Halnaker Tunnel and Windmll, South Downs National Park, West Sussex

Here’s an autumn treat that can be comfortably done in an afternoon with a visit to a pub or coffee shop to round off crunching through the leaves. It’s amazing what gems lie just off those main roads that you use to get from one town to another. If you take the high road from Worthing to Chichester and turn right at the Tangmere roundabout you hit the village of Boxgrove. Turn right at the junction with the A285 after passing through the village and head north-east a short distance and you get to the entrance to Wearhead Farm. Here you can park up with room for up to ten cars at a guess and take the footpath up the appropriately named Mill Lane which tracks the old London to Chichester Roman road, Stane St. 

Early on a flint cottage looms to the left, a fitting introduction to the magical Halnaker tunnel of trees that tubes up onto the downs and then to Halnaker Windmill. Who might live in this medieval like dwelling, the guardian of the tunnel? Gandalf the wizard? Perhaps one of the Hobbits? Soon we are in the tunnel, an ancient drove way carved by the feet of thousand of humans and animals and shaded by an arc of greenery that seems to have arranged itself in the most alluring fashion, trees on either side thrusting upwards and then branching over towards the middle to meet boughs from the opposite side. A sea of fallen leaves covers the sunken footpath and leak up the banks that cosset this special spot. The autumn sunlight piercing through the  branches adds a special magic to the scene.

The day I visited at least four photographers were loitering in the tunnel looking for the best shots. I felt a mere rookie with my simple Samsung camera phone. This must be a daily occurrence when the weather is good, photographers descending for the perfect autumn shot like bees to a hive. If you see one or two ‘bodies’ in the photos, those are leaf peepers sporting a Leica or whatever. This tunnel has ‘atmosphere.’ If a ruddy cheeked chappie wearing a leather jerkin, a red hat, pointy shoes and smoking a three foot long pipe sauntered down the tunnel you would not think him out of place, perhaps with a giant rabbit or goat dressed as a human on its hind legs bringing up the rear.

Once you get to the other end of the tunnel there is a divergence, with a path to the right heading down to Seabeach House, apparently a fine bed and breakfast establishment about which I spotted some delightful reviews. The path ahead carries on upwards and leaves the evocative tunnel to head up north onto the downs. Follow the path as it traces the hedge to the left and after a relatively short walk you reach a circular field at the crown of Halnaker Hill encircling the Halnaker windmill, at present cordoned off for repairs. You‘re rewarded with a fine 360 degree view over downs and sea after what overall is a pretty easy walk from your car, more of a Sunday stroll than a heavy duty hike.  The view is expansive, exactly why I guess second world war installations are scattered around the site. There is a World War Two observation post with what looks like the tracks for an anti air raft battery, whilst in an adjoining field another set of tracks arise out of the stubble. The view is unencumbered by gentle rolling hills, woodland and seascapes. It’s not difficult to imagine standing here during the Battle of Britain with a front of house view of the Luftwaffe scrapping with Spitfires and Hurricanes from nearbyTangmere and its associated airfields at Westhampnett and Merston.

There is an alternative route to reach the summit here, but you miss the tunnel fun. You can walk up from the entrance to Seabeach House, a little further on up the A285 to the north west, coming from the opposite direction up Stane Street, and then turning right onto the track up to the windmill. There is a fair sized lay-by by Seabeach House as well. Another idea is to walk from Eartham Wood which is even further out along Stane St. but a better bet for more serious walkers. There is a parking and picnic stop here to serve as base and which is accessible from the A285.

Hope this wets your appetite for a South Downs hobbit experience!

Portsmouth

 

Ship ahoy to starboard me hearties! Well here we are in Portsmouth getting a full on experience of the UK's main naval base, attached of course to a rather large town and associated urban areas scattered around the splendid natural harbour. If you didn't know, Portsmouth is indeed a large town on the south coast of England with an illustrious naval history facing the English Channel and somewhat sheltered from the direct open sea by the presence of the Isle of Wight, an island shoved into the estuary of Southampton Water and the River Itchen, and protecting both Portsmouth and Southampton, a great place for a bucket and space holiday in an old style English resort type of way.

 

 

 

Buy a year's ticket for the Portsmouth dockyard and it gives you access to a plethora of attractions in this old sea salt of a town. The historic naval dockyard gives you the Mary Rose experience, HM Victory, which of course was Nelson’s flagship, the Royal Naval museum, M33, (a monitor used in the Dardanelles), the Jutland exhibition, Action Stations and of course HMS Warrior, the Victorian masted warship that greets you as you step out of the train terminus on the waterfront. The ticket also includes a dash across the harbour by boat to the Submarine Museum with its post war Cold War sub specimen perched above the waters on the harbour side, and the Explosives Museum, as well as a further boat trip around the harbour to see what's left of the Royal Navy, and the various docks and ferry terminus. 

