A Curious Cyclist’s Somerset. Hunky Punks and Hidden Histories

The chance viewing of a programme about folklore inspired today’s two-wheeled wander. This particular one was hosted by Charlie Cooper ( He of ‘This Country’ fame), who took a warmly amusing and enthusiastic look into folklore tales from around the country. From the ‘Black Dog’ to crop circles and the legend of King Arthur, the show shed light on some of the stories, mysteries, and legends that have been passed down through history and remain reassuringly alive today.

With my curiosity sparked, I took a look at what folklore exists in my part of the world, in Somerset. Now, with Glastonbury down the road, it is fair to say that I could spend weeks getting my head around all the weird and wonderful things that sit like an aura around the Tor. However, my eyes were drawn more closely to something that I had never heard of before. ‘Hunky Punks’. These little creatures sit on churches, rather like a Gargoyle, but have their own identity and historical nuance. This was something that I felt impelled to seek out.

In fairness, I had been looking to do a blog post by bike, but had struggled to form a plan around how to work it. One of my problems is that, over the years, cycling has always seemed to be attached to a performance-related target for me. I am by no means a talented cyclist; however, the need to challenge myself has led to factors such as distance, time, average speed, and gradient climbed always dictating the narrative. With the realisation that turning fifty will not help to keep pushing these boundaries, a distinct change of perspective is required. Therefore, I made it clear to myself that bicycle wandering must contain the following rules:

1. Time and distance take a backseat.
2. If it’s worth exploration or a photo, then seize the opportunity.
3. Return fulfilled, not exhausted.

A bright and settled morning welcomed me to the road, with a back lane route etched faintly in my mind. Whereas the notion of wandering suggests a certain degree of aimlessness, I would prefer to see it as guided curiosity. Despite it being the summer holidays, the roads were generally quiet, enabling me to shrug off the initial chill and settle into a steady turning of the wheels that felt a little pedestrian but permitted me to look around and let my gaze broaden.

The orchards were looking loaded as I dropped down from Somerton and towards my first stop in the tucked-away village of Low Ham. I know that it’s a bit of a cliché to use the term ‘land that time forgot’, but the essence of this place sums it up perfectly, as well as setting the tone for the majority of the ride. Two places that appear beautifully intertwined made exploring here a must. Firstly, a stop off at ‘Tricky Cider’ allowed me to further my appreciation of traditional Somerset cider making. This place is an absolute gem, summing up perfectly the growing availability of authentically produced cider that can be both bought and consumed at source. The ramshackle nature of the buildings, inside and out, only acts to draw attention to how the product remains the star. There is no need to dress it up beyond that. Indeed, to taste the cider and meet the knowledgeable and eccentric owner, who talks with such passion and enthusiasm for his produce, is a real delight. So early on in my ride, it was really what I needed.

Standing adjacent to the farm, in splendid isolation, is a church that cannot help but induce further inspection. Known simply as ‘Church in the Field’, this building provides a window into the times of the Civil War and unrest that shaped our country over 400 years ago. I am not a particularly religious person, but remain fascinated by the architecture and stories that surround our churches. They quietly exude the history of the frantic world that we now live in, offering a place of serenity and temporary escape. I did not go in, but the key was available from a nearby cottage. Instead, I simply took the opportunity to appreciate the quirky nature of its location. To further add to the magnetism, and with a sense of irony, considering the history of the church, a rocket-launching armoured tank sat right outside. It all felt very ‘Somerset’. Suitably entertained and engaged, I hopped on board and continued on my way.

The route that followed led me through Langport and out onto a section of the Levels. As ever, the wildlife remains the fascination here. Wild flowers continued to offer some colour, although it was clear that they were beginning to wane. The long, hot and rain-free summer saw the area looking parched and somewhat tired. However, the cows still found pastures to chew, and the birds continued to dance merrily above. This place feels special; its beauty may be subtle, but it draws me in, urging exploration. Perhaps its timelessness captivates me, or maybe it’s the awareness of its vulnerability to the elements ahead. By bike, I felt connected to the surroundings, able to gaze above hedgerows and truly absorb the landscape. This is an ideal place to wander, where speed seems to detract from the experience, inviting a slower pace. In fact, it almost appears to discourage it.

