We enjoy living near the top of a hill very much indeed - it was high on the list of priorities, not just for the vista which is important for the soul, but all the other extras that come with it......especially if you don't live at the very top. There is always something then to look forward to.
I take in the view of its crown slightly to my west every day - I have got to know its moods, sounds and notice the changes as the seasons move through the year. There was a short period in my life when I forgot such things. I failed to notice them, but it all came back and they are now as deep and as part of me as they are ever going to be.
From down here just watching the wind whistling through the beech, ash and elm is enough some days, but to get the best out of it you need to be up on it, in it and almost let it envelope you. Selfish I know, but I have on occasion called it my hill - it is not mine, it is our hill. It belongs to all of us even though it is owned by others who may not always see it, love it, enjoy it and have its best interests at heart as perhaps others who have deep likings for it.
Today the wind is blowing. It's a cold wind ahead of much colder days to come, but my window is open and I can hear the wind on the hill as it tears through the trees. No other sound is necessary. I often have this certain window open to get my fix - sometimes to hear the constant call of tawny owl who call day and night to their pals down the hill by the river, hear the raark of raven, tappity tap of yaffle, chatter of rooks or observe the silent hunt of peregrine which hunt on the hill away from their cliff top nesting sites by the sea.....after a few years I am starting to know it, understand it by watching and listening from down here or up there on it.
I often walk up there alone. It is wonderful however with my children as they notice many of the lovely things that I do not and there is nothing like walking in an environment with so much to offer so near to home. The great comfort that the home fires are not too far away. In spring and summer my eldest son walks home over the hill and I can hear the chatter and laughter of teenage boys from some way away....he too is getting his fix. I get most of my fix alone. I like it like that as I get the best of both worlds, but it just so happens that alone is when it sees me right.
From the top I see Eggardon slightly to the north east, the hillocks that line the route of the old railway line towards Maiden Newton and to my north, south and east the delights of Marshwood, Pilsdon, Golden Cap, Thorncombe Beacon, Colmers Hill and Lewesdon to name just a few. My path to the top is part of a longer route known as the Monarch's Way. This 625 mile route was the escape route of King Charles II in 1651 after being defeated in the Battle of Worcester.
What gives me greater pleasure is knowing the hunted protagonist of Rogue Male (1939) by Geoffrey Household used this section of path between Sydling St Nicholas, past my house and up over the hill as he headed towards North Chideock......fiction I know, but pleasing all the same. As I look west I pick out his route and imagine the deep lanes which I can almost follow by naked eye as they drop into a network of otherworldly places. Places I have likings for almost as much as this hill.
Such places are always on the cusp of being interfered with, "improved", tampered with, mis-managed for the benefit, usually, of one rather than the masses. Without folks who have the passion and love for such places they can be lost. Sometimes beyond repair and more often than not it is those who do have such passions for them who can feel like they are the in the wrong.....too over sensitive. Let's just say I am one of those.
My visits to the hill have lately been tarnished with such thoughts. Overzealous clearing of hedge, scrub and undergrowth has been carried out in earnest, quickly as if someone or somebody has a plan they wish to execute quickly.......execute?
I have always been nervous of centrally driven Government targets which have little to do with local need........you see it here where over the years parishes have grown along communication routes to eventually join larger settlements and in the end almost all the space between has been lost.....this is what I fear for the hill. Some are hoodwinked by the terms often used on the back of such developments knowing that it may just give them extra weight to a development - affordable, smart housing, community, environmentally friendly, shared ownership, eco.....
For now, I will keep listening to the wind and look forward to my next visit....I'll stop calling it my hill, it's our hill, our land.
It's been a bit of a slog over the last few weeks. I was carving a really good groove with my walking and then disaster struck as I put my back out - the quack noticed my embarrassment as I was told another "person of your age" did the same picking up a sandwich and I have since heard an acquaintance did it playing chess. Life in the fast lane eh? I didn't have time to fib massively and say something manly like it was changing a tractor engine, building a garden shack or lifting sacks of cement - I meekly mentioned to the quack I was giving very important cuddles to one of my terriers. Oh dear.
No walking, drugged up to the gunwales and no alcohol for over three weeks with a recovery in six weeks meant taking it easy. This is hard when you have found something that makes you feel so alive and is physical requiring footfalls over rough terrain.
After three weeks I just had to get out, so pain killers taken, walking pole in hand I tentatively set out for a short dawn walk east.
It was one of those mornings that makes you think it really was worth the effort creeping out into the mist and hush......I puffed like a grampus going up the slope, eventually above the mist and into glorious stillness. My favourite sunrise over Eggardon was the perfect tonic coupled with a cacophony of bird song.
The short walk turned into a six mile one just to satisfy my addiction - it worked, although a dull ache proved I had been pushing things. It was worth it. The views up top felt like I was on top of the world and other than a few roe deer there were no other stirrings - even the dawn chorus seemed quieter.
My route left a pioneering trail in the morning dew and on returning home I realised I was not the only one walking that route. The cocktail of fox, deer and badger piss on my trousers was just too much - a small price to pay I guess!
I was excited and dreading these few days away on the South Downs in equal measures. Excited as it was going to be my first long distance walk totally self sufficient and carrying my gear for all eventualities and sleeping out wild as I walked west to east.
The dreading part, I guess, was because there was going to be absolutely no possibility of pulling out - I had a place to be. A place to navigate to and I had to be there for a certain time.
I had made a pact. For the last twelve months I had known I would be here as it was arranged, agreed on, hands shaken, embraced and promise made. If you do that you can't go back. Especially if it's your closest friend and as the plan is made he looks at you, deep into your eyes and says "promise me you will be there son, I will be and you will know that I am there too" - I agreed. My dearest friend passed away in the dark days of January and it has been difficult for everyone - hard to move on and shake the sadness. I found a note that had been written to me, again it pressed the point in the loveliest manner that I had to be at our meeting point. It closed with see you there.