If you're visiting Portsmouth it's worth knowing about the Park and Ride scheme. If you come in on the motorway spur which comes off the main M27, take the first exit and end up in a spacious park and ride car park from where you can catch the bus into town for £4 return. This saves you the hassle of finding a town centre car park and only takes seven minutes to the Hard, an intriguingly named bus terminus right next to the Warrior, train terminus and Gunwharf Quay, a large modern shopping mall which will take you to the seventh consumer heaven. Even better, a few paces will take you to the entrance to the Historic Naval Dockyard.

I’d already been to the Submarine museum so concentrated on the dockyard itself. What boundless pleasure I took from bypassing a queue of heartbreaking and discouraging length to go straight into the ticket office as a year ticket holder and breeze through after showing the member of staff your credit card or identity doc. Then have a Costa coffee or just take your pick of the attractions.

On the Tuesday I had the Jutland Exhibition on my ‘to do’ list. This tells the story of the massive First World War confrontation off Denmark between the Royal Navy commanded by Lord Kitchener, then the world's most powerful navy, and the German fleet which had been trying hard to catch up in the race to build as many Dreadnoughts as possible. There may be some dispute over who came out best, but the long and the short of it was that the British were able to tighten the blockade on Germany as a result, making it far more difficult for the enemy to source their supplies from overseas, and so help to starve their population into submission, a deciding factor in the war. 

The exhibition includes a jolly academic with rock musician hair and glasses on hand to answer any questions, and ready to tell you all about members of his family directly involved in the British military. There are lots of photographs of massive battleships, a time line of the battle, various ship models and three films, two of which were not working at the time of visit.

The Nelson exhibition was a revelation and well worth the time. Currently as the statue bashing epidemic hits the western world and even Nelson’s Column has come under scrutiny, one has to seriously question the sanity of the idea a small number of enraged people motivated by ideology destroying statues of people who lived in a totally different time and mindset. By any standards Nelson was a collusus, even for his ability to serve in the King's fleet after losing an eye, an arm, and receiving a head wound in various battles, and still remain standing to command the kings fleet on HMS Victory. You just have to wonder that Englishmen of old were made of titanium steel compared with our generation. Just think, if Nelson had lost at Trafalgar we might all be speaking French and the Brittanic inheritance would have been lost to the world, although that would be a debatable point.

By any standards Nelson had an enormous place of affection in the hearts of the British people and must have been far more than the equivalent of our most popular celebrity in 2017. He surely would have been top of Google searches if the 18th century had such things. Display cases full of every form of memento, jugs, mugs, plates, statues, pictures and goodness knows what, all commemorating the image or exploits of Nelson as he bestrode the seven seas. And just how many households in the Britain of the time did not have their own Nelson item of memorabilia?

Painstaking efforts seem to have been made to recreate exactly what Nelson looked like for his portraits and busts. There's even a life like full size model which I have to say reminded me of Rod Stewart at a fancy dress party. Did anyone else see the likeness? Nelson of course is famous for his illicit relationship with another woman, the regaled Lady Hamilton, and much is made of this in the exhibition. There was even a woman dressed in the garments of the time impersonating Nelson’s spurned and heartbroken wife with a selection of epithets.

One thing that may not be so known about Nelson is that he had a strong Christian faith, and there is a  small section in the Nelson museum devoted to this aspect of his life. Biblical and indeed Christian history is replete with imperfect men and women who had a great impact on history and mighty faith, yet who had very human flaws. We think of Noah, Abraham, King David, St Paul and even modern saints like Martin Luther King who all had appointments with failure and moral falls, so Nelson was just another whose greatness was touched with an Achilles heel. Here is the prayer he wrote before the Battle of Trafalgar:

‘May the Great God, whom I worship, Grant to my Country, and for the benefit of Europe in General, a great and Glorious Victory; and may no misconduct in any one tarnish it; and may humanity after Victory be the predominant feature in the British fleet. For myself individually, I commit my life to Him who made me, and may his blessing light upon my endeavours for serving My Country faithfully. To Him I resign myself, and the Just cause which is entrusted to me to defend. Amen. Amen. Amen.’

I happened to be in Portsmouth the next day for the arrival of our new aircraft carrier minus the aircraft of course, the Queen Elizabeth, which arrived about 7am on the Wednesday for docking within sight of the historic dockyard. This huge carrier is an impressive sight but still well short of the size of American leviathans like the USS Gerald Ford, a mere minnow in comparison. 

The harbour tour gave us a chance to see this new pride of the Royal Navy in all its glory as the young captain of the ferry gave us an upbeat commentary on the surrounding naval furniture, peppered with the most cringeworthy bucket of jokes and one liners dreamt up this side of Hadrian’s wall. The ferry does a circuit of the docks, north past the Queen Elizabeth, then east into the land of frigates and destroyers before touching the cross channel ferry port and retracing the route back to the quay. If you take the last trip of the day the boat lands you by the Spinnaker and Gunwharf shopping centre, as by the time you finish your trip the naval dockyard has closed for the night.

