A Peep into Sussex

Kai Tiaki : the journal of the nurses of New Zealand, Volume XV, Issue 3, 1 July 1926, Page 115

A Peep into Sussex

How much more interesting English history would have been to me if there had been no dates to learn. One only was uppermost m my mind during school days— lo66: The Battle of Hastings. During my first five weeks m England I visited the spot where King Harold fell, cycling there from Hastings.

It is not an easy ride, because of the gradual incline, but a most enjoyable one. The country here is very different from the open, rolling downs about Eastbourne and Brighton, and many very old and beautiful trees line the route. It was here that I first saw the pink and white chestnut trees and the mountain ash m bloom.

Notice boards with the word " Teas " invited us to rest and refresh ourselves, but we pressed on till we reached the small town of Battle. The old Abbey is hard by the roadside and is m a wonderful state of preservation, considering its age. Unfortunately, most of it was closed to the public that day, as it is being used as a private school.

We spent time m the Old Battle Church, and was surprised to find that it had been opened that week for a burial. Having to walk over memorial slabs before the beautiful mahogany altar and down the aisles gave one a feeling of desecration, but the sexton looked more than at home. He pointed out much of interest. The "Leppers squint," being an oblong window, small, and placed at an angle m the wall so that leppers could watch the service through. One old Bible, among others, being valued because it had some misprinted words. Vinegar being used m the " Parable of the Vineyard." We had tea m an old home at the Abbey gate, known as " The Pilgrim's Rest," and there, of old, pilgrims did rest and prepare themselves after a weary tramp before entering the Abbey. The garden before this old timbered home was gay with flowers.

Much can be said of the delightful country of Sussex. I was living within esay distance of the county and shall

never forget the Spring creeping on, and the many flowers that could be picked along the narrow lanes. Frequently I was asked if I had been to Rye, and was told I should just love it; also that it was there that the sweet old song was written. ("An Old-fashioned House m an Old-fashioned Town") .

After an interesting trip through the lanes one day we arrived by 'bus at Rye. Entering the once fortified gateway on the south side, we passed through the main street; then we wandered up and down the cobble-paved streets, and noticed a lack of conformity everywhere. Many houses were roofed with red tiles, and some had tiled walls. These covered with a brilliant green creeper, were most picturesque. These were interspersed with the black and white timber and plaster houses between the timbers, old-world laticed windows peeped on to the cobbled way. Each building has its own individuality, so that each street is full of unexpected delights and surprises.

A sudden break m the wall, a narrow alley and a flight of steps leading to a quaintly gabled house, and then a sudden bend m the street, revealing houses on either side that have tempted many artists to remain and use their pencils and paint. In Mermaid Street there is an old inn of that name, its sign hanging well over the street. It is an unique example of a timber and plaster house.

Low-ceiled and heavy, irregular oak beams supporting the upper floor, spacious ingle nooks and yawning fireplaces well over a hundred years old. Passing on, we entered tea rooms, stepping up off the cobble stones. We enjoyed both the daintily-served meal and our surroundings very much. The brilliantlypolished warming pan had its place on the wall. The bell was a brass lady resting on her skirt, apparently minus legs, but not so. We examined her and found she— the bell — had for sounding tongue two nicely-modelled legs.

We took the opportunity of ringing this merely for our bill while the wait-

ress was out of the room. Later, wandering into Watchbell Street, and for the payment of sixpence we entered the oldest house m Rye. Stone and ironwork curiosities were on view here. The staircase did not seem safe, but we ventured. In a lofty room above a courteous old lady was busy binding a book m an old-fashioned manner, and many dainty articles could be bought that her clever fingers had made. One thing of note was a recently-found window. This had been well covered with mortar and stone during the years when glass was taxed. The church was, of course, visited. Space will not permit of a lengthy description. We climbed the old tower to see the clock presented by Queen Elizabeth. The pendulum of this hangs right down into the old chancel. I was quite pleased to gently pat the shoulder of one of the two little gilt boys whose hammers have beaten the hours and the quarters for several generations. From Watchbell Street we walked on to a small rampart ; here were seats and an iron railing below, which was a sudden drop of many feet. We rested here beside several old sailors and fishermen. The scene was more Dutch than English. Many acres of marshy flat and, beyond, the blue sea. Along this flat, called Saltings, the rivers Bride and Rother

wind their way to the sea and along these small barges leisurely drift up or down as the tide allows, keeping occupied the thoughts of the retired seamen. Near-by was a mediaeval fortress called Ypres, and this they told us was Wipers' Tower, built to keep the French off. The sky-line was broken by Camber Castle, and on the coast we saw clearly the fishing village of Camber. Across the Saltings to our right on an eminence was the old town of Winchlesea, and not on the sea as its name and an old picture suggests. We entered this town later through the old Land Gate, and near this is an old house once Ellen Terry's. The garden was ablaze with flowering rock plants, and is as noted for these as Marie Corellie's home m Stratford is for its window boxes. Near the churchyard m this town is an old ash tree, under which John Wesley preached his last open-air sermon, and this reminder of calm-faced Wesley, together with thoughts of ancient knights, effigies of whom we had seen m the churches (some m armour), smugglers with their brandy kegs and silk, the landing of French soldiers storming the heights, and the delightful old homes filled our minds with many strange thoughts. —A TRAVELLING NURSE.