The town most closely associated with Reigate isn't Banstead, it's Redhill. The two 'R's sit side by side on the Surrey Weald, the one's suburbs merging into the other, and a fairly straightforward walk apart. One has history and character, the other has better trains to London. Residents pay their money and take their choice.[5 photos]
Somewhere historic: Reigate
You'll find Reigate twenty miles south of central London on a low lumpy section of the Greensand Ridge. It's a damned obvious place for a settlement, hence the town has Anglo-Saxon, medieval and Tudor layers if you dig deep enough, and a cave system if you dig deeper still. Most of the good bits are hidden within the central core behind the shops, while others can be found a little further out in the rather posh park. To make sure you miss nothing, grab a Reigate History Treasure Trailleaflet from the Library (just inside the door on the right) and try to follow the mapless path around town.
Priory Park: As municipal parks go, this one's out of the ordinary. It started out as the estate of a priory dissolved by Henry VIII and given to the family of his fifth wife, Catherine Howard. The mansion they created still stands, heavily upgraded, and is now a Grade I listed (non-private) primary school. Out front is a splendid sunken garden, an echo of the past, while one small wing houses the town's only museum. It's nominally open on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, but has been closed for years since the Priory's roof suffered significant snow damage in 2010. Thwarted in my visit, I set off round the park to follow the same two mile waymarked trail that 18th century houseguests would have followed around the estate. Past the mirrored pavilion cafe (bah, closed for refurbishment), past Priory Lake (home to some needy swans and ducks) and up a slippery sandy footpath (where the UK's tallest hornbeam tree is supposedly located). The highlight of the circuit should have been the ridgetop path in the southern woodland, but the rain was relentless and I succeeded only in getting very wet. Only the park's regular Saturday afternoon footballers seemed to be out enjoying the facilities, and then perhaps only reluctantly with a mudbath anticipated.
Reigate High Street: When your shopping district is a conservation area, your shops tend to be a little upmarket. From a gunmaker and gentleman's outfitter at one end to an interior designer and old coaching inn at the other, Reigate knows its target audience. I felt a little out of place in my walking boots, although a little less so when I found the Morrisons concealed up an alley behind the babywear boutique. Thanks to my leaflet I also found the town lock-up, the ex-market beneath the Old Town Hall (now a Caffè Nero) and a proper timber-framed Tudor house up the side of Boots.
Reigate Castle: Originally Norman, the outcrop of rock in the centre of Reigate made for a perfect defensive stronghold. All that's left of the original is the dry moat, around which a tarmac footpath runs, and a wet moat slightly to the north. There is a 'Castle Keep' in the centre with arrowslit windows, but that's a 19th century folly and looks like it would be more at home on a crazy golf course. I got a bit lost following the History Treasure Trail round the site, in part because the paths are laid out like a 3D maze, but eventually found the large garden in the centre which I assume was once the bailey. Find the right way down and you can follow the Donkey Steps, a narrow cobbled descent leading to another alleyway in the High Street, and lethally slippery in wet weather, so take care.
Reigate Caves: Oh yes, Reigate's tourist claim to fame is that it has not one but two underground cave systems at its heart. Even better they're open to the public, but only on five Saturdays a year and, alas, never between October and April. Instead I had to make do with staring at each cave's entrance, wistfully, starting with the caves in Tunnel Road. This is a very special street, incorporating the oldest road tunnel in Britain, dug in 1823 through the heart of the sandstone on which Reigate Castle stands. Sand mines were opened up to either side, additionally used for storing wines and beers, and also as a public air raid shelter during World War Two. Equally artificial, but much older, are the Barons' Caves accessed from the upper moat. Legend says King John's barons met here before riding to Runnymede to sign Magna Carta, but more likely is that the underground system is the Earl of Surrey's wine cellar. The pair reopen, I'd wager, on the second Saturday in May, courtesy of the Wealden Cave and Mine Society.
What with a museum that was closed, a park cafe that was closed, two caves that were closed and several millimetres of rain, I've certainly had more successful visits to places. But when all of Reigate's stars are again in alignment, I feel I should come back and try again. by train: Reigate
Somewhere retail: Redhill
No offence to Redhill, but it's not as special as Reigate. Before the 19th century it was simply fields, but emerged as a town when the London to Brighton turnpike was built, and burst forth when the London to Brighton railway followed. You'll look in vain for that Victorian heritage in the town centre today because a 1980s ring road plus pedestrianisation replaced pretty much everything. Most typically Eighties is the Warwick Quadranttheatre/cinema complex, a brick box with arched glass canopy out front, joined to a long low Sainsbury's of minimal architectural merit. Chas and Dave are playing this Friday, while this year's big panto star is Hev from Eastenders playing neither Beauty nor the Beast. Shoppers are drawn to the thrice weekly street market, less artisan foods and more household staples, should you need brushed flannel check shirts, bedding plants or a cigarette lighter. Saturday's weather kept trade less than brisk, and the Christian fellowship stall nearly lost half their stock thanks to an Act of God as the wind whipped through. Far better to be shopping under cover in the half-decent Belfry mall, run over several stacked floors, where a display of Irish dancing was almost drawing the crowds.
