27th April 2014
When I awoke last night, Jupiter dominated Mars and the starlight. This morning, I walked out into grey rain. The long wet grass at Oxen Hoath soaked my legs, but the birds continued to sing, just the same. Friesians were grazing in the top pasture, and took no heed to me or the weather as I walked through, and a Cuckoo called incessantly. The new canopy, as I entered Hurst Wood at Gover Hill stayed some rain and the Bluebells brightened the morning. When I reached Doris's bench, the rain had stopped and some patches of celestial blue appeared, but across the valley, the hill over at Seal Chart, was shrouded in cloud. May is in blossom and the hedgerows were cloaked with creamy sprays.
Long Bottom Wood was a magnificent riot of colour: White dead Nettle, Yellow Archangel and Red Campion growing thickly along the path and Bluebells painting the woodland floor. I determined to follow the Bourne home (as much as the footpaths will allow), and joined the river at Basted Mill. Bluebells and Stitchwort together is a perfect combination for beauty along the river banks. The little river Bourne is best in springtime; with the newness of green and clean smelling air. Although, for Ransomes (wild garlic), it is a good year and is growing abundantly! The meadow beyond Dunks Green was be-spattered with white Daises and yellow Dandelions; like a Jackson Pollock work of art, and the first Swallow of the year wheeled low across the vibrant field. At the camping barn by the river at Oxen Hoath Mill (now a fish farm), I stopped for tea, and an Orange Tip butterfly crossed my path, fluttering, looking for a maid. Lords and Ladies were all about me, with the purple phallic spikes emerging from the luscious verdant envelopes. Now the Sun was shining strongly and the temperature was rising, I removed a layer, to make for home and all was well with the world.
Monday 28 April 2014
Sunday 20 April 2014
Good Friday walk
18th April 2014
Di and Maisie arrived at 7am for our annual Good Friday walk. We drove in fine weather to the quietly calm Bough Beech Water, parked on the causeway, and started off walking north for the Greensand Way. Uphill through birdsong and fields of Rape, by hedges and banks of springtime flowers, and startling a small herd of Fallow deer (which Di banned Maisie from chasing!), we entered Stubbs Wood above the hamlet of Boarhill, extremely puffed. Rose Ringed Parakeets had been roosting and were agitated by a Buzzard above and making a din! The view from Hanging Bank to the Weald was spectacular; the air crystal, the valley greening and Crowborough Hill twenty two kilometres south, a recognizable sight, as we caught our breath. At Ide Hill village, we stopped at the loos for a pee, then crossed into the wood, where Octavia Hill (co-founder of The National Trust) dedicated a bench, facing south across the Weald, to others who would come after her. The woodland walks on the Greensand Ridge are so peaceful; no traffic noise, and sparsely populated. Pretty cottages and small villages and hamlets are dotted along the way. We crossed green undulating fields, and along the way, greeted a chap with his little Jack Russell, who was clearing trees from a small copse, and a bonfire was throwing out a fierce heat, which was welcome on such a chilly day. Then up high to Scords Wood, where a bench is set for passers-by. The family of David Page JP MBE, who once owned the farm we walked across, dedicated the bench to him, saying that he loved the farm. We stopped at this quiet place for breakfast and enjoyed the view in the Sun.
From there, we made our way through Bluebells and woodland to Toy's Hill, then out onto the lane to take us to French Street, another pretty hamlet, with well kept gardens and well kept stables of show horses. We said hello to a mare and her foal (keeping Maisie well back!). A bridle path took us along woodland rides over Horns Hill to Chartwell; Winston Churchill's house. We stopped at the restaurant there for coffee and cake, recovering in the sunshine.
We left Chartwell via the farm (after a discussion about which way to go) and walked along a grassy flower garnished lane, with lambs bleating in the pasture, down to Puddledock Lane. The walk to Bardogs Farm was a lung-busting climb near Toy's Hill, but from there, it was all downhill along another grassy twitten, with Yellow Archangel and White Dead Nettle, pink Herb Robert, and at the Toy's Hill road, wild Strawberries. At the house gate where the footpath ended, there was a tray-full of home-made jams. Of all types and irresistible! I chose Gooseberry jam - £1.30 - bargain! Di chose Victoria Plum, I believe, and we paid by dropping the money into the post-box. Off the road again, for the last three kilometres, we went onto Hendon Manor dairy farm; a very well kept farm and a pleasure to see, as was the black and white 15th century manor house (I believe they supply Marks and Spencer with milk). We watched a pair of crying Buzzards, one playing at being a Peregrine: diving with folded wings and swooping! I'm sure it was just for fun. At Cooper's Corner, we cut across, back to Bough Beech Water and the wildlife centre there for a cuppa and rest before the drive back home.
