Gressenhall, Norfolk by train and bus

Beer and travel are the main themes of this blog, but this particular post is solely about the latter. Give its title it could have been written for bus and train anoraks  public transport enthusiasts, and as I count myself amongst the latter category, perhaps I should not be so disparaging to the former.

Those who have followed  this blog over the years will know I am a regular visitor to Norfolk. This came about following the decision of my parents to retire to the county, about a quarter of a century ago. So there were regular visits to see them, and cheap holidays as well, especially when our son was small, but during the course of the last half dozen or so years, the trips became more and more fraught.

This was due to the deteriorating health of both parents; mum’s problem was physical, whilst dad’s was/is mental – specifically advancing Alzheimer’s. After mum’s passing in 2015, my sisters and I took the difficult decision to move dad into a care home, and after inspecting several without being overly impressed, we found him a place in a small and pleasant home, with high standards of care. The home is in the small village of Gressenhall, just a few miles to the north of Dereham and not too many miles from Swanton Morley; the village where mum and dad originally retired to.

I’ve found over the years, and certainly since my parent’s health started to decline, that a visit to Norfolk was best combined with an overnight stay. It is of course, quite possible to drive there and back in a day, from my home in west Kent, but even on a good run I’ve never managed the journey in less than two and three quarter hours, and that’s with the recent improvements to the A11.

So whilst it is dual carriageway all the way from Tonbridge, it's a tiring drive, which seems to get worse as the volume of traffic on our roads, continues to increase. I also find the journey repetitive and boring, as over the years I know exactly what lane I need to be in, the location of all the roundabouts and also which diversions to take, should the road get too busy or become blocked.

Public transport is the other option, and with fast and frequent trains between London and Norwich, completing the journey in under two hours, the train is increasingly the way to go. With cheap, “Saver” tickets, book-able in advance, the train is also competitive when you factor in the cost of fuel, plus wear and tear on the car. Getting to London from Tonbridge is also easy, with around three trains an hour, which just leaves the section at the other end i.e. getting from Norwich to Gressenhall.

Now this is where the real, bus geek stuff comes in, as Konect bus operate an express service from Norwich to Dereham, with buses every 20 minutes in both directions. I used this service last year, but it still left me the short journey from Dereham to Gressenhall. There is a busy B road which head north out of Dereham, but being narrow in places, and with fast moving traffic, they are not the sort of roads I wish to be walking on; even though the distance is only three miles.

 I solved the problem last year, by pre-booking a taxi from Dereham, but this plan nearly came unstuck after my train was delayed for three quarters of an hour at Ipswich. So determined not to be faced with a similar problem I conducted a little more research and found that Konect bus also operate a convenient service between Dereham and Gressenhall.

Last Friday I put this combination train and bus route to the test, and set off to visit dad in his Gressenhall care home. I’d timed the various stages of my journey to include sufficient slack, so that if there were delays on the trains, they would not impact on the overall itinerary. The critical part was the buses to and from Gressenhall, as there was only one viable outward service coupled with a final return service at 14.21.

I therefore opted for a train which would get me to Norwich shortly before 10.30, plus one which would depart for London at 17.30. So, sounding even more like an anorak, I bought two "Advanced Singles" – one in either direction, which would fit in with the above times. What I hadn’t realised is that not only do these tickets specify which Inter-City services to take between London and Norwich; a situation which is exactly what one would expect, they also specified the times of trains to and from London Bridge.

This was a new one on me, and unfortunately it did add unwanted and unnecessary inflexibility to my journey. What was worse was no-one bothered to check my ticket on either of those local, South Eastern trains. The other strange thing was my outward ticket to Norwich was designated from Stratford, rather than Liverpool Street.

Stratford wasn’t difficult to reach from London Bridge - 7 stops on the Jubilee Line, but the station itself took a bit of getting use to. I entered the wrong platform to begin with; why have a 10a when your platform numbers run up to 12? But with sufficient time to correct my mistake I boarded the 08.38 Greater Anglia service to Norwich, and settled down to enjoy the journey.

