The Fifth Continent

Well after tales of foreign parts, "awesome" beers, lengthy train journeys, cool dudes and even cooler Vikings, it's time for a short break and a return to home shores for a post more suited to the domestic market.

The piece which follows takes its lead from prolific blogger and Good Beer Guide "ticker" extraordinaire  Retired Martin, and on the basis that imitation is the finest form of flattery, it contains elements which I'm sure followers of Martin's blog will recognise. However, the content, observations and underlying theme are entirely my own.

The idea for this post came to me whilst the family and I were wandering around a small town in South East Kent, after a rather nice lunch at a nearby pub. With the Bailey family freed from work for the duration of the long Bank Holiday weekend, we decided that a drive to the coast and fish and chips by the sea, would be a good way to spend some time together.

And where better to go than one of our favourite places; the far south-eastern corner of Kent, known as Romney Marsh. This sparsely populated wetland area, which stretches between the counties of  Kent and East Sussex, has long held a fascination for the Bailey family.

 It is one of England’s most distinctive landscapes and consists of wide, flat fields, endless skies, meandering ditches dotted with isolated farms and villages. Much of Romney Marsh lies below sea level and covers about an area of around 100 square miles. 

Mrs PBT's and I both have fond memories from our respective childhoods, of visits to the Marsh, and this tradition continued when we first became a married couple and then a family. We spent our honeymoon at Rye and later, following the birth of son Matthew, had several family holidays in the area. For several years running, we rented a cottage at Winchelsea Beach, in the shadow of the dunes and the seawall, and literally a stone's throw from the sea.

A short drive from Winchelsea is the southern tip of Romney Marsh, where the great sweeping expanse of shingle known as Dungeness, juts out into the English Channel. It is the largest such shingle structure in Europe, and was the first stop on Saturday's trip to the coast.

There were a couple of alternatives for fish and chips available to us; one which meant eating indoors, whilst the other entailed sitting in the car and eating our lunch out of the paper, whilst looking at the sea. So the first choice was the legendary Pilot Inn at Dungeness and the second the equally well-known Greatstone Fish Bar, a short drive along the coast.

We decided to try the Pilot first, having been thwarted on a previous trip to the coast, when the pub was packed to the gunwales. On that occasion fish and chips, straight out of the wrapper, in the car park behind the dunes was perfect, but with Mrs PBT's preferring something a little more comfortable, we were keeping our fingers crossed there would be room at the inn.

We were in luck as not only was there room in the car park, there were quite a few spare tables inside the pub, so we grabbed one and went and placed our order. The Pilot is renowned for its fish & chips, so I went straight to the bar and ordered our lunch; cod and chips for Matthew and me, huss and chips for Mrs PBT's.

We also required something to drink and a house beer, called B17 and brewed specially for the pub by Romney Marsh Brewery, fitted the bill. Described as an American Pale Ale, this refreshing beer weighed in at 5%, and as well as going well  with the cod, scored a well deserved 4.0 NBSS. 

It is several years since I last set foot in the Pilot, and it was every bit as good as I remembered. The service was good with our food arriving within 10 minutes of us ordering. There were plenty of diners in the pub, enjoying the food and there were quite a few sitting outside as well.

The Pilot is practically on the beach, and has views right across the curve of St Mary's Bay to Dover and the White Cliffs. Running to the rear of the pub is the world-famous Romney Hythe & Dymchurch Railway; the 15 inch gague light railway which runs between Hythe and Dungeness.

Upon leaving the pub we drove along to the tip of Dungeness, and after parking in the shadow of the nuclear power station, took a quick walk down to the shoreline. There were a few hardy souls fishing off the steeply shelving shingle beach, but apart from them and the ever present seagulls, we had the place to ourselves.

Now for the second and slightly more offbeat part of the post - the one with the quirky photos and the section which takes its lead from Retired Martin. We drove into nearby New Romney, parked the car and went for a wander around.

New Romney holds a particular affection for me, as towards the end of his career with the Royal Mail, my father was the town's Postmaster. The original  post office has long gone, after the Royal Mail sold off most of the so-called "Crown Post Office Buildings." 

Ironically dad's last job before he retired was the rather thankless one of having to go round and close most of these iconic 1930's buildings, because the Royal Mail were changing their business model.

So what of New Romney itself? Well it is one of the original Cinque Ports, with a harbour  at the mouth of the River Rother, adjacent to the town's medieval church. Today, the sea is a mile and a half away, and the Rother flows into the sea several miles away to the south-west, at Rye.

There are several pubs remaining in the town, but the two which caught my eye were the Smugglers' Alehouse and the Cinque Port Arms. The former is a micro-pub, which has been open for two and a half years, whilst the latter is a traditional pub, dating back to the 16th Century.

We didn't go in either, but another time perhaps? and whilst one should never judge a book by its cover, the Cinque Ports Arms would get my vote;  especially as I am not a huge fan of micro-pubs. The photos of the two pubs, together with those of the Mexican restaurant and the Fish & Peri - traditional fish & chip shop, should help to convey the quirkiness of the town.

On the way home, we called into Jempson's Superstore at Peasmarsh, just outside Rye. Jempsons are a local company and their shop is well-stocked with from the surronding area. As well as filling up with cheap diesel, we purchased for our tea, some of the tastiest sausage rolls, sliced beef and artisan crisps we have tasted in  long while. It's probably just as well we don't live in the Rye area, as we would be both broader in beam, and poorer into the bargain, but it's good to see an independent, family-owned supermarket more than holding its own against the bigger boys.

The World, according to the best geographers, is divided into Europe, Asia, Africa, America, and Romney Marsh.

(Rev. R Barham, writing as Thomas Ingoldsby, in The Ingoldsby Legends,1840s).

Ever since, the Marsh has been referred to as ‘The Fifth Continent’.