King Arthur Day 4

Another settled nights sleep, the weather helping to warm my aching bones through the night as rest allowed some reinvigoration of a tiering body.

I had slept well and the day already was warm, I was aware that my forearms were now burnt, the new tattoo I had completed back in the December the year before was reacting badly to the sun and seemed to burn even more so that anywhere else, I had stupidly forgotten my sunglasses as well which would of made a huge difference, I don’t think in all the times I had been out and about that I had experienced heat to this degree on consecutive days running,.

I carried out my usual routine, unpack the tent, drape tent over nearby hanging object, make food, pack bags, pack tent and off I go. This cycling lark was easy compared to running or walking, the tent could easily be stuffed on the open panier rack to dry in the breeze and sun thus saving time and not having to roll it up into a tiny item. You ever think that a tent is a bit like a block of butter, it never quite fits the packaging once opened.

Fueled with porridge and tea I set off around 7am today I was quite aware that my legs were stronger than I had thought, having covered some 100 odd miles already I knew todays journey would see me top 60 plus with 2 stops before finally arriving at home.

I pulled out of Cranberry Moss and headed for the roads and villages around the back of the main road, apart from the houses there was little else to say anyone lived here, not a car or a person was passed for some time and I often wonder if people in these little Hamlets live the lives of almost hermits and kept to themselves.

The lanes twisted with various wildlife and farm animals keeping me company in the void of human beings, it could almost be a pleasant view of a post human world, animals, nature and life itself just carries on being.

I began heading back towards Shrewsbury, being early afforded me again that luxury of time to meander and enjoy the journey plus the allure of breakfast was to strong a one to miss.

There was nothing exciting for the first part of journey this morning a gentle ride down into the small hamlet of Wilcott where a motte and bailey castle once stood looking over the Shropshire plains before arriving into Shrewsbury around 30 minutes later, I stopped at the first place I saw as open, the Loopy Shrew and a bacon sandwich, tea and the best hashbrowns ever, I sat in the sun and watched the day slowly roll into being, people busied themselves and hurried along.

Filled with breakfast fuel, I set off taking the streets out of Shrewsbury passing by the new, the old and Lords Hill tower, started in 1814 and commemorating General Hill who by all accounts was quit the soldier during the Napoleonic wars.

I was soon passing into the little village of Atcham and the rather grand bridge of Attingham Park before arriving at our first destination of Wroxceter.

I was to early for its opening and so I was forced to observe from the road way, still I was here last year and got to have a good look around and explore the vast and impressive remains of the once grand and important town.

Every one likes to link Arthur to Camelot, the fabled city of righteousness and glory, home to the greatest king and his knights, but in truth the name Camelot was an invention by the French poet Chrétien de Troyes and was then copied and copied by subsequent telling’s, writing so far past the time of Arthur, the true name had been forgotten. Post Roman Britain was split into 6 kingdoms with Nennius, the 8th century monk claiming that Arthur was the leader of these alliances.

One of the oldest surviving reference to Arthur is the Song of Llywarch the Old in which the poet tells the tale of a descendant of Arthur having died in glorious battle and this relative ruled over the capital of Powys in the Dark ages, which was non other than the old Roman city of Viroconium and interestingly this city, now named Wroxceter remained walled and well fortified well into the century, with recent archeological digs noting major rebuilding work having taken place around AD500.

With stories placing Arthur has ruling the most important British city around AD500 and Viroconium being the most important British city, it fair to assume that this could indeed be Arthurs home city.

From here we potter along the quiet lanes and byways of the Shropshire countryside, I was passing the lower slopes of the Wrekin, a hill I had frequented quite a few times in the past, its looming shape commanding the landscape all around it, atop sits the formidable hill fort, despite its formidable size and defenses it was taken easily by the invading Romans and its inhabitants moved down in the lower valleys and Wroxceter.

I’m soon passing into the realms of the modern world again, Telfords built up areas seem to surround me as I meander through streets and industrial estate, I pass through villages and take time to grab a cold energy drink and an Ice cream, sitting under the fine and grand branches of an old sycamore tree in church yard.

I head around some industrial estate and noticed that I had at some time picked up a passenger, a rather lovely looking caterpillar we chatted fore a time it was more a one way conversation on my part and I dropped him off in a lovely Oak hedgerow before finding a very rare Bridleway behind a large industrial park, the welcome break from the traffic and noise straight into a very underuse piece of greenway.

Little towns came and went and all to soon I was coming to my final destination and the ending to an epic tale spanning centuries.

White Ladies Priory sits outside of Telford near to the famous Boscobel House, its generally accepted it was constructed or consecrated around the 12th Century although it exact dates cannot be confirmed and some believe it is much older and existed as a place of religion long before the Normans invaded.

At the fateful last battle of Arthur and subsequent his death, Guinevere left perhaps for safety perhaps knowing that the great kingdom had come to an end, made her way to White ladies Priory with fabled sword and took to life as a poor nun, hiding away from the world and everything she had once known. The priory today sits as nothing but a ruin, nestled in the middle of a quite and sedate woodland, it offers a place of reflection and contemplation, a time away from the bustling world, almost creating a bubble from the modern world.

My journey has taken me through thousands of years of rich British and Welsh history, from the oldest standing stones of ancient peoples to the more modern ruins of chapels and castles now just reminders of times past.

I’ve always loved the story of Arthur and with each myth told stems from a grain of truth, perhaps one day something tangible will be found to tell us here is Arthur, King of the Britons.