Tales of Forgotten Kent (eBook)

Little-Known People and Events from History

Malcolm Horton (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2024 | 1. Auflage
204 Seiten
The History Press (Verlag)
978-1-80399-747-6 (ISBN)

Infos

Tales of Forgotten Kent is a collection of twenty-two essays about the people and events that have largely been neglected by historians, but remain an integral part of Kent's rich tapestry, featuring the eccentric, unusual and often overlooked tales buried within the garden of England. Who would have thought that the cradle of British aviation was the unfashionable Isle of Sheppey, home to Britain's first licensed pilots and the world's first aircraft manufacturers; or that the greatest technological change in printing - computer typesetting - occurred in the small town of Westerham; and that the poet who wrote the first sonnet was not actually Shakespeare but Sir Thomas Wyatt of Allington Castle, lover of Anne Boleyn; or that Britain's oldest school is The King's School, Canterbury, whose alumni includes the controversial playwright Christopher Marlowe, and still plays host to ghostly legends. Read on to unearth more of Kent's best kept secrets and keep its forgotten tales alive.

MALCOLM HORTON is an author, printer and publisher who lives at the foot of the North Downs. He has written 20 historical essays for Bygone Kent, This England and Kent Life magazine and is still a regular contributor to Bygone Kent. His publishing business commissioned artists, who were members of the Royal Academy and Royal Watercolours Society, to produce definitive watercolours of the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge University and leading independent schools, from which they made limited edition prints and seven coffee table books, which had an accompanying text outlining the history of the colleges/schools. He is a member of Kent Archaeological Society (KAS), was a borough councillor in Bexley for four years, and now focusses his research and writing on his native Kent.

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1

Selling’s Unique Mesolithic Past, 5,000 BC

The first part of this essay is an extract from Sir Charles Igglesden’s articles from the Kentish Express, published between 18 December 1942 and 15 January 1943, although his visit must have been made earlier in the war because he is refers to boughs being heavily laden with fruit. Strict press censorship in the early part of the war delayed publication until censorship was eased in late 1942. He was clearly a man on a mission to find the so-called Pulpit and other ancient artefacts for which the Perry Wood area of Selling was famous.

The second part of the essay is a follow-up visit I made in 2023 to see how Selling had changed since Igglesden’s visit and whether more ancient relics had been discovered in the eighty years since his visit.

Charles Igglesden’s Visit to Selling, c.1942

Try to find a little village among the hills of north-east Kent named Selling. In these winding lanes, happily, they have been spared the formal main road that normally kills scenery – you can lose yourself in normal times, but war was on, I tried to find Selling without any sign-post to guide me. But what a glorious bit of countryside when you reach the busiest part of the village, with its inn, the White Lion, newly built on the site of an older one; its couple of general shops and a long low red brick building that originally did service as a workhouse, but is now converted into a row of cottages. And that’s all I could find in the so-called Street. Facing the end of the road is one of the entrances to the park, the seat of Earl Sondes.

But alongside the roads can be glimpsed old-world residences and farmsteads standing isolated amid all sorts of trees a wealth of orchards and, now and again, a hop garden. But hops are no longer grown in the same abundance as they were, before the powers-that-be ruthlessly cut down the acreage in all parts of England. There is one fine stack of oast-houses. But if several hop gardens have gone, the cherry orchards remain. Acres of them.

When I was in their midst with heavily laden boughs with ripening fruit, I and my friends became good specimens of human beings whose fate is to have their mouths water at the thought of joys to come. For we were a week too early to taste the full flavoured fruit and watch the fruit gathering in the orchards from Faversham and adjacent places. One picture was worth remembering – a Land Girl in a green jersey at the top of a ladder picking early cherries. A sign of the times when women were doing their bit for England, smiling uncomplaining.

In Domesday, Selling is spelt Sellinge and the confusion of this village with Sellinge near Hythe led to many disputes, even of a legal character. One testator left property in ‘Sellinge, Kent’, and one of his nephews who lived in Selling claimed it, while the other also argued that he was the beneficiary as his uncle also had property in Sellinge. The Selling man won and incidentally became bankrupt; for law costs were as heavy in the seventeenth century as they are today. And here is another case of the clash of names. Sellinge claims to be the birth place of William Selling, a notable prior of Christ Church Canterbury, where he was buried in 1494. Most old biographies give Selling priority in its claim to call the learned prior as one of its famous sons. Before he became prior, he was a monk and is described by one of his biographies as being possessed of learning and wisdom.

The people of Selling are proud of their Pulpit, a mound in the heart of the woods. ‘How do I get to it?’ I asked. The reply of my guide was probably familiar to the native, but it was confusing to hear that turning sometimes to the right and sometimes to the left, many of them, would bring me to the Rose. Yes; there was the inn staring me in the face, and in front – it was not yet opening time – was a group of young khaki-clad soldiers, some lounging against it, some sprawling on the dusty roadside, all very cheerful, all very sun-burnt. But if you wish to glean the whereabouts of any place nowadays, don’t ask a member of His Majesty’s Forces for good reason – he will probably know the direction and, if he does, regulations very properly forbid him to give the information.