 

By the way if you think there's not much left of the Royal Navy this isn't the only base, and I have it on good authority that Portsmouth is very well defended, and not just by warships. So watch out if you're planning an invasion!

If you're feeling like breathing in some fresh Solent air then take a walk along the harbour front from Gunwharf Quay out  towards the open sea. The walk is an uplifting mix of marina, industrial wharf, jolly sailor pubs, and ancient sea wall which twists its way towards Southsea. En route you pass youngsters enjoying a swim off the rocks below. Another group of lads squares up to one another in a bravado sort of way on the walkway while their girls lounge on the side. Inside the sea wall at ground level a statue of Nelson reminds us of the stern stuff that made old England. A plaque on the side of the plinth quotes the prayer uttered by Nelson before the battle of Trafalgar.

 

Sherborne

 



Abbey life

Sherborne is tucked away in the north part of Dorset and looks like a little piece of the Cotswolds has been scooped up and replanted 60 miles or so to the south west. That same honey coloured stone characterises this rather special little Dorset town with its very fine abbey, jumbled town centre and two castles sitting on the very edge of town. If you live in London why not take the train from Waterloo which deposits you in Sherborne in 2 hours and twelve minutes. If you wear a bright yellow cardigan, a tweed suit, a windowpane tweed garforth cap and a pair of brogues you'd fit in just fine swanning around this bit of old England.

I spent a few days here teaching Easter revision at Sherborne international, an associate organisation of its illustrious neighbour, Sherborne School, and took the time to explore this delightful town. Hived up in the girls boarding house (they were on holidays of course!), the view from the bedroom looked straight out over towards the famous abbey, whilst across the yard was an old building that provided lodgings for Alan Turing when he was a scholar at Sherborne School in the inter war years. A blue plaque on the wall records this little bit of history. Sherborne is a bit of a centre for world renowned educational establishments with Sherborne boys school, Sherborne girls school and the preparatory school as well. Sherborne school itself is popular for filmmakers who chose it for filming Goodbye Mr Chips in 1969, and more recently for The Imitation Game and Wolf Hall.



Sherborne School
 

The town sits in a valley surrounded by gentle Dorset hills and notably bounded by the railway line on the south side. Approaching the town from the south the road follows the hillside and provides a fine view down over the town to the north. Here lies an area of common land tracing both the rail line and the river, and of course you would be seen as a naked rambler if you did not have the requisite dog to accompany you. Once over the level crossing the road passes a modern Sainsbury's to the right, built with materials a cut above your average Sainsbury's to blend in with the general honey coloured ambience. After that you're right into the bosom of the town.

The abbey is a large and fine specimen, mainly 15th century, honed in that fine yellow stone that makes you think twice whether you're really in Dorset, hemmed in from the north by Sherborne school and its ancient courtyards, and bordered by an open area of grass, seating and pathway to the south. I was rather amused to see the Sherborne food bank in the abbey, an empty container which I thought reflected the obvious prosperity of this area! As for the abbey itself, none other than Simon Jenkins in his book, ‘England's Thousand Best Churches,’ says of the fan vaulting, ‘I would pit Sherborne’s roof against any contemporary work of the Italian Renaissance.’ And Sir Walter Raleigh worshipped here as well.



Sherborne Abbey

 If you fancy a museum tour after visiting the abbey, Sherborne museum sits in the little lane, Church Lane, that runs from the Abbey to the Conduit at the bottom of Cheap St. After the museum stop, passing under the Bow Arch you move from ecclesiastical to commercial territory onto Cheap St and the Parade where regular markets are held. Here is the Conduit, the monks lavatorium or wash house originally sited inside the cloisters but moved to this point after 1539 and the dissolution of the monasteries.

The main thoroughfare, Cheap St, swathes north - south through the town with the usual concoction of bookshops, chemists, cafes and chains purveying their business from medieval type buildings of higher than average attractiveness. About two thirds of the way down, a right turn into the wonderfully named Half Moon St takes you past the abbey to your right and on out of town, in fact past the girls boarding house. On this road are a couple of watering holes opposite the abbey and an Indian restaurant on the right just before you get to the abbey and worth a visit. I dined there like a king on my first night. 

Sherborne railway station at the bottom or south end of the town borders Pageant Park, a salubrious green space making any arrival think they have arrived in an English spa town. These gardens were funded by the great pageant of 1905 held to celebrate the 1200th anniversary of St Aldhelm, Sherborne’s first bishop. An attractive piece of greenery to draw one into Sherborne’s charm.

