Region 42 South-East England and the Isle of Wight
Leith Hill claims to be the highest point in south-east England, but this is only because of its tower which was apparently built to raise it to the magic figure of 1000 feet. In fact if we ignore man-made features then Walbury Hill is 6 feet higher. The ridge on which it lies is another of the characteristic east west lying chalk downs with a steep escarpment to the north and deep valleys eating into the southern side. A few kilometres west lies Inkpen Beacon which is perhaps better known with its top right on the escarpment and which has given its name to the Inkpen Way, a marked path which seems to be one of several running across this area. We, rather deplorably, did not take a very enterprising route to this summit. We only had the old one-inch map which gave no indication of car parks and by the time we found a place to park we were nearly at the top of the hill at the north-west corner of the hill fort ramparts which encircle the summit plateau. The track across this plateau is a right of way but the one leaving it at right angles towards the slightly higher ground to the south is marked as private. We ignored this but approached the trig point with a slight apprehension because a large BBC van sprouting various aerials was parked beside it and beside the van was a smart new motorbike. However the owner did not appear as we touched the pillar and stole stealthily away. We varied the return by following round the ramparts to the north until we could get onto the lane which runs up below them. This gave us good views down the escarpment, although not distant ones as it was another hazy day. It was a pleasant enough spot with plenty of other visitors enjoying this warm spring Saturday but the walk was too short to be satisfying.
Our climb of Leith Hill was spoilt right from the start when we noticed that we had parked next to a car which had been broken into. The side window had been smashed and glass was scattered over the seats. The owners soon appeared saying that they had only been away twenty minutes. Needless to say the result was that we rushed up and down the hill as fast as we could. We had driven down from the north and it was quite late in the day so the tower on top of the hill was closed. This was apparently built to raise the summit to the magic 1000 foot height. It also no doubt helps one to appreciate the view which is largely blocked by trees at ground level.
We found a car park on the north of this hill from which a good track soon led us up to the pleasant eastern escarpment. A maze of tracks continued through the woods but none go to the trig point. Nevertheless we had no problem finding it, now quite useless for survey purposes. It is completely surround by high trees and scrubby undergrowth. The edges of this hill give the pleasant walking so we made our way back to the eastern edge and followed it back to the car giving a short but enjoyable expedition.
We had no proper map of this hill which was one of the reasons it gave us a rather unsatisfying walk. We followed signs to Butser Hill and found ourselves parking almost at the summit. A map in the car park disclosed our mistake. We should have left the motorway sooner and parked at the Queen Elizabeth Park visitor centre. Because we had a long drive ahead of us and the weather looked very ominous we decided not to retreat and rushed up to the trig point in strong wind and gathering storm clouds. Perhaps one day when driving south again we will stop and climb this hill properly.
Dawson claims that Bishop Walton Wold is the easiest of his hills as one can sit on the top deck of a bus with one's head above the trig point. If Botley Hill is any harder it is only because no doubledecker buses run along the road beside it. We determined not to claim it simply by driving by and sought parking below the escarpment. Having failed to locate any we found ourselves in a small car park at the road junction close to the top of the hill. A forest walk starts here by going down the southern slopes and we thought that we could follow this for a couple of kilometres and then cut off uphill to the road. After descending a short distance the route swung onto a very pleasant grassy path contouring high above the M25. In the still quiet evening the roar of traffic was continuous and intrusive. As the track swung down the hill our plan of leaving it was abandoned for the track shown on our old map did not exist and the undergrowth looked uninvitingly impenetrable. Thus we continued on the waymarked circuit and arrived back at the car in the dark without having climbed our hill. The walk with torches along the busy road was most unpleasant. We passed the trig point without seeing it and continued until we were sure that we had passed the highest point. On the way back we spotted it on the north side of the hedge. Although the earlier walk had been quite pleasant we could hardly look on this as a very satisfying hill.
