It seems a long time since I last set forth on the Old Way and looking back on this blog it has indeed been almost four months since that epic journey from Lewes to Winchelsea. It seems fitting then to be coming back after such a long absence to the final three days of the Old Way in its entirety. These last sections through Kent are rather amended because these are the sections of the path closest to where I grew up and I was keen to stitch in pilgrimage to sites of personal import. But I can promise nothing of the glory of this most magnificent of counties is lost, in any historical, natural or spiritual sense by taking this adjusted route.
This was a two day effort of around 51km (about 31 miles) taking us from Winchelsea in the border of Kent and East Sussex, around the edge of the expanse of Romney Marsh, largely hugging the ancient Saxon Shore Way, to end at St Martin’s church on St Martin’s plain on the western edge of Folkestone. More on that later.
On day 1 I was joined by the good-web-developer-him-indoors. He dropped me in Winchelsea, and then went off to park in Rye where I was domiciled for the night, having failed utterly to find anywhere to stay in Hamstreet. I made quick work of the 5km between Winchelsea and Rye, dropping down from the tiny town onto the plain below the ridge, passing over farmland by way of Camber Castle before entering Rye at the Brede Sluice, heading up the classic cobbles of Mermaid Street. I won’t linger on a description here as there is more detail to be found in previous posts on walking in the area; but the weather was much better this time and Camber Castle was a much less gloomy prospect in the sunshine.
I hastened to meet my walking partner for the day and check in to the pretty tea-room-cum-B&B, Haydens on the high street in Rye, before heading down through the the Landgate and out towards the path hugging the River Rother. The river meanders its stately way through flat grassland and is home to myriad fresh and sea water birds at this tidal reach. Along its length are tributaries draining into the river from the surrounding marshland, with various locks in wide ranging states of (dis)repair. At points small jetties and fishing points are set up, and whilst we saw almost no-one in our time on the river, we got a sense of a river community living on and around its fast flowing waters.
After a 3km or so walk along the river bank, we reached Iden Lock where the Royal Military Canal links into the Rother. The lock is now disused but was a key point in this 28-mile defensive canal, which effectively makes Romney Marsh an island! Built in 1804, the idea was to keep Napoleon’s army from invading the land beyond the marsh (not entirely sure that 10m of width and just 150 cm deep would achieve that) and is the third largest defensive structure in England (after Hadrian’s Wall and Offa’s dyke). We’ll be seeing a lot more of the canal as there is a footpath along its entire length. We followed this path all the way up to Appledore, a beautiful little village with a fascinating history. In particular it was briefly home to some 5,000 Vikings who overwintered in the village in 892 before facing King Alfred’s Saxon forces (and defeat) in Wessex. Whilst there is every chance they enjoyed the excellent local beer, they probably missed out on the incredible fish pie served in the Black Lion pub where we stopped for lunch. Highly recommended!
Coming out of Appledore we spotted the Old Way off to our right, possibly a vestige of the original 13th century pilgrim’s way? Heading north east and upwards from the village we soon found ourselves walking through the Gusbourne vineyard; obviously bereft of leaves and having undergone winter pruning, the vineyard in the sunshine promised good things to come but also gave us commanding views over where we had walked, providing a sense of scale of the marsh, with the sea (and France!) twinkling in the distance.
We carried on towards Warehorne, passing the very beautiful St Mary’s church, sadly closed to visitors but a lovely example of a 12th century tower (top tip for fellow walkers, there is a toilet block available in the car park at St Mary’s!). This is situated on Battle Hill, presumably named for the battle between Saxon’s and those pesky Danes who ultimately took up residence in Appledore!
Warehorne is a small village with a large pub; sadly we didn’t tarry as we were losing the light a little so pushed on to Hamstreet, emerging onto its main road with just enough time for a swift pint in the Dukes Head before catching the train back to Rye (which took about 15 minutes).
After a relaxing evening strolling round Rye (nibbles and gin at the Old Bell) him-indoors drove homeward whilst a decent night’s sleep at Haydens awaited me. Following a fabulous breakfast with amazing views over the surrounding countryside, I sallied forth to catch the train back to Hamstreet to start the second day’s walking to St Martin’s Plain. I cut up through Hamstreet Woods, retracing my equally muddy steps from the end of the Greensand Way over a year ago (“quagmire“ is not too strong a word!) and emerged gratefully onto a farm track, which turned off onto the Saxon Shore Way path again. The way diverges from this to follow a local footpath down to the picturesque hamlet of Ruckinge. Beware a sneaky gate that looks like the way but is actually someone’s garden (they were very gracious about my trespass however)! The church at Ruckinge dominates the village and is a handsome 12th century building. But my joy was stirred by the fact that the original Anglo-French survey to calculate distances between the Royal Observatory at Greenwich and the Paris Observatory included a baseline on this spot. Nerd-vana.
