The garden of England ...

That's what the county of Kent - it is a county, isn't it (please correct me if I'm wrong) - is called. I guess you could consider it being Britain's equivalent to the Loire Valley in France, the latter being commonly referred to as 'Le Jardin de France'!

During my drive through the countryside with Mats I noticed some nice orchards and "pick-your-own" strawberry fields (no Beatles in sight!), but the most intriguing 'fruits' I saw were these in Charing:

.. and these

Sue quickly figured out what the first were. The second remain a mystery, though. They look like capers, but are way to big for that. The second option is figs. But I can't imagine figs growing in the English climat. So what are these two veggies/fruits according to you?

To be honest, I know what the first ones are called in French, but at loss when it comes to the English name. I could look it up, of course, but it's so much easier to ask you. Especially as I spend most of my working hours browsing through dictionaries.

The second 'fruit' is a complete mystery, though ...

Royal Mail

On Friday, after doing my weekly chores – shopping, cleaning, washing, etc. – I snuggled up in my armchair and turned on the TV. As usual, there was nothing on it. Don’t you just hate it, having over 80 channels at your disposal and nothing worth watching? However, my digital TV subscription comes with a ‘rental’ option, where you can rent anything from children’s programs to X-rates movies.

The selection is updated on a daily or weekly bases – I’m not sure because I don’t rent films that often. Frustrated with the poor daily programs, I zapped to the ‘on demand’ section and more specifically the ‘most recent’ offer. And there I found the Oscar winning ‘The King’s Speech’ with the handsome and talented Colin Firth as the stammering King George VI. Although Bertie, the later King George VI, was the second son of George V, he became King after his brother, Edward VIII, had abdicated to marry the American divorcee Wallis Simpson. Just for the record: in 2007, I visited the Château de Candé near Tours in the Loire Valley where the controversial couple got married in 1937. You can read about that visit here …

Renting the ‘King’s Speech’ cost 5.99 euro. So I punched in the required code, sat back with a cool beer and enjoyed … This film is absolutely brilliant! If you haven’t seen it yet, I can only say that you have to do so as soon as possible. No wonder it won so many Oscars. I’m not an expert on film making, but this one is perfect in every aspect.

And then today, while going through the photos of my recent vacation in Deal, I came across this one. I had completely forgotten about it.

This letter box dates from King George VI‘s reign (1936-1952). You can see the royal initials and crest on it. It was solidly fixed into the wall of Charing’s post office. Luckily Veronica and Sue pointed it out to me. I would never have noticed it myself. 

Looking up ... and down

In Thursday’s post I mentioned visiting the church of Charing. The two most surprising features of this church can be seen looking up …

The roof timbers.

… and down. For the congregation’s comfort, each and every pew in this church has a full-length cushion. Nothing unusual, if it weren’t that every cushion is adorned with picturesque scenes depicting village life, the country side, religious themes and the name of people who made these needlepoint gems: The Church Women's Guild.

I can’t imagine how many hours it took to produce these little works of art. Because, although they are not really my cup of tea, I do admire the women who, after having taken care of their daily domestic duties, evening after evening sat by the fire happily stitching away. I would like to imagine that it was done by the light of a candle or a petrol lamp, but that would be exaggerating, because the colours look too fresh and the cushions are in too good a condition to have been made during the 20th century World Wars. Nevertheless, one can’t but admire the work and zeal that went into creating these cushions.

How are your needlepoint skills? Mine used to be quite good when I was in primary school. As a teenager, however, I had ‘better’ things to do. I tried to pick it up again just after I got married. I started out on the ambitious project of making a table cloth with a red and green Christmas motif. If someone had ordained then that there would be no more Christmases until the work was finished, Santa Claus would since long have eaten his reindeer, simply in order to survive …

The Bay that never was …

After leaving Canterbury, we drove to Ramsgate, an important ferry port east of Deal. I had never been to Ramsgate and was curious to see the town.

