CAFE ENCOUNTER

 

Dymchurch 1923 Paul Nash

I live about 12 miles inland from the little coastal town of Dymchurch on Romney Marsh. The small cafe I have frequented there for about 30 years had recently changed hands. It was, at last, a brilliant cold sunny day so I hoisted out the ebike and decided to toddle down there to have lunch and see what the new owners had done to it.

It was the Easter holidays and there is an amusement park about 200 yards away so the cafe was teeming. But a small elderly man at a table for two offered me the place opposite him. I ordered my meal at the counter (meat pie, chips and mushy peas if you are interested) and joined him.

" I hire out sun loungers on the beach and popped in for elevenses" he said. His accent was pretty heavy Geordie and I commented that he had originated somewhat north of the Kent coast. That got him going.

He had been born in Northumberland and did his National Service in the RAF (so must have probably been at least 80). After his two years service he had fetched up in London, served an apprenticeship in the building trade, stayed there and eventually married and moved to Hastings. "You have kept your Geordie accent still", I commented. "You never lose it lad" (Lad - I am 84!) he proudly replied. This opened the flood gates and I was treated to all his working life story.

Being of a size and enjoying horses he had been a part-time jockey. He rose in the building trade to become a site agent until his retirement at 60. "So what are you going to do now?" his wife asked him. "I bought a dozen donkeys and hired them out for beach rides. I also had a couple of fields nearby at Camber Sands and hired them out in season as overflow car parking". He had three daughters, one in insurance, one a solicitor and the last an accountant. "So they did all the paperwork for me and I collected all the cash.  Some nights when the wife and I cashed up there was five grand lying on the table, It was cash in hand, boy - they paid me for the donkey rides and for the car park when they parked, so no paperwork or invoices and my daughter kept the tax man sweet".

When he had been doing this for 20 years the family said he should slow down a bit. "So I sold the donkeys and the fields and bought 30 sunloungers to hire out on Dymchurch sands as I could see a niche for them. That's what I do now".

He rose to go. "Come down to the beach sometime for a chat" (he loved to talk). By now I had tuned into that Geordie accent - still there after some 60 years. I got on with my meal, reflecting how a simple invitation to sit with him had gifted me with an encounter to remember.

By the way - the new owners have transformed the cafe with redecoration, good food and friendly atmosphere. I shall return to Ivy's Tearoom in the High Street.

 

A "WORKING LUNCH"

 Spring has truly sprung this week and a morning ride on the ebike meant that I could actually leave off a couple of layers of clothing; sun pleasant and warming on my back.

I decided on a complete change of route and abandoned Romney Marsh for a wander in the Kent Weald. My route took me into the Wealden village of Smarden, a lovely spot best described by this quote:

"This enchanting village was established in around the 14th-century at the time when the forests of the Weald of Kent were being cut down to make way for permanent villages. Smarden, is little more than one street, yet it has a host of attractive properties including large half timbered houses built by prosperous wool merchants during the 17th-century.

At the time when the forests were being cleared to make way for sheep, King Edward III chose to grant Smarden a charter to hold a weekly market, his thinking was, that this would encourage the wool trade, and how right he was. Wealthy merchants came to do trade and they settled here and built magnificent homes for themselves and their families. They also donated generously to the church. The charter granted by Edward III was endorsed by Queen Elizabeth I and hangs in the church to this day."

Being in the edge of what was once the Wealden forest of Anderida the whole village is built of wood. The large merchants' houses referred to above and the village street full of weather-boarded cottages.

I entered the village and made for the church, since experience tells me that one usually finds a bench in a churchyard and sitting on the ground is OK but getting up again is difficult without something to hold onto these days.

Ensconced in the cosy corner seat to the right of the blue porch door I settled down to enjoy a pork pie and a flask of tea. The church is in an angle of the village so the paths across the yard are used as a shortcut. An upright old gent came by and stopped. "I see you are enjoying sustenance on this warm day." His exact speech and dress complimented the overall image I had formed.

