Monday 30 November 2015

London Loop 5/6: Hamsey Green - Coulsdon South - Banstead

London's own chalk down: Farthing Down

IF THE LAST LONDON LOOP SECTION was mainly about woodland, this one is mainly about chalk. The trail works its way around the white cliff of a chalk quarry, crosses several chalky commons and, in one of the most unlikely stretches on a London walk, strides along the spine of a fine chalk ridge, crossing the remains of prehistoric field systems with wide views to both sides. Then there’s the extra interest of a World War II airfield now protected as an ancient monument, a rare surviving cluster of smallholdings built for returning servicemen, a fine park that played a major role in horse-racing history, a high security prison and London’s only lavender farm.

This walk covers two consecutive Loop sections but as both are relatively short I’ve treated them together. You can of course tackle them separately if you wish, breaking your walk at the official end point of Coulsdon South station or at a number of other convenient points along the way.

Tracks through chalk

London’s longest and deepest roots are in its geology, reaching not only deep into the earth but a long way back in time. A very long way. The palaeozoic rocks of the ‘London Platform’, at the deepest levels beneath London, are more than 400 million years old. The next layer up, and the one that will interest us most today, was laid down during the Cretaceous period, 142-60 million years ago.

Back then, the tropical Tethis Sea washed over these rocks, and the calcium carbonate shed by microorganisms inhabiting that sea collected as a bed of what has now become chalk, a particularly pure form of limestone. This was later smothered by clays and gravels, and then, towards the end of the Cretaceous, between 60 and 40 million years ago, the tectonic plate carrying the continents of Europe and Asia rammed into the one carrying Africa.

The cataclysmic earth movements that resulted not only threw up the Alps, but bent and buckled our local rocks into the familiar shape of the London Basin. Subsequent millennia of erosion did the rest, exposing the underlying chalk as two chains of chalk ridges, the North Downs in the south and the Chilterns in the northwest, with the Thames flowing roughly west-east through the centre. There’s an eastern rim too but much of it is submerged by the Thames estuary, and beyond these rims a much bigger system of chalk deposits that covers large parts of southern and eastern England and stretches to Champagne in France.

The vast timescales involved make these events seem completely remote from human history. People likely didn’t appear in the London area until about 42,000 years ago, just before the last glacial period, when Britain was still connected to the mainland. With only limited technology, they made very little impression on the landscape, and almost certainly retreated again to warmer parts of Europe when the ice sheets rolled south as far as Hornchurch. This glaciation also had a dramatic effect on the site of the future city, forcing the Thames away from its old course through the Vale of St Albans onto the more southerly route it follows today. As the land began to warm again about 12,000 years ago, humans returned, and found themselves islanders when rising sea levels from the melting ice severed Britain from Europe.

Geology and geography shaped the course of London’s human history. It’s not hard to see how the broad navigable river and its surrounding marshes determined both the strategic importance and the overall shape of the city. The fertile lands either side of the river and the stripes of chalk beyond them, easily accessed via tributaries, provided a particularly favourable patchwork of environments where human activity could flourish.

The high chalk ridges, when cleared of their natural tree cover, provided poor soils but good grazing land and commanding, strategic sites for settlements. They also formed a natural network of long distance routes for trade and migration, and the ancient trackways along them, most of which are now either tarmac roads or much-valued recreational paths, are some of Britain’s oldest highways. As it says in the City of London’s plan for Farthing Down, chalk downlands are “an integral part of our physical and cultural heritage.”

The Chiltern Hills lie some distance beyond Greater London to the northwest and are only glimpsed later in the Loop, but the North Downs are much closer by. The main ridge at one point forms the boundary of the London Borough of Bromley and subsidiary ridges perpendicular to the main one extend into Bromley, Croydon and Sutton. In fact since Scadbury the Loop has been working its way through the London’s Downlands area of the All London Green Grid, one of the Mayor of London’s strategic planning designations. You will already have seen chalk underfoot and felt the rise and fall of the land, but woodlands and houses have obscured the view. Things are about to get a little more exposed and obvious.

And if you’re puzzled as to why something that goes up is known as a ‘down’, the word has a different etymology than ‘down’ as the antonym of ‘up’ and just happens to have ended up as a homophone and homograph. It’s from an Old English word dūn meaning ‘hill’, which also gave rise to the term ‘dune’.
Trig point, Sanderstead to Whyteleafe Countryside Area

Sanderstead to Whyteleafe Countryside Area

As at the end of the previous section, the London Loop continues west from Hamsey Green along the Greater London boundary: the right (north) side of evocatively named Tithepit Shaw Lane is in the London Borough of Croydon while the left side is in the Surrey district of Tandridge. Where the path swings off the street it leaves London, with the boundary following the house fences on the right. But oddly the land you now cross is owned by Croydon, even though it’s in Tandridge. This is the rather clumsily-named Sanderstead to Whyteleafe Countryside Area, an 80 ha cluster of public green belt land straddling the boundary, most of it under the ownership of one or the other council, with a patch belonging to educational charity the Whitgift Foundation.

The Loop strides out across a grassy meadow known as Dipsley Field on a plateau atop the Downs, along a bridleway known back in the 16th century as Broadway. It soon crosses back into London again, picking up the line of an ancient hedgerow along the top of Skylark Field. These meadows are supportive of flora and fauna fond of chalk grassland, including pyramidal orchids and rarities like greater yellow rattle, and the various land managers now cooperate to encourage greater biodiversity.

Look out on the left for a stumpy concrete pillar, 1.2 m high, with a square base and tapering sides. This is one of the Ordnance Survey’s triangulation stations, commonly known as ‘trig points’, the first encountered on the London Loop. It’s one of around 6,500 installed from the mid-1930s to help improve mapping accuracy. The idea was that each trig point was in line of sight of at least two others, so many were in high places, enabling comparative positions to be worked out using accurate sighting instruments like theodolites. The brass plate on top of the pillar with its distinctive three-armed indentation is there to receive such an instrument, and beneath the pillar is a chamber which contains geographical information.

Modern technology like GPS and laser sighting has rendered these objects obsolete and the Ordnance Survey no longer maintains them: some have been removed and some are now badly overgrown so the line-of-sight network has long broken down, but this one is still in relatively good condition.

The trail follows a hairpin-shaped course here, turning roughly west down the hillside into Riddlesdown. This 43 ha site is owned by the City of London, the first of four such green spaces along this section, and although adjacent to the Sanderstead to Whyteleafe Countryside Area isn’t officially part of it, for some obscure council designation reason. The name means ‘cleared woodland on the down’, which could also apply to much of the rest of the route.

Riddlesdown is dotted with prehistoric and Roman remains, and like much downland was managed for centuries as common land, making the best of its poor soil. It formed with neighbouring areas a single large common or ‘waste’ over which local people in the parishes of both Sanderstead and Warlingham, to the south, exercised rights to gather firewood and graze livestock. Riddlesdown itself formed part of the manor of Watendone, recorded in the Domesday survey as belonging to Chertsey Abbey. The name is variously modernised as Wattendon or Whattingdon, and has now largely fallen into disuse as a place name, though we’ll encounter a trace of it later.

Riddlesdown was saved in 1877 when a small local landowner, William Hall, refused to cooperate with lord of the manor Edmund Byron’s plans to inclose and develop it, successfully convincing a court that Byron had encroached on commoners’ rights. Hall then approached the City with a proposal that it bought the land, which it did, along with three other areas we’re about to cross, in 1883. Adjacent land was added in 1929, 1973, 1996 and 2006 to bring the site to its current size. Much of it was designated a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI) in 1975 by virtue of its being the “largest single expanse of long-established calcareous scrub in Greater London”.

Sussex cattle on scrub-replling duties at Riddlesdown

The trail scrambles down some of that calcareous scrub to join a straight track known as Riddlesdown Road, the course of the old Roman road towards the south coast. Along the way you’ll likely encounter the Sussex cattle that roam freely across large parts of the hillside. Historically the site was likely continuously grazed for millennia but in the 1930s the practice ceased and trees began rapidly to recolonise the area, a process accelerated in the following decades as myxomatosis reduced the rabbit population. Fearing the loss of a unique environment, the City began clearing trees systematically from the 1980s, reintroducing livestock in 1989.

The Oxted Line about to tackle the chalk
quarry at Riddlesdown
The Roman road soon crosses and runs alongside a railway line which emerges from a 700 m tunnel beneath the down. This is the Oxted Line, built jointly by the London Brighton and South Coast Railway and the South Eastern Railway as the Croydon, Oxted and East Grinstead Railway in 1884. Beneath this, the old road merges with its modern successor, the A22 Godstone Road, which also runs to East Grinstead, connecting it with the A23 from London to Brighton at Purley, and continuing south across Ashdown Forest and the South Downs to Eastbourne. It owes its current alignment to the London to East Grinstead Turnpike Trust, created to improve it in 1718.

