The Saxon Shoreway
Leg 5: Whitstable to Upstreet 13 miles
22 January 2005

Ivy berries on Chislet marshes

Up at 0600 and out into the dark of Tottenham at 0700. The sun was just coming up - I love the sense of excitement on winter walks when the light is just beginning.  Some confusion at Victoria when I said I wanted a ticket to Whitstable but return from Canterbury...I paid too much, according the inspector on the train - I could have just got a return to Canterbury. The sun was a beautiful orange, low over London, as we pulled away over the Thames. 

The walk from the station to Whitstable harbour was much shorter than I remembered: I must have been very tired last month. It was good to be back by the sea again, and the path along the shore was smooth and easy.

Looking back to Whitstable

The route was packed with dog walkers - I've never had so much company on a walk. The weather was perfect: chilly but no wind and very bright. A couple of runners came past, including one who was running on the shingle which struck me as cruel and unusual. I got used to the constant sound of waves and shingle, in ceaseless rhythm.

Groynes and sea lashing the shingle

There were beach huts all along the path, and two men were putting up a new one. I was now alongside Tankerton  Beach where the mineral copperas was collected in the 17th and 18th centuries.

Tankerton beach huts hoping for summer

The sun was now quite warm, and I was getting hot in my down jacket. Looking ahead, I could now see Hampton in the distance. 

Hampton jutting out ahead of me on the horizon

Out of Tankerton bay, the path veers inland a little, but just before that I spotted these rooks drying themselves on the groyne. They were very unafraid, and I passed very close by one on the other side of the path. He eyed me beadily.

Novel rookery

Just before the path headed away from the sea's edge, I was confronted by this wonderful sign:

Linguistic teaser

Why did it say 'not condoned' rather than 'forbidden'? Or 'not allowed'? Did 'not condoned' mean that it wasn't actually illegal? In which case, what was the point of 'not condoning'? I kept returning to this happy conundrum throughout the day. There was a little footbridge as the path headed back to the coast, and I paused to allow a couple and their five labs cross.

Dog walkers and their pack: looking back

Another very clear and smooth path led on to Hampton. By now, I really was hot, so paused to stuff my down jacket into its sac and stow it on my back. I was loving this walk: although it was a bit strange to see so many people out. Almost everyone said hello, including several of the dogs.

Hampton getting closer...

...and closer, with marker buoys bobbing

Hampton turned out to be a very neat little town, hugging the slight rise in the land. I stopped for a while to look back the way I'd come, and black-headed gulls, with their white winter plumage, flew overhead.

from Hampton, near the pier

One thing that struck me was how defended against the sea this strip of coast is: many of the groynes are new, and here at Hampton you can see the rocks placed to stop the relentless grabbing of land from the sea. Along the path from Whitstable, there are signs warning that the path can get cut off by the sea. According to my guidebook, the sea was nearly a mile further out in Roman times. I left Hampton and the first sight of Herne Bay was another reminder of the power of the sea: the end of Herne Bay pier, now all by itself.

Fisherman with the remains of Herne Bay pier

It was only another mile to Herne Bay - somewhere I've never been. Again, beach huts lined the approach, and as I reached to town, the coast path led up some steps into the town itself. It looked very clean and tidy in the sun, with lots of people out, strolling along the public gardens. The flower beds were planted with purple pansies: a lovely monochromatic scheme.

Beside the pier: looking on to the bandstand

All that remains of the pier - landing stage in the distance.

In the town, I read on one of the helpful information boards that Herne Bay had been established in 1830 by a group of businessmen. The pier had been one of the longest in Europe - so that visitors could land by steamboat. It must have been quite a sight, and I've found this old picture of it:

There have been three piers, and the last one finally got so damaged by storms in the late 70s that the remaining structure was removed. There's now a campaign to rebuild it. The town end of the pier now has an ugly sports centre built on it. I then walked on to the bandstand - a rather fine building.

Inside the bandstand

I walked on, soaking up the sun, past more gardens and a play area for children. 

The clocktower, with much salt erosion

The clocktower was built for the coronation in 1837, with a memorial plaque added in 1919. It's a beautiful structure.

Canons pointing seawards

I was suddenly overcome by a desire for a sausage roll, so I headed up towards the town, passed the museum. It was the last day of their exhibition 'Herne Bay at war', and in the window there were old photos of high barbed wire fences running along the sea wall. I found a bakery and bought an anaemic sausage roll and an iced bun, stowing them for lunch. 

Victorian villas in pretty seaside pastels

Then it was back out of the town and the path reverted to hugging the sea. There was shingle scattered across the path: I guessed as the result of high winter tides. About a mile along, I came across a lab swimming for a toy in the rolling waves. I stopped to watch as the dog brought the toy ashore, dropped it at his owner's feet and waited for more. The owner threw the toy back out to sea and in leapt the lab. I said hello to the owner as the lab returned. The dog ran over to me and shook himself dry, giving me a gentle shower. Another mile and I looked up to the coastguard's office, high above the path. Two coastguards waved happily at me. 

