April 16th, 1961: Bexhill, Sussex, England

• April 16th, 1961
• Bexhill, Sussex, England
• Cloudy in the a.m. turning sunny

We went ot Mass this morning at the church of Magdalen in  Bexhill. It was an ancaint stone edifice with the pulpit on the side aisle of the church instead of in front as are ours. Otherwise, aside fromthe architecture, one might be in an American church. This is understandable whenone reflects upon the antiquity of Roman Catholicism and its unchanging pattern. We strolled home admiring the little English gardens. In one there was a tablet which read something like this:

In the sun is the pardon of God.
In the song of the birds is His mirth
You are nearer God's heart in a garden
Than in any place else on earth.

 Dad went with Peter to the Cricket Club before noon dinner, and the boys and I went down to the shore. The sea was calm and lovely and the air bracing. This afternoon we set out on an exploration on a very grand scale. First we went to Eastbourne, a place by the sea with 3 promenades on graduating terraces and a profusion of flowers in formal beds almost unavailable for beauty.  Visited Pevensey Castle on the Pevensey marshes. The marshes on which Hitler planned to come down. The Castle was built by the Romans as a fortification, and the ruins of the chapel show the font and Saxon stone with a Saxon symbol carved on it. Following this we tramped the Sussex Downs. Extending for some 20 miles, they roll away into the blue distance with grass as short and green as any lawn. They tell us the chalk in the soil keeps the grass as short as though it had been mowed. At Bleachy Head we saw our first of the famous white Chalk Cliffs. Returning we stopped by the sea at Burling___ for our tea, served with heavenly melt-in-the mouth scones. In Hooe, a tiny village outside Bexhill we visited our first pub. It was all we imagined, with a cozy fire and gleaming bottles reflecting the light. Had a chandy, a drink made of 1/2 ginger ale and 1/2 beer. Dad had light beer and Kay the same as I, and Peter the same as Dad. They served us delicious out-sized sausage on a toothpick, crisped to a lovely brown and with a flavor impossible to describe. The name of the pub is Tamlin's Lamb Inn and the swinging sign had a picture of a little white lamb gamboling on the green. I am sure no "Mary" ever had a prettier lamb. The pub building dates from 1520 and is in remarkably good condition. People were quiet voiced and orderly. The young crowd was just coming in as we left.