Filled up by my full English breakfast I left the streets and cute shops of Hay behind, crossing the River Wye a final time. Recent rains had swollen the river, standing waves swamped bankside trees. As I walked by a glamping site, a man suggested a swim, in jest I hope. Leaving the river behind it was a walk over grass fields, some with sheep and their suckling lambs, quiet roads lined with cow parsley and pink campion, and a path bordered each side by hedges, eventually reaching Newchurch. In the church there were the ingredients to make a cup of tea or coffee, for which a donation to church funds was requested. I helped myself to tea and biscuits with three others also hiking Offa's Dyke Path. We shared regrets about the weather. Showers periodically swept across the landscape beneath a sky which promised more to come. I was sad they were not seeing the borders in better weather.
The scenic highlight was Hergest Ridge (the name of Mike Oldfield's second album, but in my head I was playing "Tubular Bells", his first, an unexpected "hit" which in my university days was frequently heard from the windows of student accommodation). Even in today's poor weather conditions the vista was impressive with shapely hills one side and distant fields in another, the yellow rape fields adding colour highlights. Curiously at the top there was a collection of monkey puzzles trees, out of place among the surrounding moorland of cut bracken and gorse.
On the way down from the ridge, I noticed signs for a tea room, part of Hergest Croft Gardens. I rarely miss an opportunity for a cup of tea or coffee and a slice of cake, so I enjoyed some Victoria sponge before continuing. The gardens looked attractive, bright green trees, pink flowering shrubs, but I left them for another time.
I am now pitched at Fleece Meadows campsite, conveniently located near the centre of Kington and hooray, the sun has broken through! The town itself has a high street of small shops, pubs and a red brick clock tower. A number of shops were permanently shut and the external paint of some pubs was faded and flaking, as if the town flourished some time ago, but that time had now passed. Only the chemist had much custom, a place which greatly assisted me on my first trek on Offa's Dyke, selling me a cream which cured my painfully chafed thighs. They were so bad I was walking like John Wayne!
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