Eastbourne to Birling Gap and back

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Day two of my walk with my old friends, and this time we musketeers woke early to blue skies and an unexpected sunshine. It was an early start for we had to finish at lunch time so, boots on, yesterday’s muscles consigned to the ‘do not disturb’ pile and rictus grins on our faces we headed up. Always up. And then a bit more up.

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Beachy Head lighthouse

Beachy head loomed high above us, patchworked by gorse and brambles and meadows of orchids alongside the golf course where the women of Eastbourne were taking their exercise. Dogs and butterflies abounded even at this early hour; at least with butterflies you don’t have to dodge their faeces. Back in another life when my family bred butterflies and moths we called caterpillar poo ‘fras’ which was short for something (the Archaeologist will tell us in the comments I imagine). I was rather squeamish about cleaning out the cages back then but, looking back, post children and dogs, what was I worried about?

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Orchids and buttercups galore

Thinking about butterflies hereabouts is a real memory jogger. Days out with my parents and the Archaeologist were always determined by (a) could we picnic somewhere off the beaten track; (b) could we hunt for a special butterfly or look for a specific moth caterpillar; and (c) was there a pub serving decent (i.e. not keg) beer(this being my father’s requirement)?

You may not know what keg beer is so, in time honoured fashion, I shall digress. The breweries, post WW2 began to consolidate into the sort of behemoths that Amazon is today to books and Piers Morgan is to egos. Consolidation was great for them (with their public houses ‘tied’so they could only sell that brewery’s beer) and shit for the customer. Economies of scale and industrial scale brewing meant the idea of beer maturing in its cask was a non starter. It would be off before it reached the pub. So it was carbonated and weakened. The concept of a session beer was developed (you could keep drinking it for a whole session and not render your liver into pate). The result was a massive disillusionment with the brewing industry. It led to jokes such as:

What’s the similarity between Watney’s Red Barrel (a classic keg beer) and making love in a  punt?

They’re both fucking close to water.

This disillusionment led to one of the great social constructs of the late 20th century: the single issue pressure group, in this case CAMRA – or the Campaign for Real Ale.  It worked; cask conditioned ale returned; beer that made you belch like a gross of cucumbers disappeared and the beer tie was eventually smashed. On the down side the number of country pubs has dwindled alarmingly and are now as rare a sight as elms and much loved politicians. The law of unintended consequences, huh?

Back then, the real priority was the picnic spot. For the spot to be acceptable we needed one thing. Exclusivity. On one occasion not far from where I was now walking, I was asked to do something I was never ever asked to do before or after: turn on my radio (I always carried my transistor) find Radio One and turn it up to an unconscionable volume. No one I’m my family was musical and none of them liked anything more modern than 1945, least of all the Archaeologist whose musical taste was, and remains limited to thirteenth century suicide pact ensemble pieces for harpsichord and garrotte. The aim of this extraordinary musicological change of heart? A harmless couple who had settled down for a cuppa in one of our favoured spots. The assessment that their musical tastes did not embrace the Stones, Floyd or even Harry Nilsson was well founded. After a few glares, a lot of harrumphing but no outward complaints (clearly they were British) they left. ‘You can turn down that cacophonous caterwauling right now, boy.’ Thanks dad.

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The Bomber Command memorial

Back to today and we huffed and puffed up the slope to reach the plateau at Beachy Head: it was bracing up top. And empty. Hereabouts I leant a lesson that I shouldn’t have needed to learn. Given the demographic of Eastbourne I made a comment about the likelihood that the risk of an aged member of the local populus setting out and not returning from a preprandial stroll was pretty high. Shortly after, by the memorial to the crews of Bomber Command who flew over these cliffs, we met another walker; he told us that half an our before that very thing had happened and we had turned up just as the ambulance crew left. We felt suitably chastened and I felt a utter twannock.

The head itself is infamous for its jumpers and you can see why as you look along the line of the cliffs towards the Seven Sisters. It is magnificent and clearly deadly if you go over. There’s something sinister here even on the warmest sunniest day.

