The Saxon Shoreway
leg 10: Ham Street to Rye 12 miles
26 March 2005

Towards Appledore

As it was Saturday, I made an early start, and the sun was out in London as I headed for the tube. I'd planned to meet my brother and nephew at Rye, and Barn and I made contact as I waited for my train at Ashford. It was misty and warm by the time I got to Ham Street, and I walked through the village, heckled by rooks from the rookery on the outskirts.

Open country

Once I was under the A2070, the path led over fields. After the navigational errors of Tuesday, I took bearings at every change of direction throughout the walk. Which made life much easier.

This was a real sheep walk: lots of lambs gambolling about, some looked quite new born. I tried to skirt them as I followed the path.

Lambs at the milk bar

I was heading down, then up through some wonderful geometric plough patterns.

Very Andy Goldsworthy

I was approaching the tiny village of Warehorne, set on the edge of the old cliff line. Ahead was the church of St Matthew's, built on a Saxon foundation.

St Matthew's

My guide book told me that the tower had been struck by lightening in 1770, hence the 'new' build of the tower. I was greeted by a friendly local, who shuddered at the thought of walking to Rye. Once out of the village, it was back to fields, then down to cross Horsemarsh Sewer, part of the complicated irrigation works of the marsh land. I wondered if 'sewer' was an Anglo-Saxon word - when I got home and checked a dictionary, I found it was indeed an old English word. Very satisfying.

Horsemarsh sewer looking south

Now I was heading towards another church: St Mary's, Kenardington, although the village of Kendardington was a good half mile away.

The church framed by a style

There was a slight incline up to the church, but in Saxon times this would have been sea and the river Rother, now diverted to the south. The church was lapped by the river, and was fortified against the Danes.

St Mary's

The church was open, and I joined a couple of walkers having a look. A parishioner was arranging flowers for Easter: she said that the church had just about warmed up after winter. It was very white and spare inside, with fine beams holding the ceiling. I wandered outside to admire the enclosed steps leading to the tower.

Tower with outer steps

I headed out and there was a slow incline upwards for the next mile or so. It was sunny and warm, and I was down to my base layer again.

Pine tree over style

There was a slight dip in the path, and after a few steps down into a wooded ghyll, it was back up into the sunlight again.

Down and up...

Once I'd crossed a minor road, there was a clear path through a field of oil seed rape. Leaving nothing to chance, I took a bearing even though the way was clear. I met a couple of walkers heading in the opposite direction, and we congratulated ourselves on the fine weather.

Clear path

Now the shoreway rose upwards slowly, and I came to a little hillock that I instantly named the grassy knoll. At 26 metres, it was the highest spot in the landscape. I settled down to have a cup of coffee, and drank in the view.

My grassy knoll

Ahead was Appledore, but it was obscured by the mist. After a 10 minute break, I headed down the slope towards the village. As I got close, I met a couple of (novice?) walkers, who were setting out towards Warehorne. We greeted each other cheerfully: I hope they have many happy miles walking.

Fine sign

Appledore is strung along one main street, called, practically, The Street. At the far end was a pub and church. An information board outside the church told of what an invaded village this once was. It was sea-locked, and everyone wanted it. The Danes turned up first, until they were booted out by Alfred, then the French arrived in 1380 and burned the church. And it seems that the Appledoreans were a bit uppity themselves: they signed up for the Peasant's revolt, and later joined Jack Cade's army. As I read this, I thought, 'Who the hell is Jack Cade?' Turns out he led a rebellion in 1450 and was angry about a lot of things. Shakespeare has him in Henry VI.

St Peter's, Appledore

Dragging myself away from mediaeval rebellions, I headed right, out of the village and over a field to Mill Mound, once the site of a windmill. Then it was downhill to bullrushes growing in the creek.

From Mill Mound

...and down by Reading Sewer

Just under half a mile further on, I reached the road, and the bridge at Stone Ferry. Once there was a ferry here to take people over the river Rother to the Isle of Oxney. Again, the contour lines on the map show how this was once cut off from land.

Stone Ferry

Just round the corner, the Ferry Inn has a fine list of tolls. A penny per pig, but 1/6 for a char-a-banc. Ah, the days out of yesteryear.

Pay here

Another mile and I was into the village of Stone in Oxney. Or so I thought. There was a beautiful sign that told me I was actually in Stone cum Ebony, which from the map, seemed to be the parish name. But I loved the sign, with hare and frog and heron.