The road runs along what is actually the valley of the river Bourne, which, as its name suggests, spends most of its time underground. It rises in Woldingham and flows along this valley via Purley to Croydon where it feeds Waddon Ponds and the river Wandle (which we’ll eventually visit on the Wandle Trail). Another source rises in Coulsdon to a confluence at Purley, and the underground stream that runs through Sparrows Den at West Wickham in the last section is a further tributary.

Unlike several well-known ‘lost’ rivers closer to central London, the Bourne wasn’t deliberately buried: such phenomena naturally occur in chalk landscapes, though in places the river’s course has been deliberately diverted through pipes and culverts. Indeed many locals are unaware of their riparian location, until the Bourne forcefully makes its presence felt by flooding, as it has done during prolonged periods of wet weather in recent years. Early in 2014 part of the river had to be diverted into fields to avoid it inundating the Kenley sewage treatment works and causing serious pollution.

The land use pattern here is a classic example of ribbon development: the road and two separate railway lines squeeze into the narrow valley between two high downs, and the housing cling to them like moulds along a trail of sugar. Whyteleafe, the area just to the south, was farmland in the parishes of Caterham, Coulsdon and Warlingham until 1855, when someone built a posh house in a field known as White Leaf Field after the distinctive foliage of the whitebeam trees that grow locally. Doubtless the people who developed this strip in subsequent decades thought a prettier spelling would add a few quid to the house prices.

The more rustic past is recalled in the name of Old Barn Lane, the street that takes the Loop onwards across the valley. Once again you’re walking on the boundary of Greater London, and once again there’s no clear reason for this except for the old parish line between Caterham (Tandridge, Surrey) on the left (south) side and Coulsdon (Croydon, London) on the right. The lane is interrupted by a second railway line, the Caterham Line. This actually predates the Oxted Line: it was originally built as the Caterham Railway, a branch from the Brighton main line at Purley, in 1856, although Whyteleafe station wasn’t opened until 1900, when the development of the area was well-advanced.

The White Cliffs of Croydon: looking back on Riddlesdown Quarry from New Barn Lane, Whyteleafe.
Look behind you from the railway footbridge and you’ll see why the Loop followed such a roundabout hairpin. Directly in your line of site is a big chalk cliff, like a miniature version of the celebrated white cliffs that line parts of the south coast. This one wasn’t eroded by the English Channel: instead it was carved by quarrymen in search of chalk to turn into lime for building materials and industrial chemistry.

Locals dug chalk informally at what came to be known as Rose and Crown Pit back in the 18th century, and in the 1820s a dedicated lime works was opened on the site, later bought by Blue Circle Cement. Quarrying ended in 1964, and the City of London bought the 3.7 ha site in 1996. The exposed chalk, which the Oxted Line traverses on an elegant brick viaduct, is not only dramatic to look at but also supports rare species and reveals layers of great interest to geologists, and the quarry is now classed as a Regionally Important Geological and Geomorphological Site. But it’s closed to the public for health and safety reasons.

What goes down must go up, and on the other side of the valley you’ll confront one of the trail’s most bracing climbs, a flight of 82 steep wooden steps up to Kenley Common. A sign indicates these were installed by the Downlands Countryside Management Project, a name we’ll encounter again. Do reward yourself with a glance backwards for an even more spectacular view across the valley to the white cliffs of Croydon.

Kenley and Coulsdon Commons

The Kenley Airfield Tribute, against the backdrop of preserved blast pens from World War II.
Kenley Common is a further 56 ha stretch of the old waste of Wattendon bought by the City of London from the lord of the manor in 1883, by which time it was already separated from Riddlesdown by the development along the Bourne Valley. Its subsequent history turned out to be rather more dramatic.

Much of the original common is a flat plateau 170 m above sea level. Alongside its location close to London and not far from the south coast, it was the perfect site for a military airfield, so was requisitioned for this purpose by the Ministry of Defence (MoD) for the Royal Flying Corps, predecessor of the Royal Air Force (RAF), in 1917, towards the end of World War I – initially amid much local opposition. It was maintained as an operational airfield in peacetime, rumoured to be because Winston Churchill was learning to fly here, though the northern part was returned to the City, and the MoD also compulsorily purchased adjoining farmland on the east of the site which it passed onto the City in recompense.

The airfield was reactivated rapidly in 1939 and alongside Biggin Hill and Croydon airfields it played a key role in defending London during the Battle of Britain the following year. It continued in active operational use for fighter aircraft up to 1959, and in 1965 parts of the perimeter no longer required by the MoD were returned to the City, which also bought further non-airfield land nearby in 1983 and 2004.

Today the core of the airfield is retained by the MoD and used by the RAF volunteer gliding squadron and air cadets, though powered flights have long since been banned. Although much of the World War II infrastructure has gone, the runways, taxiways and some key structures remain. It’s regarded as the best preserved of the Battle of Britain airfields, and is now a Conservation Area and a Priority Archaeological Zone, with several of its features designated Ancient Monuments. You can now wander at will even into MoD territory, so long as gliding isn’t in progress.

The airfield site is just off the route though it’s worth making a detour, and if you really want to explore, there’s a heritage trail complete with recently installed information boards in the shape of Spitfire wings. The Loop first skims woodland on the extreme north of the common and then crosses a more open area where cattle sometimes graze: the northwestern end of the airfield site is just a little to the south here. Sticking to the trail you follow Golf Road, an unsurfaced and rather exclusive residential street with a name that recalls the golf course which occupied part of the common prior to 1917.

The Loop then crosses the 12 ha Betts Mead Recreation Ground, not part of the common but one of Croydon council’s green spaces, a stretch of grass and scraggy woodlands that originated in a gift from one Mr Betts, a philanthropic local, in 1925. On the other side of this and only a few steps off the path is the Wattenden Arms pub, one of only a few places to preserve the old manorial name. It’s mainly noted not for this but for its connection to the airfield. It was once the pilots’ favoured local, and still has a collection of photos and other memorabilia.

Next comes a ramschackle cluster of paddocks that once formed part of the airfield but are now used privately for grazing horses. The brick structure on the left here is the back of one of the E-shaped blast pens used to protect aircraft from bomb damage: the remaining examples on the site are scheduled ancient monuments.

Kenley Observatory
A white-domed building sticks out here like the proverbial sore thumb: this is Kenley Observatory, built piecemeal during the 1970s by Croydon Astronomical Society and opened in 1979. Observatories can’t be built just anywhere: they need somewhere with a clear view of the sky and low levels of ambient light, hard to find in a city, so the Society was lucky to have this site gifted to it in the 1960s. The building currently contains a powerful Meade LX-200 GPS Schmidt Cassegrain telescope and is open to the public most Saturday evenings during the darker months – though if you plan on visiting, be aware there’s no heating.

In the woods behind the observatory, a short diversion along a drive will take you to Hayes Lane, and the airfield on the other side. You’ll emerge only a little way along the concrete perimeter track from the RAF Kenley Tribute, a memorial installed in front of one of the preserved blast pens in 2000 as a millennium project led by the Kenley Airfield Friends Group. In this vast but quiet green space, where local people walk their dogs, it’s hard to imagine the scent of aviation fuel, the roaring of scrambling Spitfires and the screeches and thuds of enemy attacks, like the night of 18 August 1940 when all 10 hangers and 12 aircraft were destroyed.

The Loop crosses another ribbon of housing and climbs an increasingly rural lane to reach Coulsdon Common, the third of the 1883 City of London purchases. This has also subsequently expanded, mainly in the 1920s and 1930s, to encompass its current 51 ha. The site has a mix of environments including open downland and ancient woodland, but the trail largely passes through the secondary woodland of Stites Hill Wood – parts of this are more open ‘wood pasture’, a technique that in the past supported both forestry and animal husbandry on the same plot of land.

A windmill once stood on a site to the right (west) of this woodland path soon after it leaves Stiles Hill Road, and a circular stone now marks the spot. And if you’re a fan of coal posts, which once marked the limits of the City’s powers of taxation, you’ll find one off-route about 300 m left (southeast) along Coulsdon Road where the path emerges opposite Fox Lane. There’s one along Stiles Hill Road too. These are two of the closest such posts to the Loop: most of them are further out.

Happy Valley and Farthing Down

The Fox pub is in a pretty spot for a London boozer, surrounded by woods and bridleways on the edge of some of London’s most beautiful countryside, but in today’s circumstances it doubtless has to work hard to sustain itself, relying on drive-up custom and food. The pub was first recorded on the site in 1720 but like most such places it’s been rebuilt, and is now part of Mitchells & Butlers’ Vintage Inn chain, an independent village local no longer.

Officially the Loop follows the lane but it’s more direct to pick up the mowed path across a grassy corner of the common, passing a traditionally-styled drinking fountain installed in 2008 to replace a Portland stone original. From the bus stops on Coulsdon Road stretches a connecting arm of the Downlands Circular Walk, a 13.5 km signed trail shaped like an irregular triangle with our destination of Farthing Down at the apex and two sides linking to a stretch of the main ridge of the North Downs, which forms the base. This route has been around since the early 1990s, predating the Loop, and now provides the most straightforward link between our route and the North Downs Way National Trail.