I went in search of a brighter Redhill, in character if not radiant sunshine. Memorial Park was closed for a million pound makeover, its reopening unfortunately overdue. The area by the station offered roadworks and demolition, where one listed wall of a former nightclub has been retained so it can be incorporated into a new apartment development. I thought things were looking up for Redhill when I stumbled on a nearby windmill, but I'm told this is just over the border in Reigate so doesn't count. Ditto the splendid fingerpost on Wray Common, with two directions labelled "Dangerous Hill", and Brighton a terribly accurate 32¼ miles distant. In the end I had to climb up and out to the south to reach Redhill Common, the sandy summit here the feature after which the town was named. Where the woodland opened out to an open grassy plateau, I stood by the jubilee viewpoint and looked out past a church spire towards Gatwick and beyond. And even though the rain had paused I stood there entirely alone, the temporary king of Redhill and all I surveyed. by train: Redhill; by bus: 405
I'm continuing my outer orbit of London in Reigate and Banstead, two very different Surrey towns brought together solely for administrative purposes. Banstead's almost in London, indeed probably ought to be, a well-to-do commuter suburb on the Brighton Road. Reigate's much more Surrey proper, a historic settlement with a castle and everything, just far enough out to be generally overlooked. And inbetween the two there's rolling downland countryside, the M25 and a lot of big houses you probably couldn't afford to live in. I chose a relentlessly wet day to explore, which probably wasn't wise, but by setting out early I reached my first two stops before the heavens opened.
Somewhere famous: Kingswood Warren
OK, so it's not that famous. But Reigate and Banstead's not exactly dripping with places everyone knows, indeed even Gatwick Airport lies a few yards beyond the district's southern boundary. So I headed north to a stop on the Tattenham Corner railway line, that's Kingswood, to try to find a manorial outpost once owned by the BBC.
Private Roadway, the big sign said, just beyond the station at the entrance to Kingswood garden village. I wondered whether someone officious might pop out of the gatehouse (proudly bearing the name of Aspreys Estate Management) but nobody blinked, and in I stepped. The first cars to pass me on their way out were a Merc, a Land Rover and a Range Rover, which ought to have been a hint as to what was to come. I'd entered a particularly exclusive enclave, a swirl of leafy lanes where the moneyed hide away. A string of arcadian houses lined up on each side, some secured behind electronic gates, others with open gravel drives. Most are broad-gabled, with names like Fox Hollow, Bracken and Shepherd's Cot, as if the surrounding vegetation was somehow proper countryside rather than a lot of planted trees and a series of laurel hedges. You have to be seriously well off to afford to live on Beech Drive or Woodland Way, as a swimming pool count on an aerial photograph reveals. You can almost sense how someone back in the Thirties drew lines to divide up the fields into large plots, each big enough to satisfy a banker or a captain of industry. There are no pavements, walking's not really the done thing, although I did pass the occasional dressed-down gent in baseball cap or leading a dog. I thought I'd best keep moving, no photos.
Kingswood Warren lurks at the centre of the estate, the star around which the handful of private roads orbit. The building in its present form dates back to 1837, embellished by the first live-in Lord of the Manor. He created a mansion "embattled and ornamented with turrets in the castellated style", i.e. it looked like a Gothiccastle, very much the home of someone pretending to be a country gentleman. The BBC's Research and Development team moved in in the late 1940s, holing up the cream of the corporation's scientists and engineers forever chasing after something new. And their achievements make a damned impressive list. Ceefax was developed at Kingswood Warren, as were Nicam Digital Stereo, DAB radio, High Definition TV, Freeview and the "red button". On a slightly less highbrow note Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Men was filmed and recorded here, while Peter Snow's Swingometer came out of one of the backroom workshops. You'd expect at least a plaque.
