Day 172 - A walk in the park

With the promise of sun and with temperatures hitting 11, a walk was definitely on the books on this Sunday. Last night, the clocks changed to British Summer Time  (they refer to Daylight Savings Time here), but nonetheless, we were out of bed at the usual time, so managed to catch the first train that included a stop at Hanborough. This is the closest station to Blenheim Palace, and while it is still a bit of a hike to the Place (about 25-30 minutes to the gates and another 15 -20 to the ticket entrance for the Palace), it is a lovely walk we’ve enjoyed on a couple of occasions now (see our previous blogs).

Our walk today was not so much about seeing the palace, but rather to walk around the immense (and I mean that in the fullest sense of the word) grounds. The grounds consist of almost everything you could want in an English country walk: acres of pastureland for sheep; old-growth forests; formal gardens; and a lake that cascades down a waterfall to a stream.  To walk around the complete perimeter of the park would take about 3 to 4 hours, although they do keep a lot of the park private to keep the people from wandering around willy nilly … or perhaps overstaying their welcome.

Soon after entering the park by the Bladon Gate, we noticed tall posts planted across one of the sheep pastures (although the sheep had been removed), and all the posts were branded with the Land Rover logo. We could see that the posts were tracing out a path down the hill and through the river. Later we discovered a row of high-end Land Rovers parked directly in front of the palace with men keeping them shining with polishing rags. It looks like it was providing those who could afford one of these vehicles a chance to drive it through the various conditions for which they are designed. And no … we didn’t get approached about taking a spin. I am still perplexed as to why. Perhaps if Lady Jane Tanqueray of Alton Towers had been with us, we might have experienced something different.

Off in the distance, we heard music thumping and the occasional roar from an invisible crowd. As we walked further into the park we noticed that one of the main paved pathways was marked for a 5-mile run. We soon heard a louder roar and assumed that the race had set off.

You do see the ghostly face, right?

We walked up a hill through more pastureland before entering an old-growth forest. Huge ancient oaks trees were in their final throws of decay, creating the haunting images of trees you image in ghost stories. It does set the imagination on fire.

As we came to the end of the forest, the first two runners – and obviously the most professional looking – came running towards us up a hill. It seemed like we had just heard the start of this race, so we were surprised to see runners already at what was marked as the 4-mile point. Perhaps we just lost time in the ghost forest? Hmmm.

Not very nice to refer to the peasants on the road!

Soon a few more runners appeared, and then we spotted the first pack of runners. This group was made up of those whose bodies and clothing indicate they do this most days and have given in to the addiction. The next group was those you can tell are taking this seriously, but still rather new to the game. Then came those running who and work out fairly regularly, but are doing this for charity. And last came the ones who work out occasionally (or have been since they made that New Year’s resolution) or were somehow coerced into joining the company charity run team this year. You can tell this latter group because they tend to be overdressed, carrying their own water bottles (despite water being supplied on the run), and holding one or both of their sides. Sometimes they are trying desperately to chat with the fit 20-something girl from the office who’s keeping up a steady stream of conversation about what’s happening in her life while her companions wish her dead. We met up with most of this group as they were just coming into view of the long hill they had to run up between the 3- and 4-mile marks. It was like walking through a wave of sweaty disappointment as they passed us. I have to convey one observation: everyone, except the guy in the lead, looked like they were in pain. I’ll just keep walking the 5 miles – thank you very much.

Numerous buildings are scattered throughout the park, including gatehouses, lodges (including a hunting lodge for the palace), farm houses and buildings, stables, workers cottages. It is very much a community within itself. Our path took us past one set of farm buildings and houses that could have been a home of some member of the landed gentry. 

Phil (can you spot him?) looks up
to the Duke of Marlborough.

We eventually came to two double rows of trees that bordered a dead straight road which was probably the front entrance route into the palace. It lined up directly with the front door some distance away. However, blocking its continuation straight to the tower was the 13-storey high towering sculpture created to honour the first Duke of Marlborough.

The Grand Bridge in front of the palace. In the far distance
you can see the statue.

Just before the statue, the roadway veers to the left and then goes through an area that was once used as a gravel pit for the palace. It has since been covered over with trees and grass. It eventually winds its way back along the river’s edge until it is back in front of the palace where it then aligns straight again as it crosses over the grand bridge.

Churchill contemplates Phil's take
on Brexit.

We stopped into the palace for tuna and cucumber sandwiches, and managed to secure ourselves a beautiful table for two in an alcove with floor to ceiling windows looking out onto the formal gardens. It was a lovely spot, but we could dally too long as we had a train home to catch at 2 pm.  We walked through the gardens and along a path that said it led to the Churchill memorial garden, the rose garden and “the cascades.” Daffodils had been planted everywhere in the Churchill gardens, and then along the gentle slopes of a nearby creek bed. It was beautiful. 

At the cascades, we stopped to admire the sound and the view and take a few pictures. From here, we were only about 15 minutes from the entrance at which our walk had begun. However, the paths, which on our map appeared to be public, had all been marked as private. We had no choice but to head back to toward the Palace. As luck would have it, we found a trail across the back of the castle. But, once again, the palace attempted to make it difficult to get to the gate we needed without adding at least another 30 minutes of walking time. They had built a ditch across the pastureland, and at the point were a road passed through it, they had built a wall against the ditch and a locked gate. 

However, seeing no sign that said the area was private, Phil determined we could pass through the area. He jumped into the ditch then helped me down. We were soon walking along a roadway through a large field of grazing sheep who remained oblivious to us.  At the far end of the field we did come across another locked fence, but this one was just one of your typical country gates so was easily surmountable.  We did feel a bit rebellious, but then we did purchase the annual pass!

Don't worry; he was too pretty to eat for Sunday roast.

Most important: we did make it to the scheduled train and were home in time to slow roast our Sunday dinner.