It was obvious that this was not going to give us a very satisfying walk, yet, just because Crowborough has this odd distinction of incorporating the top of one of the relative hills of Britain, I felt that it would be a rather special place. We decided to park there, stroll to the appropriate grid reference and then have breakfast in the town. The first problem was locating the poorly signposted car park. It was a very icy morning and our walk along the busy main road amongst the fumes and traffic noise was made even more unpleasant by a bitter wind. The top was completely undefined amongst expensive looking houses and seemed to be occupied by somebody's dustbin. We turned back at this vague summit and went to the supermarket to buy supplies for lunch. Our enquires about restaurants in the town brought only an unhelpful shrug from the checkout operator. A visit to the toilets was even more unpleasant. I had no 10p coin and my two fives just fell out of the slot so I stepped over the low barrier only to be shouted at by an aggressive male attendant. We left this disappointing and unfriendly town with relief and headed for the South Downs.
This hill, capped by the circle of trees known as Chanctonbury Ring, as well as a trig point was one which we had both climbed before when, independently, traversing the South Downs so we did not go up again on our subsequent visit to bag the other tops on the South Downs.
We parked in Jevington and first visited the church which has an unusual gate which rotates on a central pivot. The guidebook told us that this is a tapsell gate, one of very few left in the country. We had recently seen another in the Cheshire village of Rostherne. The South Downs Way climbs gently westwards onto the ridge from here but it does not visit the highest spot on Wilmington Hill, a trig point reached by a short diversion on a permissive path. We continued westwards for a short distance, keeping very close to the edge of the escarpment in an attempt to see the well known chalk figure, the long man of Wilmington. He is not seen at his best from above but looking down we could see that the outline had been completely restored and filled in with what appeared to be white plastic; necessary no doubt but rather sad nonetheless. It was a superb clear cloudless day and Firle Beacon could be clearly seen ahead beyond the valley of the Cuckmere River. Rowland had definitely climbed it before. Probably I had also but could not be quite certain so I was the lucky one who walked on to it from here while Rowland returned to the car and drove round to the other side. I dropped down off the hill and into the water meadows, beyond which Alfriston was entered across an attractive long bridge. I did not linger in this pleasant old town but was soon climbing back up onto the downs where both paragliders and hanggliders were soaring into the blue sky, riding the thermals above the long northern escarpment. It was a glorious walk in the sunshine along this broad and grassy ridge to the trig point and tumuli on the summit from which a gentle stroll led down to the car park. I felt some regret that I could not continue all the way to Winchester.
After the lovely walk along the ridge of the downs over Wilmington Hill and Firle Beacon there was little daylight left for Cliffe Hill, which turned out to be a stroke of great good fortune. Parking was a problem on the eastern side of the hill but we managed to squeeze in beside a gate near the start of the right of way which led south-westwards onto the hill. Eventually, as it started to contour, we left it and went straight up towards the top where two figures sillhouetted against the evening sky gave at first the impression that this might be a favourite spot for the inhabitants of Lewes to come and watch sunset. Disillusion was swift as we came closer and realised that they were wielding golf clubs. The golf course which our map showed on the south side of the hill does in fact stretch right across the ridge, surrounded by barbed wire. Fortunately the sun was just setting, the golfers disappeared and we were able to pass through the gate and walk freely to the trig point which lies right alongside one of the greens. It was a beautiful evening with a fiery sun setting behind the downs. The bare branches of the trees and the flags of the golf course formed a sharp black pattern against the sky which was glowing, as so often at the end of a short cold winter day, with a rich orange light merging overhead into a deep dark blue in which stars began to twinkle. We strolled back very slowly to the car, prolonging this hill as long as possible until the darkness was total. This very short walk had been a memorable and enjoyable one, the pleasure sharpened by our awareness of having done it at the very best time, not only for the beauty of the sunset but also to avoid flying golf balls and possible confrontation with golfers.
It was now completely dark but the friends with whom we were staying were not due back from work until 7pm. To utilise the time profitably we decided to drive to the car park near the summit of Ditchling Beacon. It was only a five minute stroll to the trig point with the lights of Brighton spread below us and a clear and starry sky above. Thus the walk, although ridiculously short, was a memorable and very beautiful one.