But the BBC moved out in 2010, relocating their R&D team in Manchester and White City, leaving KingswoodWarren ripe for redevelopment. The mansion's been divided up into eight luxury apartments, while 14 mega-detached homes have been built in the grounds with a £2½m price tag, seemingly with a particular appeal to Middle Eastern owners. And no, of course mere mortals aren't allowed anywhere near. I got no further than the gates at the top of the gravel drive, peering through the bars to catch sight of part of the distant castellated frontage part-obscured by trees. One sign on the gateposts warned that CCTV was in operation "for public safety", while another pleaded with residents to keep an eye open for "our beloved cat Lionel" in case he was locked in a shed. As I stepped away a van turned up, either collecting or delivering a pampered pooch, and the gates swung open to let their urgent mission pass. How things change, replacing a public sector workplace with exclusive accommodation for footballers and oligarchs, but Kingswood's perhaps nothing out of the ordinary in that respect. by train: Kingswood
Somewhere pretty: Reigate Fort You'd expect a defensive structure on the North Downs to be quite old - a Saxon hillfort, perhaps, or a medieval castle. But ReigateFort is very-late Victorian, dug out of the escarpment in the 1890s as part of the London Defence Scheme. About a dozen structures were built in total, in a chain from Essex to Surrey, the aim being to frustrate the bally French had they chosen to invade. Despite its elevated position there were never any big guns at Reigate, instead the site was used to store guns and other ammunition for distribution to ground troops in the event of landbased advance. Such an attack never came, of course, indeed the shape of warfare and the nature of the enemy changed utterly within only a few years. Reigate's earthworks were decommissioned in 1906 and fell into disrepair, restored only in the last decade courtesy of the National Trust and a lottery grant. It's one of their stranger properties. [listing][leaflet][map][walk]
And the view is fantastic. Reigate Fort sits on the brow of a high chalk ridge, at the point where the North Downs tumble sharply down towards the town below. I was blown away by the panorama when I stepped out onto the summit of Colley Hill, despite the weather being less than ideal. A mix of gabled roofs and fields spread out across the Wealden plain below, with a sightline all the way to the South Downs many miles hence. Several dog walkers had made it up here for a morning stroll, plus a number of serious looking ramblers and the occasional family group. One such group had colonised the seats inside the Inglis Memorial, a low rotunda originally built for horses, now the ideal spot for checking the map or eating your sandwiches. Along the ridge I met a metal detectorist who showed me a silver spoon he'd uncovered, then gave me the lowdown on the fierce looking black sheep who graze the slopes of the fort. "Ignore the curly horns," he said, "they're tame as anything," then clambered down into the ditch in search of better treasure. [5 photos]
The fort's entrance is via a thick set of gates in the earthen bank. Normally you'd expect these to be locked, but no, there's free access for all to the structures within. At one end are a tool store and a magazine, the latter dug down deep for the safe storage of ammo. And along the rim of the hillside are two casemates, long blocks of flexible accommodation accessed down a steep set of steps. There's not much else, bar a large central space large enough to line up troops, or to play frisbee in if yesterday's antics are anything to go by. But I was drawn up to the top of the ramparts, behind the electric fence, to stare down over Surrey and Sussex as the autumn rains approached. Gatwick Airport could be clearly seen, illuminated by a final burst of sunlight, as planes took off into the seething grey clouds approaching from the west. I watched as visibility turned from decent to imminently appalling, flicked up my hood and fled for cover. by train: Reigate
Beyond London (4): Reigate & Banstead (part 1)
Kingswood Warren lurks at the centre of the estate, the star around which the handful of private roads orbit. The building in its present form dates back to 1837, embellished by the first live-in Lord of the Manor. He created a mansion "embattled and ornamented with turrets in the castellated style", i.e. it looked like a Gothic castle, very much the home of someone pretending to be a country gentleman. The BBC's Research and Development team moved in in the late 1940s, holing up the cream of the corporation's scientists and engineers forever chasing after something new. And their achievements make a damned impressive list. Ceefax was developed at Kingswood Warren, as were Nicam Digital Stereo, DAB radio, High Definition TV, Freeview and the "red button". On a slightly less highbrow note Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Men was filmed and recorded here, while Peter Snow's Swingometer came out of one of the backroom workshops. You'd expect at least a plaque.
You'd expect a defensive structure on the North Downs to be quite old - a Saxon hillfort, perhaps, or a medieval castle. But Reigate Fort is very-late Victorian, dug out of the escarpment in the 1890s as part of the London Defence Scheme. About a dozen structures were built in total, in a chain from Essex to Surrey, the aim being to frustrate the bally French had they chosen to invade. Despite its elevated position there were never any big guns at Reigate, instead the site was used to store guns and other ammunition for distribution to ground troops in the event of landbased advance. Such an attack never came, of course, indeed the shape of warfare and the nature of the enemy changed utterly within only a few years. Reigate's earthworks were decommissioned in 1906 and fell into disrepair, restored only in the last decade courtesy of the National Trust and a lottery grant. It's one of their stranger properties. [listing] [leaflet] [map] [walk]
