23 July 2016 - Littleover Farm, Sutton Bonington, near Loughborough

Travelling as a tourist is quite exhausting, especially when you are no longer thirty or less, even more so when you are twice that. So it was with some relief that Chris expressed a desire to watch the final mountain stage of the Tour de France on the television. 

The day dawned sunny and clear, our new neighbours soon arranging their paunches and appendages on outdoor furniture outside their awnings. We elected to head off to nearby Kegworth to buy fresh bread and the weekend newspaper from the Co-op store, then to park near the Flood Lock and set off on foot along the banks of the River Soar. 

There were perhaps a dozen narrow boats tied up along the river, fishing lines hung into the dark murky waters, unappealing for anything but motoring upon. Our path took us through several small herds of cattle, so docile, even those with calves, who were not bothered to step aside for us. Alas, they favoured the shade around gateways, routes we needed to pass, so we edged carefully around them, minding their rear legs while murmuring endearments.

Several narrow-boats and motor launches passed us, returning our greetings. On such a glorious morning, how could anyone do anything but exchange such bonhomie.

Narrow Boats on the River Soar

We paused to pass the time of day with a couple relaxing on their little deck with cups of coffee. They are currently living on their narrow-boat, and living the gypsy life as we are, although not rushing from one attraction to another as we seem to be. We discussed the fixed costs of such a lifestyle, theirs that is, the acquisition of diesel, and the fundamentals of canal life. Mrs Narrow-boat looked like a classic gypsy, her hair dyed jet black, her face heavily made up, her eyes darkened with kohl and her body so slim we wondered at her longevity. Her husband, or lover, whichever he might be, was more au naturel, and might have felt right at home with the bare chested sun seekers here in our camp. 

We continued on along the river until we were almost beyond the towers of the power station, not quite reaching the village of Ratcliffe on Soar, then turned and walked back along the stop-bank, passing through a field of mown hay currently being tedded for even drying, another field of maize still growing to its optimal height, alongside fields of wheat nearly ready for harvesting, and between hedgerows of Hawthorne and nettles; always the nettles. We emerged onto the streets of Kegworth and walked back toward the river, to the car and home just in time for an excellent lunch of French bread and some of that excellent cheese picked up in the Birmingham market.

We have learned a little more about the power station at Ratcliffe on Soar:

It was commissioned in 1968 and has a capacity of 2,116 MW which is enough electricity to meet the needs of approximately 2.02 million homes. The plant emits some- 10 million tonnes of CO2 annually making it the 18^th highest CO2 emitting power station in Europe. Some 48 Million cubic meters of cooling water is taken from the River Trent. Evaporation losses through the eight cooling towers account for some 11 million cubic metres of that water. It certainly dominates the landscape from the river side where we turned to head homeward.

After we had ascertained that there had been no accidents on the greasy descent of the last leg of The Tour, I suggested we explore the village we are currently residing in. Chris was not averse to the idea, although he might have been if I had detailed the full itinerary.

Just opposite the entry to our “farm” camp and along the street a little lays St Michael’s Church. Historical records first mention this in 1220 as a “chapel-of-ease” of the mother church at Kegworth. By 1260 Bonington was a parish in its own right. The earliest parts of the church were built in the Early English period, 1190 – 1250, but like most ancient buildings there have been alterations and additions over the years. 

We wandered in and about the interior, certainly appreciating the peace if not the dimness, and marvelled that even little villages have supported such structures through the centuries.

Village Cattle

From here we wandered further down the Main Street, past the pub already busy with Saturday evening patrons, along to the General Store for future reference then down onto the playing fields that suggested access to the river. We were not disappointed, skirting around the more manicured soccer fields then down over the meadows now left to nature until long enough for hay and tired enough to have dropped all their seeds. The Sutton Bonington Spinney & Meadows Nature Reserve comprises some 3,000 square metres and was first planted in 1981 and extended in 1997. It runs down to the River Soar, with a low concrete dyke between the narrow river path and the reserve behind.

We arrived at the river’s edge to find ourselves in company; a lone fisherman well equipped with paraphernalia for a long stint had settled on the edge to our right, and to our left, partly obscured, was small group of young people who would have been happier without the presence of two old fogies. 

We stood for a wee while surveying the scene, a narrow-boat on the river, the hay bales lying in the field across the river, swallows swooping about; a peaceful spot despite the laughter of the youth further up the bank. We left them all to it and retraced our steps across the fields, back past the cattle grazing in a nearby wooded field, and the Hall which seemed to be readying itself for a Saturday celebration, perhaps a wedding reception,  then back to our dinner preparation and a bottle of red, after agreeing that Sutton Bonington was indeed a delightfully attractive village.