The chalk gave
us our first refuge in war by permitting those vast encampments on the
summits. The chalk filtered our drink for us and built up our strong
bones; it was the height from the slopes of which our villages,
standing in a clear air, could watch the sea or the plain; we carved
it--when it was hard enough; it holds our first ornaments; our clear
streams run over it; the shapes and curves it takes and the kind of
close rough grass it bears (an especial grass for sheep) are the cloak
of our counties; its lonely breadths delight us when the white clouds
and the necks move over them together; where the waves break it into
cliffs, they are characteristic of our shores, and through its thin
coat of whitish mould go the thirsty roots of our three trees--the
beech, the holly, and the yew. For the clay and the sand might be
deserted or flooded and the South Country would still remain, but if
the Chalk Hills were taken away we might as well be in the Midlands."
(Hilaire Belloc: _The Old Road_.)
[Illustration: GEOLOGY OF THE DOWNS.]
A description of these hills, however short, would be incomplete
without some reference to the sheep, great companies of which roam the
sunlit expanse with their attendant guardians--man and dog (who deserve
a chapter to themselves).
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