Station to Station – Up Walk to London Crowhurst to Battle

2. Crowhurst to Battle

17th April 2026

OS Explorer 124

Up Around the Bend

This was the second leg of my attempt to walk the line from Hastings to London (or at least the suburbs). Having walked the six miles from West St Leonard’s Station to Crowhurst the week before, this leg would be shorter, arcing from the station at Crowhurst, west, and then north and east back into Battle, and to some extent mirroring the path of the mainline running half a mile or so to the east. A view from above shows its Charles carton ear-like characteristics.

The Battle map

I parked up near Crowhurst station. Thinking ahead, as these locations get further from Hastings, I don’t fancy driving long distances for the sake of what is essentially a narcissistic leisure activity. Too many petrol miles to justify, but for the moment I can live with a few miles for a quick start.

An option at the station could have been to go directly north and approach Battle from the southeast, but it looked a bit short on the map and as it was a glorious day I was up for a prolonged wander. Starting downhill along Station Road and passing an eclectic range of mid-20th century houses, the verge splattered with bluebells and primroses, I was full of positivity, which I can report from the outset, lasted for the next two hours.

St George’s Church – from Forewood Lane.

And one of the reasons was because of this.

Ancient U

In the previous report (that would be number 1), I briefly mentioned that a hard core group of activists have, some might say heretically, argued that the Battle of Hastings in September 1066 did not happen at the official English Heritage site located in Battle (clues in the name I guess), but somewhere near Crowhurst (other “conspiracy” theories are available). I have an open mind on the subject, but in any case, the main point of interest in the graveyard of St George’s Church is its ancient yew tree (pictured above). Estimated to be 1300 years old it would have been a mere sapling at the time William marched his troops from Pevensey Bay (or Bulverhythe, or Hastings – take your theory pick), and up this, or maybe the next or previous valley. Whatever, it was there then and perhaps people then already marvelled that it was 300 years old.

Now this would be impressive (well it is but there’s a spoiler coming). Thirty odd miles to the north, in Surrey, there is a village called err… Crowhurst, just down the road from South Godstone. It has a church too. It too is called St George’s. I’ve never been there, but it has a yew tree that is thought to be 4000 years old. That’s 2000 years before the Romans arrived! I just don’t believe it but if true then our East Sussex St George’s church in Crowhurst yew tree is frankly embarrassing and unworthy of the blue plaque it sports. It is also important to be aware that if anyone happens to read this and feels the burning need to follow this walk, not to make the cardinal mistake of starting in the wrong Crowhurst. The following account will instantaneously become redundant and could lead to unintended consequences. (I just have to say this to cover myself and avoid potential litigation).

A yew trees view of Harold’s Manor house

Having viewed the old log I returned to the road and turned right at the church gate, pursued by a black cat which shooed me off the premises. A few metres along I turned right up a signed footpath and onto a track between a handful of old buildings. About 100 metres and on the left the gutted remains of the old manor house, now incorporated by the surrounding buildings and making a pleasant walled garden.

The remains of Harold’s manor house, probably a later rebuild fashioned by a Norman baron.

The origins of this structure are a bit hazy. The “official” narrative is that it was built by a Norman in around 1250. And there is no reason to believe otherwise. Except, in the YouTube video about the disputed site of the Battle of Hastings, it gets a mention. How so? The suggestion is (and it does seem to be the case) that the then Earl, Harold Godwinson, later to be King Harold the second, had his own manor in the area, and that it might have stood on this very spot. Well, who’s to say, and I don’t know, but there is very little online information to be found. Surprisingly, about the only small entry on the Historic England Missing Pieces Project is a photograph taken by the one and only Nick Austin, who, if you have read the previous account, will know, is one of the main heretical Battle of Hastings site sceptics!! And again, who am I to say? Just saying.

The track continued on through fields and directly north. The valley to my left looked impressive, with a very orderly group of trees at the top of the hills to the south.

