Each week we will be bringing you some Hidden Gems from around Guildford as part of our ‘Get Lost In…’ feature. This week’s post features a beautiful description of the Chantries and St Martha’s from ‘As I Walked Out’, a poetic and intimate blog written by local resident Tom Burgess who grew up in central Guildford but has recently moved back to the area, living in Shalford. His blog describes his meanderings around Guildford, musing over the beauty and tranquillity that our beautiful town has to offer. The instalments will chart the changes of the seasons throughout this year. The blog title is a nod to a book written by British poet Laurie Lee called ‘As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning’ which describes his epic journey after leaving the sanctuary of his little village in the Cotswolds.
Every leaf was a flower
As I walked out into the crisp autumn air bound for St Martha’s, the light was long and almost brittle. I immediately thought of big jumpers, of fire and ale, I quickened my pace. Relishing the rustle of leaves beneath my feat. My route would take me through the Chantries, a beautiful greensands ridge just to the south of the North Downs, covered in beautiful woodland and open field. I was particularly intrigued to walk through today, warnings of dramatic storms loomed. People say winds as strong as those in 1987 were rushing this way, the Chantries was hit particularly hard by those winds and still bears the scars. I wanted to see the woods before the winds came, so as to notice the destruction all the more keenly in the winds wake. Already the trees were in a flurry, bristling in a brilliant shivers of colour. This quote by Lewis Blackwell sprung to mind,
‘Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower’
Never have I noted such a sentiment with such pleasure as when I am in the Chantries. The leaves are flooded by toxins, the trees way of conserving heat to their cores. We could never hope to manage our affairs as well as the trees. Slipping and sliding up hill on the chalk mud, no longer cold I shed a layer. The exceptions to the dance of reds, yellow and oranges take on a different persona too; the silhouettes of coniferous trees emerged with green vividness and begged for snow.
It’s not long before you feel distant from the town in the Chantries. It is a peaceful place. In England’s past a Chantry was given to churches to secure powerful prayers on the donors behalf. Often the money generated from them would pay for a parish school teacher. Our Chantries was given to Holy Trinity Church in 1486 by Henry Norbrigge but the trees have been stretching out and communing with heaven longer than that.
With those thoughts in tow I was primed for the final push up the steep sandy track to St Martha’s on the hill. First though I took some time to enjoy the view from the Guildford Borough’s camping spot, a beautiful green slope and the site of many happy fires in their well made fire pits. I noticed several groups collecting chestnuts, their careful fingers prising open the spiky cage to expose the treasure within. They are abundant up there and I filled my pockets too.
You can see eight counties from the church which sits on a hill at about 175m above sea level. In fact as I understand it, the storm of 1987 improved the view, I had no trouble recognising Chilworth (a lovely little village with a good pub) and Newlands Corner (also good, especially for yew trees). St Martha’s has a cosy yet adventurous feel, which is perhaps a tautology but reason enough to visit the church which really does conjure the image of sanctuary in one’s mind, whatever your religious perspective.
I mused on the legend of how the 12th century church got its name, a legend which suggests the hill has not always been sanctuary for Christians. Was this once the site where Saxons burned Christians? Martha is said to derive from the word martyr so perhaps. It is certainly a place rich in history, not only that but it is a designated site of special scientific interest too.
As the day began to bow its head and dusk flood the sky, dappled light danced amongst the leaves and shadows flirted with the ground in the amber hue. I made my way back, mind full of medieval adventures and fire. Leaves littered the mud like puddles of tears. My attention was pulled into the present as through the twilight haze, bats dancing to their delight and mine.
Tom Burgess
