We started at Iping Church in West Sussex, heading east towards Chithurst. In the first field behind the church, with horse trial paraphernalia in the middle and close cut grass, a dog joined us, running around and barking excitedly. He came with us as far as the stream whereby he stood in the water waiting for us to do something that usually happens when he stands in the stream.
By now the sun was out. The next field, just before Chithurst was horsey two, with new cresote fences enclosing thoughbreds, one with a very young pony.
We passed through Chithust just south of the Monastery, heading northe through an orchard of a variety of tall narrow trees, maybe being grown for towns and cities, then into a lovely meadow with views of the South Downs. The soil around here was very sandy, the paths being like those to a beach.
Then it was into the woods, Wick Wood then Hammer Wood. There was a garden open for charity so we had a look but it was more of a garden party, with creepy jazz music and men in cream suits cooking meat. We about turned, haunted by the music through the dark woods, floowing the steep bank. Very old trees. The last of the wood was managed by the monastery, where monks and nuns sit in solitude in huts among the trees. We left the woods where the nuns have their accommodation. Tibetan prayer flags in an English wood.
Then it was up the dark sunken lane and back into the sun, to follow the Lane back to Iping, home of the Invisible Man by H G Wells.
By now the sun was out. The next field, just before Chithurst was horsey two, with new cresote fences enclosing thoughbreds, one with a very young pony.
We passed through Chithust just south of the Monastery, heading northe through an orchard of a variety of tall narrow trees, maybe being grown for towns and cities, then into a lovely meadow with views of the South Downs. The soil around here was very sandy, the paths being like those to a beach.Then it was into the woods, Wick Wood then Hammer Wood. There was a garden open for charity so we had a look but it was more of a garden party, with creepy jazz music and men in cream suits cooking meat. We about turned, haunted by the music through the dark woods, floowing the steep bank. Very old trees. The last of the wood was managed by the monastery, where monks and nuns sit in solitude in huts among the trees. We left the woods where the nuns have their accommodation. Tibetan prayer flags in an English wood.Then it was up the dark sunken lane and back into the sun, to follow the Lane back to Iping, home of the Invisible Man by H G Wells.
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