Haroldslea Drive

History is a funny thing, inserting itself in to our consciousness in different ways for each person. For my part, I tend to think of it as something that involves a trip to go and see a place considered worthy of the descriptor “historic” , distracting ourselves with ambient noise from the car radio until we arrive at the destination. History has a car park, and ultimately, a gift shop. You haven’t really been there unless you’ve got the fridge magnet.

That’s always been my perspective, spending slightly sweaty afternoons, driving to Castles, Museums & Gardens, the historic places, along streets with names that only are merely required to serve a useful function as Sat Nav markers to reach the destination.

Sometimes, though, probably in a traffic jam, along the way, you might, in your captive state, find yourself glancing around you, your unfocused gaze briefly fixing on a street name sign.

When I moved to the area, I had driven past Haroldslea Drive a fair few times, not really registering its name’s curious nature, there are so many casually peculiar street names in the U.K, after all. One day, however, I happened to visit a work colleague who lived there, and it came up amid the conversation, and I learned that it was locally received legend that King Harold was reputed to have camped there with his troops, on their way to a date in proper, leave through the gift shop, History, at Hastings.

History, here, in Horley. You may have seen Horley, without knowing it, but only in your peripheral vision out of your aircraft window as you fly out from Gatwick, firmly gripping your armrest.

I suddenly found myself intrigued. Some long submerged part of my consciousness had suddenly been tickled. I wanted to know more, but was I properly equipped?

I’m no natural historian, I regarded it as somewhat a chore at school. My head was wrapped up in physics, and outer space. My immediate thought process consisted of a brief mental struggle to recall whether Harold was the one who burnt the cakes, off’d all of his wives, or was done in by an arrow.

But how to go about it, to satisfy my newly discovered, somewhat surprising, curiosity. Where to look, who to ask?. I don’t have the knowledge or instincts of a historian, or a journalist, I’m too shy to knock on peoples’ doors.

I considered my options. The lazy one first, obviously. Phone search

Bullet points. I know that the street is called Haroldslea Drive, although I don’t know by whom, and there’s a site there called Thunderfield Castle (on private land), that’s mentioned as being possibly Anglo-Saxon. There’s no building, but there is a site, with two small islands, and two moats. The history of the Manor land seems more clearly and completely painted and yet there remains this murky smudge of incomplete knowledge in the middle of the picture.

The notion that Harold and his cohorts held camp there is referred to merely as “local, unsubstantiated claims”, by one source.

Is that really all there is to it?, maybe so, or can it somehow be proven, either way, with more interest and attention applied, by those with the appropriate knowledge and skills, focussed on this modest place?

I hope that this romantic tale is true, to add a frisson of excitement to my future drive-by’s. I know that there is history here, but is it the kind of history that I’m craving?

Maybe someone else can supply some extra small measure of certainty, and progress forward, despite all of the long intervening years. It may well not be the starred, juicy tale that I desire, but maybe my newly tickled historical brain cells will find something more completely informed and nourishing, probably not quite as exciting, but equally satisfying, to my newly rewired , more receptive brain. A productive moment, then, glancing at a street name. I’d like first option on the franchise for the gift shop.