Sherborne is fortunate enough to be graced with not one but two castles, the Old and the New, both with Sir Walter Raleigh connections. How many towns can boast that? The Old Castle is much more of a ruin, although quite a respectable one as ruins go. Both castles are within walking distance of the town centre to the east and south east. The old castle is more or less straight out of the town centre along Newland, the main road east, then up a little side road, Castleton Rd flanked at the end by some ancient residences. Then up a track to the kiosk where you pay your entrance fee to English Heritage  (£4.30 for an adult). 



Old Castle

A bridge to the left carries you over the moat and through the south west gatehouse built by the Bishop Roger of Salisbury into an expansive circle of grass in the middle of which are the remains of the Great Tower, the upper parts of which were destroyed by parliamentary forces after the Civil War. Not too much to see here unless you have a thing for medieval brickwork. However it provides a romantic setting, a heap of ruins in the centre of a large grass circle itself surrounded by a moat and outer footpath. The views take In the town, the gentle Dorset countryside and a good peek into the grounds of the New Castle virtually stuck onto the edge of the old one. 

There's a lot more to the New Castle, poised on the edge of a lake and surrounded by sumptuously rolling manicured grounds. This castle, a sixteenth century Tudor mansion (and more of a mansion than a castle!) and built by Sir Walter Raleigh in 1594, I didn't get to see, but it's equally accessible from the town centre if you take the main street south towards the rail station. Over the level crossing and you've got the dog walking meadows to the left while the main road curls up and if you bear left the castle entrance is a short distance on the right. The entrance fee for the castle and gardens is £12. Sir Walter Raleigh was eventually imprisoned for treason and the castle was returned to the crown. Sir John Digby acquired the castle in 1617 and it has been the home of the Digby family  since then. That famous mainstay of stately home grounds design, Capability Brown created the landscape garden including the 50 acre lake. 

Incidentally if you cross the road before getting to the castle, straight on from the level crossing, there is a footpath that takes you up the hillside to the right of the castle grounds and on into rolling Dorset countryside with sweeping views of the castle and its grounds to the left and rustic panoramas generally all round. It's a good second best if you've little time or can't afford another castle visit, and you keep fit!



New Castle in distance



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What's not to like! Two castles sitting on the very town doorstep and accessible on foot from a town centre teashop. No more distance than the flight of an arrow! Go for it! I 

Jurassic coast - Tyneham

The majestic Dorset coast Jurassic coast is Famous Five territory, especially on a gorgeous December day between Christmas and New Year, although a picnic of crab sandwiches, plum cake and lashings of ginger beer might not be so romantic under a cold, crisp sky. This is the land of Lulworth Cove, Durdle Door and military gunnery ranges, perhaps mixed in with the odd cream tea. Poole or Bournemouth are good bases to explore this area. If you take a ride out from Poole towards Swanage, and turn right at Corfe Castle, an ethereal spot in its own right, where you have to resist the temptation to imagine legions of medieval knights storming the castle slopes, narrow country lanes take you into the heart of Jurassic coast territory, where majestic cliff scenery vies with isolated villages, quiet green valleys and an extensive military training area. Because the military use this area for live firing, you have to take your opportunity when they open up the ranges to the general public. Fortunately today all is accessible.

A minor road takes you up and down through the valley for a few miles until a tiny lane slips off the main route down to the left to Tyneham, a ghost village hidden in the valley scooped out down towards the sea, and surrounded by rollicking hills and undulating cliff scenery. This is all part of the Lulworth  military firing ranges so you can only go in when the gate is open at the top of the lane. A sign tells me that it will close at 5pm, so careful timing is necessary if you're planning a long walk, unless you want to sleep in your car for the night.

The lane snakes down the valley until you reach a dead end with a large car park to the left which on a great day such as when I went is brimming with punters. There is a recommended two pound donation parking fee. To the right you find the abandoned village, complete with schoolhouse, church, row of cottages, and sundry other buildings. The village was taken over in 1943 during the Second World War and the villagers evacuated on the understanding that they would be able to return one day, but it never happened as a compulsory purchase order was placed on the land by the army in 1948. This is a sad story as quite a fight was put up to restore the village to its owners, but the fight was lost.

Many of the old cottages have lost their roof and the walls are crumbling, but the church and schoolhouse are still complete. Each building has a display board explaining the history of the farm labourers, tradesmen and assorted personages and their families, complete with black and white photos. The schoolhouse is decked out as if the children have just stepped out into the playground on some 1930s morning break and left all their schoolbooks open on the desk. Ancient wall posters from the nineteenth century explain things like weights and measures.

This valley would have been their world in the thirties, a quiet backwater at the heart of what was the British Empire. Here their lives would have been much more entwined with nature, a direct link with the soil, the sea and the flora and fauna of coastal Dorset. Obviously far less sophisticated and savvy than children today, on the either hand they would have had a much stronger knowledge of the natural world.