I had parked the bike on its prop stand on the other side of the path and he was obviously interested. "I have considered one of these machines to get around the village" he said, poking it with his walking stick as a farmer would poke a favourite pig.

I said that this was my fifth ebike since a stroke and it was a marvellous way of getting about and keeping active.

 "I have a car and seldom use it, but walking is beginning to get tiresome. Are they expensive?" he queried, beginning to explore the handlebars and their controls.

The upshot was that I provided him with the contact details of Ebikes Direct, my supplier at not too far away Bodiam. I think I must ask them for commission on any referrals since the amount of interest I get and conversations generated on stops is quite encouraging.

A "working lunch" indeed.

CHRISTMAS ELEVENSES

Christmas morning 2020. Very quiet. No frost but extremely cold north wind when I took the dog for her morning walk at about 8.00am.

No visitors either that day to cater for, so no traditional lunch for us to worry about. Mrs Avus was cosily ensconced in an armchair engrossed in a crossword (what's new) so I decided on a Christmas morning bike ride.

The temperature meant that I did not intend to go far and since no cafes are open I decided on a route that would bring me home in about two hours with an elevenses break halfway. That would mean somewhere to sit off the bike and that would mean looking for a churchyard on the route. They are usually equipped with a seat somewhere for weary pilgrims.

An ebike means that I am still able to continue cycling, thank God, at 82, post stroke. However I don't manage to work up any body heat since the electric genie does most of the work. However the fact that my arthritic legs revolve on the pedals helps to keep them from seizing them up! But with the temperature at 5C and the chill north wind it was going to seem like below freezing.

So layers of clothing were needed. A Damart thermolactyl long sleeve vest (top grade 5), heavy shirt, fleece sweat shirt and then a Corrine Dennis waterproof/windproof cycling jacket (in fluorescent yellow - I like to be seen). Legs were taken care of with knee length merino wool socks and full length woollen legwarmers, topped with a pair of Hebden Cord traditional cycling trousers, a make long gone. (the fact that these I have worn for 20 years and are only the third pair in my 65 years cycling shows why the firm went under. They are too well made and Lycra, which I abhor, has taken over).

I put on a silk balaclava under my cycling helmet, donned a pair of golfing mitts and was ready to go.

By golly it was cold, but the northerly was behind me and I reached Bilsington church for elevenses, a mince pie and whiskey laced coffee.

Here is the view in the opposite direction the close up blur is because with cold fingers I couldn't be bothered to go for a larger "f stop"! I think it was colder sitting there than actually riding along.

So it was a case of finishing off the flask of coffee then back on the bike to dive down the escarpment and circulate a bit of Romney Marsh before heading for home. Into that north wind,

Only about 13 miles home but even with all those layers I felt close to hypothermia when I got there! My feet were like solid blocks.

OUT CYCLING ONCE MORE

As mentioned in my previous post I had a heart attack and contracted Covid-19 in hospital whilst being treated. Consequently June 2020 is practically a lost month to me and my poor wife who was infected by me on return home. So we only really surfaced again in July.

July was a month of careful rehabilitation - Covid, even mildly as ours, takes in out of you. But August has seen me out and about on the ebike once more, although some days were far too hot for cycling.

So a cheery photo of an exceptional encounter whilst cycling alongside one of the many dykes on Romney Marsh. Mum and Dad Swan leading a flight of eight cygnets whom they have successfully preserved from the predations of Marsh foxes.

Truly a"resurgam" moment both for them and my spirits!

JOURNAL OF THE PLAGUE YEAR (3)

In my wanderings around the Fifth Quarter of the World - "The World, according to the best geographers, is divided into Europe, Asia, Africa, America and Romney Marsh" (Rev. Richard Barham) I tend to avoid the coast around Dymchurch during the holiday period, from Easter until late August. This is because the little town, or large village, is the magnet for daily  and seasonal holidaymakers. The first because it is so accessible from the towns of East Kent and the second because there is a number of large residential caravan parks in the vicinity.

