes, their sweet grassy scent and most of all, their ability to travel exceptionally fast through the landscape with me on the back.)

For frequent readers of my weblogs (Jeeez! haven't you got anything better to do, for God's sake!?) you'll know I've been feeling really rather crap these past few weeks. However, stick me on a hoss and my smile quickly returns. (Stop smirking, you sickos!) There is something so basic, so fundamental, so honest about the interaction between one woman, a big hoss and a big wide landscape to travel through that it lifts my soul to the stars.

..to the top, and the Knob
So we rode south out of the stables in Blewbury and trotted alongside Blewburton Hill ... see below for fieldnotes...

We crossed the aforementioned A417 (very dangerous on a horse, as the f**king cars don't slow down to 30mph) and climbed southwest up a sunken chalk lane to Churn Hill. The country directly south of the small village of Blewbury, where Les lives, is quite exquisite. This narrow chalk footpath/bridleway is lined with field scabious, poppies, cornflowers, lots of blue flowers which I couldn't identify and the most wonderful little purple orchids which Les told me were quite rare and only grew on very chalky soils such as was now underhoof. The hedges were full of damsons and sloes, hips and haws and elderberries all still green, but promising a grand feast to the birds later in the year. A quick canter past the old chalk pits (minding out for poor hoof-fall due to too many rabbit holes) lead us up to the top of Churn Hill and there it is! Churn Knob! We couldn't actually get very close on horseback, ironically, because it lies directly beside one of the privately owned 'gallops' which casual riders are forbidden to use by The Expensive People. We got as close as we dared without being shot or set upon by slavering hounds for me to take a couple of pics.

Saints alive!
It's quite big, perhaps, 10 or 15 metres wide at it's base and seems to rise quite steeply. At this time of year it was resplendent with wild flowers and seemed to glow purple in the light. But it's the position of the knob which is so impressive, for the views up here are remarkable.

Looking north you seem to look vertically down over Blewburton Hill and across to the Wittenham Clumps. The graceful curves of the cooling towers of Didcot Power Station are just over to the west and on a clear day I'm sure you'd be able to see Oxford. It's from this position that St Birinus (whoever the f**k he was, but I don't really give a toss) preached a sermon. To remember this, for the millennium, local Christians have erected an unsightly and monstrous cross on the Knob. A deeply offensive and outrageous piece of vandalism in my opinion.

Turning south by Chance Farm we took a long sweeping bridleway leading us deeper into this heavenly landscape, today alive with skylarksand songbirds, butterflies and beetles. Once you rise up onto the high ground of Blewbury Downs, the fields are wide and sweeping, the sky is taller and the horizons wider. There is little development and at times no buildings can be seen at all. And through it all the Ridgeway cuts. And this is where we were heading.

Necropolis
Enroute, we passed a pair of large tumuli at SU519832, part of the necropolis of Blewbury Downs Tumuli, for here we are between the Ridgeway and the line of Grim's Ditch. A shufti of the O/S map reveals almost an alignment of tumuli, some in pairs, that seem to run parallel to Ridgeway. All are visible from it as you ride along. The pair I admired at SU519832 were in a vast field of corn and has somehow escaped being ploughed over. The farmers here just cultivate around them in a wide strip and avoid and damage at all. They are not particularly big nor do they have any outstanding features, but evidence of our past lying there in the landscape for all to see despite modern farming methods, still gives me a little tingling thrill.

A long, fast gallop followed, with Les and I racing each other, laughing uncontrollably, but me NEVER likely to win, despite Webster's enthusiasm! Yee-Hah! Never did aching knees feel so good!

Eventually we made it up onto the Ridgeway, where on this day, it was satisfyingly free of the usual quadbikers and trials bikers whose wheel tracks cut it up so badly that great ruts appear and make it impossible to canter on safely. Coupled with the buzzing of their engines, which frightens the horses something rotten, I feel these should be banned from using the track. But, hey, where else have they got to go?

Leather and pain
Our route took us into the village of Compton, where we would have like to have stopped for a drink, our mouths dry like the frigging Sahara after all that galloping and laughter. But we'd left our wallets in the car, so we had to do without. Besides, I think if I'd dismounted at this point, I would have had some difficulty remounting, such was the state of my knees. Foolishly, I hadn't put my leather chaps on, so my calves were getting backly nipped by the stirrup leathers, too. Everything was beginning to hurt. But in a nice way. (Yeah, yeah, I'm a sick woman.)

Our route home took us back along the Ridgeway again and with some more memorable and triumphant galloping we finally got back to stables, so thirsty my saliva had turned to foam. (Not sexy). We'd covered about nine miles and were in the saddle for over two and half hours. Ouch. After we untacked the beasts, fed, watered them and turned them out to graze, we joined our blokes at the Barley Mow PH where I sat down (very gently indeed) for a glass of something cold. Cheers and good health to Les, Oscar and Webster!

Blewburton Hill — Images

07.07.03ce
<b>Blewburton Hill</b>Posted by Jane

Blewburton Hill — Fieldnotes

06.07.03ce
...I rode south out of the stables in Blewbury and trotted alongside Blewburton Hill. This cracking hillfort covers the entire area of a 'freestanding hill', if you know what I mean, with phenomenal terracing all around it. It looks really 'sculpted'. You get a really good view of it as you drive along the A417 Wantage to Reading road, as many people do every day, but I bet they haven't a clue about this gloriously placed defensive village.

Churn Knob — Fieldnotes

06.07.03ce
A narrow chalk footpath/bridleway leads up from Blewbury to the Downs. Today the track is lined with field scabious, poppies, cornflowers, lots of blue flowers which I couldn't identify and the most wonderful little purple orchids which are quite rare and only grew on very chalky soils such as was now underhoof. A quick canter past the old chalk pits lead us up to the top of Churn Hill and... there it is! Churn Knob! We couldn't actually get very close on horseback, ironically, because it lies directly beside one of the privately owned 'gallops' which casual riders are forbidden to use by The Expensive People. We got as close as we dared without being shot or set upon by slavering hounds for me to take a couple of pics.

It's quite big, perhaps, 10 or 15 metres wide at it's base and seems to rise quite steeply. At this time of year it is resplendent with wild flowers glowing purple in the hazy sunlight. But it's the position of the knob which is so impressive, for the views up here are remarkable. Looking north you seem to look vertically down over Blewburton Hill and across to the Wittenham Clumps. The graceful curves of the cooling towers of Didcot Power Station are just over to the west and on a clear day I'm sure you'd be able to see Oxford. It's from this position that St Birinus (whoever the f**k he was) preached a sermon. To remember this, for the millennium, local Christians have erected an unsightly and monstrous cross on the Knob. A deeply offensive and outrageous piece of vandalism in my opinion. Throw the perpetrators to the lions!

Churn Knob — Images

07.07.03ce
<b>Churn Knob</b>Posted by Jane

Blewbury Downs Tumuli — Images

07.07.03ce
<b>Blewbury Downs Tumuli</b>Posted by Jane
Jane Posted by Jane
7th July 2003ce
Edited 1st August 2003ce


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