Much Mooching in the Malvern Hills

The Malvern Hills had been on my List of Things To Do for a couple of years. It’s a long way from Pietowers, so a couple of days at least was required.
Dawn appeared at Durham Train Station and we slipped off down the A1 to the Travelodge at Hartlebury, which is tolerably close to the Malvern Hills, but inconveniently on the wrong side of Worcester. On the upside, there was a kettle, it was warm and dry, and it wasn’t all than much more expensive than camping. And there was less of that mud stuff and trekking to the toilets…. 
We did two walks.

Firstly, we parked prettily for four quid (four quid?) at the foot of the ridge leading to Worcester Beacon. This is the Malverns highest hill at 425 metres, but looks higher.  The sun came out and, if you sat in the sun, out of the wind, you could have been forgiven for thinking that it was mid March. Which it was. LTD in particular enjoyed the sunbathing whilst I scoffed a squishy banana.
We progressed Northwards over Sugar Loaf and North Hill, returning almost to the car park via paths which contoured around the hills we’d just climbed. The Malverns have lots of these and they’re outrageously enjoyable and easy to walk on.

So, we passed the knipemobile, which was still there, lights off, wheels still on, and wandered Southwards, pretty much as far as we could go and stay on the ridge. And so, we bagged Perseverance Hill, Jubilee Hill, Pinnacle Hill and Black Hill and returned to the car on one of those lovely contouring paths that they have wot I’ve already mentioned.

On the Wednesday, we went to the car park at the foot of British Camp. Here, we paid yet another four quid (four quid?) (again?), had a very nice bacon roll at the cafe there and set off over Herefordshire Beacon (which has the British Camp on it) ( One of the supposed scenes of Caractacus’s last stand before he escaped to County Durham/North Yorks to Cartamandua, Queen of the Brigantes dontcha know, who betrayed him to the Romans, leading to a revolt by her husband/brother Venutius and ultimately the conquest of Hen Ogledd aka Northern England and the Borders, so, a right old bugger-up in other words)  I did notice that several trees, including one senior hawthorn had a beautiful crown of mistletoe. The mystical relevance of this, specially so adjacent to several iron-age fortresses should not go unmentioned, which is why I mentioned it. I should also mention the oaks, ashes, hollies and so on…. AND I should mention that three of the four local hill-forts have evidence of a violent and burning end to their existence, but not, apparently, the British Camp, which seems to have just been abandoned, maybe because Caractacus had buggerred-off to Yorkshire, right up the A1(M). There is scant historical evidence that he and his peripatetic war-band purchased  bacon rolls at the services at the far end of the M18, although we did, and they were quite nice. And, historically, if any bacon rolls were purchased, this is the most likely spot. It’s also where the locals a start calling you “Luv”.

So, we wandered down the ridge, bagging Swinyard Hill, Midsummer Hill and Ragged Stone Hill, returning via bridleways and contouring paths (Have I mentioned these before?) back to the knipemobile which was exactly where I left it save for a very small amount of continental drift and a huge but indistinguishable shift in position in the Universe and Everything.

I liked the Malverns – lots of contours in a short distance, and extensive views both East and West. There’s clearly a lot of pedestrian pressure and the footpaths are hardened in many places, and there’s lots of them. And there’s lots and lots of people about. You need to have a wee before you set off. Just a tip there for you…. 
And we managed somehow to have two consecutive dry days in between some horrendous driving in heavy rain and spray for hours and hours of motorways.