Sunday 17th September 2023

The final day of the two Heritage Weekend(s). And we were off onto the Romney Marsh to see a small chapel.

The weekend flew by, of course, and already halfway through, with the prospect of severe storms in the afternoon, if the forecast was right.

It wasn't.

After breakfast we loaded the car with camera and lenses, drove down past the port and up out of town on the A20 to the motorway at Folkestone, turning off at Ashford, along the A2070 which has now had roundabouts replaced by traffic lights and so delays and road closures have ended.

Down onto the Marsh, through Ham Street and out to Appledore.

The English Heritage website gave a postcode, but I had also noted the postcode of the oasthouse next to it, which were different. We drove round the small village of Horne, twice, trying to find either the Chapel or oast, then after putting in the second postcode, we discovered we had driven right past it on entering the village and had missed the sign and bunting.

The chapel was built probably in the 14th century as a place where the local landowner could worship with having to travel the mile or so to the parish church. What is left is really just a stone box, with a 15th century roof and windows.

Such chapels were rare in England, and this is very unusual as a survivor. It it not open on a regular basis, mainly just these weekends.

We parked the car and walked through the gate, down an arcaded path with roses growing all over it, and at the end was a member of the Trust waiting to greet us.

She told us some of the history, and that the house it once formed a wing of, has all now gone and replaced with the 16th century house that now adjoins it.

I did notice the hagioscope, or squint, right away. This is a small window or opening, pointing to where the altar was, so a priest outside could see when mass was held and relay it to those outside.

Or it could have been an opening for an anchorite or anchoress's cell. We crawlers get excited about the possibility of an anchorite cell, though almost never is.

Other than that, there was some ancient and less ancient graffiti on the walls inside, I snapped that too, before going into the vaulted undercroft to take my final pictures.

I then had to explain to the warden, and then other visitors about the hagioscope, meaning that in total we were there for just over half an hour.

Jools wanted to go swimming, so we set course for home, calling in at Waitrose in Hythe so I could get some guanciale to make "proper" carbonara.

They had none.

Though we did by sticky toffee pudding, custard and some onions, the former so we had something sweet to eat when we got home.

As we were leaving the shop, the heavens opened and the rain hammered down, soaking us as we scampered across the car park, but then by the time we got to Folkestone, not only had the rain stopped, it hadn't rained there at all.

Back in Dover, I went to take Jools to the prom for her swim, only to discover the knuckledraggers of Britain First were holding a tiny demonstration, blocking the road.

We turned round and went home, cooked the pudding and warmed the custard and tucked in to eat 20 minutes after getting back.

No thunder during the afternoon, as storms were a couple of hundred miles to the south over France, which had at least one tornado.

And none in the evening either, as I watched football through the remainder of the weekend.