Walk 6 -- Newhaven Fort to Newhaven Town Station

Ages: Colin was 56 years and 316 days. Rosemary was 54 years and 93 days.

Weather: Very sunny but with a cool breeze, clouding over towards the end of the walk.

Location: From Newhaven Fort to Newhaven Town station.

Distance: 3 miles.

Total distance so far: 50 miles.

Terrain: Along tarmacked or concreted surfaces (since I was on crutches, this was essential!)

Tide: In, going out.

Rivers to cross: No. 3, the Ouse at Newhaven.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: ‘The Golden Galleon’ at Exceat Bridge (we had to drive to it because we didn’t pass one) where we drank Dark Velvet and Golden Peace (I didn’t like either!)

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: None.

How we got there and back: Colin drove us to the car park at Newhaven Fort.

At the end, he walked back to the car and picked me up before driving home.

I did this walk on crutches, only eight weeks after badly breaking my leg in a skiing accident! I fell over for no apparent reason, I wasn’t even going fast or on a difficult slope, but I had a spiral fracture of the left femur and a large ‘butterfly’ fragment splintered off. I had major surgery which involved putting a stainless steel nail inside my thigh-bone from my knee to my groin and securing it with three locking screws. With this in place I did not have to have a plaster cast, and ever since I have been going ‘hell-for-leather’ at the physiotherapy so that I can get back to walking again as quickly as possible.We parked in the official car park for Newhaven Fort where we had arrived in the dark on our last walk in January. Today we had a beautiful view over Newhaven Harbour in the sunshine. The ferry terminal looked rather sad because it closed at the end of January! Apparently it has been losing money for years, but a Hovercraft service is supposed to be starting in April though the starting date for this has already been put off once. I felt a little nostalgic because I embarked on my first ever trip abroad from Newhaven—a day trip to Dieppe when I was thirteen! I remember how excited I was about the whole venture despite the fact that we caught the night boat each way so we missed two nights sleep, it rained all day so we sheltered in churches and went to at least three funerals, and we travelled back with a pilgrimage from Lourdes who were all being seasick! I have never been able to listen to that dreary Lourdes hymn since without feeling queasy! ('Ave! Ave! Ave Maria!')

We walked down to the road, and I even managed to take a short cut down a grassy slope without losing my crutches. We went along the road under the fort to the car park, and tried to find somewhere sheltered from the wind so we could sit and have our sandwiches. The harbour wall was being repaired and there were stacks of interlocking concrete blocks there, but nothing to sit on. Then we found a rolled up carpet, so we pulled it into the shelter of one of the blocks and we had a very comfortable picnic! Colin had to pull me up at the end because I still find standing up from a low position difficult.

We walked all along the harbour wall and it was very peaceful with just a few fishermen and boys. The occasional small boat went in and out the harbour and we had good views of the chalk cliffs beyond Seaford. With the sun shining it was glorious, and made me feel so much more human and ordinary again after all I have been through in recent weeks. There was a steep slope at the end of the wall, much too steep for me to negotiate, so Colin went up there to the very end of the harbour while I waited for him.

We walked back along the harbour, poor Colin had to patiently saunter while I strutted along on my two sticks. We walked along the harbour edge, but when we got to the road Colin went ahead and collected the car. He parked it in a lay-by there and we had a cup of tea from the flask. Leaving the car in its new position we carried on. We thought the road was the nearest path to the inlet, we missed another road which actually led along the harbour wall because we thought it was a car park with a dead end—so for about 300 yards we were actually going wrong. We cut across by a footpath when we realised, and walked to the bridge along the harbour wall. This is where we crossed the River Ouse, and we walked to the station entrance on the other side. I was very pleased with myself having walked three miles with a broken leg, but I was utterly exhausted!

That ended Walk no.6, we shall pick up Walk no.7 next time at Newhaven Town Station—but I am afraid it will be some weeks because I still have a long way to go to get my leg properly fit. Colin went back to collect the car while I strutted back across the bridge and waited for him on a wooden seat, looking at a boat full of flowers. We drove to Exceat Bridge to find a pub.

Walk 5 -- Brighton to Newhaven Fort

Ages: Colin was 56 years and 246 days. Rosemary was 54 years and 23 days.

