After the worst morning of my life so far, Graham and I set out for Yatton Hill Common. We had stumbled across it before during lockdown but at that time walked up and beyond it to Croft Ambrey Hillfort and climbed the gorgeous ancient oak trees there with our son. Today, we park at Yatton and head up the path shooed along by barking dogs in a house and garden alongside. On the way up a hillside cottage, that we had noticed last time, has been extensively worked on and rubbish piles previously dumped on the track edge have been cleared.
This time we reach the common, sit on the bench by the information board and pick Hawthorn berries from the adjacent bush. I plan to try out making a natural dye for a few threads and fabrics. In my ‘Stitched Atlas’ research group experiencing rural place through its folklore, we had been talking about the Holy thorn which Ella Mary Leather records as flowering in several places in Herefordshire at midnight on old Christmas Day (Twelfth Night). No sign of any flower buds on this bush, and Graham thinks that the Holy thorn would be a different variety to the one in front of us today.
A couple arrive at our bench red cheeked and obviously puffed from a long hill climb from Aymestrey along Mortimers Trail. Their route would take us a long way from our car, with a walk back along the busy road, so instead we take a path heading down and round the side of the common. Graham spies two deer and the ubiquitous robin. We pass a large crop of mushrooms, and step over a stag beetle with staved in armour.
We are astounded by the shots of bright colour amongst the brown autumn mass.
As the hill flattens out, I am strangely delighted to see a wooden ladder leaning up into a tree, and a long length of washing line strung from branch to branch.
A house sits here on the edge of this unkempt common, almost hidden in the late afternoon light. I try to imagine what it would feel like to live there.
We’ve walked just two miles at a slow to steady pace and vow to return to do it again. There’s a magical feel about this common and our spirits are lifted.
Walking the Commons 