Hamstreet to Ham Street Part III - a Walking Perambulation

 

As I predicted in last month’s post I have completed the ‘Hamstreet to Ham Street’ route for a third time now. I hiked it with my friend Tom in 2006, cycled it in 2019 (first half - Greensand Ridge) and 2022 (second half), and I’ve completed it again on foot in 2026. Sort of.

The two ‘cheats’ were that I skipped the section where one has to hike on roads between Haslemere (Surrey) and Four Marks (Hampshire) this time, and I stopped at Castle Cary in Somerset, a few miles short of the other ‘Ham Street,’ as will be explained.

So my first trip of the second half of the route began at the village of Four Marks, a few miles southwest of Alton in Hampshire. I was following a path called the St Swithun’s Way [sic], which runs from Farnham to Winchester, where the remains of St Swithun (or ‘Swithin’ if you prefer) were initially buried outside the abbey so that the rain could fall on him. They were later moved inside by monks. Hence we have the saying that if it rains on St Swithun’s Day (July 15^th) it will rain for forty days and forty nights.

The path was very pretty via Ropley (pronounced 'Ropp-ley'), with occasional hoots from the steam trains on the nearby Watercress Line. I stopped for refreshment in a cool barn-like annexe of a pub in Bishop’s Sutton. Then I pounded the tarmac around the south side of New Alresford (pronounced ‘Orlsford’). Here, a new housing development has blocked the path and I had to battle with the weeds up a steep bank to get around the high metal fences.

Signage for the path was also poor beyond this and I made the same navigational mistake that I made with Tom in 2006, ending up about half a mile too far north. This time I was able to contact Hampshire’s rights of way team via their website on my phone and report both issues.

Having rejoined the official route, I continued to Winchester and camped behind some nettles. The next day I followed Nuns Walk into the city and passed the remains of Hyde Abbey which comprise of just the arched entrance to a gatehouse.

My path back out of Winchester was different to last time as the next footpath, the Clarendon Way, has since been diverted to commence by heading southward along the river, before curving west and crossing the Roman road, which was its original course. This adds some distance onto the route but is more pleasant than pounding the tarmac.

The Clarendon Way is named after a ruined palace just outside Salisbury, for it links the two cathedral cities. When I reached the village of Kings Somborne, which was often used a location in the children’s programme ‘Worzel Gummidge,’ I had a rest and necked down a bottle of Coke outside the village shop. A man passing by exclaimed ‘You wanna foind a pub and get some coider’ which was exactly the kind of thing I wanted to hear in the West Country.

It was searing hot as I continued via Houghton (pronounced ‘How-tun’) and Broughton (pronounced as one would expect). The locals in the Greyhound pub were very friendly and I was given a large glass bottle of cool water when I asked if they could fill my water bottle. However, after a few more miles cycling, rain began to spatter as the Clarendon Way joined the Roman road, so I dived into the woodland at the side and got my tent up quick.

The next day was as hot as ever and I merely walked the final ten miles or so into Salisbury, departing from the straight Roman line after the village of Middle Winterslow. With around seven miles to go I kept hearing a flapping sound, later realising that the sole of my shoe was coming off. I tried to attach it with some puncture repair glue that I had in my rucksack, but this was ineffective so I merely looped my lace under my shoe to hold it on. I then had to catch two trains and a bus to get back to my sweltering car at Four Marks.

The second trip involved me continuing from Salisbury, but I wanted to retrace my original route as much as possible so I got a bus up to Winterbourne Dauntsey. A grouchy old man made a sarcastic comment about having to step around my rucksack as I waited for it. Personally I think a few extra steps would have done him good so he should have thanked me!

I backtracked about a mile to Figsbury Ring, a circular Iron Age hill-fort, and I walked an anticlockwise circumnavigation. The views were great.

I then descended back to Winterbourne Dauntsey, where a village fair of some kind seemed to be finishing, to pick up the Monarch’s Way. This footpath roughly follows the route of King Charles II following his defeat at the Battle of Worcester to his escape to France from Shoreham-by-sea in West Sussex.

