Every County in England - Part 10: Surrey

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Every County in England - Part 10: Surrey

I’ve driven through Surrey many times, to London, Heathrow Airport, Gatwick Airport or to the channel tunnel, rarely have I stopped there. I wasn’t overly sure what to expect once I strayed off the crowded motorways spreading like a web from London. Surrey isn’t bustling with tourist attractions, the wealthy residents living in their bespoke gated mansions probably wouldn’t warm to coach loads of tourists infesting their villages after all. It’s these busy roads and trains that I’ve used many times that make Surrey one of the most expensive places to live in the country, in fact it has the highest GDP of any county with wealthy commuters taking advantage of the proximity to the city and green countryside.

In the 60s Surrey lost large areas to neighbouring Greater London. Many of its larger towns were absorbed by the new county. What remained of Surrey largely sat right in the Green Belt, a protected band of countryside, heavily restricted from developments. Beyond the forests (Surrey is the most heavily forested county in England), heaths and farms, the sprawl recommences as London’s commuters overspill into satellite towns.

I decided to pull into a motorway service station and seek inspiration from the brochure rack. It was underwhelming. There were vast selections of attractions in neighbouring areas but only one leaflet for Surrey. Well I say one leaflet; actually it was about a thousand of the same leaflet taking up two racks. The leaflet was for National Trust properties in the county. This did seem promising, the National Trust has many interesting historical sites open to the public and I conveniently had a membership card, perhaps I was in luck.

Alas, the leaflet was next to useless. It helpfully listed the addresses for numerous sites but failed entirely to describe or detail anything about them. It was left entirely to guesswork to figure out what was at these locations, were they elaborate mansions, gardens or merely muddy car parks? Who knew?

I just plumped for an address that looked vaguely central and hopes for the best. At very least I could look out for diversions along the way. I didn’t have far to travel until the first diversion emerged.

No sooner had I left the motorway I started to see tourist signs pointing towards a vineyard. I was aware of British wines but somehow it hadn’t connected in my mind that therefore there would be vineyards tucked away amongst the English hills, sun drenched French valleys are more what spring to mind.

Turning off the road into the vineyard’s car park ‘sun drenched’ certainly wasn’t the best way to describe the place. The sky was building with ominous clouds and the bare vines marched in rows over the sodden fields. A large visitor’s centre had been set up, although I was one of only half a dozen visitors this day. The inside was given over to a sparse information board with rudimentary information on wine production and a large shop selling overpriced tat. Central to this sat a large glass roofed atrium with a side room selling bottles of wine. I really didn’t want to spend my life savings on paperback listing grape varieties nor did I want to take out a mortgage to buy a souvenir so I retreated to the car. Inexplicably the car park was decorated by two life-size colourful statues of cows. I never found an explanation for this.

Back on the road the sat-nav was insistent on routing me via the motorway so I ditched it and just meandered along the back roads. The motorway is a bland affair, monotonous trees & soundproof fencing for mile after mile. As is so often the case by simply taking the back roads and allowing yourself to get lost you are rewarded with some gems.

The countryside here is liberally scattered with charming well kept villages. Old cottages with well kept gardens and rambling old inns nestled amongst the trees in settlements brimming with character. The tea shops & antique stores here were all well beyond my meagre budget but window shopping is free so I enjoyed a slow paced afternoon moseying about these back lanes. 

To end the day I decided to make the effort to actually find the National Trust location I’d selected earlier. The road led me up into the woodlands to a small car park. It transpired that this was indeed one of those National Trust places that just involved a muddy car park and some woodland walks. I was pleased I’d not pegged all my hopes on this location however it was still worth exploring. The woodlands were pleasant but unremarkable; the place really came to life upon exiting the trees. From this hilltop the whole county opened up ahead, the view over the gentle landscape bathed in the low suns last rays. It was a very pleasant way to end my day in Surrey. The county had welcomed me with low expectations but left me with wanting more. Yet again I was leaving a county far too soon. 

