North Downs Way Day 4 - Merstham to Westerham

It’s been a while. After finishing the first three days of the ND Way in October, I had big plans for doing at least another 4 days before Christmas, maybe even finishing it. But my Achilles tendon had other ideas, developing a niggle during a run. my experience has taught me not to mess with injuries , so I was at the physio the next day, and was off long walks for a month or so. And frankly, after that the weather was so unappealing that I decided to kick the rest of the North Downs Way into 2025. So here I am, finally out doing my thing again. It’s just going to be a couple of days, squeezing it in when I can during a really busy time with work, which makes it all the more precious and exciting.

David drove me to the pub in Merstham from which he’d collected me four months ago, and drove off to Hythe with the dog for some time by the sea and maybe a bit of golf. I set off far more wrapped up than normal, with my thicker coat and ear protectors, for it was proper February cold. Though sadly not so cold that the ground was frozen. Instead it was a poor compromise, of being cold enough to lose feeling in my extremities, but warm enough for the ground to be squelchy. Mud and motorways have been the themes of today, I’ve never been far from either, crossing the M25 and going under the M23 in the first ten minutes of the walk, and running alongside motorways for the rest of the day.

I’ve done little long distance walking this year, and my lack of fitness was demonstrated as I puffed and blew up Ockley Hill, sliding around on the slope and bringing excess mud up on my boots. A runner coming up behind me swapped a rueful look with me as he skidded about too.

But despite this gruelling start, it was great to be out. In the last couple of weeks I’ve spent a lot of time at my computer doing admin for the choir festival we run. To instead be walking upright, breathing deeply and searching for secure places to put my feet, felt very good.

At the top of the hill the North Downs Way joined the Pilgrims’ Way and the steep mud was replaced with a more level gravelled track for a while. After exchanging pleasantries with cows that were safely behind a fence I was struck by a collection of machinery in a garden. I’d already gone past a couple of knackered bikes and some farm equipment merging with the soil, but this was in a different league. The remains of maybe 5 aeroplanes and a helicopter. All looked like they’d never fly again. I wonder what they were doing there. It’s one of the joys of walking, imagining what the stories are, behind the things we see.

Almost immediately there was another story to be guessed at, at Tower Farm. Within the farm grounds was a ruined tower apparently held up by ivy and historical will power. I looked it up when I got back. It was built in 1862 by Jeremiah Long. He tragically lost his son at sea, and, depending which account you believe, the tower was either a commemoration of him, or a means of seeing the sea from the top.

A welcome stretch of road walking allowed me to shake off some of the mud from my boots, though it would take more than that to dislodge it from my filthy trousers. And then back to sliding around through a woodland section, where I was puzzled by what looked like a trombone slide with extra cogs, mounted in the ground. I came to no conclusions.

My first break was after War Coppice Road. Maybe it was where trees were coppiced for timber for warships? Google has not helped me here. After a bit of a climb up Gravelly Hill the path opened to a grassy area with many commemorative benches. There was nobody else there, so I had to choose on whose bench I rested. There were tragic stories here, an 18 year old who ‘didn’t know how to stay’, love stories, one of a pilot and an air hostess who fell in love and lived in this area for over 50 years. Their bench said ‘Isn’t life beautiful? Soak it up.’

I chose Susan and Roger Deayton’s bench. There was no further information save that they loved this spot. Quite right.

After a rest and a snack I continued into woodland. My lovely friend Sophie, who is also an intrepid walker, sent me a quote a couple of days ago that is all about our experience of walking. From Mary Oliver, who wrote in her 2008 poem “Sometimes” in the collection Red Bird:

‘Instructions for living a life:

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.’

I always feel that I am paying more attention when I’m walking solo, and my ability to be astonished, or at least curious, is heightened. And in writing this blog I am telling about it. And Sophie does the same.

