Walk 18 -- Littlestone-on-Sea to Dymchurch

Ages: Colin was 58 years and 51 days. Rosemary was 55 years and 178 days.
Weather: Sunny and quite warm, but thankfully with a pleasant sea breeze.
Location: From Littlestone-on-Sea to Dymchurch.
Distance: 3½ miles.
Total distance: 116 miles (+ 5 miles we have left out).
Terrain: To start with on hard sand, then along a concrete sea wall which turned into a very new and slightly softer surface towards Dymchurch.
Tide: Out.
Rivers to cross: None.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: None.
Pubs: The ‘Ocean Inn’ at Dymchurch where Colin drank ‘Kentish Gold’ and I had a shandy because I was very hot and thirsty!
‘English Heritage’ properties: No. 3 at Dymchurch, a Martello tower built to repel the invasion of the French during Napoléonic times—but it was closed!
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We packed up our camp at Stelling Minnis. We drove to New Romney where once again we parked our car round the back of the station. Then we walked the half mile to Littlestone-on-Sea.
At the end, we caught a train on the ‘Romney, Hythe & Dymchurch’ light railway back to New Romney station, then we drove home to Bognor.

By the time we got to the covered shelter at Littlestone it was lunchtime, so the first thing we did was to sit down like a couple of old fogies and eat the absolutely delicious pork pie we had just bought at a local butcher’s! That really did start the walk off well.
We sat looking out to sea at the remains of one of those ‘mulberry’ harbours that litter our southern coastline (there is a piece on the beach at Bognor just west of Nyewood Lane where we started this trek, and our children loved playing on it when they were young, calling it ‘the wreck’!) They are pieces of a portable harbour which was constructed in great secrecy during the winter of 1943/1944. Winston Churchill realised that the allied troops would never be able to invade the continent of Europe and defeat Hitler’s forces unless they could have the use of a harbour to land tanks, jeeps, artillery, back-up forces and supplies. All the harbours along the French coast were too well defended, so he gave the order to construct an artificial harbour with the words, “Do not argue the matter, the difficulties will argue themselves!” For eight months, huge hollow cassions were cast in concrete and then sunk, mostly in the Thames estuary, so that they were hidden from view. In the weeks leading up to D-Day in June 1944 they were refloated and towed under cover of darkness to various points on the south coast, mostly in Sussex. Then, just a few days after the momentous 6^th June 1944, they were towed in long strings the hundred miles across the Channel to the seaside hamlet of Arromanches on the Normandie coast near Bayeux. Several old ships had been deliberately sunk to form the harbour boundaries, and the ‘mulberry’ blocks were pieced together to form a temporary harbour. The whole venture was a great success despite tremendous storms while it was being constructed, and despite the fact that about half the ‘mulberry’ blocks broke loose at some point on the 24 hour journey and never made it to Normandie. The English and French coasts are littered with the remains more than fifty years later, and many more must be at the bottom of the sea. And the name 'mulberry'? It is a codeword, meaningless to the enemy so that they had no idea what anyone was talking about--just like D-Day which is also a code word. (For that matter, when tanks were invented during the First World War, that was a codeword too!)
Having finished our lunch, we walked along the sand for a while because it was so nice, and noticed one of the houses over the shingle bank was a tower a number of stories high. We couldn’t be bothered to divert to look at it, so at the end of the day we drove there. It is a Victorian water tower situated in a road between two other houses, but it is absolutely derelict. Such a pity, because if someone had the money to do it up it could be converted into a very unusual house!
I was enjoying walking along the sand with the breeze blowing in my face but Colin kept on about not being able to see ‘the view’, so in the end we scrambled up on to the sea wall—I say ‘scrambled’ because the wooden steps had long since gone to meet their maker! His ‘view’ was the local golf course! However, we stayed up there and could see a huge plume of black smoke rising into the sky a long way ahead. Suddenly a fire engine went tearing along the road, but we never did find out anything more.
As we approached Dymchurch, we noticed that the posts for the groynes all seemed to be set in rows, like some ancient ‘standing sticks’ or something. The seagulls were making good use of them anyway. The seawall has only recently been upgraded here, and the surface we found ourselves walking on was very gentle on the feet, softer than concrete but by no means sticky. Quite a few people were about, lots of old fogies sitting on seats or staggering along the prom, and some families with children on the beach even though it is not school holidays yet. As we passed the fairground at Dymchurch I looked for a Ferris wheel, but there was none. I've a terrible feeling that they are too old-fashioned for this modern day and age, and I am despairing of ever getting a ride on one!
We left the sea wall just past the Martello tower at Dymchurch. This tower is an ‘English Heritage’ property, but we were amazed to find it was closed! There was a notice saying —‘due to a leaking roof’—but we wondered if the real reason was because it costs too much to have it manned every day. They said there were ‘special’ open days but didn’t give any dates. We have visited it before, so we weren’t too put out. We went to the pub instead!

