Folkestone to Walmer – A Birthday in April 2019

It is the occasion of my birthday and to celebrate we decide to complete another leg of our round Britain tour.  Any normal person would be spending his birthday doing something restful, like a round of golf, or a visit to Walmer Castle and an appointment with a cream tea (well we did actually have a cream tea and we did go to Walmer Castle, but any saturated fats imbibed from the former were well and truly burned off by the manner in which we got to the latter, by walking the 17 miles along the coast to Walmer from Folkestone).

The Birthday Boy!

Starting at Folkestone was made possible by our extra effort during the last leg, when our initial aim was to walk from Dungeness to Sandgate.  In fact we excelled ourselves and pushed on to Folkestone.  The reason for doing the extra few miles now makes perfect sense, since Folkestone has a railway station.  This makes the return trip to our car much simpler, as now all we have to do is walk to somewhere that also has a rail station.  Walmer fits the bill nicely.

When we arrive at Folkestone at 1pm, we immediately look for free parking, since we have an aversion to paying for such a service.  Thankfully unrestricted road-side parking is available within 200 or 300 metres of the station.  This is in stark contrast to large towns and cities such as Brighton, or tourist meccas like our home town of Battle where free parking is a near impossibility.  I like Folkestone.  It is a manageable size, it is an interesting and tidy town and it has free parking close to the station.  Perfect.  Folkestone also offers a range of artistic stimuli for the more cultured visitor.  This seems almost at odds with its economic problems, but it has turned to art as a focus for positive energy and regeneration.

In fact Folkestone has no less than 3 stations and did actually have a 4^th at the harbour, until the Channel Tunnel did for Folkestone’s cross-channel ferry business and the inevitable closure of its harbour station. 

Folkestone Harbour – much quieter since the closure of the Cross Channel Ferry Service

The walk through the town on a Saturday lunch time in April is very pleasant.  In fairness, not everything about Folkestone is positive.  When we arrived here at the end of our last leg, we went to the bus station to catch the bus back to Lydd-on-Sea.  As we waited, two down-and-out looking men sat chatting at the bus shelter.

One of them lurched over to me, evidently worse for drink.

“Ay mate – you let me ‘ave the price of a cup of coffee?  I ‘aven’t eaten all day”

The smell of alcohol was obvious on his breath.  I resisted the urge to hand over any money.

“Coffee won’t fill you up.” I replied pointedly.

“Yeah.  Well perhaps I’ll get a McDonalds instead.” He replied somewhat glibbly.

“Don’t you have a job?” I asked, persisting with my determination to make him work for his reward.

“Well you see I’m a prisoner of conscience.” He reposted.  He must have used the same argument many times, although I doubt he had any real conscience to be prisoner to.

“I’ll give you the first coin I pull out of my pocket.” I offered, whereupon I produced a £1 coin.  “It’s your lucky day” I said, smiling.

“Ta mate.” He replied and returned to his conversation with his chum.

The situation, at night time, in the dark, with two suspicious looking men, was quite frankly threatening and I was glad to see the back of him.  Nonetheless I was torn between feelings of guilt about doubting his circumstances and a sense of being mugged.

What this does illustrate, is that it is nigh impossible to make a judgement about peoples circumstances in a matter of seconds.  In the end we generally either turn our backs, or part with our money.  Either response is generally to the same end, to move on as quickly as possible from an uncomfortable situation. 

In the present climate of austerity it is sad how many men and women are to be found homeless begging in towns and cities all over the UK.  Even a charming little seaside town like Folkestone has its quota of such unfortunates.

Returning to Folkestone in the sunshine, we quickly arrive at the Leas area atop the cliffs.  Spread below us is the harbour and adjacent shingle beach, beyond which the cold grey waters of the English Channel stretch out towards the barely discernible coast of France.

The cliff railway is not working today.  I’m not concerned by this since cliff railways are anathema to us, especially for going down.  The day I take a cliff railway will be the day I am unable to walk.  They are a fun piece of English coastal history, but serve no useful function for the majority of healthy people.

