Amberley to Washington, West Sussex, 4th June 2024
The photos in this post are a mix of Olympus EM-1 MIII mirrorless camera images using a 12-100mm (24-200mm full-frame) lens, with a few phone pics for detail. The photos have been cropped, marked and enhanced in places using Adobe Lightroom. I do not purposefully use Generative AI in any of my photos, which is basically sacrilege.
This is a prime early summer walk from June 2024, taking in my most frequented stretch of the South Downs. I had just returned from Switzerland when I did this walk. Arriving into Amberley on the train I realised how much my sense of altitude had changed when I saw the Downs appearing through the window. They looked so low! They have gradually grown back again in my estimation as my experience of the Swiss Alps has melted away into the past.
Every walk has its moment, for this one it was being attacked by a protective female pheasant at Kithurst Meadow. Thank goodness for my walking pole…
Everything was a shade of green and white as I left the station and began the walk along the eastern banks of the Arun. Ash leaves were abundant at the path edges.
The white flowers of umbellifers ran along the banks of the river, with the ubiquitous presence of elder reaching higher. In the distance you can see the lone blog of the Bury Hill ash tree in an open field.
Speaking of ash trees, this is a lovely one set back from the footpath in a field margin.
As you can see a large limb has fallen from the core of the trunk. Ash trees are prone to ‘summer limb-drop’, where a limb can fall from the tree without any clear warning signs. This ash looks to have some light dieback, meaning it may have been weakened by ash dieback disease.
This tree looks to have the structure of a sycamore but it could be an oak.
I always enjoy this finger post, the Arun valley’s very own leaning tower of Pisa.
In the distance is Amberley Mount where the South Downs Way passes, through ancient burial mounds and chalk grasslands (as well as plenty of intensive agriculture). The path between the fence posts here is very wet in winter but is ok for walking boots between June and September if it hasn’t rained too much.
After passing alongside Amberley Castle this large pond appears before the village. This is it at its best, I would say.
Amberley lies above the water meadows of the Arun and the adjacent castle (now a hotel) was an episcopal residence. It was built in place of a manor about 1380, though the church had enjoyed the favour of the bishops from a much earlier date. Neither has changed much since the Burrell Collection drawing of 1788.
The churchyard meadows are a model of good management, with oxeye daisies aplenty in June, though they seemed to flower earlier in 2025.
The wall paintings seen here inside the church are thought to date to the 1300s. There’s more detail about the paintings on the church’s official website. The paintings depict the resurrection of Christ, as can be seen in the central painting with the cross.
One more sniff of the meadows for the road.
Elsewhere in the churchyard is a large yew tree, likely dating to several hundred years.
Skipping over Amberley village and up towards the South Downs Way, this ash tree was declining in 2024 and was felled at some point in 2025.
I don’t know what breed of sheep these are, but they were newly shorn.
I think these are 2024 lambs, they were very playful.
Musk thistle (Carduus nutans on iNaturalist) is a beautiful flower and popular with bees. It flowers along the margins of the South Downs Way. The first photo is mirrorless camera, the second is from the phone.
One of the iconic hawthorns with the Arun valley expanding away in the distance.
On the northern side of the South Downs Way you can see the ‘lumps and bumps’ of tumuli – burial mounds that date back to at least the Iron Age (1200-550BC). There is evidence of Iron Age communities living below Amberley Mount, which this walk passes over:
We know that Late Bronze Age/early Iron Age families lived amidst their fields here around 1100 BC: two circular huts of this period on the south-face of Amberley Mount were excavated and remains of horses and ponies were discovered and were presumably used on the farm. One hut was 36 ft in diameter, the other 25 ft: sizeable dwellings that must have supported quite large family groups.
A South Downs Way fingerpost aged in lichen and weathered by rain.
This lovely scene at Kithurst meadow became a momentary nightmare after a little pheasant chick crossed my path. Their mother appeared and attacked me for a good minute or so, not allowing me to head back towards the South Downs Way.
Yellowhammer foraging along the South Downs Way. Thankfully it did not attack and I was allowed to pass.
Corn bunting, a now much rarer bird, along a stretch of the South Downs Way where I always find them in the spring and summer.
And here it is – Corn Bunt’ Alley.
The Downs plateau into arable fields here, sweeping towards the coastal towns.
Bloody-nosed beetle. I enjoy their boots.
A view north into the Sussex Weald.
Exiting the South Downs Way towards Washington.
Common spotted orchids live up to their name on the Downs.
The meadows to the left are some of the richest on this walk, particularly at the top of the hill.
A roe deer grazing in a field of buttercups.
At this point it’s goodbye to the South Downs Way and hello to Washington.
It’s time to unearth another Sussex gem from 2024 with a walk to the mysterious Brambletye Ruins. It was an after-work jaunt, starting in the village of Forest Row in East Sussex.
We didn’t stop, clocking up 6.5 miles in 2 hours which is unusually fast for me. There are a couple of B-roads to engage with so take care on those as people can be quite careless with their speed on rural roads. There are no streetlights so you may want to bring a hi-vis and a torch to make yourself visible in lower light.
East Sussex County Council is promoting a shorter version of our walk (3 miles compared with out 6.5) along the Forest Way which you can view here. The Forest Way is the route of the old railway line that used to run between East Grinstead and Forest Row. This line was closed by the infamous Dr. Beeching, and there’s some interesting information about that:
The Forest Row railway station opened in 1866. Although a busy commuter line, it was axed with the Beeching cuts in 1966. Ironically, Dr Beeching lived near Forest Row and regularly travelled up to London on the line when he was Chairman of British Rail.
Kill your darlings, as the creative writing teachers say.
This blog is a comprehensive account of the history of Brambletye (which doesn’t have a Wikipedia page!) from a local. If you want to see Brambletye in this blog you’ll have to get to the end as we left the highlight to the final stretch of the walk.
