26th May 2014
I parked in Kilndown for a Spring Bank Holiday walk. On through the church-yard to Summerhill, Dog Roses and Elderflower proclaimed June. And at Rogers Rough, yellow Iris spilled over the ditches. Cuckoo spit dribbled from succulent stems on the high verges. My memories of the village are ingrained and when I visit, I am transported. I would walk to my maternal grandmother at Bedgebury Cross from Kilndown when five years old and remember the lane so well. Grandmother's house is still there, but extended now (and done well). Showers of rain went with me as I went from the Cross through the fields to the Great Lake where Grebes dived and ducks communed. Up at Three Chimneys Farm, the oast houses are now dwellings, but there is still a working farm, and the old house there still has three chimneys. Then into Bedgebury Forest to make my way to Forge Farm down the bridleway and along the disused railway to Hartley. The railway, which ran from Paddock Wood to Hawkhurst, closed in 1961. I remember travelling on the old 'Pull & Push' from Goudhurst Station to Hartley for 5d. and walking back to Kilndown Primary School as a treat before the line closed. There have been plans proposed to reopen the track bed for use by cyclists and walkers. But of course, wishing won't make it happen.
I came out from the trees at Hartley and made my way to the War Memorial at Cranbrook for breakfast. Although the road was a little busy, it was a pleasant rest on the bench by the memorial and the rain had stopped. From there, I went into Angley Wood on the High Weald Landscape Trail for Goudhurst. The wood was peaceful for a bank holiday and I met just one runner to greet; a lady working hard to climb the hill through the conifers. After crossing the Hartley-Goudhurst road, I followed the footpath onto the Glassenbury estate, which wends its way to Smugley Farm, then through pens of Pheasant chicks and ducklings. Pheasants and Mallards are driven to the guns all through the woods and fields there. St. Mary's Church on the hill at Goudhurst came into view just before Smugleys and gave something to aim for, which was a cheese pasty and cup of coffee at Weekes the bakers in the village and I sat on the pavement and watched the passers-by. Downhill to Crowbourne, past my paternal grandmother's old place, then through Finchcocks Park and uphill, back to Kilndown and tea by the Quarry. An idyllic spot, with pond, overhanging trees and reeds and lilies just opening and orchids on the bank.
But for these moments, life would be such a disappointment.
Friday 30 May 2014
Thursday 22 May 2014
A hot one!
18th May 2014
It was a 5.30 start for Tonbridge and I left Hadlow going south with the Sun and Moon the only objects in the still blue sky. At Golden Green, a mist was settling and at the River Medway, thickening. At the old WWII machine gun posts (never used in anger) by the river, I turned west. The Medway was once a working river; barges and boats plying their trade all the way from the Thames estuary to the wharfs in Tonbridge. The quiet slow river of pleasure craft and barges and fishermen on the banks belies the its busy history. At the Harlake Bridge, there is a memorial plaque remembering the thirty Gypsy hop-pickers and children drowned when the bridge collapsed in 1853 during a flood.. And there is a monument in St. Mary's churchyard, Hadlow, where the victims are buried.
And I followed the ghosts along the footpath which hugs the riverbank and as the mist was burnt off, the sky and verdure was mirrored on the gentle water. Close to Porters Lock, a young Mute Swan and a white farmyard goose were grazing together at the bank and paddled away when I came, and the unlikely friends floated downstream, a little put out. Mayflower turning pink and Elderflower blossoming on the banks.
Just before the Town Lock, there was a half submerged boat; its cabin under water and looking sad and neglected. It was a victim of the winter floods I suppose, and in need of rescue. I walked past the new riverside apartments on Vale Road and arrived at Tonbridge Castle as the horn sounded for another group of cyclists leaving for the annual 100 mile ride for charity. I met Dee, who was manning (or womanning) the refreshment tent. She had arrived at 6am to set up beverages and the event was well under way. She poured me a coffee, gave me a biscuit, we had a short natter, and I went on my way. And 750 cyclists went on their way.
From the castle, I walked through Hildenborough, down through golden meadows of Buttercups and found the Hilden Brook. I sat by the tinkling stream for breakfast and listened to the birdsong.
The uphill route to Shipbourne took me along the peaceful flower-bordered lane through Coldharbour and Hoad Common and a rest in the bus shelter away from the hot Sun. Two female walkers asked if there were any pubs nearby. I directed them to The Kentish Rifleman at Dunks Green. As they marched off searching for beer, I drank green tea.
The homeward walk was cool enough in the woods, but through the deep emerald fields of wheat, it was burning hot!
