Washingborough to Metheringham. 10 miles.
Tranquil villages.
I find myself back at the lower part of Washingborough near the Ferry Inn, which relates to an earlier boat crossing of the River Witham before the bridge I used yesterday was built.
From here, it is uphill to the prominent St John the Evangelist Church; I spotted its steeple at the end of yesterday’s stage. It is probably the oldest structure in the village, with the tower’s base dating from Norman times. It was restored in 1860 by Sir George Gilbert Scott, the Victorian Gothic Revival architect (St. Pancras and Albert Memorial, etc.). The warmth of the Lincolnshire limestone strikes me. Unfortunately, I cannot access the interior, which has some fine stained glass, including the ‘Zeppelin’ windows, commemorating 23rd September 1916 when a Zeppelin bombed the village in mistake for Lincoln. An elderly lady is weeding a grave, the sister of her mother who died of Diphtheria aged five at the beginning of the last century, a sad link with the past.
Onwards up the hill, yes, there are hills in Lincolnshire, is a welcome carved wooden seat depicting aspects of the village’s story. 
The rough ground behind it is marked on the map as Pits Woods, and as I walk through it, one gets the impression that digging occurred in the past, possibly for iron or silver ore in the limestone. 
A section through housing estates is well-signed with the S&S logo, so I’m soon alongside the railway. A new underpass has been built since my guide was written.
I then follow Branston Beck for a couple of miles. It has recently been cleaned, and hopefully, brown trout and water voles will return. There is plenty of bird life in the reeds.
The beck-side route marches straight to the village of Branston, or rather, the village is marching out into the fields. Some farmer has made a pretty penny here, and they complain about the inheritance tax, payable at 20% when the rest of us pay 40%. 
There’s a lot to see in Branston. First I arrive at the old sheep wash on the beck with its recent art installations. 
There is a lot of artwork on a village trail relating to its history and environment.
I make a detour to view the village waterwheel constructed in 1879 to pump water to the houses of the local gentry before the main’s water arrived in the 1930s. Honestly, there was little to see, the wheel being enclosed and on private land. 
The diagram explains it better than I can.
Heading up to the church, I pass a small green with three elaborately carved wooden chairs. Again, this is part of the art trail. 
Nearby, a plaque on the house commemorates the Enclosure Act, which had a profound effect on the subsistence farming population. I haven’t even reached the church.
All Saints Church has a commanding position. There is Saxon masonry in the tower, the tower’s west door is Norman and the Perpendicular style spire from the late C15th. Much of the church was “restored” in 1876 by Sir George Gilbert Scott, a name we keep meeting. Today, the church is locked, so I cannot see the C14th Nave or the elaborately carved benches. Note the modern replacement window from 1962 after a fire in the chancel.
Whilst wandering around the churchyard the peace is broken by the sound of jets above. They are gone before I see them but I’m ready the next time around. I can’t believe it, but these are the Red Arrows on an exercise. They keep circling, five in front v-shaped, with one following behind. I even get to see some red vapour trails. How do you capture that with a phone camera?
Meanwhile, time stands still in the mosaic at my feet. 
Time to move on. Once out of the houses, I am into fields of what I think is sugar beet.
Not too muddy, and soon, I’m onto tracks across the fens. 
Out of the blue, a cafe appeared. Part of the Hanworth Lesure Complex. It is lunchtime so I call in for a coffee and carrot cake. Perfect.
There are pitches for camping and lakes for fishing. 
Across the fields is the small village of Potterhanworth, until recently a centre for sugar beet breeding. 
I look in the bus stop, which is bedecked with murals and has a window looking out to the church. 
The Church of St. Andrews has a C14 tower, but the rest is Victorian. The parish council are having a meeting inside, so I move on, I am sure I would have been welcome. 
Across the road from the church is another impressive building, a huge water tower built in 1903 as part of a water supply system from a borehole in a nearby field. 
I need to stride out; time is passing.
Nocton, has plenty of interest; these villages have made an effort to highlight their heritage.
‘Dandelion Sundial’ by Cliff Baxendale is surrounded by relief panels depicting various aspects of Nocton’s history.
The present Church of All Saints, designed by, you guessed it, George Gilbert Scott replaced an older one in the grounds of Nocton Hall; both were demolished. A local man tells me the interesting history of the hall and churches. You can find it here.
On the way out of the village, I am surprised by the delightful ‘Cow’ created by Nocton schoolchildren from old scrap farm tools which had been ploughed up in the surrounding fields. 
Easy going on the bridleway across what were formerly massive potato fields for Smiths Crisps with their own railway. 
Dunston is a small, sleepy hamlet. St Peter’s church was largely rebuilt in 1874, but its mediaeval tower remains, and there is an Early English south doorway. At least I get to look inside this one, which is good because there is a hagioscope or squint, so the congregation in the north aisle could see the altar. A new one for me.
It’s dusk when I arrive in Metheringham, a long day but full of interest.
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