It took me all day to climb over all the beautiful cliffs from Beachy Head to Exceat (South East Engand). But there wasn't a moment when I didn't feel at ease. Even when I was struggling up the hills in the relentless wind and the scorching sunshine, I was feeling content. Who wouldn't? There was sparkling seas with sailboats and an old fashioned lighthouse; the Eastbourne airshow with all old fashioned planes swooping from the clear blue skies and; beautiful natural wildlife from butterflies to crickets.

Jackdaw foraging on the railway line

I am starting this post on Saturday on a Brighton train from London Bridge but we are not going to Brighton today. Our tickets are for Eastbourne, though Eastbourne is not our final destination.

Unfortunately, rail works have prevented us going from St Pancras (our friendly neighbourhood railway station just down the road from us), so we had to go to London Bridge and take the Brighton train, changing at Haywards Heath. It's a relief that the train isn't as packed as last week and we easily found seats.

The scenery is varied: green countryside, towns, factories and farms. Just after Gatwick, I saw a heron flying parallel to the line. Some wildlife has adapted to the cancerous growth of towns only to be faced now with the threat of global warming.

When we left London, it was sunny but as we trundle south, the clouds are gathering...

Artist attracting attention in Eastbourne

At Haywards Heath we had the pleasure of sharing a group of four seats with an abusive young woman who seemed under the impression that she owned all of them. Her boyfriend then joined us but remained silent. Tigger shared a seat with the young woman's feet until the latter graciously removed them to the floor. Thus we travelled in amicable hostility until our companions moved to other seats.

Eastbourne Pier under rain clouds

We reached Eastbourne about 11:30 and took a coffee break at the Via Cafe Bar before continuing.

As we made our way to the pier to pick up the 12A bus, it began to rain, gently at first. By the time we boarded the bus, it was raining hard. (See "Rain on the bus window" below.) Our destination was Beachy Head where we intended to have lunch. We arrived at this beauty spot under a dull sky and buffetted by blustery showers.

Rain on the bus window

The pub restaurant was packed, as you might imagine for a Saturday but we managed to get a table when some people got up to leave.

Because of the weather, we didn't wait around. Usually, we sit for a while on the cliffs, admiring the beautiful view and taking photographs, but with the rain and poor visibility, the sensible thing was to take the bus onward to our intended destination, Pevensey and Westham.

Bleak Pevensey Bay

We left the bus in Pevensey Bay. Usually, we tarry a while here and enjoy the quiet beach but on this occasion the bleak weather did not encourage us to stay.

We decided to move on but couldn't find the stop for the ongoing bus. Maybe the rain had made our brains soggy. By now the will was somewhat lacking too, so we returned to Eastbourne, half-intending to bus out from there.

Gull on chimney, Pevensey Bay

After a quick look around the shops and a milkshake at Via, the other half of the intention faded. So we went to the station and took the train to London.

The expedition ended tastily in the Raj Mahal restaurant only a couple of streets from us.

While eating, we planned our next outing which, will be to... No, I will tell you in due course.

Looking west, Beachy Head offers manificant views of the Seven Sisters limestone cliffs. Tragically, as evedenced by the crosses and flowers on the cliff edge it is also the last view seen by many, as they commit suicide by jumping over the 530 feet (160 metres) cliff.

But the last week has seen some impressive finds between Lewes and Eastbourne. Between last Wednesday and Friday, an Alpine Swift decided to roost on County Hall, Lewes, providing many birders (me included) with their first encounter with this species in the UK. The vast majority of records are brief overhead jobs - a stationary bird is really welcome (although, just to be picky, I would have liked to have seen it fly around just a little bit).

What seems likely to have been the same Black Stork seen in the Cuckmere Valley a couple of weeks ago made a another appearance at Willingdon Level, kindly flying over a commuting birder's car.

And close to our patch, a Black Kite was reported over woodland at Ringmer last week too. This is, surely, going to be a record year for these birds - dozens seem to have been seen in the UK already this spring.

But despite all the aforementioned stuff, Beachy Head stole the honours, with a River Warbler on Friday afternoon - a first for Sussex and indeed for the south coast of England. Some Sussex birders reportedly dropped everything (like EVERYTHING) to get to Beachy for this bird, which gave itself up only by singing (like a Grasshopper Warbler) and showing occasionally in flight, in the thick scrub of Whitbread Hollow. The next morning it was gone.

With Melodious Warbler, Rose-coloured Starling, Red-rumped Swallow and Bee-eater also seen there in recent days, it's been a pretty extraordinary run.