In this otherwise maybe not exciting patch of woodland I was paying attention and noticing the details. Of an apparently guerilla planted bush to commemorate Jackie, the dancing queen with the raucous laugh, by her grieving friends. The twinge in my Achilles that I immediately stretched and listened to, the throaty rumble of the motorway that has been a permanent feature of today. A tragic flytipped bag of children’s books, including Winnie the Pooh. But also the signs of spring. Little bluebell leaves, a first primrose and an eager catkin.

I was so busy doing Mary Oliver’s work on the smaller things that I neglected to pay attention to what might arguably be described as the bigger picture. And took the wrong turning. But ten minutes of scrambling and sliding and I was back on the path, to have a short conversation (the only one today) with a runner who thought that the QR code on my rucksack was a race bib. And thought I was in some sort of endurance race. I was surprised and a bit chuffed that he thought that might even be a possibility.

On a number of occasions today the path has run parallel to a road, diverted often steeply upwards to hilly ground at the side to stop walkers getting involved in the traffic. In the summer, when the path would be dry, I’m sure that feels like a great plan. Today, holding myself up with my poles, I looked enviously down at the tarmac running smoothly alongside me. Safety first, I suppose.

I stopped for lunch at another bench looking down over fields and the motorway towards Oxted. I wondered how it must have felt as the M25 was built into this lovely landscape, and how the aural nature of this place would have been irrevocably changed as soon as the traffic filled it. I also wondered whether my chilled fingers would be able to hold my fancy M and S sandwich. Regular readers will know of my lunch normally sadly consisting of just a cheese sandwich due to my pescatarian proclivities and a consequent lack of choice. Things have changed, as I am now back to eating some meat. Thus a cornucopia of options (including chicken and avocado - imagine!) now opens to me.

I couldn’t stay still for long as the wind was bitter over the open fields. Down some very steep and muddy steps, and then out onto a chalk path clinging to the side of the Downs. The sun was out, the sky was blue, and although only a field away from the motorway, it was very beautiful.

I passed a marker signifying the crossing of the meridian line, and then for the first time today I started to listen to my book (‘The SafeKeep’ - Yale van der Wouden. Very good, though unnervingly graphic sex scenes for listening whilst walking alongside others) to distract me from the mud and the very steep climb up Botley Hill. Not the Botley where I grew up in Oxford, whose hill was similarly steep and exhausting to climb on my way to my friend Carly’s house on our 3 gear bikes. Instead, this Botley Hill is one that is used by many people out for a stretch of their legs. Here were the most people I’ve seen today, and many in shoes that were not quite up to the task of dealing with the slope and the mud.

Down another path parallel to a road, and then out to the post apocalyptic feeling space of a recently felled woodland. These are such evocative places, and always remind me of where my leg finally gave out in the Pennines. None of those sorts of dramas today.

One more break in the Coccolith artwork, a stone shelter that beautifully inhabits the landscape, and then the path turned into a gravelled road running past a golf course and some big villa style houses.

And it opened onto the A233, from where I had planned to get a taxi into Westerham for the night. I was so glad to get there, as I was tired, cold and a little footsore, definitely feeling the effects of a tough 12.5 mile walk having done minimal training. But sadly the taxi was not to materialise, so there was another mile and a half of walking before arriving at my pub. Including another crossing of the motorway. All was forgiven when I saw that there were free chocolates and rhubarb gin in my room….

Its been a demanding day today, but deeply satisfying. I’m so glad to be back out having an adventure, and I’m looking forward to more of the same tomorrow.

Stats

Distance travelled - 14 miles

Total ascent - 1893 feet according to my Apple Watch, 1526 feet according to OutdoorActive.

Calories burned - 1,877

Local tipple - Westerham Brewery Hells Bells lager

Dinner at George and Dragon, Westerham - fantastic

Roast chicken with a ton of veg and a Yorkshire pudding as big as my head.

Crème brûlée.

Video of the day

https://www.relive.cc/view/vr63g3ddr86