Posts tagged Litlington

South Downs Scramble

(Itinerary: Eastbourne – Jevington – Alfriston – Cuckmere Haven – Friston – Eastbourne)

South Downs Way

South Downs Way

A brief interjection…

Having spent a week walking  a portion of the Pennine Way this summer, we felt it would be foolish to allow fitness levels to drop too much, quite apart from the fact that the more we use our kit, the more return we get for our money 😉

So, on Saturday morning, armed with backpacks once more (it had become tricky walking without one…) we hopped on a train to Eastbourne and marched out of that town onto the South Downs Way. It is, of course, an entirely different proposition. The South Downs Way is, generally speaking, wide chalk-white paths etching meandering ribbons into rolling hills; none of the barren magnitude of the Northumberland wilderness. But it is none the poorer for that. The terrain, while mercifully free of that godforsaken peaty bog, is firm and easy-going but hilly. Man, is it hilly!

A Typical View of the Downs Paths

A Typical View of the Downs Paths


The first stretch, out of Eastbourne, decided against breaking us in gently and took us directly upwards, over a golf course and out onto breathtaking countryside, the hills nestling and overlapping like eggs in a basket, with distant views on at least two sides of a sparkling sea.

Jem-on-Downs

First View of the Downs - Sea on Horizon


We had decided on the following itinerary: march as efficiently as we could, via Jevington, to Alfriston where we would have a late lunch. Then, we would carry on up onto the Downs once more, find some Access Land on which to pitch our tent and have a light supper (thanks to our funky stove – yet another of this modern world’s greatest and most efficient inventions – have I mentioned that yet?) of cupasoups accompanied by tuna, mayonnaise and red pepper sandwiches (prepared before we left). Needless to say our itinerary – as appears to be becoming our trademark – bore little or no resemblance to the actual order of the day.

For starters, we had set off later than planned, necessitating a pause en route at Waitrose for a quick pork pie. Thank God we did. The walk to Jevington was beautiful. I have, as a child, walked on the South Downs on many occasions with my family, but had never started at this point, nor crossed these stretches. We passed a groove in the hills (Sussex’s rather subtler answer to High Cup Nick) called Harewick Bottom that was dramatically cut-away through the chalk. Incidentally, this is also a great route for cyclists as evidenced by the number who passed us as we wended our merry way. Knees and thighs moaning and groaning we descended into Jevington where we passed The Hungry Monk – a restaurant with, again, associations from my childhood. I remember my parents talking about going there (the name always did rather grasp my imagination) and that it was a pretty well-to-do establishment back in the day. It proudly stated from banners draped across its front that it had been serving fine food for forty years and I remarked on that fact to my lovely companion, just as a family of four passed us bemoaning the fact that it had gone downhill and was overpriced. Another sad symbol of our day and age…

Out of Jevington was nothing short of gruelling. I felt we were on a vertical climb, but it was credit to our week away that we managed it with neither a break nor a pause in conversation – we are becoming carthorses. Another gash scythed out of the rock, where a gentleman was flying his model aircraft (big boys and big toys) dropped dramatically away to our left as we began the descent into Alfriston.

The Descent to Alfriston (Beer!)

The Descent to Alfriston (Beer!)


We managed to entirely miss the Long Man of Wilmington, a figure dug into the chalk a very long time ago – arguments abound as to precisely when – but I am pleased to say we have seen him before so we weren’t too miffed.

Alfriston… ahhh… Alfriston! A lesson that needs to be learned. It is such a pretty village, but it has succumbed entirely to the temptation to fleece unsuspecting tourists and passers-by for whatever they have left in their purses. The George Inn charges positively outlandish prices for poncey-looking meals (I overheard a Spanish couple also commenting on the massive expense – baratisimo – as they perused the menu outside the establishment) whilst the pub down the road – now a brasserie, if you please – has at least the decency not to pretend it is doing anything but go upmarket. Not a hope of a pint of bitter there, though. The only remaining possibility for a relatively well-priced meal and a pint of beer is the Angel. Not inspiring, but it would probably have been all right. So disheartened and disgusted were we, though, at being shoved over a barrel and held to ransom in such a fashion that we sank a beer, begrudgingly, in the George and resolved to soldier on to the next settlement. There were several choices (our itinerary now, obviously, well out of the window) including Seaford – not our first choice; Litlington – rather small; and a promising-looking OS Explorer pint jug symbol signalling a pub near Cuckmere Haven.

Some of us were getting a little grumpy at this point. It had been a long time since our last meal and we had walked a good 8 miles by this stage. But on we plodded, narrowly avoiding a bit of a set-to with a feisty-looking herd of cows and their calves, to Litlington. The path from Alfriston to Litlington takes you along the Cuckmere river and is a terribly pretty route, probably the easiest going of the whole walk. The pub here (the Plough and Harrow) looked fine. The menu was reasonably-priced and consisted of delicious-sounding meals, but the time was 5.45 and they didn’t start serving food again until 6.30. Not knowing where we were going to camp for the night and needing to be far enough on with our journey to get to Eastbourne again relatively early the next day, we did not want to risk such a long stay and resolved to keep going to our next hope – Cuckmere Haven. Should this fail, Seaford was to be our last resort.

Litlington to Cuckmere Haven was gorgeous. Once again, the climbs were punishing, but the South Downs Way led us through Friston Forest to the timeless little haven that is Westdean, where every house is a picture postcard, and back up through Red Riding Hood country until we emerged to the awe-inspiring view of the Cuckmere Valley and the Seven Sisters Country Park.

Cuckmere Haven from Friston Forest

Cuckmere Haven from Friston Forest

On trembling knees we descended the slope to the main road which brings you out just by the Visitors’ Centre at Cuckmere, opposite the public car park. A short and increasingly hopeful walk along the road delivered us to the Golden Galleon – a welcome sight for the weary walker and oh, so very sympathetically priced. To add to our general delight, they had as guest ale Theakston’s Black Sheep – the very beer we drank a little too much of in Alston! Our faces warming and spirits reviving, we partook of some breaded mushrooms and a very welcome burger and chips, washed down by that rather lovely ale, and contemplated the horror of finding somewhere to pitch our tent in unknown territory in the dark (again! Will we ever learn?!) Stumbling out into the black, Jem came up with the rather clever solution of the grass along the bank of the Cuckmere’s meanders behind the car park.

It was a most fortuitous choice. Beautiful by night it was yet more so at 6.30 the following morning as we packed up our (rather damp) tent and prepared to be on our way. Dozens of geese flying overhead were our alarm call, a swan eyed us idly from its vantage point on the river, a white heron and a pair of cormorants flew by as we watched in speechless awe. Luck again, eh?

Eschewing the bus to Eastbourne, we opted instead for the five-mile yomp to give us an appetite for breakfast. It did not disappoint, but took us again through Friston Forest and Westdean, on into yet more and unutterably beautiful deep, dark wood (where we paused and employed our little stove for a well-earned cuppa) to Friston which was expansive but utterly deserted, with manicured lawns and empty houses – all a little eerie, out onto the farmland which was to take us the rest of the way back to town. Where we enjoyed a good ole English breakfast washed down with cups of tea. And caught the train home.

A weekend well spent, I am sure you’ll agree.

I have extracted a promise that next weekend we’ll do nothing. I mean, nothing. Except maybe watch a movie or two…

🙂

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