Walk 11 -- Bexhill, via St Leonards, to Hastings

Ages: Colin was 57 years and 220 days. Rosemary was 54 years and 362 days.

Weather: Frosty start (we had to scrape thick ice off the car!) turning into a beautifully sunny day. Very cold out of the sun, but we were in it for most of the walk!

Location: From Bexhill to Hastings Pier.

Distance: 6 miles.

Total distance: 84 miles.

Terrain: Mostly concrete promenade, a little grass on low sandy cliffs and a mile of shingle walking which we hadn’t bargained on!

Tide: In.

Rivers to cross: None.

Ferries: None.

Piers: No. 7 at Hastings, but it was closed and we couldn’t go on it!

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: The ‘Horse & Groom’ at St Leonards where we drank ‘Bombardier’ and ‘Harvey’s Pale’.

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: None.

How we got there and back: We drove to Bexhill and parked the car near Collington station. After a cup of tea (from our flask in the car) we walked down to sea front to pick up the walk where we had left it last time.

At the end, we walked to Hastings station and caught a train back to Collington. After another cup of tea we drove home.

A couple of weeks ago we watched a favourite programme of ours on TV, a doodly sort of programme called ‘Coastal Ways’, and the subject that week was Bexhill! The ½ hour programme was made in August and doodled on about some of the people who live and work on the seafront there. Well, Bexhill seems to be a doodly sort of place in the Winter too, but all the businesses were locked up except for one café and we didn’t see any of the people featured on the programme. The promenade is very pleasant and the whole place gives an air of being quiet and old-fashioned—really nice.

But we were in for a surprise! After stopping to eat our lunch on a sunny bench admiring the sea—it was beautiful with the sun shining brightly low in the sky and very little wind—we went over to read a notice and discovered that Bexhill is the home of motor racing in Britain! It all started in 1902 when some local rich people (in 1902 you had to be rich to own a motor car) started organising races along the sea front. The car that won was steam powered and called ‘The Easter Egg’ because it looked like one. It reached a speed of 54mph! That was a terrific speed for those days, most cars travelled at a top speed of 12mph. I wonder what the Grand Prix drivers of today would think, but I’m willing to bet that the 1902 drivers had more fun. When the prom came to an end we passed the starting line of those races which was marked by a plaque.

We climbed Galley Hill, which wasn’t much of a climb as it was a low sandy cliff, and found one of those direction finders at the top. We discovered how far we were from various places and which direction they were in, and that we were the same distance from Boulogne as we were from London. We also saw the direction of the ‘Royal Sovereign’ helicopter pad, and later on we could see a light flashing out from it in the gathering gloom of dusk.We descended to sea level again and were walking along a sandy path which seemed to get more and more narrow. Eventually we decided it would be easier to walk on the beach rather than fight our way through a thorn bush, so I leant on Colin’s shoulder to get down a very muddy slope to the shingle. My leg is fine for all normal activities now, but doesn’t take kindly to steep downhills especially when they are muddy. On the other side of the thorn bush the real path was blocked by a notice saying “Footpath closed. Please take alternative route.” Now they tell us!

Then followed a mile of shingle walking between the railway line and the occasional beach hut, some of which had been slewed at odd angles by the recent stormy weather. We tried walking in wheel tracks again, but it was easier this time to walk next to them. Colin was mildly sarcastic because I had described today’s walk as ‘easy’ as it would all be on concrete promenade—it had looked like that on the map but I was wrong.

As we stomped along we discussed the difficulties of our coastal walk so far, where we had been forced to walk long distances on shingle or go inland well away from the coastline because there is no official coast path in Sussex. All the way from Bognor we have been bombarded with a plethora of unfriendly notices saying “Private” or “No Access” or “Private Beach” or “Keep Out”, and we are certain that we had to extend our walk by four miles at Shoreham because a public footpath had a padlocked gate over it denying us access over some lockgates. The Government are supposed to be encouraging us all to lead healthier lifestyles, and you would think that in the overpopulated South-East, within easy reach of London, they would have an accessible right-of-way along a natural boundary such as the coast. It would not take much to make a walkable path along these shingle beaches, it might even help to ‘glue’ them together to withstand this increasingly stormy weather they keep threatening us with due to global warming.

They could even put a cycle path in as well to encourage us further, using the money they are saving on National Health because we are less likely to get ill! The scandal is the number of “No cycling” notices we have passed—it must be at least a hundred so far—as if cycling were some kind of criminal activity! If we had tried to do this venture as cyclists instead of walkers we would be on to a non-starter; it would be a case of break the law (Who was it said, “The law is an ass”?—Charles Dickens, I think) or risk life and limb on the roads where we seem to be invisible to all drivers no matter how bright and luminous our apparel.

