Stage 7: Pyecombe to Kingston

 This walk, on Saturday 13th May, was our longest to date. It shouldn't have been. 

The mileometer clocked in at just over sixteen miles, and this was in spite of the fact that we were a good two miles short of our intended destination (Southease) when we left the South Downs Way.

Directionless finger posts. Directionless women.

There were a couple of now somewhat-typical directional cockups. We left home at just after 7am, driven by the morning support team driver, Lord Lloyd. It took just over half an hour to reach Pyecombe and so we made a nice early start to our walk. But it was here that we made our first school-child error, and set off in the wrong direction. I'm blaming finger posts that just say 'South Downs Way' in both directions, without being specific. That, and a general lack of spacial awareness from which we both appear to suffer. 

We made the obligatory steep climb up the hill, and had gone quite some way when we encountered a wooden scarecrow wearing a sweatshirt.

'Does he look familiar to you?' asked Strictly Lady Lloyd, with something of an edge to her voice.

'I suppose, now that you come to mention it, he looks rather like the one we saw on the last walk.'

'Rather like? Or exactly like?'

Does he look familiar to you?


Alarm bells began to ring.

'Yeah, there's quite a close resemblance. We could be on land that belongs to the same farmer.'

'Or we could be on a route that we've already walked. Going the wrong way.'

We turned around. The field and vista beyond it now assumed a distinctly familiar aspect. One that we last encountered on tired legs in search of The Plough pub. 

There was nothing for it but to trudge back down the hill, cross the road bridge over the A23 back into Pyecombe and pick up the route in the correct direction. 



Any of you know which way to Eastbourne?

Smiles. When we discover that we are travelling the right way once more. 

There's no getting away from the fact that our false start *might have made me a little grumpier than one might expect on a sunny day on the South Downs. 

But the sight of the Jack and Jill windmills at Clayton was a boon. We spent a few minutes walking around them, past a horse gently munching on the grass (and refusing to lift his head for the photo), and a farmer on a tractor going about his business in the distance. 

Refusing to pose

I don't know quite what it is about a windmill that is so appealing: perhaps the historic quaintness, or maybe just nostalgic childhood associations with Windy Miller from Camberwick Green. 

Jill Windmill

It was an enjoyable landmark on the Way. Even with our wrong-direction detour we were still too early for the coffee wagon to be up and running. And, to continue a theme, it took us a few minutes of walking backwards and forwards to find our way back on to the Way. So much so that we had more sight of the horse and the tractor than was strictly necessary. 

patchwork quilt of green and rapeseed flowers

May is a beautiful time to be walking the Downs, particularly this year after all the rain we have  experienced in recent weeks. The land was lush and green and the bright yellow of the rape fields helped to create the patchwork quilt of land. 

reflections in the dew ponds

Sheep gathered around the dew ponds, and the morning light cast startling reflections of the trees and clouds across them. 

views across Ditchling Beacon

At Ditchling Beacon we shared a bench with a stranger; it being past time for the customary granola bar mid-morning snack. When we struck up conversation and he explained where he had travelled from and why, we were reminded afresh of the multiple reasons people have for enjoying and making use of the track.

green and pleasant land

signpost: rare feature on this stretch

Blue skies revealed themselves from behind the early morning clouds bringing, finally, sunshine and warmth. It has been a cool spring this year, and the apricity was welcome. The temperature rose fast though, and we were soon stripping off layers. Fiftieth birthdays and work stresses were kicked into touch. 

Pink Pit Stop

Then a coffee stop appeared from nowhere; pink mirage on the horizon, and aptly named the Pink Pit Stop. It was a delightful point at which to relax and enjoy a hot (or cold) drink, but sadly without a toilet. We know we shouldn't expect such luxury on a walk in the countryside, but as women of a certain age it would be most welcome. We had to make use of the woods instead. 



Finding a bench just after sitting on the ground for lunch

Another hour's walking and it was time for lunch. The temperature continued to rise, and though a glorious day, perhaps a tad too warm for walking - or perhaps, given what a long winter it has been, we were just unfamiliar with the experience of feeling warm. Lunch was concluded with the other now customary South Downs essential, a Wispa bar. It would have been nice to have found this bench before we  sat down on damp ground to eat though. 

We made you a photo...

Just as I sat down to write this post, Google, unprompted, 'made me' a stylized photo. Given that the photos we take never quite do justice to the rich colours and awesome vistas we encounter, I thought I'd include it here.

It was probably around this point that we met a jolly man travelling in the opposite direction who mentioned a pub, and that was enough to set us thinking about cutting our journey a little short. His conception of how close by it was felt a little 'creative' though when it took three further sets of directions before we finally found ourselves descending from the Way towards Kingston. 



stiling it out


The track into the village was steep, and I don't know that I'm overly excited about ascending back up it when the time comes for the next stage. That's the trouble with the Downs: you have to go up as well as down. 



steep track down

Still, it was all worth it for the warm reception and cold pint in the Juggs. We commented on the unusual spelling - having heard the name mentioned several times we had expected 'jugs' - and were interested to find out afterwards that the pub is named after the fish-carrying baskets used by Brighton fishwives on their way through Kingston to the market at Lewes. 


The Juggs

cheers

A long walk, but a good one. As ever, the changing scenery and the people along the route made it memorable. We met one couple who seemed like such a laugh we wished we could drag to the pub with us.  Hearth Father was slightly delayed in arriving for the return collection, but there are plenty worse places on the planet to have to wait. We weren't unduly concerned. It gave us time to re-plan our next walk and debrief. And drink Spitfire. Cheers!

Till the next time...

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