A totally romantic looking white and red painted telephone box in front of the row of cottages looks like it belongs on a Christmas card rather than in front of this collection of ruins. The church is still 100% complete and has resisted the ravages of time, perhaps because more effort has been made to conserve it. There used to be a Manor House in the area, but now it's falling down in some local area of woodland. To be honest you couldn't imagine a lovelier spot to live in, surrounded on three sides by gentle hills, and the sea just licking at the heels of the village. It must have been an idyll in its heyday, although life would have been tough.

Talking of the sea, if you walk to the other end of the car park from the village a wide path takes you through to toilets to the left and a well used path to the right down to Worbarrow Bay. This winds for a mile or so down to the sea shore where you can enjoy a picnic or sit on the beach.

For many people this would be enough of a Sunday afternoon stroll, sit down and admire the view with a hamper and a bottle of wine. In front of you is a mound for you to walk up, in fact a little pimple of a promontory jutting out into the sea for you to explore. To the right is the wide sweep of the bay, whilst to both the left and right the shore rises steeply up from the seashore.

For those of a more adventurous bent, you can walk from here to Lulworth Cove, although you'd need to start out early, and mark well the roller coaster route you are about to conquer. The path is well marked, and climbs steeply up to the west from the bay, not for the faint hearted or casual walker, but the views at the top are more than enough of a reward. Once you arrive breathless you can trace the Jurassic coast snaking away towards Portland like the undulating back of a dinosaur, sheer cliffs making for some good camera shots, whilst the fair Dorset countryside falls away to the north, particularly lovely on this cloudless blue sky day. Here at the crest is an old hill fort with display board. In the distance the towers of Lulworth castle can be seen.

One is reminded at all times by notices that this is a military zone with unexploded ordinance buried off the path, so it's wise to keep between the yellow markers as you progress. From the top where the hill fort is situated you can descend another quite steep slope to a bay, and then up another steep slope. At the bay a road snakes inland through military training grounds. Tanks and other armoured vehicles can be seen perched on hillsides. When you reach the top again a path follows the cliff top away to the west. By now my time is running out and I'm wary of arriving back at the car park in darkness and facing a closed gate across the road. The lure of dinner with family far outweighs the prospect of spending the night in a cold car in a ghost village, I shall retrace my steps. In the end I arrived back in plenty of time, there were still a few folk lingering at Worbarrow Bay, and a couple were even heading down to the sea from the car park. 

Give yourself two to two and a half hours to do this itinerary, although I'm not a slow walker. A walk to Lulworth Cove would need a day. Perhaps lashings of plum cake and ginger beer would recuperate you for the journey back!

Incidentally, another spot worth visiting is the Tank Museum. You don't have to be a tank nerd to enjoy this. I never had the Observers book of tanks on my bedside shelf but there's loads here to enjoy. You can get a year ticket for unlimited repeat visits, which I fully intend to take advantage of. Even spending a couple of hours or so there is far too little time to do it justice. The whole place is expansive and modern, with a large, elevated cafe to break your wanderings. I went just after Christmas when not that many people were around, worth bearing in mind.

There is a great exhibition on the history of the tank, which was a British invention which took off in the First World War, taken up by other nations who perhaps forged ahead later. Another exhibition takes you through a mock up of the First World War trenches, with accompanying guns and tanks. Here you can sit in an old tank and hear an interesting talk about what life was like making war in a tank. Interesting facts like the tank's armoury, how the tank managed to turn, and how they used to use shell casings to relieve themselves always pop out. Another exhibition concentrates on how horses were used in battle, so if you've seen Warhorse this should all make sense.

I had a quick look at the large Second World War shed which contains a bewildering number of these giant steel beasts, some of which have become icons. Here is the famous German Tiger tank painted in a sort of matt green colour, perhaps the most iconic of all Second World War tanks. Those Germans certainly knew a thing or two about technology. 

West Dean, Singleton, Charlton and East Dean

One cosy little part of West Sussex that is worth exploring is the East Dean, West Dean, Singleton, Charlton area just north of the Goodwood race course. This clutch of villages is strung out either on or near the main road from Chichester to Midhurst, Old England may be slowly disappearing but this area trumpets the old traditions in spadefuls.

West Dean is tucked into the valley running west from East Dean (makes sense!) and is like a whole village hidden inside the walls of an old stately home, West Dean House. The long straight main road from Midhurst to Chichester courses down the valley alongside an old flint wall that obviously conceals this rather unusual mix of old flint cottages, narrow lanes and estate outbuildings. West Dean has a charm all of its own with barely a slit in the armour as a limited number of tiny lanes dips down off the main road into this mix. Turn left at the pub as you're heading west, towards the end of the village, and you tumble down the hill and reach a neat little rectangle of settlement on your left with a village shop cum cafe and wooden table and benches outside to enjoy the views down the valley. Down the bottom you hit a long pencil thin lane that traces the wall of the estate which itself dates back to 1086. Go right and you are in a distinct farm building environment, go left and after passing a number of cottages you get to St Andrews church where you can throw a tennis ball over the church wall and hit the windows of the stately home on the other side, now an agricultural College but still sufficiently Downton Abbey looking to make you think a chap in plus fours, a Burberry jacket and carrying a shotgun will suddenly appear in the churchyard and then disappear again through the gate in the wall.

