North Downs Way Day 8 - Thurnham to Charing

Because of various diary changes, the universe unexpectedly created the opportunity for me to put 4 consecutive days together to go walking. And the weather seemed to be settled, so I packed a lot of work in yesterday allowing me the space to leave it all behind and return to Thurnham, where I left off a couple of weeks ago. David heroically agreed to drive me, but we were stymied from making an early start by me having to pick up a new power bank. I have been having all the problems with my tech - my phone and watch are losing power by the middle of the day and my power bank disappeared somewhere on the way home from holiday last week. I needed one to be able to nurse my poorly phone and watch through the day. And then just as I was leaving, doing a last minute audit of my belongings I discovered my headphones were missing too. It felt like the universe was saying I should go with one breath, but then sucking through its teeth saying that it might be a bad idea with the other.

And finally, having picked up the new power bank by luckily having taught the child of the assistant in the shop - meaning that she went the extra mile to find it from the latest delivery, we set off. Only, half way round the M25, for me to discover that I had absentmindedly put on the trail shoes I’m going to use for the Camino, instead of the boots that are more appropriate for the North Downs Way. I decided to laugh in the face of the universe and crack on.

After starting again from the pub car park, the path began with a steep hill to the side of Thurnham castle. It was colder than I expected, and my hands were white when I reached the top of the hill. There were lots of sheep crying out in alarm to their babies as I walked past.

There followed a series of quite steep steps going up and down over the landscape’s undulations. I was possibly making a bit of a meal of one of the ascents when I bumped into Becky coming in the opposite direction. She is training for walking the Cumbrian way in a month, and was wisely searching out hills. She was the first walker I’ve seen to talk to for ages on this route, and it was lovely to chat to her about paths we’ve walked and still to walk. She had a very cool Camino tattoo too.

As we parted, she warned me that there was a lot more of up and down to come before Hollingbourne. It was good to know, my map had not really portrayed the relentlessness of them. And she wasn’t wrong. There were a lot of steps - but the smell of the wild garlic on either side of the path propelled me onwards.

A number of other sets of steps later, with my hoodie unzipped to let the steam out, the path emerged onto fields, and the sun was trying to creep out. The birds were cheerful, I was warmed up, and all was well.

A final hill for a bit, past Coldharbour Lane, a bit different to the one I’m familiar with in South London. This was a lot more pastoral, with zero chicken shops. But knowing the two places made me curious about what the name means. It seems that a coldharbour was a place used to sleep if the traveller couldn’t afford an inn, or had arrived too late and the city gates were closed. Essentially a place for wild camping. This Kentish coldharbour looked a more promising site to place your bivouac than the one in Brixton.

All the woods were bluebelltastic. And then out in the open again the fields were carpeted in swathes of cowslips.

The path ran in an enclosed section to prevent walkers taking to the field willy-nilly. Despite it still just being April, the recent good weather and the last couple of days of rain had given the hedgerow plants a boost. My summer weight trousers proved no match for enthusiastic young nettles with a point to prove.

The path alternated between little copses and covered paths with dramatic glorious open views - with the yellow rape fields and beyond it shimmery white, maybe solar farms or polytunnels, way into the distance. My Merlin app helped me to discern chiffchaffs, but then a bird I’d not heard of -  a greater white throat.  All were celebrating the sunshine.

I realised that shortly the path was going to come off the Downs and descend to the valley floor. So I took the chance to have lunch whilst I still had a good view, despite it being a bit soon in the journey. I like to wait until I’m at least half way, but our late start had meant this was only about 4 miles in. But the view was lovely, with Hollingbourne in the distance, an archetypal English village, with the church nestling in the landscape ahead of me, and the Kentish identifier of oast houses to the right.

A flurry of male walkers passed me, a group of two who were so intent on their conversation about football managers that they barely looked up, and group of four with rucksacks (day bags though, not the real McCoy like mine!) who were a bit more cheery. Replete with salmon sandwich, covered in sun cream and divested of my hoody, I moved on down the hill to the village.

Hollingbourne looks lovely, with one of the most excellently named pubs I’ve seen - ‘the dirty habit’ , a thirteenth century pub bedecked with fantastic pilgrimage themed art work. Sadly it was shut down, so no sneaky extra break for me.

The pub was appropriately named, as Hollingbourne is on the Pilgrim’s Way, which I followed for the rest of the day. This is a prehistoric path that was taken up by Henry II when he walked to Canterbury to atone for all the Thomas a Beckett business. Google argues with itself about how many pilgrims have walked it since, but it’s clearly well walked now. The North Downs Way parallels it for much of its length, and I’ve been on it a lot on this hike, but today felt especially connected to it. It speaks of its Roman origins with its directness, and there’s a pleasing calm about its chalky stone quietly taking walkers to Canterbury.

I’m a fast walker. This isn’t a thing to be proud of or ashamed of, it’s just the way my legs work. So I eventually caught up with Sarah and Andrew who were a little ahead of me. They are planning to get to Dover next week, but they are taking the Canterbury route, which will mean them sticking to the Pilgrim’s Way for longer than I will. Sarah kindly took a photo of me next to the carved pilgrim who sits watching his modern day equivalents trudging past.

I paused at the Lenham war memorial surrounded by rape fields, fragrant and bright. This cross, carved into the chalk, was the idea of the local headmaster who had taught most of the young men of Lenham killed in the First World War. It’s very moving in its simplicity.

The Pilgrims Way walks on past impassively, with the tree roots from the ancient hedges patterning the old path.

I had a sit down on some convenient fallen telegraph poles to charge my devices and have a drink, I’d not carried enough water with me today and so my thermos tea was very welcome. Sarah and Andrew eventually joined me, and we shared our longing for a pre train tea shop in Charing, and talked about the history of this ancient road. I thought about my friend Sophie, progressing on an equally ancient pilgrim’s route in France. She had got soaked yesterday, I hoped that she’d got a bit of my blue skies today. She is walking from Canterbury to Rome, raising money for Plant My Future, a charity which seeks to address the interlinked problems of climate change, biodiversity loss, and poverty.

If that speaks to you, and you wish to support her, then her just giving page is here:

https://www.justgiving.com/page/sophieholroyd

At Charing I had to divert off the path to catch my train. This was a benefit, as it meant spending time in the little town, which strongly demonstrated its historical past as an important staging post on the way to Canterbury. Sadly no tea shop though.

As I got to the station I was amazed when my watch told me my pace for the section, a mile in 17:10. That’s 3.5 miles an hour, or 5.6 km an hour. Even for my speedy legs, that’s quick. It would also account for how thirsty I was, and reminded me of a conversation with Andrew earlier about his tech telling him yesterday he needed 2.9 litres of water to replace what he’d lost from walking.

So a big bottle of ginger beer on the train to Ashford International Station at which my accommodation was for the night. And imagine my delight when I realised that I was staying opposite an independent brewery, at which I did some more fluid replacement, for medicinal reasons….

Stats

Distance travelled - 13.4 miles

Total ascent - 1200 feet

Calories burned 1700

Local tipple

Half pint of Curious Brew Lager from Curious Brewery, Ashford

Video of the day

https://www.relive.com/view/vXvL5yg2B7O