A regiment of trees crest the hilltop

Passing through a gap in a hedge the track headed straight across a large undulating field and then down to a small bridge that passed over the western arm of the Powdermill Stream (western arm).

Powdermill Stream

Footpaths carried on north on both banks. I chose the eastern bank and then over a style and into a wide, long meadow with the Fore Wood nature reserve to the north, looking spectacular with new growth peeking through and with the stream to my left.

The end of the meadow – an enchanted vale

It felt like a small piece of paradise, and I was in no rush to reach the far side. Naturally, too soon I reached the end and now headed into the woods. A man with two large but passive dogs approached and we agreed that it was a beautiful spot. Bluebells and wild garlic disappeared up through the undergrowth in all directions.

You’ll need to imagine the pungent smell from the wild garlic

Continuing on a winding and undulating path through the woods and just to the right of the stream, surprisingly wide at this point, the idea that I was within a mile of Battle’s suburbs seemed absurd.

The path eventually spilled out at a bridge back over the stream, which I crossed and started up a bank that led to a small road. I should say that by joining the path in Fore Woods I had stumbled onto the 1066 Country Walk – Bexhill Link, and by turning right onto the road I was going to continue on this route for the rest of the journey (I think). A short walk up through more woods and I arrived at a large old manor house affair. I took the road to the right, moving north and headed back down into a glade which crossed back over the Powerdermill Stream, much wider at this point and where it felt like a mill might have once stood.

If you are ever lost, but presented with pylons and possess a map, you are found

The road headed uphill again, with occasional large houses to the right. By now I was expecting to encounter urban sprawl at any moment, but instead the road wound down again and then through a cluster of old and new buildings that seemed to go under the collective identity of Peppering Eye. The background was to this nomenclature was unclear, but of course somewhere in the neighbourhood, nearly 1000 years ago, being peppered in the eye was definitely something to be avoided. This was a very chic location, with all the hallmarks of past and present affluence. Several buildings stood out but I was quite taken by the old oast house (or was it a windmill?).

Interesting! Word, is trying to autocorrect oast to “oust!” So much for regional AI nuance.

Beyond the buildings the road continued with heath type land rising to the right but across the valley to the left, fields of rape gloriously shining effervescent up the western slopes.

The definition of perfection

Guess what? It was now hot and I was down to my t-shirt, the first time this year and it felt joyous. I was in a place where, for just a while, I wasn’t thinking of or being troubled by my own difficulties (just life things) but more significantly, Donald Trump and his warmonger minions. I suppose for balance I should add the Iranians, Israelis, Hezbollah and the rest, but one way or another the recently self-released image of the Donald as Christ (no, sorry, as a “doctor”) had inflicted a new low point on humanity.

Anyway, I wasn’t thinking about any of that when I reached the junction with Telham Lane and turned left. Just past the Telham Lane Borehole (I made a mental note to remember this place for when the tap water runs out later in the summer) I crossed over Powdermill Lane (B2095) and up onto a footpath above the road to the right and the expanse of the Powdermills Hotel on my left. Only I had been under the impression that it had closed some time last year. Seems it had but has reopened as Crafted at Powdermills. A massive new carpark and high-end sporting facilities, but also allotments and a slightly alternative feel amongst the 4 by 4’s and SUVs. Good luck to it.

At the top of the path, I crossed the back road into the facility and back onto the path that led through some modern barns and then into fields. To my right a fence indicated private property, and as the path led back up another hill the landowner’s details emerged.

