Richard Williamson Country Walk...Eartham Woods

East out of park for 120 metres between spruce plantations reaching gravel road north for 
a mile. This is a permissive path over open access land, not a public way.

Some unusual wild native shrubs along this way: spindle, wayfaring dogwood, also hazel, birch, willow and ash. Bigger beech have masses of mast this year and these nuts are quite good to eat.

On right, one of the finest beech crops in the country, tall and straight.

We pass some very tall Douglas firs, too, which are on the right, also planted 1950s.

Douglas firs were first introduced to Britain in 1827 by David Douglas, the Scottish botanist. Note the distinctive three-lobed bracts on the fir cones.

Cross three different crosstracks still going north, and climbing up to Upwaltham Hill.

Passing ownership banks of St Mary’s farm, turn right on to bridleway (blue arrow) for half a mile north-east. This ancient stoney track has older beech trees and also some ornamental Norway maple trees once favoured by FC. I planted hundreds in Norfolk 50 years ago.

Eventually our track levels out and there are usually puddles here where we cross Bronze Age defensive cross dykes made 3,000 years ago.

Note several places where fallow bucks have recently thrashed willow shrubs during October rut.

Turn right at a massive 200-year-old beech on right on blue arrow southward. As you walk, you will cross a dozen lynchets which are almost all spaced at the distance of 52 paces.

They were field boundaries of the late Bronze Age 3,000 years ago and show all of these woods were then open field farms growing corn.

One field here is 75 paces, and ends a small group of yew trees where a hollow suggests a round house of these times.

Reaching Stane Street, turn right, south west. This is one of the most famous six cross-ways in Sussex.

Stane Street was built 1,900 years ago, a prestigious raised agger with double drain ditches taking the Romans from Chichester to London.

As I march back to the mere 50-year-old Morris I run Respighi’s Pines of Rome through my head, especially that rousing ending describing the march down the Appian Way that always brings the house down at the Proms. Appian Glorious you might say.