Di and Maisie arrived at 7am for our annual Good Friday walk. We drove in fine weather to the quietly calm Bough Beech Water, parked on the causeway, and started off walking north for the Greensand Way. Uphill through birdsong and fields of Rape, by hedges and banks of springtime flowers, and startling a small herd of Fallow deer (which Di banned Maisie from chasing!), we entered Stubbs Wood above the hamlet of Boarhill, extremely puffed. Rose Ringed Parakeets had been roosting and were agitated by a Buzzard above and making a din! The view from Hanging Bank to the Weald was spectacular; the air crystal, the valley greening and Crowborough Hill twenty two kilometres south, a recognizable sight, as we caught our breath. At Ide Hill village, we stopped at the loos for a pee, then crossed into the wood, where Octavia Hill (co-founder of The National Trust) dedicated a bench, facing south across the Weald, to others who would come after her. The woodland walks on the Greensand Ridge are so peaceful; no traffic noise, and sparsely populated. Pretty cottages and small villages and hamlets are dotted along the way. We crossed green undulating fields, and along the way, greeted a chap with his little Jack Russell, who was clearing trees from a small copse, and a bonfire was throwing out a fierce heat, which was welcome on such a chilly day. Then up high to Scords Wood, where a bench is set for passers-by. The family of David Page JP MBE, who once owned the farm we walked across, dedicated the bench to him, saying that he loved the farm. We stopped at this quiet place for breakfast and enjoyed the view in the Sun.
From there, we made our way through Bluebells and woodland to Toy's Hill, then out onto the lane to take us to French Street, another pretty hamlet, with well kept gardens and well kept stables of show horses. We said hello to a mare and her foal (keeping Maisie well back!). A bridle path took us along woodland rides over Horns Hill to Chartwell; Winston Churchill's house. We stopped at the restaurant there for coffee and cake, recovering in the sunshine.
We left Chartwell via the farm (after a discussion about which way to go) and walked along a grassy flower garnished lane, with lambs bleating in the pasture, down to Puddledock Lane. The walk to Bardogs Farm was a lung-busting climb near Toy's Hill, but from there, it was all downhill along another grassy twitten, with Yellow Archangel and White Dead Nettle, pink Herb Robert, and at the Toy's Hill road, wild Strawberries. At the house gate where the footpath ended, there was a tray-full of home-made jams. Of all types and irresistible! I chose Gooseberry jam - £1.30 - bargain! Di chose Victoria Plum, I believe, and we paid by dropping the money into the post-box. Off the road again, for the last three kilometres, we went onto Hendon Manor dairy farm; a very well kept farm and a pleasure to see, as was the black and white 15th century manor house (I believe they supply Marks and Spencer with milk). We watched a pair of crying Buzzards, one playing at being a Peregrine: diving with folded wings and swooping! I'm sure it was just for fun. At Cooper's Corner, we cut across, back to Bough Beech Water and the wildlife centre there for a cuppa and rest before the drive back home.
Tuesday 15 April 2014
The Fox and Hare
13th April 2014
The morning to begin was grey and chill but soon pocket handkerchiefs of pale blue appeared. Up at Oxen Hoath Mr Hare ran from me, and, all of a sudden, Reynard darted from the undergrowth and chased Hare into the Loganberry canes. I would say that Hare escaped; he was fast! Neither could be seen as I looked through the canes and orchard beyond. Opposite, a new orchard has been planted with a variety of apple called Scrumptious. I look forward to a September tasting. The woodland floor was everywhere thickly blue and the Sun shone through. Out of Hurst Wood, into the Walnut orchard and the catkins were sprouting. Jack-by-the-hedge were flowering on the banks (leaves tasting of mustard and garlic) and joining the White Dead Nettle was a another Mint called Yellow Archangel. Along the canopied twitten to Crouch, Herb Robert was beginning to show its pink visage. And after breakfast, below Doris's bench, in Long Bottom Wood, Spotted Orchids stood under the greening Hazel's shade.
I took a detour from the tinkling Bourne uphill along a path by Crowhurst Farm, and at Bewley Farm, a young woman was giving her horse a lesson in standing still and giving encouraging pats when he was good. From there I rambled through pink Bramley apple blossom to Ivy Hatch and through Bluebells to Ightham Mote and sat in the hot Sun for tea as visitors came in happy droves to see the house and gardens.
In Dean Park Wood, I sought out an old stump and sat among Bluebells for a final cuppa under the tree-filtered sunlight with insects buzzing about me, and watched as a Kestrel glided silently above the azure ground through the arboreal Eden. At High House Lane, I didn't walk the foot path off through the wheat fields as the crops were being sprayed, so took the green lane to Hadlow College instead and back across the rushing Bourne at the old Mill House for home.
