October 7, 1989: Tonbridge to Ashurst

Only a week passed before the Lees and I were ready to undertake our fourth day of walking on the Wealdway. I was anxious to get some life into our legs – only a week prior to our Alternatives week walk with students in France. The weather prospects were not very good but we decided to risk it on this early October Saturday – there was no Sunday train service from Ashurst, our ultimate destination, and we really had little choice if Tosh and I were really interested in getting in a conditioning hike. It was just the three of us and Toby at 8:45 in Charing Cross station. A gentleman approached me to talk about his two Schnauzers, Smokey and Thomas. Tosh caused a minor scene at the fast food window by complaining about the price of a muffin.

We reached Tonbridge at 9:45. We hadn’t even got up the stairs from our platform when there was a dull thud; it was the sound of Harold falling on his face. He wasn’t hurt but because he had his hands in his pockets he couldn’t break his fall properly. “It’s better to fall up the stairs than to fall down,” he reasoned, “you have a shorter distance to cover.”

We walked up the busy high street, pausing at a bakery for more pastry. I was eating a doughnut as we crossed the Big Bridge and turned west under the walls of the castle. We walked up the path to have a look at the gates and then returned to a series of tarmac paths. We crossed a stream and passed a model railway, then continued through a parking lot – and finally made our way along a paved path through endless playing fields. There were only a few other people about, walking their dogs. Toby was unleashed here and he ran about with great excitement.

We could tell it was not going to be a warm day: I was wearing a UCLA sweatshirt and my Detroit Tigers cap. We passed under a railway bridge and rejoined the banks of the Medway; this was quite a lovely stretch. The leaves were still on the trees, magpies were flying about, and the walking was very easy. Our path moved away from the river just a bit and we paused near a small lake for a picture. Then we crossed two footbridges in order to rejoin the river. A large and cultivated island appeared on our left as we pursued the new cut. Toby somehow sensed when it was time to cross this channel on a footbridge; he was over on the other side before we had reached the crossing.

There followed a complicated bit of maneuvering over stiles, through culverts, under railway bridges, and across footbridges before we reached a lane leading to the north end of the village of Hayesden. A police van, with an Alsatian aboard, was parked in this quiet corner of nowhere. “This must be Hayesden’s version of a speed trap,” Harold quipped.

We continued past the Royal Oak pub and continued on a lane past cottages covered in red ivy. At the bottom we passed through a farmyard and entered a wide field leading up to the motorway. We headed across it diagonally but halfway there I stopped the party so that my picture could be taken against the backdrop of another converted oast house. I had reached my 1600th mile on UK footpaths.

We continued on through a hidden tunnel under the Tonbridge bypass; someone had parked a tractor here. A short left hook put us over a stile and we walked along a recently plowed field edge (part of it was being uprooted as we walked) and up to a road. On the other side we faced our first climb in many a mile. Unfortunately we had to set off over the churned up dirt clods of another recently turned field.

A woods pointed downhill at us like an arrowhead. I was looking for a gate into it, but I never found it. Indeed I went up the left side of the woods when I should have gone up the right. At the top end I could see our way forward, however, so I whistled up the Lees and they soon joined me. We used a track to continue behind the woods, discovering a WW waymark pointing downhill shortly before our track swung steeply uphill. This is how I knew I had come up the wrong side.

A line of trees accompanied our track uphill; unfortunately Toby was charging ahead and as he rounded a corner, briefly out of our sight, we could hear a tremendous bark of discovery. He had come across some sheep in the adjacent field. I blew on my whistle and called his name and by the time we had reached his takeoff spot he was already on his way back – satisfied with the minor stampede his voice alone had caused. The incident made the Lees nervous and throughout the day, even in stretches when there could not have been any animals about, they often preferred to have him on lead.

At the top of our first incline we reached the B2176 road and turned right, passing some well situated houses whose view over the valley to the north must have been lovely on a less misty day. There was pavement for us to walk on. We crossed the street and followed a path that lead through a suburban estate and up to Bidborough church, where Erasmus had once preached. Views of the village, an ancient windmill, and the surrounding hillsides were quite rewarding.

We passed through the lower lych gate and marched downhill on Spring Lane. A lorry was coming up opposite us and Harold yanked Toby to a halt to let the vehicle pass. There was a school at the bottom of the hill. We continued along the lane and onto a footpath also heading south. Suddenly we were back in woodland – it was like this all day: a wonderful combination of village and woods with a little up and down to give the scene some variety.

We passed over a little footbridge and climbed up past some rocky outcrops, with trees showing their exposed roots against the crags. There was some ambiguity about which path to take but we decided to follow a friendly blonde dog who came out to greet us. He lead us to the roadway at Modest Corner. Just down the hill was the Beehive Pub. Our colleague Soledad Sprackling, who lives nearby, had said she might meet us here. I had estimated our time of arrival as 12:30. It was 12:25.

We were not too happy with the Beehive. The landlord was not interested in our desire to enter with our dog, even though he had one of his own. This meant that we had to sit out in front in the cold. Still, we tried to make the best of it; at least there wasn’t too much wind. We ordered lagers and food and used the loos. Soledad never showed up but a randy Lhasa Apso kept hectoring poor Toby; finally Tosh chased him away with a rolled up newspaper.