Enough of this diversion, but while we were having a good moan we suddenly we stepped on to concrete. It was obviously the base of some structure long since demolished and we wondered what it had been. Looking on our ancient street map later we discovered it marked as a holiday camp and bathing pool. How miserable it looked today, and that went for the rest of our walk through St Leonards. Hastings was even worse! Dismal, derelict and demoralising were the kind of words that came to mind—the glorious English seaside gone to seed! I know it is Winter, but so it is in Bognor which is the archetypal ‘has-been’ resort. Hastings today makes Bognor look like the happening place!

We diverted in St Leonards to visit our ‘real ale’ pub, the Horse and Groom, which was quite pleasant but the beer was very ordinary. We returned down steep steps to the promenade, and as we approached Hastings Pier the lower prom went under cover which we thought was a brilliant idea. The inner walls had been decorated with broken coloured glass embedded in cement which was very effective—except that some idiots had tried to break the glass to make sharp and dangerous edges. I wonder what goes on in the minds of vandals that they have to try and spoil anything which is nice. (I am getting philosophical today!)

Colin remarked that the pier looked very ‘dead’ and that he hadn’t seen a single person walk along it. I remembered visiting Hastings about five or six years ago and thinking how jolly everything seemed to be on the pier and wondering if Bognor couldn’t learn a lesson or two on how to run such a structure. As we approached we saw what we had feared, the pier was closed ‘until further notice’ and completely barred off with huge iron fences. Colin asked a man who had just come through one of the padlocked gates and was locking it up behind him. He told us that he used to run one of the many businesses on the pier, but it went into liquidation last October owing £167000! People had until Friday to put in bids to buy it out, but it would need several million spent on it because the structure was in such a state. He pointed out the floorboards which had been prised up and broken off by the sea in the recent storms and it certainly did look in a terrible state, a miserable air of neglect hung about the place.

The demise of the British seaside—how sad!

We felt quite low then, despite a beautiful sunset—but it was only a QUARTER TO FOUR! How I hate this time of year when the day comes to a close in the middle of the afternoon. The tide was right in and splashing against the seawall. I looked over just as an extra large wave came in, and Colin laughed as I leapt back with a shriek to avoid getting wet. I stayed dry, but almost fell over because my leg still does not like those sort of sudden movements. We walked about a hundred yards further before turning inland and making for the station.

That ended Walk No. 11, we shall pick up Walk No. 12 next time at the same spot on Hastings promenade, just East of the derelict pier. We caught a train from Hastings back to Collington where we had parked our car and then drove home.

Walk 10 -- Pevensey Bay to Bexhill

Ages: Colin was 57 years and 202 days. Rosemary was 54 years and 343 days.

Weather: Watery sunshine with a stiff breeze from the south-west. Bracing!

Location: From Pevensey Bay to Bexhill.

Distance: 5 miles.

Total distance: 78 miles.

Terrain: Nearly all shingle, it was hard going!

Tide: In.

Rivers to cross: None.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: None!! (Colin forgot to bring his ‘real ale’ guidebook, and since we didn’t pass any pubs at all we didn’t bother--things must be going downhill!)

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: None.

How we got there and back: We drove to Pevensey Bay and picked up the walk from the same part of the beach where we had left it last time.

At the end, we left the prom at Richmond Road in Bexhill and walked up to Collington station where we caught a train back to Pevensey. While Colin walked across the fields to Pevensey Bay to pick up the car, I went into the castle again to take some photographs. After a cup of tea (from our flask) in the car park by the castle we drove home.

We took a chance with the weather today because the forecast was for gales and lashings of horizontal rain for the whole of the country—except the South-East. Our gamble paid off as we only had to contend with a stiff breeze from behind which actually helped to push us along, one of the reasons why we had decided at the outset of this venture that ‘anticlockwise is the preferred route’—the alternative title to ‘Turn Left at Bognor Pier’. Due to the wind, the sea was very rough and exciting so we both thoroughly enjoyed today’s hike.

We started off by walking on shingle at the top of the beach, and unfortunately this continued until we hit the western end of the prom at Bexhill—almost all of today’s walk. Pevensey Bay has no promenade of any description yet it is a beach of enormous historical importance. In October 1066, William of Normandy landed here with his armies and proceeded to defeat the then occupants of the British Isles, the Saxons, at the famous Battle of Hastings a few days later. That event, 933 years ago, was the last time these islands have succumbed to a foreign power—though Henry VIII’s Tudor Navy fought off the Spanish Armada nearly 500 years ago (as evidenced by numerous forts along this southern coast), Napoléon Bonaparte had a good try at conquering us approximately 200 years ago (as evidenced by the plethora of Martello towers along this stretch of coastline) and Adolph Hitler also had a good go nearly 60 years ago (as evidenced by umpteen concrete blocks we are always tripping over and numberless ‘pillboxes’ stinking of pee which line this coast!)

