Today was a red-letter day – the first day out when I left my waterproof behind: and my faith was justified.  It has been a glorious early summer day.  I burnt my left arm yesterday so still had to wear long sleeves, but it was lovely not to cart the anorak around.

I had checked the ferry times, and since the first sailing on a Sunday is at 10am I had a leisurely walk down to the Town Quay, passing the interesting ruins of Holy Rood church – another victim of the wholesale bombing of the city in 1940-42 and now a memorial to all sailors.  There is also an interesting pair of plaques commemorating some 22 men and boys who perished attempting to extinguish a huge conflagration in the city in 1837.

The Hythe ferry (fare £4.50) takes some 12 minutes to cross Southampton Water – a tiny craft surrounded by the enormous cruise ships.  The Queen Elizabeth was in, looking like an oversized city block.   Yesterday, I saw the Queen Mary floating out on the evening tide.

The ferry had several interesting passengers I enjoyed chatting to.  We were on the Hotspur IV, built in Colchester and launched in 1946.  On the Hythe end, the ferry docks at the end of the pier – 700 yards long and the 7th longest in the UK.  A little pier train runs up and down, marvellous fun!

Hythe is more pleased with itself than is really warranted, so I walked through fairly briskly.  Because of the huge oil refinery at Fawley, the Solent Way goes inland at this point.  I could have walked along roads down to the sea but decided to follow the path and see a bit of the New Forest.  The way crosses Beaulieu Heath – a mixture of pines and gorse on fairly marshy ground with various cows and horses dawdling over it.  The path then runs into Beaulieu – beautifully kept, but everything clearly still owned by the Lords Montague.  All of the houses had the little coat of arms of three diamonds (I don’t know the heraldic term) on plaques by the front door.  No doubt the rent is paid by going up to the Big House on Lady Day and handing over the pennies whilst tugging your forelock or curtseying.

A very fine ice cream was had in The Chocolate Studio on the high street.

The path runs along the River Beaulieu to Bucklers Hard, through delightful woodland and managed grassland.  Bucklers Hard was full of families enjoying the day out.  More estate workers’ cottages, looking picturesque – one was turned into a tiny chapel in the 1850s and still holds Sunday services.  After Bucklers Hard, the way continues for several miles along the lanes – pretty enough, but hard on the feet.  The ruins of St Leonard’s Grange were a high point.  As the path approaches Lymington, the sea can be seen again, about a mile to the south, with the Isle of Wight looking close enough to touch.  The walk then crosses fields on the outskirts of the town.  Having had a run in with Bluebell, Daisy and Buttercup on the Coast-to-Coast walk a few years ago, I am rather more chary of cows than I used to be, so was not thrilled to see a warning against a bull.  Happily, I arrived unscathed in Lymington around 5.15 – a shorter day than yesterday at only just over 18 miles.  I had plenty of time for an excellent supper (see review) before taking the train back from Lymington Pier to Southampton – very handy.

Today was my longest day to date – 22 miles (including about a half mile to get to the station.)  Fortunately, it was a superb day for walking, which was a surprise as, when I dropped my sister off yesterday, en route to Southampton, it was freezing and wet.  I got to my hotel at just about 9pm last night, on the north side of the city centre.  First impressions made me homesick for the classy Hotel Salubrious back in Cliftonville – there was a live banjo evening in full swing when I arrived and my room was right over the bar.  However, I have been pleasantly surprised – they made me supper, although it was 9.05pm, the room was clean and I even have fresh towels today.  The staff couldn’t be more helpful.

Because the place was a-jumpin’ and a-jivin’ until late, I didn’t get the early night I had planned so missed getting the 8.05 fast train back to Portsmouth, however the slow train was very pleasant, stopping at all sorts of interesting little stations, and got me to Portsmouth at about 10am.  I crossed to Gosport on the ferry which was super – an excellent view of the Victory and the Spinnaker. A quick breakfast (see review) then I was off around the edge of the marina, admiring the yachts.  The Solent Way quickly gets back to the sea front at Gilicker Point, another site of special conservation value along the coast.  I spotted white sea campion, lots of thrift, sea kale, and spiral dock.  Still not much good at birds, but today included a heron, a lesser-crested grebe, wagtails and a shoveler duck as well as the usual swans and oyster catchers.