Smile…you’re on English Heritage CCTV

English Heritage! Holders of the flame. 1066 and all that. I stopped a moment and looked around for the CCTV camera. I wasn’t going to enter (I’d been before) but it did strike me as all being a bit absurd. If we take it as read that the land beyond the gate and fence was where the Battle of Hastings took place, why have we put a fee-paying barrier around it? Whilst the battle itself was a relatively small-scale affair compared with other medieval wars, and those beyond in the East, it can be argued that the result itself was one of the most pivotal in world history. The immediate impact of the Norman conquest completely changed the British Isles (England up to that point was considered a model of administrative modernity in Europe at the time), by imposing an entirely new and ruthless political and landowning class. As the centuries passed the spirit of Norman expansionism and its internal disputes between the landowning class and the monarchy slowly shaped the legislature and colonial ambition that was ultimately exported around the world, for good or bad. Had Harold’s army won the day it would have all been very different.

And so, this most important of sites, essentially a field with some impressive, but not valuable old ruins, can only be seen by shelling out £15 if you’re an adult and £7 for a child. I’d make it free. Magna Carta and all that (except that’s somewhere else).

At the top of the hill a solitary Chestnut tree crowned the crown and framed by a blue sky with scudding clouds.

A look back on where I’d been

The track continued around the side of the Battle Abbey site and towards the end a small path edged around the backs of the High Street buildings with a cricket pitch on the left and warning signs that anyone not a member, but found using the nets, was trespassing. The message was clear.

I followed a lane through to the High Street and with enough time to spare I stopped for a coffee at Bonnie’s Bistro. Sitting outside in the heeling sun, and with an endless stream of traffic for entertainment, I played a game of “spot the normal car”. It was only as I took the last sip that eventually an old-style Fiat 500 slipped by without having to slow down or navigate awkwardly to avoid lateral damage.

Within striking distance

Having dispatched the caffeine, I rounded the high walls of the Abbey, then down Upper Lake and right onto Lower Lake and to the slip road for the station.

Turn left before the Railway Inn

A short walk along the approach and the station presented overlooking a large carpark.

The station building

The plaque

A fine building with a plaque that confirmed it, but its fine rustic detail diminished by the sprawling car park laid waste in front.

With a bit of time, I bought a single to Crowhurst, popped over the footbridge to the down platform, sat without peeking at my phone for ten minutes and looking down the line and at the trees instead, reflecting on what an excellent walk it had been.

Crowhurst bound

Back in the car, the tune that accompanied me home seemed very appropriate. A top day.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AB-2XnsRDhs&list=RDAB-2XnsRDhs&start_radio=1

Station to Station – Up Walk to London West St Leonards to Crowhurst

Introduction and first leg.

1. West St Leonard’s to Crowhurst

4th April 2026

OS Explorer 124

I had been thinking about this for a while. I live in Hastings. The direct railway to London runs north by northwest up through the countryside of East Sussex, Kent and then Greater London. Apart from seeing it all through the windows of a train on the occasional trip up to London and back, many of the areas are remote, and not obviously places to visit unless you have good reason to. In a moment of enlightenment, I realised that I could investigate these places by starting out at a station en-route, walking a few miles to the next station, and then jumping on a train back to the start point.

That moment was about two years ago, and with lots of life issues occupying my time, it was filed in the “maybe sometime” folder. Until the 4th of April 2026, when I woke to see a fine mizzle varnishing the street outside, after a forecast that had promised fair weather. The opportunity to procrastinate was tempting, but I had been bogged down in a blizzard of family issues since the start of the year, and with only a small window to stretch my legs and shake off the moribund (in more senses than one), I grabbed a coat and set off for West St Leonard’s station, intent on starting the task by walking as close as I could to the main line towards the small village of Crowhurst, the next stop on the line.

Start to Finish – Follow the spine of the seahorse. Made with ancient recently rediscovered paper

The fine mizzle remained. I stood on the nearby road bridge that spans the Eastbourne and Victoria station line to the south.

The Bo Peep signal box and entrance to Bo Peep tunnel. Mizzleable

But first, a minor digression. This exercise should, if being a purist, start at Hastings station. Hastings and St Leonard’s (they used to be separate identities but are now joined at the hip and for the purpose of local government administration are known collectively as Hastings), are blessed by four stations. There used to be two more, one to the west at Bulverhythe called Glyne Gap Halt, which is long gone and now houses a retail park, the other, just to the west of the bridge I was standing on, and very first, was Hastings and St Leonard’s station, opened in 1846 (later renamed West Marina station). The remains of this important railway feature now rests peacefully under a huge TK Max.