What amazed us was that we found no reference whatsoever to the Norman landings anywhere on our Walk, just numerous unfriendly notices saying Private or claiming a stretch of shingle as a Private Beach (I’m not sure of the legality of this). Today only a couple of windsurfers braved the sea which was quite courageous of them because it was very rough. Even Colin remarked that it was not an ideal day for canoeing the waves!

As we began our Walk on the shingle we found we were being followed by a large caterpillar-type digger and had to move out of its way as it passed us to join a second one a few yards further on; then we heard another one behind us! We skitted past the first two, then looked back to see all three of them lined up menacingly behind us as if they were going to start a race to see who could run us down first! But not so, for their drivers just sat back chatting to each other—it’s what you call a day’s work! Fortunately for us, at least one of these machines had previously been driven several miles along the top of the shingle, almost to Bexhill, and had packed down hard a double path making it much easier for us to walk. I don’t know if my so-recently broken leg would have stood up to 4½ miles of shingle walking if it hadn’t been for those caterpillar tracks.

For all their Private notices, the inhabitants of the beach properties had suffered in the recent weather—we wondered if they had foolishly bought their bijou residences in the balmy summer months. Shingle was heaped up in their Private gardens, sandbags were piled against patio doors, windows were replaced by sheets of wood and one house had a smashed window with several mattresses piled up behind it! Why do people live so close to the sea and think it will always be Summer? A few weeks ago there was a freak storm along this part of the coast, they called it a mini-tornado. It caused havoc! The three diggers we had left behind ‘working’ so hard had obviously been employed to bank up the shingle and minimise the damage. I remarked that if the owners of these properties did lay claim each to their own bit of ‘private’ beach then I hoped they were equally willing to pay the costs of the maintenance of same.

Even today with the tide right in, the waves occasionally splashed over the top of the shingle and gave me a fright at one point—I had to run for it to avoid a shower (and Colin laughed, but then he would!) All this land has been reclaimed from the sea anyway because 2000 years ago when the Romans built the fort at Pevensey which is now one mile inland, they built it on the coast. The fort has not moved, it is the coast which has because the marsh silted up and was eventually drained for farmland.

Further east the houses and bungalows gave way to beach huts, and here we could see even more storm damage. Some were full of shingle, some were partially collapsed and one or two were simply piles of driftwood. Colin public-spiritedly tried to fix the swinging door of one, but the bolt no longer met and all he could do was prop it up with a stick. He said there was a lot of bedding inside which will ruin if it continues to get wet; it looks as though the owners never think to check on their possessions once the season is over.

We kept stopping to watch the sea. The waves were enormous and with the sun shining behind them it was a glorious sight! We passed a Martello Tower with a Danger – Keep off notice affixed to it, then huddled behind a wall facing inland to eat our sandwiches and were only partially successful in getting out of the wind. We didn’t stay long, and were disappointed to find that the public conveniences there were locked—perhaps they don’t think of the needs of mad people like us on our epic trek.

Further on we started to pass the first houses of Bexhill. At least they were built a little higher than sea level, but even there we were noting the erosion of the sandy hills they were built on and concrete garden features of yesteryear which had slipped somewhat. The caterpillar tracks suddenly stopped in a pile of shingle, but we were very relieved to find that a concrete prom began just a few yards further on. Colin tried to kid me that there was a notice saying ‘private promenade for residents only’ but I was not taken in. Although walking was now considerably easier, even here the prom had practically disappeared under shingle brought up by the sea, but we managed to find a path through.

We stopped to look at a street plan and wanted to compare it with our own map so we could find out the location of the station. Our own map needed folding to the next part and we nearly lost it in the wind while attempting to do this. We dashed between some beach huts in order to fold it up again. About fifty yards before our turning the prom suddenly sloped downwards and disappeared under the shingle, so we climbed up to the grass behind the beach huts (again marked Private very prominently) because we were just too tired to wade through stones any more. We skittered round, squeezing out between a hut and a fence, jumped off a wall on to the beach and immediately climbed some steps on to a brand new tarmacked prom where there was a very clean public convenience which was open. Relief at last!

That ended Walk no.10, we shall pick up Walk no.11 next time at the public conveniences situated at the beginning of the newly surfaced prom in Bexhill. We returned to Pevensey by train and drove home.

