While hop-picking is no more in kent thanks to machines, grape-picking, here at the Tenterden Vineyard Park, is firmly on the agenda as the county wins acclaims for its wines.
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Wove paper was used by painters J.M.W. Turner and Thomas Gainsborough, poet William Blake, Napoleon, who wrote his will on it, and Queen Victoria. It was even selected for the document recording the peace treaty between the US and Japan that ended the Second World War.
AT CANTERBURY BRADSHAW WAS ONCE AGAIN BOWLED OVER, THIS TIME BY THE NUMEROUS MEDIEVAL FEATURES OF A CITY HE BRANDED ‘EXQUISITELY BEAUTIFUL’
An hour and a train change later we were in the spa town of Tunbridge Wells, in genteel commuter country to the south-west. Along with nearby Tonbridge, it became a centre for the manufacture of leather cricket balls which were then shipped across the country by rail.
The advent of railways changed the face of cricket in other ways too. At the beginning of the nineteenth century cricket was a game for the aristocracy and their staff only. By the end of the century it was open to all, with village and county games played by the most talented rather than the richest men. For the first time teams could travel considerable distances for matches in a matter of hours rather than days.
We continued down a branch line from Ashford – the major railway junction in the region – to Canterbury, not least because Bradshaw waxes lyrical about the trip. ‘[At Ashford] the line branches off to Canterbury, Whitstable, Sandwich, Deal, Ramsgate and Margate and from the accommodation it affords to the towns through which it passes and the exquisite beauty of the scenery along its route, will not suffer in any comparison with any line of similar length in the kingdom. It follows throughout the meanderings of the River Stour and traversing the most fertile districts in the country, has one uninterrupted panorama of luxuriant fertility … Thence the windings of the Stour, spanned ever and anon by some rustic bridge of wood or stone, enhances the romantic beauty of the landscape and we seem to be for many miles treading the sylvan labyrinth of a miniature Rhine-land.’
At Canterbury Bradshaw was once again bowled over, this time by the numerous medieval features of a city he branded ‘exquisitely beautiful’. Unfortunately, Canterbury was extensively bombed during the Second World War and much of what he saw was turned to dust.
Canterbury was a victim of the raids carried out in April and June 1942 that became known as the Baedeker Blitz. Baedeker was the name of a tourist guide that featured Britain and was available in Germany. Frustrated by Royal Air Force raids on its own historic cities and towns, the Germans pledged to target every British city marked with three stars in the Baedeker guide. Exeter, Norwich, Bath and York were subjected to terrifying raids after the historic ports of Lübeck and Rostock were bombed. Canterbury was attacked after Cologne was substantially destroyed. Both the Luftwaffe and the Royal Air Force were deliberately targeting civilians in undefended cities rather than military targets, in the hope of destroying morale.
The advent of railways increased national participation in sports, spawning associated trades like cricket-ball manufacturing.
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Despite extensive bombing during the second world war, Canterbury cathedral’s stained glass windows, which date back for centuries, escaped total destruction.
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It’s a lesser known fact that the first railway season tickets were issued at Canterbury in 1834 for people regularly visiting the beach at Whitstable from there during the summer months. The trippers were travelling on the six-mile ‘Crab and Winkle’ line, so named because it shared the same two first letters as destinations Canterbury and Whitstable, and to underline the fact that the shellfish industry was in full swing at the coast.
THE LINE, ANOTHER GEORGE AND ROBERT STEPHENSON PRODUCTION, WAS BUILT AS EARLY AS 1830
The line, another George and Robert Stephenson production, was built as early as 1830 and led to a new harbour being built in Whitstable. It was open several months before the Liverpool & Manchester railway. However, the line involved steep gradients and initially the carriages were pulled by ropes reeled in and out by two stationary, steam-driven winding engines along the route. As such, it’s mostly under the radar of the railway record books.
