Sunday, March 02, 2014
Glynde and Beddingham Hill. Part 1.
As part of our day out we had a walk round Glynde (rhymes with find).
Glynde and its neighbouring village Firle were our local communities during Augusts in the 1950s when my family camped on a small level ridge on the side of Beddingham Hill. The camping continued well into the 1960s.........but by mid teens I felt I had more important interests.
Today I will share with you pictures of Glynde - leaving Beddingham Hill for part 2.
The weather was dull.
We parked by the recreation ground and cricket field, with memories of a happy flower show and fete there in the 1950s.
We walked towards the centre of the village to the forge, shop and church.
Built 1907. We should return one day when the blacksmith is working.
Lovely primroses - Spring is just around the corner.
The old dairy......once so busy.
I was quite fascinated, as a child, by the milk bottles inching round the conveyor belt and the sort of "gloop" noise as each was filled with milk.
I liked this church as a girl......so different from all the other Sussex village churches we were taken to.
Yes, we visited them all! My family were not at all Godly, but churches are interesting.......and free!
We cycled from village to village from our spot up on The Downs.
There is a small circular chalk face towards the left hand side. Our tents were not far below that.
From the church to the lych gate and Mount Caburn.
I can't believe it......I walked straight to it.
Harry and Dick Freeman were brothers. Harry farmed at Station Farm just outside the village. Dick was at Furlongs Farm up on the Downs - tending his sheep mostly.
It was a field on the edge of Furlongs Farm land that we used for camping. Harvest time on the Downs involved the whole family and it was then that we mostly saw Harry and his son, Julian.
Dick is mentioned on the stone on the ground.
Richard Solomon Freeman......never knew about the Solomon bit.
There will be more about Furlongs Farm in Part 2.
The village shop. Are there more windows now? Beyond is a tea rooms.
You can see the shop and the white building in this old post card.
Glynde Reach flows into the River Ouse just south of Lewes.
I still have an old earthenware bottle that was pulled from the mud by this river.
And Glynde - commemorating being village cricket champions - with Beddingham.
By the way if anybody from these villages reads this, please get in touch.
We grew up, educated in local affairs by our great aunt in Firle, to call Beddingham - Bedding - Ham.
All I hear now on local radio is Beddingum! It drives me mad......Aunt Nellie just couldn't have got it wrong!
Glynde Station and Mount Caburn.
I have already hinted that, in my teens, I developed some interests away from my parents.
They would have thought it crazy if I didn't.
I was fascinated by pubs - places that my parents didn't go.
I began quite early (aged 13) when me and a friend joined a very respectable walking group. We stopped at pubs to eat our sandwiches.
This is the Glynde pub - The Trevor Arms.
It was pretty much like this when our family would cycle by round to the shop.
So, today another ambition fulfilled.
I have been inside The Trevor Arms, where I enjoyed half a pint of hand made Hastings beer, which was delightfully mellow and fruit.
Like many village pubs it is well set up for food - satisfying the needs of both locals and walkers.
The left hand frontage has been extended and more windows put in.
I like the fact that the pub informs of the times of trains at the station.
This is good for walkers who might need a train to get back to their cars after a trek over the Downs.
I should know the name of this terrace of cottages.
One of my teenage interests was the Freeman's farm boy, Brian, who lived in one of these cottages.
Brian, you would be in your 70s now. I hope it has been a good life for you.
Station Farm - home of Harry Freeman.
Now abandoned and left to become derelict. The land has been absorbed into Glynde Estate.
I didn't know about financial arrangements of course - I have no idea whether the Freemans were tenants or farm owners.
Open to all weathers.
Seems sad.
I have watched the cows being brought in and milked here.
Next time we will go up the hill.
Glynde and its neighbouring village Firle were our local communities during Augusts in the 1950s when my family camped on a small level ridge on the side of Beddingham Hill. The camping continued well into the 1960s.........but by mid teens I felt I had more important interests.
Today I will share with you pictures of Glynde - leaving Beddingham Hill for part 2.
The weather was dull.
We parked by the recreation ground and cricket field, with memories of a happy flower show and fete there in the 1950s.
We walked towards the centre of the village to the forge, shop and church.
Lovely primroses - Spring is just around the corner.
The old dairy......once so busy.
I was quite fascinated, as a child, by the milk bottles inching round the conveyor belt and the sort of "gloop" noise as each was filled with milk.
I liked this church as a girl......so different from all the other Sussex village churches we were taken to.
Yes, we visited them all! My family were not at all Godly, but churches are interesting.......and free!
We cycled from village to village from our spot up on The Downs.
There is a small circular chalk face towards the left hand side. Our tents were not far below that.
From the church to the lych gate and Mount Caburn.
I can't believe it......I walked straight to it.
Harry and Dick Freeman were brothers. Harry farmed at Station Farm just outside the village. Dick was at Furlongs Farm up on the Downs - tending his sheep mostly.
It was a field on the edge of Furlongs Farm land that we used for camping. Harvest time on the Downs involved the whole family and it was then that we mostly saw Harry and his son, Julian.
Dick is mentioned on the stone on the ground.
Richard Solomon Freeman......never knew about the Solomon bit.
There will be more about Furlongs Farm in Part 2.
The village shop. Are there more windows now? Beyond is a tea rooms.
You can see the shop and the white building in this old post card.
Glynde Reach flows into the River Ouse just south of Lewes.
I still have an old earthenware bottle that was pulled from the mud by this river.
And Glynde - commemorating being village cricket champions - with Beddingham.
By the way if anybody from these villages reads this, please get in touch.
We grew up, educated in local affairs by our great aunt in Firle, to call Beddingham - Bedding - Ham.
All I hear now on local radio is Beddingum! It drives me mad......Aunt Nellie just couldn't have got it wrong!
Glynde Station and Mount Caburn.
I have already hinted that, in my teens, I developed some interests away from my parents.
They would have thought it crazy if I didn't.
I was fascinated by pubs - places that my parents didn't go.
I began quite early (aged 13) when me and a friend joined a very respectable walking group. We stopped at pubs to eat our sandwiches.
This is the Glynde pub - The Trevor Arms.
It was pretty much like this when our family would cycle by round to the shop.
So, today another ambition fulfilled.
I have been inside The Trevor Arms, where I enjoyed half a pint of hand made Hastings beer, which was delightfully mellow and fruit.
Like many village pubs it is well set up for food - satisfying the needs of both locals and walkers.
The left hand frontage has been extended and more windows put in.
I like the fact that the pub informs of the times of trains at the station.
This is good for walkers who might need a train to get back to their cars after a trek over the Downs.
I should know the name of this terrace of cottages.
One of my teenage interests was the Freeman's farm boy, Brian, who lived in one of these cottages.
Brian, you would be in your 70s now. I hope it has been a good life for you.
Station Farm - home of Harry Freeman.
Now abandoned and left to become derelict. The land has been absorbed into Glynde Estate.
I didn't know about financial arrangements of course - I have no idea whether the Freemans were tenants or farm owners.
Open to all weathers.
Seems sad.
I have watched the cows being brought in and milked here.
Next time we will go up the hill.
