Tussocks: The (N + 11)th Annual Fish and Chip Walk

Cannock Chase: The Cutting and The Sherbrook and Oldacre Valleys

From the Cutting Car Park to the Lip of the Sherbrook Valley

Staffordshire

As the title suggest this is the 12th of these walks I have blogged and if you are thinking, ‘11th surely’, I would remind you the first was the Nth, the second (N + 1)th and so on. Last year the Christmas lockdown involved the ‘rule of 6’ (remember that? such fun!), but this year the numbers are unlimited, so there were five of us. We met, as we have the last few years at the Cutting Car Park on the edge of Cannock Chase between Millford Common and Brocton.

So here we are, Alison T, Alison C, Francis, Mike and me (hiding behind the camera), ready to set off. Lee and Sue were unavailable and Anne had cried off the day before having hurt her back during a six-hour volunteer shift at a vaccination centre. An injury nobly acquired.

Setting off from the Cuttings Car Park

It was not excessively cold, nor was it raining, but moisture hung so heavily in the air you could almost wring it out with your hands and watch the droplets cascade onto your toecaps. And humidity was not the only problem, it was not quite the shortest day of the year, but the weather gods had clearly deemed daylight inappropriate and were urging on the swirling mist below and dense clouds above as they smothered the light from the few precious hours between the late dawn and the depressingly early dusk.

The careful reader will have realised that I am wittering on about the weather (and desperately trying to crowbar in the fine Scottish word dreich, which not only says it all, but sounds like it does) because I have little to say about the route.

The Alisons lead along the line of the Tackeroo

We went round the top of The Cutting, through the woods beyond along the line of the Tackeroo and then, with some down but much more up, to the lip of the Sherbrook Valley.

Down and up to the lip of the Sherbrook Valley

This part of the route was the same as the last two years. All three differed later, but, with one possible exception, we have no previously untrodden paths in this region of the Chase. I have already written at length and in various places about The Cutting, the Tackeroo and the Glacial Boulder, so I will not repeat myself, but there is a blog search facility at the top right-hand corner, should you be interested.

At the bird feeding station a sign said – ‘Bird Flu, Do Not Feed the Birds.’ It is not just humans that suffer diseases – I think the little blighters should be told to wear masks.

We stopped for an early coffee, because we were where the bench was, though only Francis chose to use it.

Coffee stop

Down to the Sherbrook

Somewhere round here I usually take a picture across the Sherbrook Valley, but this year I could not see the other side. Nor could I see the bottom, but near the glacial boulder we turned down into the murky depths. It might have been a bottomless pit, but long experience suggested otherwise.

Into the misty Sherbrook Valley

At least the mist gives some atmospheric photos.

Further Down

Predictably we found the stream at the bottom, and all being double jabbed and boosted we had no problem walking on water.

The Sherbrook

Those more grounded in reality used the somewhat minimal stepping stones. I don’t think this set of stepping stones has appeared in one of these blogs before, though at least three others have.

Stepping across

Tussocks!

Over the stream we turned right, walking towards the source. Along here the water disappears and reappears and fills a couple of pools before disappearing for good. Maybe we have not walked on this side before, but Mike and I were struck by the lengthy stretch where the streambed was filled with grassy hummocks, like the heads of a gathering of green-haired goblins.

Tussocks in the Sherbrook

The tussocks were the only new thing on this walk - indeed I am not sure I have seen anything quite like them before anywhere. I have been unable to discover what sort of grass it is, the internet is excellent if you wish to buy tamed ornamental ‘tussock grass’, but little help at identifying a specimen in the wild (suggestions anyone?).[Mike suggests it is greater tussock sedge carex paniculata see comments at the end.]

Further up we recrossed the stream and climbed back up the valley’s side.

Out of the Sherbrook Valley

The Oldacre Valley, Mosses and lichens

I believed we were heading for the Katyn Memorial (search will explain what that is) but as we passed directly over Chase Road into the Oldacre Valley we must have been 1,500m north of the memorial.