My pottering along and daydreaming was abruptly and somewhat rudely shaken by the arrival of a slope. Indeed, when faced with a sign that lets you know the percentage of the gradient, it can act by clicking the brain into a different mindset. Steep hills can provide the cyclist with the ultimate challenge, pitting man and machine against nature’s obstacles. However, on this occasion, I swore, changed gear and set my sights on pedalling to the top. This was not what I had bargained for today. Yes, I had a route in mind, but had probably failed to truly examine the hills along the way. Undeterred and digging in, I wrestled my steed to the top, grabbed a drink and then stopped to look at the map. The tightly knit contour lines of Red Hill offered an explanation as to what I had just mustered, as well as a mental note to not do this one again soon. As I rolled through Curry Rivel and back down into the flatter countryside, thoughts of my goal freshened my spirit, and the wheels turned again.

Continuing the theme of being a little bit lost, my route took me along a labyrinth of lanes toward the village of Isle Abbotts. Proving to be another quintessentially English discovery, it was immediately clear that this hidden backwater is a proudly unspoiled mixture of architecture and community.

Nestled peacefully in a corner plot, the Church of St Mary the Virgin is an impressive landmark. Its Lias construction is also matched by the golden hues of the Ham stone that adorns its decorative but symmetrically proportioned structure. It is one of those places that, at first sight, invites further inspection. Indeed, propping my bike out of view alongside the graveyard, I entered with a sense of anticipation that surprised me. A destination reached and my curiosity intact, it was time to find these little monsters.

My research prior to the wander suggested that there were eight Hunky Punks to see here. The name itself is an amusement, and whereas it might conjure pictures of an impressively handsome headbanger adorned with a colourful mohawk and chains, the reality comes from a dialect more native to Somerset. The term ‘hunkers’ relates to the fact that these statues are on their haunches and hunkered down. With the punk part coming from the word ‘punchy’, which describes a muscular build. In truth, when you see them, it makes sense. A variety of creatures are represented here, and if any doubt requires clarification. That particular character is playing the bagpipes!

The fact that these creatures offer no real purpose other than being decorative helped me to gain just a bit of insight into the people who lived and worked here centuries ago. I think it is so easy to view what went before us in black and white, but these statues add colour to the narrative, along with a sense of humour, tradition and craftsmanship. They assist in humanising the past, bridging the gap to the reality that once existed and that still quietly endures. Modern society creates its traditions, stories, and legacies increasingly through a digital lens, raising the question of whether our creations today will stand the test of time like the ‘Hunky Punks’ I sought out today. Pausing to consider the history witnessed by these little figures, perched stoically in this quiet corner of Somerset, underscored the importance of preserving our heritage and the stories that accompany it. I took my time to explore, read some gravestones, and soak in the solitude that I had been offered. The art of wandering with purpose being further finetuned.

Suitably fulfilled and having accomplished my mission, I checked the map and headed for home. Despite my best endeavours to ride slowly, it became quite obvious that I had gone further than anticipated. Maybe that stemmed predominantly from my desire to look around me and let my thoughts drift. As my legs tired it became strikingly obvious to me that I had failed to add an important fourth rule to ‘bike wandering’.

4. Always find a decent pub pit-stop.

Fortunately for me, I would be passing one of Somerset’s finest. The Halfway House lies between Langport and Somerton. It is as much an institution as it is a hostelry in these parts, so no excuse is ever required to visit here in search of libation. With a pint in hand and a chance to reflect on offer, I considered a wander well done and what direction it might take me next.

Somerset is a county of amazing contrasts. Please take a look at my albums for further inspiration….