From the hamlet of Ruckinge we pick up the Royal Military Canal path again, headed east, following the line of the canal. There is perhaps 1.5km of narrow, gullied, enclosed path which was tough going underfoot and very slippy. Thankfully, at Marsh Cottage the path opens up and tracks the canal through sheep fields with glorious vistas up to the escarpment on the left and across the marshes to the sea on the right. The sky was huge over the open landscape, with only the occasional farm building punctuating miles of unspoilt country.
Another kilometre or so on the tiny church of St Rumwold’s, standing all by itself, rises into view. St Rumwold was a precocious saint, preaching to the masses at the tender age of 2 days old, before passing into his god’s care at the age of 3 days old. Only 5 sites in the the entirety of England venerate the young chap and he isn’t mentioned in any calendar of saints outside of these isles; he was also sometime patron saint of Folkestone fishermen who would hold a feast in his honour (consisting of the finest fish they had from the catch) on Christmas Eve. The church, like many of the marsh churches, carries within it the sense of service to a small community and also contains traces of fellow pilgrims on the way through. It’s a slightly lonely spot, not being in or close to a village, but a welcome rest and peaceful place to spend some time.
Continuing on alongside the Royal Military Canal, the escarpment to the left becomes steeper and there are more signs of larger conurbations ahead. Another 5km along the RMC path brought me beneath Lympne and at this point I followed the path up (very steep!) back up to meet our old friend the Saxon Shore Way. The ‘upward’ element was improved by sneaky views of some of the residents of Port Lympne animal park; nothing like bison, camels and gazelle to distract you from a tough climb. Mind you, totally worth it for the stunning views out over sparkling sea, even more of France and a look back to see how far I’d come. Could just about identify Rye in the distance! After a quick snack and an airing-of-feet I tackled the final 9km of the way….
Emerging from Lympne on the main road, I passed Lympne Castle and the Shepway Cross, the latter being both a memorial to the 1914-18 war, but also marking the spot where the ancient ‘court of Shepway’ would meet (as nearby Hythe was a Cinque port it was exempt from the jurisdiction of other external courts).
I cut through farm yards at Pedlinge before entering the woods around Brockhill Country park. Place of many a woodland expedition when I was a child! The woods are peppered with little snippets of nature poetry, tied to trees, and I took a moment to pause and listen to the rustle of nature around me, including the final dive of a bird of prey. Continuing on through the woods and crossing a field to emerge onto the road into Saltwood, home of Saltwood castle (sometime home of Tory minister Alan Clarke MP and place where the assassination of Thomas Beckett was planned) a remarkably well preserved medieval pile. You get a good view from the path and skirt around the grounds before crossing under a disused railway and then climbing up towards Dibgate Camp, trying to ignore the various ‘don’t touch the bullets if you find any’ signs. For this is military training turf, in fact the whole area has a long history of military encampent. It’s what brought my family to the area too.
From Dibgate camp you get a decent view over the Channel Tunnel terminal (where I worked as a teenager); if I could walk on water, the distance I had covered from Winchelsea so far would get me to France from this point. Heading east I descended into a little valley, at the bottom of which is Seabrook Stream, and then up a sharp incline to come out on the edge of what used to be (and maybe still are) the married quarters for army families in this part of the world. In fact I emerged on the very road my parents moved 5 year old me into sometime in the ‘80s (the 1980s, in case my kids are reading this)! It hadn’t changed much. Almost adjacent to the end of the street lay the churchyard of St Martin’s, the church where myself and my brother sang in the choir (before he went on to sing at Canterbury Cathedral), place of happy memories and simpler times.
I was, to be honest, slightly overwhelmed at the experience of returning to a place I don’t think I had seen for over 25 years. What was most striking was how little it has changed; the same old red brick path weaved through the gravestones to the site of the old church hall (long gone) which had been precariously perched above an almost sheer drop down to the road. It has been said that when you walk a long distance path you often meet yourself coming back along it; I think this was my moment. At least I recognised myself!
I have one day left on this voyage, walking back through time from marriage and motherhood in Southampton to girl treble in Folkestone. That will take me from St Martin’s, the closest thing I have to a ‘mother church’, to Canterbury Cathedral, mother church of the Anglican communion, and a fitting end to this adventure!
Just a final word for this section. I met up with an old school friend whilst I was in town; we hadn’t seen each other for almost 14 years but it felt like no time had passed at all. We had a couple of drinks down at Folkestone’s harbour arm, a no-go area when we were kids, which has been beautifully re-developed and gave me the best view of my former home I have seen in a long time! I would be remiss not to include a picture of it. Even if I didn’t actually walk there….
Maps for day 10 and day 11 of the Old Way here:
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