Most of the day was walking on shingle, which is very hard work – I am so looking forward to the sandy beaches in the west!  There were lots of people about enjoying the sun and there were dozens of yachts, water boards, sail boards and those rather interesting things like surfboards, but with the person standing and paddling – I’d like to give that a try.

The Isle of Wight seemed very close, today, I could just about make out buildings.

As I passed Lee-on-Solent I came to a secluded part of the beach which was not exactly a naturist beach, as I understand that Naturists eschew all clothing, but it was not a normal beach either, as generally, people are clothed (to a greater or lesser degree) from the waist down.  These people were fully dressed from the waist up.  It was very – well, I was going to say disconcerting, but, I think discombobulating is a more apt description!.

I reached Warsash about 3.30pm and crossed to Hamble-le-Rice on the little ferry service – 10 minutes on a tiny pink craft for £1.50 – marvellous!  Hamble is rather full of itself – and despite being only 4pm on a sunny Bank Holiday Saturday most of the cafes and bars were no longer serving food, however I did eventually find an excellent spot for a late lunch.  (See review).  Leaving Hamble, I was back onto the shingle, marching on to the amazing ruins of Netley Priory.  A former Cistercian House, it was founded in the 1220s by a bishop of Winchester.  After the dissolution it became a manor house, owned by Sir William Paulet, a big noise from Henry VIII’s days to those of Elizabeth.  It was abandoned in the 18th Century but the ruins are very impressive.  I was getting rather tired now but still had 6 miles to go.  I crossed into Southampton over the Ichenor Bridge.  I assume Southampton suffered extensive bomb damage, as although there are fragments of the old town wall and one of the Bars, the majority of it is one of those hideous concrete 1960s cities – all dirty concrete and underpasses leading nowhere.  I crawled back into the hotel at around 8pm, and am writing this in the bar after an excellent supper and with a very good glass of red in hand.

A glitch in my numbering system has been pointed out to me.  This is actually day 18!

In keeping with my decision that river estuaries are not part of the coast, I took a straight line north from the point where I turned inland yesterday, at West WIttering.  This took me to Southbourne, so I left the car there and began walking around 8.30am. The first little village was Prinsted, a picture post card place with thatched cottages and lots of beamed houses.  It is just to the north of Thorney Island.  In the morning light the calm waters of Chichester Harbour showed barely a ripple – it promised to be a glorious day.  I crossed Thorney Island and came into Emsworth, crossing the county boundary into my fourth county – Hampshire.  Emsworth is also a lovely town, with boatyards and little waterways emptying into the Harbour.  I walked along the sea front for quite a few miles – and then decided to have my first proper paddle (not counting the escapade on the Cuckmere!) The water was chilly but very refreshing on hot feet.  Just by the Hayling Island crossing there is a little settlement with a nature reserve attracting a range of wild fowl.  My bird spotting is improving a bit, but is still not great.  Today, I saw black-headed gulls, coots, moorhens, dunlin (I think) and, very exciting – Little Egrets.  I also saw a family of swans in great distress, as two of the three cygnets had tumbled over the little weir on the millrace under the old water mill.  The parent birds were frantic as the chicks tried to clamber up, but it was far too difficult.  The other cygnet stayed glued to one of the adult’s side.  Apparently, someone had gone to fetch a net to rescue them.  I did not wait, but hopefully all ended well.  Passing Hayling Island (not en route as an island) I walked through Farlington Marshes – again a vast array of birds and wildlife.  I was interested to see a swan on her nest – never seen that before.  Quite a few butterflies as well – painted ladies and peacocks, as well as cabbage whites.

I stopped for lunch at a Harvester Pub – no further comment!- then continued down the east side of Portsea Island.  The sun was blazing and I was actually able to walk in shirt sleeves for the first time.   On the south side of Portsea is Eastney beach, along which I walked – still quite shingly but with enough sand to make it reasonable under foot.  When I got to Southea I was horrified to see that the fun fair was in town – there were literally thousands of people milling everywhere – quite a shock after the almost silent marshes.  Heading up round the west side, I admired Southsea Castle and the fabulous Spinnaker tower as well as the Victory.  I stopped for tea (see review) then caught the train back to Southbourne.  All in all, a really fabulous day.

