
Look at any Ordnance Survey sheet of the British uplands and you will find them: pale green lanes threading between the contours, often hedged on both sides, sometimes running dead straight for a mile and then swinging suddenly to a ford or a gap in a ridge. These are the old drovers' roads, and they represent one of the oldest trades in these islands — walking cattle, sheep, geese and pigs from the hills of Wales, Scotland and the northern fells to the great markets of England.
Welsh drovers brought black cattle from Anglesey and Cardiganshire over the mountains to fairs at Shrewsbury, Hereford and Barnet, and finally to Smithfield. Geese were driven on tarred feet to avoid the stones. Drovers were trusted men who often carried other people's money, settling accounts on the way home — the earliest form of country banking in some districts. The routes they chose had to do three things at once: offer grazing, water, and somewhere to pen livestock overnight. That is why so many of them run along ridges and across commons rather than through the villages.
From the seventeenth century, and in a great rush during the eighteenth, Parliament began granting turnpike trusts the right to charge for passage on a stretch of road. The trusts surfaced and widened what had been rutted lanes, erected toll houses, milestones and fingerposts, and charged anything on four legs — which is why drovers often preferred the older, free routes over the hills, giving us the parallel network of green lanes we still enjoy today.
Turnpike roads made the coaching era possible. Mail coaches and stagecoaches ran to timetables, and the inns along the route grew into stables, wheelwrights and busy yards. Then the railways arrived, the trusts went bankrupt or were wound up, and the turnpikes quietly became the A-roads of the twentieth century. Many are now noisy and unsuitable for walking, but long stretches — the old Great North Road, the Holyhead road through north Wales, the coaching roads of the Cotswolds — retain their stone walls, their milestone stumps and their toll houses converted into cottages.
Once you know what to look for, the historic landscape becomes remarkably talkative. A few reliable clues:
Treat these routes as real countryside walking, not gentle heritage strolling. Distances between villages can be long, and the surface is often rough, stony and wet underfoot. A few practical points.
There is something quietly satisfying about following a road that existed long before the Ordnance Survey drew it, and which no engineer designed. These routes were shaped by weather, by the needs of cattle, and by the patient habit of centuries. Take a map, take your time, and let the landscape do the talking — the hedges, the holloways and the milestones have a great deal to say, and they say it best at walking pace.
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