It is fair to say that if I asked you to name a town in the UK beginning with ‘Y’, you’d say Yeovil. In fact, off the top of your head, can you name three others?….. It’s tricky. On a personal note, Yeovil has a special place in my heart as being the town that kick-started my teaching career nearly thirty years ago. Maybe that’s why I am willing to overlook its rather shabby edges and iffy reputation. That said, not many towns can have claims to fame that range from glove-making to helicopter production. Indeed, teaching Year 9 rugby often threatened to be disrupted by the arrival of an Apache gunship rising menacingly from the tree line at the far end of the playing field. The residential sprawl continues unabated here, filling in gaps and previous sites of economic activity and industrial heritage. In turn, this facilitates the daily choking traffic that struggles to navigate the sponsored roundabouts and traffic light systems that have been designed to confuse as much as relieve.
Despite this rather droll reflection on Yeovil, it remains a gateway to some fantastic countryside and history that surrounds the area in all directions. From the upmarket majesty of Sherborne, to the impressive honey-coloured Hamstone villages of Montecute and Odcombe. An area linked by sunken lanes and views that stretch deep into neighbouring Dorset, Yeovil is one of those places that can easily be overlooked and therefore missed. Today’s wander was about putting that to the test and proving myself right.
Having parked up and tackling the steepest hill straight away I was able to turn round and look out over the town. It certainly isn’t a view that inspires, but still acted to produce a wave of nostalgia. Sometimes it is easy to reflect on your life and think that it has been a series of disjointed dreams. Friends past, memories, and anecdotes that often saw me moving on instead of standing still. Whereas nostalgia is something that I am happy to embrace, it has increasingly been the case that this has led me down an avenue of melancholy. A trap that can see me overthink past decisions or events, conjuring up a whole load of what ifs, buts, and maybes. On this wander, it was therefore important that I continued to turn those feelings of sadness into ones of being thankful. Meaningful reflection in the spirit of life’s rich tapestry, towards times in my life that opened doors and added to my bucket of wisdom, rather than sinking into a place of feeling sorry for myself or regretful. I have so much to be thankful for and acknowledging that openly is important.
It is hard to believe that there are still buildings out there that haven’t been renovated and turned into a ‘Grand Design’. Luck would have it, that the first point of interest today brought about such a thing.
Looking out over the fields below stood the incongruously named ‘Summer House’. This uniquely designed property, with its symmetrically positioned tower, crumbling roofs, and boarded windows just screamed haunted. Further adding to the sense of foreboding were the open windows with their torn net curtains being gently caressed by the breeze. Obliged to take a picture, it was a little disappointing that on closer inspection there was no wispy figure standing mournfully in the shadows.
Moving swiftly on having felt a growing sense of unease, shared by the visible heckles of the dog, our path took us downward towards some open fields and further discovery.
Before long we were met by a rifle barrel of trees that both directed the way and had all the hallmarks of a fledgling ‘Holloway’. The map suggested that our main aim for the day was hiding not too far away and with not a soul to be seen, the sense of having the place to ourselves helped to heighten the anticipation. In all fairness, ‘Jack the Treacle Eater’ did not disappoint.
Stood within the grounds of Barwick Park, this folly was built in the middle of the 18th century. The rather proud figure on top was originally said to be ‘Hermes’, a messenger to the Gods. However, by the early 19th century the figure had morphed in the minds of the locals to him being the much more exciting character of Jack. A messenger as well, but one who could travel vast distances due to his penchant for refuelling with treacle. The only downfall of this sugary diet was the extreme thirst that it brought on. This would see Jack jump down from the folly and drink from the lake within the grounds. Maybe the final words for this crafty little chap are best summed up in the poem by Charles Causley.
Here comes Jack the Treacle Eater,
Never swifter, never sweeter,
With a peck of messages,
Some long, some shorter,
From my Lord and Master’s quarter
(Built like a minaret)
Somewhere in Somerset.
Jack, how do you make such speed
From banks of Tone to banks of Tweed –
And all the way back?
‘I train on treacle,’ says Jack.
The impressive parkland that surrounds Barwick House swept back upwards towards Yeovil and the final part of the wander. Glimpsing a further folly (The Fish Tower), the open grassland afforded extensive views across the town beneath and invited us to sink back down to the waiting Nine Springs, which makes up part of the Yeovil Country Park.
The overriding feeling on entering here, is that surely this can’t be Yeovil. Stepping into an altogether different and somewhat mystical world, explorers are met with a series of interlocking springs, streams, pools, and pathways that snake their way through the steep-sided woodland. Children’s voices and barking dogs sound distant and not intrusive, with thoughts drawn more to fantasy and fiction, rather than the reality of the busy town centre being a mere stone’s throw away. This is a truly special place. One that offers the calming sound and sight of water alongside a sense that wilderness can still exist in the most unlikely and accessible of places.
As the pathway led to the inevitable conclusion of today’s walk, it felt that I had admirably achieved my aim of reconnecting with a place from my past. Unlocking some of its mystery and history over four peaceful yet intriguing miles. More importantly, it allowed for that sense of being thankful and living in the moment to filter through. Wandering with purpose, but without the need to achieve anything more than seeing where the path took me and not governed by a ticking clock. With the dog towelled off and looking pleased with herself, the only thing now required was a decent pint and a warm fire. The marvellous Helyar Arms in East Coker duly obliged. Cheers.