I met a fellow traveller today on Wittering Sands!  John (known to his mates as John the Rambler) is also walking the whole coast – I felt a bit of a fraud as John is clearly more of a purist than me and is doing all of the islands as well, and all the inlets and creeks   Basically, I am just skimming…  It was a delight to meet someone to share war stories with, and we commiserated together over the horrors of the Isle of Grain and reminded each other of the delights of the Seven Sisters.

Today was a great day altogether.  I managed to set out at 8am – I wish I could always begin that early but most B & Bs won’t serve breakfast early enough.  The sun was shining already and I was feeling very sprightly as I hit the seashore.  I walked along the prom from Bognor – the tide was high so I didn’t go down onto the beach, having suffered enough from walking on the shingle yesterday.  Eventually, I came to the end of the prom and had to weave in and out of the rather plush housing estates to the West of Bognor, before emerging back onto the beach – I had to do a little trespassing through a private estate, but I couldn’t face going back to the main road.  By now, the tide had receded sufficiently for me to walk on the finer shingle at the water’s edge for several miles until I turned inland to manoeuvre my way round Pagham Harbour.  The further shore was so near across a channel of some 100 yards, and yet so far with the waves churning too wildly to even contemplate wading across.  Nevertheless, the route around Pagham is very interesting, skirting the mud-flats which are an important bird sanctuary: there were plenty of specimens around – although I could only recognize the swans and the mallards.  I reached the little village of Sidlesham Quay around 10.45 and had a coffee in the very attractive Crab & Lobster Hotel.  The waitress, after one horrified glance at the trouser legs that had just navigated the mud-flats, served me an excellent cappuccino.  I then broke out across country, heading south-west rather than directly south back to the beach.  The lanes were full of bluebells and woodruff, and even the odd cowslip.  Regrettably, the farmers of Earnley are no better at keeping the public footpaths clear than those of Littlehampton, and on one occasion I had to struggle across a heavily ploughed field.

I reached East Wittering at around quarter past one, where I met the aforementioned John (who, spotting a fellow walker, asked me the name of the village we were passing, he having come all the way along the beach).  We walked along to West Witterinig, admiring the fabulously sunny afternoon, with the water sparkling in the sun and fleets of yachts bobbing up and down.  In the distance, the Isle of Wight is now visible.  At West Wittering, John and I parted ways and I carried on, unfortunately taking a very long diversion out to a sandy spit of land in Chichester Harbour, rather than finding the path (the New Lipchis Way) immediately.  I reached Itchenor around 4.30, with the intention of crossing on the ferry to Bosham (apparently pronounced Bozzam), but I suddenly was overcome with tiredness (having covered 20 miles with my diversion), so fell into the pub.  I then decided that I would sample the delights of Chichester (according to the taxi driver it is pronounced Chidester).  It is certainly a very attractive town, and I will make a plan to come back when I have time to look around.

I drove down yesterday – it took a ludicrous four hours, owing to problems on the M25.  My  Sat Nav directed me through Staines and Kingston to avoid it – it would probably have been quicker to sit in the queue.  My B & B is pleasant – clean with a friendly landlady, very glamorously dressed in a maxi dress yesterday and a leopard skin print today.  Think south-east Bet Lynch, but a bit more classy!

I was beguiled by yesterday’s weather into thinking that today might be a beautiful walking day.  Unfortunately, the elements were not in my favour.   The wind blew relentlessly into my face all day – it did not let up for 5 minutes together, and at times was so strong I had trouble walking in a straight line.  My face is now on fire with windburn, despite having factor 25 on.  It rained a fair bit too: nevertheless, I made excellent progress.  I took the train back up from Bognor to Shoreham and began walking at 9.30.  It was very straightforward all of the way – along the promenade with occasional sorties onto the shingle (very tough walking) or into little parks or nature “greenswards” as the Council interpretation boards call them.  In one of these seafront parks there is a National Lottery funded set of fitness machines and I had fun for 5 minutes playing on equipment it would cost me a fortune to use in the gym.  I was chatting to a fellow user – Vinnie, an Irishman from Tipperary, living in Lancing for 25 years.  He kindly took my photo to prove I can lift my own body weight.  Vinnie looks after people’s IT, so if you have any problems check him out on http://www.vinnie-the-computer-man.co.uk/