The four remaining stations are, from east to west, Ore, Hastings, St Leonard’s Warrior Square (my start point). Ore is situated high in the eastern suburbs and falls outside the orbit of this exercise, mainly because it serves a different route. The line out of Hastings to Ore heads off through a long tunnel dug into the sandstone and then delightfully across the marshes to Rye before terminating at Ashford. In recent years there have been calls for this single-track line to be upgraded to a High-Speed line from London. Whilst it would be great to have a fast train from Hastings to London, I think we can say that there’s more chance of the International Eurostar station reopening at Ashford before that becomes a thing. Ore has one distinction. Many confused travellers will have stood at Charing Cross or London Bridge stations searching in vain and then missing their train to Hastings because many of the Hasting’s trains don’t actually terminate at Hastings, but at Ore, a place almost everyone on the planet who isn’t from Ore, will never have heard of.

For anyone desperate or daft enough to follow in my weary footsteps, the correct place to start this sojourn would be at Hastings station. My first encounter with Hasting station (before it was modernised) was in 1980. After a Friday night session at a pub near to the bookshop I was working at the time, I boarded a train bound for East Croydon (or was it?) and sometime later was woken by a British Rail employee and asked to leave the train. Clearly it wasn’t one of the trains that went onto Ore. Somewhat befuddled, I dismounted the train to find myself on the platform at Hastings! Asking the group of attendants when the next train to London might be, they proceeded to crease up like the Cadbury’s Smash aliens (if you don’t know what I mean check them out online) and then told me it would be six in the morning. Exhausted, I looked across the platforms and could see the sign of a nearby hotel. Being after midnight, I rationalised that I’d missed my window of opportunity, and so instead tried to get some kip in the platform waiting room. Good idea? It should have been. Instead, for the next few hours a solitary gull perched on the adjacent bench and proceeded to squawk and screech its hideous call for the rest of my time. I caught the first train back to London and was the first in work that Saturday morning, but the gull had got to my central nervous system, and I swore never to return.

From Hastings station the options are to walk along the hilly and relatively indifferent back roads, or head straight to the seafront and then along the front for a mile to St Leonard’s Warrior Square station, set back a few hundred metres from the sea, and the locally popular Goat Ledge cafe. There’s no point trying to follow the line between the two stations because it’s buried deep down in a mile long tunnel. More on tunnels at another time perhaps – they matter here.

St Leonard’s Warrior Square (originally Gensing station, opened in 1847) sits at the top of the bohemian Kings Road. Small independent shops are stuffed to the gunnels with miscellaneous everything ever made before 1980. The station itself nestles snugly between the Hastings tunnel heading east, and the equally impressive Bo Peep tunnel, that heads nearly a mile to the west, and under the old colonial affluence of St Leonard’s, with its Georgian, Victorian and Edwardian piles (some in the Scottish baronial style) chaotically scattered across the high ground above the seafront. Hilly roads take you up and down quirky streets where independent shops, some art galleries and more outlets selling junk and second-hand stuff (called brocantes here abouts), through to antiques, and a range of hospitable pubs and eateries can swallow an hour or two. If that’s not your bag, and you just want to get walking from Warrior Square to West St Leonard’s, head south to the coast and then west past the impressively art-deco (debate) Marina Court, along the front with the very early Georgian facade, The Marina Fountain public house (good music) and then right and up the hill on West Hill Road and a final left into St Vincents Road.

Anyway, I’ve done those legs many times, so let’s start. And yes, I must have forgotten that terrible night with the gull, because decades later I moved here.

