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WARNING: CONTAINS PURCHASE OF PINT OF BEER FOR OVER THREE QUID
I'm walking to Canterbury West, and I note from a waymarker that I'm actually on the Stour Valley Way at this point. I take photos lest I leave this section out, and ponder that the next waymarker doesn't point in the direction of the first. Through the underpass below St Peter's into a deserted Westgate Gardens where my shoes are coated with grass. There are no more signs, so I cross the bridge over the Stour and head up to St Dunstan's.
I'm in plenty of time to buy a return ticket to Wye, although the twenty pound notes causes it to spit out many pound coins. The person behind me tuts. Whatever. There's a train waiting already, but the doors aren't active. Odd. There is one open though, and I board, walking down the train toward the rear. It's hot and steamy and I open the windows.
I'm glad I'm off on the southern side of the station, as the level crossing - a manual one - remains shut for the ten minutes until the next train passess. My guess is the road is closed for twenty minutes out of every hour. I cross the Wye, and follow the North Downs Way up to where it joins the Stour Valley Walk and turn left into Church Street. I buy a kilo of Arran potatoes and a game pie, as well as lunch and a hot dog. I take a quick skeg around Wye's Books before heading back to the station for the trip to Chilham. The barriers are already closed.
It is, of course, a while before I'll be on the Stour Valley Walk - I turn left out of the station and browse briefly in Bagham's Antiques, where an antiquarian bookshop detains me briefly. There's a nice print of Church Street St Pauls, but I can't carry it. I walk along the main road, trying to keep out of the traffic. Left down past a garage, and through the water works, and across the bridge by the old mill, spotting a waymarker to indicate the right path. After that no indication of the left turn up the hill, but I guess there is no other way to go. I leave the Stour behind and below as that steep decline is now a climb. I catch my breath and cross the drain works, and I'm onto the route.
The old byway curves around and more or less follows the contours, although it does dip and rise from time to time. There are a mixture of surfaces - mostly flint, which can be a trip hazard, sometimes large aggregates, sometime grass with tire track worn through to mud. It isn't the easiest going. I skirt Long Wood, before the track emerges into farmland and finally becomes Mystole Lane. I hold back to allow two horse to pass, before crossing the road to the next bit of path.
There's a sign on the ground, laminated A4, telling me the path is closed for the waterworks, and indeed the long scar cuts across the field. So I didn't cross here and climb over the gate, nor did I follow the obvious path through a harvested field, bearing right at a point three quarters of the way across (at a waymarker post) and then get a little bit lost finding the exit. No, I stayed on Mystole Lane and went around. Somewhere the sound of revving cars disturbs the peace.
More road walking, until a permissive path turns left - and meets the path that went diagonally across the field I've walked alongside. Curious. I'm also only metres from the river, but I can't hear or see it because of the line of bushes. I turn right out of the field, alongside the side of a house - and suddenly I'm in rural suburbia. I cross the road to the pavement which allows me to cross a railway line in safety, then bear right along what looks like more of the byway although it wouldn't line up. That was Shalmsford Street, a village stretched along a road off the Ashford Road.
Two Alsatians bark from a compound, but I'm safe as the path goes onto a grassy field. The path is dangerously close to nettles, so I trespass a little, as I walk off Explorer 137 back into home territory. The route isn't clear, with no obvious waymarker, but on my right is the railway and, next to the bus on the other side of the track, a sign pointing left. It's actually the Canterbury bus, but I don't want it. I open the gate and look both ways until crossing. I walk facing the traffic, and pause on the bridge, to look at the Stour.
I pass a family with a kid on a bike, and head on into Chartham. I've been here before - on the bus, yes, but also with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
matiquola and brisingamen and under my own steam on a bicycle. There's a splendid local Tudorbethan building, Bedford House, owned by Mormons, and a triangular village green. On the front of a clearly Flemish building is a bust of Charles I. H'mm. I have a Kinks soundtrack in my head. This is the spot for lunch, but neither of the benches look quite right. I cut through the path by St Mary's - this is the continuation of my route, after all - and sit round the back of the church.
I twig that there's a pub in the village, the Artichoke, and I figure that's a good lace to go. I cross the road to the public loos, but they are shut, and then carry along the road over the river and past the paper mill. The road twists back on itself, and to the left, and I'm about to give up when I see the place in question. Is it open?
