Swale Halt to Rainham – 10th October 2019
The new road bridge over The Swale to Sheppey
(the old bridge can be seen to the right)
Our venture to walk/cycle the England and Wales coast is progressing. Having done most of the easily accessed bits of coast in South East England – from Bognor Regis to The Isle Sheppey – we took a 2 week holiday in South Devon and walked about 100 miles of coastline there. Now we are back in the South East we have decided to tick off a little more ‘local’ coastline. Our next stretch is from Swale Halt opposite the Isle of Sheppey, to Rainham in the Medway area.
We park on the road, a short distance from Rainham Station. Walking the short distance to the station, I buy tickets from the machine, whilst Betty disappears to the toilets. Two single tickets to Swale Halt cost £5.30, so I put a £10 note into the hungry slot which swallows it like a small child sucking up spaghetti. Searching through my hip pockets for the remaining 60 pence I discover I have just 30 pence in change. A queue is forming behind me, whilst I fumble in my pockets. I panic and for some reason put a £20 note in to cover the 60 pence extra required. To my horror, the machine decides to give me my change in coins – 19 one pound coins and 40 pence in smaller change. As the machine pumps out the coins I can feel all eyes turning in my direction, as though I had won a big pay-out at Las Vegas. Where do you put £19.40 in jingling coins as you are about to walk 12 miles?
However, we are in luck with regards to trains, with one arriving at 11.06 a.m. to whisk us away to Sittingbourne where we will change for Swale Halt. At the next stop, Newington, a number of our fellow passengers alight. They are mostly elderly chaps and look like they are going on a walking trip, perhaps they too are taking the Saxon Shore way towards Swale Halt and we will pass them as we walk?
We get off at Sittingbourne and catch the tiny 2-carriage 11:25am train to Sheerness. As the ticket inspector checks our tickets, two burley Transport Police lumber along behind him watching proceedings. As they purposefully move towards the front of the two carriage train, I wonder why two policemen would be riding ‘shotgun’ on a 10 minute train journey to Sheerness. I suspect Sheppey must be a pretty tough place for ticket inspectors.
We disembark at Swale Halt and are reminded of the last time we were here, when we were the only passengers getting on. This time we are the only passengers getting off – other than the two burly policemen. As we walk past them the bigger of the two emits a loud sigh and looks up to the heavens. I suspect they have just had a trying time on the train with a difficult member of the Sheppey public.
Swale Halt is probably the least welcoming station on the whole of British Rail. It feels like a frontier town between the UK and the independent principality of Sheppey. In fact there is no town here, just the station and the busy bridge carrying road traffic across the Swale to Sheppey. You can almost see the tumbleweeds blowing past.
We quickly find the Saxon Shore path, which follows the top of the sea wall keeping the Thames from flooding a large area of farmland hereabouts. It is high tide, so it should be falling over the next few hours as we make our way back to the car at Rainham. To my mind this is perfect coast walking, with increasing amounts of the shore being exposed as we travel.
It is currently midweek in October. Had it been an August weekend, we may well have met a few walkers and boating enthusiasts, however not a soul is to be seen.
Four hundred yards along the sea wall we come across a couple of bird watchers and I bid them good day. The response is muted. Still it is perfect walking weather, with bright sunshine and a brisk cooling breeze.
Teasels – the ‘tumbleweeds’ of the sea wall
Although tumbleweeds would be an unlikely plant to see, the sea wall does have its own distinctive vegetation – most notably Teasel, whose stands of brown toilet-brush heads project heavenward from the sea wall.
A large lagoon comes into view. This takes in the thousands of cubic metres of water that drain off the marshes and low-lying fields in the immediate area. Doubtless much of it will be pumped into the Swale at low tide.
Lagoon holding water drained from the reclaimed marshes
The strong breeze that makes walking so enjoyable today, also turns the arms of three huge wind turbines across the water on Sheppey. I’m sure that many more of these mechanical monsters will shortly colonise the area over the coming years. It is obviously an area with wind to spare.
Piles of rocks (rip-rap) placed against the sea-wall where wave action has removed the protective salt-marsh
On the seaward side of the grassy embankment that forms the sea wall, patches of salt marsh cling on, as ripping tides and currents erode their seaward edges. The erosion of salt marsh and the sea wall is evident here, with blocks of sandstone and concrete strategically placed to protect the original revetment, which is evidently unable to do its job of protecting the sea wall from the ravages of the River Thames.
