“And here’s your torch,” said the young man behind the desk.
“I need a torch?”
He nodded. “There’s no lighting in the tunnels and the ground is uneven underfoot.”
I took it from him, tentatively, wondering what I was letting myself in for.
The Grade I listed pleasure grounds of Hawkstone Park lie a few miles north of Shrewsbury. It’s a landscape of soft red sandstone cliffs, an arboretum with over 150 tree species, and has some fascinating follies.
During the 18th century, it was one of the most visited places in Britain. Famous people, like Dr Samuel Johnson and Erasmus Darwin, flocked here for the thrills and excitement of this parkland. You could say, in its heyday, Hawkstone Park was a theme park.
“There are a couple of escape routes, here and here, if the trail gets too much,” says the assistant, pointing at the map.
Escape routes? Now I’m panicking!
I’m starting from The Orangery, which in Georgian times was a refreshment stop about halfway around the grounds.
The path takes me around the side of a small hill, and immediately I’m directed to a cave carved into the hillside. This was once a menagerie, home to a variety of exotic animals, like monkeys and parrots, and a variety of stuffed birds that were kept to entertain passing visitors.
Around the corner is the Grand Valley, sheltered from the east by the towering, wooded sandstone hills. Judging by the squeals of delight, the children’s play area is entertaining today’s visitors, while the parents are resting on the picnic benches.
Off to my far left lies Red Castle Hill, which is where Henry de Audley, the Sheriff of Shropshire and Staffordshire, first built a castle in 1227. Using the local soft red sandstone, it proved to be a strategic location, offering far-reaching views across the north Shropshire and Cheshire Plains.
The Follies Walk is well signposted, and it’s not long before I’m huffing and puffing my way up the sandstone ridge. Sandstone might be soft, but the going underfoot is testing my leg muscles.
I grab a breather beside The Urn, placed here in 1784 by Sir Richard Hill, the second Baronet of Hawkstone, in memory of an ancestor who fought during the English Civil War. It was feared this urn had been lost when the grounds became overgrown in the 20th century. But it was discovered underneath a thick set of foliage during restoration work in the early 1990s.
After climbing several more flights of steps, I stumble through a thicket of rhododendrons upon The White Tower, which is not white but red.
This Grade II listed octagonal building was originally built to provide shelter for Georgian visitors during inclement weather. At that time, it was covered in white lime, hence its name.
Inside is a waxwork of Viscount Hill, Sir Richard’s nephew. In 1828, Viscount Hill was Commander-in-Chief of the British Army and was decorated in honour of his military successes at the Battle of Waterloo. He was nicknamed “Daddy Hill” by his soldiers because he looked after them so well.
Navigating my way through the thick rhododendron bushes feels like being on a merry-go-round. I’m convinced I’m going round in circles, but suddenly find myself among a stand of impressive trees and at the foot of The Monument.
This is Hawkstone Park’s highest point and this one-hundred-feet-tall obelisk is crowned with a statue of the first Sir Roland Hill.
The information panel declares there are 150 steps to the top. Climbing the helter-skelter spiral staircase must have made me dizzy because I only counted 140. I may also have been distracted by the astounding view at the top.
On a clear day, thirteen counties are visible. It’s like being at the top of a Ferris Wheel. I can see Cheshire, the Peak District, Staffordshire, Shropshire, Herefordshire, Worcestershire, and most of Mid and North Wales. Squinting, I can just make out the Lovell Telescope at Jodrell Bank about thirty miles away.
Back at the bottom, the path runs along The Terrace. This is a more sedate stroll, like the moment on the log flume ride when you’ve been through the water chute and are coming to the end. It’s a moment to catch my breath and admire the tempting views between the trees.
Originally planted as an ornamental walk in 1748, the rhododendrons took over when the parkland was neglected. However, during the ground’s restoration, the owners realised many of the trees thrived. Over 150 different species have been recorded here, including monkey puzzle trees, Scots pines, giant redwoods, Chilean pines, and Western red cedars.
