Walk in the great poet’s footsteps through a landscape of breathtaking beauty, vivid history and enchanting stories.
The South Downs of Hampshire are a truly beautiful slice of England, with rolling hills, pristine woodlands and ancient paths that have been trodden by humans for many thousands of years. Rudyard Kipling called these hills the “blunt, bow-headed, whale-backed downs'' and the sea comparison is apt, as beneath the fertile green surface of the land is an oceanic behemoth of white chalk, which is made up of zillions the microscopic plankton skeletons which lived in the sea long ago. Pretty cool right?
At the very western edge of the Downs lies the ancient city of Winchester. Once considered the capital of England by the mighty Anglo-Saxon King Alfred, it was already a well-established settlement used by the Romans and the Belgae Celts before them. The layout of the streets goes back to the 900s when King Alfred ordered them re-laid to better defend against the Vikings, and they have stayed that way ever since. The city has also accumulated a stately assortment of old buildings including a 1,000 year old cathedral which is still one of the biggest in Northern Europe, as well as castles, pubs, and even the original Round Table of King Arthur which is definitely impressive.
The city has also attracted a prestigious gallery of writers who were inspired to pen some of Britain’s most famous literary works. Among them are Jane Austen, Arthur Conan Doyle and Thomas Hardy; as well as John Keats, a Romantic poet writing in the early 19th century. Keats is widely regarded as one of England’s all-time finest poets, despite sadly dying at the young age of 25. Famed for writing vivid, sensual poetry that brought the world to life, it is said that his goal was ‘to create poetry in a world devoid of mythic grandeur’. In my opinion, 200 years later we are lacking this more than ever (at least he never spent his life staring at a screen) and so it is that lyrical gangster Keats that we will be following today, through some of his writings.
In August 1819, Keats moved to Winchester and found it:
“...an exceeding pleasant town, enriched with a beautiful cathedral and surrounded by a fresh-looking country.”
As the season turned from summer to autumn, he took walks into the countryside and remarked:
“How beautiful the season is now. This struck me so much in my Sunday’s walk that I composed upon it.”
And compose he did: he wrote one of his all-time finest poems, To Autumn, inspired by the countryside immediately outside the walls of Winchester. Today, much of the landscape still resembles what Keats would have experienced, and if it’s good enough to inspire him to write one of the best poems ever, then it’s good enough for us to explore today.
I highly recommend leaving some time either at the beginning or end of your walk to check out the city of Winchester: it’s chock full of skin-tingling history and is well worth your time. But take just a few steps outside of the city and you will be swiftly embraced by nature, following in the footsteps of not only Keats but countless others before him, into a world that will surely impress you today as it impressed them.
ROUTE DETAILS
Time: 2.5 hours
Terrain: One big hill to climb, otherwise easy paths all the way. Trainers should be fine, but if it’s muddy then boots advised
How to get there: Bus or train to Winchester; the direct train out of Waterloo is about 60 minutes. If you’re driving, Chesil Street car park is a cheap one to use, although there are others
Directions: Follow my OS Map route here
Refreshments: The Black Boy; Hospital St Cross tearoom; Bell Inn; Wykeham Arms; and more. You’re not short for pubs on this walk
BUT FIRST, A POEM
Starting with a poem? What is this, school? This is meant to be a website about adventures and stuff, I hear you say. Yes, but even if you’re not into poetry I recommend you give this a go. It’ll help you get in the spirit of the walk and hopefully heighten your appreciation of it. It doesn’t matter if you understand every line - if you take something from it then it’s done its job. Why not read it at the beginning of the walk when you are outside in the fresh air, or perhaps in the cosy confines of a pub which Keats would probably have frequented himself?
A key theme of Keats’ famous odes was observing the outside natural world to help make sense of one’s inner world. For example: don’t be sad that summer is gone and winter is coming: instead enjoy autumn for what it is, a rich time of ripeness and fruition, when the harvest is celebrated and nature puts out spectacular shows of colour for us to enjoy. In this we are reminded that happiness is always fleeting and sadness never far behind, no matter how much we may fight against it: but that’s ok. This was probably strong in his mind as Keats would have been trying to make sense of his poor health which would claim his life only two years later. So rather than focus on the fact that he was haunted by the shadow of death, he chose to make the most of his powers and talents to give us beautiful poetry such as this, and remind us that the natural world is one of the greatest tools we have to help us make sense of this mysterious rollercoaster of life.
