Friday 14th June 2024

I have been planning this day for some time, a meeting with my old boss, giving him and his wife a tour round Canterbury.

Just needed good weather.

And this was the view out of the bathroom window that greeted us at twenty past five, a keen breeze throwing steady rain at the back of the house.

But did clear within an hour, and so by the time I was dropped off at Dover Priory, the sun was shining.

Twelve quid for a return ticket, which isn't bad at rush hour I guess.

I say rush hour, it was twenty to seven, does that count as morning or still middle of the night?

Just three others in my carriage, including one gentleman who spent the whole journey rolling fags and sending out rasping coughs probably due to smoking roll ups.

I get off, and try to use lifts to exit the station. Getting to the bridge was fine, but the lift back down was out of service. Just as well as I wasn't in a wheelchair, I guess.

Out into the city, across the footbridge over the ring road and taking the path across where St Mary in Castro used to stand, then along into the city.

But the café I was going to have breakfast in, is now a sandwich bar and not open!

Instead I find a small coffee bar, have a grilled vegetable and cheese sandwich and a large coffee, and take a seat at the back the shop to eat, drink and be merry.

Then to the Buttercross to wait for nine, so to be first into the Cathedral so I could snap some more of the crypt. For the first time since before the pestilance, groups of people were meeting here for guided tours round the cathedral and city.

The crypt is a public space, but set aside for private prayer, so photography isn't really allowed, but if you're the first person in the building, then you disturb no one?

That's my rationing, anyway.

As it happened, there was a funeral later, and so preparations were under way, so I could only take a few shots, and no one said anything to me, though as I exited stage left, walkie talkies burst into life as I suspect the phantom snapper made good his escape.

So, why was here in Canterbury? I was here to meet my old boss, the one who first employed me in the wind industry, and so made our life on the cliffs in the Ugly House possible. Philip is now retired, and he and his wife were down for some culture, and I offered to take them on a tour of the city.

Obviously, this was before the injuries to my knee and ankle, but it was getting better, not 100%, but good enough.

My plan was to go through the chronological development of the city, starting with the arrival in AD 597 of St Augustine and the founding of his Ministry in a large field outside the city walls.

This became St Augustine's Abbey, which as well at extensive cloisters and other buildings, had two other churches, one being the first, St Pancras. St Pancras is now a ruin, but the east wall of the Chancel still stands, and the walls show the plan of the building.

They were due to arrive at half ten, so at ten I limped over the ring road, or under it, and to the car park beside the Abbey ruins, now an English Heritage run site.

In the end they pulled up at ten, so after shaking hands, we walked over the road to the entrance. Philip, his wife, Carole and their terrier, Toby, all went into the site.

We spent an hour wandering around, them looking at the ruins, me looking at plants growing from between the flints and bricks. The threat of rain looked serious as dark clouds started gathering, so we made our way back to the entrance centre, and then asked about our next target: St Martin, which lies just up the hill.

Recent evidence shows that Queen Bertha had a private chapel near to the site, dedicated to St Martin, It was a small building, possibly a converted Roman mausoleum, and St Pancras, rather than having been constructed long after AD597 was the first building constructed on the site. And soon after its completion, being already too small for the congregation, a larger church, Ss. Peter and Paul, very close by.

St Martin was due to open at eleven, we had ten minutes, so set off beside the main road and walked to the church.

St Martin sits on a small down, partly cut into the ground, so that you climb steps from the road to the porch, then up from the porch into the Nave and again into the Chancel.

It is hard to see what might have been the original Roman building and what is reused bricks and tiles, but the west wall is Saxon, dating from soon after the church was built in the 7th century. Elsewhere there are blocked windows and doorways, most with Saxon arches still visible.

The west wall apart, the other glory is the 199th century Caen stone font, otherwise one can wander round the outside of the church and marvel at the mix of material used to construct the walls of the church: Roman bricks and tiles, flints, clunch.

We leave the church and walk back into the city, stopping off at a coffee shop in the ancient street that is Butcher's Lane, barely wide enough still for a horse and cart.

We have chilled bottles of Coke and pistachio cannelloni, which set us back fourteen quid, which seemed steep, but we needed a drink and the cannelloni looked and tasted incredible.

I took Philip and Carole to Christchurch Gate and told them how to buy tickets, while I went to find a place to rest my ankle, and ended up a five minute walk away in a pub called the Thomas Becket.

Good job I found it, as it was dog friendly and did food all afternoon. I had a pint and messaged Jools to let her know the situation, so once when finished work at one, she drove over. There was problems with the network, so after a second pint of mild, I walked to the gate to wait until they came out of the Cathedral Yard, And was easy for Jools to find me.

It all came together at just after two, Philip, Carole and Toby came out, Jools was five minutes away. So I texted Jools the name of the pub, and walked there, and two minutes later, Jools arrived.

We had a seat in the window, Philip treated us to lunch and a drink, and soon the food came and was well worth waiting for.

It was half three by the time we were done eating, I took them back to Westgate, showed them the Pilgrim's Hospital, which is sadly closed this year, but halfway down to the gate, by ankle said it had had enough, so I told them how to get in the gate, we shook hands and hugged, while I walked back to Greyfriars to meet up with Jools and she drove us home.

I had done 16,000 steps, which all things considered wasn't too bad.

Traffic was light back home, at it was just after four, she got us back safe and sound, once inside we fed the cats and made brews.

And relax.

Of course, Friday was also the first day of the Euros, and first game was Germany v Scotland, which should have been a great game, but Scotland started badly and got worse, three nil down at half time, and down to ten men. It ended 5-1, and was as one sided as the score suggests.