WALKING THE NAILBOURNE
My local pub in Lyminge stands close to St Ethelburga’s
Well, where, according to some, the Nailbourne rises merrily to the
surface. The idea of walking the length of the stream came to me one balmy
evening over a pint, like most of my hare-brained schemes.
A few days later, I started the expedition. The first
section of the journey I knew intimately. The walking was easy, as the
Elham Valley Way followed the Nailbourne through farmland and hawthorn
thicket to the next village. In Elham, the stream marks the eastern
boundary of the village and I managed to follow it alongside many a back
garden all the way to North Elham, where the hills provide lovely views
across the valley.
Unfortunately, things then deteriorated - no footpaths
following the watercourse. I opted for the closest option, the busy Valley
Road, and spent the next few miles throwing myself into the verges to
avoid speeding cars and failing to spot any evidence of running water. It
was as if the stream had gone underground in disgust.
In Barham, the dry riverbed was used as a footpath, and
in Out Elmstead, the water table measure mocked a weedy ditch that had
long since been dry. From Kingston, the footpath followed the stream bed
once more, leading to the Bourne villages where, as if thrilling to its
namesakes, an ever broadening trickle of water could soon be found as the
Nailbourne returned to the surface! First came Bishopsbourne, a beautiful
little village, boasting the pre-requisite church, a working forge and an
amazing absence of traffic. On the bench in the churchyard of St. Mary the
Virgin, I looked out over the serene parklands of Bourne House. There lay
pastoral England: sheep grazing among large trees; the river meandering
through meadows into a lake; a church spire in the distance - that of
Bridge, the next village along the route.
After Bridge came Patrixbourne and Bekesbourne, with
their fords and oast houses. Onward I went, through orchards and meadows,
past the ruins of the old Well Chapel. Guarded by weeping willows, the
small stream grew into a river as it entered Littlebourne. The next few
miles were mill country and the path led me to the hidden gem of
Littlebourne Mill. Somewhere between there and Seaton Mill, the Nailbourne
becomes the Little Stour. Local opinion was divided on precisely where.
I reached my destination - beautiful Wickhambreaux -
where I visited St Andrews’ churchyard and found the skulls and
cross-bones on the gravestones a friend had alerted me to. Resting on the
green, I considered the possibility of extending the journey - why not
carry on, all the way to the sea? ‘Not today!’ I thought lazily,
stretching out on the grass…
Gabrielle Lindemann
Stour View reader