The navigational demons of the Oldacre Valley had apparently taken a Christmas break, as we easily found our way down to the environs of Brocton Pool, where, according to the photo below, we paused to inspect the leaves on the ground. Actually, we had a conversation about the variety and brightness of green in the mosses and lichens around us. I was uncertain of the difference but Mike was able to point to examples of both – and on close inspection the differences are striking. Mosses are, of course, plants, and lichens, I know now, are symbiotic composite organisms that arise from algae cohabiting with fungi. Some photographs to exemplify the difference would be appropriate here, but all I have is three people staring at the ground!

Discussing lichens and mosses, or just looking at the floor?

Around Brocton Pool are a number of minor earthworks and the half-buried remains of a few brick platforms. Mike was wondering about the early industrial uses of the area but, with a few exceptions, finding information about industry on the Chase is difficult, maybe there was less than we imagine. More readily available is information about the prisoner of war and army camps from the First World War. Brocton and Rugeley camps were home to up to 40,000 soldiers in training at any one time and had the facilities of small towns. Both were dismantled after the end of hostilities. Brocton Camp lined what is now Chase Road, on the higher ground between the Sherbrook and Oldacre Valleys. We had earlier walked unawares through the middle of it. I would guess the visible remains around Brocton Pool were once part of Brocton Camp.

The end of 2021 has brought more than its share of storms culling those trees not in the best of health, including a number of Oldacre Valley’s silver birch.

Birches, some of them horizontal, Oldacre Valley

Brocton and Back to the Start

We left the Chase through a gate into the end of a residential street leading into the centre of Brocton. A couple of hundred metres up the Milford Road we turned back onto the Chase and up Mere Valley…

The bottom end of Mere Valley

…rounded a tree which has grown rather than fallen across the path…

Is this tree falling over or deliberately trying to reclaim the path

…and reached the tautologously named Mere Pool.

Mere Pool

From there it is a small step to the end of The Cutting. Earlier we had walked from the car park over the top, in winter the cutting itself is usually too wet. I had not noticed that this year had been particularly dry, in fact the opposite, but the floor of The Cutting looked remarkably dry, so that was how we walked back.

Back along the bottom of  The Cutting

Thus ended this year’s Fish and Chip Walk, all that remained was the fish and chips.

Until two years ago we walked after lunch as well, but a heavily booked Chetwynd Arms led to a late lunch in 2019 and no afternoon walk as the light was already fading. Last year pubs were closed, but this year, after some discussion, we followed the 2019 pattern with a 2 o’clock lunch booking. I am unsure if our ascent from the Sherbrook Valley well north of the previously stated goal was accidental and cut half an hour or more from the walk, or intended - I doubt Francis made a mistake - but we were in the Chetwynd arms before 1.30.

At around 10km this was the shortest ever chip walk, but I must admit I was glad to reach the end. After no serious walking since the July Macmillan Mighty Hike on the Long Mynd I was not fit, and would have struggled to go much further.

The Annual Fish and Chip Walks

The Nth: Cannock Chase in Snow and Ice (Dec 2010)
The (N + 1)th: Cannock Chase a Little Warmer (Dec 2011)
The (N + 2)th: Cannock Chase in Torrential Rain (Dec 2012)
The (N + 3)th: Cannock Chase in Winter Sunshine (Jan 2014)
The (N + 4)th: Cannock Chase Through Fresh Eyes (Dec 2014)
The (N + 5)th: Cannock Case, Dismal, Dismal, Dismal (Dec 2015)
The (N + 6)th: Cannock Chase Mild and Dry - So Much Better (Dec 2016)
The (N + 7)th: Cannock Chase, Venturing Further East (Jan 2018)
The (N + 8)th: Cannock Chase, Wind and Rain (Dec 2018)
The (N + 9)th: Cannock Chase, Freda's Grave at Last (Dec 2019)
The (N + 10)th: Cannock Chase in the Time of Covid (Dec 2020)
The (N + 11)th: Cannock Chase, Tussocks(Dec 2021)
Dec 2020 - no walk
The (N + 12)th: Cannock Chase, Shifting Tectonic Plates (Dec 2023)

East Sussex (3): Battle and Hastings

A Famous Battle, the Place Named after it, and the Place it is Named After

East Sussex

We spent a few days in Heathfield with my sister Erica and her partner Peter. They kindly took us for a day out.