Walk 9 -- Eastbourne to Pevensey Bay

Ages: Colin was 57 years and 179 days. Rosemary was 54 years and 320 days.

Weather: Dull at first but turning sunny. A pleasant breeze and very mild.

Location: From Eastbourne Pier to Pevensey Bay.

Distance: 5½ miles.

Total distance: 73 miles.

Terrain: Promenade at first, then we alternated between shingle beach (which is hard going) and sandy beach where we had to scramble through gaps in breakwaters. It was entirely flat.

Tide: Out.

Rivers to cross: None.

Ferries: None.

Piers: No. 6 at Eastbourne.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: None!! (Since Colin had visited no less than five ‘real ale’ pubs the day before he actually declared that he wasn’t all that bothered---let this be put on record!)

‘English Heritage’ properties: No.1 at Pevensey Castle---a medieval castle first built by the Normans on Roman ruins and last used for defence in the Second World War. Excellent audio tour.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: No.4 on Eastbourne Pier due to maintenance works. No.5 between Eastbourne and Pevensey where they are still building an harbour which is not yet on the map.

How we got there and back: We drove to Pevensey Castle, then walked to the nearest station and caught a train to Eastbourne where we walked down to the sea front.

At the end, we walked from Pevensey Bay across the fields to the castle which we toured because it is ‘English Heritage’ and we can get in free because we are members; then we drove home.

Is it really four months since we did our last walk? Well, we have been rather ‘busy’! At the end of June we went to Helsinki for a few days. In July we toured France, Germany and Austria with a tent for two and a half weeks. As soon as we got home, my cousin, Paul, and his wife, Sue, arrived from Canada to stay for a week. While they were here we had to help my brother, David, and his wife, Monica, celebrate their Silver Wedding. Then we took young Jamie, our grandson, on his first trip abroad to Verdun in northern France to view a total eclipse of the sun! Later in August we flew to Hawai’i and stayed a few days on three of the islands where we did a lot of snorkelling and swam with turtles! Then we flew to Las Vegas and hired a motorhome which we drove to the Valley of Fire, Zion, Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, Dead Horse Point, Arches, Canyonlands, Mesa Verdi, Monument Valley (where we went on a crazy jeep ride with the Indians!) and the Grand Canyon returning to Las Vegas via Zion and the Valley of Fire again. Having failed to win more than 25cents, we flew home FIRST CLASS! (at least as far as Chicago). We had hardly been home a week before we drove up to Cheshire and hired a 54 foot narrowboat for two weeks. This we took to Chester and then into Wales, rising up in locks a total of 227 feet and down again, and travelling 136 miles at the heady speed of up to three miles per hour! Then we had to go up to Manchester for a few days to visit our son, Paul, and his girlfriend, Caroline; thence to Blackpool to take Colin’s elderly cousin, Barbara, to see the illuminations; and we visited Ironbridge and Malvern on our way home. Lastly we had to help my sister, Veronica, and her husband, Bernard, celebrate their Ruby Wedding. Meanwhile my leg is almost back to normal (I left my stick in a taxi in Las Vegas which I thought was a fitting end to it!) and after three cortizone injections in my shoulder and a course of steroids, my arm (which I injured on walk 5) is also back to normal. As to that over-indulging in alcohol nonsense, it turned out to be a load of baloney—when I returned to the hospital for the results of further tests they had found nothing at all and dismissed me!

So at last we can do some serious walking! My doctor has given me some stuff called ‘Powergel’ to rub on my arthritic toe before I go hiking and it really works! Now I can enjoy walking again.

We picked up the Walk at the ‘theatre’ place just west of Eastbourne Pier, and since it is now ‘out-of-season’ all the chairs had been stacked away and it was just an open space. We were annoyed that the first lot of toilets were padlocked and the next lot had a turnstile costing 10p. Colin stepped over the turnstile in the Gents but I was ‘good’ and paid up—only because I wasn’t sure if loads of burglar alarms would go off if I tried jumping over the gate summoning half a dozen police cars. I had been tempted--I mean, two shillings to go for a wee! What would my grandmother have said?

