WHEN the days are shortest and the nights come earliest, the bare, bleak, wide expanses of plough and fallow field come into their own. It’s only when the crops are taken and the ground is tilled that these lands reveal their oldest secrets. 

At this time of year we tend to “field walk” until the dusk comes on, and only then to find a bit of bank or a log where we can sit and picnic.

This time, we weren’t ready after our picnic for our return walk until full darkness had come. We got our torches out and started to trudge back across the sticky gault clay fields. Wanting to snatch a bit more searching time, I trailed a bit behind Jane and swept the earth with my torch as I walked.