Anyone brought up on the sort of school history I enjoyed might imagine there is an error in this post’s title, surely it should read ‘Battle of Hastings’. Everyone knows about the Battle of Hastings and anyone who remembers at least one date from history remembers 1066. My recollection (which may not be entirely accurate) tells me I heard the story in Infants School, complete with the tactics of William the Conqueror, and Harold getting an arrow in the eye. I recall the engagement also being referred to as the Battle of Senlac Hill. Google maps tell me Senlac Hill is 6 miles from Hastings, on the edge of a town called, not entirely coincidently, Battle.

Battle and its Abbey

In 1070, Pope Alexander II instructed William to do penance for the many killings involved in his conquest of England. William vowed to build an abbey on the site of the battle with the high altar of its church on the spot where King Harold fell. He started building, but medieval construction was slow work and he died in 1087 with it incomplete. Work continued under his son William II and the abbey church was consecrated in 1094.

The County of East Sussex
In this post we travel southeast from my sister's home in Heathfield to Battle (12m) then to Hastings (6m)

The town that grew up around the abbey became known as Battle. In the 17th century it was renowned for producing the best gunpowder in England, or possibly Europe. It is now a collection of linear developments straggling along 5 roads that converge where the Hight Street leads up to the abbey. I have found no evidence of an industrial estate or a major employer, but Hastings is within easy commuting range. The population is around 7,000 and the town looks prosperous in a Sussex-y way, the High Street having more than its fair share of attractive old buildings, all in a good state of repair.

Battle High Street

Battle Abbey Gatehouse

The Abbey gatehouse is in the High Street.

Battle Abbey gatehouse

Once through the gatehouse the obvious thing to do is climb the stairs to its roof where the information board tells us ‘William the Conqueror granted the monastery all the land within a radius of 1.5 miles of the abbey’s High Altar. The abbot had power over both church and secular life within these estates and the abbey was one of the richest in medieval England. The town grew up to serve the monastery and many of its residents were employed there. By the 14th century, Battle was the largest town in East Sussex. The centre of the town retains its medieval road plan and many of the buildings date from the Middle Ages.’ (slightly abridged)

Battle from the gatehouse roof

Turning 180° gives a view over Battle Abbey School. An independent School founded in 1912 and now with 360 students, it moved into the former Abbot’s quarters in 1922.

Battle Abbey School

Senlac Hill

Descending, we joined a guided tour led by a pre-elderly (i.e. the same age as me) enthusiast. After an introduction he took us round the perimeter wall…

Around the Abbey wall, Battle Abbey

…to look down Senlac Hill. Like the ridges at Thiepval and Passchendaele centuries later, Senlac was a minor geographical wrinkle destined to play a major role.

Looking down Senlac Hill

The job of historians (whatever the popular press may think) really is to rewrite history as they add to our knowledge and understanding of the past. I was, thus, a little surprised to find the simplified outline I had been taught in the 1950s stands unchanged.

After defeating the King of Norway and his own brother Tostig at Stamford Bridge near York on the 26th of September 1066, Harold marched 300 miles to meet the invading Normans on the 14th of October. He placed his (presumably tired) army of infantrymen behind a shield wall on the top of Senlac Hill. William, whose army including cavalry and archers as well as infantry approached from the bottom of the hill.

The battle started at dawn, and for a long time the Norman attacks had little success. Needing a new tactic, William ordered his men to make a frontal assault, then, at a signal to break and run as though giving up the fight. Thinking themselves victorious the Saxons gave chase but at a pre-arranged point the Normans turned and fought. Harold had stood firm on the top of the hill, but with the shield wall gone the result was inevitable. By dusk it was all over.