Weather: High cloud with a cold wind coming from the north. It remained dry.

Location: From Brighton Palace Pier to Newhaven Fort.

Distance: 12½ miles.

Total distance so far: 47 miles.

Terrain: Some along the bottom of cliffs on tarmacked paths, some grassy paths along the top of chalk cliffs.

Tide: In, going out.

Rivers to cross: None.

Ferries: None.

Piers: No. 5 at Brighton, the Palace Pier.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: ‘The Black Horse’ at Rottingdean where we drank Harvey’s Old Ale.

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: There was one between Brighton and Rottingdean, but we ignored it and climbed over the barriers!

How we got there and back: We caught a couple of trains to Brighton via Barnham and walked to the pier.

At the end, we walked from Newhaven Harbour to the town station and caught a couple of trains back via Littlehampton.

We started off in good spirits, leaving home almost before it got light so that we could have a good start on the day. We had a look first at the hotel on Brighton seafront which burnt down so spectacularly just two days after we walked past it on our last walk! Apparently the breakfast sausages caught fire on the Monday morning and the flames shot up the air vents from the kitchen in the basement to the roof in a matter of minutes. Everyone got out unhurt but there is very little left of the building.

We then explored the length of the Palace Pier. The funfair at the far end was just opening up, but they have no Ferris wheel so we were not interested! We carried on along the prom eastwards towards the marina, and the first cliffs of our tour started to rise up. We were protected from the wind walking along the bottom of them.

I shall never forget Brighton Marina, but not because of the magnificence of the place or anything like that. We started to walk along the western arm when Colin noticed that there was a lower path on the seaward side and suggested that we ought to be down there if we were to walk ‘the nearest safe path to the sea’. The trouble was, it wasn’t safe! After passing a group of children who were being absolutely gross, we suddenly noticed that the concrete was getting very slippery with green slime. I turned to tell Colin that the patch I was on was particularly slippery, and the next thing I knew I was several yards further on, face down with my right arm trapped under a wire fence which was all that was stopping me from falling into the sea! Colin and a fisherman rushed to my aid, but my arm was jammed and I knew it was injured so they couldn’t pull on it to get me out. In the end they managed to get me out by pulling me under my armpits where it didn’t hurt.

My arm was agony and I couldn’t move it, but I was convinced that it wasn’t broken, only badly bruised. I took some painkillers, and I found that if I put my right hand in my trouser pocket it acted as a kind of sling. It was fairly comfortable there, but absolutely useless for doing anything. I decided to carry on the walk to take my mind off the pain.

We walked along both arms of the marina (on the top, of course!) and couldn’t believe the awful white and yellow tin shacks where people actually live in the middle of it! Bet they pay thousands to do so as well—more fool them! Even the brick built flats along the shore edge had notices up asking us to ‘respect our privacy’ because the path goes right in front of their windows! Are we supposed to walk along with our eyes shut? From the marina, looking East, we could see Roedean—the famous girls’ Public School. It is an imposing building which seems to command the views from the top of the chalk cliffs.

Leaving the marina, we continued eastwards along the bottom of the cliff, and stopped to sit on a wall and eat our sandwiches. There were notices telling us that the path was blocked further on, but since people seemed to be walking and cycling freely both ways along it we carried on. It was blocked because they had renewed the concrete at just one point, so like everyone else we climbed over the barrier and edged our way past!

At Rottingdean we walked a short way up the main road to find our ‘real ale’ pub, the Black Horse. There we slaked our thirst on Harvey’s Old Ale. I really needed it because every movement of any part of my right arm was agony, so I consumed a few more painkillers as well. At least it took my mind off my arthritic toe which happily did not play up at all today—or was it that I just didn’t notice? We returned to the beach and continued eastwards.

There seemed to be a path all along the bottom of the cliff, but we weren’t sure if it would run out and leave us walking along shingle. Once we asked a woman with a dog who told us it did just that, so we went up and walked along the top of the cliff where it was more exposed to the wind. Further on there were more paths along the bottom, but we stayed on top. It seemed to be miles. It was!