It's a Shepherd's Neame pub, which is a shame, but there are people sat out the back so I go through the back door and buy a pint of Late Red. £3.05. Ouch. This had better be be good. Behind this obviously medieval building are a handful of picnic tables, one occupied by working men avoiding their wives, and one by a young father, waiting for his. A girl plays around, clearly connected to the pub. The pint's not bad, one of the better Neame brews. I'm questioned over my map and I explain the walk. Obviously I've come from such and such a pub in Chartham...
I retrace my steps after an hour, crossing a mill pond and the river, and turning right along a tarmac path that gives me the closest connection to the river yet. To my left are lake caused by the extraction of gravel, and there are works - Brett Mills - on the other bank. There are also historic things, but it's too far to see. There are various bridges and pipes and conveyors. All too soon the tarmac gives way - this is a path to nowhere, and moves to track, then grass. There's a set of steps over a pipeline, and then a kissing gate. Inevitably, the path curves away from the river and uphill to a style: the A28.
This has not been thought through: you not only follow a main road over the railway (a bridge), but it bends around back on itself and you are heading back to Chartham Station. There's a need to cross the road to continue, and there's a long wait for a gap in the traffic. The road ascends here, to Chartham Hatch, but I'm not going that far. At Howfield Manor there's an open day of some kind, but I pass on by and find Newmafruit. Navigating around farm buildings and trailer caravans, I find a road I cycled around. There are clearly hundred of pickers here, speaking various shades of Eastern and Central European languages. Probably paid next to nothing. There are row upon row of apples yet to be plucked, and occasional pairs. At one point you finally spot the cathedral - but it's quickly lost sight of. I pause at a picnic table and take the view of the fishing lake and change the batteries in the camera.
At the end of the road is a gate - no cycling down here then? I cross the Tonbridge Manor crossroads, and get onto a familiar path lined with brambles - some years ago I had walked down the road I'm headed for sans torch, wallet or mobile and done part of the North Down Way, crossing the A2 to Bigbury as darkness was falling. I'd found my way down to this crossroads, headed for the Stour, hoping there was a crossing there to Thanington Without. Now I spend an hour picking, and pondering about - elderberries? rosehips? blackcurrants? I used to recognise them. I fill a bag from Wye market with about a kilo of fruit and head onwards. I think of jam making, of blackberry crumble, of blackberry muffins, of infusing vodka... A 101 applications if there were brambles enough and time. I got here too late last year as well, and planned an earlier trip, but there had not been the time, not the gap in the diary. But at least I got this much.
I spot a mushroom - but it's wiser not to touch. A horse and rider pass, as I huddle in the bushes to give them space.
The path goes under the A2 and emerges on a road that leads up to Toddler's Cove. There's another level crossing to navigate, and I spot the mound which is all that is left of the Elham Valley line here - it would have crossed the river to a station (South) on Wincheap, and cuts through fields on the other side, marking a clear line in some of the house and leaving more footings in the field at the end of Lime Kiln Lane where the bulls are kept. Where would it go from here though? Harbledown? Or just joining an existing line?
There's a gate here which I climb over THAT'S IT THAT'S WHEN IT HAPPENED and go into the field, It's not footpath, but council land, and I head for the river. I notice a woman sat with her daughter and she smiles at me.
I go through another kissing gate under the railway to East station and catch sight of some sad-looking horses. The women comes up and starts talking to me as if she knows me. I rack my memory - it's the wife of a colleague, whom I've met once or twice, but I'd lost the face. We chat for a while, but I have an ice cream in minds and I head up past Bingley's Island and Toddler's Cove and over a bridge to retrace this morning's steps. There are patches of people spilled across the gardens, and the odd dope cloud although there's more of that in Greyfriars. Ahead is my destination - Westgate Towers - and I touch it to mark an ending.
The route from here on is not signed again until the abbey, in truth has not been signed since the underpass at St Peter's. The quickest route - and the one I take part of - is the various roads which form a high street - St Peter's, High Street, The Parade, St George's Street. But you can follow the river around Pound Lane and down to Sainbury's, although it's messy to get back to the route. All I want for now is a 99 ice cream. The next route is a problem for another day.