The Dorter

Despite its symbolic importance and despite (or because of) its wealth, Battle Abbey did not survive the Dissolution of the Monasteries. Henry VIII gave the Abbey and its lands to Sir Anthony Browne who destroyed the church and the cloisters and repurposed the Abbot’s quarters as a country house.

Parts of the dorter remain standing.

End wall of the dorter, Battle abbey

Coming from the same route as dormitory, the dorter was where the monks slept and also socialised, in so far as monks were permitted to.

An enthusiast shares his knowledge, inside the dorter, Battle Abbey

Tree ring analysis in 2016 suggests the timber was sourced locally and there were two phases of building in the early and later 15th century.

The Abbey Church and the Death of Harold

The Abbey church is long gone, but the ground plan is known. In the background is the parish Church of St Mary, built by Abbot Ralph in 1115 for the people of the village that had grown outside the Abbey walls. He could not know that one day his church would contain the alabaster tomb of Sir Anthony Browne who ruined his Abbey.

The Lay-out of the Abbey Church, Battle

King William had promised the High Altar of the Abbey Church would be on the spot where Harold fell, and there is a (modern) inscribed stone as a memorial. It might be in the right place; the spot where Harold’s body was found was probably marked but whether that marking lasted long enough to guide the construction of the church is anybody’s guess.

King Harold's Memorial Stone, Battle Abbey

Harold rex interfectus est - King Harold is killed

Everybody knows Harold got an arrow in the eye. The story comes from the Bayeux Tapestry, actually an 11th century embroidery, telling of the battle and the events leading up to it from the Norman point of view, though it was actually made in England. 70 m long, by 0.5 m tall, it is beautifully displayed in Bayeux in Normandy and is well worth seeing (Lynne and I have been there twice but long before this blog). Scene 57 shows the death of Harold. A figure, surely, has an eyeful of arrow, but is he the central character in the panel? Did the embroiderers actually know how Harold died, or is this a general battle scene offering a couple of possibilities. Who knows?

Brunch

I am an old man but not a grumpy old man, usually….. leaving the abbey, we walked to a pub at the end of the High Street. Erica had made a booking – this has become a wise precaution during Covid, although on this occasion we almost had the place to ourselves. She had booked lunch but we were offered a ‘Brunch’ menu, it was what they did. Erica was not pleased, it was lunch time and tarted up breakfast food was not what she expected or wanted, but we already had our drinks and inertia persuaded us to each find something to order. I have no idea what the purpose of Brunch is, I like my breakfast when I rise and a light lunch around 1 o’clock. A snack at eleven, maybe, coffee and a biscuit, but how does Brunch fit into a sensible schedule? It is a nonsense. Grump over.

Hastings

Hastings

After lunch Peter drove us down to the coast at Hastings.

A Battle and a Castle

William the Conqueror landed at Pevensey, 11 miles to the west and encountered Harold Godwinson on Senlac Hill, 6 miles to the north. Strangely, the ensuing fracas is called the Battle of Hastings, though the town’s only connection with the events of October 1066 was that William may have camped here. Clearly their publicity department was on the ball that day – I am unsure if they have ever been so alert since.

The Normans did build a castle at Hastings a little later, probably on top of a Saxon earthwork. The remains stand on a hill to the east of the modern centre and west of the old town.

Hastings Castle is on the hill behind me

Hastings as a Fishing Port

Fish Market at Hastings Beach, JMW Turner

Hastings became one of the Cinque Ports, indeed the town’s arms are a variation of those of the Cinque Ports, the single complete lion allegedly indicating Hasting was the chief Cinque Port. I find this a little odd as Hastings is a port without a harbour. Off-loading cargo without a dockside might be difficult, but it raises fewer problems for a fishing port. JMW Turner came here in 1810 to paint the fish market on the beach. The adjacent reproduction is in the Public Domain, but if you want to see the original you must visit the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City. Hastings, like Oz, seems a long way from Kansas, and still has the UK's largest beach-based fishing fleet.

