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As we entered the small town of Pulborough my wife muttered from behind the steering wheel, “There’s something weird about Sussex”. “Anyway, I on…” At that moment the chip shop door burst open. They were bleeding and punching each other in the face.
I had to confess that the same thought had troubled me before. Both were dressed in tabards and medieval guildsmen’s costumes, with matching belts, leggings and leather shoes with massive silver buckles. I never set out to write about myself and certainly not about my time in straight-laced Sussex. It was the last Saxon county to be converted to Christianity.
Walker claimed that he was too terrified to turn around during this exchange and that by the time he had plucked up courage the unseen stranger had vanished into the night.
The upset wizard complained, "I take chaps with problems to the Long Man at Wilmington and women to Cerne Abbas, but this makes a mockery of that." Henry Warner, director of the Sussex Archaeological Society said, "It could have been something to do with the Beltane Festival.
Escaped criminals, highwaymen and general undesirables used the vast forests that covered the Weald as a hide out before Tudor and Stuart militarization unleashed a programme of savage deforestation; the trees were felled to smelt iron and build ships.
From the late 18th century, Brighton became a fashionable spa town, thanks to the patronage of the Prince Regent (later George IV).
But beneath this polite veneer the old gods still writhe.
Take for example, the case of the Long Man of Wilmington.