The Downlands walk was one of the first public-facing efforts of the Downlands Countryside Management Project, also responsible for those challenging steps up the Bourne valley. The project was launched in the late 1980s as a partnership between numerous local authorities on both sides of the London boundary, the Surrey Hills Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, the City of London and other relevant agencies to improve both management of and access to the countryside and green spaces along this stretch of the capital’s fringe.

Its employees’ enthusiasm for walking routes linking suburbia and countryside directly inspired the London Walking Forum which first devised the Loop, and was one reason why the southern section of our current trail was the first to be completed. The project has since metamorphosed into the Downlands Partnership, and its approach has gone on to influence the Green Grid planning process mentioned earlier.

Leaving Coulsdon Common the trail enters Croydon council’s Happy Valley open space and, for once, the expectations raised by the name will not be disappointed. At first the route follows Fox Lane, now a well-defined track through fields and woods which eventually leads to the isolated Chaldon church, taking the main route of the circular walk with it. But the Loop now swerves along the eastern rim of a dry chalk valley.

Happy Valley, Coulson: aptly named.

At first the surroundings are relatively intimate, small patches of rolling grassland divided by ancient hedgerows, but then through a gap in a hedge you find yourself at the corner of a long, broad, graceful groove in the landscape, lined with woodlands at the top of each bank. It’s one of those places where all the visual components fit together so perfectly you find yourself catching your breath, particularly in fine weather, and when the meadows are in flower.

Happy Valley somehow survived as farmland and woods right into the 1930s, and in 1937 101 ha of it was bought by the old Coulsdon and Purley Urban District Council under the original pre-war Green Belt scheme. At the time it was described as “one of the most beautiful valleys in the whole neighbourhood”, but it also provided a convenient green bridge between the City of London’s holdings at Coulsdon Common and Farthing Down, further along the trail. Originally known prosaically as the Coulsdon Green Belt Lands, in 1970 it was renamed Happy Valley Park, but is now referred to officially simply as Happy Valley to avoid the suggestion of a more formal space.

The valley is another area where the decline of traditional management in the 20th century threatened to undermine both visual appeal and distinctive ecology. Following the withdrawal of livestock and a drop in the rabbit population, scrub began to cover the grassland. A local farmer leased the land to grow hay for 10 years from 1956 but failed to do so, which made matters worse.

In the late 1960s, acting on advice from the local Wildlife Trust, the council began clearing much of the scrub. Now once again orchids and rattle flourish in the grasslands, over 25 species of butterfly flutter around, roe deer roam free, and dormice hide in the woodlands. But none of this is natural -–it's the result of a carefully-planned regime of timed hay cuts, grazing by sheep and goats as well as cattle, and a 15-year coppicing cycle in the woodland.

As well as the Loop, the circular walk and a nature trail marked with posts, a further long distance trail runs through the site. This is the Socratic Trail, an 80 km route linking Old Coulsdon church with Brighton, often with a choice of paths that also serve as circular walks. It was devised by local man Maurice Hencke on behalf of a small local long distance walking group based in Croydon, the Socratic Walkers, and the first guide, a homely collection of typewritten photocopied pages and hand-drawn maps, appeared in 1995. Hencke is no longer with us, but thankfully the trail is still walkable and a rather more professional-looking guide appeared in 2007. Despite rumblings from Croydon council in the late 1990s about adopting it as a millennium project, this particular route remains unofficial and unsigned.

The Loop crosses the valley (there’s some discrepancy here between the various maps and route descriptions about whether the Loop runs diagonally across or round the edges of the meadow, but the former is more direct) into Devilsden Woods, also part of the site. This is semi-ancient woodland dotted with old yews planted many years ago to demarcate boundaries.

Then the trail outdoes itself by climbing up from the woods and heading north straight down the spine of Farthing Down, also known as Fairdean Down. This is London’s biggest and most stretch of open downland, a bony finger pointing north from the main ridge towards Croydon. It’s a wonderful, bracing stride along the exposed and windswept down, with the springy turf typical of the downlands beneath your feet.

For extra atmosphere, you cross the humps and bumps of an ancient field system, low banks perpendicular to the main direction of the ridge built to separate small fields in the Bronze and Iron Ages. Further along, to the left of the main track along the ridge, are the remains of Saxon burial mounds from the 7th century. But look ahead and you’re brought back to contemporary London, as the towers of the City and Canary Wharf rear up in the distance. It’s an astonishing place, and a unique stitch in the capital’s patchwork.

The view of the City is appropriate as this is the fourth and last of the Coulsdon sites the City corporation bought from Edmund Byron in 1883. It was expanded with New Hill to the east in in 2002 and Woodplace Farm to the west in 2004, and now stands at 95 ha. Early farmers would quickly have exhausted the thin soil and it’s likely the down has been grazed continuously from Roman times, with a break between 1970 and 1993.

Again the decline in grazing resulted in the rise of scrub: the current clumps of trees developed from patches of scrub left to provide variety during clearances in the late 1960s. Soon after cattle were reintroduced in the early 1990s, a local reported he’d seen aliens landing on the down while driving across it at night – this turned out to be the reflective bands place around the cows’ ankles so they would be seen in the dark. The site is now a scheduled Ancient Monument and, with Happy Valley, forms an SSSI.

The Loop runs in front of the cottages that once housed a tea room, closed in the early 1980s, and turns to follow the narrow road across the top of the down, itself an ancient trackway in origin. But I’ve suggested a route that runs for part of the way across the grass parallel to this on the west side, visiting the clump of trees known as the Folly, where a cairn marks the highest point and a plaque gives compass points. Both were installed in 2000 as a millennium project led by the local community, an initiative that eventually resulted in the creation of a Friends group. Finally the down declines and the trail descends with it to Coulsdon, passing another unexpected sight on a London walk: a cattle grid bookended with gateposts bearing the City of London crest.


Coulsdon is an ancient parish, recorded in the Domesday survey, with much of its land owned by Chertsey Abbey up to the Dissolution, but it was a deeply rural area with only scattered settlement until suburban development began in the later 19th century. The area now known as Old Coulsdon, atop the hill by St John the Evangelist church, to the east of Farthing Down, was the original village centre. But even this was only “little more than a few groups of old cottages, the National schools and farm buildings, clustered round a green and duckpond,” according to a 1912 historian, plus some larger mansions for well-to-do business people. By this stage, though, the development of the rest of the area was proceeding apace. “Now there are continuous rows of villas and cottages and shops from Croydon to south of Coulsdon [South] station,” the same source states.
The old Brighton Road passes under the London & Brighton
railway and the new A23 at Coulsdon South.

As often, the arrival of the railway shifted the nucleus of the neighbourhood to its present site, on the flat lower ground to the north where three dry chalk valleys merged. This area was originally known as Smitham Bottom, and already carried an old highway, the London to Brighton road, predecessor of today’s A23/M23. Coulsdon’s railway age predated the steam locomotive: the Croydon, Merstham and Godstone Railway, a horse-operated goods line, opened in 1805 as an extension of the similar Surrey Iron Railway along the Wandle Valley from Wandsworth to Croydon, but this closed in 1838.

The London and Brighton Railway, still the main line between the two cities, opened in 1841, though Coulsdon South, originally known as Coulsdon and Cane Hill, didn’t appear until 1889. It was built by the South Eastern Railway (SER) which by now was operating services jointly with its competitor the London, Brighton & South Coast Railway (LBSCR) by order of parliament. A second railway, the Tattenham Corner Line, a branch line from Purley, passed through to the north in 1897, and a station on this followed in 1904. For most of its existence this station was known as Smitham but in 2011, following a public vote, the place name shift was confirmed when it was renamed Coulsdon Town.

Descending from the hillside, the small park on the other side of Marlpit Lane, Coulsdon Memorial Ground, is worth a look. It was opened in 1921 to commemorate the end of the World War I and includes a war memorial at the top of the slope. Some of the money was from the Hall family, who operated a chalk quarry behind the site, thus the street name. It now hosts a very pleasant park café.

London Loop Section 5 officially ends at Coulsdon South, one of the few stations that is conveniently situated on the trail itself rather than on a link route – the Loop passes over the footbridge between the platforms. The next section is one of the shorter ones, so I’ve decided to push on, but you could be forgiven for stopping. The walk so far has been outstanding, and what follows, though interesting, is notably less spectacular.

The A23 is notoriously one of London’s most congested trunk routes, with much of still following old high streets. At one point the M23 motorway was intended to bore deep into south London but thankfully this scheme was abandoned and the motorway now starts some way out. For most of the 20th century through traffic blighted Coulsdon, crawling past the station along Brighton Road. Since 2007, though, the A23 has been diverted to a viaduct above, but a milestone embedded in the wall just before the bridge recalls the old road’s former arterial function, advising you’re now “XIV miles [22.5 km] from Westminster Bridge, 37½ miles [60.5 km] to Brighton”.