It was a 5.30 start for Tonbridge and I left Hadlow going south with the Sun and Moon the only objects in the still blue sky. At Golden Green, a mist was settling and at the River Medway, thickening. At the old WWII machine gun posts (never used in anger) by the river, I turned west. The Medway was once a working river; barges and boats plying their trade all the way from the Thames estuary to the wharfs in Tonbridge. The quiet slow river of pleasure craft and barges and fishermen on the banks belies the its busy history. At the Harlake Bridge, there is a memorial plaque remembering the thirty Gypsy hop-pickers and children drowned when the bridge collapsed in 1853 during a flood.. And there is a monument in St. Mary's churchyard, Hadlow, where the victims are buried.
And I followed the ghosts along the footpath which hugs the riverbank and as the mist was burnt off, the sky and verdure was mirrored on the gentle water. Close to Porters Lock, a young Mute Swan and a white farmyard goose were grazing together at the bank and paddled away when I came, and the unlikely friends floated downstream, a little put out. Mayflower turning pink and Elderflower blossoming on the banks.
Just before the Town Lock, there was a half submerged boat; its cabin under water and looking sad and neglected. It was a victim of the winter floods I suppose, and in need of rescue. I walked past the new riverside apartments on Vale Road and arrived at Tonbridge Castle as the horn sounded for another group of cyclists leaving for the annual 100 mile ride for charity. I met Dee, who was manning (or womanning) the refreshment tent. She had arrived at 6am to set up beverages and the event was well under way. She poured me a coffee, gave me a biscuit, we had a short natter, and I went on my way. And 750 cyclists went on their way.
From the castle, I walked through Hildenborough, down through golden meadows of Buttercups and found the Hilden Brook. I sat by the tinkling stream for breakfast and listened to the birdsong.
The uphill route to Shipbourne took me along the peaceful flower-bordered lane through Coldharbour and Hoad Common and a rest in the bus shelter away from the hot Sun. Two female walkers asked if there were any pubs nearby. I directed them to The Kentish Rifleman at Dunks Green. As they marched off searching for beer, I drank green tea.
The homeward walk was cool enough in the woods, but through the deep emerald fields of wheat, it was burning hot!
Sunday 11 May 2014
A cold and windy spring morning.
11th May 2014
Something woke me and Mani lit the bedroom. But Venus rose before me. A grey sky greeted me though, as I left to satisfy my weekly pedestrian wanderlust. And the village was silent, apart from the birdsong.
Up on Gover Hill, the south westerly wind was fierce and cold; I put on gloves and coat and a Garden Warbler clung to a branch for dear life but sang prettily just the same. Into Hurst Wood, the wind died and the Bluebells were mostly gone. But new flowers replace those which take advantage of the leafless, open canopy, and Red Campion was splashing its colour along all the paths and lanes.
In the orchard, the Walnut catkins were dancing in the breeze and the flowers ready. A sharp shower went with me to Doris's bench on the hill at Crouch, but abated and I drank tea with the cold wind in my face. The valley below was all green cultivation; everything on course for a good year. Swallows searched the air like Spitfires and watching the acrobatics was mesmerising.
The land all about here would have belonged to the Culpepers and remain so until the 17th century. Old Soar Manor and Oxon Hoath Manor housed Culpepers for centuries, and other manors all through Kent and Sussex. I think the Culpepers were from Surrey originally, but where are they now. Maybe to the Americas? But the valley below me was worked for millennia by people who lived and died silently and anonymously.
The walk to up Scathes Wood warmed me and I took tea at the edge of the trees on the seat hewn from a fallen tree away from the cold wind and people. A Robin flew away and I remembered Raggedy. Water had leaked from the bladder in my rucksack and soaked my notebook, dammit!
The walk back through The Mote and Shipbourne along the paths and rides; the verges bursting and over-flowing with Queen Anne's Lace and my clothes dusted with confetti was a warmly satisfying journey home.
Something woke me and Mani lit the bedroom. But Venus rose before me. A grey sky greeted me though, as I left to satisfy my weekly pedestrian wanderlust. And the village was silent, apart from the birdsong.
Up on Gover Hill, the south westerly wind was fierce and cold; I put on gloves and coat and a Garden Warbler clung to a branch for dear life but sang prettily just the same. Into Hurst Wood, the wind died and the Bluebells were mostly gone. But new flowers replace those which take advantage of the leafless, open canopy, and Red Campion was splashing its colour along all the paths and lanes.
In the orchard, the Walnut catkins were dancing in the breeze and the flowers ready. A sharp shower went with me to Doris's bench on the hill at Crouch, but abated and I drank tea with the cold wind in my face. The valley below was all green cultivation; everything on course for a good year. Swallows searched the air like Spitfires and watching the acrobatics was mesmerising.
The land all about here would have belonged to the Culpepers and remain so until the 17th century. Old Soar Manor and Oxon Hoath Manor housed Culpepers for centuries, and other manors all through Kent and Sussex. I think the Culpepers were from Surrey originally, but where are they now. Maybe to the Americas? But the valley below me was worked for millennia by people who lived and died silently and anonymously.