It was very hot yet again as I crossed Salisbury Plain. I was amazed to see a large framework barn still there after twenty years. Tom and I had considered sleeping among the hay bails in 2006. After a long descent I stopped for refreshment at the pub in Great Wishford, where I was kept entertained with a rock playlist. I then camped in the woods after a significant climb to Cranborne Chase.

The next day my route differed from that of 2006 as I chose to follow the Monarch’s Way properly rather than to take a short cut along the Roman road through the woods. After this more southerly section I was back on the familiar drover's path, which begins as a concrete farm track.

Doglegging southward when the path hits the A303 trunk road, I descended to Fonthill Bishop, which had a nice little café where a pot of tea went down like a snake’s foot (as a friend of mine often says). As I approached the next village (Hindon) I was startled when a large dog ran at me. However, this proved serendipitous when its owners recommended the Grosvenor Arms to me, so I made a beeline. Here, the barman treated me to a free bowl of roast potatoes. The next stage involved quite a gruelling overgrown trek towards West Knoyle, where I had a snack break in the porch of the quaint church. Then came the little town of Mere, where I merely used the shop to stock up on supplies before heading off up towards Zeals Knoll for another night’s camping.

This time, my inappropriate footwear was wearing on my feet rather than the soles of my shoes and the next day was hard work, with blisters and discomfort at the back of my legs from walking funny! It was also searing hot and I passed a woman walking with a donkey as I commenced the day's perambulations. The donkey reminded me of the life of Christ, as did my breakfast of bread and tinned fish which I ate in a shelter at the National Trust's centre at Stourton / Stourhead as a man tested disability buggies and parked them outside ready for the use of visitors.

After a stone archway, a look at an old pumphouse and a glimpse of a lake and a Greek-inspired building (pictured), I picked up the Macmillan Way (named after the cancer care charity for whom it was devised) and headed for the little town of Bruton. A man in a gardening community at the hamlet of Redlynch pointed me in the right direction when I got lost and filled my water bottle. After a panoramic view across to Glastonbury Tor and a brief look at a dovecote which resembled a ruined church tower on a hill, I dived into Bruton's Sun Inn to cool off - literally going in the Sun to get out the sun. The pub still retains a separate public bar and saloon bar, which is a nostalgic throwback to the 1970s. I had a chicken kebab from the separate cooking area at the back of the pub and then continued towards Castle Cary, cutting off a long S-shape in the official path by nipping down a farm track.

However, the heat got to too much, and heeding the advice of the gambling adverts on TV, when the fun stopped, I stopped! I dived into the woodland and got some of my camping gear out, proceeding to snooze for a few hours. As it grew dusky I decided to add a tent into the equation!

The following day involved a short two-mile trek to Castle Cary station, with a fine glimpse of Glastonbury Tor in the distance as I descended from Ansford. I decided not to continue Ham Street in Somerset for the simple fact that there’s nothing there! Essentially, I felt that I had completed the walk and I began my five-train journey home to the Las Vegas-like 'Hamstreet' in Kent. Indeed, the inspiration for the initial walk in 2006 was simply to hike to the other village of the same name as the one where Tom and I lived.

My conclusion to this 20-year anniversary jaunt is that very little has changed. Even the development on the south side of Ashford, Kent has had relatively little impact on the rural feel of the footpath route, and the only other areas of new development I encountered were the annoying one on the south side of New Alresford and a modern 'village' development on the north side of Salisbury. What has changed is some of the text in my book of the initial walk, ‘Mud,Sweat and Beers.’ I’ve added some additional info about the places that I’ve gleaned on my two subsequent re-visits so if you wish to buy the book a third time the latest version (still called the ‘2022 Reload’ edition) can be ordered on that website named after a South American river!

Will I walk it again for the ‘ruby anniversary’ in the 45-degree heat of 2046? Who knows!