Crocheted poppies adorn the railings of The Leas, Folkestone

Close-by, the railings are covered with hundreds of crocheted poppies. I assume they have been in place since Remembrance Day, 5 months earlier.  They look so fresh and underline the powerful message that art can deliver, in a town where art has such an important role to play.

The short descent to sea level brings us out at a large shingle beach.  It looks like a man-made sea defence and is topped by a board-walk.  We are grateful for this, since shingle is never easy stuff to walk on.  Following its winding passage across the beach we pass a small dome-topped pavilion.  Several formal white chairs have been arranged adjacent to it whilst three young people are busy wrestling with ribbons that they are attempting to bedeck the pavilion with.  It would appear that preparations are under way for someone’s wedding ceremony, but it is cold and breezy and there is a threat of rain showers.  I do hope they have a back-up plan.

The boardwalk leads to the harbour, where the redundant Harbour Station is to be found.  Redundant is an inappropriate word however, as it has been renovated since the line was closed back in 2014.  Now it is a visitor attraction, war memorial and cafe rolled into one.  Very tastefully done too.

The restored Folkestone Harbour Station – now a tourist attraction

We follow the course of the old railway over the listed viaduct, which separates the two halves of the harbour, to Fish market and The Stade. Once again Folkestone offers up a beautiful piece of English coastal history.  The low arch under the viaduct opens onto a charming area of shops and cafes adjacent to the harbour.  A short walk brings us to Sunny Sands, where Cornelia Parker’s Mermaid looks longingly across the Channel.

At the far end of Sunny Sands we find an England Coast Path sign which indicates that we should climb the cliffs. Soon we are walking up past the lookout post where the National Coast Watch volunteers keep a weather eye out for coastal emergencies.  An excellent view of Folkestone Warren opens up before us, as we watch a millipede-like train scurrying along below us, prior to diving into its worm-hole in the chalk cliffs beyond.

The long expected rain shower causes us to scurry for cover and don our water-proofs. Hopefully the happy couple celebrating their nuptials down on the beach, have escaped this unwelcome intervention from the weather.

Fully encased in our waterproofs we make the 150 metre climb to the top of the cliffs, puffing and sweating our way up a steep path as we do.  The view across to France and down onto Folkestone Warren is impressive, especially now that the rain has cleared.

We pass a lady with her dog, one of very few others walking beyond the security of urban life today and we exchange a few quick pleasantries.  It is notable that the path has been strimmed of excessive wayside vegetation in the last day or so.  We are thankful for this, since tall, rain-soaked vegetation can be most uncomfortable.  Tall nettle and blackthorn growth can be even more unpleasant.  Fortunately the local authority appears to put the comfort of the walking public high on their list of things to do.  Hopefully austerity won’t bite into this provision too.

A small wooden gate opens onto an area of immaculately mown lawn, which has the appearance of a fitted carpet that has been cut snugly around a number of shaped mounds.  This is the Battle of Britain Memorial which includes a large modern building providing information about the battle for our skies in 1940/41.

Battle of Britain Memorial 

Folkestone Warren from the cliff top

There appears to be little sign of life and we are loath to be distracted from our main purpose of the day – reaching Walmer before dark, so we quickly move on.  However a few minutes later we chance upon something which does interrupt our main purpose – The Cliff Top Cafe.

Walking is important, but a cream tea on your birthday is even more so.  We consider sitting at one of the outside tables, but one look at the weather induces a change of heart and we find an indoor corner table for two.  Business is not very brisk, so they are doubtless pleased to see us.  Within a few minutes I am tucking into my scone packed with butter, cream and jam.  The tea, served in a proper mug, is boiling hot.  Lovely.  This is the best kind of treat, when tired of limb and battered by weather you stumble across a little gem of a place.

Suitably refreshed we make our way along the path, only to discover it is taking us downward into the bowels of Folkestone Warren.  This is not what we expected, so have to about-face and return to the cafe before finding the correct route along the road for a few hundred yards.  Very soon we are back on the cliff top path, with further strimming debris to reassure us that this is the official route.

