Bury and River Arun

A stroll along the banks of the River Arun, The Last Supper and The Forsythe Saga are included in this week's 3.4kms (2.2m) walk from Bury.

You can just about park down by St John the Evangelist TQ017131.

Note twelve Irish yews in line along road, and a thirteenth all by itself. Was this meant as a symbol of The Last Supper carving itself inside the church? Intriguing to me. The other yews are Atlantic and both big old males.

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Wander not to river, reading on panel about the ferry woman at Bury wharf who handled her boat like a man, though the last was Bob Dudden until 1955. All you can do today is look but not row, and neither is this Curlew River or The Isle of the Dead through Britten and Rachmaninov gave resonance to me.

Turn right along bank and over stiles into weeping willow alley. Beyond the next stile the bank gets wild again, with real willows, Norfolk reeds (our largest grass which in Basrah makes boat masts) and lovely moorhens giving their chuckling 'prrrks' which sound contented.

Amberley Mount to left with its variety of native trees that gave it SSSI status at one time. Meadows over the river are now growing clumps of dark green hard rushes that spoil grazing but give good niches for wild birds such as reed buntings.

Walking south through kissing gates you will be noticing the old Amberley chalk pits once used as source of quick line for cement. The museum there of industrial and social life is world famous.

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Coming to the large new footbridge I sometimes cross this and carry on to Amberley village with its cafe for a cuppa or pub for a pint, which adds a mile to this walk as published.

Note Himalayan balsam along river edge. Fishing here was made famous by Isaac Walton and today there are still pike, bream, roach, gudgeon, dace, perch, chubb, carp, sea trout and tench.

Our return walk is back along the river bank diverting back near Bury to the left, crossing meadows, reaching main street, where turn left to find the thirteen splendid gargoyles on Gargoyle House. Angels, lions, idiots, Bachus, caused Pevsner to comment that some monumental mason went quite crazy. I believe the figures were imported.

Farther up is famous Bury House where John Galsworthy lived for seven years and died there. Opposite is the appropriately-named Forsythe Cottage. My father visited the author here twice, not knowing that they were distantly related having a common great-great-great grandfather who was a needle-maker in Redditch.

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A common Saga gene? Just as Morris is ancestor to modern Mini.

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