Woodcut showing a depcition of Brambletye Manor before its destruction ( From ‘Brambletye House’, The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 10, No. 279, (1827; Project Gutenberg, 2005), pp. 265-267. https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1594)
BBC Sussex recently published an article about Brambletye and a Secret Sussex podcast episode. This is an interview with Garen Ewing, a local illustrator who seems to be ‘the Brambletye Guy’. His website has a trove of information about the history of the house with a lot of interesting old images, which I wish were larger. The whole reason we did this walk was after a suggestion from my friend Edwin, who had learned about Brambletye from Garen’s crowdfunder for The Brambletye Box:
The photos in my post are a blend of mirrorless camera and phone, with the odd illustration and historical photograph where I could find some.
I parked in Forest Row in the village centre, where there are some typically oaky timber construction to be admired. This is an old entrance to the Chequers Inn Hotel. This is not the only reference to oak doors in this post.
The walk leaves Forest Row by crossing a golf course, which I still find quite weird because of the tiny white eggs flying around trying to kill you. Follow the ESCC footpath signs through here.
The view across the greens into the Weald was splendid. It was such a still evening, we could see a hot-air balloon beyond the birch trees in the distance.
Surviving the golf course, you enter into the heathy woodlands so typical of the Ashdown Forest area. This is something you can see along old footways, a mature beech tree with its roots exposed. It’s a nice indicator of how close to the surface tree roots can be. The root has adapted to life above ground and become more like a branch. It looks like there are some bricks or stones under the roots, so perhaps the tree grew on top of a wall.
We passed one stream which is typical of those in the Ashdown Forest. This stream had the brown-orange hue of a Wealden ghyll, caused by the iron ore discolouration that made the area so attractive for the famous iron works of centuries past.
The woods were a tangle of birch and honeysuckle. I’m never sure if these are truly ancient woodlands or recently wooded heathland, but the sighting of the plant below is helpful.
Common cow wheat is an ancient woodland indicator and is far from common. I’ve found it in ancient woodlands around the western side of the High Weald. It used to be found in south London’s oak woodlands but has been lost since the 1980s. Plant diversity declining before our very eyes. It’s in the figwort family, along with yellow rattle and foxglove, of which more later.
June can be a month of mushrooms, so I wasn’t hugely surprised to find this tawny grisette. For more mushrooms have a look at my Fungi Friday blog. After this we left the woodlands.
These heathlands are very birchy, brackeny, oaky and rushy, much like the New Forest.
I was intrigued by this wonderful pond, one of a network of three running east-west. It’s so large and, looking at the map, is clearly part of an historically wet landscape. The placenames nearby include Alder Moors (alder is a tree of wetlands), Hollow Shaw (hollow probably a place where water pools), Mudbrooks House, and Spring Hill Farm.
When the walk turns north out of the woods you pick up the Greenwich Meridian Trail. My parents used to take me and my sister to Greenwich Park most Sundays when we were kids, when it felt more like a south London park than a mass-tourist attraction. It’s nice to feel that connection. The Meridian Line runs through nearby East Court at East Grinstead, which this walk will take you to.
This is a phone pic looking back at the woodland we passed through, a large pond at the bottom of the slope.
On higher ground you have view towards Mid Sussex. For some reason the trunk of a dead oak rested up there on the snooker table grassland, presumably where it fell.
This fine living oak is passed along the way, with signs of cattle gathering underneath its branches for shelter. That’s what causes erosion to the roots, but I don’t know if this is harmful to the tree, or if it’s something they have evolved to cope with over millions of years shared with wild cattle and the like. I have read that the pocking caused by hooves may allow air to reach the roots move effectively than the flat compaction caused by modern human footwear and tyres, etc..
The shelter of the oak is too great to turn down. One oak’s ancient pagan names was ‘dur’, which ‘door’ derives from. This is probably because some oaks had cavities so large you could enter inside them. Also interesting that doors (as per the first image on the post) were once more commonly made from oak.
Nearby was an outcrop of rock! That’s exciting here because we don’t really have much in the way of rocky outcrops in the south-east, compared with the Dales, Dartmoor or the Lakes. This is probably the stone used to build Brambletye House, what I presume is a type of sandstone but I’m no geologist. You wonder if this little section has been quarried over the years.
This is our fine oak with the rocky outcrop seen to the other side.
This is a view north towards Weir Wood Reservoir. There’s a church on the horizon and a helicopter high in the sky. Dramatic clouds were developing but we escaped a downpour.
Let’s appreciate this lichen-touched public footpath stone, with its helpful update pointing us in the right direction.
A snapshot of the hedge and oak boundary we passed through on our way to Brambletye.
I was taken aback by this magnificent display of foxgloves. June is the peak for this wonderful flower, also a member of the figwort family along with common cow wheat as mentioned earlier!
As we neared the famous ruins, we passed over a little stone bridge, what is probably quarried from the same stone seen earlier. It amazes me that this is in fact a bridge over the River Medway, that mighty Kentish river of Dickens and my mate Pete. In fact, by writing this blog I’ve learned that the Medway rises nearby in Turners Hill.
The Medway and its tributaries are known as ‘Wealden Rivers’ – rising from springs across the High Weald where the sand meets impermeable clay.
We arrived behind the fence at Brambletye just as the sun began to set, the orange light clipping the tops of each remaining tower. According to Garen Ewing, each tower would have had a minaret similar to that of the western tower. This image is looking south with the towers running east-west.
This old illustration shows two of the towers ivy-clad, and a far more open landscape surrounding them. Now the clump of trees on the western side hides a tennis court, such is the wealth of the current landowner.
It was commissioned by Sir Henry Compton, a prominent landowner and political figure, and would have been one of the most impressive residences in Sussex at the time. However, the Compton family’s time at the manor was short-lived as by the late 17th Century they had left the property – for reasons unknown.
On the central tower you can see the date of Brambletye’s construction, 1681. Also note the bricked-up windows and what I am guessing is the family crest below. I was using my 24-200mm lens so could zoom in for some nice detail.
The eastern tower had yet more bricked-up windows – perhaps to avoid the window tax, introduced in 1696 in England, 16 years after Brambletye was built.
Western tower aglow in the setting sun, an architectural melange.
Me and Edwin are both bird nerds, and we were pleased to see a kestrel perched on the only complete tower. Kestrels love habitat like this, and the lack of suitable buildings to nest in has probably contributed to their decline in the UK.