Between the old town and the sea are the Net Shops. In the days when ropes and nets were made of natural material, dry storage was essential to prevent rotting. Fishermen originally used an ad hoc collection of huts and upturned boats between the cliffs and the sea – a much smaller space in Victorian times than it is now. The unique Net Shops, tall, narrow wooden buildings, all painted black standing in neat rows on the beach were built in response to Hastings’ 1835 town plan to make best use of the available space. 39 remaining shops form a group of Grade II* listed buildings.

The Net Shops, Hastings

Hastings as a Seaside Resort

In 1769 Scottish physician William Buchan’s popular Domestic Medicine advocated the practice of sea bathing. In 1789 George III bumbled into the sea at Weymouth hoping to aid his recovery from a bout of porphyria and soon everyone who was anyone was doing it.

The whole Sussex coast (east and west) was perfectly positioned to take advantage of this new enthusiasm. The well-healed stayed at the large hotels and, when the railway arrived, Sussex was in daytrip territory for Londoners of all classes.

Hastings built itself a pier and the requisite beach huts which have become a more versatile, if stationary, version of the Victorian bathing machines.

Beach huts and pier, Hastings

It planted some inappropriate vegetation to pretend the climate is balmier than it really is…

Hastings in wannabe Torquay mode

…and in 1891 built a funicular railway up the hill to the castle.

Different resorts developed different personalities. Brighton went for the day trippers while Eastbourne concentrated on attracting wealth retirees. Over time the resorts have had to adapt; their shingle beaches and iffy weather cannot compete with Spain, Greece or Turkey for beach holidays, but they retain the advantage of proximity to their market.

Brighton now considers itself a bit racy and a little bohemian, and since 2010 has elected and re-elected Parliament’s only Green MP, with an ever-increasing majority. Eastbourne remains God’s Waiting Room and Hastings…. well, I am not sure it ever really decided what it wants to be. There is still some fishing, it has areas of desirable housing but also areas of deprivation. The town attracts its share of those who experience difficulty fitting into modern society, a group which tends to gravitate to seaside towns, but it has never seemed to specialise.

I may have been overly unkind to Hastings and there is more to explore, but time was limited and Lynne was already sickening for a bug that would lay her low for the next two weeks.

Back to the Normans

Distracted by what appeared to be the neck and head of an iron bird emerging from the beach we interrupted our stroll along the promenade....

Lynne on the Promenade, Hastings

... and plodded across the shingle to take a look. Close up it is obviously the prow of a ship of sorts. There is lettering on one side, but we could make no sense of it.

The Landing, Hastings Beach

Sussex World informs me that it is called The Landing and represents a Norman ship, like those that landed at Pevensey 950 years ago. It is the result of a collaboration between local sculptor Leigh Dyer and the British Artist Blacksmiths Association.

In July 2016, ten mobile forges were set up near the Net Shops and blacksmiths from all over the country gathered to demonstrate their craft and. among other things, forge the pieces of The Landing. Galvanised, assembled and embedded in a sturdy foundation, the sculpture was unveiled in September 2016, the mysterious lettering the initials of donors who made the project possible. Beneath is a time capsule to be opened in 2066

Alan Turing

Before we left, Lynne insisted on Peter following an uncharacteristically uncertain sat nav in search of Bastion Lodge, the house where Alan Turing spent his childhood. This took us into St Leonard’s, once a separate town (as it is shown on the map above), but long ago absorbed into Hastings. The lodge did not make a great photograph…

Bastion Lodge, St Leonard's

…but it fulfilled some need of Lynne’s.

Alan Turing's Plaque, St Leonard's

And Finally

And so, we returned to Heathfield for another of Erica’s fine dinners. Next day it was time to head home.

Finally, a big 'thank you' to Erica and Peter who put us up (and put up with us) fed us royally and drove us around to interesting places.

