I wrote this week's blog post the other night and having re-read it a few times I've wondered if I should post it or not. For those of you expecting another running or cycling tale, this weeks a bit different, it wanders a bit off track towards the end and for that I apologise. It's all from the heart though and having made the decision to post it, I'm sure that you can forgive me my random wittering's. I'm certain a normal level of service will resume next week. I've been down to see the “Old Cheese” again this weekend. As I mentioned last time she's not been well, so every visit is precious, but that's not stopped me from getting in a bit of running and a bit of reminiscing at the same time. Being down that way and with a spare hour at my disposal (that's what happens when you get up before all the normal people) I took the opportunity to have a run around some of the old haunts of my childhood, and what a trip down memory lane it turned out to be! Setting off, bright and early Saturday morning from the “Fromagerie”, as it should probably be known, her being “The Old Cheese” and all that, it's only a few hundred yards until you can pick up a footpath which leads up onto the South Downs and eventually intersects the South Downs Way. It's a fair old climb though, on rough and sometimes muddy tracks, climbing steadily for nearly 3 miles, whilst passing over the A27, as it in turn, passes via a tunnel, under Southwick Hill, and onwards towards the high point at Truleigh Hill and the South Downs Way proper. I'd walked “The Way” a few years previously and remembered this stretch for having some amazing views, and with Saturdays clear sky's, I wasn't disappointed. As you work down from the high point at Truleigh Hill, heading towards the Adur Valley, the view opens up to the sea on one side and across the Sussex Weald on the other. Despite being 30 or so miles away familiar landmarks to the North from other adventures were clearly visible in the early morning sunshine. With Box Hill, home to the Knacker Cracker, and the Greensand ridge and Surrey hills, home to an epic weekend back in July 2020 both being clearly visible and bringing back recent memories. It was as I worked further down towards the River Adur and I started to get back onto the stomping grounds, and source, of my earliest adventures, that the memories really started flooding back though. As I passed the car park at the top of Beeding Hill I thought back to the “Den” me and a few mates had in the woods just below here and the weekend we lugged a chimney pot and assorted parts that we'd found on the beach (a good 4 or 5 miles away) up here to build a primitive wood burning stove. A stove which I'll hasten to add worked incredibly well and occupied us for many a happy hour. Continuing onwards, I left the South Downs Way and picked up the Southern end of what is now the Downslink path. Home to my first Ultra Marathon, but, what was at the time of my childhood, still a disused railway line, complete with track, sidings, line-side huts and other assorted industrial items. All disused and slowly decaying at the time, but a source of endless fascination, adventures and learning, for a couple of inquisitive and mechanically minded 11 or 12 year olds. Further still I crossed the old Toll Bridge and looking back up river was transported back to the time, that as 10 year olds, we had swum across the river complete with wellies, and wondered how we hadn't been drowned that day. Looking back there's only been a few times that I've seriously worried if I was going to make it home alive and that day was one of them. As I stood on the bridge itself, I thought of my early fishing expeditions. Fishing for Flounders and Dabs in the muddy river water, digging for bait and generally messing around in the muddy silt banks that extend down to the water as the tide goes out and climbing around the old wooden bridge structure. Further still down river and heading for the sea I stood and admired the little boats moored up, swaying gently in the fast flowing current and thought back to how owning one of those little boats had been our dream at the time. Thoughts of the writings of Arthur Ransome and the boating adventures of his books. Books which I devoured as a child, dreaming of the days I could have those sort of adventures too and not be sat staring at the teachers in another dull and pointless school lesson. Oh, too have owned a boat and set sail for great adventures! Following the river onwards I eventually came to the other source of endless childhood fascination. The sea and the industrial areas of the docks. Oh, the happy hours spent fishing from the breakwaters and exploring the rock pools and massive concrete sea defences piled haphazardly to protect the coast from erosion. Oh, to again be able to stand and watch the boats being dry docked for maintenance, fascinated as the dirty water was pumped away to allow the gangs of workers to gain access to the hulls for cleaning and repairs, the boats sat delicately on wooden props fitted by divers wearing bell helmets, descending into the murkey depths as the water was slowly drained away. The gangs of Stevedores rushing to unload cargoes of coal for the power station and wood from overseas. The dredgers coming in and going out with the tide to unload their cargoes of gravel sucked from the sea bed just off shore, and the big trawlers coming in with their cargoes of fresh fish. The power station, along with it's massive chimneys, coal stores and unloading cranes has gone now, “King Coal” replaced by a modern Gas Turbine unit. The gangs of stevedores no longer required, now modern automated machinery does the job of many men and the dry docks, no longer big enough to maintain modern size vessels stand empty. The lighthouse at the entrance to the harbour, likewise now stands as a reminder of times past, replaced by modern electronics, it's guiding light and booming fog horn no longer required. As I turned away from the coast and headed back towards “The Fromagery” and the chance of a brew and shower I took my life in my own hands to cross the busy roads and thought back to how we used to cycle, happily and safely on these same roads as children, back before the days of 3 car families, driving 50 yards to school or the shops, and the one-upmanship of my “Wankpanzers” bigger than yours!
