Saturday 8th September 2018

Once a year, two events come along, on the same day, when many churches and other fine buildings that are normally closed to the public, are open. Heritage Day is a great event, making people aware what is around them, and then there is ride and stride, a charity walking and bike event, where people travel from church to church for sponsorship.

But for the budding ecclesiastic photographer, the one day of the year when there is a better than average chance churches might be open.

So I prepared my list, I checked it twice, then as Jools would say, I ignored most of it through the day, as I got ideas of other places to go. The list had about 20 churches on, and I knew I wouldn't get to them all, but still, like a challenge, and there would be a chance I would break my all day record of 12.

But first, as ever, we had to do our usual Saturday chores; feeding the cats, making coffee and going to Tesco.

That done, Jools said that eight hours of churchcrawling didn't appeal for some reason, so I would go out on my own.

My first call was Alkham, just outside Dover, where the parish church, St Anthony, sits on a small hill overlooking the village where the old London road does a tight turn. Driving along, it is easy to not know the church is there, there is just the one spot where the tower and spire can be seen before the road drops down and the church is lost from view again.

I park down by the village cricket pitch, then walk back up the hill, across the main road, through the car pack of the Marquess of Granby into the churchyard and to the porch. I wasn't expecting it to be unlocked, at least not until ten, but it was, and the day off to a great start.

Next, I drive into Folkestone, almost out the other side to Cheriton to St Martin, a church that I have visited twice, the first time to look for the grave of one Samuel Plimsoll, inventor of the line that bears his name, and so saviour of thousands of sailor's lives.

I park up and am one of five people walking to the church, unusual, even for heritage day. Turns out they were having an arts and crafts day, but the church would be open, if draped with blankets and the such, I will take that as a victory too, as urban churches can be almost impossible to get into.

Everyone is so nice, they ask questions, and someone points out the ancient parts of the church, the arches are at least Norman, possibly Saxon. So that the Victorians had left something of the original church behind. As I leave I see that the war memorial in the porch has a blade from a propeller, a Spitfire propeller, and the person sitting in front of it, and had walked past it for years, never noticed.

One of the smallest and remote churches I have visited is Monks Horton, nestling below the downs, sitting beside a narrow lane, it is a simple two cell church, but I have never found it open. If I could find it again, I might get lucky. I drive to Selling, the follow the signs for Monks Horton, all going well so far, but the church is outside the village, and I get lost in the maze of narrow lanes, so I program the sat nav and that does the trick, getting me there just as soon as I get past a dozen lycra clad cyclists, and only when one had a puncture, so the whole posse stopped too.

The church door is at the back of the church, outside was a trestle table with the forms for the riders and striders, so I gave up hope, but then through the screen door I could see the chancel down the other end of the church, and looking I find a simple bolt was keeping the door from swinging open. I take the bolt out and finally go inside. I had been contemplating going to one of the services on the last Sunday of the month, but I always forget, as there is football on at that time, of course.

From that point, the plan changed. Overlooking the Kentish Weald, along the edge of the down, is a series of churches and large country houses with large areas of parkland. I visited four of the churches a couple of years ago, and found just one of them unlocked, so I thought I would try again, on this promising day.

First up was Boughton Malherbe, which no one can seem to agree on how to spell, which I go to following the sat nav down narrow, twisting lanes, that finally dived over the edgeof the down, and there on a small level space was the church.

And a welcoming committee.

They watched me park, get my cameras out and begin to walk towards the church.

You'd better not park thar, large tractor comes by regular. One of the group is an old farmer, I guess, he smiles and shows just two teeth remaining. He is leaning on a shepherds crook, like you see in films but never see in real life.

I move the car to the area of grass they indicate, then ask me 50 questions on why I wanted to photograph the church, in a light hearted manner, of course.

Satisfied, they let me in, though are keen I see the fallen yew tree to the east of the church, that English Heritage would let them cut fully down.

I go in and they group are keen to stay out of my way lest I get them in a shot, I pretend to snap them, and they scuttle for cover.

Just along the valley is Ulcombe, sounding like it should be in Devon, not in deepest Kent, but there you are. And after entering, I remember I had been inside before, as the reordering had created a memorable marballed floor to the chancel. Still, I took plenty of shots, as I remembered some shots of the surviving wall paintings I took last time did not come out.

Next along should have been Boughton Monchelsea, but I see a sign pointing to another, East Sutton, so go there, seeing as they had gone to the bother of putting up attractive signs. And as a reward, as I walk into the churchyard, one of the wardens says he will give me a tour of the church, pointing out the things of interest of the church, including a stained glass window, that was a sound and light show about the two thousand years of local history. I am sat down and told to watch, which I do.

Turns out there are two more churches before Boughton Monchelsea, one I miss completely, the other has a wedding, and a line of vintage cars all draped in white seemed to be heading that way. So I will have to return to Sutton Valance and Chart Sutton churches.

But I am welcomed at Boughton Monchelsea as they had only received 5 riders and striders, so a visitor was good. I allowed them to ply me with tea and custard creams before I got my shots. They told me to go to Linton next, which is what I planned anyway, apparently.

Linton is on the main road from Maidstone down onto the Weald, and so traffic hammers through what would be a fine place to live otherwise. There is a timber-framed pub that looked inviting, and on the other side of the road, the church. Which we had visited some three and a half years back when the churchyard was carpeted with snowdrops.

I was on the final run now, dropping down onto the Weald, heading home for the main target of the day, Woodchurch, a place we had visited many years ago, and although the church is not wooden now, looked interesting enough. It took 40 minutes to drive there, pulling up outside the twin village pubs, The Bonny Cravat and The Six Bells.

It was locked last time we were here, and looked so now. And indeed it was. They do cream teas in the summer, apparently, but not now, and nothing for the riders and striders either, not even a table with the signing papers needed to complete for a visit.

I went over to the Six Bells for a pint, the first stop of the day, and it was now five, and time to be heading home.

The sat nav took me to Ashford to the motorway, and once through the roadworks was a quick run home, arriving back in the house at just gone six, and me needing a cuppa.

seven hundred and two shots taken, 13 churches visited, twelve open, both records.

We have cheese and crackers, followed by blackberry and apple crumble with vanilla custard to follow.

Lovely.

All i need to do now is review and edit the shots.

And post them.