Saturday 3rd October 2020

And at the weekend, the wind did howl and the rain did fall.

The BBC said it would rain most of the day, but could be better further north and west.

Just as well we were going to north west Kent, to visit a church that I knew for 100% certain would be open. The only question was, should we trust the weather and go in the hope the rain would stop, or wait until next week.

I almost binned it for a week, but Jools aid we should go.

So we went.

So, after breakfast of fruit followed by almost burnt croissants after I forgot they were in the oven. So, although the croissants shatterd as you bit in, creating a blizzard of flakes. We ate well, had a second coffee and were ready to leave for half nine.

First we went to the pet store in town to get some fat balls for the badgers, as they had eaten their way through the bumper bucket we bought last month. So into the twon centre and we need to mask up, keep away from people. I treat it like a military operation, go in when I see a few people had left, go in, pick up three tubs, go to the spare till so not to have to wait, pay and back in the car in two minutes.

Phew.

We drove to Townwall Street, then out of town along the A20 to Folkestone to the motorway.

Between Ashford and Maidstone, preparations are well under way for Operation Brock, Operation Stack's bigger sibling, with semi-permanent central divers now in place along the London-bound side, ready to be pulled over when the truck start queuing. For the time being there are just cones separating the only two open lanes, but this meand 50mph speed limits again, and slow going. This preparation is the only successful and tangible preparations for Brexit in Kent, as it is something that have done for years, but is needed becasue all other systems will not be ready.

It will be a long winter.

We go past Maidstone, then turn off onto the Tonbridge road, thus avoiding the traffic nightmare in Maidstone, and cruising to Mereworth.

Mereworth, pronounced Merryworth, because it is. I come from Norfolk where we know a few things about mangling place names, so this isn't the worse, not even in Kent. That honour goes to Trottiscliffe which is pronounced Trosley. Of course. But I digress.

Mereworth church is unique in Kent, it is of Italianate style with glorious trompe l'oeil decorations inside. I was last there about 8 years ago, and went past on Heritage weekend, but told myself not to stop in case I ran out of time to see new churches.

As it happens, the church has been closed since late March, and no sign if an when it might reopen.

We could see the spire from a good distance away, and pulled into the village. Before getting the camera bag out of the car, I go to try the door. I had low hopes, so at least I wasn't surprised. But seeing the church with its curved west stone canopy with fluted columns, and not being inside, did make my heart sink.

And anyway, three more churches on the list, and I knew that one of them at least would be open, as it was in the care of the CCT and the door was on a timer mechanism, and would be open from ten, and it was already quarter past. So no time to lose.

East Peckham sounds like it should be in London, but is on the side of a chalk down in west Kent. The church is now some way from the village, and the village built a new church in the centre of the village in the mid-19th century. But St Micheal is in good repair, and sits in a magestic location overlooking the lowland farm land of west Kent below, all the way into East Sussex.

On a bright day, it would have been stunning, was impressive on a grey October day as it was.

The churchyard was full of huge stone gravestones, all covered, richly in lichen and moss. I was expecting Magwitch to rise up from between them, all ready to threaten us to help him escape. But there were no escaped criminals, no ghosts.

I stopped to get a camera out of the bag, then shouldered the bag, while Jools went on up the stone path. The porch door was closed, but a sign pointed to the south Priest's door which pushed open easily enough.

Inside, it was a light and airy space, with Victorian oak pews, and walls filled with memorials. Much of interestm unlike some of those I saw on Heritage weekend where there was barely 30 shots taken, here I took a good hundred, and most are keepers.

We leave the church and are greeted with the majestic view as the churchyard slopes away to the lychgate, and the road beyond vanishing down the down.

Next on the list was, not surprisingly, West Peckahm.

Again, not been here before, so like most times, no idea what to expect. We followed the road into the village, then turned down a narrow lane leading to the church and village green.

The church looked typically Kentish; two cell with added aisles and a shingled tower at the west end. Would have looked pretty as a picture on a sunny, summer day. Even on a cloudy Saturday lunchtime, it looked pretty darned good.

