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stapsdoes101things
Somehow, I left off this pilgrimage at the end of April - and then the summer happened. I did things that were vaguely connected, going up to St Martha's church with the PCC, meeting up with members of the Confraternity of Saint James at Reading Abbey, watching 'The Way' (again), and generally thinking that I really ought to get on with it. In September my partner and I went away to Cardigan with the in-laws, and got some good walking in along the west Wales coast. But it was only on Saturday that I put my boots on and got back on the train to Oxted.
I've begun to notice that the best time to explore a town is, when you're talking in terms of a day's walk, right at the beginning. Between May and September I could have told you that Oxted contains a Costa coffee shop, a railway station, a newsagent and a charity shop that has a large number of guitars. This is because by the time I got there last time, I was so exhausted and my hips were giving me so much trouble that I looked properly at one street, and that was about it.
This time out I had a better look. Coming in on the train I noticed the church, out to the west of the town, and with a squat tower. I went to inspect it; it was locked, but there was a friendly sort of bench at the east end, so it was good just to sit down for a few minutes before I started the walk in earnest.
Then I began to retrace my steps of almost seven months ago. I discovered - rather to my surprise - that the reason that it felt a very long way from the M25 to Oxted station is that it is indeed a very long way. This time my legs weren't threatening to fall off, but it was a lot further than it said on the map.
Or at least, what I thought it said on the map. Oxted lies on the very eastern edge of OS Outdoor Leisure sheet 146, and so I didn't bother bringing it, thinking that 147 would suit my needs perfectly. As it happened, it did, but there were a few hairy moments when I lost - or thought I'd lost - the waymarkings. Picking up where I left off was easy enough, for all that the trees were gold rather than green, but after a mere five hundred metres I found myself with a suspect turning. Turn left, or carry on? Turn left, then turn right? In that case, turn right where?
Actually, my sense of direction, or perhaps plain common sense, is much better than it used to be. I did not panic. I did not hare off down what might have been a path if you squinted, but equally might have petered out halfway through a wood. Instead, I studied what map I did have, worked out that, even if I was wrong, I could follow this very definite byway up to the main (ha!) road, turn right along it, and hit the North Downs Way sooner or later. This technique worked so well that I found that I had actually been on the North Downs Way all the time.
After that, it was plain sailing for quite a long way. The going is much easier at this far end of Surrey than it is up and down Box, Colley and Reigate Hills. None of those horrible steep slopes with steps set into them ostensibly to make life easier, but actually at just the wrong height to be useful. I yomped through some woods, crossed a lane or two, sat down on a tree stump, ate some chocolate and felt quite pleased with myself.
Through more woods, and up to the road again at Tatsfield. I left the North Downs Way to look in at the church. This one was, unusually, open; a tiny, neat, country church set apart from the rest of the village, a place of great peace. I stayed for quite a while, lit a candle, moved on.
The next section was called Chestnut Avenue. The trees mostly seemed to be hazel, but I had no quarrel with the 'avenue' part of the name. Technically it was road walking, and every now and again a four by four swooshed up from one or other of the mansions along there to remind me of this. Part way along I found a very depressing milestone. It stated that I was forty-eight miles away from Farnham (all very well, but I didn't even start in Farnham), and still had sixty-five miles to go to Canterbury. Now, I know I hadn't made any progress all summer, but it still felt as if I ought to be further ahead than that.
Some dogs started barking, and another four by four growled somewhere down the road, and I supposed that I had better keep moving. When I reached the end of the road, I discovered that I was now in Kent. Thinking about it, that milestone probably marked the border. This was more encouraging. I crossed the main road into a field with a nice view, and stopped to eat my sandwiches.
It was around this point that the waymarkings became unhelpful once more. Where present, they were amazingly informative, telling me not only which way I should be going, but how far I was from local points of interest (Knockfield, for example, or the border). They were, however, conspicuously absent in other places, and I got lost twice within a kilometre. Both times I went downhill and should have been going up, which was irritating; the second time I had to retrace my steps for quite a long way. Even then I couldn't find the path, and so fell back on the technique I'd used earlier, following a byway to the road - and discovering again that I'd only been a few yards from the North Downs Way all the time.
Now I did better. The sign pointed me through a field of horses, then through a field of cows. I didn't bother them and they didn't bother me. At the end of the cow field there was another signpost, and now there were proper waymarkings again on stiles and gates and where one might wander off the true way. It had got quite muddy all of a sudden, but nothing I couldn't cope with. There were some ominous clouds that worried me more -
and then suddenly I was at the end of the ridge, and I had to go down very suddenly. Down the hill, along a road (pavement all the way, happily), and across the M25 for the last time. I wished it a happy birthday and good riddance. More road walking, crossing from side to side to stay on the pavement. A village, and a helpful sign explaining the Darent Valley Path. I wasn't terribly interested in this, though it does shadow the North Downs Way for some distance. I left the road again next a hideous Best Western hotel. A mile to Otford. At Otford I was stopping. It was the only town so far where the North Downs Way ran straight through the centre. In fact, it runs right next to the railway station, which from my perspective was an ideal state of affairs.
I had to walk that mile first, though. The light was fading and my feet felt like lead. First there were fields. They went on, and on. Then I crossed a railway line. Not the railway I was looking for. Then I came to some houses. This was not Otford proper. I followed the track, and found some more houses. This might have been the dodgy end of Otford. The next road cheered me up no end by being called 'Pilgrims' Way West'.
Then I came to the actual interesting part. The first oast house - this is how you know you're in Kent. Other historical and rather upmarket buildings. Pubs and gastropubs. Twee shops. I might have gone into any of them, but was too damn tired. A pond. (The helpful sign I'd found earlier explained that this was scheduled as an historic building, which seemed odd, but there you go.) Some trick-or-treaters. And, praise be, the railway station.
I had hoped that it might have a newsagent and a coffee stand. It didn't. It had a ticket machine and a train coming in fifteen minutes, though, and that was good enough for me. I went home. I'll look at Otford properly this Saturday, before I start walking from it. Much more sensible.
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Date: 2011-11-04 11:33 am (UTC)