By Paul James
We let Pete’s group go first and then left Canterbury in a South Easterly direction up a modest off road climb up Bekesbourne Hill to Cobbs Meadow where we turned to spend a few moments take a view of the city, dominated by its magnificent cathedral before continuing through the wheat fields to pick up the Bekesbourne Road.
There was a bit of traffic at first but the roads were so much clearer than South West London despite it being a sunny Saturday on a Bank Holiday weekend near the coast; it was like riding in Normandy; a pretty flat Normandy at that. There was a robust wind, sometimes in our faces, sometimes blowing across us as we travelled North East. It was enough to split any peloton and we had become strung out along the road long before we saw the signs for Howlett’s Wild Animal Park where, given the history, I felt it wise to hang back from the front and let those wearing orange and black take the eye of any wandering feline escapees.
The countryside was chocolate box and one was tempted to stop and take pictures. When we arrived at the village of Wickhambreaux this urge became irresistible and we all dismounted and regrouped beneath the spreading chestnut tree by the thatched cottages.
We turned Eastwards full square into the wind which strung us out again as we crossed the River Stour at a place with the potentially comedic name of Plucks Gutter and made our way to a little street corner café in Minster for elevenses in a traditional English setting, a sunny garden sheltered from the wind.
Suitably refreshed, we turned North, at last, and keeping better together, passed through Birchington on Sea to hit the Thames Estuary coast at Minnis Bay. Even on a Bank Holiday weekend these are not heavily populated places and we turned West, up river, along the Northern Sea Wall. Ahead of us, silhouetted on the distant skyline, were the iconic Reculver Towers and, riding in a group but also alone, one felt a tranquillity with the wind now behind us as we passed the few cycling in the opposite direction fighting the wind as we had done and made our way along the bleakly beautiful coast towards the towers, some miles away.
There is a bleakness to this coastline, and cocooned in a tranquil bubble as I cycled along, no traffic, no hazards, no potholes, no pedestrians, one had the chance of reflection. To the horizon on our left, nothing but marshland. In 1943 the Government moved the trials of the bouncing bomb to this coastline from Chesil Beach in Dorset because it was less populated and the secrets could be better kept and it had the towers as easy navigational assistance for low flying Lancaster bombers. The film clips you might have seen of these trials were shot at Reculver. For years after the raid two stray prototypes of Barnes Wallis’ invention lay untouched in the bog where they had bounced off course; it was only in 1977 that the Army turned up and removed them.
On the seaward side, the estuary here so wide you cannot see the other side even on such a clear day, there lies the infamous shoal known as the Kentish Knock where in 1652 the English fleet repelled the Dutch invader in a major naval battle. I wondered if you could have seen it from here. You certainly could not have seen anything on the night of 6 December 1875 when the SS Deutschland ran aground in a snowstorm. She was carrying emigrants from Bremen, trying to go round the coast to Southampton and ultimately bound for New York. Nobody could see her flares and distress signals in the blizzard and 57 lives were lost, men and women, but including five Catholic nuns escaping religious persecution in Bismark’s Germany. The incident would probably now have been forgotten had it not been immortalised in a famous poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins.
The countryside was chocolate box and one was tempted to stop and take pictures. When we arrived at the village of Wickhambreaux this urge became irresistible and we all dismounted and regrouped beneath the spreading chestnut tree by the thatched cottages.
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| Wickhambreaux |
We turned Eastwards full square into the wind which strung us out again as we crossed the River Stour at a place with the potentially comedic name of Plucks Gutter and made our way to a little street corner café in Minster for elevenses in a traditional English setting, a sunny garden sheltered from the wind.
Suitably refreshed, we turned North, at last, and keeping better together, passed through Birchington on Sea to hit the Thames Estuary coast at Minnis Bay. Even on a Bank Holiday weekend these are not heavily populated places and we turned West, up river, along the Northern Sea Wall. Ahead of us, silhouetted on the distant skyline, were the iconic Reculver Towers and, riding in a group but also alone, one felt a tranquillity with the wind now behind us as we passed the few cycling in the opposite direction fighting the wind as we had done and made our way along the bleakly beautiful coast towards the towers, some miles away.
There is a bleakness to this coastline, and cocooned in a tranquil bubble as I cycled along, no traffic, no hazards, no potholes, no pedestrians, one had the chance of reflection. To the horizon on our left, nothing but marshland. In 1943 the Government moved the trials of the bouncing bomb to this coastline from Chesil Beach in Dorset because it was less populated and the secrets could be better kept and it had the towers as easy navigational assistance for low flying Lancaster bombers. The film clips you might have seen of these trials were shot at Reculver. For years after the raid two stray prototypes of Barnes Wallis’ invention lay untouched in the bog where they had bounced off course; it was only in 1977 that the Army turned up and removed them.
On the seaward side, the estuary here so wide you cannot see the other side even on such a clear day, there lies the infamous shoal known as the Kentish Knock where in 1652 the English fleet repelled the Dutch invader in a major naval battle. I wondered if you could have seen it from here. You certainly could not have seen anything on the night of 6 December 1875 when the SS Deutschland ran aground in a snowstorm. She was carrying emigrants from Bremen, trying to go round the coast to Southampton and ultimately bound for New York. Nobody could see her flares and distress signals in the blizzard and 57 lives were lost, men and women, but including five Catholic nuns escaping religious persecution in Bismark’s Germany. The incident would probably now have been forgotten had it not been immortalised in a famous poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins.
