26 Jun 2010 at 12:24
I've been a bit lazy on my days off, so I decide to enjoy the weather and get out for a country walk. Right out of my street in Bramley and I’m straight on to a footpath. This part is the green tunnel section - a straight level footpath kindly donated by a certain Dr Beeching some decades ago and now the trees and bushes have grown up and over to form the tunnel. Dappled sunlight flickers through the greenery and it’s a peaceful start as I settle into my 2nd gear strolling pace - it’s a long walk for me, so steady does it.
Right at an old stone bridge, a crossover bridge where horses could cross to the other side of the Canal and the towpath on that side, apparently. Canals seemed to have had an incredibly short life, being replaced by railways after only a few decades. The Navy apparently wanted this one for an inland route from London to Portsmouth safe from the French fleet, but once we put the French in their place it’s fate was sealed.
Up through a country lane and across a small road. I’ve seen no one so far but now pass a man strimming grass on the corner. Safety glasses, orange helmet and orange jacket - now let down over his jeans in the heat. ‘Morning’, ‘Morning’. A little nod. We can be gently polite in the country, whereas there is no time for it in town or city. Here there is just me and orange-man - and half-a-dozen little buzzy insects.
The softness of silence in the country - it’s got a ‘˜feel’ to it somehow, yet I can’t put a finger on just what that is - enveloping, familiar and I rather like it. I’ve brought an mp3 player, but I will never use it today. You become aware of your footfalls sometimes, and I do as I plod up this little track with gently sloping open fields either side. They’re a steady plodding back-beat, with the occasional crunch as you walk through a patch of pine cones (do they fall all year round?). On top of this foot-drum are the backing vocals of Midge and The Insects, and an occasional flashy solo from a bird or two disturbed from the hedgerows - flappity-flap, flap, flap, flap, cheep, and into another bit of hedge or tree further up my path. You daft b****r - I’ll be there in another minute and then you’ll be off again! A flash of yellow on that wing - a yellow finch?
Sweat is streaming down my back now. I brought a sack so I can bring a few odds and ends like a map, a couple of apples, a cagoule - just in case, dib dib dib. The downside today is a very sweaty back. I try it on one strap, but it’s no good - it creeps forward round my arm and slowly slides off.
On towards Tangley. I love this countryside. Gently sloping fields, copses and distant hills crowned by woods, blue skies, scattered clouds, soft breeze. Somewhere over there to the left is St Martha’s Hill, and that is my first target - a little church perched on the top, on the old Pilgrim’s route across the North Downs.
Now I’m on a long drag up through Blackheath Forest, and in a while, just off to my right I detour to a small War Memorial. Just a few names inscribed here from WW1, and I wonder about its lonely location in this clearing. Then as I turn around, through a small gap-toothed opening in the trees, I get a perfectly framed view of St Martha’s church up in the distance. Maybe that’s why?
On, down through the woods, some winding country lanes, then out into the open, over the railway and main road, and I start on the climb up to the church at the top. The last few hundred yards are the hardest - it’s soft deep sand on this path, and steeper - hard going. Finally, I get to a bench up next to the church and am able to sit down and take off the boots for a while and take in the great views. I angle myself on the bench so my back only touches the bench at one side - I’m drenched and hope it might cool off a bit. Not too tired - just a bit of an ache in the groin from that last steeper stretch. The view is worth it.
After a rest and an apple, it’s a gentler walk down another side of the hill and then up a roadside path, cross over, along a little wooded stretch and then it’s out into the open, halfway up a superb large open bank-side facing South. This leads in a few minutes to Newlands Corner, just off the main road, with car parks, benches, coach trips, chips and fizzy pop... but this bit is the best, and the trippers don’t come this far around. It’s such a great view I walk to the top and at the tree line there’s a bench where I can take it in and get the map out and try to plot places I know. A small plane putters overhead. Then I too need the pop and chips, so I walk on to join the throng for lunch.
Across the busy road, then along a leafy part of The North Downs Way, then sharp right and down a steep rutted path. My ex had dodgy knees and always said it was harder to go downhill than uphill - I see what she means now - must be all the bending down at Sainsbury’s. At the bottom I reach the ‘˜Silent Pool’. Think Monet and lilies and you have the idea - a beautifully tranquil spot. Agatha Christie left her car in the nearby car park once and then disappeared for days. They dredged the Pool looking for her, but she was up in Harrogate, staying in a hotel under the name of her husband’s mistress. Not much mystery there then. Now - what was the film version with Dustin Hoffman?
