Tame in Kent

An escape to Kent seems a bit tame at just an hour down the road and without leaving our home county, but we Kentish Maids and Men are venturing to where the Men and Maids of Kent reside. So it should be a little different …

Kent, Kentish, holiday, snowdrops

Day One keeps us indoors with Storm Dennis lashing out, and Day Two sees my second son scarpering home with the excuse of “maths homework” (code, I suspect, for a party). However, the holiday feeling finally hits when we (remainers) see the Folkestone White Horse – a welcome both to us and those arriving from mainland Europe. (Incidentally, the EU ruled the carving to be illegal due to environmentalists’ concerns about the harm being caused by it to wildlife. I’m not sure exactly how/if that was resolved, but the White Horse is still there.).

So with two and a half days of our break to go, we (the two youngest kids and I) decide to get out there. And discover that East Kent – even restricted to a tight timeframe – cannot be crammed into a single post, so our best bits are contained in these postcards:

Skimming Folkestone and Missing Gormley

Canterbury, Thomas and Gormley

Scramble

MilkMate


A tame option it may have been, but East Kent is somewhere else. We are as close, geographically, to the rest of Europe as we can get. A proximity that enabled Henry II’s knights to rush in from Normandy to target Thomas Becket in Canterbury, and caused awestruck school kids to witness a wartime dog fight over their heads. And we are still part of that Europe, no matter how political machinations might, in time, play out.

This unconquered county is not a bad place to be.


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