Last Friday, I sat beside the phone expecting the call to say I was going to start work. I waited and waited. And as you may have guessed, nothing happened; no call, no nothing.
And so, Jools decided to take the afternoon off she is entitled to, and we had most of the afternoon together once I had picked her up. We headed up to the National Trust place high up on the cliffs to the south of Dover, and as we were about to set off for a walk her phone rang.
It was her friend from France, who runs the French and European part of where Jools works, Melanie had been sacked on the spot in a cost cutting measure. Thing is, Jools had forecasted this just seconds before the phone rang. I need her to forecast a lottery win quick. That would involve me actually buying a ticket once in a while, though.
Melanie was shocked and distraught, as this meant that she and her husband could not now buy the old water mill they had been planning as they could not get a mortgage. She was even frightened that her partner would leave. Who would run a business knowing the consequences of a decision?
Jools tried to talk things through, and in time we were able to go for that walk, to stand on the highest part of the cliff with a gale blowing through our hair and just feel alive. The view from here, of Dover spread out to our right, and in front over the channel to France and Calais is one that brings a sense of awe very time.
Saturday dawned bright, and so as Jools had a beading class in Deal, I took the opportunity to visit Deal Castle and take some shots. Deal has an old fashioned feeling about it, built beside the sea just in view of France and at the end of the white cliffs from dover; it is a mix of narrow streets, whitewashed houses and cottages, a shingle beach full of small fishing boats and a very unusual castle.
Each layer is built of semi-circles, each layer out of line, so the castle had a complete arc of fire for 360 degrees. On a bright day the black cannons with red corks in the barrels and the stonework make for striking pictures. Sadly, inside the castle is empty of furniture, and although is impressive as any building would be with 8 feet thick walls, I can't help but feeling it lacks something.
For me, the biggest disappointment was being unable to get outside on the upper levels to see the patterns of the castle laid out below. Oh well.
Whilst I waited for Jools to finish her class, I retired into a pub on the seafront to read The Times and to sample the ale, just to check all was right of course. I made do with watching people walk along the prom; nothing quite beats people watching.
I had such a great lunch at the village pub on Thursday, we decided to head out onto the Romney Marsh for another visit, and there it was Stilton ploughmans all round. And more foaming summer ale for me. Yay! Although sitting out in the beer garden, we run the gauntlet of wasps which did find Jools' cider apparently irresistible. The meal was wonderful, and sitting there watching what passes for village life, a passing couple of folks on horses or the occasional tractor. Not bad.
The weather Sunday was not so good, but was expected to perk up in the afternoon; which was just as well as we had another Flickrmeet planned; this time to Ramsgate group, and a wander along the edge of Pegwell Bay, and hopefully some pictures to be taken as well.
We spent the first half of the day in the garden and doing chores around the house, before setting off as the sun came out. Sadly, just five of us turned up, but we got on well, and as we wandered along the edge of the mudflats, we took pictures of what we thought was interesting or at least photogenic. And what better way to finish the afternoon off than to go to the pub for a pint and more chatting?
And so, Monday; the phone did not ring. I pottered around the house; did some cooking, and so the day passed. Tuesday, I had the car and so I went on a trip to photograph some more Kentish churches. Like most counties, Kent has history, but what I love more than anything else is that most villages are pretty much unchanged since the middle ages. Some new houses, but life is as slow as it mostly was.
Alkham is a village on the back road from Dover to Folkestone; and it's church is behind the village pub and a little difficult to find the entrance to the churchyard. I mean you can see the tower, how hard should it be? But, I found it in the end, and took maybe a dozen shots before setting off again.
After deciding to take some train shots, I made my way to Sandling station, which nestles in a fold in the downs. Once quiet and peaceful apart from the four trains an hour that pass through, it now sits beside the high speed link from the Channel Tunnel to London, and four Eurostars roar through on the new lines as well. Sdaly, the line is surrounded by high fences covered in warnings to thieves and terroists, like they'll listen to those. And photography was next to impossible thanks to the thick fence.
My final call ended up at Postling, just north of the Channel Tunnel entrance where I found a picturesque church which until that morning had an overgrown graveyard. A local man had spent the day with a scythe a and a rake cutting and piling the grass up. It made for a wonderfully timeless scene, and one to be photographed.
Inside, the church had details of former wall paintings that puritans had whitewashed over hundreds of years ago. I dutifully recorded those with my camera too.
On the way home I managed to get myself lost in the network of narrow lanes that criss-cross this part of Kent. I know if I kept going north I would get to where I wanted to go sooner or later. It was pleasant enough, driving through lanes with high hedges on either side, so little used that grass pushed up through the tarmac.
Yesterday, what started out as a short walk to visit a local chapel ended up with me taking my life in my hands walking on the main road into Dover for a while, then heading up to Dover Castle for some photographs before walking back along the cliffs.
Just outside our village is a hamlet called Westcliffe, and it has a pretty Norman chapel with an overgrown churchyard. Well, some of it is, some is neat and tidy, and still used as the fresh flowers proved testament to.
I decided to walk on towards Dover in the hope of seeing the golden corn harvested. But, sadly not, but I did get some nice shots of the heavy ears sagging and swaying in the breeze.
The footpath had run out, and I had to dive into the hedgerow when a car or bus passed. It wasn't that dangerous, but to get to the lane down to Guston, I had to walk along the main road, which was an altogether different kettle of fish. No footpaths to help me here, and no room for cars or truck to get past, so every couple of steps I had to leap out of the way of a zooming car or something bigger. This, I know, was not the cleverest thing I have done. But, I got to the Swingate Inn and crossed over the main road and was soon in a different century as I was once again heading down a country land with high hedges on both sides.
I won't bore you with the walk to the castle, but I made it soon enough and without being run over, which is always good. We had been given a years membership to English heritage for Christmas, and so entry was free for me, and I walked up the slope into the castle and into 2 millennium of history.
The main keep is closed for restoration, and a huge marquee was being built for a celebration meal, as Saturday sees the centenary of Bleriot's first flight across the Channel, and huge celebrations are planned in Dover. But, the rest of the castle is photogenic enough, with lots to see and photograph. And being school holidays, there were fewer visitors than normal, and so I think my shots came out quite well.
In the castle is a Roman lighthouse, a Pharos, all built of stone and flint and nearly 2,000 years old. They have siege engines and countless cannons; and for me the best, stunning views over Dover and the Channel.
After paying £6 for a sandwich and a tea, I headed off down into the town before turning north and up the cliffs for the walk back to St Margaret's. I have walked it several times now, and each month the walk is different; a couple of months ago there were poppies everywhere; now dozens of people were doing the same walk, and so I no longer had the walk to myself, but was wonderful anyway.
Once back in the village, my feet were screaming for rest and I was thirsty; and so I called in my favourite local, we have 4, and had a pint of Ruddles finest and sat listening to the barflies ribbing each other.
Another of them good days.
And this morning I find that I should begin working on Monday,and so my life changes again. Could be another of them good days, too.
No comments:
Post a Comment