‘I’ve found the perfect walk for us,’ Celia said. ‘It’s a village circular. And it’s only three miles long. I’ve downloaded the relevant section of the ordnance survey map from the internet. We’ll be fine so long as we stick to the instructions in the guide. If you can read out the guide notes, I’ll follow them on the map. What can possibly go wrong?’
This new venture was Celia’s idea. She’d recently read an article in the newspaper which claimed that being organized, active and helpful not only made you a better person, but it also helped you to live longer.
Monica was sceptical about the theory.
‘How could it work?” she said. ‘Surely, physical health is more important. I wonder how much research they did.’
‘That’s such a typical response from someone of your disposition,’ said Celia.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Monica.
‘Well, you know: moody, anxious.’
‘I’m not moody,’ said Monica. ‘I’m realistic, that’s all.
Celia and Monica had met some years before in a walking group, but recently when younger, more agile members had joined, they had been finding it harder and harder to keep up. Gone were the day of walking seven or eight miles. These days they were lucky to manage five.
‘So which way do we go?’ said Celia.
Turn right after the pub and follow the road until you come to the waymarker on the left. Continue along the road until you come to a fingerpost on your right. Then go over a small bridge and through a kissing gate. and continue along the fence line. Monica read
‘What’s a waymarker or a fingerpost?’ Monica asked. ‘And who wrote this guide, anyway? Why don’t they just say signposts? Trying to follow these instructions is doing my head in. It’s taking all the pleasure out of the walk.’
‘Don’t worry about them, then,’ said Celia, undeterred. ‘I’m sure we’ll find the footpath in the end. How hard can it be?’
They continued up the road for some time without deviating. It was a narrow country road. The hedges on both sides had grown so high over the summer that you couldn’t see over the top of them. Their conversation had slowed to a minimum.
‘Not much of a view,’ said Monica. ‘Come on, admit it. We are lost.’
‘We are not lost, I assure you,’ said Celia. ‘How can we get lost? So long as we stay on the road, we can’t go far wrong.’
‘Well, we are not on the footpath for one thing and there’s nothing to look at. To my mind, half the pleasure is looking at the views.’
‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ said Celia. ‘It’s a whole lot easier being led than doing the leading. Now I really appreciate the work our walk leaders put in. They recce every walk beforehand, just so we can follow behind and complain if they go wrong.’
‘Well, they are not here now,’ said Monica. ‘I think we should retrace our steps and go back to the pub.’
‘That’s just boring,’ said Celia. ‘Where’s your sense of adventure? I’ve got a better idea. Let’s take a short cut through the fields.’
‘Are you mad?’ said Monica. ‘That’s asking for trouble.’
But before she knew it, Celia had taken off into the fields.
‘Just follow me,’ she shouted back. ‘I’ll soon get us onto the right path.’
By now Celia was ploughing along a path which looked as if it hadn’t been used in years. It was waist high in thistles and nettles. And against her better judgment, Monica found herself doggedly following behind. At the far end of the path there was a five-barred gate with no sign of a stile anywhere in sight. Celia was clambering over the gate, which was so rickety it looked like it might collapse at any moment.
‘I’ll leave it to you to explain to the farmer that we’ve broken his gate,’ Monica shouted.
‘Oh. Don’t be so negative,’ said Celia.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve even seen that herd of cattle there in the next field,’ Monica responded.
‘Don’t mind them. They haven’t got any calves, and we haven’t got a dog. They’ll leave us alone,’ said Celia.
‘Okay. This is as far as I go,’ said Monica. ‘I’ll see you back at the pub.’
‘So, what happened?’ Monica asked when Celia finally arrived back at the pub.
‘Well, you never said anything about there being a bull in the field, did you? It made a beeline for me and the rest of the herd followed in pursuit. I had to make a run for it and just managed to reach the wall in time, but my blood pressure had shot up and I collapsed. When I came to, there was a farmer shooing the cattle away and pointing to the Beware the Bull sign.’
‘You were lucky he was there. You could have been killed,’ said Monica. ‘I thought we were trying to prolong our lives, not shorten them. Didn’t that article say something about being organized and helpful, as well as active?’
‘You’re right,’ Celia conceded. ‘It’s down to you to sort out the next walk.’
About the author
Jenny Palmer writes short stories, poetry, memoir and family history. Her collections Keepsake and Other Stories' 2018, and 'Butterflies and Other Stories' 2024, were published by Bridge House, and are on Amazon. Witches, Quakers and Nonconformists, 2022, is sold at the Pendle Heritage Centre, Barrowford.
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