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Every County in England - Part 9: London

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Every County in England - Part 9: London

I was not looking forward to London. Don’t get me wrong, it is an enticing place to visit, however as part of a lengthy road trip it’s crowded streets and extortionate prices were not appealing. It’d be easy enough to bypass the city and dip into the county of Greater London from somewhere around the periphery but for a small but terribly annoying anomaly. Buried deep within the great metropolis lies England’s smallest County; The City of London. Surprisingly a square mile of bustling streets around St Paul’s Cathedral stands separate as its own county, to complete my challenge I had no choice but to dive into the urban core.

Approaching the city from the east was new for me and it wasn’t long before I was completely lost in the twisting and incomprehensible streets. London was never designed with cars in mind; it just grew and absorbed towns and villages in every direction like a sponge. The resulting cityscape now has many diverse centres but lacks a definitive core. I pulled over in Canary Wharf to plan a route deeper into the city.

A century ago Canary Wharf was one of the busiest ports in the world, as ships grew in size so the port moved to deeper waters and the area was converted into a forest of skyscrapers in the late 80s, now forming one of two major financial districts in the city. Urban regeneration like this is very common in the city. Land is at a huge premium and the city is hemmed in on all sides by the greenbelt. A wide swathe of protected rural land encircles the city in an attempt to stop the type of sprawl that blights many cities worldwide. The effect is a condensed city with areas like these docklands being snapped up by hungry developers to be transformed from crumbling dereliction into upscale offices and apartments.

Heading further into the city this phenomenon became very apparent. The second financial centre came into view to reveal a surreal skyline of crooked & twisted shapes. The skyscrapers wedges into oddly shaped parcels of land and crowding around ancient steeples and spires, St Paul’s Cathedral taking centre stage.

The great cathedral has a lot more influence on the skyline than is first apparent. The iconic dome is so revered in national psyche that sight-lines radiate from it that are protected from development. From various vantage points around the city a clear view of the dome must be maintained. Developers have got around this by constructing wildly distorted towers to dodge obstructing the sight-lines. To the south of the river London’s tallest building ‘The Shard’ juts upwards like a giant fragment of glass, its lean designed to keep one of these sight-lines clear.

I parked up near the cathedral and set off towards the river. I had a few things I wanted to buy in a travel shop near Trafalgar Square, a short ride on the tube away, but thought a walk along the Thames would be more interesting.

From where I stood I could see the famous Tower Bridge to one side & London Bridge to the other. Despite drawing crowds of tourists London Bridge is desperately dull. It is a simple affair of grey concrete. This modern crossing replaced an equally dull bridge which was bought and installed by a town in Arizona. Allegedly the mayor thought he was buying the impressive Tower Bridge. Whether that is true or not is debatable but if you happen to be in Arizona you now have the chance to cross a bridge that once stood here in rainy London.

I crossed the river on the Blackfriars Bridge, adjoined by the world’s largest solar bridge. Rows of solar panels looked up hopefully at the weak sun, covering the entire span of the railway bridge.

From here I had only a short walk towards Westminster. The South Bank is a major arts centre with galleries and street performers lining the river front. The lively atmosphere provided a welcome contrast to the brusqueness of the financial districts. Just around a bend in the river the Houses of Parliament came into view, well they sort of came into view.

The symbol of London, Big Ben, was wrapped in scaffolding whilst workers busied themselves with repaired. To be accurate Big Ben is actually the large bell that chimes from within the tower but colloquially people around the world associate the name with the whole bell tower. Westminster Bridge was rammed full of tourists trying to get the best selfie in front of the landmark. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for them having travelled from all points of the globe to return with a souvenir shot of a building site.