There were no disruptions on this occasion, and I passed the journey either reading or listening to some downloaded music on my phone. I also enjoyed the scenery, especially the section where the line crosses the River Stour, close to Manningtree and just before the river widens to become an estuary. Looking out the window, it was possible to see the towering cranes of Harwich Port, in the distance, some twelve miles away.

My train was a few minutes early getting into Norwich, which allowed me to catch the 10.37 No. 8 Konect bus to Dereham - £5.60 return. In Dereham, I had time for a ham and egg salad roll, plus a flat white in Gregg’s, before finding the correct bus stop for the 12.30 No. 21 Konect service to Fakenham - £5.40 return, also calling at Gressenhall. This was a small single- deck bus; don’t ask me what type as I am not a bus anorak, even though I am starting to sound like one!

I had around an hour and a quarter to spend at the care home, with dad. He was finishing off his dinner when I arrived, and whilst he wasn’t looking too bad, he wasn’t very communicative, hardly opening his eyes. There was no real acknowledgement of my presence, and if truth be told I don’t think he knew who I was.  

Alzheimer’s is a cruel and debilitating condition, which not only robs sufferers of their memories, but also leaves them increasingly isolated form the outside world. It’s heart-breaking to think back at how intelligent and witty dad was in his prime, but as I’ve mentioned before he is being well cared for and doesn’t appear to be in any stress.

The 14.21 return bus to Dereham was running a little late, which gave me time to gaze forlornly at Gressenhall’s sole pub; the now sadly closed Swan. It was a pub I’d wanted to take dad to, before his illness became too crippling, but in all honesty by the time he entered the care home, he wouldn’t really have been up to it.

The No. 21 bus dropped me in Dereham town centre, allowing me to hop smartly cross the road and onto the 14.38 express service back to Norwich. I alighted at the city’s bus station, as I wanted to take a look around and also visit a pub or two.

I will describe in a separate post, what I got up to in Norwich, but I had ample time to do what I wanted before catching the 17.30 Greater Anglia service back to London Liverpool Street. The train was a lot more crowded than it had been on the outward journey, but this wasn’t surprising for a Friday evening.

After waiting at London Bridge, for my timed connection back to Tonbridge, I was picked up at the station by son Matthew, who was waiting in his car. The entire journey ran like clockwork and cost a total of £43.45, probably not much more than the cost of diesel, and significantly less when combined with the price of a overnight stay.

A poignant and thirsty walk around Kazimierz

It’s back to Krakow for a while, as we take a look at the Kazimierz district of the city. Kazimierz was the former Jewish quarter of Krakow, and whilst most of its Jewish inhabitants have sadly departed, the memory of them lingers, along with many of the physical structures they left behind.

Prior to WWII, Poland had been home to the largest Jewish population in Europe, and perhaps the world. It is estimated that the country was home to 3 million Jews; the large number reflecting the fact that, compared to other European countries, they had been mainly free from persecution in Poland.

Kazimierz was the centre of the Jewish community in Krakow, but in 1941 the population of this district was forcibly expelled by the Nazis, and marched across the River Wisla to the Podgórze area of the city. Sandwiched between the river and cliffs to the south, the Nazis saw the setting as a natural prison, and sealed the area off from the rest of the city. For the history and film buffs amongst you, Podgórze is also the site of Oskar Schlindler’s enamelware factory.

What became known as the Krakow Ghetto, only lasted a couple of years before sadly, most of the inhabitants were either murdered inside this natural prison, or transported to one of the death camps. During the communist era Kazimierz became one of Krakow’s least desirable districts, as the area gradually fell into disrepair, but today it has re-discovered itself and is home to several of the city’s best craft beer bars.

My plan was to take a look at Kazimierz’s Jewish past, before decamping to one of these outlets for a spot of lunch, plus a few beers, as after a morning spent traipsing around the Wawel Castle complex,  I was certainly looking forward to a beer or two.

Kazimierz was just a short 15-20 minute walk away, along some pleasant tree-lined boulevards, but after entering the district, with its maze of narrow streets I decided that the historical/cultural stuff could wait, and a beer should come first.

