Millington Woods lies in a small valley in the middle of nowhere. Technically it’s in the Yorkshire Wolds, but with the exception of the nearby village from which it gets its name it’s miles away from anything resembling modern civilisation.

The woods have never been busy when I’ve visited, but the few people who you might meet will be the polite sort that wish you a good morning as they pass. We had the wood to ourselves this morning, and all that could be heard was bird calls, a light breeze murmuring through the trees and blissful silence.

The wood is best known for its ancient ash trees, but I’m partial to the Norwegian Spruce which stands tall and magisterial among its peers.

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You should go. But don’t tell everyone about it.

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