TADS #69:Guildford to Horsley (or Walking With Ghosts).

Seven years and two months ago the TADS walked the Wey from Godalming to Guidlford (in a walk, of course, called Walk This Wey). That was the eighteenth blogged TADS walk. This Saturday we walked the Wey again (or at least some of it) but this time it was the sixty-ninth blogged TADS walk (69 you say, hmmm, how to celebrate) and though it wasn't the exact same cast of walkers it was an equally wonderful day.

 

A very typical TADS day in fact. There were footpaths, fields, trees, waterfowl, beers, curry, laughter, ponderous map reading, minor run-ins with officialdom, and a rush to get to the Indian restaurant on time. That's how we roll in TADS. I try to organise as much possible beforehand but it seems inevitable that there will be unforeseen events that crop up on the day. Sometimes I get stressed by them but, after over seven years, I'm finally learning to roll with the punches.

I was up not long after 5am and out of the house not longer after 8. Picking up a Guardian at Sainsbury's (printed newspapers must surely be on death row) and taking a train to Crystal Palace and then another to Clapham Junction where I met with Pam at platform nine (as I have done so so many times) before we hopped on the speedy train to Guildford and made our way to Paul's Cafe in the bus station. I choose very glamorous venues for our brunchingtons.

Paul's Cafe, however, was too grim for some. Teresa left me a message to say her, Adam, and Shep had instead opted for a Wetherspoons breakfast. Shep had even risked a very early pint of Corona. I had no problem with Paul's. The chip butty, washed down with a cup of tea, was bloody delicious and once done Pam and I headed to The Rodboro Buildings (Guildford's Spoons - a surprisingly nice one and one some of us had ended up in back on that previous Guildford walk) where Pam ordered a gin'n'tonic and Shep, who'd already eaten, ordered a solitary sausage. A spicy vegan sausage that was hand delivered and Shep garnished with a circular blob of ketchup. Gourmet dining has reached Guildford.

At the station we met with Clive, Roxanne, Sharon, and Jason (who, it seems, weren't up for either Paul's Cafe or solitary Spoons sausages) and from there all nine of us (we had what Shep likes to call 'a decent crew') headed down to the banks of the Wey to get this walk started.

It was a gorgeous day. Bright blue skies, the big yellow guy had his hat one, there was a gentle breeze, people were cycling the footpath, rowing in the river, taking leisure boat rides, or simply soaking up some rays. We followed a pictruresque stretch of the Wey past some unusual statues (although I missed the dragonfly, giant, and otter promised on the mapometer website) and a branch of B&Q where we crossed the river and the A25 and continued along the opposite bank as it curled westerly.

Some of the scenery was as spectacular as the weather and it was a jolly, chatty bunch of walkers who passed through it. Not the slightly bedraggled strand of humans who reached the Indian restaurant about six hours later! The Wey split into two (the Wey and the Wey Navigation) for a while before rejoining. Glorious countryside on all sides of us until we passed over the bustling and busy A3 via a bridge on Clay Lane. 

Into Burpham. My phone had said Burpham was thirty-eight miles away but it turns out there's two Burphams and my phone thought I wanted the one near Arundel. Maybe one day I will. Disappointingly, we learned that local's pronounce it Birtham but that didn't stop Shep glugging on his fizzy water to produce a celebratory burp on arriving in Burpham.

Burpham seems like a quiet, pleasant, reasonably posh, and not particularly spectacular place. It's older than it looks though. It gets a mention (under its old name of Borham) in 1086's Domesday Book. We took very tasty ice creams (I had a 99) from an ice cream van parked near the Sutherland Memorial Park (named because the land was donated by the Duke of Sutherland) which hosts a war memorial, football pitches, petanque courts, and a children's playground.

We negotiated a couple of roundabouts and passed large branches of Aldi and Sainsbury's before passing under the railway lines and on to Merrow Common Road which took us, of course, to Merrow Common itself and down some lovely gentle lanes. Easy on the foot although that may not have been the case for the person who left their shoes there. Of course we imagined the worse. Dead men's shoes aside however, it was another lovely stretch. Through Clandon Park and, ultimately, out into West Clandon (some very fine houses there) and down to The Bull's Head pub.

Near some very impressive wisteria, Peter the Peacock (that's his name, a friendly member of bar staff told us) was preening himself in his own personal mirror (our first TADS peacock since Krug in The Trout Inn in Wolvercote in 2018) and, occasionally, letting out some horrible yelping noises. As I was introducing myself to the resplendent galliforme, Darren and Cheryl parked up nearby. Darren's hand and arm (on the left side, not his wanking hand) in a brace after an unfortunate incident in a LIDL car park. The most surprising thing about that story is that they were shopping in LIDL. Always had them down for Waitrose.

