A trip down memory lane... - Thursday 12/9/24
Today is going to be a trip down memory lane.
First stop this morning will be a farm in Burwash, where I used to work for 3 or 4 weeks every year hop picking.
Though I had traditionally worked on several different hop farms in September for many years, this was the farm where I worked my last 3 seasons, and the last
time would have been around the early 1980s.
The hop industry has severely declined in the last 20 years, and this is possibly the last farm in Sussex, and one of three
in southesat England, that still produce hops. Nowadays, the growing area much reduced, they supply hops exclusively to a local brewery, Harveys of Lewes.
It was quite surprising to see that virtually nothing had changed in the intervening 45 years. The same tractors and trailers bring the cut hopbines up from the hopgarden,
which are fed into the same hop-picking machine that was installed in 1958. The hops are dried in the same kiln, then pressed into pockets, in the same way they were when I worked there.
The only thing that has changed is the many workers, who back in the day were usually locals working during their annual holidays from their usual jobs, are now replaced by eastern europeans,
with the exception of three persons who were there the same time as me.
Unfortunately, I cannot show you any photographs of this as I was asked not to by the owner of the farm.
Later that day, I went to Ticehurst, where I used to live. Unlike the farm, the village was not frozen in time and had changed quite a lot since my last visit, and for the better.
After lunch in the local cafe, and a pint in the village pub, I wandered around the churchyard to find my mothers grave.
Later I had a chat with the owner of the local garage where I used to work, then popped down to the farm where I used to live.
My brother still lives there but he was away, but one
of my nieces was at home, and we chatted over a cup of tea for the rest of the afternoon.
Later I headed off to Burwash again, to have a pint at Lakedown Fisheries Tap Room. Lakedown is a trout fishery owned and run for many years by Roger Daltry, of The Who.
Unfortunately I just missed Roger, but had a couple of pints form the on site micro brewery.
I had intended to park up here for the night, but in the end decided to go back to
Ticehurst and stay there behind The Bell.
One of the small lakes, right opposite the tap room.
Morning promised anther fine day, and after coffee I got my bike off the rack at the rear of the camper and went for a ride around the village. Some of the old landmarks have given way to
new houses, a modern new primary school has replaced the old victorian one, but by and large, the character of the place has remained intact.
Leaving Ticehurst, heading towards the A21, I stopped on the dam at Bewl Bridge Reservoir, now called Bewl Water. I remember it being built back in 1974, and I don't think I have seen
the water level so low as it was today.
From here I went on to the Ashdown Forest, which is not so much a forest now, but a large area of heathland. One of its big claims to fame is its imortalisation as The Hundred Acre Wood in A A Milne's Winnie the Pooh.
Specifically, I went to Nutley, as I wanted to take some photographs of Nutley Windmill, a working open trestle post mill. This turned out to be a fruitless expedition, as the carpark only had
online payment tickets, but there was no internet signal. I was warned by a local dogwalker not to risk it, as the carpark was patrolled regularly by wardens. Not being cynical or anything, but I did wonder if the patrols
had anything to do with the poor internet. Nice little earner there....
I carried on and spent the afternoon at Sheffield park, a station on the preserved Bluebell Line Steam Railway. I didn't bother with a train journey, but did look around the museum and had a pint in the station tavern.
Leaving the railway, I headed through Heathfield, another place where I used to live, on on to a tiny village near Horam called Vines Cross. Here I stopped at my parkup for the night, The Brewers Arms.
When I was 17, and living in Ticehurst, I used to come to this area most weekends, meeting up with friends who lived locally. We used to frequent many of the local pubs on Friday and Saturday nights, and some like myself
who were less local used to bunk down on the floor at Ians house, just up the road from here. Ian is the friend I met at Bodiam a couple of nights back.
On Sundays, after a smashing fryup cooked by Ians mum, we used to amuse ourselves for a while before heading off to The Brewars Arms for sunday lunch and a few pints.
I was to meet another friend tonight, Pup, who also lived in Ticehurst, and I have known since we were about 15. While having a few pints, it occurred to me I had not drunk in The Brewers Arms
since possibly 1976. Looking around, it was largely unchanged since that time.
Just to prove it, here is a photo of myself, [centre], Ian [right], and someone else who was on the floor that sunday morning that neither of us can remember.