Even today the catch at Whitstable usually includes whelks, the poor man’s oyster, which was a staple dish on the bar of London pubs. We met the West family, fourth-generation whelk fishermen, whose great-grandfather came to Whitstable from Norfolk in 1901, bringing with him the innovation of the whelk pot that dramatically improved catches.
Further east down the branch line from Ashford is the resort of Margate, where sea bathing first became popular. Bradshaw clearly gets a measure of the town. ‘There is not in the whole range of our seaside physiology a more lively, bustling place than this said Margate; albeit by those who are fettered down to cold formalities and regard laughter as a positive breech of good-breeding, it is pronounced to be essentially and irredeemably vulgar. The streets are always a scene of continued excitement, and troops of roguish ruddy cheeked urchins escorted by their mammas traverse every thoroughfare …
‘In short for those who do not go to the coast for retirement and who like to have an atmosphere of London life surrounding them at the seaside there is no place where their desires can be so easily and comprehensively gratified as here.’
After the railway arrived in Margate in 1846, people came in their droves, convinced that a dip in the sea was something of a cure-all. The Royal Sea Bathing Hospital had already been established in Margate for 50 years, to provide swimming for the less well off. It was, however, an era before the concept of swimming costumes. For this reason there were bathing machines on hand to protect everyone’s finer feelings.
Margate was a popular destination for trippers keen to take advantage of its bracing air and refreshing sea waters for health reasons.
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Bathing machines were in effect wooden carts that could be hired by bathers. Getting into the machine on the beach, the swimmer would disrobe away from prying eyes. The machine was then propelled into the water, sometimes by hand but usually under horsepower. At the required depth the cart came to a halt and the bather dropped out, seaward side, to swim at leisure, usually naked. A bather indicated that his swim was finished by waving a flag to attract the attention of the machine operator.
THE NECESSITY FOR BATHING MACHINES BECAME NOT ONLY TO KEEP MEN AND WOMEN APART BUT ALSO TO SEPERATE THE UPPER CLASSES FROM THE MIDDLE CLASSSES
Margate Quaker and glove maker Benjamin Beale (c.1717--75) claimed to have invented the bathing machine. In fact, it’s likely that they adapted an existing machine by attaching a canvas awning at one end which could be pulled down to the water encasing the swimmer in a small area.
As the railways brought in day-trippers, the necessity for bathing machines became not only to keep men and women apart but also to separate the upper classes from the middle classes and to keep both away from the workers. By the 1880s swimming costumes were being widely used, which diminished demand for bathing machines. However, they are frequently seen on postcards from numerous British resorts at the turn of the twentieth century and are thought to have been in sporadic use as late as 1927.
When swimming costumes became commonplace, bathers were released from the confines of bathing machines which were used previously to spare the blushes of naked swimmers when they entered the water.
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Five minutes’ walk from the sea front is something else that Margate kept under wraps in the early part of the nineteenth century. The Shell Grotto was discovered under farmland in 1835 by James Newlove, who immediately set about making a commercial success of his discovery.
Since the first visitors descended into the grotto two years later the jury has been out about who built it and why. Inside there are some 4.6 million shells arranged in mosaics, patterned or depicting trees and symbols. These are not exotic shells imported from a fa
r-flung beach, but the highly familiar ones from cockles, whelks, mussels and oysters.
But why go to so much trouble? Some people maintain that the grotto was a Regency folly, while others believe it to be a smugglers’ retreat. The most recent theory is that it was a temple linked to sun worship. But no one knows for sure. Attempts to carbon date the shells have failed because they are covered with years of pollution given off by Victorian lamps which once lit the way for visitors.
Along the coast of fortress Kent are the Roman remains at Richborough, dating from the first invasion in AD43. Bradshaw tells the traveller to watch out for the site from the train as it heads across Sandwich flats past the hamlet of Saltpans. ‘At this spot the memorable ruins of Richborough come fully into sight; and shortly after the train sweeps around the sandy hill on which they stand. This was a celebrated Roman station … the remains of an amphitheatre are still very apparent. In the centre of the great quadrangle is the celebrated prostrate cross, built to commemorate the introduction of Christianity into England. It is placed on the top of an immense heathen altar and marks the spot on which Augustin preached the gospel. No monument in the kingdom equals this simple cross in interest yet few have been treated with greater neglect.’