Prologue
I'm walking to Canterbury West, and I note from a waymarker that I'm actually on the Stour Valley Way at this point. I take photos lest I leave this section out, and ponder that the next waymarker doesn't point in the direction of the first. Through the underpass below St Peter's into a deserted Westgate Gardens where my shoes are coated with grass. There are no more signs, so I cross the bridge over the Stour and head up to St Dunstan's. I'm in plenty of time to buy a return ticket to Wye, although the twenty pound notes causes it to spit out many pound coins. The person behind me tuts. Whatever. There's a train waiting already, but the doors aren't active. Odd. There is one open though, and I board, walking down the train toward the rear. It's hot and steamy and I open the windows.
Why
I'm glad I'm off on the southern side of the station, as the level crossing - a manual one - remains shut for the ten minutes until the next train passess. My guess is the road is closed for twenty minutes out of every hour. I cross the Wye, and follow the North Downs Way up to where it joins the Stour Valley Walk and turn left into Church Street. I buy a kilo of Arran potatoes and a game pie, as well as lunch and a hot dog. I take a quick skeg around Wye's Books before heading back to the station for the trip to Chilham. The barriers are already closed.Chill 'em
It is, of course, a while before I'll be on the Stour Valley Walk - I turn left out of the station and browse briefly in Bagham's Antiques, where an antiquarian bookshop detains me briefly. There's a nice print of Church Street St Pauls, but I can't carry it. I walk along the main road, trying to keep out of the traffic. Left down past a garage, and through the water works, and across the bridge by the old mill, spotting a waymarker to indicate the right path. After that no indication of the left turn up the hill, but I guess there is no other way to go. I leave the Stour behind and below as that steep decline is now a climb. I catch my breath and cross the drain works, and I'm onto the route.The old byway curves around and more or less follows the contours, although it does dip and rise from time to time. There are a mixture of surfaces - mostly flint, which can be a trip hazard, sometimes large aggregates, sometime grass with tire track worn through to mud. It isn't the easiest going. I skirt Long Wood, before the track emerges into farmland and finally becomes Mystole Lane. I hold back to allow two horse to pass, before crossing the road to the next bit of path.
There's a sign on the ground, laminated A4, telling me the path is closed for the waterworks, and indeed the long scar cuts across the field. So I didn't cross here and climb over the gate, nor did I follow the obvious path through a harvested field, bearing right at a point three quarters of the way across (at a waymarker post) and then get a little bit lost finding the exit. No, I stayed on Mystole Lane and went around. Somewhere the sound of revving cars disturbs the peace.
More road walking, until a permissive path turns left - and meets the path that went diagonally across the field I've walked alongside. Curious. I'm also only metres from the river, but I can't hear or see it because of the line of bushes. I turn right out of the field, alongside the side of a house - and suddenly I'm in rural suburbia. I cross the road to the pavement which allows me to cross a railway line in safety, then bear right along what looks like more of the byway although it wouldn't line up. That was Shalmsford Street, a village stretched along a road off the Ashford Road.
Two Alsatians bark from a compound, but I'm safe as the path goes onto a grassy field. The path is dangerously close to nettles, so I trespass a little, as I walk off Explorer 137 back into home territory. The route isn't clear, with no obvious waymarker, but on my right is the railway and, next to the bus on the other side of the track, a sign pointing left. It's actually the Canterbury bus, but I don't want it. I open the gate and look both ways until crossing. I walk facing the traffic, and pause on the bridge, to look at the Stour.Chart 'em
I pass a family with a kid on a bike, and head on into Chartham. I've been here before - on the bus, yes, but also with matiquola and brisingamen and under my own steam on a bicycle. There's a splendid local Tudorbethan building, Bedford House, owned by Mormons, and a triangular village green. On the front of a clearly Flemish building is a bust of Charles I. H'mm. I have a Kinks soundtrack in my head. This is the spot for lunch, but neither of the benches look quite right. I cut through the path by St Mary's - this is the continuation of my route, after all - and sit round the back of the church.I twig that there's a pub in the village, the Artichoke, and I figure that's a good lace to go. I cross the road to the public loos, but they are shut, and then carry along the road over the river and past the paper mill. The road twists back on itself, and to the left, and I'm about to give up when I see the place in question. Is it open?It's a Shepherd's Neame pub, which is a shame, but there are people sat out the back so I go through the back door and buy a pint of Late Red. £3.05. Ouch. This had better be be good. Behind this obviously medieval building are a handful of picnic tables, one occupied by working men avoiding their wives, and one by a young father, waiting for his. A girl plays around, clearly connected to the pub. The pint's not bad, one of the better Neame brews. I'm questioned over my map and I explain the walk. Obviously I've come from such and such a pub in Chartham...