The morning to begin was grey and chill but soon pocket handkerchiefs of pale blue appeared. Up at Oxen Hoath Mr Hare ran from me, and, all of a sudden, Reynard darted from the undergrowth and chased Hare into the Loganberry canes. I would say that Hare escaped; he was fast! Neither could be seen as I looked through the canes and orchard beyond. Opposite, a new orchard has been planted with a variety of apple called Scrumptious. I look forward to a September tasting. The woodland floor was everywhere thickly blue and the Sun shone through. Out of Hurst Wood, into the Walnut orchard and the catkins were sprouting. Jack-by-the-hedge were flowering on the banks (leaves tasting of mustard and garlic) and joining the White Dead Nettle was a another Mint called Yellow Archangel. Along the canopied twitten to Crouch, Herb Robert was beginning to show its pink visage. And after breakfast, below Doris's bench, in Long Bottom Wood, Spotted Orchids stood under the greening Hazel's shade.
I took a detour from the tinkling Bourne uphill along a path by Crowhurst Farm, and at Bewley Farm, a young woman was giving her horse a lesson in standing still and giving encouraging pats when he was good. From there I rambled through pink Bramley apple blossom to Ivy Hatch and through Bluebells to Ightham Mote and sat in the hot Sun for tea as visitors came in happy droves to see the house and gardens.
In Dean Park Wood, I sought out an old stump and sat among Bluebells for a final cuppa under the tree-filtered sunlight with insects buzzing about me, and watched as a Kestrel glided silently above the azure ground through the arboreal Eden. At High House Lane, I didn't walk the foot path off through the wheat fields as the crops were being sprayed, so took the green lane to Hadlow College instead and back across the rushing Bourne at the old Mill House for home.
Sunday 13 April 2014
The Seven Sisters
12th April 2014
A fine Saturday morning, but cool. An excursion was planned to drive to the south coast and walk the Seven Sisters - the steeply undulating chalk cliffs between the River Cuckmere and Eastbourne. I was joined by Kay, my sister-in-law Juju and her husband Marky. After a pleasant drive down, we parked at the Seven Sisters visitor centre, Exceat Farm, and walked down the river-side. A Grey Heron stood stock still, waiting for breakfast to appear by the water's edge. And later, a Little Egrit too. We spoke to a group of Sussex Brown cattle, but they were skittish and refused to answer and looked at us accusingly. Near the estuary, we started the climb up to the top at Cliff End and followed the South Downs Way among the springtime flowers until we reached Crowlink. We stopped there for tea and looked over to Birling Gap where the winter's storms had undermined the cliff and a great chunk of chalk had slipped into the sea, leaving the buildings perilously close to the cliff edge. The old coast guard's cottage is to be demolished.
We then took the north east path to Friston Forest past the hamlet of Crowlink and crossed the road at Friston and the church of St. Mary, a building of flint walls, and the oldest part, 11th century. We entered the forest which was awash with the yellow of Celandine. The forest was alive with birdsong and the peace absolute. We followed an old track west through the trees; the ruined walls edging the track were mossed and ivied. Mosses and lichens enveloped the trees in the damp valley. We passed West Dean where King Alfred the Great once had a palace, then climbed uphill a hundred steps back to Exceat tea rooms. We sat in the courtyard drinking coffee and eating ploughmans while Mr Robin Redbreast took crumbs from Juju's hand or he stood waiting on my shoulder expectantly.
At home, I developed a cold, but Sunday awaits!
A fine Saturday morning, but cool. An excursion was planned to drive to the south coast and walk the Seven Sisters - the steeply undulating chalk cliffs between the River Cuckmere and Eastbourne. I was joined by Kay, my sister-in-law Juju and her husband Marky. After a pleasant drive down, we parked at the Seven Sisters visitor centre, Exceat Farm, and walked down the river-side. A Grey Heron stood stock still, waiting for breakfast to appear by the water's edge. And later, a Little Egrit too. We spoke to a group of Sussex Brown cattle, but they were skittish and refused to answer and looked at us accusingly. Near the estuary, we started the climb up to the top at Cliff End and followed the South Downs Way among the springtime flowers until we reached Crowlink. We stopped there for tea and looked over to Birling Gap where the winter's storms had undermined the cliff and a great chunk of chalk had slipped into the sea, leaving the buildings perilously close to the cliff edge. The old coast guard's cottage is to be demolished.
We then took the north east path to Friston Forest past the hamlet of Crowlink and crossed the road at Friston and the church of St. Mary, a building of flint walls, and the oldest part, 11th century. We entered the forest which was awash with the yellow of Celandine. The forest was alive with birdsong and the peace absolute. We followed an old track west through the trees; the ruined walls edging the track were mossed and ivied. Mosses and lichens enveloped the trees in the damp valley. We passed West Dean where King Alfred the Great once had a palace, then climbed uphill a hundred steps back to Exceat tea rooms. We sat in the courtyard drinking coffee and eating ploughmans while Mr Robin Redbreast took crumbs from Juju's hand or he stood waiting on my shoulder expectantly.