Digression over. From the station I set off west on St Vincents Road, and to the junction with Filsham Road. To the right is a bridge over the tracks and good views back into the station and on the other side an arc in the track looping away to the northwest and London. I crossed over at the zebra crossing and joined the public footpath that heads down and then along the south of the line. To the left lies the large Filsham Valley school and its grounds. To avoid congestion, stay clear of this area mid-afternoon and chucking out time.

At the bottom of the rise a became aware of a stream running between the track and the path. I smelt it before I saw it. From the stench I concluded that an unauthorised release may have taken place, and I quickly diverted from the path into the adjacent grass field, with woods climbing up to a ridge beyond. *

Beyond the field the path rose into the woods, and slowly back above the tracks. An elaborate footbridge allowed access over the line and to houses on the other side. Again, almost certainly a place to be avoided when the kids get out of school.

Vape Central before and after school

Another two or three hundred meters on and the path emerged onto the Harley Chute Road, and the second road bridge over the lines.

I promise the pictures get better – Harley Chute Road

The footpath continued on the other side of the road, but the view was instantly, and surprisingly, all country.

Goodbye to the suburbs

Within minutes the sound from the streets had receded, replaced by the chirps and cheeps of Blue Tits and Robins, which occasionally darted in front and above. Wild garlic, occasional primroses, delicate white but unidentified white flowers and clumps of bluebells coloured the quickly awakening birch and hawthorn woodland. The path fell back down and gradually away from the railway before heading back up and to a foot crossing.

Sensible Instruction number 1: Cross without stopping

I didn’t cross but continued to the south where the path diverged quickly from the line and down. At a junction in a dell, I bore right and back up through the woods. With the railway some distance away, the path continued through delightful woods. The rain had finally stopped, and occasional patches of blue sky appeared.

The buffer zone – Marsh Woods

With the path heading on up and into a field, and then another, views opened to the south. A glimpse of the sea and the higher ground above Bulverhythe, which, I believe only exists because it was once the area’s landfill site, now being blended back into nature, and an area I ought to explore a bit further on my next visit to the nearby recycling centre.

Manmade

At the end of the second field, I emerged onto the Crowhurst Road (so I knew I must have been on the right track, although the actually track was back and passing under the adjacent road bridge).

A gull and a buzzard were fronting it up above the tracks. You’ll have to take my word for it

Taking the Crowhurst Road northwest past Upper Wilting Farm and then under Combe Valley Way, a wide direct new link road running between the north of Hastings and Bexhill but shamefully lacking a bike lane (there’s just no excuse). Crowhurst Road continued downhill, with the odd passing car, over a stream, before climbing again past Lower Wilting Farm to the right and then to the top of the valley before heading directly north and down.

Just at the point, where the road veers to the north, I crossed the old bridge and high above the long disused Crowhurst, Sidley and Bexhill railway. Below, through the trees and undergrowth, the evidence of a well-used footpath.

The old track

Past the sign to Adam’s Farm, and through the trees the view extended to the southwest and over the filter beds that can be seen for miles, and from day to day, depending on the weather, are either flooded or bone dry.

Adams Farm and the filter beds beyond

Continuing down the Crowhurst Road, and to the right, an entrance to the Crowhurst Nature Reserve took me back into nature and eventually to the bottom of the disused railway, which at this point was clearly never going to operate again.

Water and leaves on the lines

Keeping on through the heavily wooded reserve, any evidence of the old line had clearly gone. After a few minutes and a large tree ahead sported a sign suggesting that further progress was unwelcome.

Private property – Keep Out

A tad annoying, but with evidence of a well-trod footpath continuing beyond the old oak I quickly forgot that I had seen any sign at all and here the bluebells and primroses flourished.

Blooming Spring

Eventually my luck ran out. I had assumed that it would be possible to walk the entire length of the old line, but a large fence cut straight across the path. I tacked to the right, hoping that this was just a temporary glitch, but it wasn’t to be. Heading back down to the bottom of the cutting a much larger sign on the fence emphasising the private property angle and that CCTV cameras were deployed convinced me that there was no point continuing. Not least because although some vague tracks led on, the dense undergrowth was enough to dissuade me.

