An early start again! Little to report until the
Newbold Tunnel where I
was once again afflicted by the visions. For five minutes all I could see was purple and blue - and multicoloured - walls of light. My spirits sank and the lord
seemed to have forsaken me. But miracle of miracles - and testament to he who moves all - it was back
into the light as soon as a thrice and the visions have gone, I am sure of it. We passed through
Hillmorton Locks, an
idyllic retreat that somehow ignores the urban sprawl of
Rugby that surrounds it and then a long, slow, sinewy stretch that is my personal favourite - the
bucolic and seemingly time-stood-still run to
Braunston Junction and just beyond. The port side of the canal nibbles at the ride and furrow pasture as the cows and sheep do the same; the land left as when medieval villagers fled it when the
hawthorn hedges and sheep on enclosure took their land. After a lazy approach we finally
moored for the evening at Lower
Shuckburgh with
plenty of light left to explore the village. We marched up and admired the Crimean influenced church, despite the rush hour drone of
the Daventry Road, and struck out over the brow of the common for the hall and deer park. We were lost within minutes and were fortunate to spy the beacon on Beacon Hill which guided us to the footpath and into the grounds of the
Shuckburghs. As dusk fell we looked left to see another vision (I was wrong), a hundred or more fallow deer, their chests wide and eyes bright! A lovely walk down round to the village again and chicken and mushroom on jacket spuds for tea....
An early start again! Little to report until the Newbold Tunnel where I was once again afflicted by the visions. For five minutes all I could see was purple and blue - and multicoloured - walls of light. My spirits sank and the lord
seemed to have forsaken me. But miracle of miracles - and testament to he who moves all - it was back into the light as soon as a thrice and the visions have gone, I am sure of it. We passed through Hillmorton Locks, an idyllic retreat that somehow ignores the urban sprawl of Rugby that surrounds it and then a long, slow, sinewy stretch that is my personal favourite - the bucolic and seemingly time-stood-still run to Braunston Junction and just beyond. The port side of the canal nibbles at the ride and furrow pasture as the cows and sheep do the same; the land left as when medieval villagers fled it when the hawthorn hedges and sheep on enclosure took their land. After a lazy approach we finally
moored for the evening at Lower Shuckburgh with plenty of light left to explore the village. We marched up and admired the Crimean influenced church, despite the rush hour drone of the Daventry Road, and struck out over the brow of the common for the hall and deer park. We were lost within minutes and were fortunate to spy the beacon on Beacon Hill which guided us to the footpath and into the grounds of the Shuckburghs. As dusk fell we looked left to see another vision (I was wrong), a hundred or more fallow deer, their chests wide and eyes bright! A lovely walk down round to the village again and chicken and mushroom on jacket spuds for tea....
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