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.

 

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.

JOURNAL OF THE PLAGUE YEAR

The first Sunday morning ride since the lockdown and I met with my 80 year old cycling buddy, also an ebike user due to health problems. We usually meet on a Sunday either at a cafe in Hamstreet or one in Appledore and, after coffee and toast, ride out together over Romney Marsh. At a convenient place we split up he returning to New Romney and I to Ashford.

Cafes are now a no-no, but we still met at Hamstreet and sat on a bench (at each end, to preserve "social distancing") by the village green, having each brought a flask and food. Munching a banana/jam sandwich it was just like "elevenses" breaks in the old Cyclists' Touring Club (we are both life members) club run days of some 65 years ago.

Luckily it was dry, but we would not have been out anyway if it was raining. Whilst we so sat a woman, who we both recognised as a regular Cosy Kettle Cafe customer walked over the green, holding a takeout cup of coffee and sat at a nearby bench. She also recognised us and on greeting said, "the cafe is still open for takeaways if you want a cup of coffee and a slice of cake". We said we were a self preservation society, thank you. "I need to get out amongst others since my husband died a while ago, so it is good to be able to still go the the cafe, even if I can't sit there and chat to people", she said - from a safe distance.

The cold wind began to make itself apparent on our backs after a while so we shouted our goodbyes and "Marsh meandered" away. Around Hamstreet (which is just off the Marsh) primroses were absolutely prolific, but it is a known phenomenon that once below the Royal Military Canal and on the Marsh proper all wild primroses disappear completely.

Christmas Day morning ride

Christmas Day, about 12.00 noon. I decided the weather was too perfect to stay indoors looking at tinsel and drinking Port, Whiskey, Baileys (take your choice - I do!).

So a gentle 25 miles beckoned. Across Romney Marsh and down to St. Mary's Bay and a three mile toddle along the sea wall to Dymchurch. Of course, no cafes were open but I had prepared for that, taking a flask of coffee and a couple of mince pies.

This view looks East towards Folkestone - you may just discern Folkestone cliffs on the promontory if you click the image. The sea looks almost Mediterranean and there was no wind, but the temperature was 4 degrees C, so I eschewed bathing.

There were quite a few cars about and some brave souls were out walking dogs, children and/or elderly relatives when I reached Dymchurch, but on my ride home through the lanes back to Ashford only 4 vehicles passed me.

A delightful way to work up an appetite for the Christmas lunch cooked by Mrs Avus (But I did my bit with the washing up!)

COFFEE STOP IN COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.......

I usually home in on a country churchyard somewhere when out on the e-bike. Once it was because I had an antiquary interest in medieval churches. That's till the case but in my stiff old age I need  a break from the saddle after 12 miles or so. The days are gone when I could just lounge on the grass - I would find it difficult to arise now, but a seat always seem to be available in a churchyard for a rest (and there is always a pew inside if cold or inclement.)

So, making for  Kenardington church, I passed a nearby farm

I was sitting in the churchyard, coffee in hand and musing on that farm's name, watching a man mowing around the many ancient gravestones. As he drew closer I called out a "good morning". Which resulted in him stopping the engine for a chat. "Any idea why the farm down the road is called "Battle Hill Farm", I enquired. He settled beside me on the seat. "Well you've come to just the right person. I own the farm and, for my sins, am the churchwarden - all the work and little thanks.

" Close to where we are now was once an Alfred the Great era Saxon fort. My farm has been so called for centuries from, I suppose, a folk memory. But I have done a lot of research and the reason is that this was once on the edge of an estuary inlet from the river Rother, you can see where it was looking over to the valley over there.

"Well Viking longships rowed up there, attacked the half finished fort, established a base here and went along to ravage Appledore,, then a seaport, about three miles away.King Alfred had established other forts at Newenden and Lympne and soon got reinforcements along the coast to deal with the Viking camp and smashed the lot!"

Seeing my interest and answering my questions had obviously established that I was not just a chance tourist. "I have often picked up stuff from that battle site, bits and pieces of armour and a couple of swords, whilst ploughing over it. I keep them in the farm office, do you want to pop back down the hill to see them?"

Of course I was interested! When he had put the mower away we went down a footpath to the farm. He had quite a collection and I was reaching for my camera when he requested no photographs and did not want to tell me the exact  field where he had made the finds.

"I don't want it shared around or I shall have metal detectorists and the county archaeologist all over the place. But I felt your interest and I don't often get the chance to show off my hobby."

Well the  half hour coffee stop turned into over an hour's involvement, but a leisurely life on a bike is possible when you are a retired 80 year old!