But it's likely to be the River Warbler that people talk about for years to come.

Veel stelt het niet voor, Birling Gap: links van een stoffig parkeerplein een rij oude huisjes van de kustwacht, rechts een houten barak dat ons hotel blijkt te zijn. That's it. Maar de ligging is prachtig: vlakbij het strand, op een tiental kilometer ten westen van Eastbourne, tussen de torenhoge kliffen van Beachy Head aan de ene kant en de wondermooie Seven Sisters aan de andere kant. De verblindend witte mergel brokkelt nog steeds verder af.  Als je op het strand zit, hoor je van tijd to tijd het doffe geroffel van vallende stenen.  Het strand zelf bestaat grotendeels uit keien en vuursteenbanken, hier en daar onderbroken door een streepje zand.

De eigenaar van het Birling Gap Hotel is een merkwaardig man. Hoewel zijn klienteel grotendeels uit wandelaars bestaat die hij voortdurend allerlei adviezen geeft, bekent hij zelf nog nooit tot bij de vuurtoren te zijn geraakt, op nog geen twintig minuten lopen van zijn hotel. Het is gewoon zijn ding niet. Nochtans woont hij hier al meer dan veertig jaar. Hij is hier opgegroeid en toen zijn ouders stierven, besloot hij, wellicht bij gebrek aan beters, de zaak maar verder te zetten.

Overdag trekt het bruine café met de in de zon gelegen banken ervoor aardig wat volk. Maar in het ruime restaurant daarachter zitten wij 's morgens en 's avonds doorgaans zo goed als alleen. Niet dat het eten tegenvalt. 's Morgens krijgen we een copieuze English Breakfast voorgezet en 's avonds kunnen we kiezen uit een hele reeks, grotendeels op het continent gebaseerde gerechten, waar dan een Britse toets aan gegeven wordt. Geen grote gastronomie dus, maar wel best te vreten. En de prijzen vallen redelijk mee, wat geen evidentie is in dit land.

Door het zomerse weer brengen we heel wat tijd op het strand door. Ook boven op de kliffen is het leuk zonnen, al moet je wel uitkijken dat  je met je handdoek niet in de schapen-of konijnenkeutels gaat liggen. Voor de rest kun je hier heerlijk wandelen: naar Beachy Head, volgens ons gidsje Engelands hoogste klif, over de Seven Sisters, volgens ons gidsje Engelands mooiste kliffen en in de Cuckmere Valley, waar ons gidsje niets over vertelt. Spijtig, want het is een aardig natuurreservaat (o.m. gebruikt als decor in de film Atonement) met een spectaculair kronkelende rivier, zoutwatermoerassen, een mooie Bed & Beakfast en een infocentrum, ondergebracht in een 18de eeuwse schuur. Enkele kilometers landinwaarts gaan we in Alfriston iets eten op een zonovergoten terras. Het biedt uitzicht op een weids gazon met aan de overzijde het dorpskerkje. Erachter ligt een Middeleeuwse pastorij, die door de National Trust wordt beheerd en opengesteld voor het publiek. Vlakbij  (toch voor wie met de auto is...) ligt The Long Man of Wilmington, een gigantische figuur, uitgekerfd in de kalklaag van een heuvel. Eertijds versleten voor een Keltische of Gallo-Romeinse godheid, wordt de Lange Man er nu van verdacht het folieke te zijn van een of andere 17de eeuwse landheer. 

Wie daar zin in heeft, kan in de omgeving nog heel wat andere dingen gaan bekijken: het kasteel en observatorium van Herstmonceux, de priorij van Michelham, het stadje Lewes, de woning van Kipling, auteur van het Jungle Book, de burchtruïne van Pevensey, waar Willem De Veroveraar destijds met zijn legertje Normandiërs aan wal kwam en natuurlijk Battle, waar diezelfde Willem in 1066 koning Harold versloeg in wat sindsdien de Battle of Hastings is gaan heten, de beroemdste veldslag uit de Britse geschiedenis. Ter herinnering aan zijn overwinning, waardoor heel Engeland in zijn bezit kwam, liet Willem op de plek een abdij bouwen. In de resten ervan is een museum ondergebracht. Je kan er aan den lijve ervaren hoe zwaar zo'n helm of schild in die tijd woog. Je kan ook een wandelingetje maken op het ongelofelijk kleine slagveld en dit zonder gevaar door een pijl of lans doorboord te worden. Groter is de kans dat  u een hartaanval krijgt bij het zien van de toegangsprijzen. 