I headed for a place called Omerta, which was one of the first craft beer bars to open in Krakow. The write ups I read, along with the ratings, persuaded me this would be a good place to start off the afternoon. Imagine my disappointment then at finding it shut. To be fair, the opening times were indicated by a sign in the window, which clearly indicated the pub didn’t open until 4pm.

It’s a pity that the guide I down-loaded from local-life Krakow, didn’t mention this, but the moral here should be, check the website before setting out.  Plan “B” was a bar called Strefa Piwa, but as it was several blocks away, I decided to do what I’d come for, and take a look at the area’s Jewish heritage.

The Remuh cemetery and synagogue were conveniently close by, and after a wander around the former, with its rows of tombstones, I stepped inside the restored synagogue, which is one of the smallest in Krakow. I made a donation towards its continued upkeep, whilst pausing to reflect on the enormous crime perpetrated by the Nazis. In the space of just six short years, they had destroyed centuries of Jewish culture and traditions, and were well on their way to eliminating Europe’s Jews altogether.

What makes people act in a way where they go out of their way to inflict pain, suffering and death on their fellow human beings? Europe’s Jews weren’t a threat to the Nazis, or to the German people, but they were a convenient scapegoat for the regime. Now they’re gone, vanished like snow in the spring, and only their ghosts living on.

On a more positive note, it was encouraging to see a handful of Jewish restaurants and cafés as well as a Jewish bookshop. I walked back towards Strefa Piwa, passing the impressive Old Synagogue en route, but when I arrived, I discovered that it too didn’t open until 4pm.

I was beginning to think this must be a local conspiracy. I was footsore, weary, hungry and of course thirsty, but fortunately salvation was on hand, in the form of the Wrega Pub-Gallery and Restaurant. It was also blessed with an attractive looking courtyard that I’d walked past earlier. I dived in and was rewarded with somewhere pleasant to sit in the sun, some excellent beer and some traditional Polish food as well.

I wrote about Wrega in a separate post, which I posted from Krakow at the time. It ticked all the right boxes leaving my inner man well satisfied. What is worth repeating from that post are the lines about the Zywiec Porter. It was excellent, dark, full-bodied and with just the right amount of residual bitterness. In short, it was a very satisfying beer. Although the early morning rain and cleared and the sun had come out, conditions remained quite sultry. I headed back to the hotel, arriving just before the heavens opened.

I made a brief return to Kazimierz the following evening, on my way back from a trip across the river to Podgórze. Ironically, whilst the craft beers bars were open, none of them seemed to serve food. As I don’t like drinking on an empty stomach, I called back in at Wrega, where I enjoyed an excellent chicken Schnitzel, plus more Zywiec Porter.

Before returning to my hotel for the night, I stopped off at the Omerta pub, where there was indeed an excellent selection of Polish craft beer. I sat out at one of the outside tables, watching the students passing by, whilst wishing I was 40 years younger! 

The locally brewed Chocolate –Vanilla, Coffee Milk Stout, 6.5% ABV and the Irlandzkrie Cienne 6.0% Lager, were both excellent. I can’t tell you who brewed them, or where, but you can look them up on Untappd if you’re so inclined. 

Wherever they came from, they were a fitting way to mark the end of my short visit to Krakow.

Mikkeller at last

After the dark and rather disturbing nature of the previous post, I wanted to get things back on a more even keel. There are still a couple of areas I want to write about concerning last month’s trip to Poland, but in the meantime here’s something a little lighter and a lot less serious.

This short post concerns the renowned Danish brewer Mikkeller, and is a follow on to an article I wrote at the beginning of 2016. That particular post was a review of “Mikkeller’s Book of Beer,” which I’d received a couple of weeks previously as a Christmas present.

I wrote at the time that, despite all the publicity and hype surrounding Mikkeller, I had never drank one of his beers. I qualified that by saying that the bigger the hype surrounding something, the more likely I am to shy away from it.  I also wrote that as I have never been a person who just follows the crowd, I may have been avoiding Mikkeller beers, either consciously or even subconsciously.

