Seaford To Cuckmere Haven – 29th December 2018
Today our walk takes us in a circuit around the town of Seaford, prior to continuing our coastal walk. We park in a layby on the road to Alfriston from Seaford and head northwards, climbing up the South Downs. We pass one of a number of vineyards that have sprung up on south facing slopes on the chalk. The geology is not much different from that of the Champagne area of France, but until recently the climate was less suited to the growing of grapes.
I can still recall one of the atlases of my secondary school in the 1960s. In particular I was always struck by the European agriculture map, which had an intriguing line running across northern France. This was the northern limit of wine cultivation.
To this day, I carry a mental image of this page and the line, like some kind of iron curtain beyond which no vine may cross. I am still almost shocked whenever I come across a field of grape vines in the UK, as though they are a refugee camp full of foreign individuals who really should not be here.
It appears that either the climate has improved, or strains of grape vine have been developed that can grow quite happily in our less favourable climate. In fact both have probably happened. Whatever the reason, English wines now compete with the very best grown in France, or anywhere else for that matter.
Dropping down from the chalky heights, we are able to view Seaford spread beneath us. It is a very clearly defined town, being sandwiched between the sea and the South Downs. Every bit of building land appears to have been utilised, with modern housing estates spreading as far as the steeper slopes of the Downs, and no further.
We pause at Bishopstone to admire its collection of desirable flint faced properties, one of which sports a charming concrete water butt for the benefit of passing horses. We decline to drink, even though the rainwater within is crystal clear. I daresay in years gone-by, this was an important source of drinking water next to the dry chalk Downs.
Concrete Water Butt and flint-faced walls – Bishopstone
A mile further on we pass Bishopstone Station, before our circuit of Seaford intercepts the English Channel at Seaford Sailing Club – whose cafe is thankfully open to the public. At this excellent establishment we are able to purchase a proper mug of tea for a single £1 coin. As is our preference, we take our tea outside and sit at a picnic table.
The views along the coast in bright sunshine provide an excellent backdrop for our tea break, so we decide to indulge in our packed lunches. No sooner have we taken out our meagre fare then a dog leaps unexpectedly upon the table in eager anticipation of its share.
Its embarrassed owner apologises, but appears to have little control over its movements, as she calls and commands it – to no avail. The majority of British dog owners appear to have no idea of the irritation that their wayward hounds can cause to non-dog persons, like ourselves. We resist the temptation to openly judge or scold them for their failings, settling instead for pursed lips of disapproval.
The walk along the sea front into Seaford brings us into contact with a rich array of dog-walkers, runners, cyclists and family groups. Many of the visitors are small children who are making use of the shiny new scooters or cycles given to them by Santa. Our progress is not only slowed by the mass of people, but by a blanket of pebbles thrown across the ‘prom’ on a recent high tide.
To my surprise the gathered masses diminish little, as we climb up Hawk Hill at the eastern end of the bay. 10 years ago Betty and I had our first weekend together, staying in a caravan nearby. We visited Seaford, to discover the RSPB had set up a telescope to encourage visitors to observe peregrine falcons nesting on the cliff face. Perhaps this was a common sight throughout history, giving the hill its name.
When we reach the top of Hawk Hill it becomes evident why so many are making this pilgrimage to the top. Before us is one of the most photographed views in England – the Seven Sisters. The cliffs gleam pure white from the sun, which is low in the west. From here it is evident why they are known as the Seven Sisters, when to my mind the family is a little bigger. From this vantage there are clearly seven little maidens, bending their backs as they dip their toes in the briny deep of the English Channel.
The Seven Sisters – dipping their toes in the Channel
At Hope Gap, the dynamic quality of the sea is illustrated, with a warning sign advising the visitor that the cliffs are unstable. The headland here takes the full brunt of the waves driven across the Atlantic and up the narrowing English Channel. Atop the chalk amber of cottages are apparently moving inexorably seaward. In reality it is the cliff line that is moving towards them, as large chunks of chalk slip down on a regular basis.
Various sea defences have been put in place over the years, fighting a losing battle with the sea. Climate change appears to be accelerating the rate of erosion, making the battle to save the cottages from the inevitable, just too expensive. Arguably it would be cheaper to dismantle the cottages and move them 100 yards inland, than to carry on adding to the sea defences for a further 100 years.
With the light fading rapidly, we decide to strike inland and back to our waiting car, taking the chance to have just one last look at the Seven Sisters, as they in turn their gaze out across the channel.