That ended Walk No. 17, we shall pick up Walk No.18 at the Martello tower in Dymchurch –unless we devise a way of walking the 5 miles across the military range meantime. We walked to Dymchurch station and caught the diddy little steam train (it goes at quite a lick!) back to New Romney. After yet more tea, we drove home to Bognor.

Walk17 -- Dungeness to Littlestone-on-Sea

Ages: Colin was 58 years and 50 days. Rosemary was 55 years and 177 days.

Weather: Sunny and quite warm, but thankfully with a pleasant sea breeze.

Location: From Dungeness to Littlestone-on-Sea.

Distance: 7 miles.

Total distance: 112½ miles (+ 5 miles we have left out).

Terrain: A lot of shingle beach which was tough going. Fortunately the tide was right out so we were able to walk on hard sand for the second half of the hike.

Tide: Out.

Rivers to cross: None.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: None on the walk, but in the evening we drove to the hamlet of Stowting where we visited the ‘Tiger Inn’ to drink ‘Old Peculier’. That was nice, but the meal was over-priced and not much of it, this ‘nouveau cuisine’ idea. We shall not be going there again, we don’t like being ripped off!

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: None.

How we got there and back: We were already camping at Stelling Minnis. After breakfast, we drove to New Romney where we caught the ‘Romney, Hythe & Dymchurch’ light railway (diddy little carriages, everything is one third normal size!) to Dungeness. After climbing the old lighthouse and visiting the nuclear power station, we then walked along the shingle bank to the end of the military range.

At the end, we walked the half mile up the road from the seafront to our car, downed two very welcome cups of tea, and then drove to Stowting for a disappointing meal before going back to our camp.

We had made enquiries yesterday at the Camber end of the military range about the shooting. They do shoot out to sea, and it would be very dangerous to try to walk along there even at low tide. Yesterday they were firing until 4.30pm, today until 11pm and tomorrow until 4.30pm. That leaves us with two alternatives, either walk round the whole range (about 8 miles on boring roads) or leave out the 5 mile section until a later date. We chose the latter. We do think that in this day and age, the military should give back these coastal areas to the public, especially ones bang in the middle of a holiday area like this one! After many years of hassle, the ‘Needles’ on the Isle of Wight were eventually given back, so what about the rest of these ranges? After all, they still have Salisbury Plain and oodles of land around Aldershot that no one has much interest in, GIVE US BACK OUR COASTLINE!

Before we started this walk, we had a very enjoyable ride on the Romney, Hythe & Dymchurch railway which is made one third the normal size—steam engines, carriages, lines, the stations, everything! It was great fun! The smell of the steam brought back nostalgic memories of childhood days, when we always travelled by steam train.

The whole Point of Dungeness is shingle. I don’t know why people live there, I couldn’t stand those gardens with no soil. We were amazed at the brightness of the flowers, especially the masses of brilliant red poppies. It was a glorious show.On arrival in Dungeness, we climbed the old lighthouse which is open to the public since it is no longer used. When they built the nuclear power station, it partially obscured the light so they had to build another lighthouse a bit taller and nearer the Point. When this one first operated, the light was just candles! We had a wonderful view from the top.Then we visited the nuclear power station, but the visitor centre was full of school kids being a nuisance--perhaps I am just hyper-sensitive but even the power station staff were getting rattled until they went. We would have had to have waited 1½ hours for a tour which would have taken up most of our day, so we decided not to bother. On our walk round there we saw a number of different butterflies, many we couldn’t identify, and once again we admired the variety of brightly coloured flowers growing on the shingle.

After all that interest, our actual walk was rather dull! By the time we reached the military range it was time to stop for lunch so we found a stone to sit on. There were a couple of fishermen on the beach there, no one else at all. We walked along the shingle at the bottom of the beach, right by the waterline hoping it would be more compacted there. It wasn’t!

As we passed the nuclear power station, we could see rings in the water where they suck in the water and let it out again. Hundreds of seagulls were on the water at those two places, and hundreds more yet on the beach at the same spot.

We could only conclude that this warm water means thousands of fish, probably feeding on millions of shrimps which are feeding on radioactive plankton! (We couldn’t see whether they glowed in the dark because it was bright sunshine!!)