Of course, the departure of the Romans and the introduction of Christianity are separated by 200 years, but Richborough continued to be important long after the Roman settlements had disappeared, probably thanks to its key defensive position.
Less well known is the First World War port developed at Richborough from 1916, taking advantage of its rail links. Acting as a secret supply base and encampment, it was known as ‘Q’ and was the last that countless British soldiers saw of England before setting off for the trenches. On 10 February 1918 a cross-channel ferry began between Richborough and Calais, the first roll-on, roll-off design. A further 60 miles of track were also laid at the port for transporting locomotives and wagons with heavy guns and tanks to ships.
At the end of the war the port silted up and the camps which once held men preparing for war were deserted. The ferries, though, were taken to Harwich and began running regular services to Zeebrugge in the 1920s.
From Richborough the line continues south and reaches the coast at Deal. Here, according to Bradshaw, the railway helped to transform a notorious smugglers’ haunt into a respectable Victorian seaside town. ‘This town stands close to the sea shore which is a bold and open beach being defended by an extensive wall of stones and pebbles which the sea has thrown up. Deal was formerly a rough looking irregular sailor-like place, full of narrow streets and shops with multifarious articles termed slops or marine stores. It is however much improved and is now resorted to for sea bathing, especially on account of its good repute for moderate charges.’
A mile down the coast is Walmer Castle, built by Henry VIII to repel French and Spanish invasions. Although it dates from the 1530s, because of its circular keep it is often mistaken for one of the Martello towers built around the south and east coasts in the early nineteenth century as protection against a Napoleonic invasion. They took their inspiration and name from a rounded castle in Corsica that had defied the might of the British navy in 1794. Each of the 74 Martello towers was armed with a cannon. At Walmer Castle, in 1801, with Napoleon’s great army encamped near Calais, poised to invade, Admiral Horatio Nelson discussed his plan of action with William Pitt.
Today Walmer Castle is the official residence of the Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports. This is the name for a confederation of towns that banded together for defensive and economic purposes perhaps as early as Norman times. (The towns were Dover, Sandwich, Hythe, Romney and Hastings.) Its wardens have included the Duke of Wellington, who died in an armchair there in 1852, Sir Winston Churchill, W.H. Smith and the Queen Mother, the only woman to have held the office.
Deal was another Kent seaside town to benefit from the arrival of rail services. an influx of visitors changed it from smugglers’ haunt to respected resort.
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Deal did apparently witness one successful invasion. It is claimed locally that between the lifeboat station and the pier is the very spot where Julius Caesar first set foot on land in 55BC.
Today, in common with Greenwich, Deal also has its own operational time ball, the first to be operated by a direct signal via the railway telegraph.
Nearby Folkestone was also rejuvenated by the arrival of the railway, which makes a spectacular entry through carved cliffs to give passengers a stunning water’s-edge experience. It was transformed from fishing village to cross-channel port after 1847, when the the South Eastern Railway invested in a new harbour that brought trade and tourism to the town.
Ultimately the railways brought the possibility of a channel tunnel into life. Talk of a tunnel dates back to 1802 when French mining engineer Albert Mathieu put forward his design. A year later, the first English design was proposed by Henri Mottray. But it wasn’t until the 1880s that it became a serious prospect. Once again it was the South Eastern Railway putting up the cash. Although tunneling began, fears that the French would use it to invade prompted Parliament to put a stop to the project. Another attempt begun in the 1970s faltered for lack of investment.
The tunnel that’s in operation today was started in 1988 and plunges some 75 metres below the sea bed. First used in 1994, it is an engineering feat of distinction. A desire to hold Europe at bay has by now been replaced by the economic necessity of reaching out to our neighbours. However, just as the canals suffered as the original railways flourished, the ports have taken a pummelling because of the cross-channel rail link.
