Hi all, for those of you that receive the Grapevine Sutton Parish magazine, you will have read an abbreviated version of this post, but try and persevere with reading the full version further below. 

The bi-monthly “Grapevine” magazine is a fabulous read in itself and it’s all published by volunteers. It covers Lyme Green, Sutton Lane Ends, and Langley and is primarily delivered directly to local residents’ homes.

There are also digital editions,  shared via the community’s Sutton Parish Facebook Group.

If you need specific back-issues, want to contribute, or need help obtaining a digital copy, you can reach the volunteer editorial and compiling team via email at thegrapevinesllg@gmail.com.

Anyway, find yourself a cushion, lean back, put your feet up and have your favourite tipple or cuppa at hand.

IN THE QUIET LANES

The lane ends where the wild begins, and gravity pulls you down past emerald hedgerows and sleepy pastures, trading concrete rhythm for a quieter pulse of the earth. It’s where a timeless British countryside ramble and every stile and stone tells a quiet story. 

It was a June Sunday morning and time to hit the awakening path and join ‘Rick’s Ramble’. The light of dawn had long cut through  Lyme Green’s community park and beyond to the canal where the elusive kingfisher dined on minnows and water beetles. Dewdrops still clung to wild ferns and ivy as the forever smiling Richard Astley gave about thirty of our bushy eyed group of families and dogs a brief outline of our walk accompanied with the necessary health and safety chat.

It was to be an  informative, casual, ‘circular’ happy trek lasting two to two and a half hours. So off we headed to the canal at Gaw End Lane. There were lots of smiley greetings from passers by who were no doubt wondering what the heck was happening, and were we indeed Latter Day Saints, Jehovah’s Witnesses or the like ‘selling’ the Lord to the Civil Enforcement Officers (Traffic wardens of Macclesfield .) Ps. My car registration is …..

NO51 Fun

From the moment my daughter and her dog Lily arrived in the park, a Robin appeared and sat on the friendship bench. He or she seemed to be listening intently to Rick and stayed with us for all of the walk. If anyone has a theory about why robins do this, then I’d be interested to know. 

Was the robin  part of Rick’s safety net for us to be shadowed by a robin riding shotgun or as a deceased loved angel in disguise? We’ll never know, but it was reassuring to know that the past and present had wrapped us in its wings. 

Our old boots, trainers, and wellies chattered away merrily as we tripped the tow path. The canal itself was quiet and still like a truthful mirror, and a soft light shone on the water, while ducks swam by and made tiny ripples. It was a warm morning, but a cool breeze moved silently through the tall grass and reed flowers to keep us refreshed.  Everything felt slow, peaceful, and fresh, it felt heavenly, and our robin was still watching over us. As we reached Danes Moss, I heard one of the children ahead shout “look mum, a dragonfly”. How lucky we are to have such an iconic lowland raised bog for our children to learn about nature.  As we rambled on we reached the road, and I’ve never known vehicle drivers to be so courteous, smile, and wave as they stopped to let our crocodile get across the A523. Then again this might have been part of Rick’s meticulous planning. 

As we approached Sutton reservoir, the sun broke over the rolling ridge of hills, and Teggs Nose tilted his hat to us, and the dogs ran to dip their paws in the welcoming water.

As we walked out of the reservoir, we crossed the road and into the woods and headed towards Cop Meadow. 

It was the homeward turn, and their were a few relived faces amongst us as the cows that were watching us with heavy indifferent eyes ‘mooed’ out of the way and into the open field. 

As we walked on, it appeared that the trees were whispering, ‘Touch the Wizard, touch the wizard’. The ‘Wizard’, of course , is one of the two tree trunk carvings that our  chain saw master craftsman Glen Uruquart carved. It is alleged that when the metal teeth of Glen’s chain saw cut into the aged heartwood, it struck something harder than heartwood,  and he cut the engine, stepping back as the split bark groaned and peeled away like pages of an ancient book, and out tumbled a purse of pure magic fairy dust embedded in a knot of beech. Glen knew the story, that finding a purse of fairy dust hidden inside the knot of a hollow tree is a classic trope of woodland folklore and magical storytelling, and in fantasy lore, tiny pouches or leather purses of shimmering dust are tucked into tree-knots or root-cellars by the fae to keep magic safe, help trees flourish, or leave surprises for wandering mortals like ourselves. 

So, believe this story or not, please touch the wizard  when you’re passing and see if your wishes do come true. On we walked, and alhough the bluebells had rang their last for 2026, the squirrels chattered with happy mouths full of birdseed left by Joy Ritchie, the birds ate the leftovers and our guardian robin warbled hello to his woodland cousins. 

Rick then led us past the fantastic Sutton General store and the cafe, but he never mentioned buying the ice creams . Anyway, we ended back at the community park, and thanks to Rick, it was a memorable Sunday morning.  “Robin and the rest of us say, “Please, Rick, when is the next ramble?”

That’s all folks, keep smiling  xx