The Thirty-nine Million Steps by Jonathan Richards

Author:Jonathan Richards
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brown Dog Books

Appleby. At Britain’s bullseye?

I could not recall ever having been to Appleby in Westmorland before – perhaps as a child, but it struck me as the sort of place I should revisit. Whether or not it was true, it seemed to be the first place of any size that I had come to without previous memory of having been there at some other time in my life. I knew I had never been to John o’ Groats, nor anywhere further north than Inverness, but here, too, I got a strong sense of stepping into the unknown – and my level of excitement rose another notch.

My level of sleepiness also rose when, having decided to picnic by the river, I stretched out on the warm grass, loosened my boots and closed my eyes.

I woke around three and, for the rest of the afternoon, strolled north-westwards along the gentle lanes of Eden Vale through a number of farming villages with names like Long Marton, Blencarn and Skirwith, coming at sunset to Ousby, which had the double appeal of having a campsite and a pub. Furthermore, its position at the foot of the fells was perfect for what I had in mind for the following day.

Doubtless having somehow got wind of my imminent arrival, the management of the pub had kindly arranged for a large-scale map of the area to be glazed and mounted on the wall. I studied the paths and fixed on the idea of climbing Melmerby Fell to join the course of Maiden Way somewhere on Alston Moor. The map confirming what I had been told earlier, as it looked feasible to follow the Roman road all the way to Hadrian’s Wall about twenty-five miles to the north. That was the plan anyway.

It was a beautifully clear morning and I made good progress up a couple of rising farm tracks. I paused to look back across the fields to the west. In the distance, I could easily see the Cumbrian Mountains and was busy identifying the Langdale Pikes when a very large hare popped out of the grass below me. I stood very still as he paused to assess the danger. He did not strike me as being a particularly intelligent hare, for he made his escape by bolting towards me and uphill, passing almost within bagging distance. What he lacked in sense, he certainly made up for in speed, for he climbed the steep bank above the path at a pace which was astonishing... even fabulous.

On the boggy fell top, I could not, for the life of me, find any Roman road. This surprised me, because I must have actually crossed its path at some point. There were several tracks, mostly which appeared to have been made by a caterpillar-tracked agricultural vehicle, but no sign of a paved ancient highway. Perhaps it was naïve of me not to realise that the same stones now, more than likely, make walls and support farm buildings in the area. Even so, I was vexed that this maiden had given me the slip.

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