Our fascinating series proving that not all WWWs are on the internet continues and starts on the Wednesday evening. Yours truly, after a nightmare day at the office (I know why I prefer being field-based, believe me) and a rain-soaked drive down the A361, arrived at South Marston Village Hall. This pleasant, if cobwebby, little edifice was named after Edwardian philanthropist Lord Southmarston Villagehall, who later shot to fame when he invented Swindon.

When I finally entered the building after sitting in the car allowing a live Malinky set on R2 to finish, I was carrying my just-purchased lunch (that’s ‘lunch’ as in ‘should have eaten it at lunchtime’) in a carrier bag and was somewhat taken aback to see those already present finishing off a two-course cooked dinner. Getting any further than putting my carrier bag down was interrupted by the immediate need to unpack the trailer brought down behind Jimmy B’s Disco and then MKP arrived in SAD. I accompanied the latter Chairman-vehicle combination to Sainsburys and finally got to eat my Quavers (they’re floaty light, I’m led to believe).

The big dinner brigade repaired to the local watering hole re: 6X and MKP, Jimmy B, Harri T and I settled at the table to enjoy some bottled stuff. Mike started worrying about getting Chairman’s Chat finished (for ‘finished’, read: ‘advanced beyond 5 one-word headings’).

Thursday morning saw the pre-weekend group arrive (in JB’s case, backwards, with trailer attached) at Steppingstones Bridge to admire the specially-constructed steel arches and wooden formwork. Brickery proceeded as soon as Di had mastered the generator and mixed up a barrow or several full of ‘muck’.

The task was to build the brick arch over the formwork in three layers, working up from both abutments which themselves had been demo’d down to the solid work and patched up where required. Two main types of brick were present on site: engineering and facing. The latter had grooves on the non-facing side but all the bricks were of a similar darkish-red colouring. The third and fourth brick types present, of course, were original ones (usable) and original ones (past it).

Supporting tasks included Stihl-sawing half-bricks for stock and specials to order – I had a bash at this and worked away until the saw developed the collywobbles and had to be taken to Rachael’s favourite saw hospital – brick reclaiming and generally moving things around until they made sense.

A nice dinner was cooked by Harri T that evening and then I had one of my Great Ideas (cue sighs) regarding the pub at the A420 end of the village (I’m a bit of an Arkells fan, having spent too many hours in the Highwayman at Winstone in the 1990s and also having lived in Stratton St.Margaret for precisely seven weeks) so we fitted the James attachment to SAD and drove down. The pub closed before our very eyes. Great Idea No. 2 involved one of the tiny little cottage-sized Arkells pubs in Highworth. Karaoke night. So off to The Fox, as ever a reliable source of good Arkells with friendly hosts.

Friday started with show-stopping rain. The choice of alternatives was narrowed down to going to see The Queen (the film, that is; it would have been too short-notice for an audience with the monarch) or taking in STEAM, the railway museum in Swindon. The latter won as there wouldn’t have been a cinema in Greater Swindonia with 10am showings.

So Rachael negotiated discounted entry for us and a straggle of WRGies (Rachael, Di, Harri T, MKP, Jimmy B, MKP, Jeremy, Frank, Steve Bloody Johnson, Robert Brotherston and me) dodged WW2-replica children to enjoy the museum. I recommend it; it’s less antiseptic than NRM York and the chance to walk beneath a Castle class loco and then stand on its footplate to talk to two former railwaymen who worked on such machines in their day was worth the entry fee on its own.

By the afternoon, the rain had calmed down and the site had turned to quagmire, a state in which it was to remain for the rest of the dig, as rain showers continued to pound down at regular intervals. Brickery continued and I went to pick up the saw.

