4th November 2010 Willington

2010-11-04 @ 07:08:25 by ashtonboatman


Willington

I pushed my laden bicycle through the wasteland woods. Near the lake was a large clearing, grass shorn a lawn like sward by the constant action of rabbits teeth. Here and there were the ashen remnants of big bonfires, the many hewn and mutilated trees indicating the source of fuel. The trees were largely silver birch, hawthorn, poplar and willow, with a smattering of oak. Though most of the damage to trees was done by axe, clearly some of the vandals had been armed with a chain saw as several trees, including a substantial oak, had been cleanly reduced to stumps.

I picked a camping spot, next to a bushy hawthorn near the lake, but, still lacking provisions and water, I decided to go and explore the village. I carried my possessions through soft and mossy woods and hid them behind a tree beside the railway, then mounted my 'bike again and rode back along the towpath into Willington.

My first pre-occupation was still water. On my way from the Trent bridge I had passed a church. Churches often have taps to assist people leaving flowers on graves, but this one had only a rainwater butt. Returning to the village centre, I decided to buy food before the shops shut. In the shop I took out my camera battery to see if, in addition to bread and vegetables, they could supply one of these. As anticipated, the request was met with a shake of the head, but this was backed up with directions to an ironmongers that might be able to help.

I cycled quickly along a street of 1960s suburbia to find a row of shops, of similar vintage, amazingly all active. I locked my bike in front of the ironmongers and went in. The place was piled high with all kinds of tools and household items, many in display boxes that were fading from long exposure. Knowing something of the economics of running a humble charity shop, I wonder how such places survive in the face of competition from out of town superstores.

An elderly gentleman appeared from the back of the shop and I showed him the unusual battery. He took the battery, turned to a rack of different kinds of battery, picked one out and handed it to me. With the exchange of a few coins the transaction was completed and my problem solved.

Up to now I had avoided asking a shopkeeper for water to avoid them embarrassment. I was aware that, after just one night in the open, I would be unkempt and therefore rousing their suspicions. A request for water would mean that they would have to either leave me unsupervised in the shop or think of an excuse to refuse my request. However, I had the feeling that I was trusted in this shop. My request for water was accepted like it was a daily occurrence, and I left with two of my problems solved.

Back at my campsite I extracted my belongings from their hidey hole and busied myself unpacking and setting up my shelter. Once I was satisfied with this I went gathering dead wood (no need to cut down live trees), then, with paper and dry sticks to kindle it, I lit a fire and began cooking.

With only one pan my culinary style was rather cramped, but I was soon reclining beside the lake and eating a kind of sausage and vegetable stew that was very satisfying. As I ate, the kettle heated on my little fire to provide me with a nice cup of Earl Grey tea. I sat to drink this on the bank of the lake and enjoyed watching the ducks and moorhens, busy on the water. Every now and then a train rattled by to punctuate the ornithological activity.

My phone was down to a single bar of battery power. I needed access to mains power to recharge it, but the only way I could think of, despite my dismal experience the previous night, was to visit a pub. I Sorted out my most valuable things to take with me and pedalled back along the towpath into Willington. There were several hostelries to choose from. I went into one by the crossroads and sat watching an American police thriller on TV. It was one of those complicated ones where some of the cops are crooks, some of the crooks are cops and a lot of bullets get fired.

I was quite tired and I enjoyed my pint and the film, though it was not one that I would choose to watch. I lost myself it the tortuous plot. A slim young couple came in to play pool and chatter lightheartedly. It was like some strange ballet as they paraded round the table, eyed up their shots, aimed their cues, all the while chattering and laughing.

When my glass was empty and my 'phone charged I returned to the street, unlocked my bike and rode back 'home' to the lakeside. Dusk was now gathering. The lights were on in the trains as they rattled by. Still the waterfowl were active on the water. I climbed into my sleeping bag and lay on my side watching the restless birds and the passing trains until I fell asleep.