It was a big turn-off. Despite its beautiful location at the foot of a cliff and its fine sandy beach, the town looked gloomy and shabby. I suppose this was mainly due to the port activities and the ship yard. There was a lot of rusty iron, concrete, ancient wood and a smell of petrol in the air.

We walked down the quay and were intrigued by what we saw on both sides of it. On the right there were the wharf and a ship dredging the entrance to the harbour. On the left, on the sandy beach in front of what looked like a casino or some amusement hall, youngsters were having a swim in the sea. Two completely different worlds!

As the town didn’t appeal to us, we didn’t stay long and drove in the direction of Sandwich. Teresa had told us about Sandwich Bay, a tidal bay and ornithological paradise, where she regularly takes her two collies, Megs and Polly, for long walks. After the industrial gloom of Ramsgate we could do with a bit of nature and panoramic sea views.

We carefully followed the road signs and instructions on Mats’ GSP. This led us through some fine country lanes, until … the car that we had been following, stopped at a red and with barrier. A man standing by the barrier stepped up to the driver in the car. While we were waiting, we noticed a ‘private property’ sign next to the barrier and a board announcing an entrance fee of 7.90 Pounds. We could hardly imagine that Teresa would pay that much money just to walk her dogs, so we assumed we had come the wrong way. We therefore turned the car and drove off, hoping to find another road leading into the bay. We never found it and before we knew it, we were back on the main road leading towards Deal.

All in all our day’s outing wasn’t very successful: we didn’t get into the Canterbury cathedral, Ramsgate was a real turn-off and Sandwich Bay will remain a mystery. We weren’t disappointed or sad though, as we did have a splendid lunch at Deeson’s and we really enjoyed each other’s company and the drive in the country.

Later that evening, during dinner with Teresa and Sandy, they confirmed that the barrier we had seen was the official entrance to Sandwich Bay and that local residents could buy a season ticket costing 80 Pounds, which gave them unlimited access to the park all year round. Moreover, there was a little side road, through the sand dunes leading into the bay that only the locals knew of. When we mentioned this the next morning to our host at the B and B, he confirmed the existence of the off-the-beaten track road and even showed it to us on a map. But by then it was too late, because half an hour later we were leaving Deal for the final destination of our journey, Charing … and more adventures, including meeting blogger friends Veronica and Sue …

What's in a name?

On the third and last evening of my stay in Deal, Mats and I had a fish and chips dinner at our friend Teresa’s house. We rendezvoused at The Ship, the pub where we used to hang out from 1977 onwards. Teresa was already there when Mats and I arrived, carrying our heavy burden comprising a bottle of Champagne and two bottles of Sancerre wine. As Teresa and her husband Sandy where buying the food, we had decided to supply the wine to go with it.

The Ship in Middle Street: a free house, aka a pub!
Why is it called a free house?

Sandy, whom I had never met before, turned out to be a very handsome and jolly Scotsman with a very easy and infectious laugh. We had a couple of drinks at The Ship in guise of an aperitif before walking over to their house, which once used to be Rowena’s. It was also the house where I stayed in 1978, 1981 and the last time in 1984. Teresa and Sandy moved into it last February, after Rowena had died in December 2010.

Although most of Rowena’s furniture is gone and despite the fact that Teresa and Sandy are in the process of renovating the house, I still recognized some items that had belonged to Rowena and which had been in all the homes in which I stayed over the years: the large, scrubbed kitchen table, the chairs, an antique cupboard, a side table, etc.

This is probably the photo you've all been waiting for!?
From left to right: Mats, Sandy and Teresa.

Upon our arrival at the house we were greeted by Megs and Polly, two playful collies that were all excited to see us. Downstairs, in the kitchen, Dave was lounging on a chair, hardly interested in what was going on. Dave is Teresa’s and Sandy’s cat. When I mentioned to Teresa that Dave was an unusual name for a cat, she told us how their pet came to be called like that.

Pudding on its best behaviour.