Now it’s rather unlikely that your local supermarket will stock Mikkeller beers, and it’s not even certain that a specialist off-licence will carry them either, so my excuse that the beers might not have found their way down to this part of Kent, might not have been as lame as it first sounded. I could have been wrong, and might just not have been looking hard enough, but it wasn’t until earlier this year that the opportunity to enjoy a glass of Mikkeller’s finest, first surfaced.

It came about at last August’s summer party, held by the British Guild of Beer Writers, which took place at the London Fields Brewery Arches, in Hackney. There was a wide range of interesting beers on offer that evening, including a couple from Mikkeller. I enjoyed one called Hair in the Mailbox, which was an interesting and enjoyable IPA,  but missed out on the Double Sour Cherry Organic Berliner. I did manage to pick up another Mikkeller beer as a take-out, towards the end of the evening, and finally got round to trying it at the weekend. This is what I wrote:

The other day I cracked open a can of Mikkeller The National 5.0%. – “Reality Based Pils.”. The beer describes itself as a German-style Pilsner, and is presented in an eye-catching can decorated with the iconic Mikkeller, trade-mark cartoon figure.

Like many Mikkeller beers, this one is brewed at the De Proef Brewery in Belgium. De Proef have the technical know-how to bring Mikkeller’s ideas and recipes into reality, and they also have the capacity to handle the relatively high volumes demanded by the Danish “gypsy brewer.”

It seems strange, but Reality Based Pils is quite a “thick” beer, as evidenced by the way in which the foam “lacings” cling to the side of the glass. The head also lingers right to the bottom of the glass. The beer has a slight haze, and has plenty of malt character set against the dryness of the hops. To my mind it’s not quite as dry as a typical German Pils, but is no less enjoyable for being fuller in body than the latter.

“Drink fresh,” the can said, but the BBE date was 30^th August 2019. I cracked it open on 4^th October, so whilst the beer was not as fresh as it should have been, it was still good and most enjoyable. I ought to have taken a photo of the "lacings," but I'm afraid you'll have to make do with some photos of a few cans instead!

 I won’t be going out of my way to track down more Mikkeller beers, but if I come across any on my travels, I will certainly give them a try.

Should I visit Auschwitz?

https://www.flickr.com/photos/xiquinho/16380127035/en:Creative_Commons

This post was always going to be difficult to write, and I made several attempts at getting it right before hitting the “Publish” button. It probably still isn’t all it should be, but given the subject matter it’s the best I can manage, without belittling, in any way, what I have written about.  

For several centuries the Polish town of Oświęcim was a quiet backwater place, largely unknown to the rest of the world, and pretty much untouched by world events. That changed during WWII when the town, known as Auschwitz under German occupation, became the site of the largest Nazi death camp in the Third Reich.

It is estimated that between 1.1 and 1.5 million people were exterminated in the twin camps of Auschwitz-Birkenau; a statistic that is equally staggering in its awfulness, as it is in being able to comprehend. The name Auschwitz  has since been burned into human collective consciousness as a place where unimaginable wickedness was wrought upon innumerable innocent victims, whose only crime was to have been a little different from their neighbours.

The camp survives today as both a museum and a monument to what the human race is capable of inflicting on its own kind. It also exists as a shrine to all those who perished there – ordinary people, young and old, people who, like most of us, just wanted to get on and live their lives in peace, without the interference of the outside world, or of dark forces beyond their control.

Auschwitz is only 70 kilometres from Krakow, so is relatively easy to reach whilst staying in the city. But being so close to what is the most infamous of the Nazi death camps, does give rise to the dilemma of whether or not to visit, as part of any stay in Krakow.

I mentioned in a previous post, that I would attempt to explain why I didn’t make the trip; even though from a personal viewpoint, I don’t feel any need to justify my actions. But if I needed an excuse, it would be a visit to Auschwitz takes a whole day. My trip Krakow was a short, mini-break, and with just two whole days in the city, there was more than enough to keep me occupied without leaving the confines of the former Polish capital.

Would I have made the visit, had my stay in Krakow been longer?  Whilst there, I thought that I wouldn’t; not out of disrespect, but more because I wasn’t certain about the right motives for going. I’m still not sure, but let’s keep an open mind and look at some of the facts as well as the mechanics behind a visit.

