Bluebell Railway

Drove up to Sheffield Park, north of Lewes, today, to the Bluebell railway. This is a functioning steam railway, operated on a line that was abandoned by the national rail system in the 70's. They have so many engines and cars that they actually operate a scheduled service among the three stations along their line. You buy a ticket good for the whole day, and can ride anything running.

It was a quiet and cool, overcast day, and the drive was one of pleasant winding roads with thick greenery everywhere. Galen remarked that "It looks like Gran's cottage here," meaning southern Ontario. Indeed, the forest here, deciduous, does look a lot like eastern North America. Somehow without mosquitos.

We got to the Bluebell parking lot at about 10:15, and before we had left the car heard the distinctive peep of a steam engine. The boys were so excited they could hardly sit still. When we stepped onto the platform and saw a steam engine (forgive me, I can't tell the design) being coupled to the train and whuffing out huge clouds of steam, they were practically jumping up and down.

We were standing in a station with two platforms, and an overhead bridge that crossed over the tracks. We crossed over to the other platform and found a seat in an actual compartmented carriage like I remember from forty years ago. That's the kind where there's a passageway, and off it a series of little rooms, each with three seats facing three, overhead racks, and a window that drops down so you can really lean out of it. (With a sign under it that says "Do not lean out hte window" of course.) We felt very lucky to get this compartment, since there were only a couple on this train, and we were travelling 3rd class.

Our steam engine began pulling us, and at a nice slow pace we rode 15 minutes up the line to the next station at Horsted Keynes. Out the window (let's face it, one of us had his head leaning out pretty much all the time) we saw lovely countryside: fields, rows of trees, the occasional farm, walking paths. It was ridiculously beautiful. Kate and I reflected on why Britain is able to build new things while preserving the look and feel of its old buildings and its agricultural land, whereas in North America we give people the freedom to do whatever they want on their land, and they build ugly things.

A conductor came into our compartment, but instead of telling us to pull our heads in, gave us the story of how they are trying to exhume the buried line on the east Grmstead, and could we spare a tenner (that's £10) to help pay for dirt removal. We were touched and chipped in. Rode 15 more minutes to Kingscote: same kind of scenery. Turned around and rode back to Horsted Keynes, then back to Kingscote on another train, then back to Horsted Keynes, and finally back to Sheffield Park. Whew! By this time the landscape was becoming familiar.

Will wanted more. But the rest of us were bushed, so we passed through the gift shop and decamped.

On the way home we detoured to "Middle Farm," a large farm shop just east of Lewes. It's right on the side of the A27, and as we pulled off there was a sign saying "Camping Show in progress." Sure enough there was a mass of tents pitched in a field next to the farm, next to the overflow parking. These tents were enormous! Each one was larger than a car. I think this is a new craze here: giant tents.

Middle Farm was very busy, but we did find a place to park, and went into the store. In its many connected low-ceilinged rooms was a rich sampling of what is available within 100 miles of here. Local cheeses (I could not resist some Duddleswell) and meats (pork sausages), produce, fruit juices (pear-ginger! cox apple!).

In the barn out back, where harder rock and roll was playing, there was mead, and ginger wine, and assorted local beers. But the main feature of the room was a series of small barrels, about 30 cm high, arrayed around the room, each with a different fermented cider in it. ("Herefordshire such-and-such", and so on.) Will, who is always a keen observer of what's really going on, pointed out to me that little plastic cups lay in a tray on the counter, and I could taste any of these that I wanted. That sounded great, so took a cup and tapped a little out of a barrel. I guess it was about 14 proof--more or less the strength of wine. (I should have read the handwritten label pasted on the barrel.) I think I sprayed it out by mistake. Kind of bad form.

Back in Newhaven we dropped Kate and Will at Sainsbury's to shop for food, while Galen and I went up to the Fort to buy something he'd seen in the gift shop there on Saturday: a replica set of the papers an RAF man would have had during the war. We managed to get there and back all by ourselves: we didn't hit anything! (Everyday after driving, I sit down and say to myself, "Good work: you didn't hit anything.") Then we picked up Kate and Will at the end. Dinner. Too tired to go for another walk. Rain supposed to come tonight.