The Road to Little Dribbling by Bill Bryson Read Free Book Online

it might soon be called Beach Cottage.

    I was also interested to discover that the Seven Sisters—which are, namely, Haven Brow, Short Brow, Rough Brow, Brass Point, Flat Hill, Bailey’s Hill, and Went Hill—don’t include Belle Tout or Beachy Head, two of the mightiest eminences of all along this stretch of coast, which meant that I was in the process of climbing nine hills, not seven. No wonder I was tired. Sobered by this thought, I fortified myself with a posh sandwich and bottle of organic soda pop at the National Trust café, then returned to the long, lonesome trail.
    Not long after Birling Gap, the path arrives at a sweeping prospect across the downs that strikes nearly every British visitor as familiar whether they have ever walked this way or not. It is a view that was immortalized in a Second World War poster by an artist named Frank Newbould. The poster shows a shepherd guiding a flock of sheep across the downs. Below, in the middle distance, is an attractive farmhouse. At the top of a facing hill is the iconic Belle Tout lighthouse. The sea is just visible as a line across a distant valley. The caption says: “Your Britain—fight for it now.” I have always thought it interesting that of all the possible things worth dying for in 1939, it was the countryside that was selected. I wonder how many people would feel that way now. Newbould took a few small liberties in the work—he improved the shape of the hills, tidied up the farmstead, altered the course of the path slightly—but not so much as to render the view fictitious. It is a testament to the British nation that more than seventy years after Newbould painted this expansive prospect, it is as fine now as it was then.
    Taking the English countryside for granted, assuming that it will always be like this, is almost certainly its greatest threat. The sad irony is that the things that make the landscape of Britain comely and distinctive are almost entirely no longer needed. Hedgerows, country churches, stone barns, verges full of nodding wildflowers and birdsong, sheep roaming over windswept fells, village shops and post offices, and much more can only rarely now be justified on economic grounds, and for most people in power those are the only grounds that matter. Looked at economically, we don’t even need farmers. Farming accounts for just 0.7 percent of GDP, so if all farming in Britain ceased tomorrow the economy would barely notice. Successive governments have done almost nothing to preserve most of these things. There is a strange, blind, foolish inclination to suppose that the features that make the British countryside are somehow infinitely self-sustaining, that they will always be there, adding grace and beauty. Don’t count on it.

    Belle Tout lighthouse itself nearly didn’t survive. It was decommissioned in the early 1900s and became derelict. Canadian soldiers used it for target practice during the Second World War, though mercifully failed to destroy it. After the war it was restored, but by the late twentieth century it was in danger of falling into the sea, so some good soul paid a fortune to have it mounted on rails and moved a safe distance back from the cliff edge. So now it is safe for another few decades until the crumbling cliffs sneak up on it again.
    After Belle Tout comes a long descent almost to sea level, then a steady climb toward the summit of Beachy Head. It’s a long haul up a broad grassy strip, rather like walking on a golf fairway, but worth it for the payoff at the top where you get the most sensational views of the famous Beachy Head lighthouse with its jaunty red and white stripes, standing in the sea at the base of the cliffs.
    At the top of the hill, where it flattens out, is a parking area where busloads of schoolchildren can get off and scatter a little litter around—it’s a tradition, I guess; school groups come from all over to put their potato chip bags and candy bar wrappers in the gorse and bracken,