Over the last few centuries man has ‘reclaimed’ large areas of the sea, but nature’s processes are longer term still. Inexorably the sea is claiming back the land, through rising sea levels and the power of wave action. The loss of salt marsh adjacent to the sea wall is a ‘bit-actor’ in this drama. Salt marsh is a ‘sink’ for atmospheric carbon, with its loss advancing climate change and sea level rising. Further, loss of salt marsh leaves the sea wall unprotected from wave action. Nature will have its way in the end.
The Thames Estuary is a transitional area between the sea proper and the river environment. We are uncertain as to where the one stops and the other starts, but have decided we should walk as far as the lowest crossing point, the Gravesend to Tilbury Ferry. We may well decide otherwise, but that is a decision we will make for ourselves, rather than deferring to anyone else’s opinion on the matter. In fact searching for definitions on-line leaves me thinking that the point at where a river becomes the sea is a pretty arbitrary point anyway.
No public access to Chetney Marshes – the birds are not to be disturbed (until they can be shot)
Eventually we are turned away from the coast at Chetney Marshes, by a sign declaring that the land beyond is privately owned. Hopefully, one day legislation will enable the public to access every part of the coast. I daresay we could walk along the shoreline between high and low water, although we would need to ascertain if the bit of foreshore in question is Crown Property (only about 45% is in private ownership). We however prefer to follow public rights of way, which saves us from being set upon by dogs, or threatened by gun-toting landowners.
The path takes us south west along the ‘Old Counter Wall’, which must have been an earlier sea wall, before they reclaimed the Chetney Marshes that we are currently forbidden to walk upon.
We shortly encounter another couple of binocular carrying individuals, so I ask my favourite question “Any good birds around?”
This time the couple are much more prepared to share their knowledge. “Marsh Harrier and a Red-legged Partridge” Proclaims the gentleman cheerily.
“Are you walking the Saxon Shore Path” Asks the lady.
“We are indeed, from Swale Halt to Rainham” I answer.
I ask if they know who owns the land we were forbidden to walk on and it turns out the lady is employed by an organisation called Birdwise, to record birds on the marsh.
“That land is privately owned, for bird conservation” she answers.
“I gather conservation in this instance means so that the conservers can shoot them for sport?”
“Correct” She confirms – in an obviously disapproving manner.
I always find this a difficult definition to square. I’d rather they just called it what it really is “shooting wildlife for fun”.
She gives me a leaflet about Birdwise, which I am pleased to discover does not advocate shooting anything. It seems that such are the pressures from development in this area, that voluntary and local government bodies have formed an organisation to monitor bird activity in North Kent. Without scientifically collected data one cannot have an informed debate about the value of a given area for wildlife. Her job is to record species of birds seen on her travels.
“The Brent Geese will be arriving soon” She enthusiastically informs me, evidently wanting to share her local bird knowledge.
“I suppose they’ll be wanting to put more wind turbines in, like those” I say, gesticulating towards the ones on Sheppey.
“Solar farms appear to be more popular at the moment,” she replies, “although the birds don’t like them because they reflect the sunlight, which puts them off landing.”
We thank her for the information and leave them to get on with their bird spotting. In the distance we can see a large blue boat, which looks like it is loading at Sheerness, or possibly across the mouth of the Medway at the terminal at Grain. On these flat lands it is difficult to work out distance and direction, even with a map.
As we pass an isolated farm building we add a flock of goldfinch to our list of birds, with the occasional little egret and a few rabbits thrown in for good measure. After a mile of walking along the Old Counter Wall we find ourselves on the western side of the peninsular, where we gaze across the waters and mud flats of the Medway estuary. We are now directly opposite Chetney Hill, a low island built as a lazaret or quarantine base for the Medway ports, in times of epidemic diseases.
