Taken for granted...

A couple of weekends ago I saw something I'd never thought I'd ever see - but unbelievably I failed to appreciate its value. Walking with friends in the countryside of the Elham valley, we saw a red kite soaring above us. I'd heard various reports of red kite sightings in Kent over the last few years, but this was the first time. How times have changed.

Back in the 1980s the red kite was on the verge of extinction in Britain with just a handfuls of pairs left in mid-Wales. Thankfully the RSPB began a breeding programme which has helped the kite return in healthy numbers.

In 1990 we stayed on a mid-Wales farm for a holiday. In that week we managed to get a fleeting glimpse of one bird. However, these days they're such a common sight on our returns to the same location that sighting one over Kent didn't have the impact on me (at the time) that it should have.

Thnakfully, that evening, as I wrote up the details of our walk, I appreciated the value of what we'd witnessed that day.

The photos on this page were all taken in Wales over the past five years.

The sun has already set...

on the empire, but it seems that the Conservative party (a collation government partner running our country) has forgotten that we no longer have an empire to trade with.

In its blind panic to re-engage with those attracted to Ukip's sudden appeal to the man on the Clapham omnibus, the Conservative party, or at least a significant number of its MPs, seems to have overlooked the fact that we live in a global economy for which it becomes increasingly difficult for a single nation to make its way in the world without friends and allies. Here's somebody urging caution. Does the UK (potentially with the loss of Scotland) really believe it can continue to make its way in the world on it's own? Perhaps once these politicians have sorted out the EU, they can also arrange for England to win the world cup again...

Going off the rails with Mr Bradshaw

Inspired by one of Michael Portillo's journeys through Kent with his trusty Bradshaws guide, we decided to spend a day exploring parts of Kent by rail.

From Strood we took the Medway Valley line, stopping at Maidstone West to change trains. Waiting on the platform, we noticed the architecture of the buildings and canopy were distinctly different for each platform. A quick "chat" with Dr Wiki revealed that the townsfolk of Maidstone were frightened of the prospect that the coming of the railways in the early 1840s would kill the town, so they opposed a station. Only later did they realise the error of their ways and allowed a branch line to be built from Paddock Wood to Maidstone West; subsequently the line was extended along the Medway valley as far as Strood and the Medway Towns.

Just as the HS1 and then HS2 routes have caused recent controversy, so the Victorians must have contended with similar fears and concerns. We might grumble at today's railways, but we take them for granted, not realising what our forebears also struggled with as Britian pioneered travel for the masses. I wonder how many Victorian towns went into decline due to a lack of railway service, while other towns prospered?

Onwards through Paddock Wood to Tonbridge and another stop. It must have been at least thirty five years since I last travelled this line which forms the main line from East Kent to London. The architecture at Tonbridge reminded me of my "home" station of Dover Priory and Dr Wiki quickly confirmed that both were rebuilt in the 1930s.

Off again to Sevenoaks and another transfer to head off up the Darenth Valley line to Swanley. First stop, Bat and Ball. Having heard the station announced many time over the years, I'd always wondered why it should have such a curious name - goodness knows what foreign visitors must think! Anyway, Dr Wiki advised that it it was named after the long-gone pub of the same name in the road beside the station.

Continuing, we caught glimpses of the lavender fields, which will soon be in full blossom, as well as a snatched view down the valley from the viaduct near Eynsford, although we were unable to see either the castle or Roman villa at Lullingstone. Having driven under the viaduct on numerous occasions, it was interesting to see the countryside from above it.

Arrival at Swanley brought back memories of a mistake I made back in the '80s when returning home from London. In a rush to catch an earlier train than normal, and with moments to go, I caught the train standing on my regular platform. As it pulled away I realised I didn't recognise a single face in the carriage and the guard confirmed we were heading to Sevenoaks. In the days before the internet and mobile phones, I was totally reliant on the guard to assist me with timetable information to get me home. Changing trains at the first stop, I was soon back at Swanley and a long wait for a slow train home. The one consolation, though, was that as I stood in the evening sun at Swanley, I could at least enjoy a steam-hauled Orient Express as it raced through the station.

As Michael Portillo, Michael Palin, and Suggs have all noted, there's more to a train journey than just arriving. An interesting, educational and enjoyable day. More photos on Flickr.

Here comes the sun...

As the George Harrison continued, "Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter".