However, during this Easter week I decided to cycle the 15 miles down to it to see how the "lockdown" was affecting it.

The lanes I cycled on the way were absolutely deserted by the usual traffic, making my journey pleasantly quiet and brought back memories of my early cycling days in the 1950s. But, on reaching Dymchurch I found it a ghost town, with all shops closed and shuttered and very little traffic in a High Street, which at this time of year, is usually quite difficult to cross.

Of course my usual cafe was amongst all those closures, but I had allowed for this and packed a raspberry jam sandwich and banana (the ultimate in naturally self-packaged cycling snacks) along with a flask of coffee, laced, as usual, with whiskey.

I rode up onto the sea wall to sit and eat my elevenses and viewed the sands which in Easter week would normally be teeming with holidaymakers. I could just make out one man and his dog.

 The sea wall is usually a favourite promenade, but this year, no one

Quite eery, really. I felt alone in a deserted world and it is not something I would ever wish for again, in spite of being a solitary and natural avoider of noisy crowds.

ISLE OF OXNEY. TAUTOLOGY ISLAND!

As can be seen from the map below The Isle of Oxney was once, really, an island in the nascent Romney Marsh area of Kent (my "Little Corner"). Before the Marsh was drained ("inned" in middle English) this was the vast estuary of three rivers, Rother, Tillingham and Brede.

The name of the island is, in fact, a tautology. Oxney in Old English meant "Oxen Island", so we now are calling it "The Isle of Oxen Island". But an interesting story is attached.

In the late 18th century excavations under the south transept of the church of Stone-in-Oxney revealed a Roman altar about 3 feet high. It is known that early Christian churches were often built on the site of Roman temples and the altar, although heavily weathered, once had depictions of a bull on all four sides. Naturally thoughts at the time turned to the worship of Mithras, but it wasn't "his" bull and has since been related to Apis, a bull-worship that came with the Romans from Egypt.

At that time the locals did not want a pagan object in their church so it was removed down to the site of the old Ferry House Inn, which originally was the only way across to the mainland. The ring at the bottom of the stone was probably added at that time to secure horses when calling at the inn. Eventually after much weathering a more enlightened time rescued it and it is now displayed once more, with pride, in the church.

So, where did it come from? It was made from Kentish ragstone , the nearest quarry being near the Roman Saxon Shore fortress, (Portus Lemanis)  near Hythe (see map). Why was it there? Does the island's name give a clue? Were oxen reared there and worshipped as Apis? The small village of Stone-in-Oxney takes its name from it.

Topography and history again! (and where a jaunt on an ebike can take you)

MAY DAY LUNCH

What has a 4 feet 4 inches (133cms), 83 year old female got to do with e-biking?

The last day of April dumped a month's rain on this corner of England. We have recently experienced "The Beast from the East". Now we had "The Souse from the South".

But by May Day the sun and seemingly ever present wind had dried the roads. My wife was off to her lunch club so I decided to cycle down to the small village of Hamstreet to get a mid-day bite at The Cosy Kettle cafe. Cycling down the road through the woods was pleasant. Frothy green trees and carpets of bluebells.

I joined the short queue at the counter and got into conversation with a tiny little lady, neatly dressed in a tartan skirt and large red beret. She came up, nearly, to my shoulder and her manner was chatty and birdlike. As the small cafe was quite full we shared a table. I had quiche and salad and she did justice to a large panini with salad, which would have been ample for me.

Apparently she lived in the local old folks' bungalows and took her walking stick for a toddle daily to get her midday bite at the cafe. Bright and cheerful, she regaled me about her busy little life. With plenty of outings and meetings, she wasn't lonely and appeared to know everyone around us.