This gentle ambling lulls me into a false sense of security. With the sudden twirl of a teacup ride, the path spins me sharply left and I come face-to-face with the Swiss Bridge.
Barely wide enough to stand feet side-by-side, this Swiss-style wooden footbridge crosses a deep void in the sandstone. My heart races as if I’m on a tightrope.
Thankfully, this 1990s-built bridge has handrails on both sides. The Georgian original only had one!
Safely across, the narrow path swings left and right, up and down, like a tilt-a-whirl ride, as it clings to the cliff edge, before dropping into a deep chasm.
The path cajoles me between these tall cliffs, barely a few feet apart in places. It’s like being in an underground tunnel on an Indiana Jones ride.
Glancing up, I spot the Swiss Bridge above me.
At the foot of Grotto Hill is the Gingerbread Hall. No, it’s not made from gingerbread, but historically, visitors would partake in some gingerbread and lemonade here while waiting for their guide.
It’s an easy stroll to the top of Grotto Hill, where the Grotto Arch crowns the summit.
It was built to frame the Citadel, about a mile away. Commissioned by Sir Roland Hill in 1824 as a dower house, The Citadel was designed to look like the Hill family crest, which has a castle on a castle.
Below the Grotto Arch is a wooden door. As I step inside, it bangs shut behind me, giving me a jolt. I’m plunged into darkness! Is this some sort of ghost ride?
Stumbling forward, I collide with sandstone pillars and walls so frequently I might have been on a Dodgem car ride. Where’s that torch the assistant gave me?
Fumbling in my pocket, I find it, switch it on, and—wow! I’m underground, with tunnels and passageways leading to bigger caverns.
These date from the fifth century, when copper was first found here. The soft sandstone made it easy to dig out.
Weaving my way through the caverns, I’m drawn to some natural light in the corner. I emerge onto a balcony area overlooking Hawkstone’s Grand Valley.
The Precipice Walk is a cliff-edge stroll to Raven’s Shelf, with its far-reaching views across the Shropshire Plain and North Wales. In the distance lies the rugged Ruabon Mountain, near Llangollen, and the Clwydian mountains.
Dropping back down Grotto Hill, there’s an escape route to the Grand Valley, but I opt to continue along the lower path. How difficult can it be?
It turns out, this has more ups and downs than a rollercoaster!
The first climb brings me to The Hermitage. This thatched-roofed folly was home to the bare-footed Father Francis, who entertained visitors with his profound wisdom. I wonder how wise he truly was, as they later replaced him with a fairground automaton that the tourist guides had to operate manually!
The path veers into the cliffs, turns a corner, and plummets me into darkness again. Out comes the torch, as I edge forward through a low-ceilinged tunnel and emerge at St Francis’ viewpoint.
The undulating path passes another escape route, yet I feel stuck on this ride, as another tunnel hurls me through the unusually named Foxes Knob. The path curves around the sandstone cliffs, and I then have to navigate The Squeeze. A sturdy tree grows out of the cliff, squashing the path and anyone walking along it. Breathe in!
As the path cuts through the rocks to emerge onto Reynard’s Walk, it feels like I’m one of those hanging rollercoaster rides. This narrow ledge clings to the side of the cliffs, with the red sandstone cliffs leaning right over my head.
A sharp screeching fills the air. Not another visitor screaming as they tackle this switchback path, but a peregrine falcon swooping high above. This amazing landscape is the perfect nesting ground for these birds.
A lot of wildlife calls this place home, including green woodpeckers, treecreepers, nuthatches, stoats, badgers, and brown hares.
Finally, the path drops me back into the Grand Valley, and my heart rate returns to its normal rhythm.
“Did you enjoy your visit?” asks the assistant.
“Exhilarating!” I reply. “I never realised the Georgians knew how to have fun.”
I hand back my torch. “You could say it’s been illuminating.”
© Simon Whaley