Similarly cloudy are the events taking place in America. Rick Steves is probably better known in the U.S. for his travel programmes, but in the speech below he explains how the American president is following the dictators’ rulebook in establishing an authoritarian state. Even the travel man is speaking out, it must be serious.
While I don’t live in America, I know that Americans read my blog (a lot of you from Portland for some reason). There are few countries that influence the UK more than the U.S.. In Britain we need to stand up to the same wannabe autocrats, policies and ideas.
Time for the fluffy stuff.
What I’m writing
I’ve been trying to write more in-depth posts based on walks I’ve done in recent years. In 2026 I’ve published two that took two years to get round to. It’s probably because they are from January 2024 when there were no insects and very few mushrooms to be seen! Soz blogs.
If you’re a regular reader expect one longer blog a month with more local history, if I can cope with doing this alongside full time work and human life.
With these posts I want to research them as much as I can before posting. The problem with frequent blogging is that you don’t have the time to look deeper into the places you’re presenting. It’s important to me that I can improve my knowledge and embellish what are already very enjoyable walks in the first place, by walking them again on my blog.
I have another Sussex blog about a walk to the mysterious Brambletye ruins from 2024 which I’m aiming to post in the coming months.
North Mayo Coast, September 2025
My Ireland 2025 blogs are still brewing. I’m trying to confirm some species IDs of marine life through iNaturalist but it’s proving tricky. I still have one about Rathcroghan (the birthplace of Halloween) to write. Endless content, folks!
What I’m recording
In the next couple of months I’ll have a new booklet of poems available for purchase. In the meantime, I’ve published a reading of those poems, Fool’s Wood, on my Bandcamp page for your guaranteed enjoyment.
In November I recorded a conversation with Oli Steadman from the band Stornoway! Oli was preparing to walk 30 miles around London’s mythical Great North Wood in aid of a woodland conservation project in Brockley, south-east London. What a nice chap, I very much enjoyed speaking to Oli and believe his walk was a success and the funding target has been reached.
In autumn and winter of 2025 I binged the novels of Joseph Roth (1894-1939), an Austrian Jewish author. I read The Radetzky March, Diary of the Holy Drinker, The Emperor’s Tomb and Job. My long-First World War phase seems to have morphed into a Habsburg Empire sub-phase. I blame recent visits to Austria for that.
I also enjoyed most of Roth’s journalism in The Hotel Years. This quote reminded me of what is happening in America:
The epoch-making discovery of modern dictatorships is the invention of the loud lie, based on the psychologically correct assumption that people will believe a shout when they doubt speech.
Joseph Roth, The Hotel Years, p.231
Roth escaped Austria and Germany to live in Paris when Hitler came to power in the 1930s, but his writing provides glimpses of the Nazi movement’s appearance in Austro-German society after the end of the First World War. He died in 1939 related to the affects of alcoholism, so was spared the horror of the Second World War and the holocaust.
I think his quote is reflective of America now because of Trump’s lies about the 2020 election, where he was well-beaten by Joe Biden but continues to lie and claim it was ‘stolen’ from him. This is among many thousands of other untruths. It is the lie that underpins his attacks on American (and now international) democracy. Hitler used the same tactic against Jewish people, as Roth’s quote above suggests. Though it’s not 1933, the authoritarian playbook is the same.
Meanwhile, over Christmas my sister encouraged me to read The Mushroom Tapes, a book by three journalists about the deathcap poisonings in Australia. It’s a story I’ve not really engaged with until this point, mainly because it just seemed so obvious. As someone who uses iNaturalist a lot, the idea that you would look for the locations of deathcaps online, visit the locations, and then be accused of putting those deadly mushrooms into food that ended up causing serious illness and fatalities, erm… it could only be for one reason.
The book has a good chapter about the science of the mushrooms themselves, which are actually introduced to Australia through the incorporation of European tree species into Australian landscapes, and they’re spreading. The same is said for fly agaric, which has travelled around the world to new locations because of their pesky partnerships with the roots of European tree species. Ash dieback anyone?
In January listened to the audiobook of Claire Tomalin’s Charles Dickens: A Life. This was after my first successful attempt at reading the actual story of A Christmas Carol on Christmas Eve. Moving on to Oliver TwistI’ve found it quite a difficult read, perhaps because I’m reading it while not on holiday when I have more mental space to accommodate fiction. I was surprised by the bigoted representation of Irish people (‘generally the lowest orders of anything’, p.70), and the antisemitic characterisation of Fagan, which Dickens was challenged about at the time. The Irish comment is pretty harsh seeing as the whole point of Oliver Twistis to raise up the Victorian poor and hungry, and spotlight their plight – are Dickensian Irish people beneath even that? The novel was published in the ‘hungry forties’ of the 1800s, when Irish people were starving to death during the Great Famine, an atrocity that the English did not do anywhere near enough to remedy, and arguably prolonged.
Looking further into these issues, it appears Dickens was a champion of the anti-slavery movement, but expressed further troubling views about other groups of people. There’s a whole Wikipedia page dedicated to this topic. Very little of this is covered in Tomalin’s book.
Dickens comes across as a prolific writer but rather strange character, who doesn’t treat his wife Catherine well. In many ways his story is an example of what fame and ego can do to a person. I was interested in his apparent addiction to walking, and enjoyed the references to Peckham, where he visited his ‘mistress’ Ellen Ternan by train from Kent.
What I’m hearing
A new Big Thief album came out last year and I’ve been spinning the CD. How Could I Have Known is one of my favourites. They are a stupendous band, even if they are now operating as a trio.
The lead singer of Big Thief is Adrienne Lenker and she has some albums of her own which I’m also enjoying.
What I’m watching
I watched this wonderful film about windmills on the BBC Archive YouTube account. There are so many good videos on that account, it’s well worth having a look. I think that the quality of television has changed and declined (I have a masters in this so you can’t disagree with me). This isn’t necessarily an issue of stories, but production. These slow, patient films are much more rewarding than the hyper-editing of current Netflix or reality TV productions. All in all, they’re just wonderful examples of the past 75 years of Britain, Ireland and further afield.
