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It was the first TADS trek since our two day exploration of Bath and Bristol six whole weeks ago and unlike that walk I'd drawn up a far more relaxed route. The weather was so hot though that it felt about the same distance. One thing the two walks, and so many others, did have in common was that they were both absolute tonics, that I laughed a lot, that I drank beer, that I ate curry, and that I came home from them feeling roughly a squillion times better about life than I did before I headed off for it.
I've written, often, of how walks with friends can lift the spirits, blow away the cobwebs, recharge the batteries, and, even, shoo away the black dog but what if I was to start a walk on the back of an already really rather lovely week, a week in which my spirits were high and my mood was buoyant? Well, it turns out a lovely walk in beautiful countryside with much loved friends, ale, and curry works then too. I felt great when I left for Canterbury on Saturday morning and I felt even better when I got home just after midnight that evening. I think it's what's called 'a result'!
Having risen early I arrived at Honor Oak Park station in good time, took the train to London Bridge, and changed for the slow, stopping, service to Canterbury West. Both Shep and Adam were on an earlier train and Pam, Neil, and Belinda were taking a fast one from St Pancras and would change at Ashford where they'd join me. Kathy would complete the gang later in the day.
Once we'd convened outside Canterbury West station I informed the assembled walkers that we'd be visiting the home of no lesser superstar than Rupert the Bear and that I'd even considered hiring a Rupert outfit to wear for the walk. With the mercury nudging thirty degrees it would have been an unwise move. I'd certainly have discarded my tartan scarf not long into the ramble.
After a brief sing to myself of "there's a little bear you've never seen before who's a lot of fun" it was time to join in "all of his games" and find out a little bit about his creator, Mary Tourtel - born in Canterbury in 1874, and the city itself, a UNESCO World Heritage Site on the banks of the River Stour.
The area has been inhabited since the Lower Paleolithic age (3.3 millions years ago to 300,000 years ago) and was the main settlement of the Celtic Cantiaci tribe. When the Romans captured it, they renamed it Durovernum Cantiacorum and rebuilt it on a grid which is still, for the most part, the city plan today. The city's position on Watling Street gave it its strategic importance and in the shape of the eighteen metre/sixty foot high Westgate we can get a feel for what the city once looked like.
A medieval gatehouse built of Kentish ragstone in 1379, it is the last survivor of Canterbury's seven original gatehouses and, after serving time as jail and a post office, now houses a museum. Canterbury was walled by the Romans around 300AD and, as the gate that lead to and from London, the Westgate was the most important. It's the largest surviving city gate in all of England. Not the last record holder we'd visit during this Kent campaign.
We passed to the side of the Westgate, cars go through the middle, and made our way up the delightful pedestrianised High Street. The sun was out and so were the local drinkers, mingling with the hordes of tourists to give a busy air. The Stour is split in two for most of its flow through Canterbury and we crossed both parts. The most pleasing aspect was the Tudor Weaver's House looking out at tourist boats sailing listlessly upstream.
The Stour is all in Kent and flows from Lenham to Pegwell Bay and out into the North Sea. Following the broad and impressive Medway it is Kent's second most important river and has been used, as rivers tend to be, for fishing and water mills. We saw plenty of fish in it but a sad note was struck with the news that a young boy had drowned in the river earlier in the week.
Past a statue of Geoffrey Chaucher (whose A Canterbury Tale tells of pilgrims coming from London Bridge to pay their respects to Thomas a Becket as well as providing the name for this walk and the name for a somewhat potable local ale - see later), we turned into Mercery Street and headed down to the cathedral.
There was both a huge queue and a fee so we did not go in, we're here to walk, but I took some time out to have a mint choc chip ice cream and regale my long suffering friends with some history. The Archbishop of Canterbury is the primate of the Church of England and the worldwide Anglican church owing to the importance of St Augustine (6c - approx 604) who served as apostle to the pagan kingdom of Kent. The cathedral, or Justin Welby's house as I like to think of it, was founded in 597 but the Romanesque/Gothic monster we see now was built 1070-1077.
In 1170, following the martyrdom of Thomas a Becket ("who will rid me of this turbulent priest?") who was murdered in the cathedral, Canterbury become THE place for a pilgrimage in the UK though some pilgrims had been visiting since the murder of St Alphege by Cnut's men in 1012. As well as the cathedral, Canterbury has, in King's, the oldest extant school in the world. It was founded in 597AD.
I grabbed two Greggs vegan sausage rolls (dessert before main course, tsk tsk) and we headed across St Augustine's roundabout (which probably doesn't date to the sixth century) and had a little nose into St Augustine's Abbey. Again, we didn't fancy paying so my spiel was recited at the viewing gallery. Two cyclists listened intently. Perhaps I should start charging!
It's the ruins of a former Benedictine monastery founded in 598 and dissolved in 1538 during the English Reformation. Like the city itself, whose walls it lays just outside of, it's a UNESCO World Heritage Site and was founded when Pope Gregory I had sent Augustine to convert the Anglo-Saxons during Aethelbert's reign as King of Kent. A sign outside the abbey informs us that journey would have been 1800 kilometres so there's a future waking project if anyone would like to fund me.
