I’m a simple man, easily content with simple things. Some of my happiest moments are when I’m out walking up on the Downs. A sunny day with the springy turf beneath my feet, the deep blue-green Weald on one side, the azure blue sea on the other, the skylarks singing above, large white puffy cumulus clouds hanging lazily in the blue sky, while fat contented sheep graze on the ample grass. It’s pure bliss. When I count my blessings, of which there are many, one always includes the lucky almost-accident that I’ve washed up, in this last season of my life, on the doorstep of this magnificent countryside. From my front door, it’s a short walk to the end of the street where a footpath follows the Winterbourne, a chalk spring stream, to a bridge over the A27. On the other side, the Downs begin with a seep chalk bank up to Kingston Ridge, or I can turn right and follow the Houndean Farm track up to Cuckoo Bottom (the way valleys are called “bottoms” on the Downs can cause much amusement), then Mount Harry and Blackcap. All within 10 minutes of my door. Over the years my love affair with the Downs has only deepened and broadened, and I feel a sunny day is wasted unless I’ve spent at least part of it striding over the chalk.

I can’t remember when I bought this book, a large format hardback, but I suspect it would probably have been something I’d seen displayed in Barbican House, the headquarters of the Sussex Archeological Society (SAS). It might even have been in their fascinating second hand bookshop, but it looks almost new, so I suspect not. It’s been sitting my bookshelf unread for quite a few years. I didn’t have any particular reason for reading it now; it simply caught my eye when I was mulling a break from current affairs. The author, Dr Peter Brandon (1927 - 2011), was key member of the SAS, and at different times editor of their journal and vice president. He was a vigorous campaigner for the protection of the countryside and a leader of the successful campaign to make the South Downs a national park. He’s written a number of books about Sussex and at least three about the South Downs. There’s probably no one better qualified to write this book.

The books starts with light introduction to the geography of south-east England. The entire area (and north-west France) was a shallow sea in the late Cretaceous. The chalk which forms the Downs is formed from the microscopic shells of sea creatures whose shells formed layers of sediment on the sea floor. In later years the crust was pushed up in a huge anticline, the chalky center of which eroded leaving the sandstone and clay of the Wield and a ring of chalk at the edges. It is this ring of chalk which forms the northern Kent Downs and the Southern Hampshire and Sussex downs. The South Downs stretch all the way from Winchester to the sea at Eastbourne. Brandon describes how the east and west Dows have very different characters. The west is predominately wooded rolling planes, the east bare smoothly curving hills of close cropped grass with white cliffs where it meets the sea. He tries to be fair to the western Downs, but his heart isn’t really in it and most of book deals with the eastern end, and particularly the stretch that I know best between Shoreham and Eastbourne.

The major part of the book is a history of the area, illustrating how successive waves of human habitation and agriculture have shaped the landscape over the millenia. Originally the Downs would have been covered by forest, but this was successively cleared by prehistoric farmers from around 3000BC, so by the time the Romans arrived it was mostly the treeless landscape we see today. The classic Downland sheep and corn agriculture was established early on, and it’s the combination of sheep manure keeping the thin topsoil fertile and the ease with which it can be ploughed that made it such an attractive combination for early farmers. The celtic inhabitants of the Roman era constructed their villages high up on the Downs. Their burial mounds and field boundaries are still common features of the landscape and apparently a more practiced eye than mine can see the faint marks of ancient settlements in soil and crop colouration. For some reason the Saxons preferred to live at the bottom of the hill and moved their villages to the scarp foot, most probably to take advantage of abundant chalk streams which flow from the chalk-clay boundary. One of these streams, the Winterbourne, passes just a few hundred metres from my house. The water is crystal clear, so I can quite understand why the Saxons valued it. The Saxon nucleated villages formed around a manor and a church, with each village controlling the “sheep run” of the Downs above, which would have been sown with wheat and barley, and a slice of the dense Weald forest that stretched to the north, accessed by a trackway for gathering forest goods and wood. There is an excellent example of this between Lewes and Newhaven, a string of picturesque Saxon villages in a line along the foot of the hills: Kingston, Iford, Rodmell, Southease, and Piddinghoe, each with its church and manor house. The fortunes of these villages waxed and waned, especially during the 14th century when many were decimated by plague and famine. In some places, such as Hamsey, only a isolated church remains, with perhaps a few farmhouses nearby. There’s a very good chapter on Downland churches, many of which have elements which date back to the Saxon era over a thousand years ago. It’s a shame that so many of them are rather uncared for.

The 1780s to 1880s saw a revolution in farming as society transitioned from feudalism to capitalism. The existing common land was enclosed and then bought out leaving the large estate farms that we see today. Most families changed from being peasant smallholders to landless labourers. Many drifted to the newly enlarging towns and cities and most villages saw their populations drop as agricultural production soared. Life was awfully tough for the average person, not at all the romantic pre-industrial agricultural vision that some believe. The poor were especially vulnerable; always on the edge of destitution and starvation. Interestingly, life was much better on the large estate farms than the more fractured independent villages. Ringmer was especially notorious for being poor and destitute, and often the scene of riots and disturbances. There was also a considerable amount of lawlessness around smuggling near the coast, with occasional running battles between smugglers and exercise agents. Brandon gives some wonderful descriptions of various characters of that age. I enjoyed the story of John Dudeney, a shepherd at Kingston, an autodidact who taught himself to read while tending his flock, and who later became a printer at Baxter’s in Lewes, and then a schoolmaster.

Brandon explores how the area has inspired writers and poets over the years. It is interesting how the Downs have waxed and waned and waxed again in popularity over time. The Regency Georgians thought the landscape bland and boring, but by the interwar period the Downs were regarded as the archetypal English countryside; an icon representing the entire country. Sussex became a fashionable refuge for writers and artists. Rudyard Kipling at Batemans is the most famous, but also Hilaire Belloc, and Virginia Woolf are similarly well known. Artists included Ravillious and Woolf’s sister Vanessa Bell and her Bloomsbury set at Charleston. The popularity of expanding coastal towns driven by tourism became a major threat to the countryside. Disaster was only narrowly averted by pioneering groups of campaigners and conservationists who launched public appeals for funds to buy up Downland before it was acquired by speculators and developers. Brandon is very modest and doesn’t mention that he was one of the leaders of this movement in its later stages. In some places they were sadly too late. The horrible strip of low-rise townships, such as Peacehaven, between Brighton and Newhaven should never have been allowed to happen.

Brandon was writing at the end of the 20th C. He makes an emotional appeal for the protection of the South Downs as a full national park. He was a lead campaigner in this effort, so he must have been very gratified to see this come about in 2010 shortly before he died. I really enjoyed this book. Brandon’s personality and love of the Downs give the book a strong emotional core. It’s a pleasant, easy read, and I learnt so much about my favourite countryside.