As we neared the Point, I suggested we divert to the pub for a shandy even though it was not listed as a ‘real ale’ establishment. I was just plain thirsty walking in that heat! Imagine our amazement when they locked the doors in our faces because it was ‘closing time’---3pm! Crowds of people come down on the railway in the summer season, but are all gone by 6pm when the pub would be thinking of opening again! ONLY IN ENGLAND CAN YOU NOT GET A DRINK IN A HOLIDAY AREA IN THE MIDDLE OF A SUMMER’S AFTERNOON! We trudged back to the beach, sipping warm water from our bottles, and took pictures of each other at the very Point of Dungeness.

We started to follow a concrete road behind the beach because our ankles and feet were aching with all the shingle walking, but it turned sharp left after about a hundred yards while the shingle footpath continued in our direction across shingle fields and wending its way past dilapidated boat sheds.

Eventually Colin climbed up the shingle bank and yelled back, “It’s sand!” The tide was still right out, so we scrambled down the steep shingle to walk on firm sand for the next hour and a half. It was glorious! Everything seemed perfect about the day, except that we got very tired towards the end. But I think you can say my broken legs are completely better because I have done all this far-from-easy walking over the past two days without my trekking sticks. I feel they are a bit of an encumbrance now.At first we met no one, we had the whole world (well, the beach) to ourselves. Then we began to meet dribs and drabs of people, mostly out walking their dogs. A couple were attempting to fly a kite, then another pair had a radio-controlled aeroplane with which they buzzed us. A girl came over the shingle on a horse and cantered along the sand. It was a relaxing dreamy sort of afternoon. We came across a dead dogfish, and twice we stumbled over a dead jellyfish stranded on the shore. They were huge! We saw a few ships out to sea, and the remains of one of those 'mulberry' harbours came into view as we approached Littlestone. We came up off the beach early because we were not sure of our bearings, and walked along the green behind the beach. Even there it was rough grass growing through shingle and very uneven underfoot.

That ended Walk No. 16, we shall pick up Walk No. 17 at the covered shelter on the green at Littlestone-on-Sea at the exact spot where we left the seafront this time. We walked half a mile up the road to where we had parked our car near the station. After two ‘desperate’ cups of tea (we never got a drink apart from the water we were carrying with us), we drove off to Stowting for ‘Old Peculier’ and a very disappointing meal before returning to our camp. On our way we saw a fox loping across the road, and later we saw a little owl sitting on a fence post. Magic!

Walk 15 -- Rye to Camber Sands

Ages: Colin was 58 years and 49 days. Rosemary was 55 years and 176 days.

Weather: Dull and overcast, but the sun came out towards the end of the walk. Warm and comfortable.

Location: From Rye to Camber Sands.

Distance: 6½ miles.

Total distance: 105½ miles.

Terrain: Along pavements in Rye, then along a grassy riverbank which was very pleasant to walk on, then a soft sandy beach (a bit too soft in some places!), and finally along a concrete sea wall with a shingle gap in the middle for about 100 yards.

Tide: Out, but coming in.

Rivers to cross: Nos.5, 6 and 7, the Brede, Tillingham and Rother at Rye.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: The ‘Ypres Castle’ in Rye where we drank ‘Adnams Broadside’ and ‘Harvey’s XX’ mild.

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: None.

How we got there and back: We camped the night before at Stelling Minnis. After a leisurely breakfast, we drove to Camber Sands and parked the car. Then we caught a bus through Rye and got off at the Rye Harbour Road, just a few yards from where we finished the last walk.

At the end, we drove to Old Romney to have a meal at yet another ‘real ale’ pub, then returned to our camp at Stelling Minnis.

The river divides into three at Rye, and you have to cross each branch separately. First we crossed the River Brede, then it was only about a hundred yards around the corner where we crossed the River Tillingham. We walked along a pleasant greensward, where there are notices asking you not to feed the birds because they are becoming aggressive, and sat on a seat to have our lunch.

Colin was anxious to get to the pub before it closed, so we went into the town and it was soon found—it was open all day! It is called ‘Ypres Castle’, and is tucked in under the wall of Ypres Tower, a 13^th Century fort. We sat in a little enclosed garden to drink and it was very pleasant.

We had a walk round Rye, it is a lovely little town with cobbled streets and ancient buildings.
Along with Winchelsea, it allied with the Cinque Ports of Hastings, Romney, Hythe, Dover and Sandwich. By the 13^th Century these ports were so powerful they made their own rules and acted almost as an independent state. They controlled most of the trade between Britain and Europe, but the harbour here at Rye silted up and so it lost its importance. The title ‘Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports’ is now an honorary title only and is presently held by the Queen Mother who will be a hundred years old in about six weeks time!