East-Sussex en Kent tellen een indrukwekkend aantal kastelen en tuinen. Elk hebben ze hun eigen karakter, vaak zijn ze nog in privébezit, maar doorgaans geraak je er wel binnen, al hangt daar een stevig prijskaartje aan. Noblesse oblige. Wij kiezen voor Penshurst, de geboorteplaats van Sir Philip Sydney.  Deze op jonge leeftijd aan een musketschot bezweken hoveling uit de tijd van Queen Elisabeth I is in Engeland vooral beroemd omwille van zijn gedichten. Zijn nog Middeleeuws aandoend landhuis, omgeven door een heel mooie tuin, is alvast een prachtige ode aan het leven. 

Ook de badplaats Eastbourne vonden we leuk om eens door te lopen. Geen hoogbouw hier, maar wel veel groen en statige Victoriaanse gebouwen. Centraal verrijst een echte Britse pier, waar je tonnen ongezonde snoep kan kopen. Het strand zelf bestaat uitsluitend uit keien, wat zeker met kinderen geen pluspunt is. Tussen Dover en Eastbourne is Rye zowat een verplichte stop. Al is dit voormalige havenstadje overdreven bekend, op een rustige morgen zijn de steile Mermaid Street en het oude Kerkhof rond de St Mary-kerk toch nog zwanger van sfeer.

Na vier dagen genieten zitten we terug op de boot naar Calais. In tegenstelling tot de heenvaart, toen we bijna in het grijze sop geblazen werden, is het nu op het terrasje langszij heerlijk zitten in de avondzon. Straks nog twee uurtjes rijden en we zijn thuis.

Info en links

Voor foto's en fotokaart: klik hier

Hotelaccomodatie, attracties en bezienswaardigheden in de omgeving van Eastbourne  

Monumenten en tuinen beheerd door National Trust in Zuidoost-Engeland

Battle en Slag bij Hastings

Penshurst Castle

View out to sea from Beachy Head

Today, we continued our holiday by heading south, this time to Brighton. I lived there as a child and each time I visit the town, the experience is a mixture of old and new.

The Clock Tower, beautifully restored and glittering in the sunlight, is one of my favourite sights. I still remember a childhood dream about it.

We didn't stop in Brighton, however, but walked down from the station (past the Clock Tower) to the seafront and caught bus number 12A. This takes you east along the coast (with many forays inland to serve the communities on its route) to Eastbourne. It was a beautiful day and at the start of the journey I enjoyed looking out of the window at the beautiful countryside and sea views.

Unfortunately, the seat was hard and not suitable for a long journey and I began suffering from a serious case of - forgive the expression - bum-ache. There was nothing for it but to get out at Beachy Head. Not that that was any hardship as Beachy Head is a beautiful place to visit.

Perched on the cliff-top near Eastbourne, Beachy Head has long been a favourite with suicides (there is a prominently displayed notice advertising the services of the Samaritans) but for the same reasons, it offers wonderful views both of the sea coast and the rolling Sussex countryside, lushly green and dotted with sheep. The picture above right shows the view towards the east, with Eastbourne with its pier.

As you can see from the previous photo and this one, the day was sunny but hazy. I was impressed with the heart-lifting beauty of the landscape and the frolicsome lambs.

We caught the bus again and completed the journey into Eastbourne. This little seaside town, a sort of sleepy cousin of Brighton, had done well out of the legend that it is the "sun trap of the south", a claim to be taken with some scepticism. Nonetheless, it is a pleasant town and well worth visiting.

As you probably know, I like photographing the animals and birds I meet. I am also one of the few people who love town pigeons. I was keen to try out the new camera by getting a close-up of a pigeon. It became nervous at the attention I was giving it and took off just as I clicked the shutter release. I suppose we should regard this as a failed attempt but I think it has a certain amusing charm!

I did eventually get a pigeon portrait but this was in Brighton where the feathered scavengers are a lot less worried by human attention. This one was relaxing in the sun on a terrace where people were walking to and fro. It was completely unworried by my activities in photographing it.

If you go to Brighton, you of course have to take a photo of the Pier. So here is the obligatory photo of Brighton Pier. I always gnash my teeth when I say "Brighton Pier". Why? Because all older Brightonians knew it as the Palace Pier and resent its renaming.