The Greensand Way Part II - a Walking Perambulation

My twenty-year 'china anniversary' re-walk of the Greensand Way is now complete. I first walked the c.110-mile path from Hamstreet to Haslemere in May 2006, as the first phase of a challenge to hike to Ham Street in Somerset with my friend, Tom.

This second installment fills in the gaps between the sections explored in the 'Part I' blog.'

The mid-Kent section westward from Sutton Valence to East Peckham was achieved by catching trains to the village of Headcorn and then a bus to Sutton Valence. The first two thirds of this section feel similar to the section from Pluckley (documented last time), with the path remaining resolutely at the top of the range of hills, with excellent views across the Weald of Kent to the south. Orchards abound and the path passes the gated driveway to Linton Hall. Eventually the route tumbles off of the hills to reach Yalding, a village that used to flood severely on a regular basis. The route then follows a short navigation channel which was built to cut a corner off of the meandering River Medway for commercial vessels.

The hill range takes a while to get back into full flow after the path crosses the Medway Valley, but the next section westward includes the pretty village of Shipbourne (pronounced 'shibbun' and located a few miles north of the town of Tonbridge), with its grassy common land being a prominent feature. The moated manor house at Ightham (pronounced ‘item’) is well worth a short detour. Beyond this, the ridge reasserts itself and one is really quite high up when nearing Knole Park on the edge of Sevenoaks. You may spot a deer here and you will almost certainly pass the odd jogger! The path then falls off of the hills and becomes quite hard to follow, needing to tunnel beneath the A21 to reach the village of Sevenoaks Weald. After a pint of mild and a bag of crisps in the local pub I walked up to the Hildenborough Road and caught as bus to Tonbridge Station.

The next section west from Sevenoaks Weald takes the walker all the way to Surrey, climbing back onto the ridge again to pass the village of Ide Hill, with its conveniently located shop / cafe, and the wooded summit of Toy’s Hill, one of the highest points in Kent. The true highest point is actually Betsom’s Hill on the North Downs above Westerham, which musters over 820 feet in height.

The path then passes Chartwell, which was Winston Churchill’s home for over forty years, chosen by him mainly because the view across the Kentish Weald is so nice. Crockhamhill Common becomes Limpsfield Common as the walker passes into Surrey (it's all just 'woods' to me). Here, there is a marker-stone showing Hamstreet and Haslemere as each being 55 miles away in opposite directions. The walk beyond into Oxted is typically ‘Surrey’ with lots of common land around leafy suburban roads.

Having documented the sections between Oxted and Dorking in my last article, there is just the last 35 miles to report on. I decided to work backwards, catching trains to Haslemere to begin my walk eastwards. Haslemere is a pretty country town, where a plaque commemorates the first police officer in the Surrey Constabulary to die on duty in what is known as the 'Haslemere riot.' Clearly these were different times.

The Greensand Way climbs steeply to the Devil’s Punchbowl at Hindhead, a village that used to endure a near-permanent stream of traffic on the A3. The road tunnels beneath it today and there is not really any evidence that it used to run right through the village, with tasteful landscaping removing all vestiges of this arterial road from London to Portsmouth. After some magnificent northward views the path descends to Thursley village, from where it begins its long bumpy journey eastward to Dorking. The name 'Thursley' is a reference to the Norse god, Thor, and the Devil's Punchbowl was so named because the legend is that Thor and the Devil had a battle here and the punchbowl was created when the dark one scooped out a load of earth from the hills to throw at Thor. A great way to settle a dispute, hey?

I was crestfallen to reach the Dog and Pheasant at Brook to find 'To Let' signs. I had used the pub in 2006 on my initial walk and a beer would have gone down like a snake's foot (as people say down here on Romney Marsh). Instead I continued via Sandhills (the clue is in the name) and Wormley, and I had an evening meal in the Merry Harriers pub in Hambledon. Conversations in 'RP' English reverberated around me as I ate. A few miles beyond, I camped in the Hurtwood. The name has nothing to do with pain, as ‘hurts’ was a local dialect word for bilberries.