The next few miles to Dover are littered with old World War Two defences.  Some of these are concrete, others brick.  The fact that they are still in place is testament to the resistance of the chalk cliffs to erosion.  On the East Anglian coast many of their counterparts are several metres out to sea, as the soft cliffs retreated over the last 70 years.

World War Two cliff-top gun emplacement – I would feel a little exposed to an attack from the west!

World War Two acoustic mirror

Air conditioning units at Samphire Ho

One survivor from the 1930s/40s is an acoustic mirror – a concrete listening structure built to amplify the sound of approaching enemy aircraft. These were abandoned with the advent of radar.  As we spend time looking at this concrete listening structure we are overtaken by two young ladies.  This is unusual, not because we are particularly fast walkers, but more because so few people seem to walk when we do.  Inevitably you meet more people coming the other way than travelling in the same direction.

We exchange a brief “hello” and allow them to march ahead.  We hate getting caught up with other walkers, especially big groups, preferring to plough our lone furrow.  I recall walking the Coast to Coast Path and some old geezer suggesting we walk with him so that he could ensure our safety in anticipation of oncoming high winds. I very politely but firmly told him to bugger off.  One of the great joys of walking is the relative isolation it brings.

A large area of flat land comes into view, at the base of the chalk cliffs.  This is Samphire Hoe, which was created from the spoil dug out when building the Channel Tunnel.  A bank of enormous air conditioning fans occupies the eastern end, ventilating the 22 miles of cross channel tunnel somewhere below the sea bed.  The western end of Samphire Hoe has been designated a nature reserve, with a visitor centre attached to it.

A few hundred metres further ahead we encounter a line of air shafts, built during the steam era, to vent locomotive smoke from the much older railway tunnel which runs beneath us.  Different technology, but the same problem separated by over 100 years. 

I decide to take the opportunity to relieve myself by one, as though I’m scent marking my territory. However, it is too exposed here for a lady to indulge in similar fashion. So with me keeping a careful watch for unexpected travellers, Betty finds a more concealed place to take a comfort break.  This turns out to be a stroke of good look, as my look-out duties enable me to discover a well-placed bench for us to eat our lunch.  By now it is 4pm and our body clocks are totally out of sync.

From our cliff top bench we have a good view of Dover and are able to see well ahead of us, the young ladies who passed us earlier, as they approach the town.  Within 30 minutes we too are approaching Dover and getting totally baffled by the convoluted twists and turns that the England Coast Path creators have conjured up for us.  The route takes us around the massive edifice of Drop Redoubt, a fort built during the Napoleonic Wars.  It is a fine piece of British History, but is a major obstacle when you are in a hurry to get to Walmer before nightfall.

Dover in all its panoramic glory

The threat of invasion from Napoleon or Hitler is long passed, but a new threat now appears to be coming to Dover.  A significant number of Flags of St George highlight this issue, as does a satirical mural on the end wall of a house, depicting a workman chipping off one of the yellow stars on a large blue EU flag.  Both illustrate the strength of local feeling towards Brexit and I suspect -foreigners. The mural has the unnerving aura of one you might expect to find in sectarian Belfast (the mural was painted by Banksy – a few months later the owners of the building had it white-washed over, which caused a bit of a stir). 

Brexit mural painted by Banksy – how he planned it to look on Brexit Day

Brexit mural painted by Banksy

We see few foreign faces in Dover, although the number of immigrant youths seen hanging around Drop Redoubt, suggests that perhaps they prefer its seclusion to the open hostility they might expect in the town centre.

As we pass through Dover town centre, it seems to have little to recommend it to the passing tourist.  The sea front is dominated by the docks, warehousing, port industries and the roar of the traffic moving along the A20 dual carriageway, heading towards the ferry terminal and Europe beyond.  This is front line Brexit and it feels more like the border of Cold War Berlin or Tijuana on the Mexico border.  Above us the medieval castle, Napoleonic Fort and World War Two bunkers echo the feeling of this modern day conflict.  It is depressing.

