A night on a haunted hill.

It wasn’t that long ago that myself and Mrs. Beard set off for my birthday walk up Bredon hill and I remember speaking about wanting to spend a night atop its mysterious mound.

So with a little outing to Tewkesbury planned for the following week, I took the opportunity for a walk and cheeky wild camp at the same time.

Friday morning dawned and after a short day exploring Tewkesbury town with its many grade 2 listed buildings and numerous alleyways dotting the main high street, there is more than enough for the day tripper to see and do.

I popped into Tewkesbury Abbey during my day visit walking around the 11th Century building was amazing enough and then you enter through the large old and wooden doors and step inside an amazing open place, anywhere else and this would of been a cathedral.

The building was founded around 1092 and built with stone quarried in France, the high vaulted ceilings give this sanctuary a definite sense of importance. It hasn’t always been a place of sanctuary and peace though, during the war of the Roses some of the defeated Royalists took refugee inside, the Yorkist celebrating their victory hunted them down, broke inside and it is said the ensuing bloodshed closed the Abbey for a month before it could be cleaned and purified again.

As you wander around the inside, there is numerous burials within of the once many monks and other notable people of the time, one monument seems to be a little gruesome for such a place. The cadaver monument is dedicated to Abbot Wakeman who was buried elsewhere. The Monument has what appears to be the emaciated corpse of the Abbot and if you look closely enough you can find little bugs and even a rat scurrying across its Stoney surface.

Friday morning dawned and with only around 15 miles ahead of me I was afforded the luxury of having a longer sleep in, with a fresh brew inside me I headed off to catch the bus into the town Centre, with a brief wander and look at the outside of the Abbey with a slight covering of frost and off I set in the direction of the battlefield site.

A handy sign post pointed the way to the battlefield walk, I wanted to head to 2 separate areas I had seen on OS maps a rather ominously named Bloody Meadow and the more simple Margaret’s camp . After a simple wander along a quiet road i took a left and was soon wandering along a serene and quiet stretch of land. It was here in 1471 that the Royalist and Yorkist met to decide the fate of who ruled England, with the Yorkist defeated they were retreating along what is known as Bloody Meadow and hemmed in by Rivers on both sides, they were cut down by the Royalist resulting in some 2000 deaths and the death of the Prince of Wales.

I wandered on, the quiet meadow hides its rater nasty past and onto the Margaret’s camp a moated site just on the outskirts of Tewkesbury and thought to take its name from the camp set up by the Yorkist the night before the battle.

With my thirst for history satisfied for a short time I set off back towards the town again before stopping for light breakfast and then onwards to start my actual walk.

I had pre-planned a rough route out of town and towards Bredon hill, I hopped onto what was once a railway that connected Malvern and Birmingham but was closed in 1952, a short stroll along this mainly concrete path before I was now having to double back almost to join a path which clung close to the side of human habitation.

The path felt a little odd, initially making its way out and onto fields and open park lands, it soon seemed to vanish into a rough bog area next to a small brook and hemmed in on one side by a large industrial estate. I followed it along, in summer I imagine that I would be quite difficult to traverse with reeds higher than your head and thorns sticking out to capture you along the way.

It seemed at odds at times, as one side opened onto fields and open lands whilst busy traffic appeared at intervals to my right, I was soon coming upon the large and noisy M5 and with a quick wander along the bridge heading over the M5 I was soon on the other side and walking through more open farm land and onto the little hamlet of Kinsham, once I had entered the start of the village I was taken by fact that I was walking through peoples gardens and had to take a minute and make sure that I was actually still on the path.

I was getting a little hungry now and with only about 30minutes until lunch time, I walked through Kemerton lakes and headed to a bird hide to take a seat and watch the world go by. I was able to see from my vantage point that the water here was exceptionally clean and contained fresh water mussels which was a surprise in its self. A nearby notice board stated that the land here was once inhabited by Iron age tribes and its current iteration was much as it would of been during the last ice age.

Onwards we marched heading for Kemerton village where the promise of a coffee shop spurred me on, I wandered the road for a short time until the village was upon me and I stopped off for a quick tea and cake before beginning my ascent of Bredon hill, I headed for Bell’s Castle which stood atop the road overlooking Kermerton it self, resplendent with mock battlements and large stone butresses.

It is said that around 1815 a man name Edmund Bell purchased workers cottages and then built this huge mock castle, his fortune coming from his work as a pirate for the British crown during the Napoleonic civil war, he would smuggle his ill gotten gains from the River Avon by boat and and store them in his cellar. Nice tale but very little truth to it, in fact other than the name no Edmund Bell seems to have existed at all, no ship captains records, no maritime records, no news paper articles or even any prison or court reports on his subsequent arrest for treason and hanging in the 1840s. Personally I think it was nothing but a tale told by Edmund himself to keep people away from the house.

The hill was still busy and as I neared the top, a cyclist had already completed his 4th ascent and decent , dog walkers passed me by and I wandered around the hill seeking a place hide my tent, I wandered into a quarry and the story of Harry Dean came to mind, in 1939 Harry was working in Tewkesbury as a solicitors clerk when, at the end of his day he up and left catching a bus for Bredon hill, he then vanished and was found after a search 24hrs later dead in a quarry on Bredon. The manner of his death still continues to cause some speculation, you see Harry was found having fallen and his tie had strangled him. People have said it was witch craft or spirits that killed him, the judge ruled his knee had given way from damaged cartilage and he had fallen in such a position as to have self strangulated.

Another notable death came in the same year when a Joseph Charles Ricketts was found dead in bushes on Bredon Hill, he had taken a shotgun from home and took his own life, family stated he was in good spirits that day, a note found on his body said he was sorry and couldn’t find work.

With these tales in mind I set off for Parsons folly and took a seat for a short time and watched the various walkers go by before taking off across the ditches and headed into the outer ditch and decided on a pitch for the night, I waited until the sun was starting to go down, it was now cold and as soon as my pitch was set up I crawled inside to get warm but struggled to get any warmth.

I climbed out of my tent a few hours later and noted how the mist had suddenly descended and seemed to be creeping up on me from either side, I quickly headed back inside to the relative warmth and a restless night.

I woke at 4.30am and decided get going early and head into Pershore for the 7.45am train home, leaving the hill I set my torch to red light to help disguise my movements a little better and made a very slow descent eventually through the little village of Great Comberton I passed and marched along the main road and eventually into Pershore itself.