First, you can’t just turn up at the site and visit Auschwitz  independently, without a guide, as all visits must be booked in advance. You can do this online, or make use of one of the many organised tours. Shops and hotels all over Krakow offer day trips to Auschwitz, almost as if they are offering a day out at a local attraction.

I won’t go into their motives for offering such excursions, as this blog is not the forum to be looking at such issues, but what I do know is this place of abject horror attracts over a million visitors each year.

I may be completely wrong, but when I thought about it, I had the feeling people were visiting because they felt they had to, or because a trip there was on their bucket list. Worse still, they went along because it was just something to do. How can something so abhorrent be treated as though it was just another tourist attraction?

You may feel uncomfortable about visiting a site where horror and raw emotions resonate at every corner, and would you want to be experiencing such feelings at the same time as hundreds of other tourists, whilst they just gawp and stare? Alternatively, you could ask the question, can you not spare just a single day from your busy life to see the place where so many innocent people lost theirs?

The “Krakow in Your Pocket” guidebook I picked up in Poland, assures readers that a visit to Auschwitz was not at all like I imagined, and was instead, a very sombre and respectful affair. Without skimping on the sheer horror of Auschwitz, the site’s curators and custodians have gone out of their way to ensure everything is handled with sensitivity and with respect. In this way one of the most horrific acts in human history is chronicled with just the right level of tact, passion, poignancy and professionalism, thereby sparing visitors from totally surrendering to their emotions.

With this in mind my fears were possibly groundless, although I still have mixed feelings about visiting the site. Leaving these aside, I want to end with the summary below, contained in that Krakow in Your Pocket Guide.

“It should be understood that Auschwitz is not a site of Jewish concern, Polish concern, German concern, Gypsy concern or historical concern…. It is a site of human concern. As such, we believe everyone should visit.”

Taking a tinkle at the Thomas Tallis

It’s become something of a tradition amongst West Kent CAMRA members to call in  at one or two local pubs in Canterbury, after a visit to either, or both of the beer festivals held in the city. As well as the recently staged Canterbury Food & Drink Festival, the Kent Beer Festival also takes place in Canterbury, meaning there are two festivals to attend each year, and two opportunities for a post-festival pub crawl.

I gave up on the Kent Beer Festival several years ago, after it moved from its long-standing home at Merton Farm, to Canterbury Rugby Club’s ground on  the other side of the A2 Canterbury by-pass.  For safety reasons, the club operate a strict, “no glass” rule, so not being a fan of plastic drinking receptacles, this was the end of the Kent Festival, as far as I was concerned. I also think that over the years, I became less and less enamoured with the festival itself and more and more in favour of the aforementioned, post-event evening pub visits.

After last weekend’s Canterbury Food & Drink Festival, I was even more in the mood than previous year’s for a few après festival beers. Because of my walk, plus the problems on the rails, I didn’t arrive at the event until 3pm, and was just getting stuck into the beers, when my companions announced they were contemplating a move. Why so soon I asked, but I answered my own question after looking at my watch, and discovering the time was fast approaching 6pm; the time at which the festival closes.

A pub called the Thomas Tallis was mooted as an ideal place to visit. It was described as a micro-pub, but a couple from our party who had been there before, said there was more to it, than just a micro. After coming to terms with the festival closing shortly, and hence no more beer, I was game for checking the place out.

We set off, dividing into two distinct groups, depending on walking speed, as we went. Being a relatively slow walker, and having already walked several miles earlier in the day, I was in the slower of the two groups, although we managed not to lose sight of the quicker mob, up ahead in the distance.

Our route took us past Canterbury’s historic cathedral and the past the entrance to the prestigious King’s School, which allegedly was founded in 597 AD.  We then passed into Northgate, a thoroughfare leading to one of the city’s former medieval gate-houses. On our left, and set at a slightly lower level from the road, was the Thomas Tallis Alehouse; Canterbury's first micro-pub, which opened March 2016.