She was a tonic and when she went, saying goodbye to all the tables, I asked the staff about her. Pauline had been coming in regularly for a couple of years. They looked forward to her visits and noted she had recently taken to using the walking stick and she was getting slower, but still cheerful. What a tonic to see and talk to.

Then off to continue the 16 mile ride across the open fields of Romney Marsh with a very stiff south westerly wind in my face. The electric genie in the rear wheel was very useful.

RIDING THE TRAILS II

In comments to my previous post, RR and I discussed the morality of taking internal combustion engined machines along ancient greenways and I concurred with his views. My Damascene conversion came about on a trip to the Ridgeway. For a change I  had bought a larger trail bike, a Suzuki SP370, which was more "interesting" on the boring 300 mile motorway round trip  down to Wiltshire.

The ancient chalk trackway had been churned up by convoys of 4x4 drivers who delight in finding the "juicy" spots, driving into them and then using their skills to extract themselves.

The result was some 35 miles of a wet, muddy, chalky track with huge areas of very deep puddles (ponds?)

As you can see from the image, I was keeping, with difficulty to the side of the main track. However, at one point the only way through was to negotiate a very deep and wide "water feature". I usually walked such obstacles first but it was not possible on the occasion so I rode through it. Of course the bike hit a submerged rut and I went over. My usual small trail bikes would have been no problem in such circumstances, but the heavier Suzuki was immensely difficult to extricate and push out. By the time I reached the other side I was in a muck sweat ,shaking with effort and needed a sit down!

I rode home at the end of that day, jet-washed the mud clogged Suzuki and advertised it for sale. I was ashamed of what modern vehicles were doing to this environment (with my participation). No more trail rides, but I had had a good innings for some 30 years.

RIDING THE TRAILS

I mentioned, in an earlier post, that I loved riding the greenways of Wiltshire/Berkshire and always had small, light trail bikes which were easy to pick up if I came off. Here is a little Honda XL125cc parked up on the Ridgeway, an 87 mile ancient road (3000 BC) across the Berkshire Downs

I always looked forward to the immense enjoyment of that old way as I rode the 150 miles down to it from Kent. (If one puts oneself in the right mind any motorcycle ride is enjoyable, whatever its size) One was alone with the vast panoramas, skyscapes and history. Sitting, eating a sandwich lunch all that could be heard was the song of skylarks as they ascended. The small bike did not make much noise as we pobbled along at about 15 - 20 miles an hour and I would always pull up and turn my engine off if encountering horse riders.

I count myself fortunate to have been able to ride it for 30 years because it has been illegal for about 10 years to take a motor vehicle along this famous trackway. This came about because, as usual, modern enthusiasms spoilt things for the individual solitary. Gangs of 4x4 vehicle drivers, some even over from the Continent would career along the road, churn it up (it gets extremely muddy in the winter) and spoil its peace and quiet. It is now only available to walkers and cyclists and that is a good thing, but regretful to us who sought to quietly integrate - to make love to it rather than rape it.

Pohangina Pete and Vita have both commented on my earlier posts about the monstrous motorcycles used by so-called "adventure bikers" like Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boorman. I think that the following rider absolutely knocks them into a cocked hat. He rides a Royal Enfield Bullet, similar to the one I have just sold. But he rides alone, does all his own filming and camps "wild" in the Himalayas. Here is a short trailer for the film he made. The full film runs for 95 minutes and is available on DVD or can be downloaded. It has won many awards and is well worth having, Even if you are not interested in motorcycles per se it is a record of an individual's effort, discovery of forgotten, threatened nomads and Tibetan customs.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SldSSPxWMfk

THE BILSINGTON MONUMENT

In an earlier post I compared cycling through the lanes over Romney Marsh to being at sea in a small boat with the distant escarpment being my landfall.


If one pursues that analogy then the Bilsington Monument would qualify as a "seamark". Standing 52 feet (16m) proud on that escarpment it is visible from wherever you are on the Marsh and I think its story is worth the telling.

