I can just manage to cycle up this slit, so long as no group of walkers appears in the steepest bit.

From openings down beside your feet on the left you can sometimes—when the water is running—hear the rumble of the great wheel inside the mill. Over the stone wall on your right is a garden which in December is filled with illuminated Christmas trees, and in the tree in its corner there is a children's tree house. At the top the path first twists left, to cross the channel that feeds the mill. Through a grille there is a glimpse down over the garden behind the mill. One evening, leaving a party that was being held in the mill courtyard, I paused on hearing music coming from it in both directions around the mill, together with glows of light from these directions and several more—a magical sense of the complexity of this little streetless neighborhood of old stone and greenery and water.

Then the path twists rightward to become the Lynchway.