At 4 o'clock on a very warm afternoon in Wiltshire, I sat by the roadside, watching a few cars disappearing across the Downs. When the last driver had vanished below the skyline, I turned and looked down on some cottages, in one of the loneliest villages in Wiltshire, at the foot of the hill. I stood up and saw my brother, his Cairn Terrier at his heels, making his way from a farm, partly hidden by tall beech-trees. Leaving my tent, a bundle of blankets and some pots and pans and ropes in a heap, I walked up the track to meet him. "Well?", I said. My brother answered, "The place is empty. The house and most of the buildings have fallen down. There is nothing to stop us from camping there for the night." We returned to the roadside and picked up our equipment and started up the track, to the deserted farm.
We had come on the Wiltshire Downs, searching for a desolate place to camp for our holiday. The wildness of the Downs had attracted us to the Downs above Warminster. So far, we had found a sheltered hollow, or a clump of trees, where the country was wild and unspoilt.
Beside the ruins of the deserted farm, we selected a dry, flat piece of grass, sheltered from the prevailing wind by the beech-trees and the decayed outbuildings. I set up the tent, whilst by brother gathered wood from the ruins, and under the trees. We soon lit our fire, after first strolling down to the village pub for a couple of drinks. Upon our return, the only noises we heard were the crackle of the burning beechwood, the cries of the pee-wits, and the faraway bleating of some sheep. Soon, the derelict farm lay in darkness except for rays of moonlight, which shone through the trees, and lit up the beams of the broken roof or an empty window-frame. The sudden shuffle of a rat was followed by a sudden silence; even my brother's dog, Flora, was quiet.
The next morning, we shut up our tent and made our way once again to the village, to buy some supplies. The farms and cottages of Warminster soon came into view, with a rippling stream on one side of the road, spanned at intervals by wooden and stone bridges. We went into the pub, and ordered our drinks. "What is the history of the old farm up on the hills?" my brother asked. "The old broken-down place up in the beech-trees?" replied the Landlord, "It was used as a shelling target during the War - it now belongs to the War Office." We made our way back to our Camp, hoping to reach the water-trough before the cows arrived there, to drink from it. During the following week of our camping holiday, on several occasions we walked right across the Downs around Warminster, sometimes my brother not shaving for 3 days, and our clothes faded and a bit ragged. Flora, as Cairns go, was a nice dog, but we were not quite prepared for one afternoon, when all up the road, as far as the eye could reach, a host of dogs of all colours and sizes were seething after us - loyal sheep-dogs who had left their flocks, pious-looking Yorkshire Terriers, Bedlington Terriers, Dalmatians, Pekineses, Sealyhams, Lurchers, Airedales, Greyhounds, Bulldogs and Bloodhounds, Mastiffs, and Wolf hounds, Newfoundlands, Alsatians, Dandie Dinmonts, Pomeranians, French Poodles and Schipperkes. At first we did not know whether to run or to walk, to turn to the right or to the left. A green 'bus stopped a few yards ahead, and pointing it out to my brother, who was holding his dog, we sprang inside. None of the following dogs expected this move, and they all collected around the 'bus, gazing wistfully up at Flora, who had jumped into a seat by the window. We discovered that the 'bus passed within four miles of the farm where we were camped; the driver said, "Where is youm stopping?" "On the Downs above Warminster, against the old broken-down farm", I said. "Oh, Ah. I knows where you mean", said the driver, "Oi've picked a good few pounds of mushrooms many times the other side of that there 'ill." The next morning, we left our Camp and had a walk of fifteen miles before us, towards the Westbury White Horse.
The clock struck ten when we again pitched our tent, and after a good meal, we quickly fell asleep, before breaking camp and returning home again the next day.
Rosemary Goulding
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