Beyond the bridge we soon come to a picturesquely-situated farmhouse, standing on a steep bank, and looking down upon the meadows.  This is the Parks Farm, and all the fields on this side bordering the river were once the deer park of the great Abbey.  Presently we reach Offenham Ferry, while a little beyond, set back behind willow trees and plough-land, is the village; and we soon catch sight of the old church tower peering over the bank.  At the further extremity of the village, quite near the bank, is the “Court” farm, once protected by a moat fed by the river, and used by the Evesham Abbots as a country retreat.  Hither Clement Lichfield, the last Abbot, retired on his resignation, and here he probably died.

The village of Offenham is peculiar in lying away from any main road, and this gives it an air of repose and antiquity, which is pleasant in these days.  Whether the place owes its name to Offa, King of Mercia, is an open question, but according to tradition this monarch owned land and had a palace here, the site of which is pointed out by the villagers.

Beside the ferry we have passed there was in old times a bridge, and still, when the water is very low, the solid foundations of the piers may be seen with pointed buttresses facing up and down the stream.  When this bridge was destroyed no one can tell; but once upon a time the road from Worcester to London came over Green Hill, and leaving Evesham more than a mile to the south, descended the steep hill where now a grass-grown track marks its course, crossing the river by this bridge.  The farm on the right bank is known by the name of Twyford, and so we guess that the creek which leaves the main stream a little way above the ferry once continued its course, forming an island with a ford on either side.  Deadman’s Ait is the traditional name of this island field, and it is supposed some of the stragglers from the battle of 1265 were slain here while attempting to escape by the ford or bridge.

The irregularity of the river banks, now nearly level with the water, sloping gently upwards, or steep and at times almost precipitous, is much marked as we proceed on our way up the stream.  After passing some gardens, and a steep bank overgrown with gorse, the sluggish stream quickens its pace, and we soon reach an abrupt turn where the current is met by an unyielding wall of lias.  Under the bare limestone the water is deep and rushes swiftly, but above, the bank is covered with tangled growth of blackberry and wild clematis, and in spring the ground beneath the trees is blue with hyacinths.  This sudden turn is Norton Corner, and though no signs of that village can be seen it stands hardly a mile away over the ridge of fields.  The whole course we have come may be followed on foot by the old tow-path from the mill.  From this point, after crossing the railway, a farm road will take us to the end of the village; or we may take the footpath through the arch beneath the line that we passed a few hundred yards further down.