And if they do vote yes, and it doesn't pan out well, and then they ask to come back into the union, would we?
Who knows? Not Mr Salmond at least.
So, the vote is on Thursday, and we will be in yet another country, but come Friday the fallout will begin.
Saturday.
(third day of holiday, and heritage weekend)
I am sure I said this last year, but here I go again. Please feel free to skip to the next paragraph to avoid rant over cramming in two weekends of the year given to our heritage into consecutive weekends in the same month. So, this weekend is the heritage weekend, and next weekend is Open House London. So, why have your only chance to get into many normally closed buildings in just two weekends? Is it too much to ask to spread these two weekends out a bit? Not that I mind, I book my annual vacation around these weekends, but at least one more chance to gain entry to these buildings over 12 months would be nice.
Also, many of the buildings on the charity 'ride and stride' visits to churches in East Kent which should have been open, or at least manned, were locked fast, and in the case of Northbourne School church, they had not even bothered to place the charity list outside. Very poor indeed.
Top of the list of places to visit were St Mildred's in Preston, Northbourne School church (formally Betteshanger) and Whitfield. As well as Tilmanstone, Alkham, Acrise, Ripple, Ash, Worth and Elham. That I have split these churches into two lists means that the latter half were all open and I gained entry to.
So, we had coffee and croissants, as you would expect on our normal Saturday morning. Although as we had a fill fridge and larder we did not have to go to Tesco. I gave us the chance to catch up with last week's Wittertainment, and then check that the camera batteries were changed, and the memory cards formatted and empty. So, let's get it on and do this!
We drive out to Preston first, as St Mildred's has proven to be almost impossible to gain entry to. On Friday night I checked the master list of churches, and it was included. I dropped Jools off at the edge of the village so she could pick some quince, and and I drove to the church. Now, St Mildred's is down a dead end country lane, and you only drive down here unless you are heading to the church or the farm where the annual steam fair takes place. I don't even bother to take my cameras out just in case it was not open, and as I walked up the church path I saw a trestle table set up, and on the table was the form on which visitors for the day were to be recorded, it was weighed down by a large stone.
Sorry there is no one here to greet you, it said. Well, as St Mildred's is one of the county's most remote churches, and had I spent an half or or more getting here to find that having refreshment here, or the church open was too much of an onerous task, I would be angry. I could jump in my car and head off to the next church. Walkers would have a long and dry walk to the next church which would be Stourmouth, Elmstone or Wingham. At least half an hour's walk to either three.
I went back to collect Jools and we headed to Ash to the next church.
Ash is a huge parish church, for what is one of the larger villages in east Kent. Last time I was here, well, the last two times, it was either closed or had a service going on. Ash, which is typical of a market town, has narrow lanes and so parking is problematic. But we find a space at the village hall, and walk to the main road, then up to the church. Much to my delight the doors are open, and so I am aboe to head inside where we both receive a fine warm welcome. I go round getting my shots, reassuring the person duty I did not want either squash or a chocolate cookie.
Next up was Worth, which is a fine village just outside Deal, and is a wonderful timber towered church down a u-shaped road which doubles back onto the main road. The church is at the farthest point from the main road, opposite the village pub, the Blue Pigeon, and the village pond. It is a wonderful location.
We are greeted warmly once again, which once inside was also a delight. But then almost all churches are. But what I bring from the whole Kent church project is that what really makes this worthwhile are the people I have met, people who love their church and their communities.
What turned out to be the final church of the morning was Northbourne School church, formally the parish church of the mining village of Betteshanger. It takes some finding, and after half an hour of criss-crossing narrow lanes and rolling fields we find ourselves heading down the dead-end lane through the woods to the school. Once again I decide not to get the camera gear out, and just as well as no one had been there that morning, not even to leave a sponsor form. Very disappointing indeed. In fact we head to one more church, another I had low expectations of being open, Whitfield. And indeed those low expectations were met as it was lcoked fast as well. A disappointing end to the morning, with just two out of five churches open.
We drive home for lunch, which turned out to be buttered corn bread for me, before I climb into the car again for more churches in the afternoon.
First up was Ripple, a wonderfully proportioned church, and quite beautiful too. I park up outside and see the door in the centre of the tower was open wide, so I grab the cameras and walk up the path to the door. I am welcomed warmly, and I am delighted to be inside, and the warden sees this too. I take my shots as she points out things of interest, which I am able to snap too. A wonderful church, and an affirming experience after the three closed ones in the morning.
Next was Tlimanstone, another former mining community, and once church on three previous visits was closed. But sitting outside reading the Times was a welcoming fellow, who told me some of the history of the vllage and church, and let me get on with my shots. Did I want tea/coffee/biscuits? The usual stuff. All in all, another wonderful experience for me.
I decide to forgo Eythorne and instead head to another imposing church that has long eluded me; Alkham.
Alkham lays in the valley which also bears that name, and St Martin is at the highest point of the village, and looks wonderful. But getting inside is another matter. So, I park up at the village hall and walk to 200m up the hill, across the main road, through the pub car park, and up into the church yard. The sun had come out bathing the flint church in warm sunlight. It looked glorious. I pushed open the door and it swung open. I quickly raced round getting my shots, signing the visitors book and dropping a quid in the collection box.
Back down by the village hall the winterbourne has dried up from the torrential conditions we saw at the end of winter, leaving behind a dry bed and muddy pools. How different indeed. I climb back in the car, put on the radio so I can listen to the early game and drive to the start of the M20 and onto the Elham valley.
Acrise is named for the oak trees that used to grace the hill here, but now it is a quiet and woody spot, the church once used by the family in the large house next door. I have been here before, in the dark winter days before I started on the Thanet project. It was locked then, and the trees all bare and reaching for the cloudy skies like fleshless hands. Now, in warm sunshine I was the light-dappled track leading to the church, disturbing the warden reading a book whilst sitting in a deckchair. She goes inside, turns on the lights, as another couple arrive to look inside. The church is glorious, and is graced with a balcony. I get my shots as the couple ask questions.
It is now well after three, and the radio tells me that Norwich are already two down after just 20 minutes. I groan, maybe we could bounce back, but is that likely? I drive down the hill to Elham, find a parking space in the square between The Crown and the church. All around are ancient Arial motorcycles, and their riders are all dressed in leather drinking pints outside the pub; what a fine way to spend the afternoon!
The church is open, and is on a grand scale. It is richly decorated, and I take my time in getting the shots. I am almost tempted to go to the pub, but get back in the car, all churched out, ready for the drive home. It is now four and City grab an early goal back soon after I set off. As I head through Folkestone Wes grabs an equaliser, and as I drive up Jubilee Way to the Duke of York we take the lead. Once home and the kettle is boiling for a well-earned cuppa, we grab a 4th and the points are ours. We go back joint top again.
That evening, we watch the institution which is last night of the proms, with all its unashamed jingoism, more obvious by the sight of the flagwaving from Edinburgh. Strange times we live in. The final song is Jerusalem, my Dad's favourite, and one that always reminds me of him. My eyes grow moist at the thought.
Still miss you, Dad.
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