Saturday 16th August 2025

I should have been on my way to Norwich.

And then a party was arranged for Jools's sister, Cath, and there was no time to get back from the fine city unless I left before two, meaning I would have had less than three hours there, and so I had to say I would not go.

Meanwhile, a friend had been asking about a visit to Kent and some churches during the summer, so I was able to say suddenly a date had become free, could he make it this week?

He could.

Meanwhile, Rob, our sometime gardener, said he could do our hedges on Saturday. So I had to go out to the bank to get some cash, and on the way back grab two breakfast butties from the van outside B&Q.

There was just time to make and drink a big brew, eat the sarnie before it was time to meet him at Dover Priory.

Graham appeared, so I got out of the car and waved. He came over, we shook hands, and I said, shall we get to it?

We shall.

Off through the town, up Whitfield Hill and then down Lydden Hill to the tiny church, tucked away on a side road, overlooking farmland.

Half a mile of the A2, and yet so peaceful.

We disturbed the warden cleaning the church for the weekend's service, but we received a fine welcome, and a sitrep on the church: electricity, but too expensive to have running water connected.

Its an ancient church, the years hang heavy on it, and the 19th century restoration came in the 1840s, and was done with a very light touch.

We took shots and make our excuses. Many more churches to see.

Back up Lydden Hill, across the A2 and through Shepherdswell, where the parked traffic around the Co-Op gets no better, then out across the fields to the jewel in Kent's churches: Barfrestone.

More of the supporting wall has come down as the church slips down the slope, but the church itself is in good condition.

Graham marvels at the carvings, corbels and interior decoration, but as we couldn't find the lights, was too dark inside for photography.

A short drive away is Patrixbourne: Barfrestone's non-identical twin, with another "wheel window", but the marvel here is the tympanum. And sadly, not for the first time, the church is locked.

I take us along Old Palace road, beside and through the Nailbourne, stopping so he could see Bekesbourne's tower poking above the trees. It would be locked, so we move on.

Back to Bridge, crossing over the dry Nailbourne bed via the bridge in Bridge, stopping at the church, which is always open.

We drive down the Elham Valley to Elham, parking in the picturesque square, with St Mary towering on the southern side, and the fine Kings Arms opposite.

The church is open, of course, and there is a book sale. A massive book sale, so get a guide to Cypress and leave a couple of quid.

A few miles on is Lyminge.

The church sits on a hill, from the base of which, the Nailbourne emerges from the ground. At this time of the year, its just a trickle. In some winters it gushes out from several places, and St Ethelburga's Well sits above.

The church is one of my favourites, with its single flying buttress holding up the east wall of the chancel, and the path to the porch goes under the arch.

I show Graham the outline of the Saxon chapel in the path as we approach the church.

Sadly, (probably) the Victorians removed the plaster from the wall, exposing the flints making up the structure, looks ancient, but it was not like this through most of its life.

It was a bit of a drive to the next church: Brook. Along narrow lanes, meeting many vehicles coming in the opposite direction, meaning squeezing by, or reversing to a passing place.

Brook sits on the single street of the village, a bourne sometimes runs past it, so you have to cross a small bridge to reach the church.

I point out the almond shaped opening, possible hagioscope for an anchorite cell, before we go in, and in the Chancel, the stone altar and wall paintings behind making it seem very old indeed.

We skirted the edge of Ashford to reach the Romney Marsh.

Ashford is a new, new town, and traffic is dreadful. The actions of the drivers even worse.

I was glad to head out towards Rye, traffic thinning out until we reached the Marsh beyond Ham Street.

I turn off down the narrow lane to Snave, but there is no sign as to where the church is. The trees that surround it now hide the church from view, and on a second pass, I spotted the pale blue sign down a track.

We park and walk up, finding the church yard overgrown, but the church open.

We take shots, the silence hung heavy as we went about snapping.

Back to the car, and thoughts turned to lunch.

I thought the best pub would be at Ivychurch, where the Bell Inn sits beside the "cathedral of the Marsh", St George.

Graham treats me to a pint of London Pride, as sadly there was no Kentish beers on off, and lunch of chilli nachos, which we eat in the beer garden, as the sun tried to break through the cloud cover.

Maybe we lingered too long supping, so the last two visits were flying: first to Brookland and its triple stage "candle snuffer" bell tower, locked of course. Inside I point out the lead font.

Finally, nearly in Sussex, we drive to Fairfield.

But there's a wedding party there, having photographs taken. We decide not to disturb them, and with three o'clock having rolled round, I took Graham to Ashford for a train back to London, and me to drive home so to be back for the party.

Norwich had already won at Portsmouth, 2-1, so it was pleasant to listen to the radio babbling away, with a confusing mix of teams and players, some new at their clubs, so no idea who had scored until the reporter made it clear.

Back home for a shower and change.

In the garden the hedges were shorn, and the clippings lay in piles. Jobs for the rest of the weekend, and maybe into next week.

To Jen's then, for a Chinese banquet and wish Cath happy birthday as its midweek, and she would be working.

Beer and wine flowed, at least for Jen and myself.

Jools drive us back through the gloaming, now that the clouds had cleared, a golden evening. And nearly chilly.