Jonathan Bate makes a nice observation: “The movement of the ode is indeed like the inspirational walk out of Winchester; but the movement through the poem is not one which divides culture and nature. There is no sense of river, hill and sky as the opposite of house and garden. Rather, what Keats seems to be saying is that to achieve being-at-homeness in the world you have to begin from your own dwelling-place. Think globally, the poem might be saying – act locally.” Nice one. Off we go:
ODE TO AUTUMN
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Written September 19, 1819
AND NOW, THE ROUTE
I recommend that you start at the Black Boy, a pub not far from the city centre. And what a pub it is. There are several other establishments in the same area with similar names (Black Rat, Black Hole) but you’ll know you’re in the right place by the warm old bar that greets you, the selection of local ales, and the strange plasterings of vintage paraphernalia and stuffed animals which adorn the walls and shelves. And the ceiling of the ladies toilet is covered in dolls eyes. What other pub can say that? Where else are you going to refresh yourself next to a fish tank full of squirrels playing snooker? A fine way to prepare yourself for the walk that awaits.
From here, make your way down to join the path along the river Itchen, and make your way downstream. As you leave behind the streets of the old city centre, the fabric of the atmosphere changes as if you have stepped through a canvas and are now walking through a painting. An avenue of trees form a leaf-enclosed pathway with the river flowing serenely alongside. Dragonflies dart among the reeds while swans lord over the waterfowl, while swimming beneath the surface are salmon, eels and the nightmarish lamprey. You might even spot the brilliant blue flash of a kingfisher zooming downstream. The scene is both civilised and wild, a confluence of the work of man and nature.
On your left, beyond some playing fields you will see the proud rise of St Catherine’s Hill, adorned by a crown of trees known romantically as The Clump. Appreciate how the sun illuminates their colours and grandeur as Keats would have done. Eventually, you will come to a junction where you will temporarily leave the river path to clamber up the chalk-beaten hillside. St Catherine’s Hill was the site of an Iron Age hillfort which would have been used to protect the grain farmed by the land’s ancestors thousands of years ago. You can still see the ridges of earth that ring around the hill: ancient lines of defence for the people who lived here. A steep climb here, but at least you’re not running up it at full speed to escape bandits who are here to steal your food and children. Fortunately this is the only climb of the day, for which you will soon be rewarded with yet another canvas-scape, this time of watery meadow plains, with the city of Winchester strewn among trees on a gently swooping hillside. Of this, Keats says:
‘There is on one side of the city a dry chalky down where the air is worth sixpence a pint’
In today's money this probably means a tenner a pint, and why not? This fresh air is completely free and yet one of our most valuable resources, and an underrated pleasure. So drink it in! Imagine you’ve been cramped in a submarine for four months, or that you’re in a hot sweaty rave in a basement, or walking along a road in the city centre with a lungful of diesel fumes. Wouldn’t a breath of fresh air be lovely? Yes it would. Get it down you.
Once you’ve had your fill of the sublime view, make your way into the copse of trees. Feel the air of reverence in this cathedral-like grove, with ancient beech trees towering above you while holding their share of secrets beneath. Buried here are the remains of a Normal chapel built over 900 years ago in the shape of a cross, dedicated to St Catherine who was the patron saint of hilltops (someone’s gotta do it) although the chapel was destroyed in 1537. And of course, the remains of a hillfort before that. Humans have been standing on this hilltop for a long time indeed, whether for protection or religion. And that’s pretty cool.
Head north-east out of the Clump and you’ll immediately find the Winchester Mizmaze, one of eight historic turf mazes left in England. It’s 624 metres long and thought to be from the 17th century, although the medieval design is much older. Legend has it that the maze was carved out one summer by a boy from nearby Winchester College who was sent to the hill for bad behaviour. However, the boy was apparently a maze-making prodigy (jokes on you professor) and so he set about carving this labyrinth into the chalky ground. Apparently the boy ended up mysteriously drowned in the river on the last day of his holidays. How did that happen? Perhaps maze-making is either really exciting or really boring? Whatever the case, make sure you check it out. I’m sure you find it quite…amazing.
From here, head southward, aiming to rejoin the waterside path. On your way down, keep an eye out for buzzards and kestrels circling over the valley, as well as a ravishing assortment of butterflies, such as chalkhill blues, brown arguses and marbled whites. I’m sure you’ll know them when you see them! As you look out at the great scar of the M3 thrumming its way around the hills, take a moment to appreciate that this hill was once the site of the Battle of Twyford Down, when in 1992 one of the biggest and most infamous protests took place to prevent the M3 being built right across the spot you stand on and destroying the historic beauty of the area. Despite much violence from the security forces, the protesters succeeded and the motorway was eventually built east of the hill instead. The protest notably attracted people of all classes, many of whom said “I never thought that I would find myself doing something like this.” Maybe it was the spirit of Keats willing them on.