The Medway Estuary and the Chetney Hill lazaret (right of photo) – built as a quarantine base
A small beach presents Betty with the opportunity to do a bit of mudlarking, collecting items of interest to make her mosaics – including pieces of pottery and glass, as well as pebbles and shells. She is cock-a-hoop about the pieces of crockery and glass bottles, many of which are obviously bits of someone’s china tea set and dinner plates. We even find small chunks of fireplace and wall tiles, probably late 19th or early 20th century in origin. We wonder if the broken bits of pottery are from the rubble created by the Blitz and perhaps dumped in a landfill at the side of the Thames, later reworked by the river and ending up deposited downstream on this beach.
The mudlarking beach
Cordgrass
Sea Samphire otherwise known as Poor-man’s Asparagus.
Both plants are tolerant of changing salinity – being key colonisers and stabilizers of mud-flats along the Thames and Medway estuaries.
We decide to stop for lunch and examine the geology of the boulders that must have been placed here to counter the impact of waves on the sea wall. They are a mix of sandstone and shelly limestones, with the occasional lump of concrete. Betty spots a large fossil lying on the beach – it is a devil’s toe-nail or gryphea. This marine bivalve is commonly found in rocks of Jurassic age, suggesting that the material must have come from quarries in Dorset – most likely Portland Limestone. She insists on carrying her 1 kilo prize for the next 10 miles or so, eclipsing my gripe about carrying 180 grams in one-pound coins.
From our private beach we spot a marsh harrier cruising overhead, with its distinctive V shaped wing profile. As it passes over Chetney Hill a brave lone herring gull dashes out to speed it on its way.
Lunch finished, we travel south along the sea-wall, noticing that a recent tide has deposited flotsam almost to the top. A sure-fire indication that flooding is an increasing risk to the adjacent lowland.
Strand-line of washed-up vegetation (just beyond the kissing gate) – indicates the rising flood risk
Further on is the area of water known as Bedlams Bottom, where we discover several wrecks of Thames barges, probably dumped here when their useful life was over. Many Thames barges have today been lovingly restored to form the basis of a Thames Estuary tourist industry, but the majority ended their days like these, rotting reminders of when the whole estuary was awash with their red sails.
Thames barge graveyard at Bedlams Bottom
The Saxon Shore Way has provided some excellent walking, but as we near the Medway towns and the London fringe, there is a growing awareness that we are no longer exploring pleasant countryside, as we did across East Sussex and Kent, instead there is now a sense of urban oppression.
As we climb Raspberry Hill, the Saxon Shore Way crosses Raspberry Hill Lane and eventually meets a rough farm track. In the distance we can see smoke rising from some dilapidated buildings and the sound of several large dogs barking. The fields hereabouts appear to be full of horses of various breeds. A sign warns the passing walker “Dogs Running Loose”. I feel a deep foreboding about it all.
Coming along the track towards us is a party of walkers, some of whom I recognise from the train at Newington Station. This makes me feel a little more comfortable as we bid them “good day”. Approaching Raspberry Hill Park it is evident that we are not welcome, with yet another sign warning us “Dogs running loose”. I consider turning back, but the walking party we have just passed gave no warnings, so I assume passing what is obviously a traveller park should present no problem.
Contradictory signs suggest walkers are not welcome along the public footpath at Raspberry Hill
We very quickly become aware that this is not going to be the most enjoyable part of our walk. As we approach the park we soon realise that the three barking dogs are closer to the size of big cats than your average labrador. To our great relief they are not actually running free at present, but are chained to concrete blocks sunk in the ground. Two are perhaps 100 yards away, but we do have to pass within 10 yards of the nearest, which bares its teeth and tugs as hard as it can on its chain. I can see why it is so bad tempered, chained up all day. It is obviously not a well-groomed house pet, with its thick brown fur moulting as it stalks up and down.
Under my breath I mutter “Thanks for the warning you miserable toe-rags!” – in the direction of the long-vanished walking party.
Whilst our approach to the park is gingerly executed, our passing is as urgent as an olympic race-walker. It is evident that these people do not want anyone casually passing by their premises. I wonder what it is they might be concealing from the passing walker? More to the point, how do they put up with the decibel level from these hounds?
Just when we think we are passed the worst of it, a puppy comes bounding out, barking in imitation of its bigger bretheren. Unfortunately this one is not shackled and gives Betty a nip round the ankles. It is fortunate that she is wearing gaiters, otherwise it would have drawn blood through her thin leggings.