By now, the towers at Reculver were coming into view.

Abbey towers in the distance

I quickly covered the distance along Beltinge, then came to the point where the path leaves the sea. There were a couple of fisherman down on the shingle, and a small hill leading up to the start of Reculver country park. I wouldn't be this close to the sea for some time, and I was sorry to leave it.

Goodbye sea

After such flat walking for the last couple of legs of the path, it felt novel to be going up hill. The view from the path was great.

Heading up

The path took me to the top of the hill, then dipped down and back up through a patch of woodland. A cross country runner came steadily towards me and passed after a cheery greeting.

Woody tunnel

After some twists and turns, I was out along the top of the cliff, and into a carpark next to Bishopstone Manor. I sat down on a seat to drink some water, and was closely inspected by a poodle. 'He's after your lunch,' said the owner. 

Herne Bay in the distance from Bishopstone

The path now was well above the sea, with lots of signs of erosion. Then Reculver came into view: there's a roman fort here, and the stunning remains of St Mary's church. The hill leads gently down to a carpark and, joy of joys, toilets. I decided to spend a few minutes here getting closer to the church.

The twin sister towers at Reculver

The church was founded here in AD 670, but it got mashed by the Vikings. These towers are the remains of the medieval church, and you can see how close to the cliff edge it is. Stabilisation work done in the 1970s makes it safe for now. The towers were once topped by steeples. 

One of Reculver's other claims to fame is that this is where Barnes Wallace tested the bouncing bomb.

By now it was just before 1230, so I was well on schedule. Rather than stop here for lunch, I decided to press on. It will be 20 more miles before I see the sea again.

Heading inland

I took a very careful look at the map and wondered how well way-marked this section would be. But I needn't have worried: the familiar signs guided me through a series of lanes and cross country over fields. 

Footbridge towards Chislet

For the first time on this leg, I was on my own: no runners or dog walkers. It was good to be solitary again. And the silence! Weird after so many miles accompanied by the waves.

Looking back towards Reculver and the towers

The path took me under the railway line then up 20 metres - practically mountainous for the Saxon Shoreway. At the top of the slope was a windmill, now sail less and part of a private house. The path on the map was now supposed to cross a field and then the A299, and I'd wondered earlier in the week when I studied the map how the hell this was going to be possible. I'd spotted a C road that went over the A road, and wondered if this would be a much better route. Kent County Council have evidently had the same idea, and the way marks took me over the footbridge. God job too: the A299 is double-carriage way and certain carnage for any pedestrian.

The official route is 100yds on down the A299...no thanks

I walked down the sliproad and onto a pleasant farm track. The land here is so flat: I could almost imagine it all under water.

Near Keel Farm: this used to be marsh

Over to my right there were once over 40 saltworks, and my guidebook told me that the Beaker people lived here in 2000 BC. A slight incline took me to 21 metres above sea level. That's enough here to give a panoramic view. I settled on a old roller thingy to have lunch, using my pouched down jacket as a cushion.

Lunch spot with map

The sausage roll was as bad as it looked, so I stowed it away after a bite. And the iced bun had welded itself to the paper bag. 

Looking out over the land, I could see pylons, and checking with the map I realised that once I was under them, I was nearly home. I felt a bit creaky as I got up, not helped by walking for the first time in new approach shoes. It was downhill now to the village of Boyden Gate, possessor of a fine Wesleyan chapel.

Tiny well maintained chapel

I was back on road surface again, and wanted to make sure that I didn't miss Gilling Drove, one of the old drove roads that criss-crossed the marshes in late medieval times. I wasn't the only one looking out for it: a couple of dog walkers drew up to give their boxer dog a run.

Gilling drove, between two dikes

Past Chitty, a footbrige crosses Sarre Pen. I can't find much info on Sarre Pen so far, but I guess it's a fairly ancient dike. It was getting cooler now as the sky got cloudier.

My path is to the left of Sarre Pen

Just before I left Sarre Pen I startled a heron, who flew off above me. I'm sorry I disturbed him. Then a small climb up some steps at Walmers Hill and I was nearly at the end.

Walmers Hill - my lunch spot is on the ridge in the distance

Just a field to cross, and I came to the A28 at Upstreet, where I turned right to find my bus to Canterbury.

The end of this leg this side of the road...

It was now 1430 - perfect timing, and just over 3mph pace with lots of photo stops. This was a fantastic leg: such a mixture of landscapes. And the weather had been very kind.

I only had to wait 15 mins for a bus, and had a great short walk on top of the city walls at Canterbury to reach the station. But then discovered, horrors, that there was a replacement bus service. How I hate those words. So had to wait 30 mins for a bus, and another 20 at Faversham for the train. But even that didn't detract from a perfect January walk.

On to leg 6