The Saxon Shore Way
Fourth leg: Faversham to Whitstable 10 miles
4 December 2004 

An overcast day and I left home to see an urban fox rummaging in the dustbins in my street. I departed half an hour later than I'd planned, and caught a train to Faversham that got me in at 0940. The town was looking as lovely as I remembered it, and I sauntered past the bustling food stalls under the guildhall, the antique and flea market along Abbey Street, heading for Faversham creek. Halfway down the road, I spotted a stunning spire, so took the road up to the remaining part of Faversham Abbey.

The syringe-like spire of the abbey

I had a quick look round the abbey graveyard, and the sad 18th century gravestones, before retracing my steps back to Abbey Street and its wonderful 16th and 17th century houses. Some had plaques on them recalling their history, like this one, close to the abbey, which commemorated Thomas Arden. He was mayor of Faversham in 1548, and was murdered in 1551 'at the instigation of his wife'. This became the subject of a popular Elizabethan play called, snappily, 'Arden of Faversham'. It would be interesting to revisit the case. 

Thomas of Arden met a sticky end here...

The plaques on the houses told me the boundaries of the abbey (presumably dissolved by Henry VIII), and soon I was walking among more modern build. Then past the Anchor Inn, and just as I was beginning to doubt my map reading, a Saxon Shoreway sign told me I was on the right route. Round the corner was the start of Faversham creek.

Thames barges (or similar) at Faversham creek

I was sad to be leaving Faversham behind, as it's a lovely town, but it was good to be re-connected with the Swale. As I was stooping to tie a shoe-lace, a little dog ran up to help, and I fell into step with his owner. He pointed me in the right direction (there was no obvious path among the boats) and when I told him I was doing the Shoreway, he cheerfully told me I was doing it the wrong way round. He explained that he'd seen a piece on Meridian tv where someone was encouraging people to walk by hiking from the other end of the route. We parted with a wave, and I headed out past a fine old warehouse.

The oyster warehouse

Once past the oyster house, I saw that it had been beautifully refurbished as a family home. The creek was at low tide, with only a dribble of water running past. 

Footbridge at the end of the boatyard

I walked through the small boatyard, and said hello to one old chap who was emerging from a couple of old railway wagons that seemed to be his home. Then over the footbridge and past an inevitable sewage works, heading towards the sea. It was easy walking, and even though the day was cloudy, I was getting quite hot in my winter walking gear. 

I kept my eye on the map as I walked past Nagden cottages, but easily found the little lane that skirted the buildings. But there was a rather alarming sign...

So no danger there

Very soon I was in open country, and into the South Swale Nature Reserve. There were lots of birds but no sign of the weasels and stoats promised on the nature reserve information board. 

Looking back down Faversham creek

Soon I passed Hollowshore, which juts out into the water and separates Faversham creek from Oare creek, and now I could see the path I'd walked back in August on the far side. It seemed like a long time ago. Round another corner and there was Harty Point, on the opposite bank, and the Isle of Harty to the north.

Harty Point to the right, and the island in the distance

Occasionally a patch of blue sky promised better weather, but it stayed overcast all day. So the sea and land merged in a mixture of greys, slates and muddy browns. The sea was uncannily still, with not a breath of wind. The one bright spot of colour was the lichen on the sea wall, now running due east along the coast.

Looking west along the yellow wall

To my left was another nature reserve: Castle Coote - although there were no coots. But I did spot a group of swans. It seemed odd to see swans swimming in the sea, but why not? I stopped to watch a huge flock of birds swirl over to the island - a wonderful sight to see so many separate individuals all co-ordinated as one entity.

The white dots are the swans

The path all along the coast is built up beside the sea wall, and the land falls away to drainage ditches and fields beyond. It was easy to imagine how the land was once underwater. Just past Graveney Marshes I was joined on the sea wall by some huge sheep. They stared at me balefully before skittering away.

Woolly walking companions

Once past the nature reserve, the sea came more closely to the shore, and I was rather excited that soon the isle of Sheppey would disappear and it would be open sea for the first time on the walk.