Thankful that no worse fate has befallen us, we scuttle off through a kissing gate, certainly not in the mood for our customery peck as we do. We quickly put a few hundred yards between us and the traveller park. Very soon we realise that the ordeal may not yet be over, as we approach the back of yet another traveller park. This time we give it a wide berth and I am thankful that the wind is in our favour. No further dogs appear and we gratefully make the sanctuary of a public road.
It is then that I realise that in our panic we have missed a turning and that we have the choice of either returning most of the way back to the original traveller park to find the Saxon Shore Way, or making a 1 mile detour along the narrow country roads. Shaken much more than I would have thought from such an encounter, we opt for the latter.
The walk is not without its incidents as it takes us up one of those rat-runs you find around urban areas, as the rush hour approaches. 30 minutes of pressing ourselves into hawthorn hedges to avoid on-coming cars eventually returns us back to the Saxon Shore Way.
We can’t complain about busy roads that are not on the Saxon Shore Way, but the next one definitely is. With no footway for sanctuary, any innocent Saxon Shore walker is in real peril here. Thankfully we make it to Lower Halstow and turn off the road.
The Church of St Margaret of Antioch and the adjacent quayside at Lower Halstow
The tranquility of the church of St Margaret of Antioch is in much appreciated contrast with that of the last hour. Had the church been open we might have gone in to give thanks for deliverance. This would have been most appropriate, since she was the patron saint of expectant mothers – so must have been well placed when it came to deliverance. I gather she was eventually struck off the list of saints because she was found to be fictitious, although this didn’t stop her being one of the saintly voices that Joan of Arc apparently heard.
Alongside the church is an ancient looking quayside where wooden brick barges would have loaded up with locally produced bricks, destined for Victorian London. Our path follows the sea wall alongside salt marsh and mudflats, the tide now being well down. Spectacular panoramic views across the Medway take in The Isles of Grain and Sheppey, with the masts of hundreds of moored yachts clanking in the brisk autumn breeze.
Our encounters with wayward dog owners continues as we walk the path. We pass a woman with 2 dogs, one of which is apparently good enough to run free, whilst the less trusted one is on one of those retractable leads. Instead of reeling in the more wayward dog she allows it to jump up at Betty. Betty’s disapproval earns the poor creature a severe beating from the owner. I suspect that dog owners get the dogs they deserve. Bring back the dog licence I say, with dog owners having to pass a suitability test before being granted one.
We encounter a number of live-aboard barges moored further along, one of which is guarded by a yapping poodle behind its wire fence. These lovely old boats offer a massive amount of space and fabulous views for the occupants, although I suspect the upkeep of them bites deep into the wallet.
Live-aboard Thames Barges – Twinney Saltings, Lower Halstow
Another bird watcher approaches along the path, carrying the trade-mark regalia of his kind – a whopping great telephoto lens, camera and tripod.
I asked him the age old question when addressing bird-spotters and anglers “Anything good?”
His monosyllabic response is “Yes”, before he quickly moves on. For all I know he might have been a well-equipped Peeping Tom – explaining his reluctance to share his observations with me.
Once again the Saxon Shore Way turns inland through the hamlet of Ham Green, before passing through a typical Kentish orchard. The trees are heaving with produce and we take the liberty of picking up a couple of windfalls, but guiltily secrete them about our persons when we hear a small tractor approaching. As the tractor passes, towing several trailers full of freshly picked Golden Delicious, I think how gratifying it must be – bringing in a good harvest. We ourselves are always pleased – nay surprised – when we get a good crop of veg from our allotment.
Just beyond the orchard the footpath crosses the grounds of a riding stables. To our horror two more large dogs are running loose, on the other side of a 3-foot sheep-wire fence. The fence seems hardly up to the job, as we are forced to pass within biting distance of them jumping up at the sheep-wire. In the wake of our previous encounters I speak forcefully to a woman who is obviously responsible for them, pointing out that not everyone appreciates dogs, especially when the dogs are acting so aggressively, as we pass along a public right of way. She obviously can’t see what all the fuss is about.
I don’t blame the dogs’, but the owners of such ill-disciplined animals, who have no sense of responsibility for their behaviour. I know of plenty of good dog owners who have gone to great trouble to ensure their dogs are well behaved, but there are increasing numbers of people who just don’t have the first idea.