At home, I developed a cold, but Sunday awaits!
Monday 7 April 2014
Coxheath Roundhouse
4th April 2014
As the car was in the garage in Marden for a service, I decided to walk from there. And Goudhurst was the destination.
I left Marden, past St Michael & All Angels medieval church, under the hazy Sun and took a path south, through pear blossom and fields (some of which were recently spread with muck - what a pong!), and with relief entered a Bluebell wood. The path took me over a quiet stream, then out into newly strung hop fields at Hugget Farm. From there, there is a dearth of public footpaths, so I trod the flower bordered lanes through woodland until Curtisden Green, passing Paygate, the old toll house on the Goudhurst road, and Bethany school for boys, a popular public school (or in the USA, a private school). Some boys were wearing themselves out in the playing fields and being especially noisy about it. Then I was off the road, downhill through pasture, until the Ladham Estate, where the lanes took me through blossomed orchards uphill to St. Mary's Church in Goudhurst (built circa AD1119, I believe). I sat under a leafy Horse Chestnut on The Plain by the pond and ate lunch and watched the ducks.
Before leaving Goudhurst, I popped into Weekes Bakery and bought a Cornish pasty to scoff on the journey back. Leaf bud was bursting out everywhere but Mistletoe is still clear to be seen in the Lime trees. And downhill along the High Weald Trail, under overhanging Cherry blossom,White Dead Nettles threaten deceitfully and bees enter the luscious white, enveloping, complicated folds for nectar. I crossed over the River Teise past Nevergood Farm and up to Share Farm, through woods to Grovehurst. The pink apple blossom there was just emerging, with pear blossom, snow white all the way to Ash Farm. Then I was back to the river, where I sat at the edge of fields of bright yellow Rape for a snack. The heady perfume made me feel drowsy, like Dorothy in the field of Poppies. Onward, over the river again to a copse which was thickly carpeted with Bluebells, Wood Anemone, Celandine, Stitchwort and Milkmaids; the woodland floor was spring's affirmation. Back toward Marden, on the hillside in a small copse, nestled among the Bluebells, was a large roundhouse, built of willow sticks and waterproofed, with a crude breeze block hearth and chimney. And above the doorway, was the legend: Coxheath Roundhouse. It was built on perhaps an Iron Age form, and made one feel a romantic notion of home long ago. No-one was there, so I ventured in, and into my imagination.
As the car was in the garage in Marden for a service, I decided to walk from there. And Goudhurst was the destination.
I left Marden, past St Michael & All Angels medieval church, under the hazy Sun and took a path south, through pear blossom and fields (some of which were recently spread with muck - what a pong!), and with relief entered a Bluebell wood. The path took me over a quiet stream, then out into newly strung hop fields at Hugget Farm. From there, there is a dearth of public footpaths, so I trod the flower bordered lanes through woodland until Curtisden Green, passing Paygate, the old toll house on the Goudhurst road, and Bethany school for boys, a popular public school (or in the USA, a private school). Some boys were wearing themselves out in the playing fields and being especially noisy about it. Then I was off the road, downhill through pasture, until the Ladham Estate, where the lanes took me through blossomed orchards uphill to St. Mary's Church in Goudhurst (built circa AD1119, I believe). I sat under a leafy Horse Chestnut on The Plain by the pond and ate lunch and watched the ducks.
Before leaving Goudhurst, I popped into Weekes Bakery and bought a Cornish pasty to scoff on the journey back. Leaf bud was bursting out everywhere but Mistletoe is still clear to be seen in the Lime trees. And downhill along the High Weald Trail, under overhanging Cherry blossom,White Dead Nettles threaten deceitfully and bees enter the luscious white, enveloping, complicated folds for nectar. I crossed over the River Teise past Nevergood Farm and up to Share Farm, through woods to Grovehurst. The pink apple blossom there was just emerging, with pear blossom, snow white all the way to Ash Farm. Then I was back to the river, where I sat at the edge of fields of bright yellow Rape for a snack. The heady perfume made me feel drowsy, like Dorothy in the field of Poppies. Onward, over the river again to a copse which was thickly carpeted with Bluebells, Wood Anemone, Celandine, Stitchwort and Milkmaids; the woodland floor was spring's affirmation. Back toward Marden, on the hillside in a small copse, nestled among the Bluebells, was a large roundhouse, built of willow sticks and waterproofed, with a crude breeze block hearth and chimney. And above the doorway, was the legend: Coxheath Roundhouse. It was built on perhaps an Iron Age form, and made one feel a romantic notion of home long ago. No-one was there, so I ventured in, and into my imagination.
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