If there is one bird that can rival pigeons for my affections it is gulls, especially herring gulls. I love to watch them fly, for they are superb fliers and can land with utter precision on a pin-head, even in a gale. I wanted a close-up of a gull and I think this one turned out quite well. Note the beady eye watching what I am up to.

After a day of movement, we were happy to take the train home to London. But tomorrow is another day. Who knows what we will get up to? I know what we are getting up to on Tuesday, by the way: we are going to Chesterfield. Tigger has a courier run to the town of the Crooked Spire and we are going there together. We bought the tickets this evening.

She deserves a medal! I remember 24 June 1978 like it was yesterday, and recalling some of the many events, changes, challenges, and joys that these years have brought is just amazing. After church today, we drove towards Eastbourne, and had decided to just stop somewhere that caught our eye, and so when we had looped through Eastbourne and heading back on the coastal road, we came across a sign to Beachy Head.

Unfortunately it was raining too hard for us to take a walk around, but seeing that there are a number of walking routes, I think we shall be back before the end of summer. For more interesting information about Beachy Head, have a look at this website. Nearby, are the Seven Sisters cliffs, and another walking trail, that we would like to try sometime. This photo came from Bradford Genealogy (thanks).

Today, the situation is quite different. From the very first moment I am in love with Eastbourne. The very moment I stepped out of the train from London, a breath of fresh air hit me. It was as if the air, so long imprisoned in London, travelled by train to mingle with the sea breeze at Eastbourne. The first impressions of smell are hard to describe. It is an air that has been long at sea, frolicking and dancing with the waves and sea sprays, fully refreshed in such agreeable company, and then taking a short break at Eastbourne. Once I stepped out of the train station, the calls of seagulls are heard. The salty air is now much more noticeable. The eastern sky is a white sheet of light while higher up, the blue sky stretches to the farther cliffs. After many sunless winter days, this is a surprise. What is a seaside resort without these foods for the senses? Imagination plays into the ear and I fancy that the sea is just round the corner. It is in fact a good half a mile away from the station, passing the clean, well-kept streets of Eastbourne.

The beach is nothing close to the beauties of Asian beaches or the pristine wonders of Pacific islands. The gifts of nature are not bestowed equally on all. One must make best use of what one has and here in Eastbourne this is truer than anywhere else. The beach is clean and uncluttered. The walkways are pleasant. The buildings don't interest much but they don't spoil the view either. The shingle beach stretches a long way towards Beachy Head, the southern tip of this land. Groynes fill the beach all the way. Without them, perhaps nothing of the beach would have remained by now. The South Downs lie within sight of town, with their white chalk-cliffs and green rolling cliff tops. Although I love the uncrowded company of solitude, it was a nice to meet people along the esplanade and exchange short customary greetings. Elderly couples enjoy the rare sunshine. Others walk their dogs. Some explore the shingle beach picking perhaps shells, cockles, seaweeds, sea kelps or other secret wonders that the sea dares to throw up once in a while. Some fly kites on the downs. Others prefer to rest on the wooden benches and stare out across the English Channel.

There is indeed something more to be said of the wooden benches along the esplanade, along cliff tops or numerous other vantage points that offer excellent views of this part of East Sussex. As far as I could notice, all benches have been installed in loving memory of someone, by caring family or friends. There are not a handful of them, but hundreds. Love is strange and so is human ambition. Memories are faint and have little worth of their own. Nothing stands the ravage of time. All that matters is now and how we love the living. I could find not one bench donated for a purpose greater than its inscription, not one bench without an inscription. Perhaps, someday a bench will be installed out of complete benevolence, out of the need to provide a seat and not for holding memories of the dead or for self-glorification.

Perfection in beauty is hard to come by. There are elements of ugliness in Eastbourne but only in relation to my standards of beauty. There is some sense of decayed modernity in town where time has overtaken modern development. There is a mix of old and new but no harmony or special beauty. The pier jutting out into sea is an eye-sore. The bandstand cloaked in scaffolding is a misery. To make a perfect picture you must clip these intrusive details. Then you are with the sea, the sky, the beach and the breeze. Nonetheless, my love for mountains is greater and will always remain so.

At Eastbourne starts one of the many long distance National Trails, the South Downs Way, fairly easy on the legs at this stretch. The paths on the cliff tops are not steep or difficult. The outreaching views almost every step of the way are additional rewards. This is not the difficult South West Coast Path that we find in Cornwall. It does not take long to reach Beachy Head from Eastbourne. I could use many superlatives to describe these chalk-cliffs. Stupendous and magnificent were two immediate responses when I first saw them at close quarters. The cliffs are not nearly vertical or almost vertical. They are vertical. They rise without pause. They tower without fear. They glow whiter than snow. Veins of black rock run horizontally creating such a pattern that even modern abstract painters would find immediate inspiration.

