The Pilgrims' Way: Box Hill to Merstham
This morning was in the running for the worst start so far. Rain? Check. Cold? Check. Steep incline? Check. Hotel? Trivago.
The sleepover at Westhumble had been fun, though my mum seemed to enjoy being in a sleeping bag again after 50 years far more than I expected. She was eager to donate to the chapel as thanks, too. I was glad that she came, and hope that she brings Freddie back with her on Saturday like she suggested. But it was raining already, and I had to meet a member of the National Trust for 9am at the viewing point at Box Hill, so I couldn’t wait around.
The first half hour of the day was miserable. Wet, tired, footsore, and carrying the heaviest bag of the trip up 300ft in very little time was not my preferred morning routine. I may have sworn more in that brief period than in the rest of the trip so far combined. But once I made it to the top...well, it was raining, so I couldn’t see too much. I was able to spot the spite of Ranmore Church that I had failed to enter the day before though, and it felt good to see how far I had come.
When Saye did arrive, we had a lovely conversation about some of the details of Box Hill. Did you know the hill is named after the box trees that grow there, which are the archetype of the thick trimmed hedges you see sculpted into long cuboids along prestigious driveways? We also returned to Jane Austen, as the hill was used as a setting in Emma. You are never far from Jane Austen. Look down, she’s under the floorboards now. I appreciate the little Box Hill badge that Saye gifted me at the end too. It was a positive end to a difficult start to the day.
From then on, the sun cleared the rain away, and the roads were flatter. At the same time, the main antagonist of the day proved to be the very nature that the National Trust tries to preserve. The overgrown pathways made it difficult to pass through with my bulky rucksack on. At one point, I had to back out and remove it before trying again. Several other times I felt like I was lunging between squat postures under the bracken. Surrey definitely has bigger hills than the quaint rolling humps of Hampshire, no question.
Fortunately, I had no other sights to see or appointments to keep, and the walk was short by comparison, so I had all the time in the world to contend with the difficult terrain. I could decide to spend some time talking to a man cutting apart bits of fallen tree that were blocking the bridleway, if I wanted to. I could imagine myself being chased by Nazgul down a browned pine needle lane on the side of the hill; long and straight and devoid of any moving life...that I could see. I also used it to eat a regrettable amount of sugar in one sitting by the Betchworth train station while I took a break.
In some ways it was almost too relaxed compared to previous days. After a tricky period along a high ridge, I took a break on a log and sat by myself for nearly 20 minutes doing nothing in particular aside from drinking and checking on the videos I had taken so far. Any other day and I would have sat for no more than needed, and I think it’s a sign that I’m getting used to being out on the path for a lot of my days now. The squirrels and birds were a little lazier today, too. They waited for an extra step or two before taking off into the trees, so I got to see them more closely than before. The squirrels in Surrey look heavier to me.
The blackberries have started to die away now, I’ve noticed. I was tossing them into my mouth at the start of the trip, and now only a week later many of them are shrivelled and sad. Perhaps they are worried I’ll pick them and eat them, and so are deliberately choosing to look meek as I walk by. That sounds quite fun when it’s put like that.
And once I reached the top of Reigate Hill, I could see the first sight of London on the horizon. I could just about make out The Shard without my glasses on, which is to say I could see the tallest building in the United Kingdom without my glasses on. By early afternoon the temperature had risen to a balmy sub-20 degrees, and a breeze began picking out leaves to spread across the hillsides. It was a good enough place to eat a bacon sandwich and have an interview of my own with a member of the Children’s Society media team. It felt so odd being on the other end of the microphone, as it were. I heard the interviewer offer all the same assuring options I do in my own interviews, and I found myself wondering if I was giving the correct, best answer I could to fairly innocuous questions. I hope the impression I gave of myself was good enough, and I’ve already practiced in the mirror for any second round.
By the time I left the top of Reigate Hill, the afternoon was well underway, and I was eager to finish. The motorway kindly cuts right through the town of Merstham, so the route to the church wasn’t quite direct. But approaching St. Katherine’s from the south, and seeing it framed by yellow and red leaves, was beautiful. It was the only church I encountered today, and a proud stamp it made in my passport. I must give thanks to the staff at St. Katherine’s for allowing me to stay in their hall for the night and providing a lovely card and donation as well. I would have liked to take more photos of the church, in hindsight. I’m not sure you could find a lovelier time of day or year. It’s such a shame it has to be surrounded by cars.
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