The pub is housed in an attractive, half-timbered building, which was formerly part of the historic Hospital of St John. It is said to date from the 15th Century, with an interior that certainly seems genuinely old. There are two rooms at the front, which lead off from a narrow passageway. According to WhatPub, there is also a rear snug with chairs and a sofa, but as the pub was rather full when we arrived, I didn’t notice this section.

We looked at sitting outside, given that the pub was rather crowded, but we eventually managed to squeeze around one of the high “posing tables” in the left hand room. Seat or table service is the name of the game at the Thomas Tallis, and it involves queuing up, in front of the chalkboard in the central passageway, choosing your beer and then placing your order from one of the serving staff. They then bring you your drink, and take payment – cards seeming very popular. If you are feeling lazy, they will bring it to your seat, or table.

As you will notice from the beer list, the ratio of key-keg to cask is 4:1, so as the cask range didn’t seem that inspiring (unless you’re into home-brew from a certain Thanet micro-pub), I opted for the key-keg. I tried both Cloud Water offerings, along with the strangely named, Triple Goat Porter, but no NBSS scores, as they were not cask.

Before settling down at a table, or even ordering a beer, there was the problem of the toilets; or rather the lack of them. Having just come from a beer festival, several of us had rather full bladders. This is where we faced the problem which afflicts many micro-pubs, namely the lack of adequate toilet facilities.

A single WC closet, for the use of both sexes, simply isn’t good enough! Customers wishing to use the loo, had to queue along the same passageway where the beer was served from. This was rather chaotic, given the packed nature of the pub, particularly when we arrived. When my turn to use the facility arrived, I took a couple of photos of the many pump-clips adorning the walls, as I know there are some real admirers of pub toilet décor out there.

Leaving aside my grouse about the toilet, (as this applies to rather too many micro-pubs), I enjoyed our visit to the Thomas Tallis. The group of friends and acquaintances I was with were good company, and we had a number of interesting conversations. As some of the early evening crowd started to drift away, we moved into the right hand room, where there was more space. This meant we were nearer to the serving area, and the toilet!

One individual, who obviously likes to live dangerously, tried several of the more “experimental” beers, including the Rhubarb Saison from Leigh-on-Sea Brewery, the Peach Sour from Wild Weather Brewery, before ending with a pint of the 9.1% Peanut Stout from the London-based, Hammerton Brewery. He did share some of the latter amongst the rest of us though.

The cask ales and ciders are served under gravity dispense from a temperature controlled cellar room at the back. Five or six locally produced ciders are also served. According to the pub’s website, the Thomas Tallis offers  up to 30 beers at any one time, as a wide range of  bottles and cans are also stocked, alongside the draught. The pub’s owners state, “The beer selection will constantly change as we seek new and exciting brews from around the world so don’t get too attached to a particular beer!”

So if you fancy taking a walk away from Canterbury’s tourist-thronged centre, and into a quieter part of the city, which is still historic and full of character, then a visit to the Thomas Tallis Alehouse is well worth your while. Make sure to empty your bladder before setting off, though!

Footnote: Thomas Tallis, 1505 - 1585, was an English composer who occupies a prominent place in anthologies of English choral music. He is considered one of England's greatest composers, and is honoured for the original role he played in English musicianship. (Source, Wikipedia).

A few odds and ends

There’s a few odds and ends I missed out from the previous post, but as it was already quite lengthy, here’s what I neglected to say.

To begin with, I didn’t take a wrong turn out of Chartham Hatch,  although I did still manage to miss the Chapter Arms. With my hood up and my head down against the wind, I obviously walked straight passed it, but it made no odds as the pub has been closed since the beginning of the year.

There are mixed reports as to what is going on with the place, and these range from the pub being converted to a private dwelling, to the site being developed to provide holiday accommodation, along with a micro-pub.

I haven’t seen the plans or the pub itself for that matter, so I can’t really comment, but having said that the reviews on Trip Advisor, prior to its closure, were generally favourable. Given its isolated position, food was a prominent feature, so I’m not sure whether a  wet-led micro-pub is going to attract much custom.

