Six years ago, I drove over to Lamberhurst, for the first time. I met Beth at her little studio flat, in Crown House at the bottom of School Hill. On that sunny day, we went for a walk around the Scotney Castle estate. It was a perfect day.
So perfect, in fact, that in the intervening years, we have done it again and again and again. We have trod Scotney’s criss-crossing network of paths from every angle and direction and have gathered ourselves a treasure chest of memories. As such, it means a great deal to us, and whilst we are not there as often as we were when we were staying at the flat every weekend, every time we do visit, it feels a little like coming home.
For today’s return, the sky was bright blue, and the sun shone even warmer than it had all those years ago. Due to last night’s 2-1 victory over Norway (it’s coming home), we got up late and arrived in Lamberhurst at around a quarter past twelve. We parked up outside the flat, because we’re creatures of habit, and headed up School Hill. Despite making efforts to do otherwise, we did manage to annoy a couple of golfists as we crossed the course – but at least we tried. The field beyond the church was a lot more unmanaged than last time we had walked through, full of clumps of young chestnut and an abundance of ragwort. After ducking beneath the main road and passing some snoozing shaded sheep, we hopped over the stile in to the Scotney estate.
Beyond we found that the two familiar fields were tall with long dry grass – and with no shade, it was also relentlessly hot. Historically, they had often contained sheep, as well as some once curious lambs who we had enjoyed joining on the little river Tiese, as they scampered up and down. Today though, the only motion to be seen was the waving of the grass in the blessedly blowing breeze.
As we turned the corner, dragonflies and butterflies came out in full force and fluttered about as we walked around the edges of the crop fields. The last of these was full of climbing hops, with long stretching rows full of the promise of pints to come. Thankfully, the field edges did provide some shade, which continued as we entered the Kilndown Woods. This little corner of Scotney is less well-trod than the rest, and is often quiet, which was today highlighted by the low swooping of a buzzard followed by the startlement of a deer; it was a wild five seconds. However, after passing the old pickers huts we arrived at a junction in the footpath. Of the two options, we would be taking the left one. This meant a steep climb up through the trees; which, over recent years, they have been coppicing. On our first visit, this climb at least had the benefit of shade all the way to the top: not any longer! We slogged our way up, as the sun beat at our necks and the sweat dripped for our brows. As we twisted through the trees, the only thing keeping us going was the thought of the blessed bench we knew to be awaiting us at the top. We thought it would never come. We thought we wouldn’t make it. Yet, finally, it appeared before us. We slumped our backsides gratefully onto it and enjoyed a break, taking in the view over the estate as the cool breeze did its best to tend to our heat.
It did a pretty good job too. We rose back to our boots after a few minutes, and whilst still hot, felt much more raring to go than we had done moments before. We popped briefly out the back of the estate into Kilndown before diving straight back into the trees along is southern edge. Toward the end of this stretch, just before the route turns and heads back down, there is a particular avenue of trees. The path suddenly opens up, and you find yourself walking into and vast cathedral, its glowing green canopy held aloft by a row of great wooden columns. It is a magical spot, and one that Beth and I had paused within on that first date in 2020. We sat on the same bench again today.
As we began to slowly wind our way back toward the heart of Scotney, we again found ourselves joined by butterflies. One fluttered about us, and landed briefly on my chest, and a second appeared moments later, and decided my left ear was a better spot. We came back out into the open, and spotted evidence of sheep (poo). We then smelt the sheep, and a second later, spotted them too, chilling under a tree. The flock was dotted about, all looking very relaxed, and we were even lucky enough to encounter Mrs Woolencott and Lillian pottering about the path ahead of us, stopping to munch some grass and allow us to pass. A couple of years ago, a herd of Sussex Longhorns were introduced to the area beyond, and as we crossed the Bewl, we began to keep an eye out. They are obviously docile and safe enough to have on such a public area; however, they are also massive, and rather intimidating. We have also seen them to be quite active and energetic on occasion and wanted to make sure we did not encounter them on the pinch point of the next bridge. Fortunately, they were also beneath the shade of a tree (I forgot just how enormous they are!) and we crossed the Sweetbourne in peace.
Aftter this, lunchtime was calling, and we climbed up the short hill to get some food for the good old, reliable National Trust café. I had a sausage roll, Beth had cheesy chips and we both had an ice cream for pudding – sorted. We slurped at our cones as we made our way back out into the open, and walked along the top of the field in the continuing sunshine. Before we headed back to the village, we had a particular and important tree to visit. It is an oak tree, overlooking the estate. There used to be a swing hanging from one of its boughs, which I took great joy in that day; this is the very swing that a certain black and white rabbit, and often his best friend too, enjoys regularly frequenting. We had taken our first photo together beneath this tree, and so we did the cheesy thing and tried to remake the same photo six years on.
Turning away we headed through the short patch of woods and climbed up to the very top of Scotney, where we spotted a coupe final sheep amongst the long dry grass, and then exited the estate. An open view of Lamberhurst opened up ahead of us as we made our way back toward the village. We passed a small herd of cows, carefully crossed the lower end of the golf course and walked down the middle of the long playing field. At the far end, we picked up one final track, which led us directly into the Chequers pub garden.
Beth and I have spent many a happy afternoon sitting quietly beneath the willow tree at the back beside the trickling Teise. That first date was also the first time we visited together, and we had a roast dinner each, before going to watching Return of the King at the cinema. Unfortunately, a year or so ago, the pub closed, and went up for sale. We were greatly relieved when it was reopened under new management, and have since continued to visit every now and then. Yet, there have been some changes. Inside, gone are our pink chairs we used to sit in over winter. The beer and cider selection is less interesting, whereas it used to vary regularly with different local brews. Outside, they have removed the old well and the large flower bed in the middle, and added a long deck at the back as well as a speaker system and projector (looks like they had shown the football the night before). Naturally, we preferred it how it was, and will remain in our happy memories. *However* (and it is a big however) if these changes mean that The Chequers can stay in business, and not be turned into apartments, then we’re okay with it. Despite the changes, it remains a lovely pub, and our little round table is still, just about, beneath the willow tree.
Should I die, I will know it because I will find myself walking up through the woodland toward the Devil’s Leap. It will be mid-spring, just when the Wild Garlic and the bluebells are in full bloom. After I have wound my way through the trees, accompanied to the gurgling stream below and the tinkling of bird song. I will emerge into the open, and find myself beneath a willow tree. There will be a little round table, which I will sit at. Beth will appear, walking through the garden, with a pint in each hand.
I sat there in that sunny garden, and thought about this. And the more I thought, the more I began to think that perhaps we are already there. What a lovely little life we’ve had over the last six years. And with so many still ahead, we’ve got all the time in the world; how lucky are we, to be living out our happily ever after.
I’ll meet you under the willow tree.
Full route available below.
Matthew G. Huggins 