FAMILY FUN

Our emigrant daughter and her Australian husband (HHnB blog of yore) are staying with us for a month. As they have both been converted to the true religion (motorcycling) he decided to hire a couple of bikes whilst over here to bimble around the Kentish countryside.

However, to collect them meant a 40 mile trip to Tonbridge from Ashford, so I was enlisted as chauffeur. Sod's Law meant a day of teeming rain, but they endured  and my daughter actually enjoyed that feeling of brisk accomplishment when they returned. Here they are, suitably wrapped up at Tonbridge ready for me to lead them back to Ashford.

Fortunately the weather cleared subsequently and I hoisted out my own motorcycle as Susan wanted to experience some father/daughter rides around Romney Marsh and the Kentish Weald - but boy, it was windy!

We stopped off at Rye Harbour to enjoy a bikers' break at the Bosun's Bite. I tried to do justice to my sausage sandwich, but confess to leaving the crusts! (I shall never get curly hair)

Also enjoyed were runs out to Dungeness to sample lunch at The Pilot, a pub/restaurant near the foreshore constructed around the original which is built of wrecked ship timbers.

They enjoyed themselves, as their faces show

Time came to return the bikes. The English weather obliged by dropping down storm force rain and the ride back to Tonbridge (during the morning rush hour) was hell. Two very wet relations returned in my car. At least they can rely on weeks of decent (if hot) weather in Oz!

The following day I relaxed by taking the ebike for a peaceful poodle down to a country churchyard on the Marsh. My elevenses were a little more delicate than the gustatory fare in the sausage image - pain au chocolat and coffee laced with whiskey.

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)

THE RHEE WALL

As a change from my usual cycling cafe stops I was sitting outside the Red Lion pub, Snargate. This is a traditional pub, been in the same family since Victoria was queen, serves only real ales from the keg and does not do meals. Its interior is still decorated in an old, traditional country pub way. I noted that a previous patron had abandoned their bike!

In spite of the "no meals" I was enjoying my egg and chips (pickled egg from jar and packet of potato crisps) and a pint of real ale.A group of walkers was sitting on the adjacent seat and discussing the local landmark which starts here. The Rhee Wall, which is distinguished by gothic lettering on the Ordnance Survey maps as "historic" and stretches for some 7.5 miles in a straight line across the Marsh to New Romney.

(click to enlarge)

"It must be Roman", said one, "as it is so long and straight and goes to New Romney, which must be a Roman name." I listened on and kept quiet. An etymologist would immediately question the actual location (Snargate) and the word Rhee (a water course or stream). The name Romney is derived from Old English 'at the spacious, or wide, river' recorded in  895 AD as Rumenea

In fact there is far more romance and interest here than "Roman" at which time the Marsh was a vast tidal lagoon with a few islets. The River Rother used to flow to New Romney in mediaeval times but a tempestuous storm in 1287 altered its main course to flow out at Rye instead. New Romney, an important harbour in the middle ages, lost the "flush" of the river and began to silt up. Something had to be done. 

So a major undertaking in the late 13th century was to gather together all the small streams from off the escarpment and"snare" them into a lock or "gate" system which became known as "Snargate". This was then fed into a 7.5 mile long canal made by running two parallel embankments towards New Romney - the aim being to flush out the silting harbour. Imagine doing this in 1290  in a remote marshy area!

Unfortunately it did not work for long and in fact increased the silting as the Rhee brought down quantities of sediment from the Wealden clays. Today New Romney, one of the great mediaeval  "Cinque Ports" is some 2 miles from the sea. A view of the threshhold to the main doorway of  St Nicholas' Church, once beside the harbour, shows that one needs to descend to the door where once one ascended steps to it.

There were unintended good outcomes though. The Rhee had gone out of use by 1500 but the quantities of silt brought down into it had levelled an earthway between the banks, which became a raised causeway across the Marsh. Today it is a lane leading into a straight main road to the coast. But cropmarks preserve its identity.

History, topography, map reading and etymology lead to far more romantic stories than "it must be...." collective opinions.

"CHRISTMAS" ENCOUNTER, BILSINGTON CHURCH

On my cycling jaunts over Romney Marsh I like to stop occasionally to ease the posterior and wrists (legs are not too much of a problem due to the electric genie). Cafe stops are for a proper coffee and cake or lunch, but a need to sit down usually means finding a churchyard which has a seat. My days of sitting on the ground are past, once down there getting back up presents difficulties and is less comfortable anyway!

Hence an afternoon stop at Bilsington church. Sitting there, drinking coffee from my flask, I was able to see the field path rising up to the church from the Royal Military Canal below the escarpment. A lady of mature years was making her way through the yellow rape (canola) towards me.