Nearby Trafalgar Square was no better. Here yet another tourist mecca had been rendered off limits. Usually the square is a lively and vibrant place to enjoy the cities atmosphere, the mighty column topped by Nelson surrounded by gargantuan lions and fountains. I found the square today ringed by metal railings and filled with utilitarian marquees. It appeared that there had been a race earlier in the day and the square was being used as a marshalling ground. I couldn’t help but wonder why one of the empty greens in a nearby park hadn’t been used. I drew my attention to the ‘fourth plinth’. It was hard not to draw attention to it. The corners of the square each contain a plinth topped by a regal statue, except for this fourth empty plinth. Since 1998 artists have been commissioned to produce a sculpture for the plinth. It is currently the turn of David Shrigley with his piece ‘Really Good’. A large hand with a seven metre tall thumb pointing skyward in an exaggerated thumbs up gesture. It is not clear what the thumbs up is directed at, but I guess that is the point of art, perhaps we’re supposed to judge ourselves what is ‘really good’. I judged that the shut square most definitely was not really good.

Luckily the travel shop was very close now. I get slightly excitable when confronted by a shop full of travel books and maps. It does seem slightly ironic that I was sat in the middle of a major tourist destination with the intention of spending the rest of the day reading books about everywhere that wasn’t London. That was unashamedly what I did, coffee in one hand and a room full of maps to browse, bliss.

St Paul's Cathedral

Canary Wharf's Traffic Light Tree art instillation

The Houses of Parliament

'Very Good' in Trafalgar Square

The London Eye, on the South Bank

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Every County in England - Part 8: Kent

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Every County in England - Part 8: Kent

The White Cliffs of Dover symbolise the start or end of a journey to England. These shores have seen the arrival of both friend and foe for millennia, sitting just 20miles from the French Coast. Although I was midway through my travels, the iconic while cliffs seemed an essential place to visit before looping back towards a London.

Arriving in Kent from the West doesn’t bring you out into archetypal landscapes you may expect. The scenery here is stark, almost otherworldly. I’d entered the county at the expanse of shingle making up the Dungeness peninsular. Small battered shacks littered the desert-like vista. On the horizon loomed the menacing mass of a nuclear power plant, the giant pylons marching in orderly rows towards it. I really know how to pick great places to visit! I wasn’t alone, a steam train full of happy day trippers came chuf-chuf-chuffing past me. Despite the power plant this was actually a remarkable landscape, unlike anywhere else. Approaching the top of the peninsula two lighthouses came into view. I was hoping to climb the older of the two but guess what..... it was shut till March. I’m beginning to get a theme here! The tourists who’s now disembarked the train clearly felt disappointed too. They were milling aimlessly about the shingle, shivering.

Pushing on towards Dover the landscape returns to the more traditional arrangement of quaint villages nestled amongst the rolling green fields. The villages here hold a fairly unique sight, joining the church steeples are the spires of oast houses. Looking like upturned ice cream cones these unique buildings were designed to dry hops for nearby breweries. Today most of these buildings have been converted into expensive homes.

Reaching the port towns of Folkestone and Dover things become less quaint. Here at the closest point between the UK & mainland Europe ferries ply endlessly back and forth across the channel and traffic rushes for the channel tunnel. This area regularly tops lists of the worst place to live in the country and the area has a distinct border atmosphere. Rough around the edges and bustling with trucks, impatient travellers and currency exchange signs. Entering Dover the grey apartment blocks and the clutter of the port impede the view of the White Cliffs.

Standing sentinel over the scene is the impressive Dover Castle. This vast medieval fortress was built by the Normans, clearly keen to ensure they were the last invaders of this island. The coast here is pockmarked by military structures covering every era since. Secret tunnels, lookout towers, castles, gun emplacements, radar towers all stare out towards France marking centuries of conflicts. As has been the case for most of this journey it was evident that I needed vastly more time than I currently had. I would have to return to explore more fully but for now I had some cliffs to see.

The visitor centre up on the cliffs was filled with people sheltering from the light drizzle outside, the path transformed into a sticky quagmire. There was a fantastic view back towards the castle, over to France and the busy port below. Actually the view took in everything apart from the cliffs themselves. I guess this was obvious in hindsight. A couple approached me, clearly having made the same mistake. They announced loudly, “We’re from Minnesota so we need to get to the bottom of the cliff, where do we go?” I’m not sure why this geographical information was necessary but I made the mistake of saying I’d been to Minnesota. One thing is very true when you travel alone, you don’t stay alone for long and now I had a pair of Minnesotans shadowing me as we shuffled  through the mud towards the cliffs. I was getting increasingly concerned that at this rate the fastest way down was soon to be in a muddy sweat right over the edge. My prompt to abort and return to the car came with the simultaneous splat as both of my newfound shadows face planted the mud. 