We didn’t go to the famous ‘Mermaid Inn’ where buccaneers and mercenaries used to hang out in yesteryear because we have been there before and reckon it’s a rip-off set up for gullible Americans! We planned to climb the church tower, but changed our minds when we saw the price had gone up to £2 (it was 50p last time we were here!) Come off it, it isn’t that high! We found an ancient water tower which was interesting, but like all these Victorian water features the pump was broken and it can no longer be used. We found two pie shops and bought a pasty in each, then we returned to the river and continued our walk. We trudged through some boring boatyards, then nearly missed the way where some ‘bijou’ residences have been built with ‘strictly private’ notices all over the place. The ‘public footpath’ notice was there, but very insignificant so that it could easily be missed—Colin found it so we walked boldly and loudly through! Then on by some gardens and we were at the bridge over the River Rother. The bridge was very busy with traffic, and also with children just turning out of a local school.

Immediately over the bridge, we turned sharp right, through a gate, and we were in a different world! A grassy river bank with only the sheep for company, and the occasional bird. Among the gulls, Colin was convinced that he saw a ringed plover, and later on a reed bunting which is a rare sight these days. We followed the raised river bank which was a lot straighter than the curly river edge, and was the proper path so we didn’t have to keep climbing over fences! As we approached the sea, we took a short cut ‘at your own risk’ said the notice (we were very brave!) across an area which sometimes gets flooded at high tide. It was as dry as a bone except for one muddy stream which we managed to jump across without too much difficulty. The last half mile or so was a gravel track used by the local sailing club.

It was a very clear day, so the foghorn in the river entrance was not going. We were pleased about that because it was on our side and we walked right underneath it to get to the ‘corner’—Colin insisted on it, saying it is in the rules! We sat on a wall near there and ate our pasties. One was very much nicer than the other, so when we had each eaten half we swapped—aren't we nice to each other?

Then followed a very pleasant walk along the sands to Camber. The sand was soft to start with and we had fun leaving footprints.

However, that was quite hard going so we walked further up the beach on the edge of the shingle, then later on the sand was hard so we were OK. When we came to the spot where our car was parked in the road just over the sea wall, we decided to take a break. We drove the last mile along to where the military range starts, parked and had a cup of tea.
Feeling refreshed, we started to walk back to where we had picked up the car so we could walk the last mile in the right direction. After about 200 yards, we stopped to talk to a man who had parked his car there and was admiring the view. He was very excited because he had seen two stoats that morning! He then offered us a lift to wherever we wanted to go, so we asked him to take us back a mile and we got out where we had originally parked our car and resumed our walk from the exact spot where we had left the sea wall. It wasn’t very exciting, and only took us about twenty minutes, but it saved us a bit of time.

We ended our Walk at the start of the military range, where the Army had been firing all day. The red flag was down by then, but it was too late to walk any further. We had made enquiries in the morning and we know that tomorrow they are firing from dawn to about 11pm, so we will have to leave the next 5 miles out for the moment.

We are too young to die!

That ended Walk No. 15, we shall pick up Walk No. 16 at the other end of the military range towards Dungeness. We drove into Old Romney where we had our dinner at yet another ‘real ale’ pub, then drove back to our camp at Stelling Minnis.

Walk 14 -- Rye Harbour Nature Reserve to Rye

Ages: Colin was 58 years and 28 days. Rosemary was 55 years and 155 days.

Weather: Dull and overcast, with quite a stiff breeze coming from the south-west.

Location: From Rye Harbour Nature Reserve to Rye.

Distance: 4½ miles.

Total distance: 99 miles.

Terrain: Along roads, mostly.

Tide: Coming in.

Rivers to cross: None.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: The ‘Interman Arms’ at Rye Harbour where we drank ‘Young’s Special’.

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: None.

How we got there and back: We packed up our camp on the outskirts of Hastings. We drove to Rye and parked just across the River Brede in the Rye Harbour Road where a footpath leads across the fields to Camber Castle. We walked to Camber Castle (still closed!), then across the fields as we had come the day before to Rye Harbour Nature Reserve entrance on the shore.

At the end, we drove home to Bognor.

We ate our sandwiches just before we arrived at the Nature Reserve entrance because we found a ‘fogey’ seat (so-called because they are set up all over the place for old fogeys like us!) overlooking the shingle fields but nicely sheltered from the wind which was a bit parky today. I climbed up on to the shingle bank to look at the sea, but not only was it too cold to be comfortable up there, the shingle was very uneven and would have been difficult to walk on. So we settled on the road for walking which was a bit boring but at least it was barred to all traffic including bicycles! Visibility was poor, anyhow, and we couldn’t even see the horizon out to sea.