I had a cheeseburger and chips and Toby had some biscuits and several chips. We also ordered coffee. A bridegroom, dressed for his nuptials, came by for a stiffener with his best man. Tosh stopped eating her toasted cheese sandwich to exclaim, “That sign really offends me.” I turned around to see what she was talking about. The landlord had affixed a sign with the outline of a Rottweiler – “Break In; Make His Day.” We were at the Beehive over an hour. Tosh bought us some rum fudge to munch and we gathered our gear together. The Lhasa Apso was still standing in the corner, eyeing us longingly as a very gentle mist was just beginning to descend.

At the bottom of the hill we found a road and continued steeply uphill in a westerly direction. Then there was another turnoff amid cottages. This put us on a footpath that made a sharp right angle turn at a telephone pole and brought us along the edge of hedgerows down to a road. We turned right on the road and I began looking for a turnoff almost immediately. The path continued downhill under some chestnut trees; conkers were lying everywhere and Tosh and I picked up some really large ones – I carried one shiny brown nut as a talisman for the rest of the week. Tosh said her kids used to collect bowls full of such treasure. “Ah,” I said, “I see that we are conker lovers all.”

There was an old mill at the bottom of the hill and I posed the Lees and Toby next to the pond for a photo. Then we climbed up the access road and reached another main road. Tosh was tempted to gather some windfall apples in a front yard, but we were still hoping we might go past another orchard. Instead we climbed up to the town of Speldhurst, our route again ascending the churchyard, where we stopped for a rest. Each of us visited the church interior, where someone was lacquering the pews. Burne-Jones and William Morris had been responsible for some of the windows; they were lovely, but – of course – I didn’t care for them at all. There was an ancient house next door but the TV antenna affixed to the chimney quite ruined the scene.

Across the street stood the ancient George and Dragon. Two walkers with a Cocker were just setting out and we crossed paths at the lych gate. We continued around the church, looking for a turnoff, but we walked right by it – its sign rather obscured by foliage for people walking in our direction. We had reached another crossroads and the Northfield pub before I realized we had gone too far. Tosh was just as glad because she now darted inside to use the loo. I decided to retrace my steps and find our turnoff. I did so and waited for the Lees but they didn’t show up so I had to walk back. I waved them forward but still they didn’t come. When I reached the pub myself I could see the problem. Tosh had been embarrassed just to use the loo and had ordered another bitter shandy. We stood out in front while she finished it.

Our footpath lead us in the direction of Bullingstone Lane; we considered putting on our rain jackets in the open meadow before us – but decided against this. Our route brought us out in the vicinity of two splendid thatched yeoman’s cottages. After Bullingstone, however, there was more woodland, a long uphill pull on a somewhat overgrown path through Avery’s Wood; our trousers were getting slightly damp from the droplets on all the brambles.

We passed some old ladies and their dogs as we crossed an open field at the end of the woods. Toby was on lead almost all the time now. We came out at Earwig Green (I suppose the green was the tiny triangle of grass at the road junction.) We walked down a lane, passed several houses, and crossed a pathless field amid rubble. There was an apple tree nearby and Tosh stopped to pick up some fruit while Harold sat down and had a rest in the shelter of a tree. We passed a tennis court and came out on the Fordcombe Road. In the field on our left wild geese were coming in for a landing. While we were watching them we decided to put on our rain jackets at last. I was glad for mine because it was really quite chilly.

We didn’t go into Fordcombe, although we stood at one corner of the green. Instead we walked around the left side of the cricket pitch (which was receiving a manicure from one hardy soul) and continued south along field margins. Tosh found the path littered with little yellow apples and paused to pick some up. I had a bite of one of the less bruised ones myself. The way was clear on field paths as we reached Stone Cross, another hamlet  – the last before the end. We had to walk east for a few meters on the A264 before finding our continuation on a lane. This became a nice path just below the crest of the ridge, with views of Sussex just ahead. I took a last picture here – it was really too dark.

We had a rest at the top of our ascent. This was just as well because while we were standing about I noticed that the WW (which had been pretty well marked today) actually continued down the left side of the hedgerow in front of us, not the right side where we were standing. We descended for half a field, then switched to the opposite side of the hedge and continued steeply down, crossing one last style and reaching a track that also served as a section of the Sussex Border Path. Here we said goodbye to the Wealdway for the day and headed northwest parallel to our rail line.

The Lees were some distance ahead of me with the dog when I encountered another couple and their old black Lab. They had forgotten his lead and we were in a field of interested cows. The woman chided me for lagging behind and I mumbled something about this being the end of an eleven and a half mile day. We turned left after a while and descended to a farm, where another track continued even closer to the tracks. We reached Ashurst halt at 4:50, eighteen minutes before the arrival of our train. I could see from the schedule posted near the footbridge that we were lucky; there was only one train an hour – not the two they had promised over the telephone. We used the extra time to have a last snack and to knock some of the mud off our boots. There was no one else at this unmanned station on this increasingly wet Saturday afternoon.

Once aboard I used his orange towel to dry off the dog. He was soon a tired toasty warm bundle in my lap. We had to change trains in Oxted (this was also the opposite of what BR information had told me). There was only a short delay and Harold used this to buy our tickets. We got back to Victoria shortly after 6:00. I met two other walkers on the tube and we finished the day swapping bad weather stories.

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

Day 5: Ashurst to Crowborough