Lord Justice James' Seat

This was a wooden bench with a fine view that I discovered in 1990. I sometimes sought it on my way home, as I needed a buffer between the office in London and whatever might await me at home near Horsham. These were the final months of my marriage: things were getting rather strained and distant. Parking the car, walking through quiet trees, and sitting for a while on Lord Justice James' Seat on Reynards Hill in Winterfold Forest, with its (then) glorious view to the south over Cranleigh, was a delight that I needed more and more. I might be reluctant to go home, but at least the place refreshed me and steadied me for whatever later arguments might begin. And of course, after we did split up, and I sat out a full five years waiting for a divorce, I went there again and again for some peaceful reflection. Late in the afternoon, I usually had it all to myself. 

Here are two shots of the Seat that I took in 1990. In this blue one, I was approaching from the car park; the person in the picture, by the Seat, had gone by the time I reached the spot. No doubt they needed solitude too. 

In 1990 the Seat was no more than a stout wooden bench, pretty old, held together by thick wire. Here's a close-up of it:

It does seem, from what was carved in the bench, as if the Seat had been installed in 1881. But since then it had suffered much decay. In this view fifteen years later, in 2005, that original Seat had been replaced by something more up-to-date, though it was still called Lord Justice James' Seat. 

As you can see, the Seat was set in a glade, open on its south side to the sun and the breeze. It was on a high spot, commanding a wide view. Off to the left, in the distance, you could make out planes taking off or landing at Gatwick Airport, although they were too far away to be heard. Off to the right, you could see a succession of hilly viewpoints that receded to the horizon. Wonderful, considering that this airy scene was actually in Surrey, and not very far from the edge of suburban London.

Hardly anything changed during the next five years. Here are equivalent views for 2010:

There was however decidedly more vegetation. Eventually the small trees and shrubs on those slopes grew large enough to obscure the view. I think this was a deliberate policy of the local conservators, to discourage mountain-bikers from using the slope as a downhill racetrack. But then those on foot, who wanted to see the famous view, complained. This was how things were in 2019:

There was something to see if you stood up, but it wasn't a perfect compromise. I missed how it had once been. The Seat itself had lately been replaced by a curvaceous recycled-plastic creation, bolted together, that looked as if it should last for decades to come.

It wasn't unattractive, and was clearly going to be resistant to both weather and wood-eating insects. But to my mind it lacked charm. Nor did it have any obvious link with the judge who had first admired the view. This work of eco-art was called 'Contour', and not 'Lord Justice James' Seat' any longer. But I should think the old name will the one to endure. I still sat on the new bench for a few minutes, just as I had on every previous occasion. Thankfully, it remained a good place to rest on. 

That 2019 visit revealed more than just a new bench. Not far off, in the woods, was an area strewn with movie-making equipment. It wasn't abandoned, but wasn't fastened down and could have been stolen pretty easily. 

I saw a car nearby that seemed to belong to a security man, but he was nowhere in sight. I wondered if he'd mind if I used the female side of those portable toilets. I tried the door. It was unlocked. I slid in, did my stuff - everything was working, as if still powered - and was not accosted as I moved away. 

What was all this about? Shortly afterwards the security man hoved into view. Equipment must have been scattered all over the place, and he had been doing his rounds. He told me that the producer and crew had been making a film about wartime commandos. That's all he knew. 

And for the next few years, I learned no more: I forgot about it. But then I returned a couple of days ago, wanting a good walk in Winterfold Forest, and at the end of it discovered something about how the vicinity had been used in wartime as a training-ground for spies, saboteurs and commandos. I found this information board at the car park - click on it to see it better:

So all was made clear: they'd been making a documentary about Winterfold, a country house used as a school for Special Forces personnel. 

As for the rest of my visit the other day, there's little to say. I wanted to get some exercise, armed with my stick and camera:  

And I got what I'd wanted: a good long forest walk, often over rough or steep ground, or where there were roots to trip me up. I certainly needed that stick! When I reached Lord Justice James' Seat, towards the end of my tramp, I was glad to sit down for five minutes. Surprisingly, my right knee wasn't protesting, although it had a right to do so; but it was warm and I was definitely puffed.

The spot looked much as it had in 2019, and the view was no better: a shame. 

I pondered the question of who Lord Justice James had been. Apparently a High Court Judge who lived in the nineteenth century. But deeper research on the Internet once home did not reveal his identity. True, the man who (in 1886) built the big country house down the hill called Winterfold - the wartime school for spies - had been a judge. He would have owned a swathe of local land, including where the Seat was. But he was Lord Chief Justice Viscount Alverstone (1842-1915), and before being elevated to the peerage he'd been Richard Everard Webster - not James. There appeared to be no other candidate. 

Perhaps it was really Viscount Alverstone's Seat after all, with the name somehow getting changed from Webster (or Alverstone) to James down the years. It would be nice to clear up this little mystery!

Sequel  Aha. I've now discovered that Sir William Milbourne James (1807-1881) was a judge. The year of his death, 1881, was carved on the original bench seat that appears in the first two shots above, taken in 1990. So the surname James, the date of 1881, and his being a judge are three things that suggest this might be the man. But I haven't yet found any connection between him and the Winterfold area. 

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