31 May 2016 - The Homestead, Hailsham, East Sussex

We had intended to do an extensive drive today taking in Christ’s Hospital just south of Horsham, forty or so miles north west of our current position, and several towns and villages in between however we woke to rain which worsened over the next couple of hours before our Skype rendez-vous with Larissa. The wind came up and we were truly in a storm, hardly the right kind of weather to enjoy a sightseeing tour through narrow country roads. We decided not to go after all and I unpacked the eski disappointed that we would not see where our older son, Kit, and his wife, Kyla, had lived for almost a year about eight years ago. This third day in East Sussex would be spent in a sedentary manner, an at-home day, a good day for watching the French Open on television, however in Paris it seemed the weather was little better. Game after game was either abandoned or interrupted by rain and wind, the same we were not enjoying just across the Channel.

After lunch we drove into town and stocked up on fresh provisions in readiness for our departure tomorrow, noting again the signs regarding the Cuckoo Trail. I say “again”, because our hosts had alerted us to the fact we were camped right next to this. A little Google search explained this; the Cuckoo Trail is a fourteen mile footpath and cycleway which runs from Hampden Park to Heathfield here in East Sussex. It passes through the towns of Polegate and Hailsham, as well as the villages of Hellingly and Horam. So now we all know.

Tomorrow morning we will travel south over the Pevensey Levels, that area of marshland, 3,500 hectares  between Bexhill in the east, Pevensey in the west and Hailsham in the north, turning west at Polegate and head into West Sussex. (Over the last few hundred years, the Levels, underwater as recently as 700 to 800 years ago, have gradually changed from saltmarsh to reedy meadows. This explains the notation of “Pevensey Levels” seen on the map two days ago.)

30 May 2016 - The Homestead, Hailsham, East Sussex

Today was a bank holiday and all sensible people who do not need to grab the rare occasion to escape the mundane work and domestic grind, should stay quietly at home and let them get on with it. Alas, not us. Out we went into the madness of the day, facing the frustrations: too many people, too many cars and not enough reasonable parking. But this is our refrain every day; it was just a little louder today.

We had planned to get away super early this morning but slept late.  It was a little after 9 am by the time we drove out the brick gates of our camp, heading directly south toward the coast, then heading a little back to Pevensey, not too far from where we had parked up to eat our lunch on the day we travelled down from Canterbury. Then I had not understood the significance of this spot, or rather, the beach a mile south, where William the Conqueror and his army came ashore to invade the country. 

Today as we drove through the small town a mile inland, we passed impressive walls of a bygone castle, one now in English Heritage hands and all part of the first Norman king’s defences. Further exploration however was left for another day or another set of tourists; we turned westward and drove along the coast toward Eastbourne which we found, from our vantage point in the vehicle, to be quite delightful and less frantic than Hastings. But then it was still early in the day; many holiday trippers were still en route or enjoying a bit of a lie-in.

Like most of the seaside resorts along this south coast, their life as such began after 1840 when the Brighton, Lewes and Hastings Rail Company built the rail line from Lewes to the sea. Even this early in the day, parking spots along the waterfront were as scarce as hen’s teeth, so we drove on as planned, hugging the coast road as far as possible, ascending the South Downs to Beachey Head.

Here the spectacular chalk cliffs rise to 575 feet high, making for a popular suicide spot. The beautiful countryside all about is farmed, but is also criss-crossed with walking tracks, accessible by far too few Pay Station car parks. We stopped briefly to enjoy the views back to the east over Eastbourne, but otherwise pressed on, not having planned to walk through the countryside today.

Further west, we pulled into a car park already busy with cars and a tour bus, attracted by the oak leaf symbol of the National Trust; free parking for us!! This was Birling Gap, where the cliffs are lower and the pebble beach can be accessed by a staircase. The views both east and west were superb, and I took what should have been some beautiful photos, however now as I compile the day’s report, I find that they have been wiped from my camera!