There really was far more to be seen here but time was running short. With some very wet & dirty trousers to clean and a drive into London tomorrow it was time to retreat to a hotel for the night. The rest of Kent will have to wait for another day.

The new Dungeness Lighthouse

Huts on Dungeness

The old Dungeness Lighthouse

A Kentish Oast House

Dover Port 

The White Cliffs of Dover

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Every County in England - Part 7: West & East Sussex

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Every County in England - Part 7: West & East Sussex

The county of Sussex, now split in two, takes its name from the Kingdom of South Saxons. Despite this being the location of the Norman invasion it’s the Saxons that left their stamp on the counties names. I’d be starting my journey through the twin counties in the west, where I’d also be returning UK the Norman era. 

West Sussex sits on the English Channel with an almost unbroken stretch of resorts taking in the pebbly beaches. Inland the land rises abruptly to meet the chalk hills of the South Downs. 

Nestled amongst these hills was my West Sussex stopover, the small town of Arundel, dominated by the oversized ramparts and towers of its Norman castle & oversized catholic cathedral. As has become fairly routine now, I discovered that everything was closed for the winter so I made do with a leisurely stroll around the streets. The Main Street was lined with an enticing array of quaint shops and eateries, all inexplicably bustling with German tourists.

Just over the border into East Sussex is the city of Brighton. Marking the end of the stretch of beaches Brighton developed as a fashionable seaside resort convenient for London.

I parked up in a central multi-storey and exited into a modern shopping complex which appeared to have no exits. I gave up and walked out from the car parks exit ramp onto the promenade. The large hotels lining the seafront now look very tired, not helped by the shell of one of Brighton’s piers, burned down and sat in ruins off the beach. The remaining piece was undergoing refurbishment but the amusement arcades and donut stands continued to do business with the few windswept tourists. 

I decided to have lunch in a more sheltered spot so headed up to the Royal Pavilion. Built for King George IV who liked to visit the city, the Pavilion brings a taste of India to the south coast with its ornate domes & minarets. The gardens were not as peaceful as I’d hoped, the area was being landscaped and a noisy digger was busy throbbing loudly in the background. I looked back to the car via the eclectic and eccentric shops of The Lanes. I didn’t want to spend too long as the parking charges would soon start to skyrocket. 

Continuing into East Sussex I was back on fairly familiar territory. As a child my Grandma lived in Bexhill, the town I was now heading to, so a few weeks in August were always set aside to visit. I remember the excitement of hearing the seagulls and knowing the beach was near, the salty smell of the sea and the warmth of the summer sun radiating from the pebbly beach. Today it most definitely was not radiating warmth, a biting wind whipped up the promenade and the seagulls were busy fighting over a discarded kebab. I’d come to visit the De La Warr Pavilion, an Art Deco arts centre on the sea front. My grandfather wired the lighting and my dad used to proudly show me the chandelier in the buildings rotunda, I’d come to see if it was still there. The building was much smaller than I’d remembered, but I guess most things seem big to a seven year old. Indeed everything was how I remembered it, albeit in diminished proportion.

The towns along this stretch of coastline are not unfamiliar with conflict; it was here that in 1066 William the Conqueror led the Norman invasion of Britain. Just a few years later an impressive castle was built guarding the large harbour at Hastings. The town’s prosperity took a downward turn in the 1200s when a large storm completely blocked the harbour with shingle forcing the port to be relocated. This could have spelled the end to the town but for a surprising twist. The new land where the harbour once stood was not listed on any land registry for the country, it fell outside the government’s control. A shantytown of people flocked to take advantage of this tax free no man’s land. Eventually in the 1800s the government took action and tried to remove this den of smugglers. The defiant residents simply raised the Stars & Stripes pledging allegiance to the United States, the America Ground was born! Today the shanty town has been replaced by a nondescript shopping street, but an American flag still flies proudly over the area.

