September 20, 2003: Hamsey Green to Banstead

Only eight days after completing the Greensand Way, the Lees and I resumed our march around the capital on the London Outer Orbital Path. We were joined on this sunny Saturday by Catherine Harada, who had last walked with us many years ago when we were doing the Chilterns Hundred (her Bob was in Dubai today). We were to rendezvous at 9:30 at Victoria Station and the Lees and I didn’t even have to buy tickets this time – as East Croydon is easily within the circumference of our Freedom passes and also that of the all-zone travel card – which the younger Catherine was employing on this day. I traveled alone to Victoria and soon met up with the others; we had time to buy cappuccinos and, in my case, an almond pain au chocolat, before boarding, at 9:47, a South Central train bound for the coast – in twenty minutes or so we were in East Croydon. We used the short journey (and the rest of the day) to extract from Catherine all the school gossip that, in our retirement, we no longer possess and, happily, are no longer affected by.

The ladies charged so swiftly out of the station that we missed the taxi queue and had to backtrack to the appropriate loading zone, where a black cab was waiting; the cabbie took a rather back roads route to Hamsey Green, where in November of 2001, we had broken off our LOOP progress at the Good Companions pub. He said, mistakenly, that he hoped we’d enjoy our meal here – as he received £15 for his services, which ended when he put us out in the pub car park at 10:30.

I took my sweatshirt off (Harold soon switched to shorts) for it was much sunnier and warmer than I had anticipated and everyone wore caps throughout the day – Harold objecting violently to the bulbous headpiece of Tosh’s baseball cap – from which she had removed the logo. I loaded up my map case and we started off on a ten and a half mile day by walking west on Tithe Pit Shaw Lane.

It was surprising how, after just a few hundred yards of suburbia, we were back in countryside, making a crossing of Dipsley Field on a dusty track, with a line of trees on our left. We passed a redundant triangulation pillar (evidently the only one encountered on the whole of the LOOP) and Harold and I used the cover of woodland for a quiet pee before turning left with the path into the open sunshine – where people were out walking their dogs in the adjacent field.

We followed a hedge on our right as a major descent began, turning left again as we utilized an old coaching road down the white cliffs, over a railway line and into the valley bottom. Gingerly we dodged across a busy road and past the Rose and Crown pub and then along Old Barn Lane and up over a second railway bridge. New Barn Lane now required a very steep pull up to the edge of woodland so I disputed David Sharp’s comment that only here “some serious climbing begins.” We had a bit of an argument over which of the upland routes we were to take after climbing some steps; although there were innumerable LOOP disks on this day they were often missing at critical turnoff points. I prevailed in my insistence that we simply needed to continue in a westerly direction and this was soon confirmed as we climbed up to Kenley Common.

We followed a hedge on our right, crossed a track and plunged into some cooler woodland (where I often took my cap off) taking a half left to cross a flat field where a mown path lead in a southwesterly direction – “We’ll be doing the moaning if this is wrong,” I said. We had a little rest and some water at the opposite side of this field and then crossed a corner of woodland to appear on a track called Golf Road. Ahead of us a pony trap was making slow progress – we could only assume a pony was providing the motive power; we never got close enough to confirm this.

We had to turn right to follow the verge of a busy road, crossing this soon to approach Betts Mead, where a path lead us along hedges and around a corner into another field. We climbed down to a little lane and up the other side for another field path, this one leading directly to a small observatory (which had a baby dome next to it as well). The women missed this unusual sighting because they were so busy yakking. Off to our left were artifacts of the Kenley Airfield, from which Spitfires flew in World War II, and on our right was a caravan-dotted farmstead with blinkered horses, a scene of rural squalor that the Lees likened to Steptoe and Son.

After the observatory we followed a narrow woodland path to a sunken track, Waterhouse Lane, and descended to suburbia again, soon reaching Rydons Lane – where we began our second ascent of the day (there were many more of these than I had anticipated today). Outside one house some disgruntled driver had parked a Mercedes Benz with the following inscription in the window: “Chrysler quality (low), German prices (high) – I won’t buy one of these again.” The houses grew grander as we climbed higher, often without pavement now, passing through Coulsdon Common and out to a main road.

Across this speedway we could already see the pub sign (a cartoon again ­– what ever happened to traditional design) at the head of Fox Lane. Within a few yards we had reached the Fox pub on our left and at 12:15, with three and a half miles covered, we sat down for lunch in this Caterham establishment ­– which seemed to be run by young people who considered themselves to be part of a “team.”

Harold and I had pints of Stella and fish and chips while Tosh and Catherine had sandwiches. Service was speedy (a waitress arrived with a platter of sauces from which we could help ourselves). The fish was good but it was coated in a hardened batter that broke off in shards and I left a good deal of it behind. Catherine had tea while she and Tosh indulged in gooey desserts; the Lees also drank coffee. At the next table a lady, detecting American accents, was bewailing the fact that since his heart attack her husband could no longer afford the travel insurance needed to facilitate a trip to see his son in San Diego – where medical costs were so high that insurers wouldn’t take the risk.