Back in the good old days this estate was the centre of what was known as the Marlborough House Set (how many of these sets were there?) which entertained the Prince of Wales at resident house parties. The poor old pheasant population must have suffered serious depletion in those days. Up the road was a very developed railway station, Singleton, which was the arrival point for visitors to Goodwood race course until they got fed up with the uphill route to the racecourse and preferred to use Chichester railway station. You can still see the old station building, now presumably a private house, and what must have been quite a posh tree lined drive up to the station from the main road. In its pomp and prime it must have been one of the places to arrive at for a weekend's horse racing at Goodwood, falling off a train straight onto the edges of an ancient estate, then a short hike to one of the most beautiful racecourses in the world. 

If you walk up the track to the right of the old station building you reach an overgrown, dilapidated flat area which was obviously where the railway once went. There were four platforms here in the station's prime, and you can still see an old railway building which looked like a goods or maintenance depot. It now acts as some sort of store. I took a look inside to find a forlorn and decrepit looking office and a gloomy interior behind the office used for storage.

Back on the other side of the road the estate itself has West Dean Gardens to visit with cafe, car parking spaces and a collection of art and craft buildings, so if you want to sculpt a bust of your favourite icon, weave a few baskets, or hand craft a metal gate this is the place to come. Of course autumn is a good time to come for the gardens and surrounding valley, arguably bringing out the best colour mix of the year. Is it just me but autumn in England seems to be more glorious than normal in 2016, with a richer palette of colour plumping out the reds and ochres which are normally more understated. Must be something to do with coming out from under the shadow of the EU! The weather has been on our side, with an abundance of crisp, blue sky days to heighten the contrasts.

 Whilst West Dean is not your normal English village, being a village tucked inside the skirts of a stately home, East Dean is much more your traditional affair with its flint cottages arranged around a pond in the centre of the village. Handsome hilly scenery surrounds the village, and it's easy to take a hike out of the village as I did through woods and fields to enjoy the valley and also the gentle descents towards the English Channel.

Between the villages of East Dean and West Dean lie another pair of settlements. Tracing the valley west from East Dean you first drive through Charlton, and a little further get to Singleton, which boasts the Weald and Downland Open Air Museum, Sussex Visitor Attraction of the Year 2015, where you can 'come and discover rescued traditional rural buildings set in a beautiful landscape, which tell the stories of the men, women and children who lived and worked in them over a 950 year period.' (Museum website). Having said this, I have yet to visit! What I did do was take a walk up over the Downs from the village. After parking up, I walked through the centre of the village and then took a path which heads out of the churchyard south up the hill. This is an easy on the eye stroll which eventually takes you up out of the valley and over the downland with extensive views until you get to glimpse your first sighting of Goodwood racecourse on the top of the South Downs. The path takes you onto a narrow lane which skirts the west side of the racecourse, then past the 'Triangle' the convenient parking space on the main road, and up onto St Roche's Hill, or alternatively the Trundle, an Iron Age hill fort which gives superb 360 degree views out to sea and over the national park. Here you can spot the Rampion Wind Farm out to the south east, whilst Chichester glints to the south. A great way to spend an hour or two.

Corfu

Well we all know why Corfu is called Corfu, cos when you step off the plane you exclaim 'Cor, phew' at the blistering heat that assaults you as you descend the aircraft steps. That was not my experience however as I landed on the island courtesy of Easyjet gone 11pm at night, when the alluring lights of the indented coastal settlement peeped up out of the darkness at the plane as it coasted into land at Corfu airport. After a smooth landing I caught a taxi to my destination, the City Marina Hotel overlooking the Old and New Ports and the New Fort, a hulking stone monstrosity sitting on a mound opposite the hotel windows. The airport is tucked right into the town, up its bottom you might say, to the south of the urban sprawl. So the taxi fare shouldn't be much for a mere three kilometres. However, it is late, and I am charged fifteen euro, which apparently is the norm. The taxi driver gives me a potted tourist guide to the town as we traverse the short distance to the hotel.

When I arrive at the hotel I am afforded a fairly low key reception from a seriously non smiley lady who might have been mistaken for a no nonsense hospital matron about to stick a syringe in your backside. Room 204 I am told is my destination. My friend has already arrived, a day and a half earlier, and is ready to meet me, regaling me with an account of his activities. He has already christened our receptionist 'the old bat' and it will stick. Fortunately she is not the only receptionist.