The old Cane Hill psychiatric hospital, Coulsdon,
as depicted by Michael J Weller for David Bowie
The Loop bypasses the modern town centre, though it’s only a few steps away if you need it. On the left, major redevelopment is in progress on the site of the old Cane Hill psychiatric hospital, one of a chain of such institutions created on the outskirts of London in the late 19th century when local authorities were obliged to take on the responsibility of looking after ‘lunatics’ (see also my notes on Hill End on the London Countryway). It was originally opened in 1883 as the Third Surrey Pauper Lunatic Asylum, and largely closed apart from a small secure unit by 1991. This moved elsewhere in 2006 and the buildings, which were considered but rejected for listed status, had all been demolished by 2010.

Oddly, Cane Hill has several connections to celebrities. Hannah Chaplin, Charles’ mother, and Michael Caine’s brothers, were treated here. Perhaps most famously, David Bowie’s half-brother Terry Burns was an in-patient from the late 1960s to 1985, when he took his own life by throwing himself in front of a train at Coulsdon South station. If you want to know what the old asylum looked like, see the original US cover of Bowie’s 1970 album The Man Who Sold the World, where it’s depicted by his friend, cartoonist Michael J Weller.

Leaving Coulsdon the Loop crosses the Tattenham Corner Line and starts to climb again, although sadly not this time up open hillsides. The surroundings along Woodmansterne Road demonstrate what Farthing Down might have looked like if the City hadn’t intervened, with rows of identikit housing on one side, and a thick hedge concealing Woodcote Park Golf Course on the other.

Clockhouse and Woodcote

Carshalton Urban District Council boundary
marker, Clock House, Sutton
The hilltop the Loop now tackles was once part of Clock House Farm, an outlier of the village of Woodmansterne, to the west. Development began to creep up the hill when Woodmansterne station opened on the Tattenham Corner branch line in 1932, and after World War II, Carshalton Urban District Council – on the other side of the hill and then, like this whole area, still in Surrey – bought up much of the farmland to build a much-needed social housing estate. Officially it’s known as Clockhouse, after the farm, but is much more regularly referred to as The Mount, which not only seems an appropriate name for the elevated location but is also the name of the road across the summit.

When Greater London was created in 1964, Woodmansterne village, and the farmhouse with the eponymous clock tower, since demolished, remained in Surrey, though the station and estate were folded into London. The station, which was effectively in Coulsdon, became part of Croydon, but the estate, with its links to Carshalton, was assigned along with the rest of the former urban district to Sutton. Thus the sign welcoming you to Sutton, the Loop’s fourth London borough, where the pavement runs out by the corner of the golf course. This is despite the fact that, thanks to the intervening green belt, the most direct link from the Mount to the rest of Sutton is via a bridleway. Most local children go to Croydon schools, but apparently local residents support the status quo.

Just past the Mount you’ll find yourself on the aforementioned bridleway, walking past ancient hedgerows, where the Loop joins another Downlands Project trail, the Sutton Countryside Walk. Note the boundary marker – this path once demarcated two parishes and later Coulsdon & Purley and Carshalton urban districts – and a set of old gates to the Little Woodcote estate, now permanently open.

Homes fit for heroes: Little Woodcote
The scattering of rustic-looking black-weatherboarded and whitewashed cottages across fields on the right are the Little Woodcote smallholdings, some of the original ‘homes fit for heroes’ built in the aftermath of World War I, with the intention of providing returning servicemen both a home and an income from cultivating a small plot of land. I’ve already mentioned a similar scheme in Selsdon in the last section, which foundered, but this one, promoted by Surrey County Council, proved at least a partial success, and a handful of the properties still operate as smallholdings today.

One was lost in 2009 when Bill Lovett, who had been selling the produce of his 1.6 ha plot at Surrey Street market in Croydon for over 50 years, died at the age of 87. His daughter Vivien, a local historian, told the press at the time that only four smallholdings were left. The rest have inevitably become highly desirable private homes.

Across the fields on the other side are Ruffet Wood and Big Wood, which together form a Local Nature Reserve, but they’re not accessible from the path, only through the Clockhouse estate. Further on, rather than following the bridleway to the bitter end, the Loop diverts through a council-owned meadow around the back of The Pastures travellers’ site. A glance at the map shows this is a very roundabout route: it was originally put in place to avoid a difficult crossing and a busy road, but now there’s another delight in store.

Mayfield Lavender Farm, Woodcote

The land to the south of busy Croydon Lane was once Oaks Farm, of which more later, but by the 1990s had become a rather neglected council-owned patch. Then along came Brendan Maye, an executive of a fragrance company with a passion for lavender, who tried to persuade his employers to revive growing the herb. When they rejected the idea, he set up on his own in 2002 under the name Mayfield Lavender, working organically in this field.

The Loop runs right through the middle on a right of way, but at certain times of year there’s permissive access to much of the rest of the farm, and a seasonal visitor centre, shop and café nearby. It’s yet another of the Loop’s delights to cross a stile from a busy road and find yourself in a field full of fragrant, colourful lavender, but also appropriate. The herb was once widely grown in the London area, including on this very site, and nearby Carshalton was known as the lavender capital of the world.

The Oaks Park

Formal gardens, The Oaks Park, Sutton.
The large country estate known as the Oaks was originally in Woodmansterne parish and was once known as Lamberts Oaks after the family who owned it from at least the 14th century. In the 1750s it was leased to John Bourgoyne, the general whose surrender at Saratoga, New York, in 1777 is regarded as the point at which the British lost the American Revolutionary War. In 1759 Bourgoyne passed the lease to his father-in-law the 11th Earl of Derby and his grandson, Edward Smith-Stanley (1752-1834), the 12th Earl of Derby, bought the property outright in 1788.

Smith-Stanley had a modest political career, but is best known for his sporting interests, and largely used the estate as a base for horse racing activities on the surrounding downlands. The Oak and the Derby, sweepstake horse races still run annually at Epsom not far away, were devised here in 1779 and 1780 respectively.

The estate was bought by Carshalton council in 1933 as a public asset, eventually passing to Sutton. Originally there was a large mansion, likely dating from the 1750s but with additions including some by Robert Adam, who gave it a castellated, Gothic look in the early 1790s. This house was used as a centre for child refugees from the Spanish Civil War in 1937 and later requisitioned by the military. By the 1950s it was in a dangerous state of disrepair and following much fraught debate at the council about the affordability of restoration was finally demolished in 1959. Several ancillary buildings remain, including the stables, which is now artists’ studios.

Today the Oaks is a generous 34 ha of public space including formal gardens, landscaped parkland, woods and open chalk meadows. The Loop barely scratches its surface, and it’s worth a more thorough exploration, perhaps by following the nature trail. Our route does at least pass through some of the formal gardens, including a rose garden, before ducking into the woodland surrounding the adjacent, and inevitable, golf course. There's also an active Friends Group.

The park is well-connected for walkers: as well as the nature trail, the Countryside Walk and the Loop there’s the Wandle-Oaks Link, a 3.5 km route that’s effectively a southwards extension of the Wandle Trail following the Wandle valley up to Wandsworth, linking the Oaks to the main trail at Grove Park in Carshalton. This provides one of the few straightforward walking links from the Loop into inner (and, via the Thames Path, central) London. National Cycle Network route 20 from London to Brighton also passes through.

On to Banstead Downs

Over the wall we go: Victorian asylum wall (foreground)
and modern wall to High Down Prison.
Walking past the big houses along unsurfaced Fairlawn Road west of the Oaks you’re once again on the boundary of Greater London, and shortly the Loop strikes out into Surrey once more, along a fine straight bridleway known as Freedown Lane. We’re now in a different Surrey district, Reigate and Banstead, confusingly known as a borough as it has ceremonial borough status.

The low brick wall on the right once surrounded another asylum on London’s periphery, built by Middlesex County Council between 1873-77 on what was then open downland. At its peak, it housed over 2,500 people. Parts of it were used as a military hospital during World War II, and in the 1950s it also treated tuberculosis patients. It was closed in 1986 and the buildings largely demolished.

Beyond the Victorian wall, a second wall, a towering mass of smooth concrete supervised by CCTV cameras, gives a clue to the site’s current use. This is HM Prison High Down, opened in 1992, a ‘Category B’ local prison housing around 1,200 inmates “who do not require maximum security, but for whom escape still needs to be very difficult.” There’s also a second much smaller prison, HMP Downview, opened in 1989 on the north of the old asylum site, incorporating the former nurses’ home: this now houses adult women, with a separate female juvenile unit.

Thinking yourself fortunate for being on the right side of those walls, you’ll emerge on Sutton Lane and enter Banstead Downs, the Loop’s farewell to the North Downs. Mention of these chalky expanses goes back to the Domesday survey, when they were among the very many possessions of Archbishop Odo, whom we’ve already encountered around Orpington. Later they became part of the extensive common lands of Banstead parish.

