I begin my weekend travel notes pretty early on this Saturday morning. It is 9 am at Wadhurst and I have to wait an hour for the connecting bus. The day so far has turned out almost like a Thomas Hardy novel. You accept a certain state of things and unexpectedly you see something much better in offer. A ray of hope or even a glaring beam of hope presents all the promises of comfort and joy. However, at the last moment, it is snatched away at arm’s length and disappears as swiftly as it came. So it was that I planned to take the 0950 bus from Wadhurst to Bodiam. I arrived early enough to take the 0850 bus. I waited but at the bus stop. It was painful to watch the bus go right past me. One requires more than an average intelligence to use public transport. I should have read the bus timetable pasted at the bus stop more carefully. This listed only buses towards Turnbridge Wells and not Bodiam. I should have read deeper into the difference between “Wadhurst Station” and “Opposite Wadhurst Station”. The additional difficulty was that the bus stop across the road was well concealed in the surrounding wild growth of vegetation. As always, experience is the best teacher.
I continue these notes at the bus station at Hawkhurst where some technical problems with the bus door have resulted in some delay. Bodiam Castle, the first object of my visit, seems distant in both time and space.
Now I am at the end of a long day. The day has turned out rather pleasant. Bodiam Castle was pleasing but not impressive. Nothing can be more impressive than the fort at Sigiriya in Sri Lanka. Although the settings here are not as spectacular, the castle itself has been better preserved. Perhaps, too well preserved, that one fails to see it as a ruin. It is too neat and tidy. One can appreciate the stone walls rising within the surrounding moat. It is the crenellations that import images of battle and history. The round towers give stature and built. The views of the surrounding Rother valley on a idle sunny day were a delight to the eye. The views from within the spiral stairs through narrow inverted “keyholes” cannot be surpassed. It is the beauty of the world outside seen from within the security of the world inside. The castle walls are silent now but it once echoed household voices. It has been a defensive structure on the outside but really a homely abode on the inside.
The best visit of the day was to Scotney Castle and Garden visited at sunset at the end of a medium hike from Wadhurst. This was a hike that took me along the banks of Bewl Water which was being used for leisure-fishing. The clouds threatened rain and it did rain but only for a while. Rain in England is never hard or long, except in the mountains.
I do not know the names of flowers that were in bloom in the garden. I was told of azaleas, rhododendrons, wisterias and more but I would not be able to identify them if I saw them again. The garden was laid out as if created by nature herself. The quarry garden in particular was the focus. This provided lovely walking paths, fine views from the top and well-thought out points of balance. The splash of colour and the mix of scent were overwhelming by first impressions. It took a few walks by the paths to overcome such a impression. The round tower of the castle rising in the background of this abundance of vernal growth is a much photographed composition and justly deserved indeed. A few minutes of observed silence of sight, smell and sound are needed to appreciate this to the full. There is something magical in gardening in its laborious process, in its artistic challenge and the pleasing results. It is almost a spiritual activity; and is not Adam himself named the first gardener?
If the day had started with a lesson there was yet another one at the close. The campsite at which I had planned to pitch my tent no longer existed. The route was no longer a public right of way. I had brought an old map printed in 1998. One could get away with such an old map in less populated areas such as Scotland or Northumberland where changes are few and slow to happen; but not here in East Sussex. So a necessary detour towards another campsite at Stonecrouch had to be taken. The path passed the beautiful farm of Combwell Priory Farm with beautiful horses grazing on sloping expanses. Yet again the map failed me. I unwittingly entered some private land and was held at bay by a massive black Labrador. Other than the delay it wasn’t too bad. Barking dogs seldom bite. Certainly, dogs in this country are well-behaved even to intruders. If I had entered some private land in India I would be in a hospital by now, taking injections.
