April 12, 2005: Edenbridge to Forest Row
Bluebells – another springtime dividend on the British footpath
After quite a struggle with the Lees, who had objections to two out of every three days I now proposed, agreement was at last reached that we would next walk on a spring Tuesday. The weather report was not that cheerful but it didn’t look like there would be much rain and I was eager to keep up our rhythm of achievement. So, with Dorothy having just disappeared into the park with young Fritz (celebrating his second birthday today) I closed the door at 8:55 and headed under sunny skies to the Maida Vale tube stop.
Again we were entering the system just as our freedom passes became active and so I was soon heading eastward, changing to the Jubilee Line at Baker Street and reaching London Bridge by 9:30. Here I bought a return to East Grinstead (only £3.55 with all our concessions) and waited for the soon-arrived Lees to do the same. Then we bought soft drinks and boarded a train at platform nine, the 10:07. As it turned out, we were on the right platform but our train was further along the track, something we should have suspected from the darkened condition of our carriage. A nice chap, seeing us sitting in the dark, advised us to move forward and so we did.
By the time we had pulled out of the station the cloud had arrived and we rarely saw the sun again on this cool day. There wasn’t much gossip to catch up on, though I did learn that Tosh had decided, even though she couldn’t forgive Tony Blair for the war in Iraq, that it was unfair to wreak revenge on the rest of the British electorate by elevating the Tories in the forthcoming election. Each of us used the loos as we headed south, conveniently forgetting to get off at Hurst Green, which is where our East Grinstead tickets should have lead us, and riding one more station to disembark at Edenbridge Town. It was 10:45 and, after adjusting map and guidebook, we were off.
For the first time I was using one of the new two and a half inches to the mile orange-covered Explorer maps. I had decided on its purchase after encountering a number of ambiguities on the last leg of the Vanguard Way; the newer map not only had a much more convenient scale, it even had the Vanguard Way marked on its surface. With Sheet 147 (Sevenoaks & Tonbridge) I was now able to pick out a route back to an intersection with our trail utilizing convenient roadways – and so we left Edenbrige itself (after the Lees had paused to discuss the unloading of roofing timbers with some workmen) and headed west amid rolling farmland.
I had proposed using the Eden Valley Walk shortcut to escape all the traffic of a vergeless highway but since the map indicated it would open only in “Spring 2005” Tosh was reluctant to give it a try. For that matter such a route, though perhaps saving a bit of distance, would have foreclosed the possibility of coffee at Haxted Mill and that decided it. I was out in front for the two miles or so it took us to reach the mill and I must say I was really chugging along, even though much of the countryside was gently rising. Tosh complimented me on my pace but I responded that I was unlikely to sustain this on steeper gradients or after the miles had taken their toll – and I was right. For most of the day Tosh, in her new grey boots, was out in front by fifty years or so, I was next, and Harold brought up the rear, twenty yards or so behind me.
The countryside was quite lovely, with lush green contrasting with the yellow fields of oilseed rape and lots of wildflowers blooming along the edges, even some early bluebells. Tosh complained about the traffic but it wasn’t too bad and in about fifty minutes we had pulled up opposite the spinning wheel of the Haxted Mill, where a “riverside brasserie” offered the possibility of refreshment,
Mr. David Peek, its proprietor, was willing to serve us coffee – as we were here well before any luncheon customers – and we had a nice chat about his menu, his web site, and his jazz afternoons. Tosh showed him her anti-Bush t-shirt after he had expressed some astonishment at the insanity of the Americans re-electing their president. We each had a look at the outdoor terrace, overlooking the millpond, and after only a short stay we prepared to move off. It was just before noon.
A stile across the street welcomed us to some non-motorized countryside at last, and we began a nine and one quarter mile stretch with not even a hamlet to interrupt our progress. Keeping a hedge on our left we crossed a footbridge and another field where we used a gate to join another road (we had aimed a bit too far to the right and missed a stile) onto the bridge over the Eden Brook – which we soon crossed to reach a fork in the road. Turning left we followed this new road for 400 meters, escaping it to dodge around a line of eastward leading trees, which we followed in the direction of a “pond” near Cernes Farm. Harold sniffed at this designation for so paltry a body of water – “In my country we call that a mud hole.”
