September 17, 1983: Borough Green To Cuxton

My seventh day on the North Downs Way, Saturday, September 17, 1983, was also my forty-third day of walking on British footpaths. I noted this figure in my journal because it signified that the number of London-based walks, 22, would now eclipse my Pennine Way total of 21. The number of local walks continued to outnumber more distant expeditions for only a short time however. Within six years Home Counties adventures were trailing overnight walking experiences almost two to one.

My role as footpath evangelist continued on Day 7; second only to my own pleasure in doing these walks was the satisfaction I was receiving in introducing others to the pleasures of long distance footpath walking. Tosh had hoped to flush out several new recruits from the ranks of the ASL staff but for today’s walk the best she could so was one Australian librarian, Judith Bailey. Jude was an excellent companion, experienced in the ways of the countryside, and in good shape from her bike riding. A formidable figure in her role as dispenser of periodicals, she had undoubtedly expelled more chattering students than any of her fellow workers. As a mark of their respect (and fear) the kids referred to her as Conan the Librarian. But not to her face.

Jude and the Lees met me at Victoria at 8:20. I wanted an earlier start because the distance would be greater than last time. I had made a number of calls to Medway weather, each time surprised to hear that sun and dry weather were expected after a week of grey and storms. The Lees drank outrageously overpriced coffee from styrofoam cups while we waited for Jude to purchase her ticket. The Borough Green train departed from the “international” side of the station, the first time I could remember taking a train from this side since trips to Sydenham Hill in 1967 – but I have since taken many local trips from this side.

We had a very uneventful ride out, with Tosh and Jude swapping school gossip. Harold appeared to be having difficulty with a cold, but later I learned that he suffers from allergies. He made a little throat clearing noise every 45 seconds for twelve miles on this day. He and I used the loo at Borough Green station. It was behind a wall but open to the heavens. I argued that it must have been designed by a loo architect eager to bring the fruits of Pompeii patio excavations back to rural Kent.

We walked up the station access road and headed north, with the distance covered seeming so much shorter than last time. The Happy Garden, which we passed again, was not a nursery but a Chinese Restaurant. Entering Wrotham we went up St. Mary’s Street, which I had wanted to use (before being overruled by my more cautious fellow walkers) last time. It proved to be a most delightful entry to the village. There was a sidewalk high above the street itself; cooking apples in little baskets were offered on chair seats – with instructions to leave 20p in the empty plastic litter pail beside. Harold and I went into a newsagent to buy some candy. Once again a walk was punctuated by tabloid speculation on the possibilities of a Princess Diana pregnancy.

We continued to walk up through the town and came to the park where we had enjoyed our last rest only a few weeks ago. Here we turned right, on the NDW again, and negotiated a perilous crossing of a motorway sliproad and a roundabout before departing on another suburban Pilgrim’s Way; this time there was even a house called “Chaucers.” Several of the homes here were lovely but the ones on the crest of the down above us didn’t harmonize well with the marvelous woodland scene – these included a do-it-yourself Saarinen ranch biplane and a palazzo painted Leander pink.

The Pilgrims Way was paved hereabouts and we had to step out of the path of roaring farm trucks a number of times as we headed east. This evasive action put us face to face with a large variety of ripe berries – bramble, black, snow, sloe, and elder – which Jude expertly identified for us throughout the day. There were quite a few stops along the way for nibbling and serious picking. Tosh, who said she hadn’t the patience for wine making, took a large number of elderberries home and pronounced them inedible.

When the tarmac ran out we began an ascent of the downs through Hognore Wood, one of the few periods of steep uphill required today. It was cool under the boughs of huge beeches and yews today, and I was happy to note that in spite of all the rain it was not particularly mucky underfoot. The wall of the Waterlow estate accompanied us on the right as we neared the crest; the chained gates looking as if they belonged in a horror movie. We emerged onto a busy upland highway, with the Vigo pub just ahead. It was not yet open – our early start having cost us a pint. It would have been a long time waiting for a drink today, however, because parked expectantly at the door was a chartered double-decker bus full of Morris dancers – licking their lips in anticipation. An accordion whickered from the last row of this vehicle as we descended Trottiscliffe Road. My companions wanted to seat me in an abandoned roadside armchair for the obligatory group leader photograph but, suspecting it to be wet, I declared that there was insufficient light.

We continued east on a delightful level shelf covered in yew needles, with identifying labels hanging around the chests of tall trees. Down Wood and Great Wood were traversed and there was a brief bit in the sun as we switched to a steep downhill track, actually joining forces at the bottom with two other footpaths, the London Countryway and the Weald Way. In short, I was destined to reach this junction on two other occasions in the future.

 

Our route continued toward the Medway, with a young girl on horseback and several geriatric walkers passing us. We threw off our packs for the first time in almost two and a half hours and had a lie down in the patchy sun. The Lees had some West Country biscuits to pass round. These two were both sporting new boots as well and Harold used the occasion to add some tape to a reddening Achilles tendon. Jude, a veteran of some strenuous Australian bushwhacking, was hiking for the first time in two years and producing her own crop of blisters as well.

