Date: 26th – 29th January 1973
Participants: Graham Beevor, John Butler, Peter Cox, Melvyn Gardner, Graham Hicks, Phil Kent, Phil Knowles and Geoff Wright.
The organisation was carried out by a sub-committee (everyone, whether they were going or not), and just before the start full details were sent to the ADC Camps & Journeys in accordance with the new regulations regarding expeditions in hazardous country (Beachy Head?)
The meeting place was Victoria Station, in plenty of time to catch the 20.45 train to sunny Eastbourne. Although the train ran late we still arrived in plenty of time for a pre-hike nightcap, after which John and Peter, who had lost the toss, went off to purchase supper (fish and chips).
Fully refreshed we headed off through Eastbourne, with Melvyn setting a brisk pace. Once up on Beachy Head, we discovered that it was blowing a full gale and we began to wonder whether camping on top of the Downs was such a bright idea after all. However, a small clump of trees eventually appeared through the murk. There was a grassy track winding through the trees and this well sheltered spot looked ideal. Each pair immediately began their tent pitching.
Geoff and Phil Kent had the daunting task of erecting the Team’s new nylon tent, with only a picture to go by, and which none of us had seen pitched before. However, with general advice, help and hindrance they managed, and before long we all settled down for the night.
We rose bright and early next morning to discover that rumours of condensation in nylon tents are well founded. There were cries of “help it’s raining” every time somebody accidentally (or deliberately) knocked that tent. The moral of this is that if you are in a nylon tent, it pays not to be last up every morning.
Anyway, we hurriedly had breakfast, and cleared up, after being bidden “good morning” by the farmer, who fortunately did not mind us camping on his land. We eventually left at about 10.00 hours.
We head straight for Birling Gap on the cliffs between Beachy Head and the Seven Sisters, the sight of a café / bar stopping us just short of doing a lemming imitation.
One hour, elevenses, and countless games of skittles, pinball and ten pin bowling later, we wandered off across the aforesaid Sisters (Graham Hicks used them for rugby practice – he ran) stopping for a breather at the top of the 
seventh and biggest, before heading inland once again to Exceat Bridge, where we ate lunch on the banks of the River Cuckmere. Just prior to this we had had to disinfect our boots to avoid spreading swine vesicular disease. John led the way.
Our stomachs happy again, we continued up the South Downs Way in the direction of Firle Beacon. However, two miles short of this objective, Melvyn’s ankle gave up the ghost, and we decided to find a campsite off the Downs as soon as possible. So we strolled down to Alciston where a farmer not only let us camp on his land, but also delivered us to the site in his Land Rover.
We pitched camp, cooked and ate our curry (with baked bean fried rice) and washed up before nipping down to the local hostelry for the rest of the evening. Our choice of village is always selective.
Next morning we again rose early (except for Geoff and Phil Kent, the condensation worshippers), and as Melvyn’s ankle had not improved he decided to call it a day. Graham Hicks had been unable to get off from work so he volunteered to go with Melvyn to help him along if necessary.
The rest of us reckoned that Graham also had a touch of the dreaded vesicular, despite his feet being in a remarkably good condition.
The survivors felt that we should try to get back to our planned route, although we had six miles to catch up. Accordingly we ploughed straight back up the scarp slope of the Downs to Firle Beacon and the followed the top for a few miles. At Beddingham Hill, John said “Goodbye” to us, as he too had to go to work on the Monday.
The remaining five of us pushed on to Rodmell for lunch, where we should have been camping overnight. Here, while we were feeding in the customary bus-shelter, the local schoolgirls appeared noisily. They were far from lady-like, and demanded THEIR bus-shelter back, even trying to charge us 5p each rent for it. Consequently, we sat there for an extra half hour.
From there we spent the rest of the afternoon climbing the dip slope of the Downs, but the only view we ever got from the top was the lights of the village below shining through the dusk. The moral here is to have a shorter lunch break.
With typical Service Team lack of subtlety, we ploughed straight down the scarp in the dark, straight into a herd of bullocks that decided to follow us. We accelerated across the hillside, and fortunately their desire to ruminate overcame their curiosity.
During this escape, Peter fell over, and due to his unfortunate choice of landing place (a bullock had been there before) was not very nice to know for the rest of the weekend, despite his efforts to remedy the situation.
We eventually got into Plumpton and found a campsite where we cooked our corned beef hash for eight, which was very nice (at the time), before going for our evening drink. When the publican decided to close for the night, he simply switched off the lights, despite us being in the middle of a game of darts. Not to be beaten we eventually resorted to using our torches, although it was not long before we took the hint and departed to our well-earned slumbers.
Next morning we discovered that condensation doesn’t form in nylon tents on warm nights (vapour barrier effect failing) although its occupants were still last up, just in time for a double helping of breakfast, which followed the morning foot first aid session.
This time we managed the amazing distance of one and three quarter miles before lunch in the inevitable bus shelter; then marching on to Haywards Heath and the train back to Victoria, which left three minutes later (Service Team planning). Another enjoyable hike successfully completed.
Finally, we found much to our amusement the fact that the first train on the Victoria Line was going to……………Seven Sisters.