Breathing heavily she approached my seat. "Do you mind company for a bit whilst I get my breath back?" I made room for her beside me. "Would you like some coffee?" (Luckily my flask has two cups, stowed "Russian Doll" manner.)

She was dressed in well used but quality "country " clothes and had an educated accent. "I do this walk every day. It keeps me supple since my son took over the farm and I have more time to myself. Also I can have a look how the crops are coming along." She was widowed, but lived in a bungalow on the farm, now run by her married son.

I had noticed a couple of gravestones with unusual names and asked if she knew their history.

"Ah, the Christmases. All gone now, but they were once local chimney sweeps. He started off with his brushes tied to the crossbar of his bike, but then had a motorbike and sidecar later. The bell? It used to be in the tower but they had to take it out as its wooden frame was getting dangerous. It is cracked anyway so couldn't be rung."

She got up to go. "That's better. Thanks for the drink. If you haven't been inside yet the reredos is unusual and worth a look."

It was, and very poignant too. An eminent judge, with two sons, well educated and started in the legal profession, had had it dedicated when he lost them both in the first few months of World War II. One with the British Expeditionary Force and the other dying from wounds at Dunkirk. Kipling's poem came immediately to mind, although relating to an earlier time.

(click to enlarge)

GREYHOUND TENDER FOOT

At the Cosy Kettle Cafe all human (and dog) life is there

On Sunday mornings I usually get a phone call from my cycling mate, Peter to see if we are meeting up for toast and coffee somewhere. In the past, when we were both less decrepit we would extend the day to take in a sandwich lunch at a pub somewhere, both on normal bicycles, and cover about 40 miles.

These days we are both on ebikes and the 20 mile ride is usually for a morning only. Health problems have meant that our "proper" club cycling days are over but the addition of an electric genie has meant that we can still enjoy a jaunt around the countryside. We vary our cafe stops among about three over Romney Marsh. This morning it was the Cosy Kettle (again).

It is a small cafe, part of its charm, and tends to attract the cycling and walking fraternity as well as locals. There is a small area outside where tables are set up on fine days and as these were already taken by the members of the Hythe Cycle Club  Peter and I sat just inside at a table by the open patio doors, a position where we could people watch as customers came and went.

A couple walking a greyhound arrived and sat adjacent. The dog was wearing a set of rather nifty bootees - which is not a usual sight. Dog people are always chatty about their animals so in a quiet moment I asked the lady owner, "Why does he need them?"

Turned out he suffered from corns and the only way he could still enjoy a walk was with protected feet. "He was never good enough to race, so we got him 10 years ago as a rescue dog, but we take them off when we get indoors. He will have to wear them outside for the rest of his life, but at least he can still enjoy a full life because of them".

As Peter and I rose (stiffly) and collected our e-bikes to ride off over The Marsh I felt an affinity with that old dog.......

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.

OXYGEN ELECTRIC ASSISTED BICYCLE

As I seem to have concentrated on posting about motorcycles recently I thought it time to give details of my main mode of pleasure transport these days. My motorcycles have always been a means of release from my "trap" in the south eastern corner of England - trapped by Cobbett's "Great Wen" of London (and even greater now than in Cobbett's day) which effectively cuts Kent off from the rest of the UK and my glorious Wessex.

I tend to travel less far these days (age and health) so motorcycling is less and I have reverted mainly to my old love of bicycles. I am a life-long club cyclist, but, post stroke, I am only able to continue with the help of electric assistance and my roamings are usually delineated by my neighbouring Romney Marsh. Less is more; I cover less ground more slowly and see in greater detail than I would have done on a motorbike - although when the sun is up and winter gone I shall be looking forward to riding them again.

Abroad e-bikes are proliferating. (A friend has just returned from a week in cycle-friendly Holland where they abound and the streets are thronged with thousands of bikes of all types. Incidently amongst all those thousands he only saw one rider wearing a cycle helmet - the Dutch are far more relaxed about such things - probably why cycling is so popular there.)  Let's discuss my own bike. Its source of power is the battery behind the seat tube and this drives the electric motor in the rear wheel. My first e-bike conversion (of my own Claud Butler, ) had a motor in the front wheel and I said "never again" when I rode it over ice and the front wheel, losing all traction, spun at peak power and the bike deposited me, very hard, on the road.

The bike has disk brakes, very powerful, I have learnt to use the front one cautiously. It has sprung front forks and a sprung seat post so Kentish potholes are taken care of. The side stand is a boon, one does not have to look around for somewhere to lean the bike. Since my stroke I sometimes have difficulty knowing the position of my feet on the pedals, so I have substituted the toe-strap pedal clips I have always been used to for open ones that are easier to locate. Front and rear lighting is driven from the battery and I have fitted puncture resistant tyres (try removing a rear wheel with a motor therein to get a tyre off!)

