UnHidden Wiltshire

One of the questions we're occasionally asked is whether Hidden Wiltshire is, in fact, doing the exact opposite of what its name suggests. After all, every time we write about a forgotten lane, an overlooked woodland or a little-known earthwork, we're shining a light on somewhere that many people may never have heard of before. In a sense, we're "unhiding" Wiltshire.

It's a fair point, and one we've wrestled with ever since Hidden Wiltshire began.

There is always a dilemma. If you love a place, should you tell the world about it? Or should you keep it to yourself? As walkers, photographers and lovers of history, we all know that wonderful feeling of stumbling across somewhere special. Part of you wants to protect it. Another part wants to share that feeling with other people.

Fortunately, Wiltshire is a large county, and we've discovered that most places have a remarkable ability to absorb a little extra attention before quietly returning to themselves.

There is one place, however, that came closer than any other to becoming "unhidden."

Folly Wood.

It all started with a letter.

Not an email. Not a Facebook message. A proper handwritten letter.

It arrived from Wiltshire artist David Alderslade, whose paintings have long captured the mysterious atmosphere of the county's ancient landscapes. David had been listening to the Hidden Wiltshire podcast and suggested that we should visit a place called Folly Wood. We'd never heard of it. So, naturally, we went.

What we found was extraordinary. An ancient woodland wrapped around a secluded lane, stories of a Headless Horseman, an enigmatic cave hidden in the hillside and, perhaps above all, an atmosphere that was impossible to describe but impossible to forget.

We wrote about it.

The response was unlike anything we expected.

Suddenly Folly Wood was appearing everywhere. YouTube videos appeared. Instagram filled with photographs of the lane and the cave. Other websites began mentioning it. For a while, it felt as though Hidden Wiltshire had accidentally created one of the county's newest "must visit" locations. We wondered whether we'd made a mistake. Had we taken somewhere genuinely hidden and exposed it too widely?

But something interesting happened. Time passed. The excitement faded. The social media posts slowed. The YouTube videos stopped. And Folly Wood quietly slipped back beneath the surface, becoming once again what it had always been: a peaceful woodland visited by those curious enough to seek it out.

That seems to be the rhythm of these places. They enjoy a brief moment in the spotlight before the landscape gently reclaims them.

What has endured are the connections that grew from that single article.

First of all, Paul met Mark Whelehan by Folly Wood. Mark is a local poet, and has become a real friend of Hidden Wiltshire. Let me repeat Paul's description of their encounter:

At this point I had one of life’s memorable encounters. As I walked along the bridleway I heard a vehicle slowing approaching behind me. In front of it trotted the largest dog I’ve ever seen. As I was to find out this was the magnificent Crook (the dog not the driver)! What turned out to be an ex-Parachute Regiment V8 Landrover stopped behind me and out jumped a chap who asked if I’d seen any sheep. I hadn’t. What followed was a 45 minute chat with one of the most remarkable people I’ve ever met. This, ladies and gentlemen, was local sculptor, poet and illustrator Mark Whelehan.

During our wide ranging conversation, where we established many areas of common interest (including the liberal use of profanities), Mark relayed all manner of stories about local history and folklore. At some point I recall him mentioning the fact that he was the son of Dr Seos Whelehan who was a psychiatrist at Roundway Hospital in Devizes; that he had during his life worked for the MOD; spent years living in a mud hut in Botswana; had a bullet in his back; and had recently had a hip replacement. He also at some point climbed back into his Landrover and emerged with three books of his poetry which he thrust upon me and said I could pop into Devizes Books to pay for them but only if I felt they were worth it! I most certainly will.

Later on, crime writer Joy Kluver discovered our Folly Wood article. She left a comment on the blog explaining that she'd visited the lane, spoken to a local dog walker about the legend of the Headless Horseman and explored the cave, all of which would feature in the book she was then editing for publication. A hidden woodland had quietly found its way into modern fiction.

Then, years later, another connection emerged.

While reminiscing about David Alderslade's paintings, I discovered his connection to John Alderslade, who has spent decades helping to preserve Wiltshire's folk music traditions through Stonegallows, the Village Pump Festival and, more recently, Trowbridge Festival. It struck me that the Alderslade family have each celebrated Wiltshire in their own way. John through music. David through painting.

Hidden Wiltshire simply became another thread woven into that tapestry.

When you look back, it is remarkable how one handwritten letter led to so many unexpected journeys. A recommendation became a walk. The walk became a blog post. The blog post inspired thousands of people to discover Folly Wood. A novelist found the story and told us Folly Wood was featured in her book. Countless photographers captured the lane in different seasons. Walkers followed in our footsteps. And somewhere along the way, Hidden Wiltshire became a tiny part of Folly Wood's modern history.

Perhaps that's what Hidden Wiltshire has always been about. Not collecting secrets. Not creating tourist attractions. But sharing places with people who will value them. Because the truth is that you can never truly "own" a landscape. Places like Folly Wood have been here for centuries. They'll still be here long after we've gone. They don't belong to us; we're simply passing through.

So yes, perhaps Hidden Wiltshire should occasionally be called UnHidden Wiltshire.

But if introducing someone to a forgotten woodland encourages them to walk more gently, look more closely and fall a little deeper in love with this extraordinary county, then perhaps that's a paradox we're happy to live with.