We walked to the porch, and the metal gate was freed from its fastening, and the heavy oak door beyond swung open easily.

It was dark inside, even with the sensor under the mat triggered the suspended lights to come on. I saw a large wooden rood screen, and on the north side, some kind of elevated side chapel, the like of which I had not seen before.

I got to work taking shots.

The elevated chapel turned out to be a private pew, and research done since I came home, reveals to be a family pew, built over their vault, but at to be elevated as the dead of the generations piled up. And on the north wall was a very fine monument of a very laid back couple, frozen in time and stone, looking at each other through the countless years.

A warden came in and repremanded us for not wearing masks. I put mine on after appologising, but the atmosphere was frosty. A second came in and was even harsher, complaining about people visiting the church loud enough for us to hear. It rather tained the visit if I'm honest, and we left soon after.

Just opposite we saw people sitting in a marquee, sipping from pints of beer.

A pub.

So we go over to the Swan on the Green, we took a table, and someone came out to take our order; a pint of best, half a cider and two bags of crisps.

A group of rambers were complaing about Europe next to us, I listen and chickle. Germans have no sense of humour, apparently. Well, they're laughing at us over Brexit, and their Christmas highlight is a little known (here) show called Dinner for One.

And as Henning says, the Germand like a laugh, but usually after the job is done, not before and during.

But I digress again.

It was good to be out, drinking in a pub, or outside a pub, if not actually in one.

We drink up and leave, to our final stop, Hadlow.

On the map, Hadlow looked big, and when we arrived it was an actractive but busy place, the road to the church was blocked, so we parked along the main road and walked back.

Outside the door under the west tower were a couple, all dressed up, while inside, a wedding was under way.

New rules meant that only 15 people could attend the wedding, and they did not make the cut, so came along to see the couple walk out.

We were here to snap the inside, so while we waited, we talked to the couple, they told us the history of the Gothic Revival tower belonging to the castle next door, and being told of a monument in the corner of the churchyard to an horrific accident which killed 30 gipsy hop-pickers in the 19th century. I go to take a shot, and wonder of the different times just a couple of generations ago.

The couple and their guests come out of the church, a gentle drizzle began to fall.

The bride is about our age, and dressed in a fairy-style wedding dressed. In my mind was my Nanna saying over and over agan: "mutton dressed as lamb". When my mind posed the question of whether she should be wearing white, Bull Durham stated that all Brides deserve to wear white. I tell myself off for judging people, but also hope that they get a move on before the vicar locks the west door and my chance was gone.

They move off to walk to the pub where they are going to have a scally distanced reception for 30 people, somehow.

I go to the door and open it, the vicar is moving seats and tables about, to be ready for the Sunday service: I explain the project and give him a Moo card, and he is happy for me to take shots.

Again, lots of detail to snap, even if the pews of previous generations have been replaced with what looks like kitchen chairs, but easier to move for distancing, I guess.

All the while the vicar asks questions, or tells me of details I shouldn't miss. And the dragon on the inside of the transcept I do fail to snap, so sorry about that.

We are done, we leave a donation and leave to walk back to the car.

3 out of four churches open, and a pint at a village pub. I'd call that a successful trip out.

We drive back to the motorway, then down the M20 to home, as we drove the clouds cleared and the sun shone brightly. It was a fine end to the day.

As we drove, I thought that Norwich were playing and maybe the season would get back on track, but as we arrived back into St Maggies, Jools looked at her phone to tell me that City had lost 1-0. So I would keep away from Norwich Twitter the rest of the day.

We have a brew once inside and after feeding the cats, I ten make chorizo hash, pulling it all together in about 40 minutes, so we were sitting dwon to eat just after four.

At five there is football on telly, (dirty) Leeds v Citeh. Rain poured down, and Citeh took an early lead, and it looked like it would be a cricket score, but Citeh eased up and Leeds got back into it, pulling level in the second half, and that was that.

We have cheese and crackers for supper, with wine for me.

And that was rather a fine day over with.