The other snippet I can’t resist from including is me taking a crafty leak – ala BRAPA, on Chartham station. Unlike Simon, I got away with it, as I checked for CCTV beforehand. Also, there were no other passengers present when I made my way to the far end of the platform, and took advantage of the luxuriant weed growth, next to the rusting cast-iron fence. When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go; especially when you’re a gentlemen of a certain age!

Next time, a tale about an unusual Canterbury micro-pub where key-keg outsells cask by four to one.

For the sake of completeness

Before arriving at the Canterbury Food & Drink Festival on Friday, I completed a couple of outstanding tasks. The first was of far greater significance than the second, but the latter was still important to me, from a personal point of view.

The previous evening I left my alarm set at my usual, weekday time for getting up for work. I allowed myself a slightly longer  “snooze” period, then leaving Mrs PBT’s fast asleep (no work for her on a Friday), I slipped out of bed, showered and grabbed a couple of slices of toast for breakfast.

All very routine, but instead of donning my work clothes, I put  some casual gear on instead. The latter included my trusty old walking boots. I also packed my rucksack, which I'd packed the night before as, whilst I was heading for Canterbury, I’d a spot of walking to do en route.

First though, I had the most important and the most satisfying of my tasks to complete. I left the house, and walked down into Tonbridge, arriving at my local building society branch, just after it opened at 9am.  My objective was to make the final payment on our mortgage, and having now done so I am pleased to report that after 41 years, during which I've owned three different properties, I am now mortgage free!

That final payment was an easy, over the counter transaction, and the whole thing seemed something of an anti-climax, but in reality, it wasn't and represented a major milestone in life's journey. From a personal point of view, it was a highly significant and very satisfying achievement, brought about through making regular monthly over-payments which reduced the term by quite a few years.

Despite that, I didn’t feel any different walking out of the branch,  as I was focussed on catching my train to Canterbury. This leads onto my second, and far less significant objective, which was to complete the missing five mile section of the Canterbury loop, of the North Downs Way.

Some of you might remember I set off on a three day walk, back in July, with the objective of finishing the Canterbury loop. I’d walked a couple of sections with some friends, several years previously, but having left myself fourteen and a half miles to complete on the final day, I sort of ran out of steam, and called it a day when I reached Canterbury.

That still left five miles from Canterbury to Chartham station to complete, so the germ of an idea formed in my mind that by catching an early train, I could alight at Chartham,  walk into Canterbury, thereby completing the whole of that loop, and still be in time to meet up with friends at the Food & Drink Festival.

That was the plan, but I knew from the outset that I would have to delay my departure until after the morning rush hour, in order to make use of my Senior Railcard. I therefore didn’t hurry to the station. I wished I had when I arrived at the ticket office, as services out of London were disrupted and delayed due to a signalling failure at Lewisham.

In the end I caught the train I’d wanted to catch, had I not had business to attend to at the building society. So far so good, but as we sped towards the coast, the announcement came that due to the late running, the rear half of the train would terminate at Ashford, rather than detaching and heading up to Canterbury. This was all well and good for Dover bound passengers; their section of the train would continue as normal, but for us poor souls with a hike, plus a beer festival to squeeze in, this was a serious spanner in the works.

I left the train at my old home town of Ashford. The station is nothing like what I remember from my youth, as Ashford was designated as a convenient joining point for the planned passenger services to Europe, via the Channel Tunnel. Against British Rail’s better judgement the town council insisted that the high speed line be constructed right through the centre of the town - as if their ill-judged ring-road scheme hadn’t caused enough devastation to what was once a pleasant market town.

The rail station was completely rebuilt, and renamed Ashford International, and in the early days of the Channel Tunnel there were regular Eurostar services to both Paris and Brussels. But with the opening of Ebbsfleet in north Kent, (part of John Prescott’s vanity, Kent Gateway project), services from Ashford were curtailed, leaving the International Station as a white elephant, and a monument to people’s over-inflated egos.

I digress, but it still annoys me every time I have to change trains at Ashford.  On this occasion, I needed to get to Chartham, but to compound my frustration I knew trains only stopped there on an hourly basis. So rather than kicking my heels at Ashford, I decided my best plan was to take the next train to Canterbury, and do the walk in reverse.