Ox for Oxney

There was a steady push uphill next, through the village and up to the church of St Mary's, basking in the sun with magnolia and primroses blooming. For once, I didn't pause to investigate the church: I'd planned to stop for lunch a little further on, and I wanted to stay on time target. Checking in the guide book later, I realised I'd missed a Roman shrine...I'll have to come back one day.

St Mary's in the sun

I think I'll remember the next bit of the walk as one of the highlights of the whole shoreway. The path took me over the road, and the whole landscape opened out.

Down to Stone Cliff

Although it was still quite misty, I could see far out over the Rother levels, and I was standing on what would once have been the cliff side. The land fell back down to sea level, and I had a panoramic view to the south and west. Fantastic. I found a nice ridge in the warm sun and unpacked my lunch, imagining what the view would have been a thousand years ago.

The view west from my lunch ridge

I took a leisurely half hour for lunch, and marvelled at the view and how it must have changed. And I picked out my route between the irrigation channels. At one point I was dive bombed by the most enormous bumble bee, who took up a lodging in my base layer, much to my horror. But he buzzed off once I'd found him.

Looking back up Stone Cliff

It was time to head off: I took a bearing and followed the path all the way down to 2m above sea level. I kept looking back up the cliff to marvel at the geography.

Sea level

The path was now flat - and would remain that way until I got to Rye. I passed parallel to Cliff March farm, and a small brick shed. I took one last look at the cliff where I'd stopped.

Cliff in the distance

Now it was time to rejoin the Royal Military Canal, and as I got close, I spotted the sign that told me I was leaving Kent with its excellent waymarking. I think the stone pillar is an old county boundary mark.

Bye bye Kent, hello East Sussex

It was a few hundred metres before I found the footbridge that took me over the road to the canal.

Footbridge ahead

I was making good time, and all I had to do now was follow the canal all the way into Rye. The path was bumpy at first, but got kinder as I approached Iden Lock, where the Rother joins the canal. Here I crossed over so that I was walking on the east side. Already I could tell the difference between Kent waymarks (excellent) and the Sussex variety (dodgy).

Iden Lock

I passed a group of caravans and tents pitched by the side of the canal, and a group of people soaking up the sun, while a family chugged up the water in a big rubber dinghy. On the other side, sheep safely grazed, to paraphrase Bach.

Looking over to Iden cliffs

Then Rye appeared in the haze: I could just make out the church at the top of the town.

Rye in the distance

The banks of the canal/river now looked much more like a river, and the corrugated mud gleamed in the afternoon sun.

Glorious mud

After a couple of miles, I was at the railway bridge - I wondered if I'd cross it again on the way home. (I did.) There was a great bush of Ribes sanguineum - looks wonderful, smells like cat pee.

Flowering red currant by the railway bridge

I had to stoop to get under the bridge, and then I was into what really looked like a harbour (although Rye harbour proper is further downstream). Herring gulls screamed a welcome.

The outskirts of Rye

I reached the road bridge and crossed into the town. Just as I was skirting the footpath by the Town Salts, my phone rang. Barn said, 'Look up at the town walls,' and there he was, with Nathan, waving. He came down to greet me, and we walked back up to the wall.

My brother Barn and nephew Nathan 

Barn wisely suggested a cup of tea, and Nathan presented me with a card and lovely chicken full of baby choccy eggs. We headed along the High Street to find a tea shop that had a free table.

Looking up Mermaid Street

Rye is stuffed with wonderful buildings - although Nathan was much more interested in the road signs.

The old hospital

The church at the top of the town is undergoing repairs, and on a fine day at Easter, was crawling with visitors. Rye became really important in the 14th century, although it came off badly in the 100 years war. Now that the sea is so far away, it's hard to imagine its strategic importance.

St Mary's church

Finally it was time for that cuppa, and a big slice of chocolate cake for Nathan.

Nathan demonstrating patience

After we had rehydrated, Barn and Nathan led me back to the station, past more lovely buildings.

The old grammar school

I nipped into the Rye Chocolate Shop to get eggs for Barn and Nathan, then we walked down to the station.

What a wonderful leg!  I'd made very good time, thanks to steady navigation and fewer climbs, and the weather had been perfect. The sense of history was palpable all along the 12 miles, and my lunch stop was the best yet. And now there's only one more leg to go...152 miles down, and 11 to go.