It was erected in 1835 in memory of Sir William Cosway, one-time secretary to Vice Admiral Lord Collingwood and highly respected in Bilsington as its excellent squire and main landlord. Being very interested in the Reform Bill, he was much concerned about the plight of local farm labourers, giving financial support to them and built the village school for the benefit of their children.


In 1834 at the age of 51 he fell from his coach in London and died soon after. The Reformers of East Kent, with the support of the people of Bilsington had the monument erected in his memory.


It has had a chequered history, being struck by lightning in 1967 and half destroyed. But a trust was formed and, with Heritage Lottery funding, it was repaired in 1999, ready for the Millenium.


As one gets nearer to the escarpment it accompanies you on the skyline

After leaving the Marsh, a ride up the steep lane beside it (easy by ebike!) and crossing the local cricket field one is able to approach it

and sit in the sun beneath it on the bench provided, drinking coffee (in my case) and admiring the panorama over all of Romney Marsh.

TOYOTA YARIS VERSO ("Does what it says on the tin")

If you look at a previous post you will see that it has become necessary for me to leave my beloved SAABs for something a tad different and to car aficionados, less.

Not so in my book. If one can anthropomorphize a car it seems to me like a small mongrel terrier, always ready and eager to please (if it had a tail it would wag it). It is not particularly economical on petrol, its small 1300 cc engine (auto gearbox) giving me about 37 miles to the gallon for the short runs I use it for (long gone are the days of runs like Germany and back in a day for which the SAAB was so eminently suited) and its high seating position is extremely comfortable with easy entrance and exit .

Riding large, heavy motorcycles (my life's love) is also currently no longer possible, but I find great relaxation and solace in my electric bike. One of the reasons for this car is the ease with which a cycle can be simply slotted down between the back seats with its low, easy-loading platform. The pedals need removing first but I have ordered some folding ones of the type fitted to folding bikes, which should obviate this need.

Sunday morning saw me load the ebike and drive about 5 miles down a boring, heavily trafficked road (potentially dangerous for cyclists too) to lovely autumn woods.

Once there it was a simple matter of unloading the bike to set off for a glorious morning's run through woodlands

 and down to the little village of Appledore and Miss Mollet's tea shop for toasted tea cakes with black currant jam and a cafetiere of excellent coffee.

Only about 15 miles cycling but a delightful way to spend an autumn morning.

ELEGY (?) IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD

A morning spent cleaning out the garage (it needed it). A pleasant afternoon meant I could take the e-bike out for some relaxation.

(Click on images to enlarge for more detail)

St. Rumswold Churchyard, Bonnington was a good destination for a short ride (about 12 miles) and a stop for coffee. It is a favourite spot, where one day (not too soon, I hope!) my ashes will be scattered. My seat there is courtesy of Steven Cross, in whose memory it was erected. The Robert Louis Stevenson quotation carved on the back is most apt, for an avid yachtsman. (Home is the sailor/Home from the sea)

Close by is his grave with an unusual "stone" made of good English oak. His wife Cynthia, a "passionate horsewoman", who died a bit later, is buried beside him in her own grave - not side by side, but with their memorials facing each other. Poignant. Both had short lives, I see.

The church stands on the boundary of Romney Marsh. It is the oldest in the area being first constructed in 796. It would once have been on the banks of the ancient river Limen which wound its way over the Marsh from its Channel estuary near Hythe and was probably a point for unshipping  goods for the old road northwards.

But the local topography is steeped it history. When Napoleon Bonaparte threatened invasion it was decided to construct a defensive Canal across the Marsh, feeding it from the local rivers which were diverted into it. The photograph below shows the old river Limen bed to the right at the field's edge with the later Military Canal running behind it through the trees.

Interestingly there is a relic of a later war, a machine gun observation post, when, in 1940 Hitler's armies again threatened this frontier of Kent.