We walked along the pier and there was lots of loud music and various shops were selling tourist tat. We were by far the youngest people there who didn’t actually work on the site, most of those pushing wheelchairs looked as if they ought to be in them. Perhaps they toss up who has the turn for the ride each day—don’t mock! by the time we finish this circumnavigation we could be like that or worse! The west side of the pier was closed off for most of its length, also dying of old age, but although a couple of men in hard hats walked officiously into the area nobody looked as if they were doing any work. There was a lone fisherman on the end of the pier but he hadn’t caught anything.We continued east along the prom in the sunshine. We stopped to read a sign that told us why we should be out walking for 30 minutes each day and all the details as to how it was doing us good and how to go about planning a walk and how to walk and how they were ‘helping’ us by putting up a sign at every half kilometre and….(the ‘nanny’ State is at it again.) We were pleased to see that half the prom is a cycle lane (cycling is forbidden on pain of a fine on Bognor prom) though we did think that the pedestrians should be on the seaward side. We stopped to read a second sign all about three phases of work on seafront defences which will only take place during the winter and the shingle will be returned by each summer and they hope to have the whole thing complete by the summer of 1998—I wonder if they did! We stopped to read a third sign which told us that this area has been preserved forever as a site of ‘natural significance’ or something, and how they had all collaborated together to preserve this site forever because it is of such importance and it would never be developed and loads more of similar claptrap—it was a few yards of untidy shingle behind the prom!

When the prom at last came to an end there was a fence (such as you find round building sites these days) blocking the way over the shingle to a Martello tower. Since one panel had been ‘felled’ we carried on and began to realise the full hypocrisy of the last sign we had read—our way was blocked by a brand new harbour leading to a new marina complex which was still being built! A huge area was under construction and obviously the few untidy yards of shingle we had just passed had been left as a concession to the conservationists. Money certainly talks! We wondered how much they were flogging the houses for, and the annual cost of renting a berth for your boat. (A couple of years later, when there was widespread flooding in the South of England, we heard that the Environment Agency had warned against building houses on this site because the buildings are actually below sea level! As usual, where money is involved, the warnings were ignored.)

Since we did not want to swim across the harbour entrance we started to make our way round it, and fortunately there was another hole in the fence before our way was completely blocked by scaffolding and half-built houses. We thought we were going to have to walk inland for another mile or so to get round it all, but Colin kept finding little notices saying Pedestrians with an arrow and we ended up on a footbridge over the lock gates between the new harbour and the new marina behind it. We came off the bridge through a little gate, and looking back we saw that there was a notice on the other side of the gate which said No Access—oh well, too late now!

We made our way down the other side of the harbour to the beach where we found a handy breakwater to sit on and eat our sandwiches. It was here that my film ran out and I discovered that I had not packed another one, so no more photographs today, unfortunately.
The tide was out leaving a wide sward of smooth sand so we decided to continue along the beach. This was okay for a while, but the breakwaters were getting increasingly near to the water and we had to scramble through them like contortionists! Eventually my leg objected, so we walked up the mound of shingle because we could see the first houses of Pevensey Bay. But there was no prom or even footpath along the top of the shingle and we found ourselves walking along an unmade road with houses between us and the sea, then an unofficial path through wasteland. When we tried to continue this, a woman came out of one of the houses and told us, in a posh voice, that there was no way through and “you will have to walk up to the road!” So we went back down to the beach.

Now it was easier to get along the sand and we did so until we reached the fifth Martello tower (this one had been converted into a house) where we left the beach in the centre of the village of Pevensey Bay.

That ended Walk no. 9, we shall pick up Walk no. 10 next time at the same point on the beach at Pevensey Bay. We walked a mile inland to Pevensey Castle where we had left our car. After a refreshing cup of tea from the flask we had thoughtfully placed in the boot, we toured the castle before driving home.
A fortification was first built there in Roman times when it was by the sea and there was a natural harbour by its walls, long since silted up and drained for farmland. Pevensey is a medieval castle first built by the Normans and sieged at several points in history including Tudor times and the Civil War. It boasts a dungeon and an ‘oubliette’. It was last used for defence as recently as the Second World War when Canadian troops were stationed there to guard the south coast. I regretted not having any more film for my camera because it was beautiful in the setting sun with a number of spectacular lighting effects. We went on a audio tour which was very good and brought it all alive.

(At the end of Walk 10, I returned to the castle with my camera which had a film in it this time!)

Walk 8 -- Cuckmere Haven, via the Seven Sisters and Beachy Head, to Eastbourne

Ages: Colin was 57 years and 46 days. Rosemary was 54 years and 188 days.

Weather: Very sunny and hot, but with a refreshing breeze. Visibility exceptionally clear. Beautiful!

Location: From Cuckmere Haven to Eastbourne Pier.

Distance: 10 miles.

Total distance: 67½ miles.

Terrain: Some grassy river bank, some shingle beach, some hard promenade, but mostly grassy chalk clifftops which were very ‘up and down’!

Tide: Out, coming in.