Over to Albury, a few more woods, fields and a small gently bubbling ford, and then finally into pretty Shere, The White Horse pub... and cider. You can’t have a country walk without cider - it’s illegal. Shere’s often used as a film location - Bridget Jones’ dad got married over there at the church, and Jude Law had a beer here with his girlfriend in ‘˜The Holiday’. No sign of Cameron Diaz today, but the cider will do fine just now. Ah....
I think it’s the bus home...
Right at an old stone bridge, a crossover bridge where horses could cross to the other side of the Canal and the towpath on that side, apparently. Canals seemed to have had an incredibly short life, being replaced by railways after only a few decades. The Navy apparently wanted this one for an inland route from London to Portsmouth safe from the French fleet, but once we put the French in their place it’s fate was sealed.
Up through a country lane and across a small road. I’ve seen no one so far but now pass a man strimming grass on the corner. Safety glasses, orange helmet and orange jacket - now let down over his jeans in the heat. ‘Morning’, ‘Morning’. A little nod. We can be gently polite in the country, whereas there is no time for it in town or city. Here there is just me and orange-man - and half-a-dozen little buzzy insects.
The softness of silence in the country - it’s got a ‘˜feel’ to it somehow, yet I can’t put a finger on just what that is - enveloping, familiar and I rather like it. I’ve brought an mp3 player, but I will never use it today. You become aware of your footfalls sometimes, and I do as I plod up this little track with gently sloping open fields either side. They’re a steady plodding back-beat, with the occasional crunch as you walk through a patch of pine cones (do they fall all year round?). On top of this foot-drum are the backing vocals of Midge and The Insects, and an occasional flashy solo from a bird or two disturbed from the hedgerows - flappity-flap, flap, flap, flap, cheep, and into another bit of hedge or tree further up my path. You daft b****r - I’ll be there in another minute and then you’ll be off again! A flash of yellow on that wing - a yellow finch?
Sweat is streaming down my back now. I brought a sack so I can bring a few odds and ends like a map, a couple of apples, a cagoule - just in case, dib dib dib. The downside today is a very sweaty back. I try it on one strap, but it’s no good - it creeps forward round my arm and slowly slides off.
On towards Tangley. I love this countryside. Gently sloping fields, copses and distant hills crowned by woods, blue skies, scattered clouds, soft breeze. Somewhere over there to the left is St Martha’s Hill, and that is my first target - a little church perched on the top, on the old Pilgrim’s route across the North Downs.
Now I’m on a long drag up through Blackheath Forest, and in a while, just off to my right I detour to a small War Memorial. Just a few names inscribed here from WW1, and I wonder about its lonely location in this clearing. Then as I turn around, through a small gap-toothed opening in the trees, I get a perfectly framed view of St Martha’s church up in the distance. Maybe that’s why?
On, down through the woods, some winding country lanes, then out into the open, over the railway and main road, and I start on the climb up to the church at the top. The last few hundred yards are the hardest - it’s soft deep sand on this path, and steeper - hard going. Finally, I get to a bench up next to the church and am able to sit down and take off the boots for a while and take in the great views. I angle myself on the bench so my back only touches the bench at one side - I’m drenched and hope it might cool off a bit. Not too tired - just a bit of an ache in the groin from that last steeper stretch. The view is worth it.
After a rest and an apple, it’s a gentler walk down another side of the hill and then up a roadside path, cross over, along a little wooded stretch and then it’s out into the open, halfway up a superb large open bank-side facing South. This leads in a few minutes to Newlands Corner, just off the main road, with car parks, benches, coach trips, chips and fizzy pop... but this bit is the best, and the trippers don’t come this far around. It’s such a great view I walk to the top and at the tree line there’s a bench where I can take it in and get the map out and try to plot places I know. A small plane putters overhead. Then I too need the pop and chips, so I walk on to join the throng for lunch.
Across the busy road, then along a leafy part of The North Downs Way, then sharp right and down a steep rutted path. My ex had dodgy knees and always said it was harder to go downhill than uphill - I see what she means now - must be all the bending down at Sainsbury’s. At the bottom I reach the ‘˜Silent Pool’. Think Monet and lilies and you have the idea - a beautifully tranquil spot. Agatha Christie left her car in the nearby car park once and then disappeared for days. They dredged the Pool looking for her, but she was up in Harrogate, staying in a hotel under the name of her husband’s mistress. Not much mystery there then. Now - what was the film version with Dustin Hoffman?
Over to Albury, a few more woods, fields and a small gently bubbling ford, and then finally into pretty Shere, The White Horse pub... and cider. You can’t have a country walk without cider - it’s illegal. Shere’s often used as a film location - Bridget Jones’ dad got married over there at the church, and Jude Law had a beer here with his girlfriend in ‘˜The Holiday’. No sign of Cameron Diaz today, but the cider will do fine just now. Ah....
I think it’s the bus home...
No comments:
Post a Comment