We're right on the seafront, and daybreak reveals a great view from the hotel over the New Fort, harbour and twisting coastline, and we're facing west, so a plum evening view from the balcony of sunsets over a can of beer beckons. The first day is spent in town, getting the bearings and visiting the New Venetian Fortress in the morning. It is seriously hot, and climbing tracks to exposed fortresses is not the easiest holiday activity. My friend is sweating alarmingly and the sun lotion does not seem to have quite taken. Perhaps it was not rubbed in enough. There is nothing much to see in the New Fort, no guides or plaques to read. So we just admire the views of Corfu Town dominated by the surrounding sea and the two sister Old and New Forts. Good photo snapping opportunity!

You can get a ticket to cover four attractions for 14 euro, the Old Fort, Asian art museum, Byzantine museum and Mon Repos are all included in the ticket so it makes sense to buy it. The Old Fort is far more interesting and has lots more to see than the New Fort, the Asian art museum has Japanese samurai artefacts amongst other not incredibly interesting exhibits, and the Byzantine museum is all about icons and Greek Orthodox symbolism. We spent a good while on the New Fort, which sprawls like icing on top of a cake over the mound that sits at the eastern end of Corfu Town. It is separated from the main part of the island by a bridge which joins the harbour walls to the Fort ramparts. You can follow the trail right up to the top past various on site buildings including a church building and barrack like blocks lower down. It's a fair walk to the top, where you are rewarded by great views from the fortification ramparts through 360 degrees over the town with the cricket pitch in the foreground, the harbour and out across the straights to Albania. On descent we found a great cafe at the yacht club which sits snug against the harbour walls below the New Fort and where you can sit all afternoon and watch the Mandraki harbour scene, full of bobbing boats on the gentle swell.

One day we visited Vidos, a small island just off the coast of Corfu Town to the north. You can get there for two euro return on a boat trip that lasts about ten minutes. Vidos has an important historical association  as it provided quarantine for a large number of Serbian troops during the First World War who succumbed to typhus and cholera. Sadly, many of them died and were buried locally at sea. A memorial and large mausoleum honours their memory. Many Serbians come to visit this spot and a  young Serbian helped us translate the memorial inscriptions, written at least partly in French.

The island is easy to walk over in a half day, and has a restaurant, cafe and bar just up from the boat mooring. There are numerous camp grounds, and one in the middle of the island was hosting youngster's activities. There are also a few small beaches with forlorn infrastructure which has seen better days. Talking to the lady at the bar, it seems the austerity measures of recent years have taken their toll on the tourist industry. We wound up at a beach on the north end of the isle with a smattering of people arriving and departing, but worn out and abandoned beach furniture was a sad feature again. A couple of guys had fishing rods whilst children swam and a tiny number sunbathed. Unusually, darting pheasants and rabbits shared the beachfront with us, and the odd bit of apple enabled a pheasant 'close up' shot. The weather was not so good today, with thunder and rain at times sharing our airspace. The beach was pleasant but not warm or sunny enough for me to venture into the sea. In the north western quadrant of the island is a Martello tower, but not of the type that decks the south coast of England. This was a somewhat larger fortification with significant ramparts, topped with woodland and standing sentinel over the sea below.

For me the best day was spent at Paleokastrista on the other side of the island, although a mere sixteen miles away across the neck of the island. Our attention had been drawn to this spot by a waitress on the Liston, the elegant colonnaded thoroughfare on the Corfu town seafront that borders the famous cricket pitch described by David Gower as the best pitch he had ever played on. The waitress persuaded us that Paleo as we called it was a plum destination, and so we set our minds to it. We hired a car for the day, and a short ride across the island reveals a wilder more craggy coastline with rocky headlands and promontories plunging into the sea along a wildly serpentine coastline, seemingly randomly thrown together by Providence but making a glorious whole. 'Paleo' as I shall call it, itself nestles at the foot of one section of this riotous shoreline, commanding a position over two bays, each with its own beach. The weather had somewhat improved since the previous day, and now the beach was filling up nicely with sunbathers. A monastery perches on top of the promontory just beyond Paleo, being reached either by foot up the winding road ascent or by vehicle. The monastery itself is flush with tourists visiting the oil mill and little church, while the museum harbours the bones of some gargantuan ancient creature, probably a whale. An old Greek Orthodox priest waxes lyrical to groups of the faithful in the gardens adjoining the monastery. The gardens are a real haven from the midday heat, on the one side of the monastery almost splicing onto the ragged cliffs, on the other surrounding a well decorated with mosaic and filled with coins. We eye the grapes hanging from a trellis and a vibrant splash of bougainvillea adds a welter of colour.