Day to day luggage needs are taken care of by the neat top bag.

Note my club badges, I am a life member of the Cyclists' Touring Club and a member of the Veteran-Cycle Club (the bikes not the members, although that is sometimes a moot point on meets!). The faded pin brooch, given to me by my daughter, has an appropriate quote from Tolkien, "Not all who wander are lost". The side panels unfold if required to give two panniers bags - useful for the weekend papers or to take our Christmas parcel for Australia to the post office.

A comfortable seat is essential. I dumped the squashy foam item and fitted a Brookes leather one which has a cut-out for male comfort in the perineum area

Let's talk about the controls:

I like foam grips on my handlebars and the "horns" give a change of position and better "pull" if needed. "1" is a twist grip throttle, independent of pedalling which will take the bike, illegally, (15.5 mph is supposed to be the limit) up to 20 mph. However I only use this to give me a push as I move off on hills, or for quickly crossing busy roads. Usually I use pedal assisted e-power which only works if you are actually pedalling. This has 5 modes, first gives assistance up to 3 mph and is practically useless, second assists to about 10 mph, third to 12 mph (the most used by me), fourth to 14 mph and fifth to 15.5 mph, the legal limit. The more power you feed in the shorter the distance between battery charges. (Nothing in life is free)

 "2" in the image is the control panel, let's have a look in detail:

It is controlled by the grey buttons on the left, these are almost impossible to operate, particularly if wearing gloves, so I have glued brass rivet heads to them to use as "braille". Top one turns power on/off (it can be ridden without power if conditions are easy). Third one down increases power levels and bottom one decreases. Power level is shown bottom left (on "0" at present). Top left section gives battery information (as I use it, I can go about 60-70 miles before a recharge pedalling at a steady 12 mph). Top right shows road speed, bottom shows total distance covered. (I have managed 2,664.7 miles to date).

Back to the previous image; "3" is a separate computer I have fitted so I can keep tabs on distance since last battery charge (it's on 15.3 miles above) and also shows speed. "4" is the twist grip change for the derailleur gears (7, but I seldom need more than the top 3 because of e-assistance).

The bell is essential. Ashford has many cycle paths shared with pedestrians and it can be amusing to see  such checking their mobiles when I ring it! Not so amusing when they walk towards or across me, head down to their phones away from this world. Another essential is the mirror, especially since this old geezer has trouble turning his head behind him (arthritis).

Well this seems complete so I am now off for a ride and get lunch some place, before commiting to publishing it.

CODA

Some three hours later. Back from a pleasant ride down to the Marsh and across to the little seaside town of Dymchurch. About 25 miles in all. The weather overcast, cold, but frost-free and completely windless. I rode the last mile to the town along the sea wall, the tide was in and the sea was like a mill pond. A hearty meal of fried eggs on toast, sausages, hash browns and baked beans seemed appropriate, followed by a large mug of steaming tea. Total cost only £4.50. (you get the picture of the type of cafe it was).

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.

GOOD FRIDAY RUN

I had spent the morning "de-winterising" a motorcycle (cleaning off the protective spray applied in November and generally tarting up prior to selling). The sun was warm on my back and the day delightfully calm and spring-like.


After a light lunch the ebike and the lanes called. The usual alcohol infused coffee flask was prepared, along with a couple of cheese scones. (The inner man needs to be refuelled at the halfway stage, even though the bike has electrical assistance).


My aim, as is often the case, was Romney Marsh, but I decided to take a different route today, following Robert Frost's musings:

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same, "

I had not seen my most coveted house for a long while and wanted to check how it was getting on

Still there, it seems, still surrounded at the rear by absolutely delightful gardens, green, close-mown lawns, a stream and daffodils in abundance. I would love to see inside it as the rooms seem to be all on different levels and I can imagine the musty smell of ancient, cured oak of which it is built. I could never afford it and I guess my modern, estate house with all its mod cons is more comfortable, warm and draught free but my illusion continues, unpricked.

Then it was a descent to Romney Marsh. An artist's paradise with its vast skyscapes

When cycling through these winding, deserted lanes (even on a Bank Holiday, they are traffic free and undiscovered - long may that continue) I have the feeling of being at sea in a small sailing boat, the distant escarpment being my eventual landfall.

The coffee and scones were enjoyed on a bench in a windless little Marsh churchyard, the sun being so hot that I needed to take off my cycling jacket and the underlying sweater. A glorious afternoon, well stolen as the rest of the subsequent Easter weekend dissolved into torrential rain and gale force winds.



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