We drove on again, through the delightful villages of East Dean and Friston, then back toward the coast and down over the Cuckmere River which looked such an attractive spot for walking. We passed through the cliff top seaside towns of Seaford, Newhaven, Peachhaven and Rottingdean, none particularly appealing, although the last should have been our parking spot and we should have caught the bus from there. In fact, later research has revealed that there is a Park &Ride for Brighton, a little to the north of the city, however today being a Bank Holiday, was probably the same as a Sunday, and our experience of Park & Ride services so far in this country suggests that there would have been no service today. However for all that, I should explain that our plan was to drive the entire distance into Brighton along the coast, and then continue beyond in the same manner if time allowed. Public Transport had not been a consideration for today.

It was a little before 11 am when we arrived in the busy centre of Brighton, having been greatly impressed with the “fortressed” harbour to the east, housing the marina. We followed the large “P” signs about the city, pleased to see that the city fathers were aware that there were some who pursued private transport, and duly arrived at a large parking building where we soon found a suitable spot. Descending the three floors, we found the machine with directions, and prices. Chris said, “Had I known the cost of parking here, I would not have driven in”. Given that we were never able to gauge what parking elsewhere in the city would have cost, further comment cannot be made, except for the fact that our three hours spent in the city cost us £14 (about NZ$28). Say no more!

With lunch extracted from the eski and stowed in the back pack, we headed out into the city to explore. The first oddity was a queue of folk strung out for three blocks; we asked what they were queuing for, wondering if we should join them. Apparently the author David Walliams was in store signing his latest work. Hard copy books are obviously not dead yet!

St Nicholas Church

After purchasing a map from a rather dodgy type who tried to short change Chris, we walked up the town to the Church of St Nicholas, where my great great great grandfather, Jeremiah Bevege, married his wife, Elizabeth Callon, on 31 January 1810. We easily found the church, it is well marked on the map, but apart from announcing the times of services, and the dates and times of concerts to be held through the summer months to come, there was no information concerning the church and its history, and the doors were firmly shut. I was very disappointed, to say the least. 

More successful was our search for Ship Street, the dwelling place of my great great grandfather’s brother, Joseph Bevege who, with his wife Isabella, emigrated to Australia but returned, preferring life in Brighton to that DownUnder. They left James and his wife to stay on and suffer the hazards of life in strange parts, eventually begetting my paternal line. 

Ship Street is on the edge of the Lanes, and is a Grade II listed building  as so many in the area are. I had a list of other addresses to seek out, all occupied by Jeremiah and Elizabeth and / or their progeny, but the crowds were stifling and Brighton was already proving to be a place to escape rather than explore.

Despite that, we did wander through the famous lanes, finding most of those we explored occupied by jewellers. The remainder were occupied by cafes and the like. Certainly these narrow rabbit-warren-like ways are quaint and should be compulsory for the Brighton visitor, but probably better not done on a bank holiday.

The Royal Pavilion

Then we headed for the Royal Pavilion, having no intention to enter, merely to wander around the exterior to examine the eccentricity of the structure. We kept to the plan although did find a spot on a wall to eat our lunch, highly entertained by several squirrels who ran hither and thither all about us. 

To add insult to injury, we headed for the Pier after lunching, to visit the world famous ultra-tacky Palace Pier, that completed in 1899. There is everything here that we have seen on the other seaside piers over the past month, plus an entire array of fairground rides. The noise and colourful cacophony was all too much for me, although I did enjoy the quite few minutes we sat half way along the pier enjoying Magnum ice-creams, listening to gentle music of bygone years.

I was curious to understand the structures further west, and it was not until I spent some time later researching this to discover the following:

Views from the Pier

The bird’s nest of tangled and twisted metal standing alone out from the shore is not a strange sculpture, but the remains of Brighton’s architecturally superior West Pier built in 1866 which was damaged during World War II. It fell into disrepair, suffering partial collapse in 2002 and two separate fires in 2003, followed by further collapse.

The incredibly tall tower offering no obvious purpose is the work in progress of a 183 foot viewing mast, the i360, originally scheduled to open in 2012, obviously delayed for some time in the future.

I was happy to consider Brighton “done”; the crowds were just too large. We returned to the car, settled our tariff and exited the traffic jammed town. 