The bay proves to be a winner for snorkelers, pinched on either side by a couple of jutting headlands and bounded by steep rocky slopes. I venture out a couple of times, on the second occasion swimming right out beyond the headland into crystal water in every shade of blue poured over a rock strewn seabed and into secret caves and grottoes etched into the rock face. Here a simple rock formation soars out of the water to create a natural chair upon which one can sit out of the water to admire the view and to remove one's snorkel to shake out the mask. Here multitudinous craft forage to and fro, dodging the swimmers, including pedalos, one shaped like a Volkswagen VW. Fish are a bit more numerous here, the highlight being a blue beauty amongst all the rather plain beige and fawn coloured relatives.

The hired car takes us later up to the 'Bella Vista,' a restaurant hanging for dear life onto the cliff edge but yielding a magnificent view down over the said coastline. Here we met a couple froml northeast England who were here for ten days, who had actually come out on the same flight as my accomplice. They were motorbiking round the island and sang the praises of the north end of the island, an experience we would miss. This is a great spot for a snack or meal as the views are unbeatable. Having said that, later on we drove south-east to the 'Kaisers Throne' at Pelekas not far from the west coast. You drive off the main road up through the village, twisting and turning along tiny streets, still up and up until you arrive at a car park with adjoining perfectly situated hotel at the top of the hill. A viewpoint provides an almost 360 degree view of Corfu, over to Corfu Town and Albania across the straits, down to the south, and up to the north where sits a 917m mountain, quite a biggie for a Greek island. This viewpoint tells you that Corfu is a very green island, lush in every direction, much more so than the barren, dusty islands of the Aegean Sea.

Later on that day, after traversing a rather flat inner part of the island, we meandered up over the coastal hills by twisting roads to arrive at Benitses back on the east coast, a coastal resort and port just a few kilometres south of Corfu Town. Here we parked up by the main road and strolled up the seafront. Then we followed signs to the old village, but the signs petered out, so we had to wander what presumably was the old village. I asked one or two guys seated outside where the square was, and they replied with the amazingly specific answer of 'around.' After looking at the Roman bathhouse and being knocked out by it (not really) we decided to return to Corfu Town for dinner. We deposited the hired car near the rental office after a desperate attempt to park it by reversing against the flow of traffic which had no intention of giving way. Infuriating for my driving friend who threw out a few expletives at their intransigence.

Our last day was spent renting a cycle from near the port and biking a few kilometres to Mon Repos and Kanoni at the end of a spit of land adjacent to Corfu airport runway. Mon Repos, I found a bit more interesting than the Asian art museum and Byzantine museum, with a photographic exhibition of black and white nineteenth century scenes taken by a British officer who served in Corfu. There are also rooms set out in Regency style, an exhibition of watercolours, and various items from assorted archeological digs. This is not to forget that Mon Repos is the birthplace of our very own national treasure, the Duke of Edinburgh, who was born here in 1921 as the house was used by the Greek royal family. You approach the house by a long winding drive that heists upwards through pine woodland until you virtually reach the bluff above the craggy cliffs. The grounds of the house have various ancient ruins including a temple sitting and again overlooking the tumbling sea below. It proved to be an elusive site to find as the signposts to said temple peter out leaving you to work out for yourself which track leads to the 'pot at the end of the rainbow.'

Mon Repos

Further on we reach Kanoni. Here there is a classic picture postcard scene with a 'marooned' little white church reached by a tiny causeway and a few hundred yards out to sea the appropriately named 'Mouse Island,' with the hint of a building peeping up from the trees. You can survey the scene at an excellent cafe located in just the right spot, even more so because aircraft fly very close across your line of vision as they land or take off, an opportunity for some exhilarating sights and sounds. Meanwhile another bigger causeway runs across the channel dividing the sea from a calm lagoon. It runs right under the flight path. You can bike across this but beware the poor surface and pedestrians which make the possibility of flying off into the sea from the seriously narrow path rather more imminent. However the locals show us how it's done by expertly steering their motor scooters across, one with a little dog perched on the footrest.

Later we visited the Moni Viacherapa beach just east of the cafe to catch a last bit of sun before tomorrow's flight home. The beach is a sheltered lagoon and is well populated with bathers. Not great for snorkelers however. The heat of the afternoon was bizarrely interrupted by a rainstorm which swept in as I snorkelled through the shallow waters. Never before have I experienced rain pummelling down on my back whilst swimming in the Mediterranean! Meanwhile towels and accompaniments on the beach received a thorough soaking.

This outing is an easy day out, not too strenuous a bike ride from Corfu Town with a bit of up and down through the urban sprawl. Towards the south it's a one way system, you can hurtle down towards Kanoni, and climb back up the hill on your return by a different route. But the trip is well within the capabilities of any reasonably fit .person .

The flight home was indirect via Athens to Heathrow to save a bit of money, by Aegean airlines. A chance to look down thousands of feet at the Greek archipelago on its west coast, islands glittering temptingly in the azure ocean, as the plane forged east to Athens. Cabin service on the flight to London" was pucker, with sweets being given out first, followed by five rounds of drinks on the flight distributed around a very tasty airline meal. I'm impressed!