Billingshurst and the Wey-and-Arun Canal, West Sussex, January 2024
Pre-ramble
This long post (2500 words) is based on the Billingshurst walking route available in the Ordnance Survey guide to walks in West Sussex and the South Downs.
The difference in my route is that I went by train not by car. It’s always better by train if you can do that. I also took a longer route to the south via Parbrook.
Billingshurst is a growing ‘village’ on the from Victoria to Bognor Regis or Chichester.
The name Billingshurst means a wooded hill of the Billa’s people who were perhaps an extended family rather than a large tribe.
For this post I’ve relied on Geoffrey Lawes’ Billingshurst Heritage (2017) for historical references, which I borrowed from my local West Sussex library.
I wouldn’t do the walk after high levels of rain in winter because the Arun is prone to flooding in epic fashion and could make some of the walk impassable, particularly beyond the bridge.
This would be a good one to do in the spring when it’s a bit drier and the birds and woodland flowers are coming to life again.
There are some quite dangerous crossings here, so care needs to be taken when you meet the A29 twice, and another country lane that has poor visibility about a quarter of the way in.
Parbrook
After leaving Billingshurst station you pass through a new housing development to the west of the village, and then the village of Parbrook, which was once separate. There’s an impressive timber-framed building here called Great Grooms, which dates to the 1500s. It’s on the Historic English register as the Jennie Wren Restaurant, as it was recently known.
In Billingshurst’s Heritage there’s an insight into the life of people here around the time of the First World War. Doris Garton describes her childhood in a ‘small, primitive cottage’ in Parbrook, and her father’s life after he returned from the war:
In the 1920s my father did contract to local farms at Parbrook. He would set off at 6:30am with his tools and hay knife strapped on his bicycle. According to the seasons he did hay cutting and tying, harvesting and threshing, thatching and land work, draining, ditching, ploughing with a horse, hedge-cutting and layering of hedges. He was also sometimes hired as a water diviner, using a hazel twig.
Billinghurst’s Heritage: Geoffrey Lawes, 2017: p. 255
The walk gets serious quite quickly as you cross the A29, which is a diversion from the straight line of Stane Street, a Roman Road that provided a route from London to Chichester. Crossing the A29 gives the immediate reward of this – the sort of place where Doris’s father would have plied his trades in the 1920s:
Ancient woodland
As you probably already know, ancient woodland is a sensitive habitat, so be careful not to trample wildflowers like bluebell and wood anemone in the spring (it’s hard!), and not to disturb ground-nesting birds (March-July). I noticed some bluebells were peeking from the leaf litter, which seems to be fairly normal for January in the last decade.
It was here that I spoke to a local woman about the walk I was doing and what the best route was. I’m always looking for tips.
The woods are surrounded by open farmland. The make-up here is typical managed ancient woodland of old – hazel understory with mature oak trees (otherwise known as ‘coppice with standards’). Mr. Garton’s bread and butter.
Holly is another element of this prehistoric mix. This isn’t meant to sound patronising but I think that sometimes too much holly can be removed from woodlands by well-meaning people who want to reduce shade for flowers to thrive. I understanding the motivation, but holly’s powers are subtle.
Speaking of which, this magnificent holly was growing on one of the wood banks. I think it’s one of the largest I’ve ever encountered, probably around 200-300 years old, but I’m not sure.
I got a bit lost here and ended up following a desire-line (an informal path) along the edge of this stream, as you can see on the map above. The erosion of the bank (possibly by people and pets entering it) may have contributed to this hazel losing its footing and falling in. It does look quite dead.
This was my first time on the Sussex Diamond Way!
Having found the path again, I passed through this lopsided gate into the field.
There were some lovely large oaks along the boundary of field and woodland.
This is The Lordings, a Grade II-listed farmhouse dating to the 1600s (Historic England listing). With its uneven development and attached Sussex barn on the left-hand side, I had wondered how old it was. The windows of the house are in different places and rather small, which did suggest old age. The ditch in the image is part of a stream and pond. The landscape was lovely here, formed by the movement of water over time, which makes me think that’s a natural spring-fed watercourse. Little Lordings Wood sits nearby, and once upon a time woodland will have covered this entire area. ‘Lordings’ appears throughout this walk but I can’t find any more information about the significance of the name.
Now came one of the most dangerous crossings I’ve encountered during my 15 years of rambling (with my legs). The gate opens right out onto a road where the speed limit is 60mph, and you have no way of seeing what’s coming round the corner, or it seeing you. Having a hi-vis is useful in this kind of situation. Reader, I made it.
There are a number of old farm houses dotted around this walk. This is Tanners Farm, which ties in nicely with the oaks. Tanning is the job of removing moisture from animal hides in the process of producing leather. Soaking the hides in with oak bark releases the tannins from the bark and helps to waterproof the resulting leather.
It had the feel of an ancient agricultural landscape, with oak a core part of its progress over time.
The Tanners Farm section, passing beyond two large oaks, provides the best views of the entire walk. It was misty when I was there, so the views of the Downs weren’t complete. The drama is still felt, and is a reminder that one of the nicest things about walking in the Low Weald are the views of that majestic chalk whaleback.
This enticing path into oak woodland was not to be taken on this occasion.
The misty view south, with the Downs not quite making it into the scene. Another one for a spring or summer day.
So much choice. It was time to leave the Sussex Diamond Way and join the Wey-South Path.
The Wey & Arun Canal
January is too early for blackthorn, though that is changing with the march of climate change. This froth of white is actually lichen hanging over the Wey & Arun Canal.
The canal was constructed after plans were brought to Parliament all the way back in 1641 to ‘link the upper reaches of the River Wey to those of the Arun by a canal between Cranleigh and Dunsfold’:
[I]n 1785 The Arun Navigation Act was passed and the section between Pallingham and Newbridge opened two years later.
The canal began to transfer goods in 1816 when the Wey & Arun Junction Canal opened. So it took the best part of 200 years for the canal to be built (sounds like HS2). The Industrial Revolution of the 1790s changed the world in that time, but the impacts only really began to be felt a couple of decades after the 1820s when the canal was in full operation. It closed in 1888 – two centuries of planning, sixty years of action.