You shall not pass

I headed back along the fence and then spilled out onto a rough vehicle track. Unsure exactly where I was, I decided to go right, and towards a path marked on the map that hinted at an old bridge over the cutting. The noise from some sort of mechanical equipment became louder as I plodded up the track, and then just around a corner a small digger came into view, scrapping away at the track. Reaching the mini digger the operator in the cab switched off the engine and opened the door. I had expected to be given short shrift and be advised to retreat but I was wielding my Ordnance Survey map and led from the front. “Am I lost?”

The man smiled and we started a conversation. He had just moved into the amazing looking Tudoresque white cottage just beyond and was flattening the track so that the family car could negotiate the hazardous central hump. It seemed that they owned most of the surrounding land and I asked if that included the railway cutting. He confirmed they did, adding that I may have seen some warning signs. I wasn’t quite sure how to answer, but before I did, he immediately became my favourite person on the planet by proclaiming that he was going to take them all down!!! Liberating his own land for the rest of us being about the most enlightened thinking in an age when walls are going back up. He was a good guy, and I moved on towards the public footpath with a spring in my step. By the way, the digger was called Ken.

The foot path was to the right of the track and headed uphill, crossing the old line on a heavily vegetated brick bridge.

Looking down at the old line through the ivy

The path was something of a muddy stream and to make progress I grabbed the branch of a shrub, instantly feeling pain on the inside of one of my fingers. I didn’t think much of it until I took a quick look, and the red stuff was expressing freely down between my two middle fingers. Whilst slipping slowly back down the muddy path I somehow managed to manipulate a tissue from my pocket and squeeze it to the wound and realising in the moment that whatever the shrub was, it had managed to pierce the fleshy bit on both fingers.

At the top of the climb the path bled out onto another farm track. Taking a right the public footpath reappeared to the left heading up through more woods. This old track, presumably once a vital rural highway serving the small community of Green Street above, was also the conduit for a running stream, which made the whole track something of a quagmire. With my bleeding fingers, reaching out for additional support was not an option, so I tiptoed on up trying my best to avoid my boots being overwhelmed.

Eventually I reached the top and over a stile leading to the small road through Green Street.

Narnia beyond the stile

The small cluster of traditional Sussex buildings felt like a lost community, hidden away from the nearby urban sprawl of Hastings. Neat.

Evidence of a past industry

With the flow of blood now mainly checked my focus was now on reaching Crowhurst Station and the next hourly train. I knew I was quite close, but also that the route headed away from the destination before tracking back.

The narrow road headed northeast and gradually downhill. At the foot of the descent the road crossed over the mainline, last encountered at Upper Wilting Farm only a kilometre or so to the south. At the far side a fine old building, built from large stones and more reminiscent of the North rather than old Sussex.

Unsurprisingly perhaps the bridge is called Stonehouse Bridge.

Looking north on the Stonehouse Bridge

The road lurched to the left and then began to climb back out to the northeast, but another track heading directly north and between two large fields full of yellow rape was what I plumped on. Within a minute I heard the sound of yapping dogs, quickly came into sight with their owner. Not only the first dog walker so far, but apart from the man operating Ken the digger, the only person I had met at all! The dogs were so small I think my modest size was intimidating enough and they behaved. A brief word with the owner, agreeing that it had turned out to be a lovely day, and I carried on up. After 2 to 300 metres the track was crossed by another. Beyond, to the right, the entrance to a small abode with land. I wasn’t entirely certain about my whereabouts in the field and decided to turn left and follow the track heading west. Another 200 metres across the field of rape and on the left a large pond surrounded by trees that brought a slightly continental feel to the land.