As we marched eastward, there were wonderful views over the Kent farmland to the south from gaps in the hazel trees. At last it was time to change direction to a more northerly line after close to seventy miles of west to east. We also encountered our first stile of the day. There had been many more last time – indicating a much heavier commitment to agriculture than that provided by this remote countryside. Now we had to use a barbed wire corridor to ascend a field, then climb up a steep path that lead to open country and the summit of the downs. The women passed the men on this section. We all enjoyed wonderful views of the Medway and its valley and we could see the southeasterly hillside march of the NDW on the opposite side of the river.

We began to look for a lunch spot, here at the halfway point – but nothing suited. Either there was too much tarmac, as on Holly Hill, or too many flies, or too much wind or the threat of rain. Indeed there was a very gray patch of cloud to endure as we proceeded north, the vegetation separating us from the views that our ridgetop position should have offered. We passed Great Park Wood and the turnoff to Great Buckland but continued across a ploughed field with only the thinnest of trods to help us over a summit field, one of a series of open spaces in a sea of engulfing woods. At the edge of the second of these we sat down for lunch. I changed some film and noticed I had completed another roll at the wrong ASA speed.

It didn’t take long to eat my lunch, which consisted of whatever I could find in the refrigerator after a week so crammed with school responsibilities that I hadn’t had a single spare minute for shopping. Young pheasants were feeding on blackberries at the north end of the field and we encountered large groups of these birds on the tracks we crossed thereafter.

Our progress was slowed now by comfort stops in the bushes, pauses to gather pinecones for the new puppy to play with, more berrying, and one break for plucking teasels for dried flower arrangements. Here I used my knife. Another problem was route finding. The open fields had been ploughed over and it was often impossible to see where the path once went. Remembering my embarrassment on Juniper Hill I now pulled out my compass in order to get across darkest Kent.

It had been gray at lunch but the sun returned to share space with the clouds as we descended to the valley between Wingate Wood and North Wood, the valley of Dean Farm. This followed a turnoff at an acorn post with the acorn on the wrong side. We went over a stile but there was no sign of any path nor any clue as to where the route entered the woods on the opposite crest. Herbstein’s text, to add to our difficulties, mysteriously and irresponsibly came to the end of its chapter just when we needed some advice – and we had to look for help in Allen and Imrie. I pulled out the compass and headed due north, down past a lone cow, and up a huge hillside of sliding newly planted dirt clods. It was quite strenuous. Fortunately, as we neared the top, Harold spotted our path. Tosh followed, complaining about the footing, but we were all soon soothed by our stroll on a lovely grassy path through North Wood.

As we emerged into the Bush Valley we found a well-established path through its bare fields and soon re-entered a thin line of wood above Upper Bush. An NDW plinth had been lifted from its base by some malicious cretins. The well-kept quartet of houses at Upper Bush gave way to a road and then a path that cut through an empty field to the Cuxton Road.

Here I gave my fellow travelers a choice of routes. The quick way lay downhill, straight to the station and the 3:56. I announced, however, that I intended to complete the northern loop around Cuxton so as to shorten the next day’s walk. This would require a two-stage uphill climb and meant that I would be aiming for the 4:56. Tosh, letting it be known that she didn’t want to be shamed in the corridors of ASL by choosing the softer option, indicated that they would all follow me.

There was a nice woodland path and then, after a railroad crossing, a road up a hill. The top of the latter gave enchanting views of Cuxton and the Medway Valley. We had a long rest here. I ate a Yorkie and lay in the sun while rain came down on a hilltop five miles to the south. The girls picked some more berries and Harold cleared his throat. We moved along tentatively, prolonging the wonderful day out, edging down a private farm road, getting a magnificent view of the Medway Bridge and Rochester, reaching the A228 at last.

We walked down the highway into Cuxton, stepping along the edge of the road and over a newly felled hedgehog and hooked back to the railroad station. It was 4:30. Berry picking went on to the very end while a local lad misadvised us as to which side of the platform to wait on for a Charing Cross connection. The booking office was closed.

Our train came on time and we rode it only four minutes before changing at Strood. The platform rush when we dashed for our London train was complicated by the presence of a wheelchair belonging to a poor simple girl who scratched at her teenage acne and repeated every three or four minutes, in the middle of her companions’ conversation, a disembodied, “Hello.”

We reached Charing Cross, after a most enjoyable outing, shortly after 6:00. Once again we had to pay at the end of the journey – but there was less messing about this time. I traveled alone on the Bakerloo Line and found young Bertie in the park on my way home.

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

Day 8: Cuxton to Bearsted

Day walks from London:

If you are looking for additional London-based walking opportunities you may want to have a look at our experiences on the following routes:

A Chilterns Hundred

The Chiltern Way

The Green London Way

The Greensand Way

The London Countryway

The London Outer Orbital Path

The North Downs Way

The Ridgeway Path

The Saxon Shore Way

The South Downs Way

The Thames Path

The Vanguard Way

The Wealdway