9 September 2020
Now the schools are back, we’re trying our best to return to our old, pre-corona routines - in particular, a weekly walk and blog. Not yet wishing to risk a train to London, let alone the underground, we decide to drive in the opposite direction - into the Kent countryside.
The town of Westerham lies just beyond the M25 motorway, between Oxted to the west and Sevenoaks to the east. It holds a special memory for me because it’s one of the few places on earth where I have scored a hundred runs at cricket. In a single innings, I mean. It’s also the last place I achieved that feat, 26 long years ago. Even at the fitness levels of my then 31 year old self, the match report noted wryly that I needed several visits to the oxygen tent during my innings (surely not). Jayne had been present at this momentous event, but remembers it for a different, much scarier reason. Foolishly deciding her book would be more exciting than our team's fielding, she took her eye off the ball - literally. It’s possible she may have registered some distant warning shouts. The next thing she felt was a sudden whoosh of air as the ball, travelling at supersonic speed, passed no more than a couple of inches from her face. “Ooo, that could’ve been nasty”, we all agreed as the ball was retrieved from the hedgerows and Jayne’s book from where she’d thrown it.
Westerham is the nearest town to Chartwell, the country home of Sir Winston Churchill and now a busy National Trust attraction. Our new Ordnance Survey book, Kent - Outstanding Circular Walks, duly recommends a ramble which starts and ends at Westerham church and stretches past the Chartwell estate at its farthest point. At just over 5 miles, this seems like the ideal re-entry point to our walking experiences. Or so we think, before we manage to leave home without either the guidebook or the freshly-made photocopy of its relevant pages. We also have sufficient water supplies for only half a person and are wearing far too many clothes. Luckily, the lack of guide is spotted only a hundred yards from home, so a major argument later is replaced by just a minor one now. We agree later that our other failings are due mainly to an overly pessimistic weather forecast, which predicts a slow rise from the early morning chill of nine degrees to only 16-17 by midday. We check the temperature at 11 o’clock and find it’s already well into the twenties.
The other vital accessory we have left at home is any awareness of what a country walk is actually like. We are, in fact, your typical townies on a trip. After mounting a stile with some difficulty and making sure to close the first of many kissing gates, we are confronted with - a herd of cows. All over our pathway. For Jayne, cows are only slightly preferable to spiders, so it’s not the greatest of starts. Amazingly, we are both up to speed on cow etiquette. The first key question is to ascertain whether the cows have horns - if so, they may not be cows and it’s best to leave quickly and unnoticed. The second is to check if they have young calves with them - if so, they can be aggressive if approached by a dopey day-tripper. Negative on both counts, so far so good. The next bit of advice is to wave your arms vigorously at them if they do approach - if you do that, we are assured, they will soon move away and disperse. For some reason Jayne seems reluctant to try that out, but we find that walking tentatively in their general direction does the trick anyway. Never has Jayne been so glad to reach the safety of a kissing gate, beyond which we can admire these harmless beasts from behind a solid stone wall.
We then encounter several warning signs that imply we could be shot at any moment. This is not what we had in mind at all. One of the big estates of the area, Squerryes Park, was forced to postpone its huntin’, shootin’ and fishin’ experiences earlier in the summer due to Covid-19. Now these are allowed again, they’re making up for lost time by packing them in during September. We’re warned to stick strictly to the public footways and not to use any “permissive footpaths” - you know, the sort that let their teenage kids stay out past ten o'clock on a school night. Actually, we don’t know what permissive footpaths are at all, so this adds to our sense of unease. Are we on one at the moment? Who knows. When we hear gunfire shortly afterwards, it sounds distant, away to the east of the estate, meaning we can relax and enjoy the steep uphill gradient in our ample clothing.