The last week or two has seen warmer weather in these parts of the country, but what a long old slog it's been to get here. This past winter must have been the longest, darkest, coldest winter I can ever recall. While we might not have had prolonged periods of seriously cold weather or snow and ice conditions in this part of the country this particular, it was consistently cold, dark and depressing.

I now appreciate what it must be like for folk living in the north of Scotland (I hear it was snowing there yesterday) or on the islands or in the Nordic / Scandinavian countries. No wonder they do so much to celebrate the arrival of summer and mid-summers day.

PS - spooky. Since writing this blog, I've visited Wikipedia and seen that George Harrison is today's headline feature.

Birdsong

They say that every family in Britain had some sort of connection with the First World War. However, up until some six years ago, I always thought we were an exception. My paternal grandfather did join up but by the time his training was complete the war was over. Beyond that I didn't think we had any family involvement. And then I discovered that my maternal great grandfather was one of seventeen children, a discovery which also brought with it two known WWI family connections.

Unbeknown to him, my maternal grandfather had a great uncle who died during the conflict and a cousin who finished the war with a gunshot wound to his head. Having visited northern France on numerous occasions, I decided it was time to pay another visit.

Day one, visiting the family sites, was a series of heavy showers and grey skies interspersed with bright sunshine and a chill wind - the weather in its own way reflecting the extremes that many soldiers must have endured in France 100 years ago. First stop was a hamlet called Mont Des Cats which is a actually a Catholic abbey atop a small hill. During the war the Abbey was used by the allies as a casualty clearing station for triaging the wounded. It was here that the cousin was treated and assessed before making his way via two hospitals and Boulogne back to Canterbury and recuperation.

The great uncle's story was probably typical of many men of the time. He joined the army in the 1880s and served in India and the second Boer war, both locations where illness and action saw many casualties. Having endured those, he then went throughout the whole of the First World War only to succumb like many others

to the great flu epidemic three months after the war. He's buried in a Commonwealth War Graves plot in the public cemetery in Lille.

Day two may have been brilliant sunshine but it was still very chilly. Having travelled south to the Somme region and stayed overnight in Albert, the next stop was a visit to the Memorial to the Missing of the Somme, at Thiepval. Over 70,000 names are etched on the memorial, which may not be breathtaking in its beauty but which is a sobering reminder of the carnage that must have taken place over the summer of 1916. Crossing the River Ancre, next stop was the Newfoundland memorial park which is maintained by the Canadian government. Walking across no-man's land in the bright sun, with only the chirping of birds to break the silence, it's hard to imagine what life would have been like back then, though  Sebastian Faulks's book, Birdsong, which is set in this area, vividly portrays a sense of what it must have been like. More of my photos of the Somme are available on Flickr.

My girl's mad with me...

A dead cat, a lost father, the children grown up...

Suggs, my life story  is a one-man show (with some support) which sees Suggs, front man for  Madness, setting off on a personal quest which is interspersed with flashbacks to his childhood, the lead-up to the formation of Madness and what happened thereafter. Along the way there are some familiar songs and some interesting impressions.

An intimate show, in complete contrast to last year's Madness Buckingham Palace and Olympic stadium gigs, but still very much a part of London. If you get a chance, see it - it'll take you at least one step beyond.

Sunny seaside days...

 A melange of experiences on a return trip to Margate.

Four years ago our visit was in sharp contrast to the fond childhood memories. Gone were the candy floss, fun fairs and masses of people, replaced by boarded-up shops, a lack of people and the air of a has-been seaside town.

This time the experience was so much more enjoyable. The seafront seemed so short compared to childhood memories and space on the beach wouldn't have been a problem if we'd wanted it. The shone brightly on the new steps set into the promenade near the harbour, a new development that adds character and brings visitors together with the beach and the sea which is what Margate is all about.

On this occasion the exhibitions at the Turner were a little disappointing but something different will come along with time. Outside, the community recognised the dedication of local seafarers, predecessors of the RNLI, when the crew of the Victory gave their lives in 1857 trying to rescue the crew of a ship in distress. A new memorial was unveiled to those selfless souls.

Memories fade - we struggled to remember exactly where the entrance to the town's pier, wrecked in a storm in the late '70s, was. And the seaside rock and beach-spade shops were small  in number. But a wander around the variety of shops, and lunch, in the Old Town was a delight, crowned with afternoon tea in the Mad Hatters Tea Room (a must do when visiting Margate on a Saturday).


Fond memories and a wonderful day out.