Rivers to cross: None.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: Nos. 8 & 9 at Cuckmere Haven and no. 10 at Birling Gap.

Pubs: ‘The Terminus’ in Eastbourne where we found Harvey’s Armada was not to our taste. (We suspected they had not washed the glasses out properly!)

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: No. 3 at the mouth of Cuckmere Haven to prevent erosion.

How we got there and back: We drove to Exceat Bridge where we parked in the ‘Seven Sisters Country Park’ car park.

At the end we caught the bus from central Eastbourne to Exceat Bridge, then drove home.

We started our walk on the eastern bank of the Cuckmere river in beautiful sunshine. Colin was bemoaning the fact that I wouldn’t let him start with a ‘quick ‘arf’ of cider at the ‘Golden Fleece’ on the opposite bank, but we were late enough already (it was midday) due to faffing about this morning, and anyway we didn’t actually pass it. I was rejoicing in the fact that we had escaped unscathed from the school parties which had besieged the toilets at the Country Park car park, then we caught up with one group, noticed another hotly pursuing us from behind and happened upon two more lots on the beach! I amended my thoughts to:—“I’m glad I’m not in charge of any of these school parties!”

We didn’t linger on the beach, mainly due to the noise all the various groups were making, but made our way along to the eastern cliffs. I didn’t find walking on the shingle easy with my stick and my weak leg so I was glad to get to the other side. There we found a diversion which was a bit annoying, but we could see why they had done it. The chalk hillside had been stripped bare of grass by people climbing up and sliding down, so it was fenced off with barbed wire and we had to walk about a quarter of a mile inland before we could get through a gate. However, the slope up from there was much gentler so in the long run it was all to the good.

We climbed the first of the ‘Seven Sisters’ which was almost the highest, and it was a stiff climb up from sea level. As we ascended, the noise from the schoolchildren became less apparent and we could hear the sea more. Just past the top, where we could neither see nor hear the youngsters (I have done a lot of supply teaching in recent weeks so I am ultra-sensitive at the moment) we found a spot with a beautiful view and a lovely cooling breeze to settle down and eat our sandwiches. This is the life—we pitied those poor souls who have to go to work on days such as these!We marvelled at the speed with which other walkers passed us and scaled the humps of the next six ‘Seven Sisters’ (there are actually eight) while we lazily watched. But then it was our turn, and it wasn’t so daunting after all. None of the hills seemed to be as high as the first had been and we didn’t have to go down to sea level between each one. We watched a helicopter fly by at a lower altitude than us! On top of the fifth hill there was a stone beacon and on the sixth there was a sarsen stone and a nice seat on which I sat to admire the view while Colin read the plaque under the stone. He wondered at the word ‘munificent’ (which this computer knows means ‘bountiful’ although it doesn’t know the word ‘sarsen’ and keeps marking it as a wrong spelling!) Between the hills we crossed Short Bottom, Limekiln Bottom, Rough Bottom(!) Flagstaff Bottom, Flathill Bottom and Michel Dean (presumably they had run out of Bottoms by then!) before descending into Birling Gap. There we stopped to refresh ourselves at a café and lethargically watched a coach disgorge itself of jabbering foreigners who all rushed down on to the beach to photograph each other.

We looked at the row of cottages which are falling into the sea. They were in the news recently because the elderly woman who is unfortunate enough to own no.2—the nearest one to the cliff edge since no.1 was demolished years ago—didn’t want to pay out the thousands of pounds they were demanding to flatten it (she doesn’t live there) before it falls over by itself. It didn’t look very critical, and now there is a planning order up to put rocks in the sea to ‘Save Birling Gap’ so presumably they have come to a compromise.

We started to climb towards the Belle Tout lighthouse. This is disused and has been a private residence for years. It too has been in the news recently because it was teetering on the cliff edge and there has been a lot of erosion. A few months ago the owners had the whole building moved back about eighty feet or so on rollers! When we got up there we found that this must have been much more complicated than it sounds because the ground slopes sharply downwards back from the cliff. They had to build a stand for it to rest on in order to keep it at the same height, so now their residence has an extra suite of rooms underneath. It resembles a building site at the moment, but I expect it will be nice when it is finished off properly. When we went round the other side we were met by the same group of foreigners who were noisily making their way up from their coach. Their shouting was worse than the schoolchildren we had left behind at Cuckmere Haven! We got stuck in the middle of them, and I asked Colin, “Are we still in England?" We could not recognise their language, so when we passed their coach at the bottom of the hill Colin looked for a country sign and saw LV. We can only presume that is Latvia, can’t think of anything else.Then came the long haul up to Beachy Head. I said we would stop when we were above the red and white lighthouse (which is at the bottom of the cliff) but every time we looked at it, it seemed to be further away! I think we were getting rather tired by then. We saw the rockfall which had caused such a furore back in the winter with gloomy warnings of global warming and all that claptrap (haven’t they heard of erosion? how do they think the cliffs got there in the first place?)—that is the third reason why this area has been in the news in recent months. There was a lot of chalk in the sea but it wasn’t easy to see it without falling over the cliff! Eventually we found a breezy knoll on which to sit and eat the remainder of our sandwiches.

