Fulking about at Fulking and Steyning.

After what seemed like an eternity of hiding in the house, Friday was a nice day; crisp and bright. I wasn't too ill and so we went out - down onto the Brighton road and heading for the South Downs.

First of all we stopped at Devils Dyke;

Which is a dramatic valley cut into The Downs by melt waters when this area was covered in permafrost millions of years ago.

It's hard to see it now but in the 19th century this was one of the biggest tourist attractions - one Whitsun bank holiday saw 30 000 people here. There was (at different times) a funicular railway, a railway and a cable car, funfairs, restaurants and music.

All gone now and I didn't feel able to walk up the valley - a bit too much up and down for me these days!

Then we drove to Fulking which hides at the foot of The Downs, the sun playing with the shadows and light;

In "The Meaning of Liff"  the comic writers  Douglas Adams and John Lloyd defined "Fulking" as "pretending not to be in when the carol singers come round."

We drove on and passed a medieval farm with a large flint barn;

And stopped off at Steyning, a little market town;

And then we went back to Fulking, late in the afternoon, because it seemed such a shame not to have clambered up to the top of the hill;

This is Robyn's photo of where we were heading - the notch by the side of the pylon.

Oh dear, it looks further than it did earlier on;

We did make it up to the top, the hill carved by 'Drove Roads', sunken paths worn down into the chalk by centuries of sheep being driven along the South Downs way to market; 

As usual up on The Downs, you can see for ever, as far as The Surrey Hills;

Can you spot my little car, the only one on the road? 

The view along the ridge is just a dream;

The wind charges over the ridge from the sea and any trees that survive are ground down by it;

Robyn took this one - I actually made it!

A splendid lung clearing day and when it was over we headed down to Littlehampton for Fred's Fish and Chips, the second best fish and chips I've ever had.

Rather optimistically we took home a loyalty card!

It's quite a long drive for a meal.

Neil Harris
(a don't stop till you drop production)
Home: helpmesortoutstpeters.blogspot.com
Contact me: neilwithpromisestokeep@gmail.com

The Museum of Nothing in Particular; part 2.

 

 

 

This dull piece of flint has a history; I picked it up while I was sitting down waiting for Robyn to catch me up on the South Downs Way at Ditchling.

 

I was looking down at the path and saw this piece of flint - I idly picked it up.

 

The side you can't see is completely smooth - it's been cleanly 'knapped' in one go by a human hand.

 

Of course it could be an accident  but then look at the photograph. On the side you can see there are multiple tiny fractures caused by very accurate little 'knaps'; this flint has been worked by man, it has been shaped.

 

It's very small; it sits nicely between finger and thumb. It isn't an arrow head, if it was there would be two tails at the blunt end to help you tie it to the wooden shaft of the arrow.

 

It's actually a little knife and a very sharp one at that. The left side is just the flat base. The right hand side would be pointed except it's got broken off by accident. That's why someone threw it away all those thousands of years ago and because it was broken no one ever noticed it on the path.

 

In stone age times such a flint knife would have been extremely precious and passed from one generation to the next. If you hold my flint you can feel how smooth it is, worn by the fingers of generations.

 

Even more interesting, the flint doesn't match the flints up on the Downs - where did it come from? How far did it travel?

 

A very special thing.

 

Neil Harris

 

(a don't stop till you drop production)

 

Home:  helpmesortoutstpeters.blogspot.com

 

Contact me:  neilwithpromisestokeep@gmail.com

 

 

 

In wonder at the spring.

(ROADTRIP)

Compared to yesterday, Thursday was a good day; things began to work out for me and I was able to escape again in the afternoon.

Oh there is gorse on Ditchling

All golden in the sun

And sweeping slopes of Downland

Where good cloud shadows run

And Caborn silver-misted

And Chancton’s sunset ring

And little Clayton laughing

In wonder at the spring

 

The narrow road to Ditchling

The old white road I love –

There’s open Down beside it

And open sky above

Unlorded, brave and lonely

It runs from end to end

The Skylark for companion

The sea-wind for a friend

 

Ditchling Beacon

Alfred Norman

1917

I took the Brighton road, always a thrill in itself (hey, I'm a MOD)– down to the sea!  Turning off at Pyecombe, do I go right to Ditchling Beacon or left to Jack and Jill? Jack and Jill won.

A pair of disused windmills; Jack is the dull one at the back – now a private house. Jill, in white, was looking very fine, although not open to the public when I was there.

The sky was the very bluest of blues, the only clouds were the vapour trails of planes. A bright sun but with a stubborn March chill, up on the Downs winter is hanging on.

I let my feet follow the bridle way along The South Downs Way, the route of the old Drove road that once took the sheep to market.

Today I am walking from the windmills to the beacon, heading east (I'm 'Eastbourne') with the sun on my shoulders. A bag on my back, a banana, a slice of cake and a bottle of pop. No better feeling in the world, I could walk on forever. I'm 11 years old.

 

There was a mist, so I couldn’t see the sea but I could hear the gulls, even above the sound of a farmer harrowing and following the rolling contours of the Downs with his tractor. There was a light breeze in from the sea. There were sheep and a shepherd on his quad bike.

Under my feet a flinty path or springy downland grass. Here and there white chalk. Lungfulls of fresh air, as I struggled up hill and down until I got to the beacon where you can see the whole world.

If you like 'The Snowman', this is where the boy and the snowman fly before they get to the sea.

 

After a while I turned back, this time with the sun in my eyes. Spring is still a while away – the gorse was only just starting to flower yellow on the hills. The swooping swallows and swifts I love so much have not yet begun their incredible journeys from Africa – too early for the insects they catch. No skylarks today.

And after? I swooped down to the seafront for a look at the sea – it’s been years now. But, when I got there I got a sea fog, blanking out everything.

Ironically, when I rushed off I forgot a hypodermic – I didn’t go back to get one because I'd assumed I wouldn’t be able to find anywhere to do an injection. Brighton may be tolerant but it isn’t that tolerant and I didn't fancy 12 hours in a police station, explaining.

In fact, with the fog, I could have stood on the beach, dropped my trousers, stuck a needle in my thigh and no one would have ever known!

Still a good day.

Neil Harris

(a don’t stop till you drop production)

Click on a picture for a slideshow.

Home: helpmesortoutstpeters.blogspot.com

Contact: neilwithpromisestokeep@blogspot.com