At Peacehaven we passed over the Greenwich Meridian where there is a bit of a line going off the cliff and a kind of plinth which we thought was a memorial of some kind until we read what it really was. The inscription said:

PEACEHAVEN
KING GEORGE V MEMORIAL
ERECTED BY THE INHABITANTS IN THE
YEAR 1936 TO COMMEMORATE THE
BENEFICIENT AND ILLUSTRIOUS REIGN
OF THEIR BELOVED SOVEREIGN (1910-1936)
AND TO MARK PEACEHAVEN’S POSITION ON
THE PRIME MERIDIAN OF GREENWICH

We felt sorry for the people who live in the houses just there because I bet crowds will congregate there at the Millennium! And so we crossed over from the Western Hemisphere to the Eastern Hemisphere.

Newhaven seemed a lot further than we had anticipated. We walked up to the old fort and at last we could see the harbour ahead. The view was glorious! The trouble was, it was getting quite dark and the way down was not very clear. We kept coming to dead ends behind bushes and having to go back on ourselves. It was also a little muddy so we had to be very careful not to slip. Every time I inadvertently jerked my arm I winced! Eventually we met a man coming up to walk his dog, and he pointed us in the right direction. It was quite dark by the time we got down to the road next to the harbour, and it was only five o’clock!

That ended Walk no. 5, we shall pick up Walk no.6 next time at the bottom of the hill fort by Newhaven Harbour. We returned home by train from Newhaven Town Station, and two days later my right arm was black from my shoulder to my elbow on the inside. I couldn’t lift it even to brush my hair. Yet I still went out and did some supply teaching because we needed the money to pay for our holidays!

Walk 4 -- Shoreham to Brighton

Ages: Colin was 56 years and 197 days. Rosemary was 53 years and 339 days.

Weather: Brilliant sunshine with a cold wind coming in off the sea.

Location: From Shoreham Harbour to Brighton Palace Pier.

Distance: 11 miles.

Total distance so far: 34½ miles.

Terrain: Flat, mostly along roads and proms. Very boring.

Tide: In.

Rivers to cross: None.

Ferries: None.

Piers: No. 4 at Brighton, the West Pier but we couldn’t go on it because it was being renovated.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: ‘The Evening Star’ near Brighton station where they brew their own. We tried their own Pale Ale, their own ‘Mild’, and a dark beer from Lancashire.

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: None.

How we got there and back: We caught a couple of trains to Shoreham-by-Sea and walked to the harbour.

At the end, we walked from Brighton Palace Pier to the station and caught a couple of trains back.

Again a bit of a break because ‘little’ things like looking after the grandchildren while their mother went on holiday (to the American Rockies, no less!), having short breaks in Shropshire, France and southern Spain along with weeks of absolutely dreadful weather sort of got in the way once more!

We began our walk from the footbridge at Shoreham harbour. We had to walk along a main road which wasn’t much fun, but every time we tried to turn off to walk nearer the water we ended up in some kind of yard and had to retrace our steps. We got to the lighthouse at the centre of the harbour and there we were able to walk along the water’s edge for a little way, but we soon had to retreat back to the road. We wanted to cross to the eastern harbour wall over some lock gates, but it was not at all possible so we had to go another two miles along the road. It was really depressing because we had heavy traffic on one side and tall buildings on the other.

At last! We came to the end of another tall industrial building and there was a pleasant lagoon and a road leading across to the sea shore. Then we had to walk back towards Bognor for another two miles past all this industrial stuff again. We decided that Shoreham is not walker-friendly and we won’t go there again!

We walked out on two walls, stone jetties at the harbour entrance, and watched a ship going out, then in and out—we thought it may have been testing the depth perhaps prior to dredging? We sat in a sheltered place in the sun and ate our sandwiches. We were a bit low because we had walked five miles by then and got precisely nowhere!

But the sun was still shining brightly, and once we were walking east again and could see Brighton and even the Seven Sisters in the distance we began to feel a lot better. Shoreham had one more card up its sleeve, though, poised ready to thwart us. At the far eastern end of the harbour is a row of houses at the top of the beach, and a notice saying Keep Out and Private Beach. Of course we took no notice because we know that in Britain there is no such thing as a private beach--you can own a beach, but everyone has right of passage below high tide level. But at the other end of the area was a high spiked fence leading from the buildings right into the sea—our way was blocked! The tide was too far in to get round the end, though I did start edging towards it wondering if I could try. The sea was quite rough with the wind, and I knew I couldn’t get away without at least a soaking—then Colin shouted. He had discovered that the gate in the fence was not locked. On the other side was a notice saying that the area is private down to low water mark, I’m sure that is not legal! Condescendingly they permitted us to pass by at low water (it wasn’t) but we must not loiter in front of the houses! So we loitered, then carried on. (Subsequently we discovered that the property belonged to the pop singer, Fatboy Slim. Does that make him any more important than the rest of us plebs?)