We turned right (south, our dominant direction today) to follow the farm’s access road down to the rather grand Coach House, which seemed to be undergoing refurbishment. Harold noticed that it even had its own chapel on grounds adjacent to the site of Starborough Castle. We couldn’t see much of this too clearly, our route keeping to the property’s barrier fence, until we were at last admitted to an access drive. We followed this metaled road for some distance before being sent across a field of rape on a diagonal path. A wide swath had been left in the vegetation for walkers but footing was none too comfortable. Saunders had said we were to aim for the “far left corner,” but this is one of those guidebook instructions that always invites the question: “far left from whose perspective?” – and we were in fact heading to the right to reach our next spot, a road adjacent to the Starborough Nursery (“closed July”).
Waymarking had been quite good to this point but there was nothing at the head of the trackway that our text asked us to use next; nevertheless we persevered in our southerly direction, rising gradually with improving views behind us. However there had been much discussion about finding a convenient lunch spot and Tosh, after we had topped a little hill, lead us into a grassy field where, at 1:00, we sat down for a rare trailside repast – no pub offering its hospitality during the entire day’s march.
I wasn’t too perturbed by this since I was trying to make further progress of my Atkinsonian regime and I could control events a bit more closely with a d-i-y sack containing salami, red Leicester, cream cheese and celery. I had the Swiss Army knife handy and was soon full up. Two women with black Labradors started up the next hill, using the track at our feet, and after a few more minutes we followed them.
As last time, I was somehow surprised at the amount of up and down on today’s route and we were beginning, in two stages, a major climb now – first through Old Plantation, then along the edge of Reynolds Wood, and then, after circumnavigating a barn, out to a roadway at Dry Hill Farm. A trackway led us up the hill itself – where a redundant trig point placed us at 172 meters in elevation. Nothing could be seen of any fort up here but the views were spectacular in all directions – and these included the spire of a church on the next ridgeline which we now approached, naturally, with a steep descent – first on track, then on path to the Dutch Barn (full of ewes and their lambs) of Beeches Farm.
We now followed a farm track to come out at a delightful cottage –where we reached a roadway and headed west. A second road branched to the left and we began an ascent (against whizzing traffic again) past Gotwick Manor and thus up to the A264 at Hammerwood where, presumably, the church whose steeple we had seen some miles back, was located nearby. The Lees had a drink of water as I steadied myself against a brief period of lightheadedness – we had been keeping up a corking pace, partly, I believe, because there always seemed to be a chance of rain in the ever-changing radiant grey heavens.
We carried forward on a track downhill and I considered myself fortunate to have spotted a VW turnoff stile behind us as the road began its plunge down to the valley bottom. Our route was uphill next to a fence, trailed by a chap in wellies and a little toddler named Ben, also by a gentle dog. They passed us and then we overtook them as Ben stopped to greet a black horse. After a brief eastern jog we turned south again and made our way through Wet Wood – it wasn’t too bad today but you could tell from the dried mud holes that the horses had churned it up and that it could be quite unpleasant at other times.
We then had another ascent on a raised path between fields where it appeared someone was trying to reestablish a hedgerow. We emerged at Dog Gate Lodge and had a sitdown next to the road, one of our rare periods of rest on today’s eleven-mile jaunt. The road in question now lead us past a series of country houses concluding with the very impressive grey stone Thornhill – which looked as though it would be more comfortable on the Yorkshire moors.
I was able to tell Tosh that we were now beginning the last paragraph in our route description. This required use of several tracks as we passed more cottages and then a track that was clogged with tree stumps – two workers were repairing a fence here. On our left was a reservoir and at the bottom of our hill (with views of Forest Row now ahead of us) we reached some waterworks buildings. A track lead us out to a road and into a car park where I was able to tell Tosh that we had now reached the last sentence of our walk. We passed through a business park and marched up to the B2210 in Forest Row. On the corner stood the Foresters Arms pub and, by entering its saloon bar at 4:20, we had completed our walk for the day.
While the Lees were ordering drinks I used Dorothy’s mobile phone to order up a taxi, using a number I had gotten off the Internet. They wanted to come immediately but I put them off for ten minutes while the Lees drank half lagers and I had a Diet Coke. Our cab was waiting outside and in less then ten minutes we were at the East Grinstead station, having reached West Sussex after a day begun in Kent, furthered in Surrey and concluded in East Sussex.
We had about twenty minutes to wait for the 5:07 but we were allowed to board the train almost immediately – the cheery conductor having told Tosh it was okay as long as she didn’t vandalize the compartment or etch her name on the windows. Again we were accompanied by chattering schoolgirls, our companions as far as London Bridge – which we reached shortly after 6:00. (This time I knew to use my freedom pass and not my ticket to escape.) The Lees accompanied me on the Jubilee Line (where two lads offered Harold and me seats) and I said goodbye to my companions at Green Park. Again I switched at Baker Street, getting home at about 6:45 after another successful outing.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: