The traveller from London to Portsmouth by road, as he leaves Petersfield (fifty miles from his starting point and twenty from his objective) sees before him, above the copses and hopfields, a great green hill like the overturned hull of some gigantic ship. Looking southwards, he sees to the east the line of the Sussex Downs and to the west the less definite Hampshire ridge, and between them this majestic hill-Butser. Approaching nearer, the spurs which run out from the main mass show clearly the sunken tracks that wind up to the high level plateau above; and through the deep road-cutting across the col connecting Butser with Wardown on the east, a green land of ridges and hollows, of downs studded with juniper and thorn and of coombes with their sides covered with yew and whitebeam is entered. A yard from the road and there is untouched downland where one may walk all day and see no one but the occasional desecrating workman who strips Butser of its turf so that the suburbs of Southsea may have tennis courts.
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