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through the door


us back through history, having been trod by our land’s earliest inhabitants and that continue to be trodden today. To walk an ancient bridleway is to walk a real link in our history.


The Dorset farmer had been pleasant, though a little guarded, she’d directed us to the footpath, passed the stand of trees, that might or might not have been horse chestnuts, and onto the farmland proper and we thanked her. She’d said it was no trouble, that the footpath was there for all, adding, after a pause, that really she didn’t mind walkers,


L 33ife


so long as they didn’t trample through crops, closed gates behind themselves and didn’t let their dogs roam off the leads, especially in pasture where livestock might soon be grazing. But she would welcome signs, especially if they meant she’d no longer look up from her washing up to find total strangers ambling around her rose bed or peering into her farm buildings.


You may be wondering what the point of this piece is? Well - as with the best rambles - there really isn’t one, but I hope you enjoyed the scenery anyway.


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