I reached Littlehampton at around 2pm for lunch – see review.  The young lady serving told me that West Beach where I was headed was a nudist beach, but, given the insane wind, I didn’t think it likely that I would see anything of interest.  I left Littlehampton, crossing the bascule bridge and followed the road for about half a mile, before breaking off onto a public footpath, or rather, what should have been a public footpath.  The field has been laid to oil seed rape with no path left across it.  By the time I emerged on the other side from the chin high crop, I was head to foot with yellow powder and sneezing my head off.

The path continued along the edge of the beach, then, for the very first time since I began, I came to a sandy beach.  Without Chris to lead me astray, I decided that it was too cold to take my boots off but it was lovely walking on the pale grey sand.  Back up to the shingle as the tide came in fast, then another long trudge along the tarmac prom into Bognor, with the amazing pavilions of the holiday camp showing the way.

Apparently, Bognor gained its “Regis” because King George V liked to visit, however his last recorded words were, it seems, “Bugger Bognor!”  I can’t say I disagree with him!  The west end of it is shabby and rather grim and there are some very tasty characters about in the evening, I noticed, as I scuttled back to my B & B, after an indifferent (but friendly) meal in a bar/pizzeria/chippie combo.

Today was the last walking day of my holiday – I originally planned to walk for a couple of hours tomorrow, but need to get back sooner.

Chris joined me again today – we were dropped, very kindly, by Rita at Newhaven and walked through the back streets to the sea front.  Unlike yesterday, the weather was fabulous – bright blue sky and a temperature that enabled me to walk without gloves or hoodie!

It is possible to walk from Newhaven to Rottingdean on the Under Cliff Path, which is part of the sea defences,  skirting the white cliffs just above the high water mark.  I was surprised to see that the limestone cliffs which I have always associated with the area around Dover extend so far.  We walked for a couple of hours and then had to climb up to the top of the cliffs when the lower path ends.  We took the opportunity to stop for a coffee in a pleasant pub.  After about half a mile there are steps back down to the lower path which continues all the way past Roedean and Saltdean to the marina at Brighton.  This is a largish marina with a very impressive sea wall, along which we took an unintended detour.  We then spent some time wandering around the Marina car park, looking for the path.  Eventually, we came across it, but we also found the Volk Electric Railway which carries holiday makers the mile or so between the Marina and the Pier.  Unable to resist the temptation of a toy train, we leapt on.

I left Chris at Brighton Pier, and continued along the front which was thick with people enjoying the first warmth of the year.  The sea front path continues past Hove, Portslade and Southwick to Shoreham Harbour which is lined with wharves and light industrial units.  I was beginning to tire now, so hopped on the train at Shoreham, arriving back in Eastbourne at about 7pm.

The 10 days have been fantastic and I am already looking forward to the next leg at May Bank Holiday – I need to plan the route in more detail and will upload in due course.  Let me know if you would like to come.

What a wild day!  Bridget had a few other things to do and Rita had family commitments, so in the end it was just Chris and me (personally, I think Bridget and Rita had seen the weather forecast and decided to bail out!)

We met at Eastbourne Railway Station at about 9.30 and walked back down to the front – a series of hotels of fading Victorian splendour with a Martello tower, now restored and the Life Boat museum on the water’s edge.  Eastbourne is the start of the South Downs Way, and as soon as the end of the prom is reached, the path climbs up onto the chalky headland.  The first notable point is the lighthouse at Beachy Head, a chalk cliff of some 534 ft.  Generally, the view would be stunning as, apparently, one can see from Dungeness to the Isle of Wight on a good day,  but as there was driving wind, snow “flurries” (as the met office likes to call them) and rain, we could not see as much as we hoped.  Nevertheless, it was pretty spectacular.  The South Downs seemed surprisingly bleak.  In the wind, it would be quite easy to imagine one was in the peaks or the high north country.