The next hour passes without incident - and without seeing a fellow human being apart from the odd dog-walker (one in particular was very odd). After admiring a stunning view over the North Downs towards Edenbridge and East Grinstead, we descend again towards the outer reaches of Chartwell. Churchill lived here from 1922 till 1964, shortly before his death at the age of 90, and once declared - probably after a stressful day at Westminster: “A day away from Chartwell is a day wasted”. Maybe less well-known is the financial burden placed on the great man by the upkeep of the house and estate, forcing him to sell it on and live as a tenant. After the second world war, the benevolent owners passed it onto the National Trust, under the condition that the Churchills could always reside there. The house was opened to the public in 1966 and I remember my mother taking me there as a child, most likely in the early seventies. Today we admire the upper floors from the road but the high perimeter fence prevents a fuller, more splendid view.
Just past the busy Chartwell car park, we are instructed to turn into the woods and once more embark on a precipitous climb. We can’t say we weren’t warned beforehand, having read on Jayne’s walking app a number of complaints that this particular walk had been unexpectedly arduous for the oldies. I suppose the Ordnance Survey’s promised height gain of 705 feet (215m) was a clue as well - it just omits to make clear we would make this gain multiple times. We pick up the Greensand Way as instructed, while extolling the virtues of our new guidebook and how easy it is to follow. This puts the mockers on it straight away and I become convinced we’ve lost our way, walking ten minutes in the wrong direction before deciding we’d been right all along. This bonus itinerary naturally involves another steep hill. Jayne mutters dark words to the effect that I shouldn’t be let loose on a Duke of Edinburgh expedition any time soon.
Finally, we locate the stretch of pathway that promises to take us back to the centre of Westerham, but this confuses us further by setting off in the polar opposite direction. Before reaching the English Channel, the path eventually curves round to the west and then pleasingly northwards again. In the woods we encounter an excitable and large dog which bites a mouth-sized chunk out of our photocopied instructions but fortunately not from the hand I’m holding them in. Its human companion seems relaxed in the time-honoured manner of all dog-owners, reassuring us matter-of-factly: “I always get a bit worried when he stops, as it means he’s about to pounce”. Thanks, mate.
Eventually, after startling some deer, we emerge from the woodland, only to be confronted with another steep climb. But it’s worth it this time, as, at the top, there’s the most marvellous view across the valley in which Westerham lies, its church nestling resplendently in amongst the sleepy houses and cottages. This place, like much of the rolling Kent countryside around, seems remarkably untouched by time, with just the distant hum of motorway traffic reminding us of the proximity of suburbia. Oddly, we also come across a solitary metal gate, diligently closed shut, as if guarding the way across the open fields towards Westerham. With apologies to the authors of We’re Going on a Bear Hunt, we can’t go over it, we can’t go under it - but we can go beside it, as it’s not attached to a fence or a wall, it’s just a gate in a field. We finish our walk with a nice downhill stroll through the same cow field in which we started three hours ago - except, to Jayne’s relief, the cows are nowhere to be seen.
As we reach the town centre, lunch is being served in a Covid-compliant manner from the door of the Grasshopper on the Green pub. By now it’s a balmy September lunchtime and most of the tables are occupied by a mix of locals, walkers and cyclists. Our salads are voluminous and tasty, rendered even more palatable by the generous 25% discount offered on a Tuesday. The giant statue of a reclining Winston Churchill overlooks our picnic table, while another famous son of Westerham, General James Wolfe (of Battle of Quebec fame), strikes a more proactive pose as he appears to defend the town against the oncoming traffic of the A25.
A helpful pub sign informs us that the origins of the town date back to 1096, appearing in the Domesday Book as “Wistreham”. The inn itself can trace its roots to 1555, in which year the landlord’s son, John Frith, was burnt at the stake as a protestant. I’m pleased with this - the long history, I mean, not poor John’s demise - as I had missed from today’s ramble the historical context in which our city walks are normally so rich. I’m also pleased that a more modern resident of Westerham’s environs, Nigel Farage, is not present as the very sight of him would have spoiled a very pleasant day out. Next time though, these townies need to come better equipped to deal with life in the countryside.
Acknowledgements: Jayne and Richard were following Walk 7, Westerham and Chartwell, from the Ordnance Survey’s “Kent - Outstanding Circular Walks”, published by Crimson Publishing (reprinted version 2018). Photos mainly by Jayne as usual. Information on Chartwell was based on the National Trust’s website at www.nationaltrust.org.uk/chartwell.
Another great read Richard.