The next day was searing hot. Hascombe was quaint with a winding lane, a pond and a pretty church. When I reached the village of Shamley Green, where the ridge has another break to let a river through, I was seriously considering throwing in the towel. However, the next section was mercifully shady as the ridge is heavily wooded here. There are some great viewpoints, and the path descends to pass by the Duke of Edinburgh School and again to pass through the village of Holmbury St Mary. Beyond is Leith Hill, the highest point in Surrey. It is crowned with a tower and seems to be quite a tourist hotspot.

There was just the long slow descent to Dorking to go after this. Time was limited before the train that I needed to catch home, so a ‘meal deal’ in an Esso garage had to make do. There's no point lying - this last section was gruelling in the heat, with no public transport on a bank holiday Monday and no refreshment facilities between Holmbury St Mary and Wotton, by which point I needed to get a spurt on.

All in all, it’s been fascinating to re-walk this long distance path, and I’ve made a few tweaks to my book, ‘Mud, Sweat and Beers’ which documents the route and our continuation westward to the other ‘Ham Street’ in Somerset. It is perhaps inevitable that I will eventually re-walk those paths too. The book can be found on most major digital platforms for those who want to explore more.

West Sussex Coast - A Cycling Perambulation

So far 2022 has been shaping up no better than 2020 or 2021, with the TV news increasing your likelihood of driving to the nearest cliff and depressing the accelerator with every bulletin. If it's not narcissistic tyrants making a last-ditch attempt to make a name for themselves using mass brutality it's a constant drip-feed of price rises pushing people into the kind of poverty that just shouldn't exist if the world's sixth biggest economy operated with a modicum of empathy.

As always, sunshine and nature are there to provide a free panacea for all this angst, and I undertook my first cycling trip away during Easter of this year. My very first public article dates from 1994 and it documents a cycling trip through Sussex to raise money for our local Venture Scout unit, of which I was a member at the time. I saw the friend that I went with on TV news discussing COVID research a while back, so he's obviously done well. As for me, I decided to retread some old ground, and it was interesting to revisit some of those places after almost 28 years have passed. - 28 years!? That's insane!

I headed for Brighton with my bike and rucksack on a train that was packed as far as the tourist Mecca of Rye. After that i could breathe freely. Upon alighting, I cruised down to the coast and followed the sea wall cycle path to Hove and the road to Shoreham-by-Sea, which is the longest road in the UK beginning with a two, specifically the A259.

My comments were quite negative about Shoreham in that 1994 article, possibly due to the abundance of industry to the east of the town, but I can confirm that the town is actually very pleasant, with a bustling riverside town centre and a quaint churchyard nestling just behind it in a way not to dissimilar to the parish church in my home town of Ashford. I rode over the footbridge across the River Adur and then followed the cycle path along the coast, which was initially separated from the 'mainland' by a lagoon.

I described Worthing as having a 'green beach' in 1994, but I can confirm that the colour scheme is quite normal in 2022. The tall building by the promenade at the centre of the town reminded me of the similar building that you can't miss around fifty miles up the coast in St Leonards. It seems that planners seem to have a compulsion to put one of these 'iconic landmarks' in every large seaside town. As I continued westward the roads took me away from the seafront for a while, and more surprising than the tall concrete finger pointing into the sky was spotting the odd thatch-roofed cottage as I rode through the suburbs of these Sussex conurbations, a remnant of days before the towns swallowed up the surrounding countryside no doubt.

