It's known as PoohsticksBridge and children of all ages still flock to drop twigs into the stream and see which comes out the other side first.
The closest village of any size is Hartfield, a cottagey cluster whose car parks are insufficient to cope with the interest Winnie the Pooh generates. On the High Street is a weatherboarded tearoom/museum/giftshop called Pooh Corner which since 1978 has sold plush toys and whimsy, and where you can order scones and Earl Grey served in Disney-approved teapots. They also sell a map for £1 showing how to find the bridge and several other fictionallocations you'd likely otherwise miss. I didn't drop by, partly because it hadn't yet opened for the day but also because I'd arrived by bus (the hourly 291 between East Grinstead and Tunbridge Wells) and alighted two stops earlier at a stop called 'Garage'. This is the garage in Upper Hartfield, a proper oldschool mechanics' haven, bang opposite the entrance to Cotchford Lane.
A A Milne bought a second home on Cotchford Lane in 1925, the family decanting here in the summer for peace and quiet and larks in the forest. Milne had already written a trio of detective novels and a collection of children's verses, When We Were Very Young, and now turned his attention to the stuffed animals owned by his son Christopher Robin, unintentionally kickstarting one of the world's most successful entertainment franchises. After his death the 17th century farmhouse was sold to an American couple who installed a swimming pool in the garden, then sold on to former Rolling Stone Brian Jones... who promptly drowned in the pool, becoming Cotchford Farm's second celebrity death.
Cotchford Lane is now a somewhat snobby private road, a lengthy dogleg with drives bearing off at all angles, many bearing dismissive warning notices. At the final fork a wooden post points the way to Pooh Bridge, and for those who can't yet read the owners of Ryecroft Farm have felt the need to add an additional leftward sign displaying a Pooh graphic. It's only a couple of minutes down this path to the bridge, and somewhere along the way (though not in the books) is supposedly the entrance to Pooh's House. I completely missed it, I think because his tiny wooden door is set into the opposite side of a protruding trunk, so perhaps I should have paid more attention to the excitable toddler with a beaming smile on her face.
The famous bridge is broad and wooden, and crosses a stream which quite soon afterwards flows into the River Medway. The water's a dodgy brown colour, not because this genuinely is Poo Bridge but because Ashdown Forest is rich in iron ore and it all leaches out. Purists should note this isn't the original bridge from which Christopher Robin dropped sticks because that decayed through decades of fanatical overuse. Instead it's a rebuild from 1999, part paid for by the Disney corporation, although you'd never know because it does look right and proper. It's also still just as busy.
Obviously what you do when you get here is have a game of Poohsticks. The first problem is finding a stick because thousands of people have had the same idea and there aren't any left. A sign on the bridge advises you to bring some with you, but it's a bit late to be telling you that so people head out into the adjacent woods and search. Further advice says "don't damage any trees" but impatient souls plainly do, given the size of some of the branches I saw being lobbed into the water. I was fortunate enough to turn up at the same time as a family with a child wearing a Winnie the Pooh onesie, which was an absolute gift when taking photographs.
Obviously what I did when I got here was have a game of Poohsticks. I found two very diminutive twigs, handed one to my somewhat unwilling excursion partner and we dropped them into the stream below. Under they went and we switched sides, just as Christopher Robin and Pooh had, to see which emerged first on the other side. Alas neither of them did, even after quite some time, even after the onesie family had dropped theirs in and watched them successfully float through. There are apparently currents and eddies in the water, not to mention two bridge posts in the way, plus I suspect a lot of sunken wood acting as an underwater obstruction. The best place to watch a game of Poohsticks is from the bank, it turns out, even if you need to be on the bridge to judge who wins.
Continuing past the bridge the path becomes wider and pushchair friendly, at least when the mud's baked hard in summer, and passes through what's officially Posingford Wood, not yet Ashdown Forest. Somewhere along the ten minute walk to Pooh Car Park is Piglet's House, a gnarled tree with a tiny door at the foot of the trunk and a tinier balcony near the top, but you have to know where to wander off into the bracken to spot it. I think I spotted Eeyore's House in a clearing, a wigwam of logs resembling a large bonfire, which hopefully doesn't get burnt too often. There was also ample evidence dolloped on the path that one of Pooh and Piglet's friends ought to have been called Horse.
If you're here without toddlers then continuing into Ashdown Forest is a must. Only some of it is forest, including Five Hundred Acre Wood just to the east (which A A Milne decreased by 80%). The best part is the raised deforested chunk in the centre where vast swathes of bracken sweep off to the horizon, crisscrossed by sandy trails, and the crowds just fade away. Somewhere out there is the North Pole Pooh and Piglet went searching for, and also the heffalump trap if you're willing to totally suspend belief. But there is one genuine location up ahead at a raised point called Gills Lap, or in the books Galleon's Lap, the view from which is excellent.
Here we find a plaque to A A Milne and his much-loved illustrator E H Shepard, who between them "captured the magic of Ashdown Forest and gave it to the world." It was unveiled by the real life Christopher Robin in 1979, When He Was Fifty Nine. His father gave this spot a bittersweet reputation by using it as the location for the final chapter of the last Pooh book, the moment when Christopher Robin grows up and has to leave his bear behind, although the fact he was off to start boarding school is never mentioned.
Rather than walk two miles back it seemed more challenging to stride on across the roof of the forest past lots more bracken, several well-hidden car parks and a couple of trig points. It then seemed right to follow the Wealdway, one of the many waymarked trails that crisscross the area, for a further seven miles over heathered brows, down woody slopes, past high brambles, along private drives, across sheepy farms, up sandy steps, past a 13th century church and across a deer park, you get the gist. A final mile hugged the overgrown edge of the River Uck before the downing of a celebratory cup of tea and taking the train home from Uckfield. Sing Ho! for the life of a Bear!