We finally resumed our original plan and drove further west, on through the industrial port of Shoreham, situated on a sheltered lagoon-like inlet, on through to Worthing which exuded a quiet charm unlike Brighton. We pulled into a spot by the beach and sat on a bench with cups of coffee considering our route ahead. Here the beach was still pebbles, still steep and still requiring a great number of ugly groynes to keep it from being eaten up by the unpredictable force of the sea. The tidal range along this coast has been most impressive. At Whitstable the largest known range is 5.34 metres, here at Shoreham it is 6.9 metres; these variations make for strange shorelines. 

Our homeward route took us north of the A27 we will travel in two days’ time, across the rolling hills of the South Downs, over beautiful English countryside, through charming towns and villages such as Hurstpierpoint, Lewes and finally back to our lovely little camp.

29 May 2016 The Homestead, Hailsham, East Sussex

The Stade

We rose early, breakfasted and were out the door about 8.30 this morning, heading for Hastings back westward along the coast. We had briefly discussed over breakfast whether we should start here or with our second destination, but given that English Heritage does not open its treasure chests to the public before 10 at the very earliest, we opted to head to the old Cinq Port.

Half an hour later, having travelled across through absolutely delightful rural rolling country, we came down to the coast at Bexhill and soon found ourselves in a car park right on the shore. Well shod and with a bottle of water in the backpack given the prospect of a hot sunny day, we set off along the waterfront toward the area known as The Stade, the centre of the fishing industry operating in the town, characterised by its tall black weatherboard net shops, most dating from the mid-nineteenth century, but which first appeared here in Tudor times. The fishermen use them to store fishing gear. In the old days, dry storage was especially important when nets and ropes were made of natural materials and would rot if they were left outside. When the sheds were first built, the sea came much closer to the cliff, so each shed was allowed only a small space by the Hastings Corporation.  Each shed has two or three floors and several have cellars.

St Clements Church

We followed a narrow alley down to the beach, covered in pebbles and home to dozens of boats in various state of repair along with bulldozers in the same state, which one can guess are used to drag the fishing vessels up and down the steep beach.

We found the Jerwood Gallery, an interesting prospect given our travel literature mentioned works by Stanley Spencer, Walter Stickert and Augustus John, not yet opened. Instead we headed up through the old town to the thirteenth century St Clements Church but found the doors locked despite the fact it was Sunday morning and the 10 am service was due to start soon. So we headed up through narrow lanes and up steep paths, past residences perched on the side of the cliffs, emerging at the top of the West Hill, from where we enjoyed superb views over the town, both up and down the coast.

Views east from West Hill

I was keen to visit the ruins of the Hastings Castle, hence dragging my poor husband up the hill. Sadly we soon found these to be enclosed in yet another commercial museum operation and decided they were not important enough to us to warrant shelling out valuable change, so we found our way down into the new part of town, duly impressed with the array of shops even if not all open this day. Pressing on through a charming residential area about a green square, we found ourselves back on the shoreline, not too far from the Pier, another destination on our list.

Hastings Pier

I was baffled by the fact that the topside of the Pier seemed so very new while the structure beneath seemed so old, and that the pier seemed so bare compared with those visited over the past month. We soon discovered the answers in an empty room beneath a raised café on the pier, a room full of memories and its history.

The Hastings Pier was designed by renowned Victorian engineer Eugenie Birch and opened in 1872. Birch designed fourteen piers including those at Brighton and Eastbourne. He was quite remarkable; he was only nineteen years old when he was awarded the Silver Isis medal from the Society of Arts for his drawing of a marine steam-engine. His style of design is thought to be directly influenced by his time in India, helping build the East Indian Railway from Calcutta to Delhi.

View west from Hastings Pier

The pier underwent all sorts of trials and tribulations, repairs and restoration. In 1917 fire destroyed the ornate pavilion at the end of the pier. Over the years it fell into disrepair and was closed in 2008. The local community campaigned for the Grade II listed pier to be saved though restoration plans were put on hold when a devastating fire virtually consumed the Pier in October 2010, the Pier now just one major storm away from being destroyed forever. Thankfully the local community refused to give up and after grants and fiddling about with various financial arrangements, the work was commenced.