Dave was just a kitten when he came to live with Teresa and Sandy. He was a present from a lady who had had cats all her life and who claimed to be very knowledgeable about felines. She gave the kitten to Teresa telling her that it was a little girl and Teresa called it Pudding. Pudding, affectionately also known as Puddy and Puds, one day developed a bad ear infection and Teresa took it to the vet. All through the visit she referred to Pudding as ‘she’, until the vet looked at her, intrigued. “Why do you keep saying ‘she’?” he asked. “This is clearly a tomcat.” Teresa fell out of the blue and called Sandy to tell him the news. “We can no longer call ‘him’ Pudding.” she added. To which Sandy very stoically answered: “We’ll call him Dave then.” ‘Why Dave?’ Teresa wanted to know. “Because I’ve always wanted a cat called Dave.” Sandy said with his natural aplomb.

And that’s how Pudding became Dave. By the look of him, he didn’t suffer any trauma over the name change. While we were sipping our Champagne he was only mildly interested in what going on around him. It was only when Sandy arrived with the take-away fish and chips that Dave left his cosy chair to circle around the table, waiting for the odd bit of fish to come his way. As the portions were huge, Dave did get his share in the end …

"For heaven's sake, stop calling me Pudding!!
My name is Daaaaaaaaaaave, do you hear?"

Ship ahoy!

Seen on the beach in Deal ...
a local fisherman declaring war on the fish and lobster population.

Notice the flag ...

I keep discovering these photos among the 563 I shot.
I had completely forgotten about this one.

Canterbury revisited

Canterbury is located some 30 km north-west of Deal. It’s a very pretty town with lovely historical buildings and narrow picturesque streets that seem to meander around a central point: the Romanesque-gothic cathedral, which is part of the Unesco World Heritage. The construction started in the late 11th century, which makes it one of the oldest Christian edifices in England. It has a total length of 157 metres and three towers. The north-west tower used to have a spire, but it was demolished in 1705 and never replaced.

The three towers of the cathedral seen from afar.

The house and chimney stack have nothing to do with the edifice.

My first and only visit of the cathedral goes all the way back to 1974 and I was too young to appreciate its real beauty. I therefore wanted to see the edifice again … and explore every corner and detail of it. One of the spots I definitely wanted to see were the stairs were Thomas Becket was murdered by three of King Henry II’s knights.


The story goes that, although Thomas and the king were great friends, the first somehow got on the second’s nerves when, after being named Bishop of Canterbury by the king, Thomas never stopped defying his lord and master when it came to protect the independence of the Church. Mind you this is a very shortened and vulgarized rendering of the facts. So if, you’re historian, please forgive me for taking this ‘shortcut’.


Anyway, one day the king, who once again was upset by something Thomas had said or done, exclaimed “Can nobody free me from this troublesome clergyman?” - or something that boiled down to this. Three of the king’s knights, and probably not the smartest, took his words for real and set out to Canterbury to kill Thomas. They found him praying in the cathedral. After some shoving and pushing around they took out their swords and with one blow split the good man’s skull … I'll spare you the rest of the details …


After the murder of Thomas Becket, who was a well respected man, the cathedral quickly became a place of pilgrimage.

The beautifully sculptered entrance gate leading into the cathedaral grounds.

But back to 2011. When we arrived at the gate leading into the cathedral grounds, we – like all the other tourists – were stopped by a lady holding a large piece of cardboard, showing the cathedral’s floor plan and surrounding grounds and buildings. Apparently there was some function going on in the main part of the cathedral and it was therefore closed till 1 p.m. We could go in, however, and visit the rest. We found the fee of almost 8 Pounds rather steep just to see the grounds and some outbuildings. So we turned around and decided to have a walk and drink first, before going to Deeson’s in Sun Street, the restaurant that I had selected for our lunch.


We roamed the streets of Canterbury for about 30 minutes, talking and shooting the photos I posted yesterday (and there are many more ...). Then we sat on the terrace of a French café, where we had a Kir Royal. While sipping our drinks, I spotted this odd couple on a nearby street bench. They seemed to know each other rather well.

 I wonder what their connection was … Any idea?

The streets of ... Canterbury

Here are some interesting street scenes,
shot in the lovely town of Canterbury, on July 7th ...