I got stopped at a level crossing near Angmering and I was surprised at some of the 'big name' shops in little old Rustington. I then picked up the sea wall for some more (respectful) pedestrian-dodging, heading into Littlehampton, another pleasant town where a river meets the Sussex coast, this time the Arun. A very basic white lighthouse overlooks the sea, which I had of course visited with my father in researching our lighthouse visiting tome, 'England and Wales in a Flash.' I was surprised to find a Wetherspoons pub in Littlehampton so I popped in for the obligatory curry before heading inland to Arundel and using a gravel trail which climbed into woods, where I found a spot to set up camp. The birdsong died down and the moon was bright. It was chilly as the night went on, confirming my long-established view that an early morning low of seven degrees is the very coldest temperature that I will camp in.

It was now Easter Sunday and I saw a deer as I continued westward along the trail, which soon turned south and descended to cross the A27 dual carriageway. I headed back to the coast via pleasant villages and suburbs, eventually resuming a westward course along the sea wall. I'd never been to Bognor Regis before, and the extent of my knowledge was that it is one of around a dozen places in England with the suffix 'regis' indicating 'royal patronage' and that it has long been reputed that George the Fifth's final word was 'Bognor.' The penultimate word was a taboo verb! However, this is something of an urban myth as his final words were in fact the equally pleasant statement of 'God damn you' spoken to a nurse.

I intended to use an independent café for breakfast but Wetherpoons was just too convenient again. I was surprised to see holiday-makers drinking pints of beer at 9am, and in spite of this Bognor was surprisingly quiet. I concluded that those who do their drinking at the other end of the day were not yet out of bed. Continuing westward on lanes, I found that the scenery became flat and very rural, a bit like our local 'Romney Marsh' in Kent. After heading southward down a lengthy dead end by mistake I lost the will to ride to Selsey, so I picked up the path beside Chichester Canal at Hunston, following it all the way to the marina at the end and then all the way back into Chichester, the county town of West Sussex. At 3.8 miles long, the canal is not exactly epic, but it's very pleasant nonetheless.

Oddly, this was my fifth trip to Chichester by bike but the first time I'd properly explored the city, which reminds me of a quiet version of Canterbury. The most striking features in the cathedral (pictured) for me were the Roman mosaic which is at the height of the original ground, so you gaze down upon it through a glass window in the floor, and a 'tomb for two' depicting a ancient couple holding hands which seemed romantic in a tragic way. I also did the 'wall walk' around the city which was almost as impressive at Chester's city wall, with a view of the priory and a motte-and-bailey castle mound, both in a large playing field. I then headed for the Chichester Inn and sat in the courtyard at the back for my first outdoor pint of 2022. Well, it was a bit more than a pint to be honest.

My next plan of action was to follow the old Roman road of Stane Street up onto the South Downs. There is something satisfying about following a dead-straight ancient course which is sometimes A-road, sometimes lane, sometimes bridleway and sometimes footpath. After a long climb through woods I turned around to enjoy the view, with the hills on the Isle of Wight in the distance. I found a spot to camp behind some gorse bushes and there was a nice sunset. The night was unusually silent for wild camping and the morning was again cold, so I packed up and began my ride back to Brighton at 6am.

I had a wander around the striking Catholic cathedral on the hill at Arundel, I found Angmering to be a very quaint village in spite of its suburban location, and I enjoyed a fine English breakfast with added mushrooms in an independent café (hurrah!) in Worthing. The staff were taking the Mick out of a customer who had been on a disastrous date. I'm sure that made him feel wonderful! I followed the A270 into Brighton purely to have a nose at what journeys were like before the town was bypassed. As I passed beneath the plethora of railway lines I spotted some steps leading up to a siding that had been converted into a short walking route called the Brighton Greenway. I followed this to the station but I wasn't ready to go home yet, so I decided to ride to Lewes, the country town of East Sussex.

As you'd expect in a city with Britain's only Green Party MP, the cycle route beside the A270 out of Brighton was very good, but the pub I intended to spend lunch in at Falmer was not open on Mondays so I merely followed the route to Lewes and caught the first of three trains home. Falafel, homous and a can of Coke on Hastings Station was the somewhat modest finale to the mission. If you've enjoyed the write-up, you know where there's plenty more (Stair-Rods & Stars).