It was Banstead Downs’ sporting associations that attracted the Earl of Derby to the area. They had been popular for racing and hunting since at least the early 17th century, and by the 18th century there was a race course connected via a long stretch of unbroken downland to the one that still exists at Epsom Downs. The various Banstead commons were protected by an act of parliament in 1893 which set up a board of Banstead Commons Conservators to manage them: this body still operates today, though much of the land is ultimately owned by the council. Much of the 174 ha site is now classified as an SSSI.

The downs had another claim to fame: the wool from their sheep was regarded as some of the very best in England. Welshman John Dyer (1699-1757), a vicar and minor poet now largely noted because William Wordsworth wrote a poem addressed to him, namechecks the area in his magnum opus The Fleece (1757), a rather laboured epic inspired by the wool industry:

…Wide airy downs
Are Health's gay walks to shepherd and to sheep.
All arid soils, with sand or chalky flint,
Or shells deluvian mingled, and the turf
That mantles over rocks of brittle stone,
Be thy regard ; and where low-tufted broom,
Or box, or berry'd juniper, arise;
Or the tall growth of glossy-rinded beech;
And where the burrowing rabbit turns the dust;
And where the dappled deer delights to bound.
Such are the downs of Banstead, edg'd with woods
And towery villas.

Dyer’s gay walking sheep disappeared on the outbreak of World War II, when much of the land was cultivated in the interests of self-sufficiently, and far too many of his burrowing rabbits succumbed to myxomatosis in the following decades, resulting int the familiar problem of scrub growth. Recently a few sheep have returned and some of the scrub cleared, but the site is still something of a patchwork.

Banstead station: Every day except Sundays.
The Loop runs alongside one of the more open areas, descending to cross the railway via a pretty brick bridge. This is the Epsom Downs branch line, opened from Sutton in 1865 to serve the race course. For many decades it even conveyed the Royal Train to Derby Day, but its use declined after Tattenham Corner station was opened closer to the course in 1901 and it’s now something of a backwater. It was reduced to single track in the 1980s and has no service on Sundays, unusual for a line so close to London.

At the bridge the Loop crosses the Reigate and Banstead Millennium Trail from Belmont. This is a signed 28 km route running roughly north-south through the length of the borough and a little beyond, with some additional circular loops, created by the council as a millennium project with support from local walking groups and the Downlands Project. It provides the most straightforward link between the Loop and the London Countryway, which it meets, along with the North Downs Way, on Reigate Hill, one of the most spectacular viewpoints on the main ridge of the Downs. The trail then continues south across the Greensand Ridge and finishes just over the West Sussex boundary at, of all places, Gatwick Airport, making the latter the only official London airport with a recognised walking route connecting directly to the terminal.

The section of downland on the other side of the railway has been leased since 1890 to Banstead Downs Golf Club, although it’s still open to the public and now designated, along with the rest of the site, as access land, with the club obliged to manage it for conservation as well as sport. The Loop uses an old right of way across the course that crosses several fairways (three, if you include the link to the station) punctuated by strips of thick, scrubby secondary woodland. Amid one of these you’ll find the chunky fingerpost that directs you to the station.

On Sundays when there are no trains you’re best advised to venture into Banstead itself for the bus. The village centre is some way south of the station, which is actually closer to a neighbourhood known by the delightful name of Nork. Locals still insist that Banstead is a village and with its old well and green it preserves elements of a rural past, but the sprawl initially triggered by the arrival of the railway has turned it into a small town complete with familiar chain stores.

The spire of All Saints Church played a role in the development of accurate topography when, in the 1780s Anglo-French survey, a precursor of the Ordnance Survey, it was used as a landmark in plotting the precise distance between the observatories in Greenwich and Paris. Back then the spire could be sighted from Hounslow Heath, a feat which, as we’ll discover in the walk after next, would be rather more challenging today.

Friday 6 November 2015

London Loop 4: Hayes, West Wickham Common - Hamsey Green

A view to rival any in London, north across the heath from Addington Hills viewing platform.
BEFORE HUMAN INTERVENTION CREATED the distinctive patchwork landscape we know today, nearly all of Britain was heavily wooded, including in the London area. Those fragments of urban woodland that somehow survived into the 1940s are largely still around, thanks to planning protection, and this section of the London Loop cleverly threads through several of them on its way from Bromley to Croydon, Kent to Surrey and the eastern to the western hemisphere. Indeed there are so many trees that you may find yourself breathing a sigh of relief when you reach the more open bits. If you do, spare a thought for our predecessors, and what travelling must have been like back in the days the wildwood still ruled.

Coney Hall and West Wickham

Without continued management, trees rapidly recolonise cleared woodland, as we’ve seen in some of the historic commons along the trail. There are various ways of ensuring the land stays clear: the best-known is grazing livestock on it, but an alternative is rabbit grazing, a practice recorded around here in the 15th century and still acknowledged in the place names Coney Hill and Coney Hall, the latter once the name of a farm on the old West Wickham manorial estate.

We’ve already encountered local landowner Henry Lennard, from whom the remaining commons were rescued in the 19th century. But his successors were successful in selling off some of his land for development following his death in 1928, and today the area is largely occupied by the Coney Hall estate, built in the years immediately following by Morrell’s builders, also responsible for Petts Wood in section 2. Originally the roads in the area were so bad that London Transport refused to provide a bus service, so the developer ran a private bus to Hayes station instead.

You are now entering Western Earth.
Coney Hall Recreation Ground.
‘Coney’, incidentally, was once the common term for an adult rabbit, while the word ‘rabbit’ meant only a young rabbit, now known as a ‘kitten’. Today ‘coney’ is really only used in place names, most famously in Coney Island, New York City, and pronounced to rhyme with ‘phoney’. But the original pronunciation rhymed with ‘honey’, and this is very likely why the use of the word declined, as it was a homophone with an impolite anatomical term.

Once past the houses the trail is relatively open for a while, though not as a result of rabbit grazing. Soon after the start, the path that heads straight across Coney Hall Recreation Ground passes an obelisk marking the Prime Meridian of 0° longitude, running north-south through the Royal Observatory in Greenwich, agreed as the international standard meridian at a conference in Washington DC in 1884.

Meridians are essentially arbitrary but you can still amuse yourself with the notion that you’re now passing officially from the eastern hemisphere into the western one. If you have a GPS you might like to keep an eye on its latitude and longitude readout along the way. The meridian marker adds a little interest to what’s otherwise a very bland grassy space largely used for sports pitches.

St John the Baptist, West Wickham. Once for aristocrats only, now
decidedly happy-clappy.
The path leads directly to the flint and stone St John the Baptist church, atop its little promontory above the fields. It was largely built in the very late 15th century by the Lennard family shortly after they took over the manor, likely on the site of a pre-existing church as it incorporates some 14th century masonry. They largely intended it for a manorial family church rather than a parish one, and it’s some distance from the centre of West Wickham village which is to the north.

But the site has a history dating back at least to the Bronze Age. There’s a decidedly rural feel to the path that descends from the church through the fields of Wickham Court Farm, where to your left there was once a busy roadside Romano-British settlement.

On the other side of busy Addington Road, which links Bromley and Croydon along the valley, is Sparrows Den Playing Field, a 12.5 ha portion of farmland bought in 1934 by the old Bromley Rural District Council, mentioned in the previous section, for public use, with the authorisation of the Board of Health. It’s home among others to Beccehamian rugby club, founded in 1933 by former students of Beckenham School (now Langley Park Boys School). The mini-golf course was added in the mid-1960s.

About halfway down the path along the top of the rugby pitches between the clubhouse and the corner of woodland you cross the line of the old Roman road from what’s now North Peckham, on Watling Street, to Lewes, then an important port. 20th century archaeological digs have exposed the surface of this road but today there’s nothing to see on the ground other than grass and goalposts. A close look at the aerial photos on Google Earth, though, reveals a faint line heading south towards the site of the old settlement northwest of the church. Another buried feature of Sparrows Den, rediscovered in a 2005 dig, is the seasonal stream which once ran along the valley, a tributary of the Ravensbourne: the site is marked on a 1632 map as ‘Bourne Field’.

Spring Park and Shirley Heath

The woods begin as soon as you turn out of Sparrows Den and start climbing the hillside into Spring Park. This ancient broadleaf woodland, dominated by tall oaks, has survived because it stands on relatively poor, sandy soil that wasn’t worth cultivating so was managed instead by the manor as a source of fuel and timber. Many of the trees have historically been coppiced: cut back periodically to near ground-level to encourage the growth of numerous thin trunks, ideal for firewood and wooden stakes, a technique that also prolongs a tree’s life. The Lennard family gifted the site to the City of London in 1926, and like nearby West Wickham Common and many other sites along the Loop, it’s still in the City’s management today.