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The precariously perched Belle Tout

Ahead the Belle Tout lighthouse stood proud; now a dwelling it has been moved back from the cliff edge; clearly the same again will be needed in the not too distant future.

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Birling Gap

But this isn’t a place to be sombre for long. The rolling cliffs, the magnificent Sussex Downs all uplift the spirits and if that wasn’t enough, the National Trust Birling Gap cafe served its purpose: coffee and cake. Bliss.

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The National Trust have built a staircase from the cafe down to the beach. It includes this rather splendid metalwork.

We turned here, heading back towards Eastbourne and inland. Down below it was quieter, less wind, more insect life. The sun began to induce something beyond a glow and we were soon down to T-shirts. The path stuck to a valley though farmland and the conversation turned to times past.

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Time passes slowly for Mr Angsty, Tall Boy and the Celebrant…

Soporific afternoons brought back memories of other colleagues, recruiting nightmares –  like the first time we used the video conference facility to interview a woman in Australia. It went well enough, we thanked her for her time and switched the link off to have a debrief about what we all thought …. only we had just turned off the picture but the sound was still up and running.  Fortunately we only said positive things and nothing inappropriate.

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The Seven Sisters marching away to the west…

It was on a positive note we finished, said our farewells and agreed to our next walk: Suffolk. Watch this space.

About TanGental

My name is Geoff Le Pard. Once I was a lawyer; now I am a writer. I've published several books: a four book series following Harry Spittle as he grows from hapless student to hapless partner in a London law firm; four others in different genres; a book of poetry; four anthologies of short fiction; and a memoir of my mother. I have several more in the pipeline. I have been blogging regularly since 2014, on topic as diverse as: poetry based on famous poems; memories from my life; my garden; my dog; a whole variety of short fiction; my attempts at baking and food; travel and the consequent disasters; theatre, film and book reviews; and the occasional thought piece. Mostly it is whatever takes my fancy. I avoid politics, mostly, and religion, always. I don't mean to upset anyone but if I do, well, sorry and I suggest you go elsewhere. These are my thoughts and no one else is to blame. If you want to nab anything I post, please acknowledge where it came from.
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24 Responses to Eastbourne to Birling Gap and back

  1. restlessjo says:

    Doing well for orchids this year, aren’t we Geoff? Those first couple of shots at Beachy Head are great! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. rogershipp says:

    What a gorgeous place…. and a memorable one… for a hike!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. gordon759 says:

    You missed out one aspect of the tale of the transistor radio, you were listening, as you usually did, to the cricket commentary. Dad thought, probably correctly, that the unfortunate couple would have happily continued there if you were listening to the mellifluous tones of John Arlott.
    And Frass is just the correct term for insect droppings.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. New Journey says:

    Beautiful pictures….makes me think about my next long range vacation….

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Trifflepudling says:

    A lovely walk but I made the mistake of Googling ‘frass’, thus ensuring ghastly dreams about miniature corn cobs and green rain pattering down!

    Liked by 1 person

  6. willowdot21 says:

    Lovely photos , entertaining post as always…. you would of past by both my brother’s ( the old soldier and hopalong electrician) and their wive’s residencies so I was familiar with the route! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  7. What a beautiful walk, the flowers, countryside, sea and the lighthouse. It has certainly got the lot! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Rachel M says:

    You lost me a bit in the part where aged people never return from their walk. Are they accidentally falling off the cliffs or committing suicide?

    Liked by 1 person

    • TanGental says:

      I’m sometimes a bit too obscure so forgive me Rachel; all I was thinking was given the population around Eastbourne has the highest concentration of pensioners anywhere in the UK the chances of some setting out on a walk and dying must be high And then it happened. Be careful what you wish for sort of thing.


  9. Autism Mom says:

    Such an iconic locale – will have to put that on the list… 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  10. Pingback: Jo’s Monday walk : Seaton Sluice | restlessjo

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