We used the loos and left at 1:30. It was in the mid-seventies outside but there was an occasional cooling breeze as we passed the pub car park, entered a meadow and soon arrived at a wonderful view of Happy Valley, an uninterrupted country panorama spread out below us. There were lots of people about, some with children in push chairs, some with dogs, and I couldn’t help thinking about my young Fritz (home with his mistress) and how much he would have enjoyed such a scene. We walked down the graying turf and followed a hedgerow up the opposite side of the valley.

Here there we some ambiguity over which path to take in a northwesterly direction through the woods that guarded the top of Farthing Downs. I think we climbed more steeply than we needed to and emerged on the road at the top too far to the south. I left the others while I did some scouting and actually used my whistle to summon them when I confirmed my suspicions. We followed the road in a northerly direction until we reached a parking lot (the Lees used some loos).

Our route now lay along the spine of the Downs in the hot sun as we passed an ancient beech and gradually headed down toward Coulsdon below us. There are supposed to be cattle here and I was looking forward to seeing the spats they wore ­– reflective devices to warn nearby motorists – but no one was doing any grazing up here today. I had to call the women back as they followed a left hand alternative when it was the right hand branch that we needed to use to reach civilization again.

We followed several twists and turns among the houses and gardens of Coulsdon, reaching a pedestrian bridge over the railway line at Coulsdon South Station. Here I bent over to retrieve a discarded ticket for another one of my collections – the blood rushing to my head in protest. Steadied, I descended the bridge and lead the others up to a pelican crossing as we used pavement to approach a busy intersection. A local farm was advertising free-range eggs but as we turned the corner on Lion Green Road we observed that this establishment had laid its last egg.

We began to climb again, crossing several streets and making a number of turns amid not very distinguished suburban housing, crossing another rail line and reaching the foot of Woodmansterne Road. Here began a very long pull up another hill, although we were assisted by pavement and occasional shade. There were a number of locals waiting for a bus on this stretch; a black woman said we had only ten more minutes to reach the top; another woman, observing my pace, said to me, “Nice day for a slow walk” – to which I replied, “With this hill ‘slow’ is the only way I can do it.”

At the top of the hill (“The Mount”) we reached a little green and across it we spotted the pub I had been promising Mrs. Lee for some time – the Jack and Jill. In fact we now entered the small snug of this establishment – which we had to ourselves. A lively scene was taking place at the opposite side of the place – though you could reach it only by passing through the loos. Tosh had a mixture of orange juice and mineral water with lots of ice in a pint glass and I had the same thing, with lemonade instead of mineral water. We had a nice relaxing rest here and I found my drink to be very refreshing.

At 4:00 we decided to make a move, with at least three and a half miles to go, and so we continued in our northwesterly direction following tracks and trails down the hill until we had to make a left turn across another field and out to the Carshalton Road. A bit of verge walking against the whizzing traffic was needed to reach an escape route across more meadows (once we had a triple stile) as we headed north. There was a diversion here, inserted to provide us with access to another pelican crossing, but it meant our chance of arriving in time for the hourly train at Banstead was looking less likely.

We crossed the road into Oaks Park and followed a zigzagging path through its woods and flowerbeds – a well-watered oasis of color in a dry summer. We were inching our way westward, finally reaching Fairlawn Road and turning our backs on the traffic. A half left on Freedown Lane put as at the foot of another long ascent, though much more gentle than some of the others we had encountered.

Our lane was just a track, though mostly accompanied by trees and thus providing some relief from the sun – now shining into our eyes. We passed behind another prison, Highdown, and dropped down to another railway crossing. A gentleman was standing here with a Golden Retriever on lead. “He won’t budge until he’s had a chance to say hello to everyone,” he said, and so we had to pat this fellow’s smiling head as we switched to a southwesterly direction to climb up onto a golf course at Banstead Downs. Tosh disappeared into the bushes here and this gave the rest of us the last opportunity to sample the blackberry crop – which had been very sweet and juicy today.

I was trying to keep up a corking pace in the hope that we could make the 5:48 train, but I don’t think the others noticed, since I was usually behind anyway. We were slowed by the crossing of a dual carriageway ­– where we turned north through more of the golf course, crossing a fairway and plunging into scrub. Here we needed to forsake the LOOP for a quarter mile diversion to Banstead station. This was well marked and we turned southwest, passing over another fairway and out to a road, where we turned left. We rounded a corner and entered the unmanned station at 5:43 – soon discovering that the train had left five minutes earlier.

Passengers climbing off a southbound train confirmed these details – the public address having announced that this train was at the platform long before it actually arrived. Having to wait for the 6:38 was not as onerous as one might expect. It was pleasant sitting on the benches in the cool of the early evening and Tosh read to us amusing snippets from an Evening Standard that someone had left behind. Banstead lies just outside the London travel zone so we bought “Travel Permits” from a machine on the platform just to get us to the next station ­– we needn’t have bothered.

Our train was on time but it was a milk train local so we rode only up to Sutton, switching to Platform One for a fast train to Victoria. It stopped only at Clapham Junction and reached London at 7:14. The Lees said goodbye here and I traveled with Catherine only one stop on the Victoria Line. She had done very well today and I’m sure she enjoyed herself. She kissed me on the cheek as she departed and I continued on to Oxford Circus, switching to the Bakerloo Line and making my way home in darkness, shortly before 8:00.

To continue with the next stage of our walk you need:

Day 7: Banstead to Kingston