Granny's Bottom

(Does this even need a caption?)

Of all the hikes we’ve done this summer, the prospect of Harting Down in West Sussex tickled me most because of a small hill half-way through called Granny’s Bottom. How could I not?   

 

The day was sunny and mild with a forecast of 0% chance of rain.  Our 6-mile hike was of moderate grade and along the way we spotted a fallow deer, some wild pheasants, domestic piggies and, of course, sheep. 

 

The sweet rambling blackberries were finally coming into their own, as were blackthorn berries.

Blackberries and plenty of them

 

 

 

 



A quick stop in the middle of nowhere for pub lunch

Half-way through, we stopped at the bottom of a hollow for lunch in a local pub. Despite its remote location, the Royal Oak did an impressive business. But back to the hike.

 

 

I'd like to go on record here and now as commending the UK for its  dizzying network of public footpaths. You cannot go a quarter mile anywhere in the country without stumbling on one.  And if you like variety, there are usually several paths to pick  at any given point. This is both blessing and curse.

At one crossroad we were faced with 5 paths to choose from with no clear idea which way to go. There were no signs to guide us toward Granny’s Bottom and truth be told, we don’t know if we actually found it or not. (But for argument’s sake, let’s pretend we did, shall we?) We ended up looping about 2 miles off the trail but eventually found our way back on track and then to the car just as it started to rain. Zero percent chance of rain is more wishful thinking than anything else.

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Uppark Estate

Next we drove a mile to the National Trust’s Uppark Estate to have a poke around. No photography was allowed inside which was a damned shame because the kitchen held one of the most gorgeous arrays of copperware I'd ever seen.
 
Although built in the 1700s, the home was displayed in it's 19th century Edwardian era,  similar to those seen in Gosford Park and Downton Abbey. It boasted rich tapestries and  opulent silver  upstairs while the downstairs came complete with butler's closet and a  long row of servants' bells mounted overhead.

These two disparate worlds were not lost on visitors, let alone on those who had lived there, including one-time housekeeper Sarah Wells and her young son, Herbert. As a sickly youth, Herbert had been allowed to frequent the home's library and it wasn't long before reading and writing became his passion. Years later, the estate's dimly-lit tunnels, well-clipped gardens, and stark class-distinctions inspired the writing of Herbert George Well's sci-fi classic, The Time Machine.

 

For more pictures from our weekend, including a drive out to Wolvercote Cemetery  to pay homage to another great English author, click right here.