The London Loop crosses the historic boundary between
Kent (foreground) and Surrey (background) in Spring
Park, West Wickham. The path cuts across a woodbank
running left to right here.
The Loop joins a broad, straight rubble path along the contour, probably built by a detachment of the Canadian army that was stationed in the wood during World War II. The path crosses several bridleways and a couple of streams fed by the springs that give the site its name, finally reaching a well-defined perpendicular woodbank and ditch among the trees. This not only marks the limit of the old Wickham estate and of the City’s holding, but a much more significant ancient boundary between the counties of Kent and Surrey.

The word ‘Kent’ derives from a Celtic word meaning a rim or border, likely a reference to its coastal location on the border with mainland Europe. Following the Roman withdrawal, the area east of the river Medway was settled mainly by Jutes, from Jutland in what’s now southern Denmark: they established a Kingdom of Kent which by the 6th century had expanded west of the Medway.

This kingdom is the first to appear in the historical record of Anglo-Saxon England, in a text from 597, and it retained its old administrative divisions when all of southeast England was united under Alfred the Great of Wessex in 892. The county motto, ‘Invicta’ or ‘undefeated’, refers to the fact that Kent never formally surrendered to William of Normandy in 1066. For a general introduction to Kent, see the London Loop alternative route from Dartford Crossways to Crayford.

Surrey was settled by various Saxon tribes, and may once have been part of a kingdom that stretched both north and south of the Thames, the southern section being known as the ‘Southern kingdom’ or ‘Suthrige’, thus the name. By the 7th century, Surrey was disputed between the kings of Essex, Sussex, Kent, Mercia and Wessex. In the 780s it was decisively incorporated into Wessex but as a distinct political unit or ‘shire’, largely defining the shape of the historic county that survived to modern times. As we’ll see in a future section, sites in Surrey played an important role in the life cycle of Saxon kings.

These two historic counties once covered all of what’s now London south of Thames, with the northern end of the boundary between them meeting the river just upstream of Deptford Strand, by the confluence of a small river known as the Earl’s Sluice. The boundary line through Spring Park was in place by the 1170s, most likely derived from the extent of the old Roman settlement that formed the basis of Wickham manor: there’s a record from 1176 noting Kent was expanded slightly to incorporate a parcel of land in the ownership of the manor that previously fell on the Surrey side.

London as a functioning city spilled onto the south bank of the Thames, where the bridge and ferries landed, pretty much from the start. But officially it didn’t help itself to portions of Kent, Surrey and other neighbouring counties until the creation of the London County Council in 1889, which brought the areas that now fall under the boroughs of Greenwich and Lewisham, in Kent, and Lambeth, Southwark and Wandsworth, in Surrey, into London.

The creation of the Greater London Council in 1965 transferred much more of Kent and Surrey to London, including Bromley and Croydon. And by and large the modern boroughs still fit within the shapes of the old counties as they were known to the Anglo-Saxons. In some places, as we’ll see, there have been a few tweaks, but here in Spring Park the boundary follows a line last altered 800 years ago.

There’s a boundary stone nearby, and a Loop waymark post marking the fact that you’re now leaving Spring Park and entering Threehalfpenny Wood, essentially a 10.1 ha extension of the same band of woodland. The latter section, though, was once part of a different county, parish and manor, Addington in Surrey, and is now owned by the London Borough of Croydon.

From the late 19th century this area was part of Croydon Rural District but underwent a similar process to the one I described for Bromley’s countryside in the previous section: as newly built-up areas were transferred to urban districts, the rural district became increasingly less viable. Addington was briefly attached to Godstone, further south, in the early 20th century before being absorbed by Croydon, then a ‘county borough’ within Surrey, in 1925.

There’s a grisly tale to explain how the wood got its name. In 1805, a corpse was discovered in a nearby pond which, although badly decomposed, was identified as that of Robert Rutter, the parish clerk of Sanderstead, who had disappeared two and a half years earlier. The identification was made largely on the basis that three halfpennies (1½d or 0.625p) were found on the corpse, the precise sum Rutter was known to be carrying when he was last seen.

Leaving the wood, the Loop crosses a more open area now known as Shirley Heath, though in the 14th century it was simply called The Heath and later Jacksons Common. The name Shirley now applies to a locality clearly distinct from though bordering on Addington, but originally this was all part of Addington parish and manor. In the 19th century this swathe of woodland and fields became popular with well-off Londoners who built mansions in substantial grounds, and one of these, Shirley Park, gave its name to the wider area.

Much of the area the Loop now passes through was part of the estate of Monks Orchard (nothing to do with monasteries: a family called Monk once owned an orchard here), a 19-bedroom mansion to the north, built in 1854 and presiding over 6.2 square km of grounds. The estate was broken up in the 1920s and the mansion was demolished and rebuilt as the latest and still-current home of psychiatric facility the Bethlem Royal Hospital, once notorious as ‘Bedlam’. In an example of 1990s boundary tweaking, the hospital site was transferred to Bromley, but the rest of the former estate remains in Croydon.

Taking advantage of a growing population, in 1922 Shirley Heath, its surrounding woods and a swathe of woodland and countryside to the north became a golf course. In 1934, to cope with a growing housing shortage, Croydon council compulsorily purchased the land and began erecting prefabricated houses on the north of the site. In the early 1960s these were replaced by the Shrublands Estate, which still stands, with the southern part of the woods and the heath preserved as recreational space.

After the Heath, the Loop passes through Kennel Wood, so-called because a resident of Shirley Park once kept and trained foxhounds there. Now it’s the point where the trail briefly joins up with the Waterlink Way, part of National Cycle Network Route 21, though those used to the cycle networks of certain other countries may puzzle as to how this muddy track qualifies as a national route.

NCN 21 starts on the river Thames at Deptford right by the confluence of the river Ravensbourne, the source of which we passed on the last section, and ends on the south coast at Eastbourne. The first section, which follows the Ravensbourne and its tributary the Poole, is largely off-road and also an attractive walking route as far as South Norwood Country Park, but further south a few too many road-based stretches reduce its appeal to those on foot: this length is one of the exceptions.


Shirley Windmill.
The Loop itself is now forced to take to the streets for a while, though the surroundings are pleasant enough as it takes advantage of a path separated from the carriageway of Shirley Church Road by a band of trees, many of them survivors of the original woodland. To the left, the treeline conceals a surviving golf course, while to the right, several large and expensive houses are set back from the road.

Then you pass another former part of the Monks Orchard estate which survives as a public remnant woodland, Foxes Wood, and the end of South Way, which leads into Shrublands. Just past this and also on the right, Shirley Church Recreation Ground is another site saved as green space, this time by a council purchase in 1928, with the benefit of a view to remind you of how high up you are, providing clear sight of the City and Canary Wharf. There’s an even better view to come.

Just short of St John the Evangelist church, an 1856 building designed by George Gilbert Scott, the trail once again regains a traffic-free path at another woodland remnant called Pinewood. This turns out to be a misnomer for another broadleaved wood populated largely by oak and beech. You don’t walk through the wood but around its edge, with school playing fields on the other side, to emerge at a landmark hilltop pub, the Sandrock, on Upper Shirley Road.

It’s worth a short detour here to see another reminder of Shirley’s agricultural past. Tucked away in a side street a little downhill to the north is Shirley Windmill, one of the few still-working windmills in London. In 1809 a post mill was built on this site, thus the name of the street, Postmill Close, but this burned down in 1854 and was replaced by the current 16.8 m-tall five-storey Grade II-listed brick tower mill with its four double sails.

It’s likely that the mill was transplanted from another site: most likely it was originally built at Stratford, in east London, in the mid-18th century, and one of the timbers bears the date of 1740. It spent its last commercial days grinding animal feed and was abandoned in 1892, though various restorations were carried out in the early 20th century.

In 1952 Croydon council acquired the land for a new school, and would have demolished the mill but for the listing and keen local interest. In the 1990s the school moved to make way for the present housing estate, and in 1996 the mill was restored and turned into a museum with the aid of a Lottery grant. Now largely managed by volunteers, it’s open to the public at least once a month over the summer.

Addington Hills

Old pollards at Addington Hills.

Addington Hills, also known as Shirley Hills, is one of the most remarkable open spaces in London, and a highlight of this section of the Loop. An outcrop of pebbly Blackheath beds forms a plateau about 140 m above sea level that incorporates the capital’s largest area of heather heathland. To the north the plateau falls away sharply, exposing the rough pebble beds, and nearby are more modest but steeply folded valleys carved by now-vanished springs. These rugged surroundings have an unexpected wildness about them, as if a fragment of rough upland has been dropped into suburbia. And as if this wasn’t enough, the site also offers one of London’s best and widest views.

The area was once known as Preble Dean, which means ‘gravelly valley’, and once you’ve scrambled up the gravel cliff to the viewing platform on rough winding paths through heather, ferns, bilberry and gorse, you’ll understand why. The edge of the ancient woodland nearby did once extend into part of the site – the northern section contains some of the oldest trees. But much of the current tree cover is from recolonisation and planting in recent times.