A plaque at Beachy Head tells the story of the cliffs. It does not enhance my appreciation of the natural wonder but it consists of interesting facts that are worth relating. The cliffs were once part of the sea bed, as was the whole island of Great Britain. The cliffs have taken many million years in the making by deposits of algae and various sea life. Then sometime ago Africa started to push northwards into Europe, thus raising land above sea. This land stretched far into sea, perhaps a continuous piece of land with continental Europe. When the Ice Age ended about 14,000 years ago, sea levels started to rise. The process of land erosion by wind and waves accelerated. This has created these cliffs, the once sea beds exposed bare. This process continues to this day.

The waves beat incessantly against these mighty cliffs but their might is fragile as ever. At places on the cliff top, clefts are visible along the edge. These are by no means on the surface only. The clefts are seen to run deep and even visible along the sides as dark veins descending on a white face. If a group 20 men were to stand on one of these edges, the edge may well collapse and lose itself into the sea. Broken stones at the base point to this destiny. They lie as discarded bread crumbs on the floor. This process is constant and unforgiving. The sea will finally claim what was once hers. Thus we find that the magnificence of nature is made with patience and time, but easily destroyed by force and fury.

If walking on the cliff tops was an experience, walking on the pebble beach was more breathtaking. Access to the beach is by an iron stairway supported against the cliff at Birling Gap. Although no path is marked on the Ordnance Survey Map it is possible to walk to Beachy Head and back, but only at low tide. It was just after noon and the high tide was coming in quickly. It was still possible to walk a short stretch of the beach. With the sea on one side and the cliffs on the other, the path of a wanderer is advanced by guidance of nature.

It is hardly three weeks since my return from Yorkshire and today I am suddenly confronted with the same magic under a glorious sun brightly reflected by these white cliffs. The beach is full of pebbles but more prominent are the worn-out limestone rocks. These are the same wonders that I saw in Malham and the Three Peaks. That was erosion by rain water; this is erosion by the sea. The chalk dissolves easily. The water here acquires a colour as of coconut water. Even my light steps leave visible alterations to the texture of these rocks. While it is common for my boots to get soiled in colours of black, brown and yellow, here it picks up marks of pure white. The pebbles too are stunning: so many shapes, shades, curves and patterns. Each one is a unique piece of art, seemingly made without effort. But effort indeed is present though imperceptible; wonders take time.

From Birling Gap, the South Downs Way continues along the cliff top across Seven Sisters Country Park. These are seven chalk hills inseparably joined by green turf over graceful curves. Their sisterly bond can be made out only farther along the coast to the west and it was not in my privilege to seem them thus. I contented myself in walking the paths they had laid out for me. Then I proceeded north, along the meandering River Cuckmere which reflected warmly the colours of sunset. It is difficult to say why a river meanders in this manner when a direct path is available. Perhaps, there is a joy in lingering, to anticipate and prepare oneself before the final union. Perhaps, there is an uncertain fear in the thought of losing oneself. Perhaps, it is better to slow down after a long journey and savour each moment while it lasts. Thus, with such glimpses of river Cuckmere, I crossed Friston Forest, Litlington, Alfriston and finally Wilmington. The real purpose was to see the medieval chalk drawing carved against a hillside, the Long Man of Wilmington.

"The Long Man" is a name that has little interest. "The Long Man of Wilmington" on the other hand has much interest. It is not that Wilmington is a village of great consequence. It is a simple fact that the figure on the hill is so inextricably linked to the village that one is not to be mentioned without the other. The longer name has more music in it. It links much more the past and the present, the art of medieval people with the village that is as much alive today as it was once.

This figure on the hill is rather plain and simple. Much of the art of our ancestors have been thus made without fancy decorations or adornments. Some say the man is walking on the hills with two staffs. Some say he is opening the doors of heaven. I have no beliefs or truth to express but I do have an opinion. The figure is a representation of the people of the land who created him. He is a medieval farmer who worked the land, enjoyed its offerings and loved it. He is a tribute to the hard ways of life in which the fruits of labour are sweet. On this hillside, he forever opens his vision to the beautiful valley that has been his support and welcomes all to share it with him. If he is opening the door to heaven, this valley is the only heaven he knows.