The view from the pond (which for some reason I didn’t record)

Carrying on down and eventually back into some woods, crossing over another stream. The path wound around and suddenly, ahead, the gaping mouth of a corrugated tunnel driven under the mainline. I was back on track, almost literally, but had to overcome the slight nervousness of the tunnel challenge.

Oh well, it had to be done

I’d missed the guided tour

Emerging back into the light I knew where I was. Some months earlier I had been here with a couple of friends (more shortly) where we had pondered on whether the derelict railway bridge that now rose in front of me, went over, or under the old Crowhurst to Bexhill railway. It took almost fifteen minutes for the three cleverest brains in the land to conclude that it must have passed over, or maybe under?

The correct answer is – over.

A large field opened to the right and towards some woods before heading down and with luxury yurts to rent in a field on the left. At the foot of the incline a small bridge over the eastern arm of Powdermill Stream, and then the path began another gradual climb, with a hill rising across a field to the right and a line of trees at the top.

Try to use your imagination here

Months earlier, with my two friends, we had ambled along this track, looking repeatedly across this field, pointing out relevant features and satisfying ourselves that we were in the right place. The right place being the alternative site of the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Some months earlier, one of my friends had mentioned to me that he had been watching a YouTube programme about a local activist group, led by Nick Austin, who passionately explained why the official site, at Battle, could not have been the site, and that the custodians, English Heritage, knew this but were too heavily invested in their asset to acknowledge any notion of an alternative site. Incredibly, given that I rarely watch anything on YouTube, I immediately knew what he was talking about because only the day before I too had watched the same programme (which for the life of me I can’t now locate). We agreed that at some point in the future we would visit the identified alternative location and see for ourselves. And that led to three of us standing in this field and satisfying ourselves that the evidence, based on the topography, was compelling.

But, since that short battlefield amble, I had delved further into the subject. There is indeed a wide-ranging debate amongst enthusiasts and historians about where the battle may have taken place. I have no intention of examining them here (it’s all on the Net) but the problem for the official site in Battle is, apart from the Abbey built by William some years after 1066, there has never been any physical evidence of a battle in Battle. The race is on to find some evidence, anywhere. There are at least two main alternatives. Where we had stood was one of them. Except that my further research, which included Nick Austin and his crew, seemed to suggest that their proposed site, err… lay about a mile to the north and on the other side of the mainline. How we had collectively managed to go to a completely different, random location, suddenly struck me as hilarious, but also astonished by the realisation that we had discovered a third possible site. If only we had found a medieval stirrup! The search continues.

The track headed on down into Bucklebridge Farm. Beyond I was just able to make out the ancient church and remains of an old manor house, thought to have once been owned by King Harold (though obviously not for long).

The old manor house and the church tower to the right

I emerged onto Station Road, quickly checked my watch and saw that I had nine minutes to get up the steep hill and to the station itself. I was surprised that I had managed to get to this point with a chance of the train, but as John Cleese once said it’s not the despair, but the hope. Legging it up the road, it occurred to me that it was much longer than I had remembered, but against the odds I made the ticket machine, was able to work out how to buy a single ticket back to West St Leonard’s on my first attempt, and then popped over the bridge to the down platform.

Looking north at Crowhurst station

Four minutes passed before the train rolled in and I, and the one other customer, left town.

One for the buffs 375 825

Minutes later and I was back at West St Leonard’s – with the train heading off towards the Bo Peep tunnel and the last leg to Hastings.

And away – to Hastings

Outside West St Leonard’s station and the mizzle had gone

A short drive back home but with the iPod on random, the sound of Weller seemed to encapsulate the day. I hadn’t heard it in years. Using all the tricks in his book the main man at his finest.

*A few days ago, and before I posted this, a reel popped up on my phone. I don’t look at reels, but from what I could see it was my local MP reporting a sewage outage into the Hollington Stream and posted on the 18^{th of} April. In hindsight perhaps I should have reported my concerns after the walk, but clearly my nose hadn’t lied.