The rest of the walk was quite pleasant. The sun continued to shine brightly, and the waves crashed comfortingly on to the pebbly beach with lots of spray. We must have done our first county crossing somewhere along the way—we weren’t quite sure where—because Brighton is in East Sussex. More and more people were walking, cycling and even roller-blading along the prom because it was such a lovely afternoon. We looked at the derelict Brighton West Pier, but it has been closed for about twenty years ever since a ship ran into it in a storm and sliced it in half. However, it won’t be derelict for much longer because last summer they won a lottery grant to do it up for the Millennium and work has already started. (Bognor was very grieved because they failed to win a similar grant to do up their pier.)

We also passed an extraordinary sculpture—it was on the beach and looked like a bit broken off a giant egg. It was made of iron, and so it was quite rusty although it has only been there a few months. It cost the local Council a sum in the region of £20 000 to erect, so I believe—WHAT A WASTE OF PUBLIC MONEY!

We finished our walk just as we got to the Palace Pier, but we didn’t go on it because we were very tired and all Colin wanted to do was to get his hand round a pint!

That ended Walk no. 4, we shall pick up Walk no. 5 next time at the entrance to Brighton’s Palace Pier. We returned home by train having first slaked our thirst in ‘The Evening Star’ near Brighton railway station.

UPDATE

When converting this to digital in 2006, I noted the following changes on the Brighton scene. The sculpture is no longer there, only the base plate remains. That didn’t last long! Vandals set fire to the ruins of West Pier several times, as if they were determined it should never be restored. The sea did the rest, and now there are no plans to do anything with the skeletal remains. Bognor retains about a quarter of its pier after a storm disposed of a good length of it, and still runs the annual ‘Birdman’ contest each Summer. But it still didn’t get its lottery grant—I think they have stopped asking.

Walk 3 -- Worthing to Shoreham

Ages: Colin was 56 years and 155 days. Rosemary was 53 years and 297 days.

Weather: Dull and grey with a weak sun filtering through half-heartedly after lunch. It was not cold at all.

Location: From Worthing Pier to Shoreham Harbour.

Distance: 7½ miles.

Total distance so far: 23½ miles.

Terrain: Flat, partly along the sandy part of the beach because the tide was out, and partly along concrete paths and pavements. Boring really.

Tide: Out, coming in.

Rivers to cross: No.2, the Adur at Shoreham.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: ‘The Royal Sovereign’ in Shoreham where we drank Oregon and Brains’ ales.

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: None.

How we got there and back: We caught a couple of trains to Worthing and walked to the pier.

At the end, we walked from Shoreham Harbour to the station and caught a couple of trains back.

Not such a long break to our third walk, and it would have been Dad’s 93rd birthday today so let’s dedicate this walk to him. My Dad was born and brought up in nearby Arundel, a town which he loved to his dying day. His mother died of TB when he was not quite fourteen, and two years later he was dying of the same disease himself. But he pulled through, and managed to live to an amazing 88 years. He studied for his school exams at home using a postal course while he was convalescing. He then did an engineering degree at Brighton Technical College, and served his apprenticeship at Woolwich Arsenal. By the age of 24 he was a fully fledged Civil Engineer, and that is when he started his distinguished forty-year career at the Royal Aircraft Establishment in Farnborough. There he met and married my mother, and they had eight children of whom I was the sixth. He was a quiet and modest man, a devout Catholic for the whole of his life. He was fun and resourceful, and his family was the most important thing in his life. We started this Trek four years after he died—I often wish he was still around to tell him about it, he would have been so interested.

Now to the Walk—we started off east along Worthing beach, choosing to walk along the sand because the tide was out. Few people were down there, just the occasional family exercising their dogs. It was quite pleasant striding along, even though my right boot began to leak, but Colin opined that today’s walk was probably the most boring we would have to do since it was all houses along the front and we couldn’t even see the Downs from the beach. We watched a few seagulls and a flock of plovers circling around, but there wasn’t really much else.

