On the Downs

The car-park in Ditchling was full. Over the road, in the Sun's car-park, the growing crowd waited for the Boxing Day display of the Ditchling mummers. A space, boots on. A walk to the track which leads up the slope, passing a man in shirt-sleeves on the way. In a field, a sheep was suckling two lambs, each numbered 151. Early-spring lambs or do sheep copulate and conceive at any time of year?

One step at a time is an easy rule to follow on sticky paths. Switch off the brain and switch on the legs; let the legs get on with it. (I noted the time when I left the road.) Hands behind my back; no gloves (but I did wear a woolen hat with a bobble). Keep going. Then a stop in order to stand and stare at the ground to the north, the wide expanse of cultivated land which is bounded by the North Downs. The sun shines. A lovely day, a lovely place to be on such a day.

Walk on, walk on. Step by step to the top (233m), a rise of some 150m. On the top, a couple of walkers, and a couple of joggers. Brighton is there in the distance. Softer slopes and inclines. The inland sea. The path towards the Beacon. A succession of walkers going west. At the top of the scarp, the properties south of Ditchling face the scarp. Well-developed properties. A post provides a convenient leaning-post to look over those properties. A sandwich. A place to be on such a day. At the Beacon, the path to Ditching runs close to the road and then breaks away. Down to the narrow road and back to the village. About two hours. Back to Wivelsfield Green, Slugwash Lane, Lindfield, Ardingly, and home.