I was in search of something connected with war – not Sir Thomas Wyatt’s rebellion, although a few of the youth of the district joined the forces of that ill-fated knight. No, what I intended to search for was some ancient fortification vaguely referred to by many Kent historians without giving any defaults as to position.

That the Pulpit had some connection with the ancient camp I was convinced, so I must find it first and then take my bearings. I followed the simple method of asking two small girls where the Pulpit was. They pointed to a fine display of small trees, the clump rising to a considerable height. ‘How do I get there?’ I asked. ‘I dunno’ one replied and the other shook her head till a truant lock of curls hung over her eyes. But it was not the information they gave but their happy smiles that won the pennies. And their waving hands as they went away was a cheery sight and a friendly gesture that would have won them another copper had they not been so far away.

And then along the lane came a figure in khaki breeches and jersey with swinging gait. Brown her face, delightful her features, bright her eyes – a picture of the type of health that only the countryside could give. I should have liked to be inquisitive – what in peace time was the sort of air she breathed. Was it in a close street and a stuffy office which meant a pale face and less physical vigour and enjoyment? I do not know but she made me proud of those Land Girls who are helping us to win the war. She knew where the Pulpit was and pointed to the same spot selected by my two little schoolgirl friends. And she walked on with the same easy gait not withstanding a long day’s work on the land. Her parting smile was worth ever more attraction than the smiles of my little friends – but you don’t give pennies to Land Girls.

Then along came a perfect specimen of the race that has given rural England the foremost place in the agricultural world. He may have been sixty or seventy, but by his walk he was nearer the age of the townsmen of fifty. While whiskered, he was with a healthy colouring to a face that would probably retain the brownish tint throughout the snow falls and frost of winter; that friendly good-natured smile and lazy drawl with a true Kentish accent. In reply to my question ‘Where was the Pulpit?’ his eyes lit up with pride, for as I have said before, the Selling people think much of their possession, though few, methinks, know that in the nearby wide are the remains of an ancient camp.

Close to the inn is a footpath or narrow lane leading to a clump of trees you have seen from the road. One side is obviously banked up and this is part of the scarp of the ancient earth-work. Yes, certainly very ancient. But antiquaries disagree as to its date – Saxon, Danish or Roman. There is no reason why it should not date back to pre-Roman times, for when the Germans invaded Britain during the fifth century they came in three distinct batches at different times. The earliest arrivals were the Jutes and they settled in the south-east and for the most part in Kent. The Romans probably discovered the old site and selected it as a summer camp and added to its defensive strength. It is impossible to trace any but part of the old fortress, but careful inspection brings to light undulating ground with a distinct earth wall facing the level country to the south-east.

The so-called Pulpit was a mound erected as an observation post which in extremity the defences would find useful for a last stand against an enemy that had broken through the trenches. On this mound, a rough wooden structure was erected in the last century and it is recorded that preachers of religion addressed the people from this spot. Even Courtenay, the Kent fanatic who was eventually shot in Blean Woods, used this mound as a platform when addressing his followers. Now-a-days the spot is a happy rendezvous for picnic parties and in peace time vehicles by the dozen were drawn up in a roadway close by. One feature of Shottenden Hill – the present local name for it – is the number of springs and running water which would emphasise its value as a camp.

In several parts of Selling stone implements of early English have been dug up. On one occasion an old antiquary was walking in a wood when he saw two boys playing with what they probably thought were ordinary stones, but they were in fact, fine Palaeolithic specimens and are now in the British Museum. Now hidden by a clump of trees is an ancient tumulus, about half a mile north of the Pulpit. I wonder what old Roman warrior lies buried there. Thus, this quiet and simple little Kentish village of Selling has a history dating back many centuries.

Selling Revisited, 2018

Igglesden spent much time trying to find the old archaeological workings and the Pulpit. The common denominator geographically is the Rose & Crown hostelry, to the north of which is the Perry Wood earthworks which contain the remains of ancient Mesolithic (10,000–5,000 BC) settlements. Relics from the late Stone Age to Iron Age periods have been discovered, such as flint axes and pottery. In the 1970s, Swale Borough Council bought Perry Woods from Corpus Christi College Oxford as a public amenity. In 2008, the Mid-Kent Downs Partnership became involved, and excavations in Perry Wood have since taken place. The mound site of the...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 8.8.2024
• Verlagsort: London
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Essays / Feuilleton
• Themenwelt: Sachbuch/Ratgeber ► Geschichte / Politik ► Regional- / Landesgeschichte
• Themenwelt: Geisteswissenschaften ► Geschichte ► Regional- / Ländergeschichte
• Schlagworte: allington castle • bygone kent • Cavalier poet • Charing • Dering • Gravesend • Isle of Sheppey • Jack Cade • kent biographies • kent book • kent essays • kent gift • kent history • local essays • Maidstone • otterden • Roll • Short Brothers • sir thomas wyatt • Westerham
• ISBN-10: 1-80399-747-8 / 1803997478
• ISBN-13: 978-1-80399-747-6 / 9781803997476