I passed these dead oak trees covered in an orange algae (I presume). I expect oak would have been one of the resources transported up and down the canal. The oak woodlands around Billingshurst, which covered a far greater area then, would have been felled, debarked and planked, their produce taken upstream to the Thames’ shipyards, or south to the Solent in Hampshire where international trade could have taken place. My understanding of the specifics is limited, so I’m generalising a bit, but Lawes States that most trade ‘was from London, mainly coal and groceries, porter beer and pottery’ (Lawes, p. 176). Lawes also confirms that the canal gave access to Littlehampton, Portsmouth, Chichester and Arundel via other water-links that could connect with the Wey & Arun Canal.
Ash trees would have been useful also, particularly for tool handles. One way to identify a distant ash tree in wet winter weather is the yellow glow on the outermost branches. These are xanthoria or sunburst lichens which of course thrive in wet weather. I would say this was a significant ash tree, and possibly had been pollarded, due to the branching taking place so low down on the trunk.
The Arun mocks the canal with its swooping bends as it takes its wild course through the outskirts of Billingshurst. The walk along this stretch was a sloshy trudge for a good while (wellies are advisable). It would be nicer in spring or summer, as all good walking guides will tell you.
The damp atmosphere around the river and canal meant the fingerposts have become home to algae, moss and lichen.
This is a large ash tree with what looks like an old hedgeline queueing behind it. To the right-hand side is what seems to be an alder, a tree that thrives in wet conditions. You can see a vehicle passing on the far left-hand side of the screen. The view of this field completely underwater during twilight is one of the more memorable scenes I can recall from travelling to Midhurst on the A272 over the years.
I passed this massive oak (it looks smaller in this image than it is in real life) several days a week between 2018 and 2022. The mud underneath is from the cattle standing there to shelter from the rain. The oak is probably around 400 years old, making this stretch of the Wey-South Path around Billingshurst a land of giants.
New Bridge only allows one car at a time, but I’d never seen the three frogs under the bridge until I did this walk.
This frog looked particularly surprised to see me.
In Billinghurst’s Heritage there’s a passage from a canal tourist in 1869 – J. B. Dashwood. He travelled along the Wey & Arun Canal one spring or summer from the Thames to the Solent. There’s a description of what our man J. B. saw with his travelling partner somewhere along this stretch. Quoted below.
At a little before 7 o’clock we reached Newbridge where our boat lay quietly at her moorings, wet with the morning bath of dew…[at the first lock] we watched the lock-keeper’s wife and two pretty daughters making butter in the early morning. Though flat the meadows on either side presented such a lovely English picture with cattle dotted about, …the larks sang aloft sending forth their melodious morning song and the banks of the Canal clothed with wild flowers of every hue and colour that we enjoyed this part of our journey almost as much as any.
Lawes, 2017, p.175
I wonder if these are the water meadows being described. While searching online for more information about New Bridge I discovered plans for housing affecting the area you can see in this image on the left-hand side (northern side) of the road. There’s a beautiful timber-framed house and barn called Hole Cottage (Historic England listing), dating to the 1500s. It wouldn’t be affected directly by the housing, the arable fields out of view towards the ‘village’ would be.
The proposal is called Newbridge Park (there’s a consultation online which closed in January). This area would become a country park, which is wise. Driving along the A272, the sight of the Arun flooding these meadows is a sight to behold. No one would seriously suggest building along this floodplain (would they?), particularly with the sort of winter deluges we’re getting now in this part of England. This is a rather old oak, perhaps 200 years, sitting at one of the bends in the Arun, which is just below the ground level.
This is that sumptuous bend in the Arun, a river which I have now learned was previously known as Tarrente or Trisanton which means ‘trespasser’ (Lawes, p.174). The river does trespass widely here, or is it the other way around? We have trespassed far into the floodplain of this great river. This is another view into the area which the developers propose would become a country park. But how long would that hold for, and who would fund the management of a park here?
There was a winterbourne (I am guessing) flowing over the banks and into the canal. Growing up in Lewisham in south London, it’s so nice to see water moving of its own accord in the landscape (with respect to the work to restore the rivers in that particular borough.)
Let’s appreciate the generosity of Eileen Cherriman here, who donated a stretch of the canal in memory of her husband John.
I do enjoy bringing interpretation boards to a wider audience.
Further down the canal is another bridge at Rowner Lock.
This was restored by the Wey & Arun Canal Trust.
Returning to Billingshurst
It was time to turn away from the watercourses and back towards civilisation.
The walk turns east as it returns towards Billingshurst through farmland walked by electricity pylons.
One of the footbridges on the way back was in a state of devastation, probably due to the impact of flooding. I presume this wasn’t vandalism, but from my experience you just can’t be sure sometimes.
A rather sickly oak in a process of retrenchment as the upper branches die away. You can see more oaks dotted around beyond the hedgerow.
Looking north-east into the Weald, with the mist spoiling most of the fun.
There are some interesting boards near the A29 crossing as you enter back into Billingshurst. I’m sorry that this timber-framer didn’t make it. This settlement seems to be very old, possibly prior to the Norman Conquest of 1066. Local school children have found lots of treasure at Burnt Row in their research into the site.
Entering back into Billingshurst I enjoyed the sight of this interesting timber-framer. A couple of local lads were causing a bit of bother here and couldn’t understand what I was doing.
I haven’t featured the church in this post though it is important and has a prominent position in the village. The Causeway is a row of houses, many of them old and timber-framed, with one potential dating back to the 1200s (Historic England listing). If you needed any evidence that Billingshurst and its surrounding countryside is an oaken land, this should be it.
South Downs Way between Washington & Bramber (10 miles), West Sussex, January 2024
This is a long post with a lot of South Downs history in it that dates back over 1000 years. I wanted to call it ‘Peaks and troughs on the South Downs Way’ but that wouldn’t have done it justice.
This walk is from the first days of 2024 and has been in my mind ever since. It’s actually two years to the day (I love that stuff). The walk left me feeling ecstatic in the quiet way that walking can.
