In my pursuit of mosses and liverworts from springs, I decided that our next stop would be St Alphege's well, just under the crest of Lansdown. It was pouring with rain by now, that really wet sort that makes your hair stick to your face. I should have known better as I dragged poor B down the road in her Mediterranean puffer jacket and fashionable boots. But I had a vague recollection of coming here a long time ago and it being easy to find. Oh poor memory. We were soon faced with a gate saying 'private', a sight I always associate with angry shotgun-wielding farmers. I'm sure the people who live here are very nice but the pouring rain put me off walking up the very long drive to find out. In addition, as soon as I crossed the boundary, seven pairs of extremely curious eyes were immediately fastened on me - seven alpacas craning their long necks at the ridiculous sight of a soaked human being. I gave up pathetically, though I did find the little ditch where the water from the well runs down the hill.
I found the photo above in the aforementioned Proceedings and I do remember the little door from my visit over ten years ago. But further pursuit of this site must wait. If the trough in front still exists, I'm hoping it'll be home to some mosses.
In my defence of its inclusion, St Alphege was of the same era as the focus of this blog. He was supposed to have been born in Weston (below the hill of the well) and met an unpleasant end in 1012. But then you don't get to be a saint by avoiding unpleasant ends. The Proceedings say "A quarter of a mile from the well ... is Chapel Farm. This was originally St. Laurence's Hospice for pilgrims on the road to Glastonbury. It is not uncommon to find a Holy Well by a frequented pilgrim track, and this is a good example." And I see St A. spent time at Deerhurst in Gloucestershire, which is home to a super-swirly font which I'm keen to see one day.
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