While I was lost in my reveries, imagining I could see the rim of a rusty oil-drum shaped bomb in the furze, the miles ate themselves up and soon we were at the towers and dismounting to pass through the ruins.
I would have loved to have spent a bit longer there. I could remember being taken as an eight year old and being excited about it falling into the sea, only to be disappointed the following year when it was still there. All these decades later I was pleased to see it much as I remembered it. The Romans built a small fort at Reculver soon after they landed in Britain in 43AD, and constructed a much bigger fort around 190AD, one of a string of forts to protect the Kent coastline. The Saxon kings turned the buildings into a church in 669 and by the time of the Domesday Book in 1086 it was a wealthy Norman church in a thriving town on the coastal sea routes. Silting and erosion over the years saw its decline and after 5 houses and the inn were lost in storms and high tides in 1804, the sea defences and then the church were dismantled, the towers left standing as a navigational aid.
We cyclists just pushed our bikes to the grassy knoll beyond and had a rest in the sunshine before proceeding Eastwards along the cliff, an off-road climb, and then down, via an unwitting detour, to the sea front at Herne Bay where we split up to find lunch.
After lunch we set out together Westward but soon split, Paul’s group moving ahead of Helen’s. I was with Paul as we went through Hampton to Tankerton and took another unwitting detour seeking the Northern end of the Crab and Winkle Way, a cycling and hiking route which follows the old railway line South to Canterbury. Well, nearly follows it; we discovered that some of the gradients through the woods were appropriate only for a funicular railway.
It is in the main a dedicated track, off road but not difficult, through the quiet countryside. We stopped at the church of SS Cosmus and Damian at Blean, known for good reason as the church in the fields. Nowadays it seems odd that a church here should be named after these two saints, who lived in the Eastern Mediterranean. They were twin brothers, Arab physicians in the third century who converted to Christianity and treated people without charging. They were killed along with their three younger brothers during the persecution of Christians by the Roman Emperor Diocletian around 300 AD. In late Roman times, though, their fame was widespread. This beautiful, simple church in the middle of nowhere claims its foundation around the time Augustine came to re-introduce Christianity to England, around 598AD. There was a church there at the time of the Domesday Book but the present building was built by order of Henry III in 1233 at a cost of £20.3s.8d.
From there it was only a few miles back through Dukes Meadow and past the University of Kent before we re-entered the cathedral city, this time from the North West.
I would have loved to have spent a bit longer there. I could remember being taken as an eight year old and being excited about it falling into the sea, only to be disappointed the following year when it was still there. All these decades later I was pleased to see it much as I remembered it. The Romans built a small fort at Reculver soon after they landed in Britain in 43AD, and constructed a much bigger fort around 190AD, one of a string of forts to protect the Kent coastline. The Saxon kings turned the buildings into a church in 669 and by the time of the Domesday Book in 1086 it was a wealthy Norman church in a thriving town on the coastal sea routes. Silting and erosion over the years saw its decline and after 5 houses and the inn were lost in storms and high tides in 1804, the sea defences and then the church were dismantled, the towers left standing as a navigational aid.
We cyclists just pushed our bikes to the grassy knoll beyond and had a rest in the sunshine before proceeding Eastwards along the cliff, an off-road climb, and then down, via an unwitting detour, to the sea front at Herne Bay where we split up to find lunch.
After lunch we set out together Westward but soon split, Paul’s group moving ahead of Helen’s. I was with Paul as we went through Hampton to Tankerton and took another unwitting detour seeking the Northern end of the Crab and Winkle Way, a cycling and hiking route which follows the old railway line South to Canterbury. Well, nearly follows it; we discovered that some of the gradients through the woods were appropriate only for a funicular railway.
It is in the main a dedicated track, off road but not difficult, through the quiet countryside. We stopped at the church of SS Cosmus and Damian at Blean, known for good reason as the church in the fields. Nowadays it seems odd that a church here should be named after these two saints, who lived in the Eastern Mediterranean. They were twin brothers, Arab physicians in the third century who converted to Christianity and treated people without charging. They were killed along with their three younger brothers during the persecution of Christians by the Roman Emperor Diocletian around 300 AD. In late Roman times, though, their fame was widespread. This beautiful, simple church in the middle of nowhere claims its foundation around the time Augustine came to re-introduce Christianity to England, around 598AD. There was a church there at the time of the Domesday Book but the present building was built by order of Henry III in 1233 at a cost of £20.3s.8d.
From there it was only a few miles back through Dukes Meadow and past the University of Kent before we re-entered the cathedral city, this time from the North West.
It had been a different, and really enjoyable day out. 70 km of cycling by my reckoning and only 400m of climbing.
Thank you Helen and Paul for all the trouble in preparing and recceing a ride such a long way from home.
ride to Canterbury · Pete's Saturday ride · Helen's Saturday ride · Sunday ride · ride home
Thank you Helen and Paul for all the trouble in preparing and recceing a ride such a long way from home.
