I thought the highlight of Coulsdon would simply be the quiet streets, but that wasn’t what caught me at all.
What stayed with me, and still plays in my mind, was the sheer, open expanse of Farthing Downs.
I found it almost by accident when I was wandering around Coulsdon and came across a steep alleyway leading up from the street below.
Having battled the exhausting hills of Highgate earlier this year, I wasn’t exactly excited about climbing another one, but curiosity got the better of me.
Thank goodness it wasn’t raining, as the slope alone was unforgiving, but a sturdy metal bannister ran alongside.
I couldn’t help thinking about what it would be like to come hurtling down here during heavy rain.
At the top, the alley opened onto an old wooden gate.
It looked almost inviting, like the kind of gate that says, “Come on in, see what’s beyond”.
I pushed it open, half-expecting a cow to appear out of nowhere, but instead I was greeted by grass.
Not just a patch, but a vast, rolling carpet of it, stretching in every direction.
The scene couldn’t have been more different from the hard concrete and cityscape of Croydon I knew.
It’s easy to forget that Croydon was once part of Surrey before becoming a London borough, but Coulsdon and Farthing Downs in particular remind you of what it once was.
The downs rolled on, and, in the distance, rooftops gave way to green, fading into more hills and patches of woodland.
The unserious side of me couldn’t resist putting on Kate Bush’s Running Up That Hill and letting the song dictate the pace of my climb.
While it’s a great place to visit, watch out for the horse droppings.
Eventually, I reached the Saxon burial mounds at the top of the hill.
I learnt that centuries of history lay beneath those grassy humps.
A sign taught me: “An important group of Saxon burial mounds called barrows survive on Farthing Downs.
“From Prehistory, people raised mounds of earth and stone above the graves of wealthy and important individuals, but Saxon barrows are rare.
“Burial mounds were laborious to construct and often contained expensive grave goods.
“Initially, the barrows would have been gleaming white chalk; prominent landscape markers visible to the occupants of Saxon Old Coulsdon and acting as a permanent connection to their ancestors.”
A little further on, I reached what felt like the heart of Farthing Downs.
From this vantage point, you could roughly point toward Coulsdon, Purley, Chaldon, and Hooley.
The land stretched wide in every direction, cows grazing lazily in the distance, unaffected by anything else.
I was grateful to have come when the weather was dry, when the heat hadn’t yet baked the earth, when every step felt solid and sure.
It struck me how perfect this place would be for a date.
You could bring a blanket, a flask of tea, sit somewhere high and watch the sun fall behind the hills.
If I lived in Coulsdon, this would be my post-work walk.
On the way back down, I passed a memorial bench dedicated to Olive Forman, 1926–1977, remembered as “A Croydon rambler and lover of the countryside.”
It was clear that Olive had loved this land, had walked these hills and noticed the small, quiet things.
Farthing Down is the largest remaining semi-natural downland area in Greater London, consisting of grasslands and pockets of ancient woodland.
It might just be the best thing about Coulsdon, and I know if I lived there, I’d be Running Up That Hill for no reason other than I could.