Three miles west of Folkestone, and once served by a branch line through Hythe, is the beginning of another major line of defence. Between 1804 and 1809, when an invasion by Napoleon again seemed imminent, the Royal Military Canal was dug from there to Winchelsea in a 28-mile arc along the inland edge of Romney Marsh.
Meanwhile, as if to symbolise Kent’s dual role, the very stretch of coast behind which the canal curves is now the site of one of the county’s best-loved tourist attractions: the miniature railway that runs for 13 miles across the marsh. The brainchild of two wealthy racing drivers who were also railway enthusiasts, it was opened between Hythe and New Romney in 1927 and extended to Dungeness in 1828. One of its stations is at Dymchurch, where Edith Nesbit, the author of The Railway Children, was born, and where two Martello towers can be seen.
Deal, pictured here from its pier, offered ample opportunities for leisure seekers.
The next part of the journey took us back to Ashford and off down a different line to the south-west. Perhaps inadvertently, while travelling on a similar route Bradshaw identifies a possible new industry for Kent. ‘The main line on leaving Ashford makes a gradual approach towards the coast, swerving slightly to the south east and having on each side a delightful champaign [sic] country.’
Indeed, the chalk downs of the south coast are mirrored across the channel in the region that makes champagne. The climate is also similar. Now, for the first time, Kent is gaining a reputation for the sparkling wines it produces. Using Pinot Noir, Chardonnay and Pinot Meunier grapes, Kent’s wine makers are winning international prizes for flavour, colour and bouquet. The amount of land devoted to vineyards has increased by almost 50 per cent in five years. By 2014 the Kent harvest is likely to produce at least 3 million bottles of still and sparkling wine.
The line from Ashford bridges the Royal Military Canal and heads across the western side of Romney Marsh and the Isle of Oxney and out of the county. Once in Sussex it again crosses the canal before reaching Rye. Like its neighbour Winchelsea, Rye was once a thriving medieval port and made an additional member of the Cinque Ports, but is now some way inland.
Less a battleground, more a playground, hastings was transformed with the arrival of the train and began catering for holidaymakers while maintaining its beach-based fishing fleet.
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Our final destination on this journey is Hastings, whose name will always be associated with the last successful invasion of England. In fact it was six miles away, at what is now called Battle, that William the Conqueror defeated King Harold, but it was at Hastings that he prepared his forces for action after landing at Pevensey.
USING PINOT NOIR, CHARDONNAY AND PINOT MEUNIER GRAPES, KENT’S WINE MAKERS ARE WINNING INTERNATIONAL PRIZES
The most westerly of the Cinque Ports, Hastings too fell on hard times after its harbour silted up. However, early in the nineteenth century it became a genteel watering place. Then came the railway in 1851, and the town prepared itself for change. Bradshaw remarked approvingly, ‘The openness of the coast and smoothness of the beach have long made Hastings a favourite and recommended resort. The shore is not abrupt and the water almost always limpid and of that beautiful hue so inviting to bathers … A very efficient substitute for a trip to Madeira.’
Today it is not the colour of the sea that catches a visitor’s eye but the way the beach has been transformed into a boat park. Indeed, Hastings claims to have the largest beach-based fishing fleet in England.
The boats are pulled up after each trip on to an area of beach known as the Stade, which was greatly improved thanks to the building of a groyne and a harbour at the end of the nineteenth century to shield it from shingle movement. Fishing gear was traditionally stored in the net shops, unusually tall, narrow buildings coated in tar to protect them from the elements. Of necessity the boats must be small, and that means the system of fishing is guaranteed to be sustainable.
The south-eastern corner of Britain has evolved from keeping the rest of the world out to actively beckoning people in. Without doubt railways helped bridge the gap between the no-nonsense Napoleonic rebuff carefully constructed around Kent and beyond at the beginning of the nineteenth century to the breaking down of borders that has been taking place increasingly since the railways came on the scene.
Great British Railway Journeys Page 16
