Signs of spring as I make my first unaided venture into countryside

GOING to bed one night recently, I set myself a challenge for the next morning — to make my own way out into the countryside to boost my confidence and build up my leg muscles after my nasty injury.

At last glance the clouds are tinged pink. What does that portend?

The next day it is nearly midday and I’m in Prospect Street, Caversham, as my bus arrives on time, the number 25 to take me out to Peppard Hill.

I’m intending to walk around one of the upper sections of Peppard Common on my own.

The bus is packed but I find somewhere to sit courtesy of fellow travellers who direct me to a bench seat. I’m not the only passenger wielding a walking stick. Mine, with its integral seat, seems to hold a degree of fascination.

When we get to the mildly remote stop by Reading Abbey Rugby Club an elderly couple disembark. Where are they going, I think, as we are in the middle of nowhere and the next game against Crowthorne is not for three days hence?

We roll on past open, green fields, well-groomed hedgerows and common lime trees tight to the roadside, the tree’s branches kept in check and trimmed by passing traffic.

Corsican pines delineate field boundaries in the near distance, horses graze, maybe daydreaming of buttercups and daisies to come in spring.

The bus veers left into Kennylands Road to reveal my first surprise of the day. Houses, houses and more new houses where once was open land. They look almost identikit and expensive.

Sonning Common is getting larger by the minute and I dread will become a suburb of Reading.

We arrive in the centre of the village, Wood Lane to be exact. The bus disgorges most of its occupants who have been shopping in Reading.

We then move on along a sometimes rattling ride, a few of us remaining on board.

A few minutes later we reach the terminus. I step down, take a gander about and can’t make my mind up what to do first.

Temptation gets the better of me. As if on automatic pilot, I drag myself into the warm embrace of the Unicorn. Nice. As I sit down and look outside via a sash window, I recognise that the pub is situated on a fascinating crossroads, the only starfish arrangement that I know of.

In addition, wherever I look, they are all obviously ancient tracks — Wyfold Lane, Stoke Row Road, Colmore Lane, Collier’s Lane and the un-named way back towards Sonning Common and home.

I drink a pint of Brakspear’s ordinary bitter, now rebranded as “Gravity”. Alas, it is the only real beer on tap but well kept.

After drinking up, I leave the pub but will return for a light lunch after my explorations.

After stepping outside, I turn left to walk along Collier’s Lane. There are some large, impressive properties here.

Clumps of snowdrops and trailing greater periwinkle, pure white and violet-purple, are in flower at the roadsides.

Like many an old thoroughfare, Collier’s Lane has its ups and downs and twists and turns as it passes Littlebottom Wood and an ancient chalk pit before rising eventually to the Red Lion at Rotherfield Peppard by the busy B481 to Nettlebed.

A couple of hundred yards in, I take a little-used, ivy-disguised narrow public footpath up some steps on my right that leads south-east on to the southern section of Peppard Common.

Passing two ancient cottages. I’m reminded of days long gone and a rewarding afternoon tea in the back garden of one that was owned by a family friend. As my mind drifts further back, I remember coming here for my first picnic with my parents when I was a four-year old and had just begun primary school.

My memories are still vivid — of gorse, heather, bullfinches, linnets, the dreamy cadences of warblers and, of course, lemonade and sandwiches aplenty.

In some respects not much has changed, although at my last visit youngish oak trees were spreading across the old tobogganing slope into Stony Bottom with its chalky, clay-stained, prominent roots.

The constricted alley opens up into a gravelly driveway. As I stop to scrutinise the vegetation, I’m pleased to see a quantity of pendulous sedge and primroses.

A suspicious woman standing at her five-bar gate asks me what I am doing. I explain that I’m not casing the joint and giggle inside as I move on. Some chickens are clucking away over a tall hedge.

As I continue along the rough driveway, there are large gardens to my right, one with an enormous cedar, and woodland to my left.

Among the dominant young oaks are some large holly trees bearing many shining red berries.

Peering further inside the dense mass of stubborn, woody vegetation, I see some beech, ash, hawthorn, cherry and wild privet.

This land has been progressively turning into a nascent forest for quite a long while. It is developing at nature’s pace, gradually and with a subtle serenity.

I stop for a moment to take in my surroundings and listen. I’m arrested by the repetitive drumming of a greater-spotted woodpecker somewhere not too far off.

There’s an abundance of new and abandoned nesting sites here as the bird selects the most resounding trunk to drum like a rock star missing his or her timpani.

There is much more to hear from the birds. Great tits ‘teacher teacher’ in the background and blackbirds go for it, full throttle.

The air out here is full of the scent of decay but also renewal. I cannot quite describe it but it is like an all-pervasive message that says nature will carry on regardless.

The dense tree canopy winds its way downhill, then up once more over a brief expanse of grassland which by summer will be covered by a wide variety of chalkland plants that thrive on thin soil.

Common knapweed will emerge in abundance. In summer the flowers are visited by butterflies and in autumn, the seeds are a magnet for goldfinches.

I must return to report through the seasons as this common is a veritable jewel.

I intend to head south-east and then switch left along a semi-distinct path to find myself in open ground.

Within a broad expanse, the cricket green is as it should be — a classic, tightly-mown circle. I sit down for a while on a substantial wooden bench for a timely break.

Wood pigeons fly north with vigour, arguing crows flap aimlessly and red kites soar effortlessly.

I walk back towards the main road. Old Cottage stands out with its traditional, Chiltern brick and flint construction. It is pretty.

Outside Peppard House, an imposing structure, camelias are in flower, petals as red as thinned blood.

On my way for lunch and back to the bus terminus I stick tight to the side of the road facing any oncoming traffic.

A few delivery vans pass as I note some of the first flowers of the year — the sulphury inflorescences of lesser celandine and the emergent blooms of cultivated daffodil and crocuses. It’ll be a spring marvel very soon.

I enter the pub again for a bite and another brew. I choose sea trout, having always been fond of fish, and it is fine.

Back on the bus, I take a seat and we glide mostly downhill into Caversham, where I ring the bell and step out to walk the rest of the way to Mum’s house.

At £4 return, the fare is a bargain but then, roll on my bus pass.

I feel more confident now walking on my own but prefer not to. Today I’d swear I was not alone.

vincent.ruane@hotmail.com