We ploughed on, the wind blowing us ever closer to the cliff, to Birling Gap.  This is a National Trust outpost, and for one ghastly moment, when we saw it covered in scaffolding, we thought it might be closed, but fortunately it was open and we had a warming bowl of soup and a shortbread Easter Bunny for me.  Foolishly, I had forgotten to put the rain cover on my rucksack so my spare sweater was soaked, and worst of all, my chocolate bar was sodden!

The next geographical feature is the row of cliffs known as the Seven Sisters.  These are hanging valleys left over from the last Ice Age.  The land climbs, then drops in a steep curve, seven times.  Owing to my dodgy knees, I cannot go straight down a steep slope so tacked backward and forward to lose height.   The wind was still howling, but the rain had dropped off.  We met a bemused Japanese man who was heading for Beachy Head, but was wondering if it was safe to progress (we think – we could hardly hear him over the wind),  We reassured him and tempted him with stories of the cake at the National Trust tea room.  Not sure if he will ever get his bus back to Brighton though,

The Seven Sisters lead into Seaford with a final drop, marked “Do Not Climb on Cliff” which we noticed once half way down the steep chalk face.  At this point, there are two choices, go inland up the Cuckmere Estuary for some two miles, cross at the  bridge then walk down the other side, or walk across the shingled estuary mouth to the river, and wade  across.  Chris persuaded me that the latter option was the best.  We took off our boots, rolled our trousers up and waded, knee deep in water so icey it almost made us cry with the pain.  After that, the long walk along the promenade at Seaford past, apparently, the last Martello tower along the South Coast, and up Newhaven Harbour to the ferry terminal seemed uneventful.

Today required quite a bit of grit to get going.  We left the Dover bunker at about 8.45, having had a farewell breakfast in café Illy, and arrived in Eastbourne at 11.15.  It was horribly cold and there was snow on the motorway as we drove along.  I am amazed at how far I have walked in 4 days – next time, I shall change hotels on the third day, rather than the fourth – an hour and a half was a long drive before starting out.  Our hotel in Eastbourne is better in some ways than Gulag Towers – there is wifi in the bedroom for starters and it is right on the sea front in a huge Victorian terrace.  Unfortunately, one person needs to stand outside whilst the other moves around as the room is minute.

Having parked the car some miles away from the hotel, owing to the very restrictive parking regime, I jumped on the train at Easbourne, (carelessly leaving my gloves behind), while Bridget decided to have a day of rest.  I think in future, I will arrange a day of rest after a week, as I was quite tired today.

The train arrived at Hastings within the half hour, and, allowing for a detour to buy replacement gloves (although, fortunately, my old ones had been rescued and tucked into the ticket vending machine at Eastbourne when Bridget kindly went to look for them) I started walking at just on 1pm.  Hastings is not hugely exciting, and its adjacent suburb St Leonard’s is positively depressing – lots of youngish men hanging about with the whiff of illegal substances hovering over them.  I walked along the front to Bexhill-on-Sea, which is slightly more sedate and attractive with the landmark Pavilion building in classic 1930’s style.  Poirot was nowhere to be seen, however there was a Mr Whippy van, with a driver who looked as though he hadn’t had a customer since last August Bank Holiday, so I decided (since it was such a balmy day) to have an ice-cream.  My stomach felt extremely peculiar for at least an hour afterward – presumably the effort to adjust my body temperature to compensate for a chocolate Feast on a day when the thermometer was stuck below 3 degrees centigrade.

All of the shore in this part of the country appears to be shingle – I am not sure why it is so popular, as very difficult to walk on.  Some 3 miles out of Bexhill I reached Normans’ Bay, on the outskirts of Pevensey, where William the Conqueror landed some 950 years ago.  I hope he had warmer weather.

The path then disappeared between rows of 1920s built bungalows and summer houses before drifting unenthusiastically into Eastbourne.  I returned to the hotel to find Bridget diligently working, sitting in the glazed verandah of the hotel.  We went out for an excellent meal (see review.)  I have now completed more than 210 miles!

Today was planned as a shorter day, after the last two quite long days, however, it was one of the hardest days so far, because of the very hilly coast around Hastings.  The weather continues dry, although there was a brief snow flurry at the end of the day, and the wind is sharp.  For much of the walk we were sheltered on the north side, so did not suffer too much from the breezes.

