Saturday 14th September 2019

Every year now, for some 20 years, there has been a dual event on the 2nd weekend of September; Heritage Weekend and the Ride and Stride Charity event to raise money for local churches and their charities. The upshot of these two events is that buildings, and churches, that are sometime closed might be open.

So, each year a list is produced and I make a route taking in an area of those I have long failed to see inside.

No change this year, only the planning took it to a whole new level, with compiling of the list began in June and July, and pouring over maps to make sure the ambitious route was doable in the time allowed.

As Jools would tall you, this would be rendered pointless, as the route would change, possibly on the day, possibly between churches. But that is the fun, and part and parcel of the day.

The list of "Kent's most wanted" stood at 33, and then I remembered some others. So, maybe three year's worth heritage days of churches, and just the one day to get it done. At least I know what I will be doing next year.

I made it clear to Jools that this would be a long day, and she would not be blamed if she wanted to sit this day out. And so it turned out, she saw the reason in that.

So, first thing she went swimming at the new leisure centre, coming back with me putting the final touches to my cameras, double checking batteries and formatting memory cards.

There are two churches in East Kent that have long remained closed, to me at least: Thanington Without and Hinxhill. These are never open, and due to my poor planning, I have missed out these on Heritage weekend. In order to get to them all, I hoped to be at one of these just before nine, and the tour continues until six in the evening. Sadly, I had failed to realise that the ride and stride part was not due to start until ten.

I dropped Jools off in the outskirts of Canterbury, and heading in the opposite direction stopped outside Thanington, where the recent road resurfacing meant the parking restrictions had been covered over, I could park on the side of the road.

The church, sadly, was still locked, and the sign on the door made it clear that it would not be open until ten.

Sigh.

This meant that the next two I had hoped to see inside before ten would also be closed.

Still, got to try.

I got back in the car and battled round the city on the ring road, out the other side to stop at Sturry.

Sturry has the distinction of being the first Kent church I snapped, although that was even before the project began, and I had not returned since then.

I parked in the village centre, walked down a street lined with half timbered houses to the gate in the churchyard. St Nicholas was half covered in scaffolding and tin sheeting. Even if it was open, it wouldn't be pretty.

But it was locked too.

That meant that there was nothing to be done until ten, other than drive over to Seasalter, over half an hour's drive away, the other side of Whitstable, up on the north Kent close.

And there was no hurry, otherwise there would be more sitting about waiting.

So, I cruise along Thanet Way, past Herne Bay and Whitstable, then into Seasalter. I had the post code, but that gave me an area, I just had to find the right lane to go down, then the right gap in the hedge lead to the small car park.

Found it. And it was just five past ten.

St Alphage is only accessible up a path, the sprawling churchyard looking a picture, with many graves bedecked with flowers. Would the church be open?

Well, I say church, it is just the chancel of the old church, the rest tore down to build the "new" church in Whitstable. But what is left is fine, though six people inside it meant that it seemed crowded.

But I take the dozen or so shots that do it justice, and after making small talk to one of the volunteers, I walk back to the car for the next leap, just up the coast to Graveney.

The road kept close to the coast, and was lined with pretty old fishermen's cottages, now, I guess, expensively converted to weekend houses for the tragically hip from Camden.

Look nice though.

On a windswept part of the coast, surrounded by farmland and a few scattered houses sits All Saints, Graveney.

We were last here in the winter, on a dull and cold day, one which a Dickens character would have found chilly. On Saturday, it was basking in bright sunshine, and the wardens were putting the final touches to a table top sale for visitors, and I being the first visitor, was made very welcome indeed. I had my own personal tour, interesting details pointed out, before I was left to get on with my shots.

Next up was a church I found whilst searching on Google maps; Norton.

UK postcodes, in towns, usually relate to about eight houses, but in rural areas, the code can relate to an area of several square miles. So, scouring the horizon for a spire of a churchyard can be in order.

Norton is as rural as Kent gets, but into the centre of the village I see no sign of a church.

After going through once, I double back, and across the fields I see the simple tower of St Mary. OK< just how to get there.

There were just three roads into the village, and I had been on two of them, so taking the third, I weave my way between fields, through a farm, then to my right, through an orchard, was the church.