I arrived in the cathedral city at just after 11:15. The journey should not have taken that long, but I took advantage of the onboard, train Wi-Fi to check departure times, which informed me that services from Chartham departed at 21 minutes passed each hour. I reckoned I could complete the walk in two hours, allowing me to catch the 13:21 service back to Canterbury. I could then walk along to the festival, in Dane John Gardens, and arrive at around 2pm.

I set off in high spirits and found my way out of the city, and the all important way marker showing the direction of the North Down’s Way. The weather was blustery, but for a while at least, the threat of showers held off. The route took me through a development of expensive looking properties, before disappearing into a wood. Eventually the path came to a road and a bridge over the busy A2 trunk road, before leading off into a further area of woodland.

This wooded area is known locally as the Blean, and contains the site of a substantial Iron Age settlement called Bigbury Camp. According to the sign, at the entrance to the woods, Kent Wildlife Trust and English Heritage have been working to restore landscape surrounding this ancient hill fort to what it would have looked like, two thousand years ago. Hence several hectares of sweet chestnut coppice have been removed.

After passing back into the woods, I came across a quite stocky, solitary walker, heading in my direction. It can be a little spooky, stumbling upon someone in the middle of a dark, dense wood, but after exchanging a few pleasantries, the stranger turned out to be a forager, in search of fungi. Furthermore, unlike me, he was glad of the damp conditions, as it encourages the fungal fruiting bodies to form.

Eventually I left the wood and came to a more open area. This was another nature reserve, with the intriguing name of  “No Man’s Orchard.” You can read more about the purpose behind this area of traditional orchards, if you click and enlarge the explanatory photo, but it was here that I took the first of two wrong turnings, despite having a quite detailed map to guide me.

I eventually emerged into the hamlet of Chartham Hatch, and as I made my way towards the centre of this settlement, I regained the NDW in the process. I noticed the sky up ahead, looking increasingly dark, and was now starting to wonder if I would make it to Chartham station for the 13:21 train.

I quickly hit upon plan B, which was to call in at the Chapter Arms pub. According to my map, I would soon pass the pub on my right, and could then dodge the imminent downpour whilst enjoying a quick pint. This would also kill some, whilst allowing me to arrive in a more leisurely fashion to catch the 14:21 train instead.

I carried on along the lane, hastening my pace as the first drops of rain started to fall. I reached a T-junction, overlooked by a prominent group of  inter-linked oast-houses, now converted into a very desirable looking property. A sign on the wall indicated I had reached Hatch Lane, the road which would take me down to Chartham village and its station.

I turned left into Hatch Lane, surprised to have reached that point, but thinking I must have taken the wrong turning back in Chartham Hatch. Shortly afterwards the heavens opened. I had my wet weather gear on, but with the rain coming down like stair-rods, I took shelter under an overhanging tree, and remained there until the rain has eased off. The combination of dodging the rain, plus taking the wrong exit out of No Man’s Orchard was sufficient to ensure I would not make it to the station for that 13:21 train.

As it happened I missed it by 15 minutes , so with three quarters of an hour before the next service, I toyed with the idea of walking further into Chartham village and calling in at the Artichoke pub.

A similar situation had occurred two years ago, whilst walking the Wye to Chartham section of the NDW, with a group of friends. This time though, my knee was starting to play up, and my right ankle was also sore, due to my boot laces being tied too tight. In addition, the Artichoke is a Shep’s house, and I really fancied something better to quench my thirst than a pint of Spitfire of Master Brew.

Instead I sat in the shelter on the platform, watching the crossing-keeper shutting and opening the gates, to allow the non-stopping trains to pass through the station. I was quite surprised to see a manual level crossing still in operation on this busy line.

I arrived back in Canterbury, an hour later than intended and made my way to Dane John Gardens, through the tourists and the shoppers. After grabbing a swift glass of Old Dairy Green Hop Bitter from their stand in the festival grounds, I caught up with my friends. They’d made themselves comfortable in the Green Hop Beer tent, and the narrative of what happened from that point onwards is as described in my previous post.