At Lancing the tide had come in enough to force us to climb over breakwaters instead of going round the ends of them, so when we came to the first high one we scrambled up the shingle to the top of the beach. We found ourselves in a boat pound, but soon located a concrete path which ran along just behind the shingle. We could hear church bells in the distance, we thought it must be a wedding. The shingle bank had been raised artificially cutting off a stretch of water, and a family of swans were swimming majestically along it. We sat on a bench there and ate our lunch.

But the water ran out, then the path turned into a pavement and there was a row of houses between us and the sea. It was just like walking down a pavement in any residential street—yes, it was boring. Just as we got to Shoreham Harbour we found we were at the end of a Close and thought there was no way out to the beach, but by retracing our steps and going behind the houses on the inland side we found it. There we were faced with an old fort, in not too bad a condition but completely neglected.

We walked all round it, but there was no way in and no information about it anywhere. We assumed it was Napoléonic, only because we have visited similar places along the south coast which date from that era. (About a year after we had done this walk, ‘English Heritage’ produced a long list of Britain’s forgotten historical sites in the hope of raising cash to preserve them before they finally decayed to nothing. The Napoléonic forts at Littlehampton and at Shoreham were listed.)
We walked along the brick jetty on the west side of the harbour by climbing through the gate like everyone else had done. Dozens of fishermen and boys were along there with their rods; some had been successful and there was a horrible smell of fish. We couldn’t get on to the wooden jetty which looked as if it had once had a railway running along it.
Then we had to walk back west alongside the harbour for about a mile to find the footbridge leading across into Shoreham. By now my arthritic toe was sheer hell, I shall have to take more effective painkillers before walks in future. We could hear church bells again, must be a popular day for a wedding. There were a number of derelict warehouses along this road, one was actually being demolished. New housing is replacing them, but we don’t think much of the architecture---they are so ugly! Yes, it was extremely boring! At last we came to the footbridge and crossed it.

That ended the Walk no. 3, we shall pick up Walk no. 4 next time at the north end of the footbridge at Shoreham Harbour. We returned home by train having first slaked our thirst in ‘The Royal Sovereign’ in Shoreham town centre.

Walk 2 -- Littlehampton to Worthing

Ages: Colin was 56 years and 148 days. Rosemary was 53 years and 290 days.

Weather: Beautifully sunny at first with a slight breeze, but clouding over later turning a little cold.

Location: From Littlehampton ferry to Worthing pier.

Distance: 8½ miles.

Total distance so far: 16 miles.

Terrain: Flat, some along proms but mostly across greenswards adjoining the beach.

Tide: In, going out.

Rivers to cross: None.

Ferries: None.

Piers: No. 2 at Littlehampton (short one), no. 3 at Worthing.

Kissing gates: Nos. 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 between Rustington and Goring.

Pubs: ‘Fathom & Firkin’ in Worthing where we drank Firkin’s ales.

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None (whatever happened to the one that used to be at Littlehampton?)

Diversions: None.

How we got there and back: We caught a train to Littlehampton and walked to the starting point.

At the end, we walked from Worthing pier to Worthing station and caught a couple of trains back.