The shingle bank is being taken over by plants, which keep it stable, and the glorious flowers certainly brightened up a dull day. There were various pools to our left, cut off from the sea by the shingle bank which acts as a sea wall, and numerous water birds were using them for nesting. We could have gone into a hide overlooking one of them, but Colin reckoned he could see all he wanted to from where we were, so we didn't bother. (I reckon the truth was that he was anxious that the pub might close before he got there, so he wanted to push on!) We did see, and hear, a number of terns screeching overhead and dive-bombing anything which moved near to their lake; but they didn’t dive-bomb us because we were nowhere near their nests. It reminded us of a visit we paid to the Farne Islands about three years ago where we were attacked quite viciously by terns for walking past their nests!

As we approached the river and the harbour entrance, we could see a number of small boats, including a couple in full sail, going in and out because the tide was in. But by the time we arrived at the river they had all gone and there was nothing to watch! It had looked a bit strange from the distance because it looked as if they were sailing along the shingle to go inland. We could see two ‘pill-boxes’ at the point and Colin reckoned that they were one each side of the harbour entrance with the river flowing in between, I reckoned they were both our side of the river. I was right!

There were a few people hanging around the harbour entrance, fishermen and a couple of cyclists, and they were the first people we had met since leaving the car. The fog hooter in the middle of the river was very noisesome—we had been listening to it getting gradually louder for the last mile as we approached the river. As we began to walk north beside the river it disappeared from our hearing quite suddenly because it was pointing out to sea.

We watched wheatears and oystercatchers on the shingle, and then we saw redshanks with ridiculously red legs! They kept perching on fence posts and the end of a seat making an enormous amount of noise and allowing us to approach quite close. We didn’t know where their nests were, and they were determined to distract our attention away from them! It was wonderful to see all these different birds at such close quarters. As we left the Nature Reserve, there was another of those Martello towers, built to repel Napoléon nearly two hundred years ago, and a pretty little church. But Colin was now determined to find his ‘real ale’ pub along the little street of houses, and walked in at 2.53pm—it shut at 3 o’clock! So World Peace was again preserved as we gratefully sank a pint each!

We couldn’t continue along the river bank to the bridge because it was all ‘strictly private’ with fences and other such paraphernalia to impede our progress. So we were forced to walk along the road for the last mile or so, dodging the traffic through a noisy, smelly, half-derelict industrial estate. It was awful! It is high time the local Tourist Board took a look at these things, there is no reason why the river bank there could not be opened up as a public footpath for people to wander past doing no harm to anything or anyone. As it was we were dicing with death on that road, and I bet the owners of all those ‘private’ notices don’t pay personally for the upkeep of the river bank either. We couldn’t even see the river until we got back to our car, where we noticed that all the boats in the harbour were now floating—they had been stranded on the sand by the tide when we left. We met another walker going the other way half way along the road, and he remarked how dreadful it all was. As we were changing out of our boots he came back and stopped for a chat. He was a Canadian from Alberta, one of the most scenic parts of that huge country—no wonder he thought walking that road was dreadful!

That ended Walk No. 14, we shall pick up Walk No.15 next time at the same point on the Rye Harbour Road where the footpath to Camber Castle branches off. After partaking of a cup of tea from our flask in the car, we drove home to Bognor. The fact that it took us over two hours made us realise how far we have walked already on our ‘Walk Round Britain’—nearly a hundred miles!

Walk 13 -- Winchelsea Beach to Rye Harbour Nature Reserve, including Camber Castle

Ages: Colin was 58 years and 27 days. Rosemary was 55 years and 154 days.

Weather: Sunny with a light breeze. Beautiful!

Location: From Winchelsea Beach to Rye Harbour Nature Reserve.

Distance: 1 mile.

Total distance: 94½ miles.

Terrain: A narrow sea wall next to the shingle of the beach.

Tide: Going out.

Rivers to cross: None.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: None, but later that evening we visited ‘The Queen’s Head’ at nearby Icklesham where we drank ‘HSB’, ‘Exmoor Gold’, ‘Rother Valley Level Best’ and ‘Cuddles’ with our evening meal. (I drew the short straw and had to drive us back to the campsite!)

‘English Heritage’ properties: No.2 at Camber Castle, one of Henry VIII’s coastal fortifications which he did have built on the coast but now it is a mile inland!—–but it was closed!

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: None.

How we got there and back: We were already camping on the outskirts of Hastings. We drove to Winchelsea Beach and parked right next to the sea wall.

At the end, we walked over the fields for a mile to explore Camber Castle, only to find that it was closed. We walked back a more direct route to Winchelsea Beach, then drove to Winchelsea itself to have a look around this very interesting little town. Later on we had a meal in a pub in nearby Icklesham, then I drove us back to our campsite in Hastings.