Like the abbey, the prison (HM Prison Canterbury) is no longer in use but it was once home to the Kray twins, the Pakistani cricketers Salman Butt and Mohammad Asif (who were jailed for their part in a match fixing scandal in 2010) and the South African snooker played Silvino 'the Silver Fish' Francisco who did time for smuggling cannabis. Michael Stone did time in Canterbury for the murders of Lin and Megan Russell in 1996. It's a controversial case now. Stone's still in prison but his legal team insist that the serial killer Levi Bellfield is the true perpetrator. Bellfield has confessed to the murders and it seems likely we've not heard the last of this case.
Just up from the prison stands another record breaker. St Martin's church is the first and oldest church in the whole of the English speaking world. It's quite a delightful little place too. Before Augustine arrived from Rome it was the private chapel of Queen Bertha of Kent and is dedicated to Martin of Tours (a 4c bishop). Tours, in France, being near where Bertha grew up.
We found Mary Tourtel's grave and it had no mention of Rupert the Bear whatsoever so I placed a vaguely human like twig on it in memory of her invention of Raggety, one of the more disturbing characters in the Rupertverse.
We left the church, passed through leafy glades and a large reed pond, saw a huge toadstool and eventually came out into open fields near the banks of the beautiful Stour. But what caught our eye even more was the inviting looking George and Dragon pub. It had been a good schlep and we'd worked up quite a thirst.
I had a Canterbury Ale as we sat in the pleasant beer garden and, inevitably, a 'two pint mistake' followed (though not for Adam who stuck to lime'n'soda). The George and Dragon is in the town of Fordwich and this place, too, has its own claim to fame. Fordwich, a 'remnant market town' is classified as the smallest town in the whole of the UK (population:381) and boasts, perhaps unsurprisingly, the smallest town hall too (built in 1555). It's listed in the Domesday Book and was once used as a port for boats to and from Canterbury but the river here hardly seems wide enough now. Pam was pleased to learn that Fordwich trout are among the largest of all trout. Izaak Walton has written of the fishing to be had.
There would be no fishing for us and once we'd supped up and I'd larked about on a lovely green Ferguson tractor we crossed back over the Stour and headed uphill towards Sturry. Turning left in front of another inviting looking pub and then quickly right through another churchyard we were now climbing quite steeply - by Kent standards at least. Adam had just done Cat Bells in the Lake District so it probably didn't seem much to him.
We passed oast houses (you're not really in Kent until you've seen at least one oast house), traversed rail lines, saw bright red strawberries growing, pylons looking resplendent in the sunlight, and an abandoned shopping trolley just to remind us that we were still in 'broken Britain'. Best of all, our elevated vantage point gave us pleasing views back over Canterbury and its cathedral.
A reasonable yomp brought us to the outskirts of a housing estate and we passed through this for some time before turning on to a busier road and finding ourselves outside Ye Olde Beverlie pub. It wasn't a scheduled stop, and Kathy had arrived in Canterbury, but everyone fancied a sit down, a drink, and even some brief respite from the now intense sunshine.
It was a pleasant stop. I switched to lager but stuck with the local stuff (Spitfire) and the staff were friendly and chatty but we had to move on. We worked our way downhill, crossed the Stour again (I think eight crossings were made in all) and, with the cathedral showing us some of its best sides, we worked our way to the Thomas Becket pub to meet Kathy. Past Orange Street where, disappointingly for fans of Madness and Prince Buster, an earthquake was most definitely not erupting.
One more drink and it was on to The Ancient Raj for food. An unusual Indian eaterie this. There was some old grey haired white guy playing a guitar and the set up was larger than normal and seemed to be a converted pub. I had a brace of Cobras, one and a half poppadums, tarka daal, chapati, and pulao rice (I'd fancied paneer jalfrezi or shashlik but there was none to be seen) and if it wasn't anything to wax lyrical about it certainly did the job.
Adam shot off before the end of the meal, and then Kathy, Pam, Belinda, and Neil took a train back to St Pancras. Shep and I had one last crafty pint in The Bishop's Finger before we too took the train back. I was tired from walking, though less so than the couple above, but in such a jovial mood I nearly forgot to disembark at London Bridge. When I did I took the train back to Honor Oak Park where everything was, fortunately, closed. So I headed home to bed for some crackers and cheese.
We'd not had a Canterbury Tale to rival one of Chaucer's but we'd had a bloody lovely day out, we'd had some laughter, some drinks, and some reasonably decent grub. Thanks to everybody for sharing this walk with me (as I said on the day it's the nearest thing I'm having to a birthday party this year) and thanks to Pam and Belinda for the photos. I went easy on you in the August sunshine but in two weeks time we're down on the south coast for 'A Ramble on the Hamble' and you'll have to earn your beer and curry then. Everybody come and join in our game!
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