HIP TRAVELOGUE
A ruin, a black cat, a talking sheep and a yew tree
By Roz Cran
We are walking to Fore Wood. We head along the path between Crowhurst church and an ancient stone arch which looms, spectacular in size, sided by fir trees grown into a tall hedge. A laminated notice is tied to a sprig: Whoever cut without permission and vandalised this hedge please note it is planted to protect passers-by from falling stones. Do not touch it. The police are watching.
We climb the wooden stile into a field which slopes down to a stream, the bank rises up the other side, poplars top the ridge. There’s a pinkness in the sky. We watch the colour deepen.
Sheep graze, bedraggled, wool clumps littering the grass. The path follows the narrow Powdermill Brook. An older couple pass, their dog on a leash. A black cat comes wandering. A good luck sign? It stops, turns its back on us. The old couple are calling the cat. It sits still as stone. They move on. Slowly the cat turns and strolls at a sedate distance behind the couple.
Fore Wood is an RSPB reserve. We don’t hear or see any birds. Trees have been harvested, trunks lie in tidy piles. A black circle marks a burning site. Clumps of brown leaves mulch the ground. It’s hard to identify the leafless trees but we name silver birch, oak, willow.
We emerge from the wood to a higher field of sheep. We can see the church tower outlined over the copse. There’s a piece of land fenced off with four goats and two sheep. A woman is filling a hole in a hedge. We say hello and one of the sheep baas. The woman tells us she rescues animals. She has horses and hens at home. Both sheep have pure white, sculptural faces. We say bye to the woman and again the sheep baas.
We walk through the graveyard to see the famous yew. But we are stopped by the sunset, a glorious red. Cameras in hand, we stare at the sky. Below a man gesticulates. He invites us down to take a photo through the arch. We enter his immaculate garden to see the full extent of the ruined building. The bottom layer is perhaps Norman, the middle layer mediaeval, the top part later still. Archaeologists come. They cannot agree on what was here, a Priory, a Hall. People come with divining sticks, metal detectors. He shoos them out of his garden.
Finally, the Yew. It is at least 950 years old. It was here when King Harold owned the manor. The branches curl, bend to the ground, dark brown, creeping and crawling, the trunk is hollow, streaked white, gnarled. How long it has stood its ground.
• An easy hour’s walk, nearest pub is The Plough at Crowhurst, or go to The White Hart in Catsfield.
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