Beautiful hanging baskets.
Somehow we can't get the same result here in Belgium.

I wonder why ...
What's the secret?

Tourist boats on the local river.
The houses on the left are the oldest of Canterbury,
and used to belong to the Weavers' guild.

A tourist bus
'squeezing' its way in through one of the town gates.

A multicultural scene, through the ages ...
Locals, tourists ...
and why use the traditonal phone booth when you have a mobile phone?.

This street singer really made my day!

The last time  I was in Canterbury was in 1974 ...

and in 2011 this guy was singing  ...

'Father and Son', by Cat Stevens,
a 1970-ties legend.

If you have a second, please click the above link,
and listen to the words ...
you'll notice that life repeats itself!

Moreover, this street singer brought the song really well, so I dropped a one Pound Sterling coin in his guitar case. Thank you, unknown street singer for offering me just what I needed to complete my trip down memory lane!

Not an optical illusion

This will be a very short post, as I have had my share of (copy)writing at the office today! We're in the middle of an important product launch, requiring a brochure, leaflet, flyer, poster and a list of FAQ's. And the deadline is Friday! I hope we'll make it.

But just to thank you for dropping in, here's a photo of what is probably the most famous house in Canterbury. Mats and I visited this lovely town on the second day of my short stay in Deal in the beginning of July.

I have no idea why the door is all crooked. Could it be a construction error or just a quirky gimmick the owner ordered to have a unique house? There may be some explanation on the internet, but I just don't have time to look it up right now. Or maybe you know the answer ... Tell me: what do you think?

A dinner best forgotten

On our second evening in Deal, Mats and I went looking for a place to have dinner. Like me, he was curious to know what the famous Royal Hotel on the seafront looked like inside. We both remembered it as being considered as the fanciest place in Deal in the seventies. When we were students this place was clearly beyond our means, but now we figured we were up to the challenge. So after studying the menu card by the door, we ventured inside.

The Royal Hotel in Deal.

The lounge area was very ‘clubby’, with fashionably worn leather armchairs and an open fireplace. The bar/pub was at the bottom of a flight of stairs. The view from the window was stunning, with the beach reaching up to the outside terrace. The door to the terrace was open and you could hear the waves gently caressing the pebbles on the beach. We briefly considered having our dinner al fresco, but decided against it as the evening sea air was rather chilly.

The lounge.

We ordered some drinks at the bar and asked if we could have dinner in the restaurant. The young waiter said that the hotel was full and that overnight guests had priority when it came to having a table for dinner in the restaurant. We could have a meal in the pub though. We picked up our drinks and found ourselves a nice table in a corner by the window. It was very quiet and the view was fantastic. So far, so good.

We sipped our drinks, chatting and admiring the view while we were waiting for someone to bring us a menu card. It took ages … but finally an even younger waiter than the one behind the bar, arrived with the menu cards, a wine list, a plate with two rolled-up paper napkins and a bowl holding different pre-packed sauces: mayonnaise, salad cream, ketchup, malt vinegar, tartar sauce and mustard. While we were studying the card, the waiter returned and – without saying a word – picked up the bowl of sauces and put it on the next table where another couple was being served their dinner. Strange, and not very professional!

The bar/pub. By the time we left it was
very crowded and extremely noisy!

When our food came – a hamburger for me and a steak for Mats – another bowl with sauces was brought to our table. It was all very confusing. We had ordered a bottle of Fleury, a fruity red wine from the Beaujolais region. The wine list recommended that it was best when slightly chilled. However, when it came to the table it was served at room temperature. I asked our young waiter whether we could have an ice bucket to cool down the wine. He gave me a beaming smile and said: “Of course.” We waited and waited and waited … the ice bucket never came. In the end I got up, walked to the bar and asked what had happened to it. Again with a big smile, the bar tender pointed at an ice bucket that was sitting on the bar: “There it is for you take.” he said. Did I miss something? Is it customary for the customer to pick up his ice bucket at the bar? After all, the wine had been served at the table.

My hamburger and soggy French fries aka chips.
They may not look soggy, but they were, believe me.