With Erica and Peter in Hastings

East Sussex

Part 1:Bodiam and Rye (2020)
Part 2:Bateman's, Firle Beacon and the Long Man of Wilmington (2021)
Part 3: Battle and Hastings (2021)
Part 4: Rottingdean and The Devil's Dyke
Part 5: Lewes and Charleston (coming soon)

East Sussex (2): Bateman's, Firle Beacon and the Long Man of Wilmington

An Exceedingly Good House, A Stroll on the Downs and a Chalk Figure of Questionable Age

East Sussex

On Wednesday we returned to Staffordshire from Liverpool. On Friday we headed south to visit my sister who lives in Heathfield, East Sussex, a 220-mile journey which should have been possible in under 4 hours but took well over five. The wonder of engineering that is the M25 demands you stop and marvel at it, then move on a little, stop and marvel again, and repeat, and repeat, and…...

The County of East Sussex
Bateman's is near Burwash, 7m NE of Heathfield, Firle Beacon & Wilmington are 13m from Heathfield in the direction of Seaford

Saturday was a major family party, my sister and partner, Peter, Lynne and I, the three members of the next generation with their spouses, and the six children they have produced between them, five of them under five. What could possibly go wrong? Actually, nothing did. The organisation was superb (thank you, Erica) and everybody behaved themselves as was appropriate to their age.

This blog is about travel, not family – they are too important for me to mess round with their privacy - so leaving Saturday with a faint if unmerited glow of patriarchal pride, let us move on to Sunday.

Bateman’s

Once all members of the younger generations had departed, Peter drove the old codgers the 6 miles to Bateman’s near the village of Burwash.

Bateman's in the Sussex Countryside

Now owned by the National Trust, Bateman’s is described as a Jacobean Wealden Mansion, Wealden being the easternmost District of East Sussex. Constructed of sandstone, with two storeys and gables above, the main eastern frontage was probably designed to be symmetrical, but whether the northern wing was built and then torn down, or never built at all is unknown.

Bateman's main (east) entrance

The house was built for John Langham, a lawyer in 1634 and fifty years later was the home of ironmaster John Britten. It later became a farmhouse and sometime in the late 18th century acquired the name ‘Bateman’s’ though nobody knows why. It was in poor condition by the end of the 19th century.

Rudyard Kipling at Bateman's

Rudyard Kipling in 1895
(Public Domain)

The house is old enough and interesting enough as it is, but it has a second claim to fame. Few become rich by writing, but occasionally a writer catches something in the public psyche and, as a by-product, the money comes pouring in. JK Rowling was such a writer at the end of the 20th century, her equivalent 100 years earlier was Rudyard Kipling.

Born in Bombay in 1865, he was educated in England and returned to India in 1883 where he worked as a journalist, wrote in his spare time and a started to create a reputation. He left India in 1889 and returned to England via Burma, Japan and North America. In London He married Caroline Balestier in 1892. They honeymooned in Japan, visited Caroline’s family in Vermont and subsequently lived there until 1896. Kipling wrote prolifically during this time including the two Jungle Books, and the Barrack Room Ballads.

Back in England the Kiplings searched for somewhere to settle down and in 1902 they bought Bateman’s. The house was in need of renovation - it had no running water upstairs and no electricity anywhere when they bought it - but they were to stay there for the rest of their lives. Rudyard Kipling died in 1936 and Caroline donated Bateman’s to the National Trust on her death three years later.

Inside Bateman's

Some rooms look more comfortable than others….

Inside Bateman's

… but all look dark as the renovations included re-staining the panelling back to its ‘original’ colour. The dark panelling of 17th and 18th century houses, at a time when the only artificial light came from candles, always seemed perverse. It is now believed that the original staining had probably been much lighter, but had darkened over time. Not knowing this, early restorers, including the Kiplings, faithfully returned the panelling to a colour that had never been intended.

