I had been planning to take a trip out to Dungeness on the south east coast of England in the beautiful county of Kent. Dungeness was the home of the late Derek Jarman, once a powerhouse of British counterculture, today Dungeness is probably better known for housing two nuclear power stations, Dungeness A and Dungeness B. My plan was to take a few pictures with my trusty old Canon AE-1 and use a roll or two of black and white. I opted for Ilford ISO 400 and ISO 125. The photos here were taken with the ISO 400.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Derek_Jarman
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dungeness_Nuclear_Power_Station
I’m familiar with parts of Kent, I have a good friend Jerry Vaughan, who makes a living taking photographs of the Kent coast, he has a gallery next door to the famed Oyster restaurant. Jerry sells some wonderful analogue cameras, in fact the last time I was in Whitstable I purchased a lovely little Olympus Trip for less than forty quid with a stylish faux reptile skin embossed covering which I still use.
http://www.jvaughanphotography.co.uk/
I boarded the train from London Bridge to a small hamlet called Sandling, just past Ashford. Ashford is the gateway to Europe and a major terminal for continental bound Eurostar trains. I’d done a little research before hand and planned on walking from Sandling to Hythe where I could perhaps get a bus or narrow gauge steam railway to Dungeness, some thirteen and a half miles from Hythe. Walking out of the station at Sandling I was met by a road; do I take the left or the right? There were no sign posts. I asked a taxi driver who pointed left so off I went, along leafy country lanes, the autumn sun illuminating the yellows and burnt oranges of silent leaves which hung forlornly, waiting for the guillotine of a wintery gust to strip the trees of their finery.
I walked for twenty minutes or so along undulating road, the next hillock or bend would reveal a country residence offset from the road, these were well heeled homesteads, each one with its own story to tell, perfectly in keeping with their surroundings. After a while I began to sense her, not knowing where or when she would reveal herself, my anticipation prickled then absolutely without warning appeared a dazzling golden glint in the middle distance where the autumn sun caught her, I climbed over a sty and energised by the sight in front of me I excitedly walked on. A few miles ahead of me I could make out the absolute straight, clean horizon, the sky and the sea were at one where they met, the silvery English Channel calm, at peace and breathtaking in its silent brooding beauty.
The way I’d approached Hythe from Sandling station meant that I meandered down through a manicured residential estate, the front lawns, hedging and edging perfectly kept, there was no detritus to be seen and for that matter no people. I continued down winding footpaths and into cul-de-sacs offering more footpaths that connected more cul-de-sacs to footpaths, after what seemed longer than necessary I found myself on a main road that led downhill toward Hythe town centre.
It had never really occurred to me until then that when exploring an unknown area on foot a small matter of thirteen miles becomes a major obstacle, a matter of 71’280 feet to be sure. I decided on boarding the last steam train run of the year from Hythe, the smallest passenger steam train in the world. I only had four or five hours of light with which to play and even less time due to the fact that it stopped running just before night fall. The men in coats at the ticket office of the Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch Railway had scoffed at my cavalier suggestion that I could walk at least part of the way stating that it would take three days for me to walk to Dungeness and back and that was with a tail wind. They had tickets to sell too of course, although they did suggest the local bus service as an alternative.
http://www.rhdr.org.uk/pages/11.html
I had researched the option of taking the RHDR Railway to Dungeness and back, however due to its one third scale, 25 miles per hour top speed and rail tracks only fifteen inches wide coupled with a few too many Kentish ales the night before I had left myself with little option but to take the train to New Romney, four stops on from Hythe.
To add to the melee this particular weekend was the last of the year the train ran a service to Dungeness before hibernating for the winter, save for the special Christmas service during December when it runs a ‘Santa Special’. The run coincided with Halloween weekend, when virtually every little ghoul in Kent was boarding the Lilliputian oddity to attend various parties further along the line. My now gargantuan seeming frame was seated opposite a Scream, a Skeleton and a Count Dracula, the gruesome trio would have made a lovely picture, framed perfectly by the sides and ceiling of our 1920’s wooden carriage. I refrained from taking a picture, sadly, an opportunity missed. I was the self conscious one. I’ve saved the scene, maybe next year. Later, the darkness would be punctuated with hummers, crackles, bangs and whistles, the following Saturday would be November the 5th and the skies would be illuminated by fireworks and bonfires, the autumnal air laden with sulphur.
Having alighted at New Romney, I made my way down to the seafront to take a few pictures. Luckily, Jerry was happy to drive over as he was keen to try out his Japanese Mamiya M645 box camera before the light split behind a backdrop of cloud and the cloak of night took hold. We decamped to the Pluto Inn for a pint accompanied by fresh cod and chips, served by jolly witches. I enjoyed my trip to Kent, even though I didn’t get see all the things I wanted to, I want to go back there next spring to explore the ‘Sound Mirrors’ at Greatstone and see more of Dungeness. Next time I’ll be better prepared. Jerry very kindly dropped me back at Sandling, where I boarded the return train to London and got home in time for Match of the Day.