Pam and I drowned a brace of Shere Drop's (a local Surrey ale) and we found a big table (big enough for eleven of us) in the garden but in the shade. Talk turned to old sitcoms (Are You Being Served, Dad's Army, Hi-De-Hi), one hit wonders (I'm a real purist when it comes to what can be termed a one hit wonder and Strawberry Switchblade don't count, and Sharon's chance encounter with Chrissie Hynde.

I even told the story of Clandon's folkloric dragon who was killed by a soldier (helped by his dog) who was rewarded by being pardoned for desertion. It's not clear what the dog was given as a reward but I expect it was a bone. It was a lovely pit stop but it meant we'd have to up the pace if we wanted to reach our destination, and stop at another pub, in time. It didn't help that we missed (by about 400 metres) a turning which added nearly a whole extra kilometre on the walk. Nobody complained. In the past that might not have been the case.

We didn't get to West Clandon's largely destroyed (by a fire ten years ago) Palladian mansion (built by the Venetian architect Giacomo Leoni) or pay much attention to the 12c St Peter and St Paul church but we did, eventually, find ourselves on The Foxway (no sign of any foxes). There were beautiful green expanses, narrower forested tracks, and, of course - it's TADS, a golf course. A very posh looking golf course too. Clandon Regis. That's a royal stamp of approval.

Soon we reached East Clandon. I walked ahead in the hope of relieving my very full bladder but couldn't find anywhere suitable so went behind a tree. Open air urination is one of the great joys of countryside walking (though not for all of us). East Clandon's got a Grade I listed church (dedicated to St Thomas of Canterbury) and in 1544 it (the village, not the church) was granted to Sir Anthony Browne by Henry VIII. Browne was the ol' wife killer's Master of the Horse.

Airline entrepreneur Freddie Laker (1922-2006) used to live in East Clandon and the television series Catweazle (1970-1971) was filmed in the village. Geoffrey Bayldon who played Catweazle later appeared as The Crowman in Worzel Gummidge. Which seemed appropriate as we still had our happy heads on.

The Street (that's its name) led us into Hatchlands Park and the grounds of Clandon House. Landscaped by Admiral Edward Boscowen who purchased the park in 1750 with the help of the fantastically named Stiff Leadbetter who also worked on Fulham Palace and Radcliffe Infirmary in Oxford. Boscowen had a fairly distinguished military career. He'd won the Siege of Louisburg (part of the French and Indian War) in 1758, and the Battle of Lagos a year later in the Seven Years War, a war in which the powerful European nations used much of the rest of the world to sort out their differences and resulted in nearly a million deaths. Boscowen earned himself two rather amusing nicknames. Old Dreadnought and Wry-necked Dick.

As our group spread out I was informed there was a car behind us. I moved out of the way to let it pass but the lady inside stopped and began to talk. I assumed she was asking directions but instead she was a member of National Trust staff telling us we had not paid to come in to the park. An easy mistake when there is no kiosk or visible way of paying and no signs informing us we were supposed to pay.

She asked where we were trying to get to so I told her and she switched from bad cop to good cop and said we could pass through for free but not to hang around too long. Research today tells me that it would have cost us £14.30 each to pass through Hatchlands Park - though National Trust members can visit for free so Pam would have some money left over for gin and Mogwai tickets.

We wouldn't be sent to nearby HMP Send after all. But I was quite stressed about not spending too long in Hatchlands Park and wasn't sure if the route we had taken would lead us to a dead end or out of the park. It led us to a gate which we had to clamber over and which had a sign on reading 'PRIVATE - No public right of way'. A sign that perhaps would have served Hatchlands Park better if it was placed near the wide open entrance and not on a gate that you'd have to climb over to get in anyway.

We followed a footpath alongside the A246 into West Horsley where Bill Pertwee (from Dad's Army, some got him mixed up with third Dr Who Jon Pertwee but we had been talking earlier about Worzel Gummidge so that's fair enough) used to live. Beatrix Potter (1866-1943) used to stay in West Horsely so it's far from inconceivable that her walks in the countryside we were in inspired the creation of such absolute fucking legends as Peter Rabbit, Squirrel Nutkin, Mrs Tiggy-Winkle, Pigling Bland, The Tailor Of Gloucester, The Flopsy Bunnies, and Jemima Puddle-Duck.

