The end of the year finds me pondering the nature of our ancient byways, the ancient trade routes, the drovers routes that have — for generations — helped move livestock from the high ground to the fattening pastures (and to market of course). Over the millennia these routes connected communities, provided them with an economic lifeline, bought news of war, of famine, of birth and of death. Today, many of these routes connect only walkers and riders. But even in this depleted mode the great trade routes are still functioning.
It was last week’s walk on the Portway that transformed me into reflective mode.
The Portway is an ancient trade route that crosses over the Long Mynd, making its way over high exposed ground so as to avoid woodland, streams and bog. This was a route that was critical to the local economy in Neolithic times. The route carried axes. Digs have discovered ancient axes many miles from their origins, perhaps not that strange as these played an important role, not in war, but in the clearance of the land and the promotion of agriculture. The Romans knew this route and in the middle ages it was a Kings Highway. According to Shropshire County Council the Portway is lined by burial mounds some of which may have actually been constructed as route markers. Now there’s a thought!
The Bronze Age saw an increase in the trade of rare and precious metals. The Portway was just one of a series of routes that are known in these parts as ‘ridgeways’. Of course, there are ridgeways elsewhere in the country and these performed much the same function. In the Iron Age the Portway, and its contemporaries, tended to provide important connections for fortifications and forts. These ridgeways are kinds of archaeological time capsules providing important information, and insights, into how our ancient forebears traded and connected with each other.
Over thousands of years their purpose changed again with many becoming drove roads as livestock led to a greater prosperity than the simple production of the axe. The Portway is one such route. A walk along its exposed flanks today will be made in the company of cattle and sheep and often free range pigs can be founded basking in the freedom and the open air.
Like most of you I’ve walked along many ancient trade routes and drove roads this year. In the Cotswolds the routes had much the same function, and much the same history. In the Cairngorms I followed age old routes through valleys or Lairigs that were the economic highways of their times. In North Wales most of the routes are now highways, but it is still possible to stride out on an old track as many have done before.
This year’s most dramatic trade routes were those of France and Spain, a border country that – everywhere – stands witness to age old disputes and skirmishes. Communities might live only a couple of kilometres from each other but the mountains formed dramatic barriers. Over there — on the other side — were men and women of different tongues, of different religions and beliefs, of different cuisines, dance, music and song.
But not all of these Pyrenean routes were dedicated to war. The Marcadau Valley, above Cauterets in the High Pyrenees, means market place. In ages past livestock farmers and traders from both sides of the borders would meet on these grassy banks for an annual fair of proportions — and importance — that we can hardly comprehend these days. Today the valley is mainly quiet, a pathway on the climb to more dramatic higher ground. I often rest here, resting warm feet in the ice cool waters of the river. This is a place of quiet contemplation and more often than not solitary thought. But drop down just a little, to the Pont Espagne and you can imagine the scene. First time visitors to the area are always shocked by the Pont car park, one of the biggest you’ll ever see on a mountain approach. Every so often the Pont plays host to the Tour de France, the car park being large enough to hold all of the paraphernalia of this most majestic – and mad — of sporting events. Next time you’re here just take a few minutes to contemplate ages past when the crowds were trading in more basic commodities.
There is something immensely satisfying in walking the routes of the ancestors.
Maybe you’ll be out this holiday walking the trade routes or the drove roads. Put an ear to the wind and catch an echo of the ancients.
I too enjoy the sensation that we are treading in the footsteps those who did so during a ‘Golden Age’ through an over-riding economic necessity. In the high passes of the lower Alps in Austria( eg the Niedere Tauern) I have found rock paving just a few hundred meters below the ‘New’ roads built a hundred and fifty years ago. These were travelled by Roman packhorse caravans carrying salt and silver south and God nows what northwards.
One has however to control ones imaginings- I once as a younger man having heard that that the battle cry of the Campbells was Cruachan! got up well bfore dawn and went up Ben Cruachan to see if any residual power remained from standing abreast that summit at dawn and issuing the cry only to be told by the keeper of history at the Campbell seat that if the Chief of Clan were to summon his people to war he would be crazy to ask them to gather at the top of a munroe- in fact it turned out that there is a lowland farm close to Inerinan named Cruachan which is were the Clan gathered before departing on their ‘noble and glorious work’. Dalwhinnie sounds like a place with alot of history and it is on my route
So, any Challengers hearing a blood curdling cry near Dalwhinne – look for Fred!