Losing the plot
It’s easy to escape the machinations of politicians by going greenlaning in an old Land Rover, says Dave
ONE of the greatest things about older Land Rovers is that they enable you to escape from the modern world and its problems. While the rest of the country is, apparently, incandescent with rage about Brexit (for and against) and the visit of the US president to these shores, I’m more concerned about the alleged plot by Peugeot to buy Land Rover.
It’s not really something that should upset me, because the high-tech, gadget-laden cars the company is
building these days have little relevance to me. The truth is, the Land Rover company that I love to all intents and purposes died back in 2016, when Defender production ended. That was the end of an era in every sense, because we all knew its (eventual) replacement would have little in common with it, apart from its name. I guess we also realised there was a risk that it might be built abroad, too, but when the decision to build it in Slovakia was announced, it still came as a disappointment.
All this and more is going through my head as I trundle towards the woods in my elderly Ninety. It’s sunrise – which at this time of year means 5.00 am – and there isn’t a soul about. I like it that way. It’s not an antisocial thing, just the joy of solitude. Well, just me and my dog. Billy, my little right-hand man, loves Land Rovers every bit as much as I do. They’re his passport to adventure, too, and his favourite is the Ninety, with its bench seat. He occupies the middle seat, which is why I’m one of the few owners who haven’t replaced it with a cubby box.
This summer so far has been a lovely season for greenlaning in my neck of the woods. Low rainfall through the late winter and spring meant the heavy Northamptonshire soil stayed dry – and, more importantly, rut-free. I don’t mean to be controversial, but greenlaners are their own worst enemies and there are a lot of people who should know better that still drive the tracks and trails when they are soft and muddy, causing a real mess that upsets other users and, ultimately, leads to 4x4s being banned. I wonder how many hundreds of miles of byways we have lost in the last 20 years through the irresponsible actions of bad greenlaners?
Putting the negative thoughts to one side, I concentrate instead on the lush vegetation along the lane. I’m driving at a snail’s pace through necessity, because the grass in the middle of the track is a couple of feet high and it could conceal anything from a tree trunk to a family of young partridges. Meanwhile the verges are a glorious entanglement of towering cow parsley and fragrant wild roses. It’s a scene that puts a smile on my face as I park up by the edge of the wood, spending the next hour or two on foot.
Like I said, all the plots and controversies of the modern world are soon forgotten once you’re off the beaten track, but the next day I deliberately head for a place that is renowned for its association with the greatest plot of all. That place is Lyveden New Bield, a half-completed Elizabethan hunting lodge
that was designed by the family that messed up the Gunpowder Plot.
By normal road, Lyveden is about ten miles from my home, but by Land Rover it is less than half the distance, as I can take a short-cut down a greenlane to get there (but only in summer, as said byway is closed to 4x4s during the winter months). Today, for a change, I take the Discovery.
Lyveden was designed at the turn of the 17th century by Sir Thomas Tresham, one of the country’s most prominent Catholics. It was still only half-completed when he died in 1605, leaving his estate to his eldest son, Francis Tresham.
Catholicism at that time was barely tolerated in Protestant Britain, and unlike his pragmatic father, the younger Tresham was a bit of a firebrand who railed against religious intolerance – and in doing so got involved with the Catholic conspirators plotting to blow up the Houses of Parliament and kill King James and the country’s leading politicians.
The plot unravelled because Tresham had two cousins who were MPS, and he didn’t want to see them blown sky-high, so he sent an “anonymous” letter to them, warning them to stay away from parliament on November 5. But the letter fell into the wrong hands – namely the English Secretary of State, Robert Cecil, who ordered an immediate search of the building. During the search, his guards found one Guy Fawkes lurking in the cellar, along with dozens of kegs of gunpowder.
Fawkes was arrested and interrogated and, under torture, revealed the names of his fellow plotters, including Tresham, who was also arrested. He died a few months later in prison, of natural causes, but there is little doubt that if he had gone on trial he would have been found guilty and face the grisly fate of being hung, drawn and quartered like Fawkes and co.
Either way, the enraged establishment got its revenge on the surviving Treshams by confiscating much of their land and property, which meant the family didn’t have the funds to finish off the hunting lodge at Lyveden – which remains, to this day, as a half-completed shell, now owned by the National Trust.
I park the Discovery nearby, admiring the meadows of wild flowers – as well as an inquisitive hare – before setting off on foot through the adjacent woodland. It’s a place I visit regularly at this time of year, as these woods are the most prolific stronghold of Britain’s most beautiful butterfly, the purple emperor butterfly, which is also the country’s second-biggest (Norfolk’s swallowtail is the largest).
There’s no doubt that I live in a fascinating and historic corner of this world, which is made easier and more enjoyable to explore thanks to my glorious old Land Rovers. I feel truly blessed.