I look for guidance, but see none. So I drive into the field and through the trees to the church gate.

Of course, the church is deserted, but well cared for. There are refreshments left out for the riders and striders. I leave them, as I am cheating travelling by car.

I take my shots and go back to the car.

I look at the list, and program in the next church: Bapchild.

Yes, Bapchild. I have no idea what it means, either.

Bapchild is one of several parishes just off the A2, the old London Road, once the Kings Highway, and when the motorway is blocked, and be very busy.

But just off it, is peace and quiet, and several churches.

St Laurence sits on a bend in a road, huddled between mature trees, and looks typically Kentish. Inside, the once simple nave and chancel had been expanded by the walls on either side having been carved into pillars and arches to double the size of the floorspace.

And all whitewashed, with the exception of the date 1689 in the chancel arch. Nothing to do with the "Glorious" revolution, but marking the first time the vicar was sent by The Crawn rather than the Bishop of Chichester.

I receive another warm welcome, and offered; tea, coffee, squash, biscuits, cake. I decline. And I go about my business, taking shots and giving reserved answers on what I thought.

Just down the A2 was another church, Lynstead, a church which has been locked on three previous occasions to me.

But not this time!

And inside I meet another man who is trying to snap all Kentish churches.

Two freaks in the county. Through the day we would meet at two further churches, the last time the other side of the county in Hinxhill, slim chances of that happening.

Lynstead is a monster of a church, as wide as it long thanks to two richly decorated side chapels, both covered in memorials. The memorials are in perfect condition, maybe due to over-renovation, but they look fabulous and lifelike.

I could have stayed there all day.

But time was getting on.

There is another row of churches along the southern bank of the Medway, and two I had failed to visit on previous tours. So, first off was Lower Halstow, set in an attractive village down a dead end lane. I park in what looked like a fine spot, but in doing so covered up the "no parking" sign.

Oh well.

The church is stunning, and well manned too. Not for the first, or last time, I was quizzed about medieval graffiti. I make general comments. They seemed happy.

I could have been way off, mind.

Up the hill, literally, is Upchurch, where the sprawling, spreading St Mary dominates the centre of the village.

I have it to myself, so I can get around taking shots, though I am beginning to suffer from church fatigue.

There is a list of open churches, or those that should be open, and so with the chance of our old friend Bicknor being open, I go there. Crossing the M2 and the A249, taking a maze of lanes and tracks until I come to the church; closed and no notices out.

I decide to head home now, via a couple of churches.

Of course.

Hinxhill was top of the list I wanted to see, but it was a trek from Maidstone down to Ashford then along the back lanes on the way to Wye. And the church was there, and the door was open!

Yay.

And my friend on his motorcycle arrives, we swap notes, and find that not only Bicknor was closed, but Throwley was too.

Bugger.

I was going to go home, but he tells me there is two hours to go. And he's right, so I decide to go back to Thanington.

I take the familar lanes to Wye then up past Yockletts and other orchid rich places to Stone Street and then to Bridge before doubling back into Canterbury on the A2.

Norwich were on the radio, playing Man City, but with nine players out, I feared the worst, and switched the radio off.

Thanington was open, but was a major disappointment inside. Recently reordered, had the feel of a community centre.

I take my shots and leave.

Time for one more church; should I battle round the ring road back to Sturry, or go to Eythorne near to Dover?

Eythorne won out.

So, I drove in silence, imagining the hammering Norwich were getting, hoping against hope I was wrong.

Eythorne was still open at twenty past five, and I stay until six, chatting with the warden who turned out is also the landlady from the Carpenter's Arms in Coldred, a fine old fashioned pub.

It is a shame when the bells ring at six, and it is time to go home. 16 churches visited, no pubs, 11 open and 5 closed.

I arrive home and switch the computer on, I briefly look at BBC sport and it says Norwich were 2-0 up.

I best leave it as clealry something was going right.

Jools goes out for fish and chips, and the computer says Citeh had pulled on back, but Pukki had scored our third.

I followed the rest of the game on Twitter, and City just hang on to win 3-2. Result of the season. Or any other season.

Fish and chips are good and quickly vanish.

We listen to the radio, and I read tweets from my friends from the various pubs in Norwich as they party the night away.

Quite a day, all told.