When the construction began, 90% of the Pier’s superstructure was in ruins, the western pavilion shelter building, badly damaged by the fire and in need of significant restoration work, was the only original building that could possibly be saved.

While in the “history room”, there was an almighty crash and the fire escape door was flung open and off its hinges in a gust. Fortunately no one was hurt but when we left there was a bevy of security guards standing about wondering what to do with the unscheduled situation.

The Battle field 950 years on

By now the sun was shining brightly but the wind was quite cool. We walked back along the promenade, now busy with weekend leisure seekers, both young and old, on past the car park back to the Art Gallery. The existence of an entry fee was no surprise, but alas this was yet another price gouge; we decided we would make do with the art works of the advertised artists we had seen in London galleries. Instead we made our way back again to the car, retrieved the eski and settled onto a bench to enjoy an early lunch and observe the assortment of walkers.

Maypole dancing

Once fed and watered, we set off out of Hastings, offering our parking space to one of those who was driving around and around seeking even the smallest spot. Battle is just six miles in a straight line from Hastings, and is the location of the most famous history changing battle in England’s history. It was here, not in Hastings that the “Battle of Hastings” was fought on 14 October 1066. 

And here another battle was about to take place. We arrived in the town to find it packed out with folk, many dressed in medieval costume. Following signs, we found our way into the Abbey car park, jammed with cars; cars already parked and left, cars being driven around seeking somewhere to park and others manoeuvring into absurdly unsuitable spots. We could see at once there was no room for us, and had trouble even getting around the parking area to the exit, and then the real trouble began.  A barrier was across the exit and the only way out was to cough up £4.50; the machine demanded it. “Just pay it”, I told my fuming husband, “and let’s get out of here”. We found the change, and duly escaped, but my husband could not accept that this was one of those unfair situations that was best let go.

1066 as told by players

And so we drove around for some time, out of the town for some miles, looking for a turnaround place, and then back again, finally finding a spot in a supermarket car park up the far end of town. Back we walked into town, straight to the English Heritage administered Battle Abbey, where Chris showed our membership cards for our entry and demanded a refund for the non-parking fee. The young man at the counter said he thought not but would ask his supervisor, who duly said that this was not procedure and could not be done. The poor boy finally caved in to the almost bully-like pressure my husband put on him, us paying a further 50p and taking possession of the official souvenir book in lieu, and we left him to deal with the repercussions. Procedure versus justice; alas life is not always fair, but we had our justice today. Hopefully the boy will simply plead he was unable to take on the grumpy old man.

The full story of the battle of Hastings is well known to most with an interest in history, and was told yet again in the excellent information centre with aid of cinema and interpretative panels. Further explanation was offered as we walked around the perimeter of the battle field, now a peaceful pastoral scene, sheep grazing and birds a-chirping. Arriving back at the abbey ruins, the abbey founded by William the Conqueror as a memorial to the battle and as an act of atonement for the bloodshed, we happened upon an interactive play for kids explaining the story yet again. We sat on the grass and were hugely entertained as the narrator and two other players from Heathcliff Heroics, and half a dozen small children selected from the audience, played out a hundred years of history. We booed and clapped, and yelled and obliged with sound effects as required, and mostly laughed ourselves silly; such a bonus to the day, especially after the fiasco at the entrance.

 Outside the abbey grounds we spent more time watching may-pole dancers skipping about with streams of ribbon, much colour and gaiety, and again fun had by all. The market place was busy with stalls hawking goods that might have been around 950 years ago, and others offering services that might also have existed then. 

By the time we found our way back to the car, we were in a far better frame of mind than that on arrival. The drive home across the countryside was just as lovely as earlier, soon finding ourselves back to our campsite, our fellow campers having beaten us home. It had been a good day after all.

Better still, Chris reports he is once more feeling himself. But then I had guessed that by his restored feistiness in dealing with the no-parking issue at Battle.