We parked in the rain right on the North Downs Way above the village of Thurnam, a rather unenterprising approach since we were here within half a mile of the summit. We walked up to the trig point at 198 metres and continued beyond in the same direction towards the highest point which is within the quite wide 200 metre contour and totally undefined. After wandering aimlessly around in this vicinity we headed more purposefully back to the edge of the escarpment. There was just enough view through the drizzle to show that this could have been a lovely spot on a more favourable day. As it was, being short of both time and sunshine, we simply followed the official path which inexplicably drops off the escarpment here down a long flight of steps and then climbs slowly back up again. We were soon back at the car after a rather unsatisfactory short stroll.
The two Marilyns on the Isle of Wight gave us a splendid excuse to go to an island which otherwise we might never have visited. The Ordnance Survey guidebook, which we had found in the library, suggested a three hour circuit incorporating St Boniface Down, the highest point of the island. Starting from Wroxall we climbed first onto St Martin's Down and from here the extremely flat topped ridge swings in a great curve to the highest part which is almost imperceptibly elevated above the rest. In fact the highest spot, as specified by Dawson's grid reference, is inaccessible, being occupied by a radar station behind a hostile fence. We reckoned the bumps and buildings therein to be man-made and hence not invalidating our claim to this summit. The trig point, at the end of the fence, is lower but opened up a pleasant vista westwards along the south coast of the island towards the sunset, although it was too hazy to see very far.
It remained hazy next day but this did not really spoil the excellent walk which we did along the Tennyson Trail from Brighstone Down to The Needles. In fact we visited the summit together first, an uninspiring spot since the trig point lies on a mound of grass, little elevated above a featureless plateau. The forest has been felled around it but this did little to improve a prospect, marred by an exceedingly flat foreground. Rowland then set out directly towards the western tip of the island while I drove there and set out to meet him. The Needles are not easy to see from the cliffs since the western tip is occupied by a battery which had been closed to visitors for the winter and the rest of the edge is guarded by a substantial fence, adorned every few yards by ugly red notices warning of the dangers of crossing it. Eventually I located the viewpoint, as marked on the map, which gave a dramatic bird's eye view right down to the beach. The hazy day gave this prospect a particular beauty, emphasising the striking whiteness of the cliffs. The walk across Tennyson Down, crowned by a memorial to the poet, was pleasant but unexciting. Beyond Freshwater, East Afton Down proved more hazardous, the danger being from flying golf balls. Both Brook Down and Harboro Down are crowned with ancient tumuli and all gave excellent walking on pleasant grassy tracks, providing a satisfying traverse of the spine of western Wight.
There are some people who are quite happy to leave a single hill outstanding in a list. In fact some feel that the completion of the Munros, for example, is something to be postponed as long as possible, perhaps to prolong the pleasure of the chase. To me however the task unfinished is a source of frustration. The feeling is always at the back of my mind that some mishap might leave the goal forever out of reach. Although we had climbed all the English hills in Dawson's book, the discovery that Cheriton Hill had been added meant that our celebrations of completion on Shillhope Law were fatally flawed. The trouble is that, unlike Munros, Marilyns cannot be argued about. Like Corbetts they are are rigourously defined. 150m drop all round -in. 149m - out. Thus we decided that Cheriton Hill must be done but being situated in Kent we could hardly justify a special journey. A flight from Heathrow airport offered the excuse we needed. The plane was leaving at half past seven on a Monday morning making it essential to spend the night in the vicinity. We left at the crack of dawn on the Sunday, went clockwise round the London orbital motorway and by noon were mingling with the traffic heading for the continent. We parked up on the escarpment of the downs looking down on the vast concrete edifice which marks the entrance to the channel tunnel. After a short walk along the edge we turned inland on a narrow lane and left it on a delightful path through ripening corn. At the second cross track there was no obvious continuation so we turned left and soon found the trig point, overshadowed by a man-made reservoir which perhaps forms the highest point. The official summit is a bit further west however, close to a radio mast but completely indeterminate in a flat field amongst some blasted pines. This is perhaps a good choice as a final summit for the Cat and Custard pub lies very close at hand, its carpark today full of vintage cars. However we decided to postpone our celebrations and sought instead the peace of the nearby churchyard for a traditional sandwich lunch. Two chairs were neatly stacked on the porch, just right for a comfortable repast, unfortunately interrupted by the threat of a thunderstorm. The rain came to very little. We made our way back to the escarpment and completed the walk and the English Marilyns in brilliant sunshine.
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