I retrace my steps after an hour, crossing a mill pond and the river, and turning right along a tarmac path that gives me the closest connection to the river yet. To my left are lake caused by the extraction of gravel, and there are works - Brett Mills - on the other bank. There are also historic things, but it's too far to see. There are various bridges and pipes and conveyors. All too soon the tarmac gives way - this is a path to nowhere, and moves to track, then grass. There's a set of steps over a pipeline, and then a kissing gate. Inevitably, the path curves away from the river and uphill to a style: the A28.This has not been thought through: you not only follow a main road over the railway (a bridge), but it bends around back on itself and you are heading back to Chartham Station. There's a need to cross the road to continue, and there's a long wait for a gap in the traffic. The road ascends here, to Chartham Hatch, but I'm not going that far. At Howfield Manor there's an open day of some kind, but I pass on by and find Newmafruit. Navigating around farm buildings and trailer caravans, I find a road I cycled around. There are clearly hundred of pickers here, speaking various shades of Eastern and Central European languages. Probably paid next to nothing. There are row upon row of apples yet to be plucked, and occasional pairs. At one point you finally spot the cathedral - but it's quickly lost sight of. I pause at a picnic table and take the view of the fishing lake and change the batteries in the camera.
At the end of the road is a gate - no cycling down here then? I cross the Tonbridge Manor crossroads, and get onto a familiar path lined with brambles - some years ago I had walked down the road I'm headed for sans torch, wallet or mobile and done part of the North Down Way, crossing the A2 to Bigbury as darkness was falling. I'd found my way down to this crossroads, headed for the Stour, hoping there was a crossing there to Thanington Without. Now I spend an hour picking, and pondering about - elderberries? rosehips? blackcurrants? I used to recognise them. I fill a bag from Wye market with about a kilo of fruit and head onwards. I think of jam making, of blackberry crumble, of blackberry muffins, of infusing vodka... A 101 applications if there were brambles enough and time. I got here too late last year as well, and planned an earlier trip, but there had not been the time, not the gap in the diary. But at least I got this much.I spot a mushroom - but it's wiser not to touch. A horse and rider pass, as I huddle in the bushes to give them space.
The path goes under the A2 and emerges on a road that leads up to Toddler's Cove. There's another level crossing to navigate, and I spot the mound which is all that is left of the Elham Valley line here - it would have crossed the river to a station (South) on Wincheap, and cuts through fields on the other side, marking a clear line in some of the house and leaving more footings in the field at the end of Lime Kiln Lane where the bulls are kept. Where would it go from here though? Harbledown? Or just joining an existing line?
There's a gate here which I climb over THAT'S IT THAT'S WHEN IT HAPPENED and go into the field, It's not footpath, but council land, and I head for the river. I notice a woman sat with her daughter and she smiles at me.
Canterbury
I go through another kissing gate under the railway to East station and catch sight of some sad-looking horses. The women comes up and starts talking to me as if she knows me. I rack my memory - it's the wife of a colleague, whom I've met once or twice, but I'd lost the face. We chat for a while, but I have an ice cream in minds and I head up past Bingley's Island and Toddler's Cove and over a bridge to retrace this morning's steps. There are patches of people spilled across the gardens, and the odd dope cloud although there's more of that in Greyfriars. Ahead is my destination - Westgate Towers - and I touch it to mark an ending.The route from here on is not signed again until the abbey, in truth has not been signed since the underpass at St Peter's. The quickest route - and the one I take part of - is the various roads which form a high street - St Peter's, High Street, The Parade, St George's Street. But you can follow the river around Pound Lane and down to Sainbury's, although it's messy to get back to the route. All I want for now is a 99 ice cream. The next route is a problem for another day.
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