Borderlands, wolves and a green man.

When I think of Shropshire it's usually in terms of the area around Ludlow and the Malverns, those beautiful "blue, remembered hills" made famous in Housman’s poem cycle to a doomed English countryside, A Shropshire Lad. On a recent visit however the destination was further west, the borderland where England and Wales meet, merge and overlap.

Just getting there felt like an achievement. The last 5 miles from Bishop's Castle being a twisting single track road with high hedgerows and just a couple of passing places. The final half mile did straighten out but only because it was along a valley side with a 200 foot drop to one side. The final path down to the holiday cottage was about 1 in 5 with a hairpin bend thrown in. This was always going to be a holiday destination with a difference; remote, no TV and no mobile signal but, above all, chosen because it was in a wolf sanctuary!

It seems that we either love wolves or hate them. Those who hate them see wolves as vicious, dangerous and threatening. Those who love them perceive them as beautiful, intelligent, brave, co-operative – and free. No prizes for guessing which side I’m on and, if you’ve never come face to face with a wolf nor woken to their eerie howl at dawn, I recommend you put it on the “to do” list. Anyway, meet Kgosi.

Being dry, sunny and warm there was also a new landscape to explore. Rolling hills, forests, and lush valleys to get lost in; and, as neither I nor my best-est buddy can claim to be good navigators, there was some trespass involved. (Or our right to roam as we call it...but only because some misguided landowner had put up ‘Private’ signs where he shouldn’t.)  Limbs were stretched, muscles exercised and expletives uttered; especially when aforesaid buddy revealed that one walk was not 6 miles ....”ah, no, sorry, it says 8 miles over here... I didn’t see that”

Animals seen, not counting the wolves, were three red deer, two fallow deer, a hare, a grass snake, numerous buzzards, tawny owl (heard), yellow wagtails, nuthatch, yellowhammers, chiffchaffs, and numerous butterflies including the very rare wood white, oh and about a million sheep and lambs.



Purely by chance the village of Clun was holding its Green Man festival on our last full day in Shropshire. The Green Man tradition is one of our oldest surviving pagan customs. This is despite attempts to usurp it by sundry loons who think that having seen a Hobbit film, being able to find Glastonbury on a map and having a tattoo makes them pagans. Here were thousands of ordinary locals and visitors celebrating May Day and the arrival of summer. (OK there were a few loons...including one middle aged lady loon who had false Hobbit ears..honestly!)

In Clun May Day is marked by the Green Man entering the village and having to defeat the Ice Queen in a battle on the medieval bridge. No prizes for guessing who wins and the victory is marked by much dancing in the streets, drinking, eating and generally having a good time in the grounds of the ruined castle.

It was a great ending to a really enjoyable, and very different, few days.