A little afternoon meditation encapsulating history -  796, 1806, 1940 all from a country churchyard

T.E. Lawrence Anniversary of Death

It is now the 80th anniversary of the death of T.E.Lawrence (he hated the "of Arabia" suffix) and it caused me to dig into my old notes about my pilgrimage to respect the 50th anniversary in 1985. The 400 mile round trip to Dorset, in the pouring rain, on my motorcycle is not something I could manage (even by car) these days. I thought those notes, which would have been the subject of a blog had such things then existed, might be of interest. So.........

On 13th May 1935 he rode his Brough Superior motorcycle from his cottage, Clouds Hill, to Bovington post office, some 3 miles distant, to send a telegram to Henry Williamson - an invitation to lunch. The telegram was timed at 11.25am. Riding back to his cottage he breasted a rise and was confronted by two boys on bicycles. He swerved, but clipped the back of one bike and came off  receiving eventually fatal head injuries (no crash helmets in those days). He died the following Sunday, 19th May.

There was to be a 50th memorial service at the nearby Moreton Church on the date of his actual death, but he abhored crowds and was an agnostic. So I eschewed attendance at the service and instead rode down to lay a wreath at the actual crash site on the day/time of the accident, 50 years on. (11.30am 13th May 1985).

I recreated his last ride exactly, leaving Bovington old post office at 11.25 am to ride to Clouds Hill and lay the wreath on the dot. Uncanny!A shivering goose flesh came over me as I started away. As the time approached a small bird flew down in front of me. I took no more notice, but after laying the wreath I found it dead, wedged under the engine of my bike. It died, by motorcycle, to the minute. Did not Pythagoras say that the souls of the dead inhabit birds?

Upon the laurel wreath I left a dedication - some lines of Rupert Brooke's seemed very appropriate:

Church of St Thomas Beckett, Fairfield

A pleasant Sunday ride on the hottest day of this year, so far (about 25c). This is the isolated church at Fairfield, dedicated by the monks of Canterbury who were responsible for "inning" (draining) this part of Romney Marsh in mediaeval times. Its full history can be seen here.

Plain brick outside because of the later renovation (see the history). But inside (ancient key kept by the local farm house) is an undiscovered 18th century gem of box pews and oak beams:

Then it was about time to head for Miss Mollett's "High Class" tea shop for a light lunch of Bacon,brie and cranberry toasties with salad, plus a large pot of tea. Just sitting outside in the warm sunshine and watching the world go by in the ancient village of Appledore.

SNOW'S ALL GONE!

There has been heavy snow and a biting, icy wind this last week. However a front came in off the Atlantic on Friday evening bringing warmer weather and rain. By mid-day Saturday things were as per photo above - so a 25 mile cruise amid the North Downs took up most of Saturday afternoon.

NEW YEAR'S DAY

With almost continuous rain for weeks now Christmas was a wash-out and I have been getting "stir-crazy" watching the water lashing down the windows.

However New Year's Day dawned with clear blue skies and last night's forecast was encouraging. The "electric Claud Butler" was unleashed (well, the charge cable was unplugged) and off we wheeled. A head wind was encountered as we toddled to Tenterden . I still can't get over the guilty pleasure of simply pressing a button on the handlebars to awaken the genie who assists with the pedalling!

Down Tenterden High Street, fairly empty on this Bank Holiday then headed for the ancient Isle of Oxney past a couple of vineyards (yes - good wine!) and the actress Ellen Terry's house.

Elevenses was taken relaxing in the SUNSHINE  near the Royal Military Canal

Two belated mince pies. The essential coffee flask will be noted (well laced with brandy - the engine needs a regular stoking).

Then it was a gentle meander across Romney Marsh for lunch at the Woolpack pub



















Home by about 3.00pm just as the bloom was going off the day. But a "day of days" indeed. A delight snatched from winter. 40 miles and no aching knees! (thank you electric genie)

Happy New Year to all  my readers!