Up to that point we had both enjoyed today’s walk very much, and agreed that it had been the best yet. We were very tired and it would have been perfect if that had been the end of our walk. The trouble was I had it in my mind that once we were at the top of Beachy Head it would just be a quick skip down to Eastbourne, but the pier is at least another three miles. Eastbourne looked glorious in the evening sun, and we could see beyond all the way to Hastings and the sandy cliffs beyond that. It was so clear that we were convinced we could see the shadowy outline of the Isle of Wight to the west from there. Colin kept looking for ‘the Royal Sovereign’, a helicopter pad which is out in the Channel. He was convinced that he had spied it several times, but then the shape he had seen would move and he realised that it was a ship! We had seen lots of birds (jackdaws, skylarks and even a hawk) and butterflies (meadow brown, painted lady and two different blue ones) on our walk. Now all we wanted was HOME!

From this viewpoint the South Downs Way (which we had been following all day) led round in an arc descending slowly and gently towards Eastbourne, but the nearest safe path to the coast (which we have to follow according to Rule 1) led almost vertically down a grass slope to a path along a lower cliff way below.

I didn’t think I could get down there because I still find going downhill difficult, but Colin said I could do it by leaning on his shoulder. So, with my left hand on his right shoulder and my right hand on my stick, we inched our way down. I made it but it was hard on my left knee which is still weak. It was beautiful walking along in the evening sun, but I wasn’t enjoying it anymore because I was so tired.

After about half a mile we had to go up a little bit which was annoying, then we crossed the end of a mown grassy bowl which had a cricket pitch in the middle. What a beautiful location for it! Then we came to a tarmacked track which led out to a road at the edge of Eastbourne, the beginning (or end, depending on which way you look at it) of the South Downs Way. We began to walk down a road past a school which was full of noisy foreign teenagers, what a row! I felt very tempted to slump on a bench and demand Colin phone for a taxi, I was that done in! But I carried on, and we descended a slope which led us eventually on to the prom.

It was really nice down there, no noisy road next to us but instead a bank of pleasant gardens which deadened the noise from above. But it was still over a mile to the pier. We kept getting passed by youngsters on roller blades and felt like asking them for a lift. We never actually got to the pier; when we got to a kind of open-air theatre place we turned inland towards our pub and the station. Despite the fact that I had had no real trouble from either my broken leg or my arthritic toe, I felt I couldn’t walk another unnecessary step.

That ended Walk no. 8, we shall pick up Walk no. 9 next time at the theatre about 100 yards west of Eastbourne Pier. We tried to slake our thirst at ‘The Terminus’ in central Eastbourne, but the beer was horrible despite the pub being in ‘the Good Beer Guide’ so we caught a bus back to Exceat Bridge and Colin drove home.

Walk 7 -- Newhaven Town Station, via Seaford, to Cuckmere Haven

Ages: Colin was 57 years and 14 days. Rosemary was 54 years and 156 days.

Weather: Mostly sunny and warm, but a strong westerly wind which cooled things down considerably in exposed places.

Location: From Newhaven Town station to Cuckmere Haven, via Seaford.

Distance: 7½ miles.

Total distance: 57½ miles.

Terrain: Some sandy beach, some concrete promenade, some grassy clifftops and some grassy river bank. Undulating.

Tide: Out.

Rivers to cross: No.4, the Cuckmere at the Exceat Bridge.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: No.7 at Cuckmere Haven.

Pubs: 'The Golden Galleon' at Exceat Bridge where we drank Biddington's dry cider.

'English Heritage' properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: None.

How we got there and back: We caught three trains to Newhaven Town Station via Barnham and Hove.

At the end, we caught a bus from Exceat Bridge to Seaford Station, then caught three trains back via Worthing and Barnham.