The group were beginning to stretch out. The fitter (and thirstier) walkers leaving some others behind. I tried to make sure that nobody was out of sight either at the front or the back of the group but I did want to make sure everybody, if they wished, stopped to have a look at West Horsley Place. Not least because it was the inspiration for the walk.

It's where the TV series Ghosts was filmed (I liked it so much I wrote five whole blogs devoted to it, one for each series) and though we could only peer through the bushes at West Horsley Place/Button House from the road that was enough to satisfy me for now. West Horsley Place is Grade I listed but there are further eight Grade II listed buildings on the grounds. Including two dog kennels!

It dates back to the 15th century and has fifty rooms and it's been owned by the soldier and statesman John Bourchier, the Earl of Lincoln, the 1st Marquess of Exeter, and Henry VIII (of course) and architecturally, it's an example of what they call 'Artisan Mannerism'. Elizabeth I used to stay there and, perhaps best of all - except for Ghosts of course, it as 'accidentally' inherited by former University Challenge host Bamber Gascoigne in 2014 who got to enjoy for another eight years before he passed away at the age of 87.

Gascoigne's inheritance was a mixed blessing as the place was in a state of disrepair and full of cobwebs. His solution was to auction off sections of the house via Sotheby's and place its running into the hands of the newly created West Horsley Place Trust. Which is how Ghosts came to be filmed there. It's not the only thing filmed there. It's been used to shoot scenes in The Crown too. As well as a film called Enola Holmes and something called Harry Price:Ghost Hunter that went out on ITV.

We continued for about another fifteen minutes until we reached East Horsley and our second pub stop, the Duke of Wellington. The sun was out so we sat in the beer garden and I switched to lager. It was a quick one though as the curry house was a twenty minute walk away and we needed to be there for as close to 7pm as possible.

Opposite The Duke of Wellington sits Horsley Towers, a 19th century country house designed by Charles Barry who is more famous for rebuilding, along with Augustus Pugin, the Houses of Parliament. It was built for the banker William Currie who died before it was finished. Instead William King-Noel, the First Earl of Lovelace moved in and expanded the place.

The Earl's wife is now much more famous than him. Ada Lovelace was a pioneering mathematician and is now seen, along with her friend Charles Babbage, as one of the most influential figures in the history of early computing. In 1919, Thomas Sopwith, the aviation pioneer, bought the gaff and named one of his planes, the Hawker Horsley, after it.

It is currently Grade II listed but its design has had mixed reviews from architectural critics. Nikolaus Pevsner called the Tudor-Revival/Romanesque/Germanic mash up as "one of the most sensational" buildings in all of England though Ian Nairn complained, quite oddly I think, that the building is sober, dull, and lacks enthusiasm, and called one of the lodges on its grounds "particularly violent". Architectural historian Mark Girouard went further. He saw Horsley Towers as "a grotesque Victorian Disneyland which has to be seen to believed - and may not be even then". He said he included the building in his study The Architecture of Southern England as a warning rather than an inducement.

I quite liked its frivolity and rather unusual design. A folly come to life. I don't see why architecture can't be fun. Sadly we didn't have much time to admire or critique it and soon we were spreading out again as we headed north on Ockham Road South to Kirthon which, predictably, was virtually empty and they hadn't given our table to other diners because there were none (and we were only about six minutes late).

Roxanne and Clive passed on the curry yet the seven of us remaining all indulged and I thought it was pretty good. I had paneer tikka, paratha, and shared some pulao rice with Adam and, of course, it was washed down with a couple of highly agreeable Cobras. Trouble is I ate too slowly. Pam left to catch a train before I'd even finished and then everyone else finished way before me too. I need to be put on the slow eater's table sometimes. Either that or I just talk too much. Not wanting to sit in the restaurant alone I left some of my paratha behind but that was fine, I was full enough.

I took the train from Horsley to Guildford, another to Clapham Junction, another to Peckham Rye, and a 63 bus up the hill to home. By the end of the day I'd notched up a reasonably impressive 39,430 steps. Not a record for the year but a podium place so far at least. Far more importantly I'd had a bloody lovely day with lovely food, lovely drink, lovely countryside, lovely sunshine, and, most importantly of all, lovely people.

Thanks to Pam, Shep, Teresa, Adam, Clive, Roxanne, Sharon, Jason, Darren, Cheryl and Peter the Peacock for another tremendous TADS experience and thanks to Adam, Clive, Pam, and Sharon for some of the photos included in this 'ere blog. Next Saturday we're back on the Thames Path (stage thirteen, Abingdon to Oxford) and next month are TADS are wandering from High Wycombe to Beaconsfield in a walk that I've inevitable called Wycombe Wanderers. Looking forward to it already.