The conditions were impossible for agriculture and unattractive for development, but there was obvious potential for a public green space and in 1874 Addington Hills became one of the first in the area preserved for this purpose when the main heathland area was bought by the Croydon health board. Adjacent land acquired over the next few decades gradually expanded the site to its current 53 ha extent: the section where the Loop enters on the Shirley side in 1906; the strip of woodland in the west as a gift from newspaper magnate Frank Lloyd, who also donated Lloyd Park nearby, in the 1910s; and the pinewoods in the southeast in 1919.

The viewing platform was built to celebrate 1,000 years of Croydon, if just a little late: the first written record of the town dates from 960, though the platform itself didn’t open until 1963. On a good day, it rewards the scramble with a breath-taking panorama. To the east you can see Shooters Hill and beyond it Epping Forest in the distance. The Millennium Dome (O2) and the towers of Canary Wharf are obvious. The wooded ridge of Sydenham, Dulwich and Forest Hill interrupts the line of sight towards the City but the taller buildings – the Shard, the Gherkin (30 St Mary Axe), the Leadenhall Building (Cheesegrater), Tower 42 (the NatWest Tower) and the Walkie-Talkie (20 Fenchurch Street) – peek over it like cheeky meerkats.

Ahead there’s the turbine-crested Strata at Elephant and Castle, Vauxhall’s St George Wharf Tower, Centre Point, the BT Tower and the London Eye, with the arch of Wembley Stadium in the distance. Over to the west and much closer by are the towers of central Croydon, which has striven over the past few years to become its own mini US-style downtown. And finally on the western edge you should be able to spot Windsor Castle. London blogger Diamond Geezer says the view made him realise how spread-out London is: “Can it really be that far from the BT Tower to the City, and the same again from there to Canary Wharf? Evidently so.”

Coombe Lane tram stop, looking towards Croydon.
This is not quite the park with everything: the promenade from the viewing platform to the car park passes a low brick building that really should be a good park café, but disappointingly turns out to be a rather ordinary Chinese restaurant. From here the Loop swerves through more woods to its only encounter with a tramline, at Coombe Lane tram stop.

Street-running trams provided London’s first successful mass transit system, first appearing in horse-drawn form in 1860. By 1914 the capital had the largest tram network in Europe. But after World War II, trams were viewed by transport planners as an obsolete mode of transport that got in the way of private cars. The last of the historic London trams ran in 1952 and by 1962 practically every tram service in the UK had been closed.

But the automobile dream soon turned out to be a nightmare of congestion, pollution, road danger and degraded environments, and only a couple of decades later trams and ‘light rail’ in general were back on the agenda as one of the ways to tame car-clogged streets. Trams now once again trundle through the heart of several UK cities, though London’s only true tram service (the Docklands Light Railway uses tram-like vehicles but on segregated track) is out here in the suburbs.

The 28 km network is centred on Croydon and when it was first opened in 2000 was known as the Croydon Tramlink. It’s since been rebranded simply as London Trams, which perhaps gives a misleading impression of its extent, but it does reach into Bromley and Merton boroughs and there are vague plans for extensions. Commissioned in the 1990s, during a period when there was once again no cross-London government, it was built as a private finance initiative, but in 2008 Transport for London bought it out and it’s now much more closely integrated with the rest of the transport network.

Much of the route makes use of former conventional rail lines, and the only extensive sections of traditional street running are in Croydon town centre. The line through Coombe Lane, however, was newly built, primarily to improve transport connections to New Addington, a far-flung housing estate built between the 1930s and 1960s on a hilly ridge to the southeast, which suffered badly from isolation and deprivation. There was some concern at the time that, here and elsewhere, the line claimed a strip of green space. But in practice the quiet and smooth-running trams are minimally obstrusive. And there’s something charming about stumbling on a tram stop surrounded by woodlands.

Slightly off the route, amid the trees to the right of the tram stop, is the only fenced-off area of Addington Hills, which contains a covered reservoir built in 1888. At first the reservoir was a visitor attraction with a café in the valve house, but an outbreak of typhoid traced to the site in 1937 put a stop to that. An associated structure, a water tower, is visible through the foliage on the other side of the tramway to the left as you leave the site on a pleasant tree-lined path parallel to Coombe Road.


Parkland and the fields of the erstwhile model farm at Heathfield, Addington, not yet asset-stripped by Croydon council.
A gateway on the other side of Coombe Road takes the Loop past a lodge and through much more formal surroundings. A gravel path runs through a rhododendron-lined green tunnel, with straight hedged paths off to the left giving the flavour of a geometrical jardin à la française. Steep steps descend to a courtyard with an old stable block overlooking a round pond, from where the trail almost immediately climbs another set of steep steps. The scene around the pond is pretty enough but to make all that legwork worthwhile, detour slightly to the left, taking in the view across fields from the terrace of an elegant mansion to where the trams effortlessly climb Gravel Hill towards New Addington.

This is Heathfield, an ancient manorial farm turned into a country estate in its own right sometime in the late 18th or early 19th century. It owes much of its present form to businessman, philatelist, ceramics collector and keen gardener Raymond Riesco (1877-1964) who bought and restored the long-neglected site in 1927, later managing the farm as a model farm. Riesco arranged with the council to buy the estate, complete with its collection of antique Chinese ceramics, on his death, and the grounds have been a public park ever since, though the house is used as a training centre and isn’t open to the public. The fields are tenanted and still a working farm, though entirely surrounded by built-up areas.

Croydon council was widely accused of ‘asset stripping’ in 2011 when it sold 17 pieces from the Riesco collection for just over £8 million at a Hong Kong auction to fund rebuilding of the Fairfield Halls; a selection of what remains is displayed at the Croydon Clocktower.

Ignore the ‘Private Road’ sign at the end of select Riesco Drive, as there’s public access here to Bramley Bank Local Nature Reserve, which takes the trail back beneath the trees. The 11 ha wood is also part of the Heathfield estate transferred to the council, though is now managed by the London Wildlife Trust. It’s a mix of semi-natural oak and ash woodlands bright with bluebells in spring, and planted Austrian pines and sweet chestnuts. Just off the path to the right near the entrance is the largest woodland pond in Croydon.


Across the meadows in Littleheath Woods
Selsdon was once the next manorial estate along and held before the Dissolution by the Knights Templar. It wasn’t centred on a village but managed as a single dispersed farm, still operational up until 1923 when it was sold off and divided up between various developers. Local residents then mobilised to protect at least some open spaces, successfully saving two substantial and important woodland areas, and the Loop runs though both of them.

Leaving Bramley Bank there’s barely a glimpse of brick before you’re plunged into Littleheath Woods, now a 25 ha oasis almost completely surrounded by houses. In the early 19th century this was actually more of a mixed landscape with several separate woods and a big field in the middle, but when farming ceased, the trees refilled the gap. The whole lot would have been built on, but a public fundraising subscription helped the council buy the land as a green space.

The path soon leaves the trees to cross the biggest remaining meadow, Fallen Oak Field, lovingly maintained by an active Friends Group and especially delightful in early summer. Then it runs through an area of older woodland, Foxearth Wood, past a 1950s water tower well-hidden in the trees and through a gradually narrowing strip to Selsdon Park Road.

A substantial fingerpost just inside Foxearth Wood indicates the Loop has now joined forces with the 106 km Vanguard Way, one of the first walking trails to link London with the surrounding countryside, crossing the North Downs, the Weald, Ashdown Forest and the South Downs on its way to the south coast. It was proposed in 1978 by members of the Vanguards Rambling Club, so-called because the club was established on a return journey from a walk in the guard’s van of an overcrowded train.

Most of the members lived around Croydon so the original intention was to link East Croydon station with the village of Berwick, East Sussex, on the edge of the South Downs, where the Vanguards often assembled in the local pub for a post-walk pint or two. When the first printed guide appeared in 1980, the destination had been extended to the coast at Seaford, and was later advanced further to Newhaven, which has a ferry link to Dieppe, so if you plan on walking from London to Paris this is a good route to take. At first it was an ‘unofficial’ trail existing only as a written description but has since been signed with the support of local councils.

Start of the bridleway through Selsdon: just follow the wall.
The old manor house, incidentally, is a little over a kilometre to the southwest along Selsdon Park Road. Its latest incarnation is a much-extended and altered mid-19th century mansion once occupied by the Bishop of Rochester that’s now used as a luxury hotel, perched above a golf course. It was here in 1970 that the Conservative Party under Edward Heath formulated a free market manifesto for the impending election, sniffily dismissed by then-Labour prime minister Harold Wilson as the work of ‘Selsdon Man’.

In the event the Conservatives unexpectedly won the election, but Heath rapidly backtracked from implementing the manifesto in the face of massive opposition led by the trade unions. In reaction to this, a band of unapologetically libertarian Tories founded a pressure group known as the Selsdon Group, which still functions today. It was a major influence on the rejection of Keynesian economics, ferocious opposition to trade union solidarity and championing of economic free-market libertarianism spearheaded by Margaret Thatcher which in various forms has dominated British politics ever since. Of course if everything had been left to market forces, the Selsdon Men would not have enjoyed such pleasantly rural surroundings in which to plot their assaults on the living standards of the rest of us.

