North Downs Way Day 2 - Guildford to Dorking

I’m not generally antisocial. I love my family and my friends, and I like spending time with them. But there is, for me, something really important about mainly doing these walks on my own. That’s partly because of the chance it gives me to be self sufficient and perhaps more courageous. It makes me more alert to my environment, and it also means that I am able to be nimble in my decision making, without having to consider another’s point of view. The choices I make are just mine, with whatever consequences that they bring being just on me, with no responsibility to anyone else. So when I decided to have a quick snack for breakfast in my room and an earlyish start to hopefully miss the bad weather forecast, I could to that without worrying that my walking companion might be hungry or tired!

Although I’d had a bit of a wander round the town yesterday, I’d not looked at the castle. So I checked that out before getting onto the path. The information board told me about Guildford Castle’s motte and Bailey construction as well as other nuggets of information. It was probably founded by William the Conqueror, and became one of the most luxurious royal palaces in the country. Henry III and his wife Eleanor of Provence were very keen on it, coming regularly at Christmas, installing glass windows, and Eleanor bringing colonnaded gardens and tiled pavements to Guildford. After Henry’s death in 1272 eventually the castle fell into ruins. Now, the chunk that remains is probably that of the King’s Great Chamber, which stands in decay against some very tightly manicured flower beds, ready for winter planting. I guess Eleanor would approve.

I continued past the castle and started what turned out to be an uphill climb lasting for four or five miles. The road was called Warwicks Bench Road. No apostrophe. Despite a bit of googling, I can find no explanation for the name, with no especially important bench referring to Warwick. However, I did find reference to heated objections, in 1906, for the building of houses on the road. Those houses are now very imposing, and I’m sure very expensive, Edwardian villas in the arts and crafts style.

Maybe half a mile later, suddenly the landscape opened up, and I could see the Downs.

For a short section I was walking on the Pilgrim’s Way. This is a 118 mile route linking Winchester and Canterbury, and is described by Cicerone as England’s Camino. It is thought to reflect the route that a penitent Henry II took following the Thomas a Becket debacle in Canterbury. Now, a lot of it is paved road, but some is still footpath, and is partly shared by other routes like the NDW. I could see the beginning of St Martha’s Hill ahead of me, and normally I would keep driving forward to the top. But, like a mirage, an unexpected cafe, unmentioned in my guidebook, manifested. Rude not to.

Ollie and Max have been running their cafe, Golden Fords, for about two months. They were so welcoming as they were opening up for the day, and I had a satisfying conversation with Max about authenticity and writing about the things that are true. And Ollie produced an excellent flat white. I hope their new enterprise is a great success.

The coffee then boosted me up the rest of St Martha’s Hill, and I arrived at the eponymous St Martha’s church. Now C of E, it is thought to have also been a sacred site to Bronze Age settlers. The commanding views would certainly make it a place to choose. Ruth, the verger for the last year, kindly opened up the building so that I could have a look. We had a really interesting conversation about faith and walking.

I eventually left her to set up her cake sale signage, and walked round the church to have a good look at the view. And there I met Vikram and Karlo. They were doing repeated hill cycling as training for the sani2c bike ride in South Africa next May. I love finding out about challenges people are taking on that I’ve never heard of, I hope they have a great time!

In fact St Martha’s Hill appeared to be being used by many as a training ground, with cyclists and runners cheerfully or not so cheerfully labouring up its steep slopes.

I had had a series of messages from my friend Sophie about yesterday’s blog, one of which made me laugh so much that I had to snatch a little signal to talk to her about George Frederick Watts, the artist of yesterday’s walk. It seems that, rather like other Victorian artists, he was quite keen on drawing clothed men with less than clothed nymphs. She sent me a suggestion…

I chatted to the soaring red kite and the friendly horses in their stables on the way to Newlands Corner, with views over the valley. Cicerone talks of the benches placed to ‘exploit the view’ and finally signs of chalk in the path as opposed to sand, the real Downs. I exploited the bench, and thought about Davia, Henry, Margaret and Peter who were commemorated there.