We set out after a late breakfast in our favourite Dover café, followed by a drive back to Rye.  We continued to follow the Royal Military Canal path, which overlaps in part with the Saxon Shore Way.  After some 3 miles of walking (down Dumb Woman’s Lane!!) we reached the gorgeous town of Winchelsea, up on a bluff, overlooking the coast.  The town itself, once directly on the coast, still has three mediaeval gates, and the remains of St Thomas’ Church, destroyed by the French in the middle ages.  We stopped for lunch (see review) then continued along the flat canal path to Cliffs End on the coast.  This is where the pain began! The path climbed up to Fairlight (a very dull dormitory town of bungalows, reminiscent of the older suburbs of Sydney with pristine bungalows and elderly men mowing already neat grass) and then to the top of the cliffs at the Hastings Country Park.  For 5 miles the path climbed up a cliff, then dropped sharply down to a ravine, then up another cliff, and down again.  Bridget’s feet were suffering and my knees were getting very fractious by the time we arrived in Hastings.  The old town has some rather nice buildings, including some interesting sheds which apparently are used for making, storing and drying fishing nets, but the majority of it is faded Victorian seaside with amusement arcades at every turn.

I have now completed the whole of the Saxon Shore Way, from Gravesend to Hastings.

We took the train back to Rye, where we had an excellent dinner, before returning to Dover for our last night in Gulag Towers.

We set off from Gulag Towers, after breakfasting in Café Illy again and parked the car at West Hythe, where we finished yesterday, prior to our detour to find some supper.

We decided to stick with the canal route along the Royal Military Road because we thought it would be much pleasanter than going on the road down to Dymchurch and then road all the way to Rye.  It turned out to be an excellent choice.  The scenery did not vary hugely, but it was pleasant and easy walking beside the canal, sometimes with an avenue of trees to protect us from the evil north-east wind, other times across the edge of wide open fields.  We saw a couple of herons, and also several swans, sitting in the middle of fields, which seemed odd, as I had assumed that swans nested on water.

The Royal Military Road and canal stretch  for some 28 miles, with a pill box overlooking a dog leg in the canal about every mile, and a crossing every 2 – 3 miles with the old crossing keepers’ cottages still in evidence.  On the inland side (north) a series of mediaeval churches lined the route, and to the south the expanse of Romney Marsh stretches down to the sea.

We stopped for lunch in the churchyard of St Rumwold’s, Bonnington an absolutely gorgeous little church dating from the 13^th century.  The wind was still fierce, but we sat on the West side to chomp our way through a bag of olives and some cheese and tomato – not forgetting the pistachio nuts and the Green & Black’s chocolate.

Inside the church much of the structural woodwork was still visible, including the stairs up to the bell tower.

The path continued to meander beside the canal.  The sun was warm on our faces, and there was hardly a cloud.  We arrived in the quintessentially English village of Appledore at a few minutes to four.  We had been fantasizing about the possibility of finding a quintessentially English tea shop, and that is just what was there – Miss Mollett’s tea rooms.  Unfortunately, she closed a few minutes before our arrival so we were constrained to visit the pub instead, where Bridget sampled the local ale – apparently very good.

Next to the pub was the church of St Peter & Paul, which was another beautiful mediaeval church – rather larger than St Rumwold’s but no less attractive.  The parish ladies sell jam and various other items of local produce in the church to raise funds for restoration, and Bridget purchased a chocolate Easter nest.

Next to the church, an elderly lady was gardening – the whole village looked like a set for Miss Marple.

We arrived in the charming town of Rye just before 7pm.  Rye is another of the Cinque Ports, on the very edge of Romney Marsh, home to smugglers and immortalized in the weird tale of Dr Syn.   Unfortunately, the hospitality is less charming than the architecture.  In our first choice we were told the place was completely reserved, but we formed the impression that our less than pristine appearance made the waiter fear that we would lower the tone.  The other pubs seemed equally full of reluctant staff.  Eventually, we had a good meal at the ancient Mermaid Pub – dating in parts from 1156 and rebuilt in 1420 after the French burnt it down in 1377.  It is extremely picturesque, perched at the top of a cobbled lane but a bit self-satisfied.

We took a taxi back to West Hythe to fetch the car and were pleasantly impressed by how long the journey took.