The sun was beginning to colour the sky a vivid golden to I jumped back in the car to the nearby Beachy Head, a prominent chalky headland. From the top the view was fantastic, ending the day in style. The rays of sun broke through the cloud dancing on the calm sea. Now I’d better get on the phone and let my family know I’m in the area or there’ll be trouble when they find out I stayed here without visiting!

Arundel Castle

Brighton's Royal Pavilion 

Brighton Pier

The De La Warr Pavilion, Bexhill

Hastings

Sunset from Beachy Head

< Part 6                                            Part 8 >

Every County in England - Part 6: Hampshire & Isle of Wight

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Every County in England - Part 6: Hampshire & Isle of Wight

Hampshire is a county I know well. Having lived & worked there for many years and spend childhood summers visiting my granddad there it’d not seem the most obvious place to want to spend a few nights when there were so many places unexplored. The reason I wasn’t just driving through lays a few miles off the coast. The Isle of Wight is England’s only island county and the couple of miles of sea that needed to be crossed to tick it off were creating a bottleneck in my journey. This stretch of water is the most expensive mile per mile ferry crossing in the world so reducing the costs and making the most of the trip was high priority. The city of Portsmouth seemed the most appealing place to base myself.

This gave me the chance to cross to the island via high speed hovercraft and also explore the city in Hampshire I was least familiar with.

Hampshire is a diverse county smack bang in the centre of the south coast. The landscape ranges from the tranquil woodlands & heath of the New Forest through rolling farmlands, magnificent cathedral cities and the more unsightly overspill towns built after the war to house Londoners made homeless by the blitz. The sheltered coastline makes an ideal location for two large port cities, Southampton & Portsmouth who hustle for pole position in this crowded county.

Hampshire houses the political powerhouses of the Anglo-Saxon kingdom of Wessex, the region taken up the present day counties I’ve already visited on this trip. Evidence of this period are very sparse in Portsmouth however. As with most south coast ports the city was heavily bombed during the war. This has given architects free reign to design a new city in their own style. Evidently until recently the style chosen was ‘grim’. Portsmouth is blighted by grey concrete developments thrown up with functionality rather than aesthetics in mind. Things have changed in recent years and the dockyards and many areas of the city have undergone regeneration. The towering landmark Spinnaker Tower now rises proudly over the Gunwharf Quays retail centre, built where a military base once stood. It brings in vast numbers of tourists who come to shop & visit a series of preserved vessels in the nearby docks.

I was keen to see the docks but felt less excited when I saw the prices. With parking topping £10 & a further £30 for tickets I plumped for a single attraction ticket, which randomly allows me to return as many times as I like for a year, but only to the one attraction.

I chose HMS Victory, Lord Nelson’s flagship at the battle of Trafalgar. The ship which dates to 1759 now sits in a dry dock and spends her days putting up with masses of tourists pacing her decks. When I arrived a group of 90 French school kids were just being ushered through, the guide kindly let me cut ahead. It seemed an interesting place to go for a school trip, “hey kids, this cannon was used to help us defeat you!” I guess the spot marked where Lord Nelson was shot by the French was to provide some solace for the children.

Leaving the ship I had to make my way another seagoing vessel, the hovercraft. 

After securing a loan, mortgage and selling a kidney I managed to afford tickets and found myself speeding across to Ryde on the Isle of Wight. 

The island is fairly small and compact but being January nearly everything aimed at tourists was shut. I settled for a wander around town. The town’s pier is the fourth longest & oldest in the country. It was built to allow ships to dock avoiding the long shallow sands of the beach. Today the pier is purely a functional affair with little to draw attention other than a regular train shuttling passengers to & from the catamaran. The beach was completely submerged by a high spring tide, with waves sloshing over the sea wall into a small park. Behind ran a long row of faded hotels. I took a walk into the town and discovered the locals had invented an exciting we game called ‘randomly stop in front of you.’ Essentially this involves stopping walking in the most inconvenient places, preferably with no warning. They were very proficient at this game. I took refuge in a greasy spoon cafe to watch the proceedings. The winner in my opinion was an elderly gentleman wearing a flat cap who skilfully halted in front of a mother pushing a twin stroller, she swerved into the road to avoid him, he followed and halted again causing her to nearly topple. Nonchalantly he then walked blindly across the street causing a bus to perform an emergency stop. 10/10 score for most oblivious chaos caused. 