I completed the walk using public transport, with a bus to Washington and then a bus from Bramber to Pulborough, and the train from Pulborough. Planet saved.
The walk began by passing this excellent egg box.
From Washington I walked up to the pocked and scarred hills of Washington Chalk Pits, ghosts of old industry – much more of that to follow. This place is excellent for butterflies so it’s worth visiting in the summer months. The photo here is looking west towards Storrington and Amberley. Here a buzzard flew low over the hill, looking for prey among the chalk pits.
Far from being a place of wilderness, the South Downs have a deeply industrial feel to me. This is also because the views are so expansive you can see the stretch of human activity from miles away. This is the Rampion windfarm.
The Rampion windfarm cable trench, near Truleigh Hill, May 2018
The windfarm needed a trench to be cut through the Downs when the electricity cables were routed north to the substation at Twineham. This image is from 2018 near Truleigh Hill showing the fresh, exposed chalk. The windfarm will be seen again on this eastward journey.
A man with a long beard had parked his tractor at the side of the South Downs Way where it approaches Chanctonbury Ring, and was breaking sticks from a fallen ash tree at the field boundary. Ash trees will pop up again along this journey.
The grass is always snooker table smooth where the beech trees of the ring come into view. I’ve posted before about a walk that heads south from here to Cissbury Ring, the site of another Iron Age fort. As I approached the Ring a herd of deer ran across ahead of me, leaping over the path.
In isolation these windswept beech trees cross more gentle lines in the landscape.
The archetypal folds of the Downs, stubbled by trees and scrub.
Away from Chanctonbury a stonechat perched on a fencepost. These chats are your friends in the winter downland.
Looking down towards Steyning, the Adur had flooded. Why have these bales been left to grow mossy?
A tribute to one of the downland farmers, a sea of arable crop washing away to the horizon. The gleaming top right-hand corner of this photo is indeed the sea.
Beyond the crop a rupture in the chalk where the Shoreham cement works pipes up.
These wonderful fence posts are plopped into place by the rangers, the volunteers or the rights of way team from the National Park. The kindness of fingerposts.
The sheer openness of the Downs and its skies. The memories of these wide open spaces can stay with you for years, the very essence of why people deserve the right to pass along these ways.
Zooming in on Truleigh Hill – what is cloud, hill or perhaps even the sea? The eye plays tricks.
A memorial to two brothers who passed in their thirties and forties, replete with tinsel and flowers potted on either side. A Mini spinning by in the lane behind.
Another ghost of the Downs – an ash tree dying from the disease. One limb has fallen and more will follow in the winds. If you look closely you can see the remains of what are probably shaggy bracket fungi. Fear not, there is hope for ash trees in Britain.
Chalk flints clawed to the surface at the edge of some of the ploughed field the South Downs Way passes.
Peaks and troughs! One unmissable part of this walk (in many senses) is the pig farm right next to the South Downs Way. A man was piling up hay for the pigs and from a distance I heard him call one a ‘f***ing c**t’.
‘Really, us?’ they ask.
The windfarm once again comes into view with Lancing College, a boarding school, rising above the trees at the edge of the Downs. When I was a kid and misbehaving my parents would threaten to send me to boarding school. Now I realise they could never have afforded it! Bravo, mum.
I’ve reduced the exposure on this photo to bring out the mood in the sky. Another pheasant copse on the hilltop?
St. Botolph’s Church is one of the oldest in Sussex, dating back to pre-Norman England. St. Botolph is a Saxon Saint associated with river crossings. The Sussex Parish Churches website points out that the village connected to the church ‘was an important port on the lower Adur until the sea receded after about 1350’. I enjoy the lichens growing on this old metal sign.
Dating from around 950, St Botolph’s was built near one of the first industrial trade routes in Britain, a Roman road along which tin was carried from the Cornish mines to the East Sussex seaport of Pevensey. Two thousand years on, and industry still stamps its mark in this book of rural West Sussex, with the railway line and modern cement works visible just a few hundred metres away.
Gail Simmons, Between the Chalk and the Sea: p.157
We’ll get to that railway line in a little bit, but after being out in the cold January air, it was nice to find a sheltered place to sit for a little while.
There’s a window that dates to the Saxon period at St. Botolph’s, which to me feels more mysterious than the much earlier Roman occupation (AD43-400). My guess would be the ’round-headed’ window in the top right here is the Saxon one, as per the official descriptions.
This should give a sense of the shape and colour of the interior. The nave and chancel also date to Saxon times.
The paintings at St. Botolph’s are subject to debate, and are hard to see. They could be part of an unproven ‘Lewes Group’ of wall paintings, with some potentially dating back to the 10th century (scroll down for more detail here).
St. Botolph’s is a magnificent little church with thousands of years of history packed into its flinty walls. You can see my church galleries here.
A helpful guide to what’s possible on the South Downs Way. I took the broken route to Bramber, having travelled the 7 miles from Washington.
Sheep-marked fields where the Downs rise again above the Adur, towards Truleigh Hill and then Devils Dyke.
An indicator of what is to come when you descend from the Downs into the Low Weald – oak trees. This was the only one I saw on this rather treeless walk. There should really be an owl in that trunk.
While the River Adur now wends its way through to Shoreham (the cement works chimney can be seen on the left-hand side) this is where the sea once swept. The river could be travelled by boat as far as Bramber, where my walk ended.
A small flock of swans roosting on the bank as the evening sun slips below the Downs. Another solitary ash tree survives here along the river. Over my shoulder the scene was far less tranquil:
The A283 is a major connecting road between the A24 and Shoreham where it joins the A27, the road that roars at the feet of the Downs for many miles.
The path through the wet grassland to Bramber. It amazes me to think the sea once reached this far. But that’s not the only ghostly presence haunting these marshes.
More recently this was the course of the Steyning Line, a railway now converted to an accessible walking and cycling path between Guildford and Shoreham. I was surprised to read that railway enthusiasts want to bring this line back. But for a photo caption, the article includes no mention of the fact this is now the Downslink path, one of the only truly safe long-distance walking and cycling routes in the area.