AUTUMN APPROACHES

Awoke to the first "Misty, moisty morning" today.

Autumn is arriving, with its sense of completion and bounty .

(Blogging has taken a back seat these last couple of months with my mind on other things.)

THE ROMAN SAUSAGE RUN

(click any picture to enlarge)

The Romans built a road from their port/fort near Hythe to Ashford where it met their road from the Wealden ironworks on its way towards Canterbury. Most of it is still used as an arrow-straight country lane, but it became abandoned near my home and runs under the gardens of the house next door.

This road is my route to the village of Aldington

and about once a month my bicycle takes me the 5 miles to a rural gem of a shop by the roadside, both butcher and baker, slaughtering their own meat and baking their own cakes and pastries.

The aim is to take on supplies of their delicious and varied sausages to restock the freezer. (This time I chose pork and apple, pork with stuffing, pork with hops and beef with horseradish).

Ten miles does not constitute a cycle ride however so, saddle bag sausage-laden I continued in the sunshine along Rome's road, passing the historic pub which was the headquarters of notorious smuggling gangs in earlier times. The scene of running battles (and deaths) with "The Revenue" and the "Aldington Gang".

My goal was the village of Lympne (pronounced "Limm").

Its name a corruption of the Roman name for their fort and port, "Portus Lemanis". Itself named after the defunct river estuary of the River Limen.

A winding path takes me to the escarpment overlooking a panorama of Romney Marsh. Time for a coffee break and the puff-pastry pecan plait (how's that for alliteration?) picked up with the sausages.

Below me are the remains of an outpost of ancient Rome. The 2nd century "Saxon Shore" fort protecting the harbour of the port and home to part of the Roman-British fleet the "Classis Britannicus". All is now tumbled ruins. Landslip and stone robbing for the nearby mediaeval castle has left but the crumbled stone stumps.

Looking across and beyond one sees a sanitised canal cutting through arable fields towards the seawall in the distance. The canal all that remains of the River Limen, the seawall converting what was a vast tidal bay into modern farmlands. The picture below looks back to the fort . One must imagine the salt waves lapping to the line of trees at the bottom of the escarpment in Roman times. The Castle, built from the Roman stones stands at top right.

However - enough of musing on history and Kipling's "Salt marsh where now is corn" . The coffee is drunk, the pastry eaten. The way beckons.

Sausages were on the menu that evening.

FELICITATIONS FOR THE COMING YEAR

(click to enlarge)

My best wishes to you all for 2009 - may the way be level and as you turn the corner ahead may the view be pleasant and calming.

Not having Patterson's sketching talents (see previous post) I must needs make do with a shot from my post-Christmas "dissipating the pudding" ride.

FRIDAY RIDE

(click on any image to enlarge)

The forecast was "warm with a light breeze". It was a bright September morning. Autumn fruits were in abundance

Work had been frustrating during the week so I decided a day's leisurely cycling was called for.

As a warm-up I cycled to my morning coffee break (A garden centre in the hamlet of Reading Street). Good coffee (free refills), toasted teacake and blackcurrant jam. Then a gentle freewheel down the little lane that once led to a busy landing place on the River Rother. Mediaeval sailing ships once traded here and a series of ancient, prosperous houses line the lane. This one, dreaming behind its sere fencing, was once the harbour master's house:

However, in the 17th century a great storm diverted the river's main course; the harbour had to be abandoned and all that now remains of the river here is a country stream.

After this some low gear work was called for as I cycled up an escarpment onto what was once an island. A breather was called for

The curiously named locality (village long since disappeared) derives from the Saxon "Ebun's ie" (the island owned by Ebun) . You will note my stragically placed coffee flask, for later use.

A gentle climb brings us to the summit of the "island" and the village of Wittersham

The Viking ship on the village sign reminds us that all this area was subjected to Danish raiding parties in the 9th/10th centuries.