The England Coast Path signs that took is on a circuitous navigation of Drop Redoubt have fallen into disrepute (in our eyes anyway) and we decide to find our own path through Dover.  This may not be our smartest move, as we quickly become disorientated  Somehow we cross beneath the A20 dual carriageway and emerge close to the sea front in a rather pleasant spacious area surrounded by big Victorian houses.  This in turn leads to a seafront area that I recall from years past.  I realise it is where I once parked my caravan for the night, along with scores of others, ready for an early Channel crossing next day. 

A brisk walk along the sea-front, with white crested waves lashing the promenade, is followed by a re-crossing of the A20, giving us access to East Cliff.  The small houses to the left of this road are dwarfed by the towering chalk cliffs of the North Downs.  A public house aptly entitled “First and Last” must have a long and chequered history, covering centuries of clients having their first or last pint on English soil.  A hand-written sign says “Last bit of civilisation this side of the Channel”. 

The towering chalk cliffs here are far from stable, with numerous steel pegs and protective steel netting in place, to reduce residents’ risk of life and limb from falling rocks.  The opposing side of the road presents yet another man-made cliff face.  This one is made up of newer and much larger Victorian houses, probably built on land reclaimed from the sea.  Doubtless wealthy Victorians took up seaside residence here on the South Coast during their holidays, indulging in the fashion for sea bathing to ensure their good health.  I do wonder if the occupants of the smaller properties behind these had any say in the loss of their sea view.  I suspect not.

At the end of the road a view of the docks opens to our right, as hundreds of cars and lorries trundle in and out of the bowels of the cross-channel ferries, patiently waiting to resume their relentless crossing of the world’s busiest seaway. 

We continue to hug the cliff-line and start ascending. Atop the cliffs here is Dover Castle, looking out across the channel.  As we climb we discover an apparently secret entry to the castle, next to the path.  It has been sealed-off with bricks and I wonder if behind it, during centuries past, long forgotten steps and passages were cut through the chalk.  I am aware that more recently, innumerable tunnels were dug here during the Second World War.

The steeply rising path passes under the A2, carrying still more cars and lorries to and from the busy port.  However, beyond this the deafening road noise quickly diminishes as we continue to climb.  Soon we are passing the buildings of the White Cliffs Experience visitor centre, which provides visitors with information about the rich history, wildlife and geology of the area.  Unsurprisingly this part of the Coast Path is very busy.  This coupled with the incessant tannoy announcements (in both English and French), that emanate from the ferry terminal, detracts from this part of the Coast Path.

Unstable chalk cliffs tower over the houses of East Cliff 

 The docks and castle from the White Cliffs Experience visitor centre

Within half an hour we have the cliffs to ourselves, with the only evidence of Dover, being the occasional ferry majestically floating past us on its way to Dunkirk. We soon make it to the South Foreland Lighthouse, which I gather was the first electric lighthouse in the UK. At this point we are a little flummoxed by the way-marking signs.  However, the joy of cliff walking is that the presence of a 100 metre drop on one side significantly reduces the risk of getting lost.  Then again, a wrong turning could have dire consequences.

Having successfully negotiated the wayward waymarks, without falling off the cliff top, we next pass a couple walking their dog.  As we sweep past them at marching speed, we feel like a pair of hares leaving these tortoises in our wake.  Ten minutes later we turn down a rough track leading down to St Margaret’s at Cliff, only to see our two tortoises plodding along ahead of us.  There’s probably a moral to this story somewhere!

St Margaret’s at Cliff leaves one in no doubt that it is the sort of place that is unlikely to have a food bank.  Any property costing less than a million pounds is probably listed in estate agents windows as being a hovel.

