Two walks, number two

7th September 2014

    After picking up Dee and Maisie at Pixot Hill, I drove east toward the magenta orb rising above the mist, and parked in Goudhurst. We left, taking the same route as I did last week, downhill, tripping over juvenile pheasants, picking blackberries and keeping Maisie on a tight leash until we passed Smugley Farm and went over to Pattenden. The camp site is shut up for the winter now and only ashes in the grass where camp fires were was evidence of people.
    At Trillinghurst, I picked an apple, and munched breathlessly uphill and Maisie followed scents all over the harvested fields until we came onto the lane for Kilndown and out of the mist now. There was a place in the hedgerow at Gatehouse Farm, where Honeysuckle has bloomed into September and we breathed in the sweetness. And White Dead-nettle was blooming on the verge below. Rose hips, blood-red, tumble down the hedges among the haws and sloes. Dee wanted to take the path via The Beeches through the wood to Scotney and we were rewarded with a peaceful Sun-scattered walk down to the Bewl where we went east through sheep pasture and back into the wood at Little Scotney. Just by, there is a pasture within the wood. Once used to grow hops, but not for 40 years. The anchors for the steel rope are still in place after all this time and still in good condition.
    We crossed the river into the hop gardens of Little Scotney Farm, sat against a pole, drank tea and breathed the hops' perfume. Nothing arouses the memory like a smell. We reminisced about our childhood working with our mums in the gardens, sitting on the picking bins or playing with the children of Londoners down for a working holiday. They lived in hopper huts for a month; a basic and meagre existence, but a time for fresh air, enjoy the Kentish countryside and earn some money. As Dee is a little (lot!) younger than me, picking machines were used in her time. The hops were taken to a shed adjacent to the oast, picked and dried. A lot less labour. This was the beginning of the end for the industry. A few gardens survive, and The National Trust does excellent work in using the hops grown at Scotney in its own beer brewed in Kent.
    We left the garden in a reflective mood and joined the River Tiese for Lamberhurst. The village was busy with runners in tight Lycra and we left via the church and we were back to the river for the last leg to Goudhurst. Now the Sun was high; there was no wind. We sweltered and suffered in the heat until we came to the trees at the mill. And there was the long climb to Goudhurst, but stopping to gather blackberries for an apple and blackberry crumble gave us new wind. We looked out at the top of the hill across the valley to Brenchley, gathered our senses and went to St. Mary's for tea on the bench.
    Home then; dropping off Dee and Maisie at Pixot Hill, Brenchley first, then a shower!