Bramber’s St. Nicholas Church as seen from the old railway path. The remnant wall above is one of the only remaining parts of Bramber Castle, with both the castle and church dating to the 11th century after the Norman Invasion of 1066. The castle has was a motte and bailey:
Bramber Castle was founded by William de Braose as a defensive and administrative centre for Bramber, one of the six administrative regions – each of which was controlled by a castle – into which Sussex was divided following the Norman Conquest. It was held almost continually by de Braose and his descendants from its foundation by 1073 until 1450.
At this point my camera battery ran out of steam, so I took a few final photos of Bramber on my Fairphone.
You can see how the raised position of the church and castle was chosen. The hills in the distance are the South Downs, to pass to the left (east) will take you to Truleigh Hill and eventually Devil’s Dyke. It’s believed Oliver Cromwell’s army set up guns on this hill during the English Civil War in 1642.
Bramber is a village of largely unspoilt brick and timber-framed buildings. I stopped off at the Bramber Hotel for a quick half before catching the bus, and encountered a wonderful oak timber-framed building.
St. Mary’s House dates back to the 12th century and is open to visitors during set periods. There’s also a tea room. There’s a nice write up of the history of the building on the St. Mary’s website, including the recent investment to bring it back to life.
I’m publishing my third collection of poems for you to hear:
Fools wood (0:03)
Green man on a train (0:46)
Night hawks (2:00)
The beast (3:02)
The memory of things (3:53)
Children of the earth (4:57)
Shoot the wind (5:54)
Empty oak (6:48)
Cross the Dart (7:50)
Where the sea once swept (9:01)
Usnea (10:33)
Cosdon Hill (11:38)
Elemental heath (13:20)
Sakers in the mist (14:57)
At midnight (15:55)
The wrong man of Wilmington (16:44)
To know the world (17:25)
The viaduct (18:02)
Glossary (23:57) Cairn – stones piled as landmark Cist [kist] – ancient burial chamber defined with stones Sphagnum –moss found in bogsSpringtails – jumpy invertebrate of soil and decaying wood Stone rows – stones believed to be aligned by people long ago Tor – granite outcrops protruding from hills on Dartmoor Usnea – scientific name for beardy species of lichen typically found in British ‘rainforests’
These poems were written before the Covid-19 pandemic but I haven’t managed to get the collection out there until now.
I am working on getting a booklet printed but that will take a little bit longer.
The poems are inspired by the stories of, and time spent in, Sussex, Dartmoor, Mayo and the Yorkshire Dales.
I don’t approach these things with a theme, other than the fact they are the usually products of walking in wilder, open, windy places.
‘The Viaduct’ was written in September 2019 during an intense storm in the Yorkshire Dales (thank you Kate). It was a difficult time and the fact it was only months before the beginning of the pandemic makes it feel all the more significant, like one world ending.
My sister read ‘At midnight’ at my wedding ceremony in April 2024.
I’m grateful to Karel and Eddie who were my companions on the ‘desperate birding’ required to see the spectre of a saker falcon in Czechia back in 2017.
I dedicate this collection to my wife, my mother and late father, and my sister, for all we have been through together in the last 6 years. I also dedicate it to the memory of my uncle Joe who passed away in November 2019, as one world ended and another began.
Hopefully the next collection won’t take as long to arise.
The cover image is one of the green man roof bosses at St. Pancras Church, Widecombe in the Moor, Dartmoor. Photo by DG from May 2023.
I’ve had a burst of American visitors in recent days (to my blog, not my house). So thanks for visiting, y’all, and sorry about the year you’ve had.
You may have noticed I’ve slipped to monthly posts on here. Between April and October I posted blogs every Monday without pause, which is a tricky task when working full-time. The focus on a regular deadline can be helpful, but it can also take over, meaning I wasn’t taking the time to focus on the bigger blogs that are waiting in the wings. Many of these posts need photo editing time as well as the writing.
I think honey fungus is the messenger telling us our woodlands are suffering, not the ultimate cause. In my opinion any blame lies in climate change brought about by extreme fossil fuel burning, and the lack of funding for our woodlands (jobs, not just volunteers please) and their management.
And while we’re on the subject of mushrooms, I’ve just posted my 100th FungiFriday.co.uk blog! Please do subscribe to that blog if you’re a WordPress user, or by email if you’re not.
I’ve been reviewing some of my archive of landscape photos and want to do some posts about the Cairngorms in Scotland. About 12 years ago, when I went on trips to the Scottish Highlands, I was focused on using only one image (as above) in blogs and having more prose-focused posts. This means there are some wonderful (IMO) images which are sitting in my storage unpublished. They’re all based around walks so I will probably approach with that angle.
What I’m recording
In September I heard from Oli Steadman, a musician from the band Stornoway, which was a nice surprise. We decided to record a podcast about Oli’s 30-mile walk around south London’s remnant ancient woodlands (the Great North Wood). The walk is to raise funds to support the Fourth Reserve Foundation, a community organisation managing a slice of railway-side woodland in Brockley, south-east London. You can see Oli’s fundraiser here.
I am in a long-Habsburg phase at the moment, having just finished Beware of Pity by Stefan Zweig (1939), and now reading The Radetzky March by Joseph Roth (1932). Little did I know the authors were so well connected. I enjoyed the experience of reading Zweig but it certainly felt like something from a different era, shall I say. I don’t think the depiction of a disabled woman has stood the test of time.
The legend that is Jens Lekman has released his first album since 2017: Songs for Other People’s Weddings. I have been listening to Jens since I bought a copy of Oh You’re So Silent Jens at HMV Manchester in November 2006. This new album is songs #literally written for other people’s weddings, but developed into a love story between two people. Jens is such a legend – his songs are beautiful, funny and affecting. It also features a diamond in the rough, singer Matilda Sargren.
What I’m watching
At home we’ve started watching House of Guinness on Netflix, a fictional account of the family behind that beverage. It’s been panned by critics and many Irish people find it patronising. What I found interesting was that the programme covers elements of the Great Famine of 1845, and in my ancestral land of Connacht (now Mayo). It blows my mind to think my relatives would have been living among those scenes depicted in the programme.
