Why a disused railway line makes such a good walk

Railways were built to be gentle. Engineers spent fortunes keeping the gradients shallow enough for steam locomotives, which means the trackbeds left behind when a line closes are often the flattest, kindest footpaths in the county. There is no scrabbling up a hillside, no stile-and-slog routine, no need to be particularly fit. You simply follow a corridor of gravel and grass that somebody else did the hard work on, a century and a half ago.

The route I keep coming back to runs from the edge of a market town to a village that sits, almost apologetically, beside a slow river. It is about six and a half kilometres each way, or four miles if you prefer. Walk it out and back, and you have a proper afternoon. Catch the bus back and you have a lovely couple of hours with a pint at the end of it.

The route at a glance

• Distance: 6.5 km (4 miles) one way, easily halved if you turn around early.
• Surface: compacted cinder and gravel, with a short grass section near the end.
• Climbing: less than 30 metres in total. Genuinely level for long stretches.
• Gates: two kissing gates and one small footbridge, no stiles.
• Time: allow an hour and a half at a stroll, plus a good long stop at the pub.
• Best for: most abilities, including pushchairs in dry weather, and dogs who like a swim.

Old platforms, new hedgerows

The first section is the one that gives the game away. The path runs straight as a ruled line, with the ghosts of two platforms still in place: a low brick edge here, a run of pale coping stones there, both furred over with moss and pennywort. Somebody has propped a bench against what was once the waiting room wall, and a cast-iron milepost stands at the edge of the grass with the name of a long-vanished junction on it.

Look down as you walk and you will see the railway still showing through the tarmac of the path — a scatter of ballast, the occasional sleeper half-swallowed by soil. Look up and there is a cutting of red brick, ferns growing out of the mortar joints, and a bridge arch where the light drops and the air goes cool and green.

Then the hedgerows take over. This is the real pleasure of the middle stretch: on either side, thick, tangled banks of hawthorn, blackthorn, field maple, dog rose and hazel, planted generations ago to tidy the view from the carriage windows. In May they are a white froth of blossom. In late August the blackberries arrive, and you should not feel guilty about eating a few.

The last half mile to the water

All good railway walks end the same way: the trackbed has to give way to something older. Here the gravel path narrows, turns off at a footpath sign, and drops through a kissing gate into a meadow that floods most winters. The river announces itself before you see it — a change in the sound, the smell of damp stone.

What you find is a shallow gravel-bottomed stretch with a mill race running beside it, a couple of swans who have clearly decided they own the place, and a low stone bridge that is far too narrow for a car. Herons stand in the shallows and pretend not to be watching you. If you are lucky, and early, and quiet, you will see a kingfisher going downstream like a thrown dart of blue.

The pub garden, and the quiet corners around it

The village pub sits so close to the river that the garden slopes gently down to the water, and the far tables have mooring posts beside them. There are wooden tables on the grass, a few climbing roses doing their best against the wall, and a resident duck population with no sense of shame whatsoever. Food runs to the sort of menu you want after a walk: pies, fish, chips, a decent ploughman's, and a couple of local ciders. Kitchen times are worth checking before you set out, particularly on a Sunday, when the roast tends to sell out by two.

Before you head home, wander a little further. The quiet corners are all within five minutes of the garden:

• The churchyard, which has a yew tree of serious age and a bench facing the water meadow.
• The footpath upstream, which leads to a shallow ford and a patch of grass nobody ever seems to use.
• The row of former railway cottages on the lane, with long, narrow gardens that still follow the line of the old sidings.

Practical notes before you set off

Wear proper shoes. The cinder is fine in trainers, but the meadow section holds water well into spring, and there is often a muddy patch under the bridge. Bring a light layer for the cutting, which stays cool even in July, and midge repellent for still evenings near the river. Mobile signal drops out for about a mile in the middle, so download anything you need beforehand.

There are no toilets until you reach the village, and no shops, so carry water. Dogs are welcome but should be on a lead through the meadow between April and July, when the ground-nesting birds are about. Park considerately near the old station approach rather than on the lane, and bear in mind that the route stays wonderfully empty on weekdays, when the loudest thing you will hear is a blackcap in the hedge.

Go slowly. This is not a walk with a summit or a view to tick off — it is a long, level amble through forty years of nature quietly taking a railway back, ending with your feet on grass and a drink in your hand. That, honestly, is the whole point.