It is now exactly four months (seventeen weeks) since I broke my leg, and nineteen weeks since I injured my arm on walk 5. After hours of intensive physiotherapy, a lot of cycling and oodles of swimming, I can now move my arm easily in all directions except outwards where it gets stuck halfway up and I can walk easily with either a limp or a stick. I chose a stick today! I have had numerous tests of my brain, heart, lungs, blood, you name it and they’ve tested it; but the men in white coats can find no reason for me to have suffered three serious accidents (I bashed my thumb as well, and after four months sporting a black nail it fell off--the nail, not the thumb!) in such a short space of time--except that I have a very low tolerance to alcohol!! I protest! I honestly only used to drink two units of alcohol a day, and on each of the days I had an accident I had not had a drink since the day before. However, at this time of my life my health is the most important thing for me, so I am now down to two units a week. When we visit ‘real ale’ pubs, Colin has the ale and I have just a taste.

We left Newhaven Town Station and walked down a very boring road to the east of it to Newhaven Harbour station. The whole area has a rather desolate, neglected air about it. ‘Hoverspeed’ started up a daily service to Dieppe a month ago, but there was no one about today and nothing seemed to be doing. Car parks were closed, and we were amused by one ‘long-term’ car park where the exit road was blocked by a huge lump of concrete!

We crossed the railway by a footbridge, then another footbridge took us over what looked like the original course of the River Ouse before they diverted it through the present harbour. We were on the beach, so we walked along the eastern harbour wall to a wooden lighthouse-type construction at the end. It was only being used by birds for nesting. Back to the beach where the tide was exposing nice firm sand. It was only 10.30 but we were ravenous after our early breakfast so we stopped to eat a couple of sandwiches.

We walked along the sand as far as we could. There was no one about except us and a man in waders who was pushing a big net through the waves. We don’t know what he was catching. When it got to a choice between walking in the sea or on shingle, we climbed up the shingle bank and found a tarmacked path which looked as if it had been laid between railway lines. There had obviously been several gun emplacements along this bit of coast during the War. The only time I had difficulty in walking all day was climbing up that shingle bank with my stick, but Colin helped to pull me up.

Soon we were in Seaford which seemed a very sleepy place. Even here there were very few people about. We walked along the prom and stopped at a shelter where we could sit in the sun but out of the wind to eat the rest of our lunch. There were lots of new houses being constructed there, but they all had a high wall blocking out most of the light from the downstairs rooms! We walked down a concrete boat ramp, where there was a lone fisherman, before starting to climb the chalk cliffs.

It was a steep climb, but I didn’t find it any more difficult than I would have done before the accidents. We looked over the edge at one point at lots of kittiwakes nesting on the cliffs. The smell was atrocious--definitely fishy!Sometimes we were out of the wind entirely and it was very hot, and sometimes the wind was so strong it pushed us along--but fortunately not towards the cliff edge! Colin was amused at the antics of some of the golfers, for the path went between a golf course and the edge of the cliff. The wind certainly affected their shots. Colin also noticed smoke trails way back Brighton way in the sky (which looked very black behind us at the time, but no bad weather caught us up). I remembered hearing on the local news yesterday that Brighton was celebrating the one hundredth anniversary of the Palace Pier this weekend. We reckoned the ‘Red Arrows’ were putting on a display.

Eventually we got to the top, and one of the most famous views in Sussex opened up before us--the ‘Seven Sisters’! The white cliffs looked very handsome in the sunshine, and it was lovely walking down the gentle grassy slope with that beautiful view in front of us. It is moments like these that make these Walks so worthwhile. We could see Birling Gap, and the lighthouse on the top near Beachy Head which has so recently been moved back from the cliff edge so it is not lost. It was all very clear today.

On reaching Cuckmere Haven, we walked across a bit of shingle to the river, and Colin recalled the time he brought the Scouts here in their canoes from the camp at Alfriston--fifteen years ago! (Now we know why we always feel so old these days!) One of the lads, called Richard, started drifting out to sea and said, “I can’t do it, Skip, I’ll have to capsize!” Colin knew that he would be in grave danger of drowning if he didn't stay in his canoe, so he threatened to bash him over the head if he capsized, bullied him into paddling a lot harder aginst the current and probably saved his life in the end. (Richard was slightly brain-damaged at birth and had an IQ of below 70.) I don’t think anybody ever really appreciated what Colin did for those boys for all those years he ran the Scouts. It turned sour in the end, for both of us.

We walked along the river bank towards Exceat Bridge, and we saw several different types of butterfly despite the wind. We also saw twenty-two swans, some with cygnets, a couple of herons, and three families of Canada geese with fluffy goslings! We stopped at the pub and Colin claimed it was the best part of the day, but then the cider he was drinking did have a strength of 8.0. We crossed the Exceat Bridge and got on a bus to Seaford.

That ended Walk no. 7, we shall pick up Walk no. 8 next time at Exceat Bridge. We returned home by train from Seaford.