To make a long story short, The Royal Hotel didn’t live up to our expectations. I admit that the staff was very friendly and smiling, but the service was lousy and the quality of the food was very poor. Mats’ steak was tough, my hamburger was scorched on the outside and almost raw on the inside and the chips were soggy and tasteless. Back home I had a look at the comments on Trip Advisor and realized that I should have done this before walking into the Royal. It might have saved us the disappointment. When our host at the B and B asked us the next morning whether we had enjoyed our dinner, he wasn’t surprised to hear about our mishap. Besides its grand name and dream location on the beach, the Royal Hotel has very little to offer. What a shame!

Watching the ships go by

During one of my walks along the seafront in Deal I noticed this little 'kitten' looking out over the sea. Was it counting the many ships that go by every day, this part of the English Channel being the busiest shipping route in the world?

Here's just one of the many trawlers that slowly make their way along the coast. This one was rather far out but thanks to the zoom on my camera it's as if you can almost touch it.

Enjoy your weekend!

A novel and a rock star

It’s been almost a month now since my short vacation in Deal and Kingsdown and yet I’ve only written on what we did on the first full day of my stay. I guess it shows just how intense, moving and interesting it was to be back there after all these years. Sorry, if I'm spinning it out ...

After our lunch at the Rising Sun, it was almost four o’clock and we decided to call it a day. We drove back to Deal, where we said goodbye to Teresa, who invited us to come to her house the next day for a fish and chips supper. We agreed to meet her and her husband Sandy around 5.30 p.m. at The Ship, a local pub, for an aperitif.

Deal - Timeball tower.
If you want to know more about its purpose, click here.

Mats returned to his room at the B and B to make some more business calls and to work on his business plan (he’s self-employed) while I set out on a shopping expedition. But first I wrote my postcards and had quick change of foot gear. It was till sunny and warm and the walk along the seafront was very pleasant. I had a look at the Maritime museum which is located in the Timeball tower, but found it closed. So was the Regent, a former cinema, which by the looks of it is closed for good.

Looking very fifties-sixties and... deserted!

Next I turned into High Street and went looking for the WHS bookstore. I was glad to see that it still exists, although it has been moved into much smaller premises across the road from its former location. I found the interior rather messy, with books piled up upon the floor. And the assortment was a lot smaller than I remembered it being in the seventies. I searched, in vain, for a novel called ‘Die for me’, written by Amy Plum. Amy is an American, living in the Loire Valley with her French husband Laurent and her two small children.

My friend and I met Amy in 2009, after I had been reading her blog for a while. In one post she had mentioned using Grimbergen beer in a recipe. She wrongly assumed that it was a German, while it is Belgian. Teasingly I had commented that I would leave a six pack of Grimbergen on her doorstep the next time I was visiting the Touraine. You can read all about our surprise visit here.

When I asked a WHS’ saleslady for the book, she looked it up in the computer and said that they had one copy of it. We both went looking in the section where it was supposed to be. We failed to find it though and the saleslady kindly suggested that I’d come back the next day, thus giving her the time to look for it in the storage room of the shop. I accepted her offer and left the bookshop empty handed.

Of course, I couldn’t stop myself from walking into a clothes shop and buying four different summer tops for a grand total of (a mere) 70 pounds. I walked past Boots, Marks and ‘Sparks’ Spencer and several antique shops, that hadn’t been there in the seventies. Finally I arrived on the corner of New Street, where Rowena and her family used to live in 1977 and 1978. In its own way, this house too is one I’ll never forget staying at.

This is were I was when I learned
that the King of Rock and Roll had 'left the building' for good.

Even today I have no trouble answering the question “When did Elvis Presley die and where were you when you learned the news? The answer: “It was Augustus 16th, 1977 in the drawing room at New Street number 10 in Deal.” I vividly remember being alone in the house – Rowena was out shopping – watching television, when they interrupted the program for a special bulletin. The news came as a complete shock, and I was still sitting there, stunned, when Rowena came in. When I told her the news, she too was shocked. Later that night, we went to The Ship, the pub in Middle Street, where the rock legend’s sudden death was THE conversation topic of the day.And you, do you remember where you were when Elvis died?