We were very lucky (as we were yesterday) to find a parking space because the boys’ football tournament which was taking place on the field just there seemed to be going into its second day. We climbed up the steps on to the sea wall and carried on from where we left it yesterday. Almost immediately we came upon an information board—historical style. We read that the field, which was erupting to parents’ cheers and groans as the lads gave their all, was apparently Rye ‘New’ Harbour! The harbour at Rye itself had silted up so much by the end of the sixteenth century that the politicians of the day decided to build a brand new one on this spot at what is now Winchelsea Beach. It took over 60 years to build, due to political incompetence, and cost the taxpayers of the day the equivalent of millions of pounds. When it was eventually opened, with much razzmatazz, it silted up within three months and was abandoned!

So, what’s new in politics?

We carried on eastwards with the sea to our right and fields to our left, but we could see that the land to our left was nearly all shingle. It is reclaimed land, farmed on the silt which has built up over the last three hundred plus years, and the sea is successfully kept out by the wall we were walking on. Even the shingle to our right was being taken over by sea kale, yellow-horned poppies and red valentia, all in brilliant flower. We saw dozens of ‘painted ladies’ butterflies, we have never seen so many in one place!

We left the sea wall at the entrance to Rye Harbour Nature Reserve and walked a mile inland to Camber Castle, an isolated ruin in the middle of fields. When it was built, on the orders of Henry VIII, it was a fort on the coast as part of his sea defences against the Spaniards and apparently waves were lapping against the walls! That just shows the extent of the silting up of this area of coast—crops and trees have grown up between the ruin and the sea and it has been left stranded in the middle of farmland.

On our way to it we observed a lot of wildlife, this is a very isolated area. Colin lifted a piece of corrugated iron and there was a beautiful slow-worm basking underneath it! It slithered away very quickly, we didn’t get a chance to pick it up or photograph it. Then we heard a cuckoo, and suddenly there it was flying overhead! Further on we watched a whitethroat in a hedgerow, and then a group of long-tailed tits. We seemed to have all this nature to ourselves, but then we came across a family who had brought a brightly painted ‘stock’ car, it was a mini, out here on a trailer and were letting their children drive it up and down the track. They were doing very well and having lots of harmless fun, but we gave them a wide berth!Our one disappointment today was that the castle was closed! I had especially planned this walk to be at a weekend, putting up with all the crowds in the pubs when we were trying to get an evening meal, because I had read in the ‘English Heritage’ guidebook that Camber Castle is only open on Saturday and Sunday afternoons (due to its isolated position, I should imagine). But what I had missed was the fact that it is only open on Saturday and Sunday afternoons in July and August! So we had to content ourselves with walking round it and peeping through the many holes in the walls. It was a typical ‘Ace of Clubs’ shape of these Tudor forts and low to withstand cannon-fire. I don’t think we missed much by not being able to get inside.

That ended Walk No. 13, we shall pick up Walk No. 14 next time at the entrance to Rye Harbour Nature Reserve. We took a more direct route back to our car and drove off to have a look round the historical town of Winchelsea. Later we had a meal in Icklesham, then returned to our campsite.

Walk 12 -- Hastings, via Fairlight and Pett, to Winchelsea Beach

Ages: Colin was 58 years and 26 days. Rosemary was 55 years and 153 days.

Weather: Dull and overcast with just an occasional glimpse of the sun. Very warm and humid. Late afternoon it turned darker and darker, and eventually a fine drizzle began which was most unpleasant. There was not a breath of wind all day.

Location: From Hastings Pier to Winchelsea Beach.

Distance: 9½ miles.

Total distance: 93½ miles.

Terrain: Some grassy clifftops with three very steep glens to descend then climb out the other side, some gravel roads and tracks which were inclined to disappear over the cliff edge! and finally 2½ miles of narrow sea wall spattered with loose shingle which was very exposed (that is when it started raining!) Not an easy walk.

Tide: In going out.

Rivers to cross: None, just a tiny stream in each of the three glens.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: Nos. 11, 12 and 13 between Hastings and Fairlight.

Pubs: The ‘Smugglers Inn’ at Pett Level where we drank ‘Pett Progress’ which was OK and ‘Harvey’s Sussex Ale’ which wasn’t.

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: No.6 on the Downs beyond Hastings where it looked as if the true path might fall into the sea at any moment. Nos. 7 and 8 in the village of Fairlight where the actual roads have fallen into the sea along with one or two houses!
How we got there and back: We camped the night before on the outskirts of Hastings. We drove to Winchelsea Beach and parked right next to the sea wall. Then we walked ¼ mile up the lane to the village and caught a bus back to Hastings.

At the end, we drove back to our campsite in Hastings.

