Etchingham, Sussex - Part of my roots

It was my last full day in England, and I was really looking forward to seeing where my maternal grandfather's grandparents came from. 

They arrived as free settlers in Sydney from Etchingham in Sussex at the end of  August in 1838, then travelled on an even more perilous journey to Melbourne, then known as Port Phillip, by a very unseaworthy small ship, arriving in January 1839. The young couple were of a farming background, and had been appointed to manage the farm owned by a wealthy landowner. At that time the government in Sydney had offered incentives to entice young farmers to come to Australia to help settle the land. In time the couple owned their own farm, and made a wonderful contribution to their church and community. My grandfather was the son of their fifth son, and a wonderful man. 

I was curious about what Etchingham was like. Apart from the modern cars I saw, it was as though I was back in their time. This was a very sleepy little village in the middle of farmland, about two hours by train from London. When I alighted from the train, I could not even see a sign to show where the village was. After trying one way, I turned around and tried the other and found a very old church. I did not have my family records with me but assume that this church was the one in which they were married. By now it was drizzling and I did not have a coat with me. I was really cold. It had seemed fine when I started out. 

I walked through the headstones over wet, freshly mown grass but most of the epitaphs were illegible, having been worn away by the elements and covered with moss, so I did not find any family graves. Eventually I went inside. The door was open but no-one was to be seen. I took some photos, bought the church newsletter and signed the visitor’s book. 

Then I went off to explore the village and buy some coffee and lunch, and of course, to use their loo. After getting wetter and wetter and colder and colder I eventually found a little butcher’s, where I found out that the church I had seen was the only one in the village and was very old, and the only place to buy food or use a loo in this village was at the station, on the opposite platform to where I had alighted, but it was likely to be closing in a minute! By this time it was 2 pm, and I had left my hotel at 9 am. I certainly could not wait until I was back in London, so I bolted! I just caught the couple closing up shop. I told them why I had come and luckily they took pity on me and unlocked the loo for me and gave me a hot drink. (Of course I had to pay for it.) 

After waiting almost an hour on the freezing, windy platform, I finally caught the train back to London, feeling somewhat flat and exhausted. But still, I have seen a little of my family background, which is great. Some of my other forebears came from Scotland, so I feel that at least I have explored my roots, albeit only a little. 

The following photos are mainly of the old church. The few remaining ones are of the nearby countryside, the gateway to a small park, and a couple of buildings I saw in the village. It was raining so the outdoor shots were not as clear as they would otherwise be.