More house hunting and a pub lunch

After my brief stop at Kingsdown’s post office, we drove back in the direction of the beach to have a look at ‘Hazelmere’, the large beach villa where my guest family used to live from 1973 till 1976.

Mats and Teresa looking at 'Hazelmere',
the house on the beach where we spent our summers in the seventies.

The summers I spent in that house rank among the best vacantions in my life. It was a beautiful house with many large and beautifully furnished rooms. On the ground floor there was a formal drawing room with a large open fire place, a formal dining room where breakfast and dinner were served, a comfortable kitchen and pantry. When Wimbledon was on TV, we all used to hang out in the den, cheering for Bjorn Borg (that would be Mats) and Jimmy Conners (that would be me) - Who was your favourite player?… We were often joined by friends of Teresa’s and Jolyon’s who would pop in at all hours of the day.

The 'Rising Sun' in July 2011.

One of our favourite hang-out places and ‘watering hole’ was the Rising Sun, one of the three local pubs; the two others being the King’s Head and the Zetland Arms. We did a lot of silly, yet completely innocent things, liking walking up to the small cemetery at midnight and scaring each other’s wits out, by jumping up from behind a tombstone, going ‘booh’. Or taking a midnight dip in the sea. We also spent a lot of time in Jolyon’s bedroom on the top floor, where we listened to music, played cards and fooled around with an Ouija board – spooky!!!

On one occasion Rowena drove us up the coast, to visit the Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch railway, a 15-inch gauge working railway with a fine fleet of one-third scale steam and diesel locomotives. On the way back, we stopped in the picturesque village of Saint-Margret’s Bay where we had a beer at the local pub. And there are so many more fond memories of my years at Hazelmere, but one of the funniest is definitely the one of my friend Mati – who accompanied me in 1973 and 1974 – and me having our picture in the local paper. I’ve already written about this event last summer, but just for those of you who've missed it, here it is again.

After visiting ‘Hazelmere’, we went over to the ‘Rising Sun’. We had a typical pub lunch of cheese and tomato (me) and tuna sandwiches (Mats) and deep fried prawns (Teresa) and a couple of halves of lager. Sitting there, enjoying the lunch, I remembered one of the songs we used to sing in the seventies, on our way to the pub: “Everybody is missing the sun; everybody is sleeping through the afternoon … “ by Niels Lofgren, one of Jolyon’s favourite performers. Those were the days …

Half of my cheese and tomato sandwich. It was delicious ...

A post office or ...?

A few paces from ‘Vikings’ on Upper Street in Kingsdown, there used to be a post office and stationer, selling writing pads, envelopes, cards, candy, cigarettes and some basic groceries, like tinned food and fresh fruit. And guess what! Four decades later, it was still there! How extraordinary because Kingsdown is just a tiny village. I would have thought that it had been closed down years ago, like they do here in Belgium, in an attempt to cut costs.

I simply couldn’t believe my eyes when Mats pointed it out to me. “I used to buy stamps there for the letters I wrote home during my stays in 1973 and 1974.” he said. That reminded me of the picture postcards I had bought earlier that morning in a small souvenir shop near the entrance to the pier in Deal and which needed stamps. This was as good a place as any to get them. I like to write postcards to my mother and some close friends when I’m on holiday. Another tradition that is slowly going out of fashion. Tell me, do you still postcards when on vacation abroad?

While Mats and Teresa remained in the car, I popped into the post office. There were two men waiting to be served. As this took some time, it gave me a chance to look around. The cigarettes, tins and fruit had gone. But you could still get envelopes, writing pens and paper, cards and … candy … lots of candy!

Avoid this 'post office' if you have a sweet tooth!

And these colourful ribbons ...

There were even some hand-knitted baby clothes, carefully packed in plastic to shield them from gathering dust. All of a sudden I had visions of the grumpy, bearded clerk at our local post office ... selling pink hand-knitted baby cloths ...