Groynes and greyness

My path along the sea wall

There were no styles along the path; instead there was something I'd not seen before - a kind of small gate with springs that you part to get through. They worked well, and avoided the mud-on-bum problems left by well-used styles.

Sprung gate

By now I was getting close to Seasalter, but first I headed a little bit inland to go past the Sportsman pub, and a collection of caravans and beach huts. A sign warned all comers that this was a private beach...although I think 'beach' is putting it a bit strongly. Yes, there's sea, but it's all mud and no sand. Still, the huts are probably great in summer.

Lonely huts by the shore

I headed into Seasalter, which has a large caravan site on its outskirts. In Anglo-Saxon times, Seasalter was a bustling port exporting, not surprisingly, salt. It was also, later, 'the haunt of smugglers', but I'm not sure how true that is. 

Approaching Seasalter

A flock of geese was grazing by the roadside as I entered the town.

Seasalter fowl

What came as a big surprise were the houses lining the street: all pre-fabs, with names like 'Mermaid's Cave', 'Con Brio', 'Oyster View' and, to my joy, 'The Groynes'. There were plenty of cars parked outside them, but I don't know if they are weekend houses or lived in permanently. Several owners were out refurbishing or building new pre-fabs. 

The pre-fabs

After a mile of road walking, the path took me down to the sea again, and I could smell the ozone. And to my right the pre-fabs gave way to 'real' houses. People were out putting up external christmas lights.

Discarded union flag by the path

I gave in to my inner teenager and spent some time walking on the sea wall. Then it was back inland, crossing a patch of grass that looked worryingly like someone's back garden, before finding the road. After crossing the railway line and walking a bit more road, the path led me down a steep set of steps and back over the railway to get to the sea again.

Railway bridge between Seasalter and Whitstable

From the top of the bridge I looked down on more beach huts. This was the outskirts of Whitstable, and the open seas of Whitstable Bay.

Bright beach huts

The path offered a couple of options: I get enough golf courses on challenge walks, so I opted for the little avenue running in between the huts, all shut up and padlocked against winter.

Hut avenue

Soon I was in the town, and I liked these pebble decorations on the houses, although they'd look ghastly if they weren't by the sea.

Sea creatures in pebbles and paint

I wound my way up into the town centre, and suddenly came across this old ship. It's the Favourite, an oyster yawl built in 1890. It was still sailing in 1944, when it got peppered with machine gun bullets. (The information board didn't say which side fired on it.) And now it sits among the houses.

Final mooring for the Favourite

I wandered round town, past the famous Oyster Stores, now a fine restaurant. Whitstable has come up in the world over the past decade, and many Londoners have re-located here. You can see it in the high street and Harbour Street: lots of shops selling posh stuff, side-by-side with tapas bars and bistros. It's nice, but I still prefer Faversham.

Built in 1898 for storing oysters bound for London

I headed for the harbour, which is home to a small inshore fishing fleet. I sat on a bench by the side of the harbour, and ate my packed lunch, keeping a keen eye on a fisherman who was getting his nets ready for sailing out.

Tall fish sheds to the left

My bench was just outside two big fish markets, so after lunch I went in and bought a beautiful big mackerel for supper. I'd made the 10 miles in around three hours, and although it was only 1330 by the time I'd finished looking round, I was chilly and the light was drawing in. So I decided to head for home and a hot bath.

This was a wonderful walk: nice and easy route-finding, and a great mix of creek, sea and interesting towns. But Whitstable station is very desolate: about a mile from the town centre with no tea room and you have to get the key for the loo from the ticket office. Luckily the trains to London run every half an hour so there wasn't long to wait. And I loved sitting in the snug carriage, sipping plastic tea and racing through Faversham, Sittingbourne, Gillingham and Gravesend and thinking: I've walked this.

The next few legs will be more difficult: no more catching a train to one town and walking on the next station.

Journey's end at Whitstable harbour

leg 5