Holystone is a tiny place in the foothills of the Cheviots, west of Rothbury and further up the valley of the River Coquet. The Well is reached by taking a footpath from the village.
Having parked Fiona, I had only to follow the signs. It's a National Trust property, and therefore it would be well cared for, with straightforward access. My only concern might be that a lot of other people would be there too, dispelling the tranquillity I was hoping for. But fortunately the Well is just a bit too far into the hill country to be easily accessible for casual tourists, certainly not to coach parties, and I found myself alone. Good.
I was nevertheless noticed by a barking dog as I set off from where I'd left Fiona. Shhhh! My walking route clearly led past some pretty cottages, but where was the next finger-post saying 'Lady's Well this way'? Aha...
I climbed over a style (the only one, thankfully) and set off up a well-defined track across open countryside with trees in the distance.
It was a lovely sunny afternoon, and a pleasure to be ambling along. The only disturbance was a regular clanking sound from up ahead. At first I thought it must be workmen, or a farmer, using a metallic tool to pummel something into the ground - a stake or fence post, perhaps. But it was too regular and sustained for that. The noise grew louder as I approached. I still couldn't see what was making it though. Then I had a notion what it might be. On older Ordnance Survey maps at the 1:25,000 scale there had been, in some country areas, references to 'H ram' or 'Hydraulic ram'. When young I'd often wondered what a 'hydraulic ram' was. Surely not a mechanical male sheep? More likely a fixed heavy-duty machine for farmers to use, though for what was a puzzle. With my teens left behind, the question became unimportant and I never went out of my way to find the answer. But now, in 2018, it looked as if the idle curiosity of decades would be satisfied at last.
I looked into the little stream, where indeed the clanking noise seemed to be loudest. And there it was, inside a brick housing. A hydraulic ram, in the flesh. Clank...clank...clank...
Its purpose must clearly be to pump water, or perhaps regulate the flow of water.
There you are: 'Blake's Hydram' on the plate. How did it work? I thought of household cisterns, but it presumably functioned on different lines, and it wasn't very obvious what might be making that loud metallic clanking noise. But at least the source of it was explained. (While writing this, I've found a Wikipedia article on hydraulic rams, which gives all the information an ordinary person could possibly want - see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hydraulic_ram)
The noise receded as I walked on. The hoped-for serene atmosphere at the Well wouldn't be spoiled after all.
I reached the trees. There was a low stone wall topped by a wooden fence, with a wooden gate, and an NT sign close by.
I stepped through the gate and into an enclosure with a quiet rectangular pool at its centre. It was very peaceful and very shady, a good place to spend time pondering over life in general. I walked slowly towards the pool.
It was an ancient spring, but the Celtic cross erected in the centre was fairly modern. So was this chappie, presumably intended to be the St Ninian referred to on the NT plaque:
I festooned myself about him, in case he was lonely. Ninian and me, yeah.
I dipped my hand into the water. It was deliciously cool. And so clear.
Then I walked around the pool. The scene changed as I moved. It really was a nice spot.
I discovered a posy of small flowers left at the base of a tree. Somebody had come here to think of a loved one.
The atmosphere of the place would soothe away any worries or concerns. I had nothing on my mind, but still didn't want to leave. But I couldn't linger too long. I had more exploring to do in these parts!
