My route back to where I'd parked Fiona was very straightforward: down into the village, turn left at the church, then follow the path and tarred road back to Mapperton.
Winterbourne Zelston turned out to be one of those thatched-cottagey Dorset villages, rather attractive and distinctly upmarket. The church seemed neat and tidy, and worth a look.
Inside it seemed well cared-for, with several lists showing who was on the local electoral roll, and who was responsible for flowers and cleaning and locking-up.
Lady Sarah Grylls? Hmm. And then this:
Across from the church was a wooden bridge over a shallow water-course.
This is chalk country. When the weather is dry, all the water is underground, because the porous chalk drains any rain away. Only when there is prolonged wet weather, and the water table rises, can streams flow above ground. Such as in the winter. The streams that appear then are called 'bornes' or 'winterbornes' and that's why there are so many villages in Dorset (and elsewhere in Wessex) that have 'Winterborne' as the first half of their names. Locally to Winterborne Zelston are Winterborne Tomson, Winterborne Muston, Winterborne Kingston, Winterborne Whitechurch, Winterborne Clenston, Winterborne Stickland and Winterborne Houghton. But there are also several Winterbourne Somethings on Salisbury Plain in Wiltshire.
Onwards. The eastward path back to Mapperton left the church through a most unusual kissing gate. My good friend Angie knows all about these, and is an expert. I will gladly be corrected if I get anything wrong in what I say next about them! This gate was but one of three in quick succession, all different. Here it is.
The top picture in this set shows that you could use either the kissing gate, or, if you were desperately boring, a regular gate. Well, I strive not to be boring (though I probably fail dismally: sigh) and eased myself through the kissing gate - although, sadly, there was nobody to land a smackeroo onto. But I wasn't looking for rural sex, so it didn't matter. As for this kissing gate's design, it was the opposite to the usual set-up of a fixed semi-circular part and a hinged gate, designed to let a human body pass through without having to climb over, and yet be a barrier to daft beasts like sheep and big beasts like cows. This one had a fixed gate but a hinged semi-circular part. Much more fun. I wonder why they aren't more popular? It was, as usual, rather a squeeze; so I suppose the regular gate is not only for the ultra-boring - you might be on the tubby side, and have to use it.
Only a short distance away was the next kissing gate, still rustic, still made of wood, but of a more conventional design.
And then a third gate, this time in mundane galvanised steel.
Missing from this collection of kissing gates was the wrought-iron type - such as this dilapidated example seen by me at Bramshott in Hampshire in 1993...
...or this much better example I encountered in Shaftesbury in north Dorset in 2008:
Surely I'd see one of these too? But it was not to be.
By the time I got back to Mapperton, I'd had enough of country walking for the day. It was still warm, and I was hungry. I was so glad when Fiona came into view!
As I reached her, I checked my Fitbit. Gosh. 14,000 steps done. Hurrah!
That wasn't the end of my walking for the day, despite some mild protestations from the ligament in my left knee. I did more in the evening. In the end I got over 21,000 steps in that day, as shown in the weekly summary Fitbit emailed to me:
Your first kissing gate is a gem. I think I've seen one like that somewhere but, unlike you, I didn't record it and it's location has slipped from memory. In truth, I remember most kissing gates for the kiss I get, rather than their construction!
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