Inside Bateman's

The Kiplings decorated the dining room walls with 18th century English ‘Cordoba’ leather hangings, depicting birds and foliage. Covered with silver leaf and varnished to glisten like gold, Kipling described it as ‘lovelier than our wildest dreams.’ After attempting, not particularly successfully, to recreate the original brightness and freshness in my imagination, I struggle with Kipling’s description, but tastes are forever changing.

Dining room, Bateman's

Bateman’s and The Kipling Family

The Kiplings had three children. The eldest, Josephine, was born in Vermont in 1892 and died of pneumonia in 1899.

A second daughter, Elsie, was born in February 1896, and a son, John, in August 1897. Both subsequently lived at Bateman’s with their parents, but only John’s room is currently on show.

John Kipling's room, Bateman's

John Kipling, 1915 (Public Domain)

John was 16 when the Great War broke out. He attempted to join the Royal Navy, but was rejected because of his poor eyesight. He then tried the army and was similarly rejected. Believing the war to be ‘a crusade for civilisation against barbarism,’ his father pulled some strings and John was commissioned Second-Lieutenant in the Irish Guards two days before his 17th birthday. He was killed at the Battle of Loos in September 1915. His body was not identified until 1992.

Rudyard Kipling remained a supporter of the war but became a trenchant critic of the way it was fought. In Epitaphs of the War he wrote:

"If any question why we died
Tell them, because our fathers lied."

Elsie married George Bambridge in 1924. The marriage made her mistress of Wimpole Hall, the largest house in Cambridgeshire, so she was hardly inconvenienced when her parents donated Bateman’s to the National Trust. She lived at Wimpole Hall until her death in 1976 and, having no children, bequeathed Wimpole Hall to the National Trust as well.

The Nobel Prize and the Garden

In 1907 Kipling was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. He was the first writer in English to receive this honour and remains the youngest ever recipient.

He had described Bateman’s as "a good and peaceable place" but when bought the house had substantial grounds but no garden. The Nobel Prize funded the construction of a garden.

The lily pond, Bateman's garden

The Mill

Beyond the garden is Park Mill, built in 1750 on the site of an earlier mill. The National Trust restored the building and milling machinery in the 1970s.

The restored milling machinery, Park Mill, Bateman's

But Kipling, being a practical chap, had not bothered with the mill, but installed a turbine so the mill stream could supply him with electricity.

Kipling's turbine, Park Mill, Bateman's

From the mill we walked back through the grounds to the car park.

Bateman's and surrounding grounds

Kipling in Burwash

Peter drove us up to nearby Burwash, where Mr Kipling can be found warming a bench beside the High Street. He looked away from Lynne when she set next to him, but it was not rudeness, he just has a stiff neck.

Lynne and Rudyard Kipling, Burwash

When our daughter saw the picture, she said ‘I hope you told him to stop writing that terrible doggerel.’ Our daughter’s MA in Literature Studies convincingly outranks my qualifications for discussing poetry, but nonetheless I would (nervously) claim Kipling was a first-rate versifier, not a writer of doggerel.

As the ‘Poet of Empire’ Kipling ought to be out of fashion, but he isn't. His novels are in print, his stories are desecrated by the Disney Corporation and If is regularly voted the ‘nation’s favourite poem.’ He may have been a colonialist, it was intellectually impossible for an Englishman (indeed any European) of his time not to have been, but his colonial attitudes were always tempered by humanity and we should not blame him for the date of his birth. Popularity can be fleeting, but any writer being read 85 years after their death, is more than just ‘popular’. All right, I will come clean, for all his faults, I am a closet fan – well I was, now everyone knows.

When we, quite literally, took the road to Mandalay I wrote a post on his poem Mandalay (Click here for that post). The poem is ill-served by the familiar song simplifying and distorting Kipling’s intentions, but I admit that there is much wrong with it. Kipling’s geography is woeful and several lines sound impressive but mean little, but other lines are simply a pleasure to hear, and some say so much more and say it so eloquently.

From Burwash we returned to Heathfield for lunch, one of Erica’s fresh and innovative salads which I liked very much.

