Chartwell and Plaxtol
The Phantom Riders of the C&M
A late start on a frost-free, sunny Sunday morning - ideal for an autumnal foray into Kent. No body-warmers will be needed on those Wealden hills. So by-passing North Cheam, it was onto the small chainwheel en route for Chartwell, Churchill's country seat. The temperature gradually rose from Kingswood and Banstead Woods to Bletchingley, Tilburstow to Crowhurst, Marlpit and Four Elms. Gone 11am already - I'll have to get a move on or I'll be too late. A final snail-like sprint up Mapleton Rd and I'm there, at a quarter past the hour. But where are the C&M? Blast! I must have missed them. A quick call to the leader's mobile: voicemail. I'll catch them up at Plaxtol.
This means a few more hills: Puddledock, Toy's Hill, Ide Hill. Then Goathurst Common, Gracious Lane to Stone Street, Ivy Hatch then Plaxtol. I see the vicar at the entrance to the church - I'll ask him where the pub is. "Excuse me, Reverend...." But blow me, it's not the vicar but our revered and former Rides Secretary, Bob (though in confusion I call him John). Fortunately, he gives me a sabbatical pardon. Five minutes past the hour, but where's the C&M? No sign. We savour our sandwiches, chew the cud, then freewheel down to the Papermakers Arms, a C&M free zone.
We take a glass in the garden, admire the view, bask in the autumn sun and ruminate on the mystery of those lost within the Kentish Triangle. But time is passing and we must not be overtaken by an early sundown. So we remount for the return, concerned about whatever fate has overtaken the phantoms of the C&M. As we pass the church, we sense a sudden chill and raise a silent prayer. God rest their souls.
Requiescant in pacem
Jeff
This means a few more hills: Puddledock, Toy's Hill, Ide Hill. Then Goathurst Common, Gracious Lane to Stone Street, Ivy Hatch then Plaxtol. I see the vicar at the entrance to the church - I'll ask him where the pub is. "Excuse me, Reverend...." But blow me, it's not the vicar but our revered and former Rides Secretary, Bob (though in confusion I call him John). Fortunately, he gives me a sabbatical pardon. Five minutes past the hour, but where's the C&M? No sign. We savour our sandwiches, chew the cud, then freewheel down to the Papermakers Arms, a C&M free zone.
We take a glass in the garden, admire the view, bask in the autumn sun and ruminate on the mystery of those lost within the Kentish Triangle. But time is passing and we must not be overtaken by an early sundown. So we remount for the return, concerned about whatever fate has overtaken the phantoms of the C&M. As we pass the church, we sense a sudden chill and raise a silent prayer. God rest their souls.
Requiescant in pacem
Jeff
No comments:
Post a Comment