I thought back to the days of being allowed out to play and have adventures without the fear of being run over by some twat in a 3 ton SUV, speeding along on their way to the shops, whilst playing with the Sat Nav and answering the phone. I thought back to the days when you could let your kids go out to play and have adventures, unsupervised, without being branded a bad parent by the social media mafia. I thought back to the time's when you could let your children go out to play and have adventures without the fear they were going to be kidnapped. A risk that's no greater and indeed is probably less so now, than in the 70's and 80's, but has been stoked and fuelled by the ever braying Media. A time when children were allowed to take risks and learn by their mistakes. A time when a man could approach a child in distress in the street and offer assistance without the fear of being branded a paedophile. A time when children were allowed to grow up, learn and have their own adventures. Back at “The Fromagerie” as I settled in to my second breakfast, I thought back to my childhood and some of the places I had passed during today's run. I considered my age at the time of most of these adventures and suspect that I must have been between 10 and 13 at the most. Ages, when we are now, still debating if our children are old enough to walk to school on their own. Yet I and my mates were having adventures within, and indeed beyond, a 5 miles radius of home. No mobile phones, no Sat Nav, no nothing. Just some sandwiches if we were lucky, or instructions to be home for tea at 6, and if your late your going hungry. They were happy days though, days which made me into the man I am today. They sparked my spirit for adventure, awakened my inquisitive nature and helped instil in me a spirit of independence and self reliance which I rely on to this day. I'm not saying, and never will, that we should go back to the “Good old days”. I'm a firm believer in progress and change. Indeed there was a lot wrong in the 80's. The lack of workers rights, poor H&S, death trap cars and machinery, the Raliegh Chopper, wearing ties and blazers to school, rubbish haircuts and sandwich spread, the list goes on. Without a doubt technology has improved our lives beyond belief. But, and it's a big but, is sitting at home all day playing on the X box progress or just an easy get out? Is feeding your children chocolate bars to keep them quiet or letting them open cans of pop in the supermarket because they're a bit thirsty the right way of doing things? Is driving 50 yards to drop your kids off at school because it's not safe on the roads the answer, or are you part of the problem? I'm not here to preach, indeed it's something I try (unsuccessfully) to avoid. I know where my thoughts lay and they are not driven by social media, the need to follow others or the mainstream media. They are made from life experience, experiences which I started gaining as an adventurous young boy, adventures and experiences which have stood me in good steed for the next 40 years, adventures and experiences which “The Old Cheese” allowed, and indeed encouraged me to have. There's been a few occasions, in the more maudlin and self reflecting moments over the years when she's asked me if I had a good childhood. If I thought I missed out because we went on camping holidays instead of package tours to Spain. If I thought she should have done more with us, or we should have had more organised days out? Well, I think the answers are in the speil above. Camping, fishing, den building, BBQ's, messing around on boats, climbing hills, swimming in the sea in the UK or 24 hours sat in an airport, a shit flight squashed on board a smoke filled VC10 and a good dose of 1980's food poisoning? Catching Flounders, mud fights on the bank's of the river, digging for bait and messing around on home made rafts, hanging off the bottom of the bridge over a fast flowing river or sitting in front of a ZX Spectrum (the X box of the time) whilst it loads Manic Miner or some other pointless game? Days out on your second hand 10 speed racer which was 4 sizes too big for you with a packet of home made sandwiches and a bottle of squash, BMX racing, coming home covered in mud and stinking of bonfire smoke without a word asked or a 10 bed palace with en suite Khazi? Tinkering with lawnmower engines I'd retrieved from the tip, sleeping in a tent in the back garden, exploring disused railway lines and having the freedom to stand and watch the industrial landscape or a couple of nights away in a cheap hotel? I know which I'd rather have had, and as I said above, I know which formed me into the man I am today (for better or for worse). Adventurous, self reliant, flexible, resourceful, inquisitive, adaptable, their all skills that are formed as part of your childhood and I can tell you for a fact that they're formed on muddy river banks and disused railway lines and not on the beaches and package holiday hotels of 1980's Spain!
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Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
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