At St Margaret’s at Cliff the England Coast Path once again detours us from the most direct route, taking us down to the beach.  Understandably the creators of the path want us to enjoy the ambiance of this very special place and for once I have to agree with them.  We take the opportunity to sit on a perfectly placed bench, take the weight off our feet and drink in the beauty of the sea and the high, wooded chalk cliffs that bound this little gem of a location.  It even has a well-placed public lavatory, carefully located to save me the risk of indecently exposing myself to some innocent cliff walker.  However, five minutes spent resting by the sea, with a piece of malt loaf, comes at a price. The return climb back up the cliffs leaves me gasping for breath, like a fish out of water.

St Margaret’s at Cliff (looking West) – a great place to sit and enjoy the scenery – a hard place to leave

St Margaret’s at Cliff (looking East)– a great place to sit and enjoy the scenery – a hard place to leave also!

The end of the day is now drawing to a close, but fortunately so is our journey.  The Dover Patrol War Memorial is an impressive sight in the late evening sunlight.  It is part of the Dover War Memorial Project whose patron is Dame Vera Lynn.  How this astonishing lady has kept on going is beyond me.  I recall hearing her voice belting out over a public address system some 10 years ago and it seems she is still hanging in there.  She surely must be well into her second century now.  My only quibble is that her most famous song describes bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover, a bird I suspect that has never wandered from its American homeland to frequent these shores.

The glorious sunlight is now matched by a rainbow at the day’s end, as we pass the club house of Kingsdown golf club.  A black tie dinner is taking place within.  It is an all-male occasion, where the hen-pecked millionaires of Kingsdown, decked out like guillemots perched on a cliff-top roost, go to escape their wives.

Guillemots at the Kingsdown Golf Club Dinner

Kingsdown village, like St Margaret at Cliff, is another select location for those who can afford the opulence of this extremely picturesque area of England.  The England Coast Path rapidly descends here from the cliff-top, down to sea level.  Surprisingly a large proportion of the village is built on the level ground at the foot of the chalk cliffs.  This expanse of sea-derived pebbles was probably built up in much the same way as the cuspate foreland at Dungeness.  The rounded flint pebbles were ultimately derived from the eroding Chalk that dominates much of the south coast of Britain.  However, what the sea giveth, the sea taketh away. Beware of sea level rising Kingsdown!

In the fading light we are able to see the trappings of wealth through open curtains and by the quality of the homes that the locals occupy.  The coast path runs along the seaward side of one row of houses, which appears to have no direct road access.  Moving furniture in and out whenever the properties change hands must be problematic.  Perhaps the furniture changes hands along with the houses it occupies?

  Walmer Castle at dusk

By the time we reach Walmer Castle we are required to walk by torch light. The soaring outline of the castle walls are silhouetted against the dusk sky, but we have no time, light or inclination to inspect the castle further.  Finding a convenient footpath across a field to the east of it, brings us out into Walmer village, yet another well-appointed settlement in this well-healed part of the country.

We now have some 50 minutes to kill before the train arrives, and are pleased to discover The Freed Man.  This calls itself a micro-pub, a new concept to me, but which serves an excellent local beer.  The pub’s name doubtless derives from the landlord’s escape from the strangling effect of brewery-owned premises and their wet tie operation. We even find a good substitute for my planned birthday dinner, a local chippy.  Munching our way through an enormous lump of cod and far-too-many chips, we eventually arrive at Walmer station.

From the comfort of the speeding train’s carriage I am able to do a quick bit of research on rail connections between Walmer and London.  I am surprised to discover that by using the Channel Tunnel line for much of the journey to London St Pancras, residents of Walmer, Kingsdown and St Margaret at Cliff are able to reach the capital within a commutable 1 hour and 15 minutes.  The £54 daily return fare will doubtless prove no problem for those who can afford the six and seven figure residences around here.   

By 10pm. We are staggering jelly-legged from the train at Folkestone Central to our waiting car.  Seventeen miles of walking behind us we reflect on the day’s achievement.  Our unanimous verdict is that if you can afford to live between St Margarets at Cliff and Walmer, then the glorious coastline provides the buyer with money well spent.  If you can’t, then perhaps the next best thing is to live in Folkestone.