The walk to up Scathes Wood warmed me and I took tea at the edge of the trees on the seat hewn from a fallen tree away from the cold wind and people. A Robin flew away and I remembered Raggedy. Water had leaked from the bladder in my rucksack and soaked my notebook, dammit!
The walk back through The Mote and Shipbourne along the paths and rides; the verges bursting and over-flowing with Queen Anne's Lace and my clothes dusted with confetti was a warmly satisfying journey home.
Wednesday 7 May 2014
May Day
5th May 2014
The day began chilly, with a slight frost. I waited for Dee as the Sun rose and warmed me, then we drove to Ightham Mote for a May Day walk while the spring flowers still illuminate the way. The car park was quiet and we were the first there; crowds were expected today, at this popular place. The Greensand Ridge beckoned and there was just a gentle mist over the southern hills and the air was clean. Puffing and panting on the uphill climb, Dee asked if I had eaten a pie for breakfast. I explained: old age comes to everyone who is lucky.
The white flowering heads of Ransomes were spread gloriously over the wood on Willmot Hill, and the air was thick with the pungent smell of garlic. Over toward Rooks Hill, the early Bluebells were now going to seed, making the ground appear drab after the brilliant display. But One Tree Hill was still vibrant and blue.
We sat on an old fallen tree in Knole Park in sunshine for tea, watched over by an inquisitive Roe deer, stamping his feet and smelling the air. He stayed with us all this time and made us slightly nervous and Maisie sat on the trunk watching back, never stirring. When we left, he bounced (stotted) away, boing-boing. What did he mean; you can't catch me?
The noisy Parakeets were especially active above in the Chestnuts and their green backs were almost luminous in the sunlight; the Rooks' and Jackdaws' behaviour was almost genteel by comparison as they strutted about the park probing the ground. We came out of the park into the wood at Godden Green where large swathes of Rhododendron had been cleared to allow the growth of native trees. Of course, they provided cover if one was desperate for a pee, so we had to hold on for a while longer and look for a more suitable place!
As we went on through Bitchet Common, we sampled the leaves of Jack-by-the-hedge, and decided that the smaller leaves at the top were very tasty and could be used in a salad very well. But the lower leaves made one look as if a lemon had been sucked.
We stopped for tea on the Ridge overlooking the valley and watched two Buzzards wheeling and a Kestrel hovering below us, with the Sun on their backs. The day by now was warming and on the last leg to Shipbourne Church, I removed a layer. There were many walkers about close to the village; it had become a busy thoroughfare. And back at Ightham Mote, the queue at the restaurant was too long to contemplate buying cake and coffee there, so off we went home.
Tonight, as I put the cat out, and looked up, Venus and Mars and Mani were clear in the evening sky and I pondered on them.
The day began chilly, with a slight frost. I waited for Dee as the Sun rose and warmed me, then we drove to Ightham Mote for a May Day walk while the spring flowers still illuminate the way. The car park was quiet and we were the first there; crowds were expected today, at this popular place. The Greensand Ridge beckoned and there was just a gentle mist over the southern hills and the air was clean. Puffing and panting on the uphill climb, Dee asked if I had eaten a pie for breakfast. I explained: old age comes to everyone who is lucky.
The white flowering heads of Ransomes were spread gloriously over the wood on Willmot Hill, and the air was thick with the pungent smell of garlic. Over toward Rooks Hill, the early Bluebells were now going to seed, making the ground appear drab after the brilliant display. But One Tree Hill was still vibrant and blue.
We sat on an old fallen tree in Knole Park in sunshine for tea, watched over by an inquisitive Roe deer, stamping his feet and smelling the air. He stayed with us all this time and made us slightly nervous and Maisie sat on the trunk watching back, never stirring. When we left, he bounced (stotted) away, boing-boing. What did he mean; you can't catch me?
The noisy Parakeets were especially active above in the Chestnuts and their green backs were almost luminous in the sunlight; the Rooks' and Jackdaws' behaviour was almost genteel by comparison as they strutted about the park probing the ground. We came out of the park into the wood at Godden Green where large swathes of Rhododendron had been cleared to allow the growth of native trees. Of course, they provided cover if one was desperate for a pee, so we had to hold on for a while longer and look for a more suitable place!
As we went on through Bitchet Common, we sampled the leaves of Jack-by-the-hedge, and decided that the smaller leaves at the top were very tasty and could be used in a salad very well. But the lower leaves made one look as if a lemon had been sucked.
We stopped for tea on the Ridge overlooking the valley and watched two Buzzards wheeling and a Kestrel hovering below us, with the Sun on their backs. The day by now was warming and on the last leg to Shipbourne Church, I removed a layer. There were many walkers about close to the village; it had become a busy thoroughfare. And back at Ightham Mote, the queue at the restaurant was too long to contemplate buying cake and coffee there, so off we went home.
Tonight, as I put the cat out, and looked up, Venus and Mars and Mani were clear in the evening sky and I pondered on them.
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