BONUS - the valley on the south side of the hill is known as Plague Pits Valley, because of the mass graves that were dug here for the victims of the Black Death in 1348. There were so many bodies that the city cemeteries could take no more, and so this unseemly site was chosen to dispose of the rest. Winchester was hit particularly hard by the plague, with nearly 50% of all the clergymen in the area perishing, as they were called to perform the last rites for the dying and of course many contracted the disease themselves. I wonder if they got claps on Thursdays? An OS map will show you the location of two of the plague pits. Stand on top of one and you might find yourself with goosebumps. Brr!
Once you rejoin the path, follow it south along the Itchen navigation past locks and mills once used to transport coal and timber from Winchester to Southampton, until you reach a junction. You can pursue this path along the river Itchen all the way down to Southampton, but today we are following the footsteps of Keats, and so your route is to turn right and head across the meadows, crossing under Hockley Viaduct. Soon after you will cross a bridge over the river, described by Keats as ‘the most beautifully clear river’ so take a moment to gaze into its depths and see if you agree.
Soon enough your path will turn right to enter the meadows, and you will be greeted by the sight of the Hospital of St Cross: the oldest almshouse and charitable institution in the country, giving respite to the poor since 1132. It’s hard to say what is more incredible: the majesty of the magnificent old buildings, or the fact they seem to have sprouted up in an otherwise unlikely field, like a bit of Oxford University teleported into a wet meadow. This is exactly the kind of thing that in any other country we would surely be discussing as a national treasure, and yet here it’s just another minor attraction to see along all the other mind-boggling remains of our history and culture.
You can pay to go inside, in which case you can look around the main hall as well as some of the kitchen areas. You can participate in ancient tradition by requesting the Wayfarer’s Dole from the Porter’s Lodge: a horn of beer and morsel of bread given to any visitor who requests it. You can also visit the Tea Room in the Hundred Men’s Hall, where up to a hundred poor men were given food each day: today the tea room is still staffed by volunteers.
Keats described it as:
“...a very interesting old place, both for its gothic tower and alms-square, and for the appropriation of its rich rents to a relation of the Bishop of Winchester”
AKA stealing from the poor to give to the rich, proving that it’s not just old buildings that don’t change. I’m quite sure that was a one off though as by all accounts it is very impressive that this institution still carries our charitable work after nearly 900 years!
From here, continue along the path back towards the city. You are very much in the water meadows here: a special environment where important wildlife can thrive. In this low meadowy savannah live secretive creatures such as otters and water voles, AKA river dogs and river hamsters. While you may not catch sight of them, you can still content yourself in the knowledge that they are probably watching you at this very moment, hidden among the soggy plain with its dazzling array of wildflowers. In the summer, you might even spot a Southern Damselfly, one of the UK’s rarest insects: this blue beauty can be spotted perching on plants near the waterways.
On the other side of your path, you will pass alongside ramshackle allotments, growing all kinds of fruits and vegetables, including the swelling gourds and ripening fruit of Keats’ poem. Keats described this particular stretch as “a country alley of gardens” which describes the scene so perfectly that it reminds us that in this particular part of the world, so little has changed that we really can follow the great poet Keats step for step.
As the path returns to civilisation once more, you will glimpse Winchester College: the oldest in the country. Legend tells that it was founded to replace all of the priests that died of the plague of 1348. And rumour tells that it’s certainly very fancy, which is confirmed by the yearly fees of £45,936. Soon the track becomes cobbles beneath your feet once more, and your voyage through Keatsworld draws to a close. But don’t step out of your time machine just yet: I highly recommend you head into Wolvesey Palace, the 12th century ruins of Bishop Henry of Blois and home of the powerful bishops of Winchester thereafter. You can walk among the remains, which are not only very cool but free to visit.
Either way, you deserve some well-earned refreshment after that walk: time for a drink I say. Continue down the street, past the entrance to the College and a terrific bookshop, and you will find yourself at the Wykeham Arms, the favoured boozing quarters of the college dons. Like many of the pubs in Winchester, it’s full of character and the perfect place to repose and raise a toast to the late great Keats in whose footsteps we have now followed.
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