Later Peter drove us south to Firle Beacon.

Firle Beacon

Wealden

My last visit to the South Downs, was in 1962 - I was eleven and at Scout Camp. The Downs, with their long and regular wave-like shape were, I decided, rollers from the English Channel that had continued onto land. I remember us scrambling up the sides and running along the top like we were on the roof of the world, though they typically rise to only about 200m. Were we young enough to then roll down to the bottom?

Firle Beacon, 15km north east of Eastbourne and within the relatively new South Downs National Park, was closer to Rudyard Kipling’s description of "Our blunt, bow-headed whale-backed Downs" than my 60-year-old memories, though not too far from either.

This time, though, we did not scramble up the side, we drove along a minor road to a car park near the top. Then, we did not run along the whale-back, we walked, at a good pace, for just over a mile to the highest point, the Beacon at 217m, and then back to the car. Nobody suggested rolling down the side.

Peter and Lynne follow Erica and me towards Firle Beacon

It was a lovely walk, gently rising on the outward leg, over short grass, springy underfoot and past several earthworks, assorted tumuli and barrows according to the OS map. The only disappointment was that the slightly misty conditions spoiled the views across the surrounding land and the sea.

A disappointing view from Firle Beacon towards Cuckmere Haven and the sea

Wilmington

Back at the car park we descended to the A27, drove 3 or 4 miles east and found our way to the village of Wilmington which faces, Windover Hill, the next but one along the line from Firle Beacon.

The Long Man of Wilmington

The chalk downs of southern England have always been irresistible to those wishing to create a landmark. The oldest, the Uffington White Horse in Oxfordshire (we visited in July 2014), is late bronze/early iron age, the most recent, the Fovent Regimental Badges, are 20th century. White horses were popular in the 18th and 19th century, but there are only two human figures (other than riders), the Cerne Abbas Giant in Dorset and the Long Man of Wilmington.

The Long Man of Wilmington

Both were believed to be ancient, but as there is no written evidence for either before the 17th century they have been reassessed. Most chalk figures consist of trenches cut in the turf and backfilled with chalk rubble. Optically stimulated luminescence testing (no, I don’t know what it is either, but I am sure it is very clever) has suggested the Cerne Abbas figure may well be over a thousand years old. The Long Man may have started as chalk rubble, but now consists of whitewashed breezeblocks (which need a bit of a clean-up) so dating is problematic. The 70m high figure, drawn to look in proportion when seen from below, may have iron age, or even Neolithic, origins but it its earliest mention was in 1710.

The best view, more distant but with more context, is from the path leading from the village.

The Long Man and the path from Wilmington village

Wilmington Priory, Parish Church and Yew Tree

Wilmington Priory was founded in the mid-11th century as an ‘alien cell’ (a small overseas off-shoot) of a Norman Benedictine Abbey. Enlarged in 1243 it became a grange for the local Benedictine held lands. Alien cells were suppressed in the 100 Years’ War and the Priory passed to Chichester Cathedral and then to the Sackville family after the Dissolution of the Monasteries. Today it is owned by the Landmark Trust and consists of a few broken down walls and a 14th-century house used as a holiday let.

Some remains of Wilmington Priory

The Church of St Mary and St Peter was built in the late 11th century as a combined Priory/Parish church. It has inevitably seen much restoration and some rebuilding in 800 years’ service to the community.

The massive yew tree outside the church is even older, dendrochronology suggesting it has been growing here for some 1,600 years old.

The 1,600 year old Wilmington yew tree

It is not looking too bad, considering.

That finished the days sight-seeing. The convivial evening involved another fine dinner, featuring duck legs - always a favourite.

East Sussex

Part 1:Bodiam and Rye (2020)
Part 2:Bateman's, Firle Beacon and the Long Man of Wilmington (2021)
Part 3: Battle and Hastings (2021)
Part 4: Rottingdean and The Devil's Dyke
Part 5: Lewes and Charleston (coming soon)