I’d not planned to take lunch with me today, thinking that I’d get to my destination in time to eat, but at Newlands Corner cafe they were serving cheese rolls. I am half woman, half cheese. So, well equipped with food, I didn’t really need to stop again at a food truck handily parked a little way along the old drove road. But Andy and the two Carolines who ran the operation were so welcoming, and their chilli and chocolate protein balls looked so good, I decided to have yet another break. It appeared I was taking every eating opportunity today. And in so doing, I ended up having a very interesting conversation with Andy about his experience of walking the Camino. It’s on my list for next year, and I think one of the aspects of it that will both be a challenge and a joy is the fact that accommodations don’t need to be booked in advance. As a pathological planner, that is not my style. But maybe it could be good for me….

There is real joy walking on Saturdays. The coffee trucks are open, there are lots of couples out talking through their week, and there were many groups of turtle-like Duke of Edinburgh students labouring under vastly over packed rucksacks, some smiling, some looking haunted. Some were holding hands to encourage each other, one group was universally wearing far more layers than was necessary, including thermal hats. Universally apart from one anomalous boy who was shirtless. I bet his rucksack was rubbing.

So far, the North Downs Way has been an extremely clear and straightforward route to navigate, with excellent signage and some broad and easy walking paths, such as the one on Netley Heath, through the trees.

Coming out onto Blatchford Down there were some excellent views and an excellent bench on which I could sample my excellent cheese roll. And as I did, the forecast rain finally started. Just as drizzle, but not conducive to a relaxed break.

So I moved on into the woods, enjoying the pillboxes that had been built in 1940 as a line of defences against a prospective German invasion. David and I had seen a lot of these sorts of buildings in the Netherlands last month. It was sobering then to imagine them actually in use, sheltering terrified families or as a way of firing on the enemy. These English ones had fortunately never seen that sort of action, but had been preserved as ‘a reminder of the people who were involved in the defence of Britain’.

The new clay underfoot had been made slick and treacherous with the drizzle, and I was concentrating on my footing when I was stopped by a man with his rather miserable looking wife and daughter. He asked me ‘does this path go anywhere?’ I felt like responding to this as a metaphysical question, I’d had quite a lot of deep conversations already today. But I felt that might not cheer his wife up, and presumed his query was more prosaic. They seemed pretty appalled at the idea of walking to Guildford, by then 11 miles away. And they trudged past me.

Because I’d not had the break I’d wanted earlier, my legs started to feel a bit weary. It didn’t feel like a music sort of moment, so instead I listened to Fern Brady’s autobiography. Fascinating, and a big contrast to the extraordinary WhaleFall that I finished yesterday.

The drizzle stopped, so another pause to rest and decide on my route. I’d planned to take a shortcut into Dorking, where I am staying tonight. But the cheese energy gave me the impetus to follow the path for longer. If I’d taken the shortcut, I’d have missed the glorious sight of a wedding party leaving Ranmore church, bells pealing, with the laughing bride and her dashing uniformed groom ducking through a military guard of honour, swords flashing. I didn’t quite capture the moment with my camera, but the memory is fixed.

Taking this longer route also meant I didn’t miss Denbie’s, the biggest vineyard in England. The vineyard was even complete with little road trains driving people round the estate. Most vines are bare now, but some had the fruit still hanging, damson coloured. Or grape coloured, if you will. I stood at the side of the train whilst the guide explained about the vines, learning about how old they are, and that they replace up to 10,000 plants a year. It’s a massive expanse, covering acres and acres. There is also a huge winery with accommodation and wedding venue. in fact there was a wedding on this afternoon, which meant that the hand driers were all switched off in the ladies, presumably because of noise disturbance. And it also meant I stood and washed my hands, face muddy, hair tousled and sweaty, next to a woman in full makeup and a very elegant frock. We caught each others eyes in the mirror and both burst out laughing.

And then it really rained. The visibility dropped and the water quickly tried to get up my sleeves and bother my phone. I was very glad of my new very lightweight towel for this very situation, meaning I could dry my phone and use it to navigate, as this was the first moment when I didn’t know where I was going, off the path.

Dorking seems to be a bit less affluent than the last two towns, but my pub for the night is very comfortable. And it had macarons and other treats in the room, served cheese soufflés in its excellent restaurant and even better, my room was not above the bar and there was no nightclub!

Stats

Distance travelled - 15.5 miles

Total ascent - 1461 feet

Local tipple (first alcohol for a month!)

Half of Shere Drop ale

Video of the day

https://www.relive.cc/view/vmqX9mME2ov