‘Grey, sombre Arundel lies on the flank of the downs like a cat waiting to prey on the valley below. It is a marriage of Middle Ages and 19th century, a monumental expression of the aristocratic pomp and the Catholic faith of the Howards, Dukes of Norfolk.

The tightly packed town at the foot of its castle is at first more French than English, a lofty citadel on a defensible cliff on a bend in a river. But from across the fertile flood plain of the Arun, the scene acquires the softer outlines of Sussex and the South Downs. From here, Arundel could only be England.

There are water meadows so smooth they might have been rolled for cricket, interspersed with dykes and punctuated by an occasional tree, barn and church tower ’

 

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