Friday evening was when things really started to get interesting. Through an ingenious double-booking facility, Watchfield Village Hall had been booked in addition to South Marston, so the vanguard group split between the two accomms for the night. Kate had arrived from Cardiff in time for dinner. We ate (and ate well – Di’s pudding vying with Harri T’s stew for fillingness) at South M and then most of us moved to Watchers to meet the London WRGies, aware that Nic & Cam were already ensconced in the pub.

The weekend brought another task. Whilst the bridgers were augmented with the likes of Nigel & Chris, Quiet Richard and Nic, Dr.Ed, Kate and I trogged off in Ed’s Landie to do a spot of bonking. Seven interpretive signs in all were to be erected, and all of them in different locations. The first set of three at Grove involved a long walk with lots of heavy stuff (have you tried walking further than a few yards with a post-bonker?) and getting rained to within a millimetre of our own skins in the process. I couldn’t face humping the bonker all the way back down the towpath but remembering that all derelict locks contain at least one shopping trolley, I rescued one such supermarket runaway, piled the tools into it, and pushed them all back to the ring road.

Further recipients for bonkery included one site on the edge of Grove where to quote our written instructions, “access has been arranged [to a factory premises where an internal road ran straight down to the canal] – just ask the security man at the gate and you will be allowed in”. It hadn’t, and we weren’t! Out came the OS and the other way ‘round was found. We decided not to risk trespassing on a piece of land which would have brought us straight to where we wanted to be and instead parked the Disco up carefully next to the public brideway and dragged the tools and signage down via the path. Imagine our surprise when we returned to find a note on the windscreen berating us for parking on private land. We laughed ‘til we stopped, I can tell you.

After that thankless task, there were two more locations on the edge of villages requiring signs and both of these were easy. We returned to site to find that tea-things and lunch had just departed, inexplicably, towards the accomm. Therefore, so did we. But there was a catch, in the form of a telephone call from MKP with a “can you just” job. Site had run out of lime. Quick sandwich and a brew poured into travel mugs and we were off again to Swindon with no idea whether any of the DIY shops would stock lime. Oh, why must builders’ merchants close early on Saturdays? Is there a business opportunity here? Well, not even Wickes stocked it. To be fair, Focus was looking good until the assistant came back with a building line; he’d misheard me. We purchased a bottle of lime cordial, this being the closest to hydrolated lime we could get, and returned to base camp just in time to no longer be first for the showers. Cue tales from those who had worked on the main site: much quick covering of the fresh brickwork and sheltering under the nascent bridge ‘ole, it seems.

My favourite Saturday-night-on-a-dig dinner (ie. lasagne, pre-prepared by Harri T) followed all this nicely. No real ale in the pub did not follow dinner nicely. I for one will bring my own beer and stay at the hall when I visit Watchfield in future as it seems the Bleak House has a serious rival in the uselessness stakes. Still, we did have fun playing ‘guess what that’s a picture of’ from the other end of the pub from the artwork in question.

Sunday started with breakfast, cooked by James, who is entirely capable of doing this on his own. We trogged to site and investigated the mud. The project was found lurking within it, as were several piles of materials. Mike had cut steps into the slope to stop people sliding into the new brickwork and even these were starting to become slopes by lunchtime. The weather was reasonable but only by comparison with the previous day and to be fair, puddling was much easier. I had a good go before realising that Hurricane Bob and Elanor were puddling their way to full-on war, so I waved the white hankie and made tea.

Eventually, everything was tidied up and our stuff taken back to the accomm where Jimmy B & Co repacked the trailer and MKP attempted to distribute the usual several half-finished bottles of milk to anyone who would take them. I took Kate to Swindon station and we arrived strangely early (perhaps I have finally found the right way in!) for her train to Caerydd. On the way home, I did not overtake James or MKP, so they must have had smooth journeys too!

One last (but not least) thing: before I left Watchfield, Di asked me to include the Wilts & Berks’ big thanks for all the progress made by London WRG, et al, in this report. I reciprocated thanks with specific regard to cake.

See you at the Bonfire Bash, said Mk2 8-)