Beyond the stables is a large pond – one of those strange places you find on a map, marked as ‘fishing lake’. Here silent, pensive males of the species sit on folding chairs staring fixedly upon an orange float attached to their fishing rod. Each one of them occupies his own little platform adjacent to the water and gives no indication that they have even noticed that you are there. Just silent, motionless, watching. I decide against my usual question – “anything good” – as we quickly move on, concerned that these zombie fishermen might suddenly come to life and start baying for blood, in much the same way as the local dogs do.
Beyond them is a large field full of parked cars. At first I assume them to belong to the fishermen, until I realise that many of them are actually blocking in their parked neighbours. All is revealed once we reach the adjacent road, where a large sign proclaims that these cars are for sale at ‘rock-bottom prices’ and also that cars are ‘bought for cash’. You wonder how these paragons of virtue manage to make any money at all from their selfless industry. It is noteworthy how quickly landuse on the urban fringe changes from orchard, to riding stable, to fishing lake, to second hand car retailer.
The Horsham Lane rat-run presents ‘clear and present danger’ to Saxon Shore Way walkers
At this point the Saxon Shore Way follows a further busy and narrow rat-run of a road. This one too has no footway and once again we have to continually press ourselves into bushes or against garden walls. The traffic noise is overpowering and reminds me why we live and walk in the quiet of the High Weald.
Fortunately we escape this after half a mile and enter the relative sanctuary of another orchard full of burgeoning pear trees, before returning to the noise of the busy road. Rainham is certainly keeping us on our toes. As we approach a residential area we come across yet another travellers’ site, with caravans packed in together like a holiday camp at Great Yarmouth, with small children running around and the essential dog or two. A greyhound stands looking at us at the side of the pavement, but it shows no interest. I assume it has already eaten.
Desperate to get off the busy road we pick our way through an attractive housing estate full of expensive parked cars. Mercedes, BMWs and Jaguars fill their drives, each with a number plate indicating how recently their owners made their considerable investment. The estate seems a little incongruous next to the traveller site, whilst just beyond it the housing quality drops again. The streets here are full of white vans and ‘scally’ looking children playing with an old pram – in much the same way as I did as a child.
A mother sticks her head out of a window and shouts “you be careful Jimmy” at one of the pram kids across the road. Then, her parental responsibilities dispensed, she returns to watching ‘Neighbours’ on the television. Many of the gardens here are full of old settees and carpets. Even baths and toilets fill the flower beds, which suggests money is available for upgrading the house decore, but not quite enough for their disposal. Few people have any sense of pride in their gardens or general environment along this road.
We pass through a small park, where Betty bids “Hello” to a passing lady walking her dog. Her only response is a blank look. To us the countryside is a place to escape and walk in solitude, sharing a pleasant “hello” with anyone you happen to meet. In urban areas such as this, people seem to have found a different form of solitude, ignoring any and every stranger encountered. The urban fringe is a place of constant conflict one suspects – a sort of ‘dog eat dog’ mentality (I wish they would sometimes – reducing the risks to passing walkers!).
We reflect upon the rationale behind extending the Saxon Shore Way, the de-facto England Coast Path, between The Isle of Sheppey and Gravesend. The route here actually avoids the coast for much of its length, it passes some pretty disturbing sites where walkers are obviously not wanted and it directs walkers along some noisy and frankly dangerous roads lacking suitable footways. As with many of the UK’s long distance paths, I suspect it contains sections created by an office junior, as a desk exercise involving an OS map and little else. Instead of being regarded as serving a desirable or beneficial function, such paths become just one more piece of political window dressing to give the public the impression that something is being done.
We decide that Rainham is as far as we will go up the Thames on our England and Wales Coast Path venture. If today’s walk is representative of the land-use and people we are likely to encounter, then we’ll miss out the Medway Towns and Gravesend. In fact the far bank of the Thames Estuary is probably pretty much the same. Having lived in East London and worked in Basildon for nearly 4 years I know what we can expect to find there. Perhaps we’ll just redefine the coast of England – perhaps starting at Southend or Leigh-on-Sea. Either that, or we’ll settle for doing the Thames Estuary section by bike, perhaps when we have completed all of the more desirable stretches of the English coastline. But that is a long way off yet.