Would you believe it? Five days after Walk 11, I fell off my bike and broke my other leg!! Not a simple fracture either, I completely dislocated my foot and broke my ankle in three places. I was four days in hospital having a plate and seven screws put in the fibula and one screw in the tibia. Then followed six and a half weeks in plaster, all over the Christmas and Millennium celebrations, but after that my recovery was very speedy. I had just started my physiotherapy exercises when Maria asked if she could ‘experiment’ on me, she had recently learned a new technique at a chiropractic conference. She pulled my leg, literally, and when I got down off the bed I could walk normally and the aching had gone! It was amazing! She had stretched the tissue between the muscles which becomes tangled when it is immobile, she said, “I’m untangling your fascia!” Subsequent visits to the doctor put all these accidents down to ‘bad luck’. He said there is no way I have osteoporosis or anything else the matter with me (least of all bad drinking habits!) so to go away and stop being so careless!

So, with both legs full of metal now, and with my new spring-loaded trekking sticks, we started this walk about a hundred yards east of Hastings Pier which is still closed six months later because no one can decide what to do with it. We walked down to the fishing boat pound where there is a little stone quay, but even that is half washed away. We then walked past a number of very tall black sheds which used to be used for drying nets but are now mostly empty and unused. A notice by ‘English Heritage’ stuck on them told us they are going to be preserved using European Union money, so at least that part of Hastings is not going to rot.

The quickest way up to the cliff path was by using the cliff railway, so we bent the rules a little so that we didn’t have to walk round—after all it is practically a vertical ride, it didn’t take us along any distance. The girl in the ticket booth made us both buy a return ticket for 80p each even though we said we weren’t coming down. At the top, Colin tried to give his ticket to some women who were waiting there to save them buying one, but they were foreign and didn’t understand—they probably thought he was a ticket tout—–or making a proposition!! We sat on a bench at the top to eat our lunch with a lovely view over the fishing boats far below. We couldn’t see how shabby Hastings is from up there!Then followed a long walk through Hastings Country Park. Now this really is beautiful, but then it is natural and so can’t get tatty very easily. The first glen is lovely, though steep to get down and get up—lots of steps. It doesn’t quite go down to sea level, Colin walked to the edge where the delightful little babbling brook goes over in a little waterfall. In a bush we saw a little green caterpillar hanging on a thread which was so fine it looked as if it was floating! A long walk followed along the top before we descended even further into the second glen. Coming up towards us was a family looking for a tea shop which they said they had seen a sign for at the bottom. We directed them inland because we knew there was no such establishment the way we had come—they did not look like walkers, especially the mother who said she was “all in!” When we got to the bottom, we found the sign they had seen; it was a bit ambiguous and they had taken the wrong path—I hope they found their tea shop!

There is a path by the stream at the bottom leading through the woods down to a secluded beach which I know is used as a nudist beach because when we were last here (four years ago) there was a sign up warning passers-by. The sign had gone, and I asked Colin if he was going to pop down to see. He said no, he wasn’t bothered (I think he was too tired for extra unnecessary mileage!) So we climbed the steep incline out of the glen again to the cliff tops, and that is where Colin got out his binoculars because you can just about see the beach if you lean very hard over the fence! He was disappointed—he could only see two men in the altogether, all the women he saw were clothed, in fact he was convinced that they were wrapped in Muslim type robes! While we were laughing about this and I was photographing Colin ogling, two teenage girls came along with their dog and began to discuss whether they would see anything ‘disgusting’ on the beach if they took the dog down. I told them they would be all right, though Colin was disappointed, because it seemed only the men down there had stripped off. They went off saying, “Oh no! We’ve just had our lunch!” but they went down anyway!

We could see a radar mast on top of the highest part of the Downs behind the trees ahead, and I thought that we had crossed all the glens (we had put the map away in my rucksack). We were very hot and tired, so we were aghast to discover a third gigantic glen hidden behind the trees! I insisted on sitting down and eating the second part of my lunch before tackling it. The radar mast gave off a loud hum which was very intrusive. The ‘Fire Hills’ beyond it is a beautiful place and it was a lovely afternoon. Lots of families were out enjoying the weekend with their children, but this continuous loud hum nearly drove us demented—it made us think that a flying saucer full of Martians was going to land at any moment! It was only as we left the Country Park and entered the village of Fairlight that the noise faded from our ears.

Fairlight was probably built well away from the cliff edge originally, in fact we saw an old map in a local pub the next evening which confirmed this. But now it is in real trouble! These cliffs are made of a loose sandstone which is no match for the sea. We walked along the un-made-up road between the houses and the clifftop. At first the clifftop was a field away, then it was quite near us, then the road ended dramatically in someone’s back garden which had half fallen into the sea! We had to retrace our steps and go along a couple of roads behind it. We remembered that when we first walked here eight years ago, the footpath had been diverted through this bloke’s garden (bet he was pleased!) because the real path had already gone. Since then there have been several large cliff falls and on the most recent maps the right-of-way has been diverted well inland, several roads further in than we actually walked. (Are they hedging their bets?) Now his garden is even smaller, and barred off with barbed wire and 'PRIVATE’ notices. He’s welcome to it, I wouldn’t live there!

