Now lockdown has been relaxed, retired NHS worker Jane Bartlett from Petersfield enjoyed a walk in Hawkley from her past – one she did often as a child with her brothers and sisters, and revisited as a mum when she lived in the village with her own children, and her much-loved Jack Russell terrier Norbert.

As I was pondering a way marker at the start of a path up into the hangers above Hawkley – where did it go ? – I met a man with a van.

We got chatting and I told him I was writing about local walks. I added I was enjoying it but it was hard at times to make them interesting.

He laughed and kindly suggested he wouldn’t mind ‘featuring’ if it helped.

I jumped at the chance (this writing is no joke!) and after some banter, he agreed to have his photo taken –so a win-win situation.

His name was Ugo and with another laugh, he said being in the paper wouldn’t get him into trouble with a boss, or a wife – he was furloughed, and he and his “ex-missus” got on better now they were divorced, so it was all good!

He was from Hersham in London and during lockdown had bought a rowing boat on a whim – but it had no oars, which was a bit of an oversight on his part, he admitted.

But he had found some advertised in Hawkley – they were a bargain as finding just oars for sale had been very difficult, as everyone with a rowing boat needs their oars, he added with a grin.

He said he was looking forward to launching his skiff for the first time; he had never rowed before, and thought a lake would be best so he could get the hang of it safely.

Saying good bye to Ugo, I set off on my hour-long circular walk starting at Hawkley Cricket Club, where there is parking.

I enjoyed this walk as a child in Hawkley, and it was popular with my children when we lived in the village, so it was full of happy memories.

It was lovely to see the cricket pitch in all its glory with beautiful oak trees past the outfield and the breathtaking views of the wooded hills overlooking the recreation ground.

Hearing the familiar caw of the Hawkley crows was almost a welcome home!

Leaving the car park I crossed the road and went through the lynch-gate to the village church with its yew trees.

It is made of local sandstone in the Norman style, but the tower was built in Rhenish Helm style – a design more usually found on the continent.

Surrounding the church are graves dating back to at least 1771.

Leaving the church, I turned left and walked along the green, passing the The Old Bakery, now a house but years ago an antiques shop where my mum worked.

A little way on was the old post office – as children we loved going to Mrs Pride’s shop to buy sweets with our pocket money.

She had a very grumpy Pekinese dog called Kim who would have loved to have nipped us, given half the chance!

In the good old days Mrs Pride’s shop and home was used as a weekly surgery.

The sitting room was the waiting room and our wonderful family doctor, Dr Roderick, would come up from Liss and see us there .

Kim was not too happy about having her ‘patch’ invaded on surgery days and would snap at anyone who got too close. We soon learned to sit very still when we visited Dr Roderick!

How times have changed – now you can’t see a doctor at the surgery, never mind them coming to see you !

Just after the post office there is a right turn up to the hangers.

Walking up the path I was surrounded by beautiful countryside, and breath-taking views.

At the top, the path bore right below the hangers.

‘Hangers’ are ancient beech, ash oak and yew woodland clinging to steep scarp chalk slopes. There are particularly fine examples here, such as Ashford Hangers.

The beech trees especially look so wonderful at this time of year.

The wild garlic is now yellow and dying down, but its pungent scent still lingers.

As children we were told wild garlic was planted around Hawkley to ward off the evil eye, a spirit or energy that could cause misfortune.

Walking through the woodland, high up on a steep bank was a BMX bike jump made of branches and tree trunks.

This made me smile as No1 son, a dedicated BMXer, spent many hours making such jumps and would have loved this one – it looked particularly risky!

The path banks were brimming with ferns, buttercups, hawthorne, wild violets – and loads of stinging nettles.

It is so still and peaceful there, just bird song and squirrels jumping from tree to tree disturbing the hush. It was a glorious day.

Either side of the path were old, rotting tipped-over trees covered with ivy – perhaps left over from the hurricane on October 15, 1987, that brought many trees down.

You soon come to a signpost. Turn right into a field, walk to where two big fields meet, turn right at the bottom and then left up the track.

Then go over a stile halfway up the track on the right, which leads into a farmyard.

One of the miniature Shetland ponies in the fields beside the path ambled over to say hello.

Walk along Champlers Lane, with its wild roses and purple foxgloves, turn right at the end of the lane back to the church and the car park.

Walking through Hawkley hangers reminded me of my much-loved, but now deceased, terrier Norbert – he was indomitable, feisty and aggressive, and not very popular with family and friends. But to me he was a true legend and a great companion.

One day, before hunting with dogs was banned in 2004, he showed a rare compassion – which was a surprise to me!

The hunt was out and on those occasions he always stayed close – in the past, he had a couple of run-ins with a loose hound or two.

And just the sight of the hunt terriers in their cages on the back of the quad bikes made him somewhat apprehensive, shall we say!

We had just got to the bottom of a massive field leading to the hangers when I saw a fox running towards us.

Usually when foxes saw Norbert and me, they would take off in the opposite direction -–often with Norbert in hot pursuit. He never caught one, or anything else, for that matter!

So a fox running straight at us was surreal and I feared it would end badly for the fox or Norbert – or both of them.

As the panting fox got closer it slowed down, and looked at us warily.

To this day I don’t know why Norbert didn’t follow his usual pattern and instinct and pounce on the exhausted fox.

We stood stock still and the fox came up to us, then wearily trotted round us into some woods right behind us.

I was amazed – it almost brushed against my legs, and Norbert hadn’t moved, or barked. I could still hear the hounds up in the wooded hangers, but then to my dismay one of the huntsmen came charging out of the hangers and galloped up to us.

He asked me if I had seen a fox as the hounds had lost the scent.

I just couldn’t send them after the exhausted fox now he had given the hounds the slip.

So I said I had, and pointed in the opposite direction to the fox’s sanctuary behind us.

Norbert looked up at me like he totally agreed with my decision. Did he wink?

The huntsman thanked me and called the hounds and they all went happily charging off in the wrong direction.

Norbert and I carried on with our walk feeling pleased with ourselves, and happy for the fox.