Elsewhere I noticed the inclusion of Fontaines DC and Kneecap in the soundtrack (not quite 19th century) and wonder is it an attempt to tap into the burgeoning Gen-Z interest in Irish rebellion and anti-establishment counter culture? You could do worse than read A Star Called Henry by Roddy Doyle, kids.
In more historically-accurate news, I watched a 30 minute long account of the Thirty Years War on Epic History (above). Oh my, glad I wasn’t alive then! It’s a helpful guide to how modern Germany was shaped from many disparate regions and states into one greater whole.
Here’s my seasonal update of stuff you don’t need to know about, but then welcome to the Internet.
What I’m writing
Soon I will be self-publishing my third poetry collection, Fool’s Wood. It’s seven years since my last one and this collection has taken longer because of LIFE. There will be a booklet and also an audio recording.
Fungi Friday is enjoying its third autumn, with weekly posts on the subject and day of the blog’s title. I’ve moved to posting most of my fungi photography over there because it’s such a broad subject matter it needs a substrate of its own to prosper in.
I recently posted several blogs about my summer trip to the Austrian Alps. The posts include a visit to the spectacular city of Innsbruck, and some macro photography atop the peaks of Schafberg and Zwölferhorn in Salzkammergut (Sound of Music land).
I’ve posted a paean to the ash tree, a post compiling my many images of this imperilled European tree species. There’s better news about its prospects.
I’ve reduced my Instagram posting because I think it’s not an effective photography platform anymore. Blogs are much better. So I’ve put more time into posting my oak timber-framed building photos.
In terms of stuff coming up, I have a Swiss Alps blog still to post, a string of Irish blogs, and my tranche of July macro photography. All in good time.
What I’m recording
I’ve found the time and rhythm to record a few podcasts recently and I have some more still to come. You can subscribe via all the normal platforms or see my webpage.
What I’m reading
Seán Lysaght has just published his latest collection of non-fiction, Unveiling the Sun. I really enjoyed it, and you may also, especially if you are interested in Irish landscapes and wildlife. Seán’s writing lacks the affectation that has taken root in nature writing over here. That is of course a matter of taste, please don’t pile on, Re-birders.
Julian Hoffman released Lifelines earlier this year, another of my favourite writers who I have had the pleasure to meet and speak to down the years. The book chronicles Julian’s life in Prespa, delving into the human histories that have defined the landscape his has ‘come to call home’, as they say. It’s a great book and Julian is a first-class prose writer. Again, a matter of my good taste. There are plenty of brown bear encounters to enjoy.
I read Roddy Doyle’s A Star Called Henry in September and it will go down as one of my favourite Irish novels. A friend and reader of this blog (hi Allison) read it too and described it as a history lesson, as well as a great novel. So well put!
Alex G has a new album out, which I have been spinning on the old in-car CD player.
The Blindboy Podcast has really captured my attention recently. I realise how late I am to the party, one friend has been trying for a while now. Who knew pigeon poo could be so captivating.
What I’m watching
After 15 years I am once again watching The Wire. It is a TV masterpiece and the cliché is right, you should watch it. To add to the noughties nostalgia, my wife and I are watching it on DVD. There’s so much to understand here about structural racism, America’s failed war on drugs, political corruption and so much more. If you see series one in the charity shop DVD section, snap it up!
I visited Salisbury in Wiltshire (south-west England) for the first time in 2023 and was really charmed by the place. If you’re interested in this kind of thing, Salisbury is the place for you. Here’s a gallery of the timber-framed buildings that interested me the most.
Photos are with my Olympus EM-5 MIII and 12-45mm f4 lens.
8, Queens Street (15th century). The timber-framed heritage of Salisbury is blended with the modern consumer outlets. I suppose this is just free advertising for them!
51 Marketplace/Blue Boar Row. This was a large market-hall style timber-framer. I wonder if the lower floor was actually open once upon a time and held an agricultural purpose.
The Chapter House. This was an interesting blend of styles, with the large four-storey house stuck between two different styles. Those steep gables are perhaps quite uncommon in England, looking more like what you might find in Germany, Holland or Belgium. Just a thought.
The Cloisters. These curved timbers are lovely, as is the undulating spine of the roof. The building dates to the 1500s.
52 and 54 High Street, 1300s! An ‘Italian’ restaurant with one of the most higgledy-piggledy timber-frames in Salisbury. There has been quite a lot of movement upstairs. I wish more buildings had this much character, but that comes with age and flexibility.
The New Inn. I like including people (without identifying features) in these photos as it brings them to life a bit more. I wonder what was on her mind, maybe just checking the football scores (it was a Saturday afternoon).
The Old Forge – with the spire of Salisbury Cathedral in the background. There’s oak in that, too.
Brown Street. Difficult to photograph, but this is an old house with the timbers well hidden behind plaster or whatever’s on it.
This one had been bought and redone, it didn’t seem to have quite the same character as some of the other timber-framers. The struts (curved beams on the middle level) are quite varied. Not how different most of the windows are.
Joiners Hall is a National Trust property built in the 1600s. The carvings on the woodwork are some of the most intricate and beautiful I saw in Salisbury. As ever, the figures are weird.
33 Butcher Row. Quite neat and tidy-timbers here but dating to the 1400s.
Haunch of Venison, Minster Street. This is an incredible place. I didn’t get great pictures of the interior as my phone camera wasn’t quite up to it, but it was very wonky inside which is good. According to the pub it dates back 700 years to the 1320s.
There’s a wooden sign on the pub but it’s difficult to read. I can make out: “This house built 1428.” Bottom line says ‘purchased by — 1927’.
Following on from July’s rather optimistic fungi walk, I popped back to the same area of ancient Wealden woodland to see if the rain had brought any mushrooms. Indeed, it had!
Also, I refer to a species here as shaggy scalycap, but it appears to be something scarce – flaming scalycap.
The episode is about 20 minutes long. I hope you enjoy the sounds of the woodland, which include the wings of a woodpigeon nearly taking my head off and, er, the sound of heather.
Unlocking Landscapes 
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