Our second walk, we had not intended it to be so long since the first—but ‘little’ things like looking after our grandchildren while their mother had a minor operation, and going to Canada for a month to visit my cousins and see pods of whales in the Bay of Fundy and off Cape Breton Island—sort of got in the way! We took the train to Littlehampton and walked down the east side of the Arun to start where we left off last time. As we passed a fish stall the owner, who seemed to have some stiffness in his hands, asked Colin to tie his apron for him. Colin obliged, was thanked, and we moved on. It was lovely walking by the River Arun in the morning light—it was busy with human activity (sailing boats) and swan activity (preening).
Our first concern was the Ferris wheel that I always remembered being at Littlehampton when I was a child—where was it? We could see no sign of it, and the funfair (which we always used to know as Butlin’s in the 1950s) was shut up for the season anyway. So we walked to the end of the little pier and looked at a boat or two sailing out of the Arun, probably to fish at sea.
Then we walked along the prom to Rustington, past Littlehampton Green where I was always told that my great-Auntie Mary ran a very successful guest house between the Wars. (I never knew her because she died about the time I was born.) We walked past the convalescent home, opposite which we always used the beach after the Second World War because Mum insisted it was ‘too crowded’ in Littlehampton. It may not look much, but I have so many happy memories of that beach—when I was a small child it was the height of bliss to be playing in the sea with my brothers and sisters just there on a hot Summer’s afternoon.
When we were children we used to spend our Summer holidays staying with our grandfather in Arundel (which we thought was heaven), and we would spend many happy hours on the beach at that spot. Our mother always insisted we caught the bus to what was then a lonely part of the beach because it was ‘too crowded’ in Littlehampton—but now I realise that it was because we were far away from the ice cream vendors and Butlin’s funfair which she couldn’t afford too often with eight of us! Whatever, some of the happiest moments of my childhood were spent playing on that beach with my family.
When the road turned inland at Rustington we carried on along a green, a wide strip of grass betwixt the sea and the houses, and we found there were a number of such greens between Rustington and Worthing. Soon we came across a plaque commemorating the breaking of air speed records over the sea at that point back in the 1940s and 1950s—a connection with Farnborough where I was born and brought up. My maternal grandfather was first employed at the Royal Aircraft Factory as a foreman pattern-maker in 1914, and he actually died at work in 1927—nothing to do with the work, it was peritonitis that took him off. By then the name had changed to the Royal Aircraft Establishment, or RAE as it was known locally. My aunt and uncle were already employed there when their father died, and my mother started work in the drawing office as a ‘computer’ at the tender age of sixteen only weeks after his demise. After two and a half years she met my father when he started his career there as a test engineer working on propellers and airscrews. Forty years later he retired as a Chief Experimental Officer after a distinguished career. He worked, among others, on the ill-fated R101 airship, the Comet disasters and the design of Concorde. I also worked at the RAE when I first left school, and Colin worked there from 1960 to 1966. We met on an outing organised by one of the many social clubs.
Colin was interested in the boating on Rustington beach. I remembered with fondness my eccentric great-Auntie Maggie who used to live in a tiny bungalow just back from the seafront until she died in 1968. She was a suffragette when she was young, and there were many wonderful tales about her. We thought she was great fun! However, she couldn’t cope with all of us children in her old age. When she met Colin she used to call him “the Joker” because she didn’t like to admit that she didn’t understand his jokes.
My arthritic toe was playing up and the walk was rather boring—Colin said he will be glad when this first bit is over and we can get on to some interesting coastline. He wondered about a structure out to sea, and while waiting for me to come out of the loo at Kingston he chatted to a man who conjectured that it might be an experimental oil rig. Could be right. One kissing gate was not a proper kissing gate as it had a latch, another presented difficulties because it was very tall and we had to purse our lips through the slats. Yet a third was broken, the gate leaning against a fence on its side so Colin got behind it so that I wouldn’t be disappointed—he’s a bit of a fool!
The sky clouded over so we sat on the next bench to eat our lunch before it got too gloomy. On we went although my toe was giving me hell! When we reached the beginning of the prom at Worthing, Colin walked along the top of the wall like a child. There were gaps with boards across, and he managed to balance across all the boards, but when there were gaps with no boards he got fed up with stepping up and down and so began behaving properly again.
There used to be a cycle path along the prom at Worthing, but it has been blacked out and ‘no cycling’ notices installed. Such a pity, there is nowhere safe for cyclists it seems. Apparently they took it away because the pedestrians complained, but they were stupid enough to put the cycle lane along the centre of the prom instead of at the side, so no wonder there was trouble!
We saw an open-top bus with pink and white balloons, and then we realised it was a wedding party. The bridal couple were on the beach having their photo taken, after which they ran across the road to a classic car with a chauffeur, then they drove off followed by the bus.
We walked along Worthing pier which is quite an impressive structure, and has a lower deck at the far end for fishermen. We avoided the ‘ping-ping’ sound of slot machines in the amusements because it did not
amuse us.

That ended Walk no.2, we shall pick up Walk no.3 next time at the land end of Worthing pier. We returned home by train having first slaked our thirst at the ‘Fathom & Firkin’ pub in Worthing town centre.