The unprofitable route has obviously been hived off to a small firm resigned to getting its paint scratched. The bus was a rattler, and, as we thundered out of Salisbury through the rain, eerie wails and whistles emanated from the stern, and erratic chirps from the bow, while thickets of cow parsley swished along its flanks, twigs rattled briskly on the windows and an occasional ‘WHANG!’ indicated that the wing mirror had found something solid among the greenery.
Accompanied by this orchestration the bus threaded its way through the tiny villages along the Ebble: Coombe Bissett, Broad Chalke, Bower Chalke, Fifield Bavant, Ebbesbourne Wake. The tight turns and manoeuvres round other vehicles necessitated a certain amount of breath-holding. Those trackways were not built for anything bigger than a cow.
in Shaftesbury I walked. But that is a story needing pictures.
Returning to a similar tune, minus the wails, the sun emerged, lighting up the deep lanes and greening the high downs on either hand.
4th June: here are the photos