Further east, even ‘Sea Road’ that we were walking on came to an abrupt halt with a wired up fence and 'KEEP OUT -- DANGER' notices all over the place. We looked over, and ‘Sea Road’ seemed to have gone home—for it had disappeared leaving a gaping great chasm for about twenty yards! We retraced our steps, walked along the road behind, then back along to the barrier on the eastern side where there were similar notices. Oh dear!! Last time we walked this way, four years ago, we were able to walk along that road.

We were very curious about a bungalow which had been built on the edge of the cliff without planning permission about five years ago, because it was new and empty when we walked here four years ago and we had asked a local woman about it. So today we asked an old gent who was in his garden, and he gave us all the low-down. He told us that it did have planning permission to be built there, but the owner then wasn’t given permission to live in it—which seemed to us to be very odd. He reckoned this chap lost a lot of money on it, and then he went and died. “Poor old John!” he kept saying. The bungalow was subsequently bought by the local doctor for his retirement and he has been happily living in it ever since, teetering on the edge of these crumbly cliffs! “He got insurance for it because it is classed as erosion, not cliff falls!” went on the old man. (Perhaps he thinks it won’t fall in the sea until after he’s dead, then it won’t be his problem anymore!)

We asked our informant if he wasn’t worried about living so close to the cliff edge himself. He got out a key and unlocked the gate opposite his back garden. I expect there was once a house there, but now it is just a two yard strip of brambles before the cliff edge. He told us that they had got together a Residents’ Association and insisted on coastal protection for their homes from the Local Authority. This had resulted in loads of large rocks being dumped in the sea a bit out from the cliffs, and now they are almost completely covered by shingle. “It’s the shingle that’s done it,” he told us, “now the sea never touches the bottom of the cliffs and we are confident that there will be no more falls.” He was very scathing about the houses on ‘the point’ as he called it. (He meant, in particular, the first house we had come to where the garden has practically all gone now.) “When we first wanted to form a Residents’ Association,” he said, “they didn’t want to know! Now look at them, all falling into the sea!” He didn’t exactly say, “Serve them right!” but we had the feeling he meant it!

Before we moved on, we had a look at ‘the Ark’, a house close by which has long since been abandoned. When we first came here in 1992 it was very near the edge with ominous cracks in the walls. On our next visit in 1996, it was still intact but the corner of the house was actually projecting over the cliff edge. Well, here in 2000 it is with us yet, but with magnificent sea views! The two walls leading to the corner have gone, splintered floorboards stick out over the cliff edge and the corner of the roof is very saggy! I wonder how an estate agent would describe it!All the while we were exploring the cliff dwellings of Fairlight, the sky was getting more and more grey until it almost seemed to be getting dark—but it was only half past five. We were very surprised it didn’t rain. As we started across some fields towards Pett Level, we met a group of people and were greeted with a cry of recognition from one of them—but it turned out that it wasn’t anybody we really knew. She had been in the shop on Winchelsea Beach this morning where I had gone to enquire about the bus and she had remembered me. Am I getting famous already?

As we descended through the woods towards the road at Pett Level, it did at last start to drizzle, and when we came out into the open it was time to don the wet weather gear. We were both very tired by then, and I declared that I couldn’t go on until I had had a good long rest. So we stopped at the Smugglers Inn which is a ‘real ale’ pub, but Colin was very scathing about it because it isn’t in his book of ‘good’ pubs. In the end he conceded that one of the beers he had wasn’t bad—condescending of him! We had hoped to eat there, but food didn’t start until seven and it was only a quarter to six.

After half an hour or so I felt better, so we braved the drizzle for our final 2½ miles along the sea wall. First we read a notice about a ship, the ‘Queen Anne’, which had floundered there sometime in the past and her hull could still be seen on the sands at low tide. It was low tide then, and there might have been something in the sand at the water’s edge where some people were dragging nets through the shallows (shrimp fishing?) but we reckoned if there was, it was so little to see that it wasn’t worth it and we were too tired and too wet to bother! It was horrible walking along that sea wall in the drizzle, though fortunately the wind was partly behind us, so we both walked as quickly as possible and got back to our car at Winchelsea Beach in less than an hour. That was when it stopped raining!

That ended Walk No. 12, we shall pick up Walk No.13 next time where the lane to Winchelsea Beach meets the sea wall. After changing out of our boots and partaking of a cup of tea from our flask, we drove off to find a pub for our evening meal before returning to our campsite.