Here I stopped to consult my map. I could see an interesting route would follow a road, then a farm track and then a bridle path going South towards Rye. The track went through the grounds of a stately home and the bridle path crossed a small river, but, what the hell, let's give it a go. So, inspired by the button badge on my saddlebag (a present from Herhimnbryn), I set off.

The road was swallowed by the gates of the statelyhome, with a notice saying "private drive". A cycle is an ideal way of traversing such a road - silence and celerity! We whisked through without disturbing His Lordship and out onto the farm track the other side. I was encouraged by the sign on the farm gate - the man must have a sense of humour

A couple of miles of rocky farm track followed and then the road petered out descending like a rabbit hole into a single pathway through the trees. This was mountain bike country, but I was tackling much worse than this on normal road lightweight bikes before they were even thought of (we called it "roughstuffing" and didn't know that you needed a special bike for it).

Eventually I broke through the trees and descended into the wide valley of the little River Tillingham, pushed the bike over a little footbridge and toiled up the other side of the valley.

(Down the hill by the finger of trees and over the footbridge by the pylon)

Let's have a look back over the vast valley - how could such a tiny river have carved it out? The answer lies some 10,000 years ago when the glaciers of our last ice age melted and mighty torrents of water roared down from the hinterland rolling rocks and debris before them.

At last, back on a firm road, I made my way through Rye's mediaeval gate into the ancient town.

It was time to take on fuel - elevenses having long been burnt up. Heavy meals don't suit me when cycling (a full stomach gets in the way when bending over dropped handlebars). So a couple of fried eggs ("easy over" for you American readers) with two slices of toast made from locally baked brown bread - plus a large pot of tea - topped me up nicely.

I crossed over the River Rother Bridge out of Rye (the following picture shows why these places are no longer ports - in a word "mud" - silt brought down in quantities for the Wealden clays)

I was now on the levels of Romney Marsh and decided to follow the cycle track which paralleled the road for some 9 miles towards the town of Lydd. At the outset of this screed I mentioned that the forecast was for "light breezes" - Hell! it was like cycling into a solid wall of air, with head wind at about 25 mph. (whilst The Marsh is pleasant cycling on calm days - no hills , it can be savagely windswept at times). This pleasant path-side scene belies the air whistling by my head at the time.

And so at last to Lydd - it's name sounds Welsh (but is Saxon). In fact it could hardly be farther from Wales, being the most southeastern town in Britain. I say town, but really a large village.

D'you see the whitewashed shop by the church? Well I decided I deserved a treat. I sat behind a church buttress, warm to my back, in the sun and out of the wind and indulged!

After that, the push for home - however there was another stop on the way - a church I had not visited before (I feel that Larkin's poem "Church Going" sort of sums my travels up beautifully)

Once I am sure there’s nothing going on
I step inside, letting the door thud shut.
Another church: matting, seats and stone,
And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut
For Sunday, brownish now: some brass and stuff
Up at the holy end; the small neat organ;
And a tense, musty, unignorable silence,
Brewed God knows how long. Hatless, I take off
My cycle clips in awkward reverence…………..

This is the church of St Mary the Virgin in the aptly named Marsh village of St Mary-in-the-Marsh

I'm glad I went in - for those of us who have a "handkerchief moment" at the "Daddy, my Daddy" scene in the film "The Railway Children" it will have special significance - the author Edith M Nesbit lived happily in the village with her second husband, "The Skipper" and is buried here. She required that no stone be erected on her grave so her husband carved a wooden marker over it - it is under the oak tree to the right of the churchyard.

Looking at the map, the direct route home would have brought me up to about 45 miles. "Why not make it the round 50?", I thought. So I braved the wind and put in a loop which had me finishing my flask of coffee, sitting in the late afternoon sun at my favourite stopping place.

And the final mileage? - 51.6 (82 km for those of you with a less "Imperial" bent!) and in spite of the wind a very pleasant day (would you believe that the following day there was not a breath of air - sod's law!)