For the first time in months my mood had lightened as I climbed the first killer incline of the day - it was as if every weight had been lifted from me and I was soaring like the skylarks around me. I cried, screamed and laughed at the same time - it was as if I had found something, found the activity that helps me to move on. Not only in walking terms but in my life. The lines you carve walking are good for you. You hear, notice, plan and think - you also remember and that was what this pilgrimage was all about.
My destination was nearly two days walk away, so I had plenty of time to think and remember times past - I was not alone as I know I had a shadow, a presence alongside me which was not only keeping me company but gently motivating me to keep going, keep plodding - you will understand it told me, you will see what all this is about and it will make your life better both now and in the future.
A magical night under the stars is something I am used to at remote ancient pools whilst fishing, but up here looking to the North Downs it sparkled. At times it felt like I was the only man alive.......the last man standing.
I reached Chanctonbury Ring knowing little of its history. My friend had camped here in 2007 and we talked often about the power this place seems to have. Also, the vista is special, you can see it from some way away and it sort of pounces on you as you get close.
This was indeed our meeting place.
I arrived early, for it was here where I was to camp, but carried on and decided to come back later in the day. It was busy and even with many day walkers about when I walked up onto and into the ring it felt like a veil came down over the place - I didn't feel uneasy but there was a feeling I was being watched. I noticed straight away that no birds sang here, they did in the neighbouring trees, but not here. I continued to the River Adur and thought no more of it.
I returned later in the day, water replenished and feeling weary as now the wind had got much colder and the rain was heavy at times. As I returned to Chanctonbury I was pleased to see it virtually deserted. I walked around and found the place which I thought would not only give me the best view of sunrise but also give me the clearest view of the path ahead as it curled eastwards. A slight dip on the ring was adequate for my back-packers tent and offered slight comfort from the ever increasing wind.
As the day shortened to evening I brewed some tea, said some words to the trees and decided to see what the night would bring. The evening reminded me very much of my worst weather experience fishing at the Wizard's Cauldron a deeply haunted place that I have written about here before.
The noise of the wind was incredible with driving rain of such force I was glad of my shelter, sleeping bag and hip flask. At 2am the wind and rain suddenly stopped - a Tawny Owl hooted in the tree just behind my tent - this was followed by a shriek heading from the trees out of the ring into open land and away from the ring. The wind and rain started up again, I sipped from my flask, looked at pictures of my friend and I knew he was here - I felt I was being protected.
They say the veil is at its thinnest on this night as it is on all hallows' eve and midsummer's eve, but not once did I feel concerned, just aware that I was not alone - being watched and now possibly protected.
Dawn came and the weather departed. Still alone I walked the ring, spoke to my friend, the trees and welcomed in the first day of May. I felt all was well and getting better - a promise kept, a meeting had taken place and a journey of discovery was ahead of me.
The Chancontbury Morris Men arrived as they have always done on this morning. A quite delightful and moving experience to welcome this most special day. As they departed I lifted my pack to my back and left this place..........knowing in some ways that I may not ever return for I have my memories and I had kept my promise.
My good friend Demus picked me up and took me for breakfast which was a most pleasurable end to my trip - he then told me a story I had not known. I have the book by Robert Macfarlane (The Old Ways), but it is still some way down in my reading pile. Demus told me if I had read his chapter on Chanctonbury Ring I may not have seen my journey through to its end. I'll let you discover that story for yourself, but my friend was both shocked and amazed to see what I had found at sunrise on May Day.
The stone you see below, complete with perfect hole, was left just outside my tent. It was not there as I arrived, it appeared during the night. Such a stone is known to bring you luck and protection. In Sussex they are known as Hag Stones, Witches Amulets, Fairy Stones or Odin Stones. The stone is exactly the sort as found at the ring, but rare with natural hole.
I was glad I had made my journey to this place and whatever happened that night I know it was meant to be.
Something very appealing about these old Purbeck stone quarries - mostly a one man band with suitably appropriate corrugated iron huts and sheds. True wildlife havens too. The soundtrack on this particular walk was a plethora of skylarks - truly magical.
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| Clifford Harper |
Over the years I have been heeding the advice of Mark E Smith to eat yourself fitter. It hasn't worked, so I have decided a different course of action. I have always loved a walk, but never one of great distance until now. The footpaths, dark lanes and byways around this part of the hill intrigue me. So much so that I have been recently marking them off on my maps once trodden like an excited loco spotter. It's verging on the obsessional and I get twitchy if I don't get my fix.
One such route has captured my imagination more than most. The Monarch's Way. It passes my back garden as it carves its 615 mile route from Worcester to Brighton. The section I love the most goes up over my hill into the wilds of West Dorset along a glorious ridge up the holloway made famous in Robert Macfarlane's book of the same title (heartbreakingly now destroyed in places by the tractor and flail) and wends its way through the Marshwood Vale to Pilsden Pen and beyond. I love it.
Bilshay, Axen Brow, Henwood Copse, Jan's Hill, Denhay Hill, Wormstall Copse, Ryall Bottom, Copper Hill, Doctor's Copse all have their charm and I drink in the view to savour on dull days.
A day walk brings much pleasure and all being well a pint en route but the air is the best refreshment - cooling from the sea or warm from the hills with a hint of ramson, bluebell and primrose at this time of year.
This is the stuff of dreams or as I prefer to say it's the right side of the hedge. All being well I'll be back in time for tea.
.JPG)
