Almost five months had elapsed since we completed Hollingbourne to Charing in June 2023.
We had canceled once, the preceding week, in the immediate aftermath of Storm Ciaran, so were hopeful of better weather.
In the event, we were rained on more than the forecasts had led us to expect, but there were some dry patches too.
We had decided to travel on a Friday, when the once busy rush hour trains are still strangely bereft of commuters.
But we were almost derailed by a line fault, reportedly just outside the depot, which caused the cancellation of Jacqui’s service. She hopped on a bus to our station, only just catching the latest possible train from there into Waterloo.
We rendezvoused at the café by the passage to Waterloo East, where we bought much-needed coffee and pastries before descending to await the 08:34 service to Maidstone East.
Changing trains at Swanley, we waited 20 minutes for our connecting service to Charing, arriving at our destination by around 10:20.
There was steady drizzle as we left the Station to pass along the High Street, which was far less photogenic than it had been in the hot June sun.
We rejoined the Pilgrims Way, in the form of a turning off the busy A252, just to the north-east of Charing. Shortly afterwards, both the prospect and the weather improved dramatically, and we could see the top of the tower of St Peter’s and St Paul’s Church across the fields.
The path continued, almost in a straight line, towards Westwell.
Dencher Wood, to our left, was beginning to display the full richness of its autumn colours.
We passed a wrought iron bench, dedicated to the memory of Ralph Blake, and a tiny wooden house complete with balcony, before drawing abreast of the entrance to Charing Quarry, which has some archaeological significance.
The path now followed the edge of woodland. The Kent Gliding Centre was hidden from view behind the trees to our left, while, to our right, we looked down over fields to the M20 and beyond.
The stormy, blue-grey sky threw the yellow fields and trees into sharper relief.
We were now on Westwell Downs, celebrated in a poem by William Strode (c.1602-1645), a religious scholar and Oxford University’s Public Orator.
It begins:
‘When Westwell Downes I gan to tread,
Where cleanely wynds the greene did sweepe,
Methought a landskipp there was spread,
Here a bush and there a sheepe:
The pleated wrinkles of the face
Of wave-swolne earth did lend such grace,
As shadowings in Imag’ry
Which both deceive and please the eye.’
We stopped for five minutes on a bench beside carved trees.
And, somewhere about here, lives a dog owner with a dry sense of humour.
Emerging from the trees, we passed Dunn Street Farm and its campsite, now directly above Westwell.
Some claim that Jack Cade, the leader of Cade’s Rebellion, was killed here in 1450.
But others believe he met his end at Heathfield in Sussex.
The route departed from the Pilgrims’ Way at this point, and we began to cross fields, entering Eastwell Park, for three centuries the seat of the Earls of Winchilsea.
The Tenth Earl, George Finch-Hatton (1791-1858) is remembered for duelling with the Duke of Wellington in 1829. The young Queen Victoria had visited him here the previous year.
His son, the Eleventh Earl, also George Finch-Hatton, gambled away the family fortune and was forced to let Eastwell Park.
From 1874 until 1893, it was occupied by Prince Alfred, Queen Victoria’s second son. Both Victoria and Edward, Prince of Wales were frequent visitors and a photograph survives of Victoria skating on the lake, St Mary’s Church in the background.
We approached this now ruined church across a field full of swedes.
This distracted me from holding forth on my visceral antipathy towards Suella Braverman, now the late and entirely unlamented Home Secretary.
The signage wasn’t the best, and we had to be set right by a sporting gentleman who had parked his blue Land Rover close by.
All that remains is a Fifteenth Century tower and a Nineteenth Century mortuary chapel. Aside from the flint-built tower, much of the Church was constructed from limestone and, when the valley was flooded to create the lake in 1841, the water undermined it.
A century later, wartime tank exercises added the coup de grace, causing the roof to collapse in 1951.
We sat on the step of the bricked up entrance to the chapel, facing the lake, to eat our sandwiches, the rain resuming as we did so.
The peace was soon disturbed by a half-hearted duck shoot taking place across the lake. A beater came past us, accompanied by a rather disobedient dog, seemingly called ‘Goose’.
A few volleys ensued, but the rain must have put a damper on the spirits of the sportsmen, who soon desisted.
The Eleventh Earl, his second wife and only son are buried in the churchyard. There is also a grave carrying the legend:
‘Reputed to be the tomb of Richard Plantagenet, 22 December 1550’
And we paused beside this on our way out.
Richard was allegedly the son of Richard III who, after Richard’s death at Bosworth, assumed a different identity.
By 1546, he was supposedly employed as a bricklayer by Sir Thomas Moyle (1488-1560) who lived at Eastwell at that time. Learning Richard’s story, Moyle allowed him to live on the estate until his death.
Some sources claim that the tomb actually belongs to Sir Walter Moyle, Sir Thomas Moyle’s grandfather, who died in the 1470s.
Immediately prior to our departure, I regret to say that I had to advise my companions of the inadvisability of urinating upon what is still consecrated ground.
Resuming our progress through Eastwell Park, we met some remarkably static sheep before spotting this signpost, cunningly designed to make Brexiteers apoplectic by describing the route as a ‘Grand Randonée’ and ‘European Path E2’.
The E2 Path is essentially a composite of existing national paths, stretching from Galway in Ireland to Nice in France, though the Irish section may not yet exist! The English section has Eastern and Western variants, the latter concluding with the North Downs Way. The total length is approximately 3,000 miles.
A grande randonée (note the feminine ending) is one of a network of long distance footpaths, mostly in France, Belgium, the Netherlands and Spain. None are in England – not even the South West Coast Path is so designated – so quite why this signpost declares otherwise is a mystery.
The rain was falling in earnest as we reached Boughton Lees, essentially a triangular village green surrounded by three roads, one being the exceedingly busy A251.
The Pilgrims Way route is said to pass across this green, which was donated to the Village in 1933 by one H W Knocker. The Boughton and Eastwell Cricket Club, founded in 1798, has played here since.
We walked along Lees Road, rejoining a road called Pilgrims Way at the corner of the green.
Shortly after Brewhouse Lane, we came upon the turning for the alternative North Downs Way route via Canterbury. It told us that we had completed 98 miles to this point, and had 25 miles still to go before reaching Dover.
The rain was unrelenting.
Passing Perry Court Farm, we were much tempted by the extensive windfall lying on the orchard grass, but continued on our way.
The guide book told us there was a splendid view of Wye Crown, which we will have to ascend next time, but the poor weather made it rather less splendid.
We overtook a dawdling teenager with a plastic bag and mobile phone, who tracked us to Wye Station, passing with an inane grin as we decided whether to wait for the next train, or else delay for the consumption of coffee and cake in the Village.
Perhaps we looked funny to him.
The majority opting for the train, we faced a half hour wait for our service back to Waterloo East.
The rain had finally stopped, but the delights of Wye must now wait until next year!
TD
November 2023
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