Baker's mill, Frampton Mansell

I went to the farm shop near Bisley just before lunchtime, which entails a drive straight up out of Stroud along the route of the old road to the relatively high plateau of the Cotswolds. I decided to make the journey into a triangle by crossing the plateau for a couple of miles to Far Oakridge and then dropping down to the Frome valley above Chalford, where I needed to buy some tools.

Ashley, the farmer, returned from the fields for his lunch just as I was about to leave the shop, and I was able to check on whether he could let me have some soil again, to add to my raised beds in due course. It comes from their potato crop when they are brushed in a machine to remove any soil before packing into big bags. He has said that I can have some more! Last year I did a trade with him and took away a bout thirty bags which I filled myself in the barn. If I can now source some good manure I will be well prepared for building at least one more raised bed and being able to use it quite quickly. John who visited yesterday has agreed to come back and help me join all the wood up, probably on Saturday, so progress is very good.

Off I went to the builders merchant on my roundabout route. It was so glorious. There was weak sunshine, still air and a real sense of spring's imminent emergence. When I drove down off the plateau, I used a very ancient and single trackway which zig-zags down the steep hillside through woods and a little hamlet, bordered by the sort of high banks you associate with a holloway. Where the road levels out, there was a tiny triangular junction, with one road following the River Frome downstream to Chalford, whilst the other road crossed the river, then the canal, then goes under a high railway bridge to get across to the other side of the valley and the village of Frampton Mansell.

At the road junction there is a gate into the yard of Baker's mill, the name deriving from the family who were clothiers, millers and yeoman farmers probably since the sixteenth century. I parked and walked along the canal to have a look up the valley towards Sapperton, as I wanted to see the lake above the mill. I took pictures of all these scenes and more, but have chosen the view from the canal towpath right on the edge of the old derelict lock, just yards upstream from the little road bridge. I looked under this yew tree to wards the front garden, and just in front of the garden, where the daffodils are, there is the fast flowing stream of the river deep in a gulley, as it emerges from the old mill race beside the house.

This I imagine was the residence, with the old mill building behind, which looks to have been completely renovated, whereas the house still looks like it must have done for centuries. The old wood lintels probably indicate it industrial origins as a corn mill, while the stone mullion windows are more representative of accommodation.

I had heard that the owners of this house were known for keeping otters for a long time. I searched online later and found a family website, (in case you want to stay there) which contained this:
The Nevilles live in an old corn mill in the Cotswolds, in Gloucestershire. The otters have pens along the side of the hill. Two of the streams that run down the hill into the river go through the pens, providing clean drinking water in addition to the various bowls and baths filled by hose!  They also have snug little houses at the back of each pen, with lots of warm hay to roll on and sleep in. Currently the pens are opened up to make one big pen for Rudi and Belinda.

The River Frome runs along at the bottom of the hill, and feeds the lake (2 and a half acres!) and deep, and full of carp and ducks and swans.  None of the otters really care for the lake, because they are Asian Small-Clawed Otters and look for their food in shallow water and mud instead of swimming in rivers and catching fish.
Next to our mill is another one, called Twissel's Mill, which is divided into two apartments which are let as holiday cottages

It felt so inspiring to be there beside the mill, the canal, the river, the steep wooded hillsides and many sheep in the adjacent pastures and meadows. Possibly three cars passed along the road in all the time I was there. Far more noisy were all the birds and the roaring of the river dropping down from the lake, past the mill and on to Chalford and then Stroud, about six miles downstream.

Even the journey home from here was pretty, with so much to see. I was tempted to stop many times and to walk about joyfully, probably breaking into song.