(England)...Some of the remotest places in England lie very close to the huge sprawl of London. The marshes that skirt the north and southeast of the shire of Kent — known as the Garden of England — are windswept, cold and lonely but offer much in return to those who walk and fish them. Derek Jarman, the film director, who died in 1994, used to own and live at wonderful Prospect Cottage, which faces the grey and often hostile English Channel at Dungeness. His pebble garden consists of statues and art made from the debris he found on nearby beaches. This small community lines the shore and consists of small homes, an old lighthouse and a nuclear-power plant whose warm outflow attracts sea birds. Dungeness often feels like it is the end of the world. Shingle beaches and vast stretches of inland shingle make it possible for lonely, wonderful walks. I was born in this county and particularly like its marshes, both around Cliffe (the subject of the photograph above) and Romney. I visited Jarman’s house in 1991, and just when I walked past, he came up to the window.
Kent is historically divided. Those born to the east of the River Medway, which near or less divides the shire, are known as Men of Kent, whilst those to the west, such as I, are referred to as Kentishmen. This wonderful tradition actually goes farther back in history — in Anglo-Saxon times the population was divided between those of the East and West centings. Kent has, on occasion, stood out on a limb. The nearest shire to the European mainland, it has received its share of invaders, most notably the warrior kings Hengist and Horsa and has been in its time a separate kingdom, as was the Isle of Skye in Scotland.
Dungeness is part of the great marsh at Romney, famous for its sheep and smugglers and the curious, landlocked Isle of Oxney. The church of Stone-in-Oxney contains a very rare example of a Mithraen altar. The marsh is as desolate place as one could look for. Irrigation ditches crisscross flat fields, fences and villages appear weathered, boats left ashore on the shingle creek and lonely Martello towers, which defended the population from French and Dutch invaders, peer through the mist as ghostly sentinels.
I would recommend the excellent and sometimes sinister Disney film The Scarecrow of Romney Marsh for future insights into this enchanting area. Every year, the Kentish town of Rochester, which is near to Cliffe, holds a Dickens Festival to commemorate the writer, who after becoming internationally famous bought a house, Gads Hill Place, up the road in Higham.
The townsfolk dress up in Victorian garb, cricket matches take place on the green behind the vicarage, exhibitions of ancient English craftwork and traditional dancing are held and rumours fly around that one pub — somewhere in town — is selling beer at 19th-century prices. Morris dancing, often ridiculed, takes place. The word Morris comes from the Greek Moira, the Goddess of Fate, supposedly, the dance being an interpretation of a Greek celebration. Two millennia of changes and adaptations have made Morris Dancing quintessentially English, and numerous troupés — or “sides”, as they are more correctly known — gather in Rochester during the Sweeps Festival in May to do battle.
Intricate dance steps are choreographed, the air echoes with the smashing of tree bough against tree bough and vast quantities of ale are consumed. Women can only join in by being an accompanying musician. The dances have a decidedly pagan spirit running through them, most notably in the opening ritual to greet Jack in the Green, a recent metamorphosis of a woodland spirits that have been celebrated since the days when all this energy was exerted to honour the ancient festival of Beltane. Rochester is also well known for its castle and cathedral. The former, dating back to the 11th century and the reign of William the Conqueror, is, at 40 metres, the highest Norman keep in the land.
Built by Bishop Gundulf, the castle was laid siege to for two months in 1215 following an uprising against King John. Kent has been an independent kingdom, peopled by the Celtic Cantii, where both the names Kent and Canterbury both stem. The cathedral, the second oldest in the country, dates back farther, to 604. Gundulf is often depicted in Morris dances — normally in a very bad light. Taking this time-progression back another step, the city of Rochester (cities in the United Kingdom can only be called such if they possess a cathedral or royal seal) was established during the Roman occupation as an important stopping place on the way to London (Londinium or, before that, Londinos).