With so little open in town it was time to head back to the mainland and the journey onward to the east.

Southsea Promenade

The Spinnaker Tower & HMS Warrior, Portsmouth 

Gunwharf Quays, Portsmouth

HMS Victory

Ryde hoverport 

A greasy lunch to keep me going

Victorian shopping arcades in Ryde

The old pavilion in Ryde

Ryde 'beach'

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Every County in England - Part 5: Wiltshire & Berkshire

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Avebury Stone Circle

Every County in England - Part 5: Wiltshire & Berkshire

My next destination was to be Dorset, my home county, but a commitment came up requiring me to return in a week so as often happens on a long trip I changed the itinerary. To make the most of the week ahead I’d now focus on completing the southern counties before returning to Dorset. The new route saw me retracing my steps and shooting across into Wiltshire.

Wiltshire’s rolling chalk downs are scattered with ancient & mysterious structures. I was heading to one of these, the 5000 year old Avebury Rings, sat twenty miles north of its tourist laden cousin Stonehenge. The pastel hues & open vistas is Salisbury Plain provides a welcome relief from the claustrophobic lanes of the previous days.

Avebury village sits astride the ancient stone circle. Many of the stones are missing, removed over the centuries to be recycled in the local stone cottages & barns, a visual reminder that the preservation of these bygone monuments was not always the priority it is today. The site was surprisingly void of the crowd that plague Stonehenge, indeed I only had to share the view with a flock of sheep who nonchalantly preceded to churn the field into a quagmire around the stones. Many theories exist as to the purpose of these great stone circles, but no one knows for sure. The stones were brought from Wales, the hard rock supposedly carrying magical powers. Whatever reason the ancient residents brought the stones here it really is a remarkable feat to have transported them over such distances.

Nearby sits an even more mysterious feature. Jutting our from the fields the towering come of Silbury Hill has featured on the horizon for five millennia. When built this behemoth was a pure white dome of chalk, now it’s covered in pale grasses but still an impressive sight. Perhaps this was a beacon to distant travellers, a pilgrimage site or as some would argue a UFO landing pad, whatever secrets it holds it was fun to take in this intriguing landscape and wonder about what view would have spread in front of me many thousands of years before.

I had a room booked down on the coast but with still a few hours daylight left I was able to tick off neighbouring Berkshire en-route.

Long thin Berkshire stretches from the ever expanding mass of London’s commuter belt out into the rural farmlands in the west of the county.

It was this western portion I found myself cutting through now. The rolling hills dotted with quintessentially English villages of thatched cottages and quaint pubs. The country homes of the gentry peeking out from behind their long tree lined drives whilst old people wearing tweed struggled to top 10mph along the lanes. The market town of Hungerford seemed a good place to stop off. The market was just packing up but there was still a lively bustle of folk in the square. Traditional market fare had been replaced with various pretentious items that would fit well in a toffs pantry. As I had no need for artisan humus platters or saffron infused quails eggs so I headed down to the canal. The Kennet & Avon canal was built in the 1700s to create a navigable waterway linking the River Thames to the Bristol Channel. At the time this would have been an important trade route but it was made obsolete by the railways. Now goods are transported largely by road leaving the canal for the houseboat owners and fishermen who were all out enjoying the peaceful setting. 

I had a hovercraft to catch in the morning so I had to leave the peaceful Berkshire countryside and join the tailbacks of traffic now jamming the evening roads. Tomorrow I will be heading over the sea to the Isle of Wight. 

Avebury Stone Circle

Avebury village

Silbury Hill

Houseboats on the Kennet & Avon Canal

Hungerford

A canal-front home in Hungerford

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