Following the trail blazed along a convenient succession of off-road paths by the Vanguard Way, the Loop takes an old bridleway preserved when the area was developed as a fenced path tucked away behind the houses. The area to the left, known as Forestdale, was originally developed in the 1920s by the Surrey Garden Village Trust with the intention of providing war veterans with smallholdings, but things didn’t work out as intended as the plots were too small to be viable, and in the 1960s and 1970s the area was redeveloped with more conventional private housing. A similar but more enduring initiative can be found further along the Loop at Woodcote on section 7.

Helpful additional wayfinding through the coppices of Selsdon Wood.
Then there’s the second of the preserved woodlands, the magnificent 81 ha Selsdon Wood. The appeal to save this as “a nature reserve and bird sanctuary” was launched in 1925, supported by the Garden Village Trust, but took a decade to bear fruit. In the meantime a group of philanthropists bought a key part of the site to block development. The land was then gifted to the National Trust as the freeholder, and leased jointly to the two councils that then covered the site, Croydon, and Coulsdon & Purley Urban District.

An opening ceremony in 1936 was attended by the Lord Mayor of London. Both councils were later combined into the London Borough of Croydon, which now manages the site with the support of a Friends Group. Following council reorganisation, a programme of replanting was implemented, and the extent of woodland cover has increased, though some fields have been kept to the west. The woods, laced with an enticing network of footpaths which the Loop studiedly ignores, was declared a Local Nature Reserve in 1993.

Farleigh and the edge of London

The edge of London at Selsdon Wood. The bridleway and everything to the left of it are in Farleigh, Surrey, while
the woods on the far right are in the London Borough of Croydon. The woodbank marks the boundary.
From now on until well into the next section, the trail follows edges and borders. The woodland strip you enter at the end of the fenced bridleway, not part of the National Trust gift but preserved in the 1950s as a buffer against the housing development, is, like Farningham churchyard in the previous section, the limit of built-up London. Southwards from here, give and take a golf course or two, is the English countryside.

For a while, though, the trail remains in Croydon as it follows a path known as Addington Border. At one point this divided the Templars’ land at Selsdon Park, on the right, from Addington on the left, where the woodland is known more properly as Court Wood. It no longer has any ownership or administrative significance, but it provides a good walk uphill and down through the oak, beech and sweet chestnut trees, especially in spring when the bluebells are in flower.

Finally, the gate at the end of the path by the woodland edge takes the London Loop outside London for the first time, into Tandridge district in Surrey. A third trail joins here, the Tandridge Border Path, which does what it says on the tin, following as closely as possible the district boundaries over a 100 km route. It was developed in 1999 at the behest of the district council by Per-Rambulations, a small walking consultancy and publisher, and it’s since been signed, although not quite as thoroughly as the Loop or the Vanguard Way. Southwards, it’ll take you eventually to the North Downs Way at Tatsfield.

The houses you can see to the left are in London, but all three trails turn in the opposite direction, along a broad bridleway called Baker Boy Lane which tracks the boundary on the Surrey side just outside the wood, with an old hedgerow on the left concealing yet another golf course. On the right, over the fence, a prominent ditch and woodbank mark the ancient line that long separated Selsdon from Farleigh, the next parish south.

Interestingly, this is one of the rare places where the Greater London boundary has shifted. In the early 20th century, Farleigh, like nearby Addington, was part of Godstone Rural District in Surrey, but in the 1930s, it was transferred to Couldson & Purley, on the expectation that like neighbouring areas it would soon be subsumed by London.

In the event, as we have seen many times, the tide of urbanisation was halted by war and the Green Belt, but Farleigh was nonetheless included when the rest of Coulsdon & Purley merged into the London Borough of Croydon in 1965. It would have remained one of those anomalous swathes of London’s countryside, like the parts of Bromley crossed in the previous section, but for a group of vocal residents who were having none of it. Following a well-orchestrated campaign, the parish was taken out of Greater London and put back into Godstone in 1969, becoming part of Tandridge in 1974.

The whole area from the boundary south is also now part of the Surrey Hills Area of Great Landscape Value (AGLV). This is a ‘Local Landscape Designation’ which predates the nationally recognised and better-known Surrey Hills Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB) around the main ridge of the North Downs and the Greensand Ridge further south: it was first designated by the council, though originally over a much smaller area, in 1951. When the AONB was created, encompassing much of the AGLV, in 1958, Surrey County Council, fearful of London’s further expansion, progressively extended the AGLV. This section in northern Tandridge was added in 1984.

There’s a push from government to rationalise these local designations, and in 2007 a new review concluded that there was little logic to the boundaries of the AGLV, as much of it was of comparable character to the AONB. As a result of this, government agency Natural England are reviewing the AONB designation and it may well be extended to cover much of the AGLV. This little corner, however, was identified in the 2007 work as having little AONB character so may even lose its special designation.

I observed on this blog’s first encounter with an AONB that in some respects the idea of an officially designated area of outstanding natural beauty is rather odd. As outlined above, there’s very little natural about the landscape of most of the UK, especially in leafy Surrey. And beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so how can local bureaucrats decide consistently and objectively between what does and does not count as beautiful?

The 2007 study reveals that indeed in the past the basis of such judgements wasn’t unclear, and likely influenced by subjectivity and local political expediency. Today the process is rather more sophisticated. In 2007 the consultant rated areas both within and outwith the AONB against a list of seven characteristic features associated with the Surrey Hills landscape (gently undulating landform; shaws and hedgerows; scattered settlements…) and nine ‘perception’ criteria (views, scale, enclosure, variety…), then drew these together and evaluated them against four overall criteria (homogeneity, concentration or density of features, condition, strategic context). It was this process that highlighted the similarities between numerous AONB and AGLV areas.

Such quibbles don’t detract from the pleasant surroundings of this walk, as the golf course soon gives way to another council-owned woodland on the Tandridge side, Puplet Wood, and the route strikes away from the boundary deeper into Surrey. I walked this way on a fine day in autumn when every gust of wind triggered a burst of what sounded like heavy rain but was actually chestnuts and acorns falling to the ground.

Reaching Old Farleigh Road, the Loop parts company with the Vanguard Way and passes the very rural-looking Elm Farm, with its late 16th century Grade II listed farmhouse. Look around the rolling landscape here: the landscapes deeper into Croydon once would have looked broadly similar to this.

At the end of the farm track you’re back in London again, though the surroundings take an even more rustic turn as the Loop plunges into a steep coombe and through a little wood known as Mossyhill Shaw. On the other side it joins a track that grazes the edge of the final woodland on today’s section, the 60 ha Kings Wood, bought by the council in 1937 as public open space.

Unless you detour you won’t see much of the wood, but maps clearly show the geometric layout of the woodland paths, created in the 19th century when the site was used for shooting. An old Romano-British settlement straddles the northern boundary and there have been numerous archaeological finds in the area. A little further on the path passes the drive to Kingswood Lodge: it’s thought this originally had no connection with the wood, which is shown on early 19th century maps as Sanderstead Wood, but later mapmakers assumed it did, inadvertently renaming the woodland to match.

Where the path, Kingswood Lane, bends right after the lodge, the Loop rejoins the London boundary yet again, running along the wood edge on the right. Further on, the lane has been built up into a residential street, and if you’re the sort of person who spots these things, you might notice that while the street lighting on both sides belongs to Tandridge, the houses on the right have wheelie bins emblazoned with Croydon logos. Hamsey Green, where this section ends, is one of those settlements that straddles both sides.

Hamsey Green

The Croydon half of Hamsey Green, and a less
impressive transport interchange than usual.
Despite its villagey name, Hamsey Green is a modern invention. The way the locality is split almost half-and-half between Croydon and Tandridge reflects a historic division between the manors of Sanderstead to the north and Warlingham to the south, though for many centuries both were owned by the same family. In the 1920s, Hamsey Green Farm, in Sanderstead, was sold off for housing and the rest is a classic case of subsequent ribbon development along Limpsfield Road.

There’s a small pond on the corner to the right as you reach the main road that’s thought to date from Neolithic times and was certainly around in the 13th century, and this and the little green triangle opposite have provided a focus for a 1930s parade of shops.

For a long time, there was a pub at this spot, the Good Companions, but its charming name wasn’t enough to save it from the fate of so many local pubs, as the hoardings by the northbound bus stop attested last time I passed by. The boundary here cuts across continuous urbanisation: there’s no rhyme nor reason why all of Hamsey Green, and indeed Warlingham and neighbouring Caterham, shouldn’t be in London, aside from the old limits of mediaeval estates.

This is one of only two places where a Loop section officially ends, not at a railway station, but at a bus stop. The 403 regularly trundles through from Croydon and Sanderstead: the northbound bus stop is in London, while the southbound one is in Surrey. But the whole route to its terminus at Warlingham is safely within the London bus zone. Transport for London, at least, takes a practical view of the edge of the capital.