The Beauty and History of East Kent

Waldershare Ride; Aug 5th 2009

It is eleven o'clock and already 25 degrees. We (Peter, Lorna and John) meet at Ruth and Robert's beautiful home and garden near Waldershare, north of Dover. Poor Rosemary is unwell so this blog is dedicated to her and we all wish her a speedy recovery.

John (because of his back) and Lorna (because its her first ride with the group) have been promised an easy amble through flat countryside. When John sees Ruth and Robert looking so young, trim and fit in their lycra, he has forebodings. Completely unfounded. They are delightful company and most patient with those for whom fate has decreed that that the odd glass of wine and heavenly home made dessert can never be completely ridden off in the afternoon. What goes through the lips stays on the hips…..

We are heading for the Fitzwalter Arms at Goodnestone. Out of the driveway and down the old road towards Tilmanstone, a delightful village in the heart of Kent's coalfield. As Lorna points out later in the ride, this area benefits from the "Pfizer effect". Five thousand well paid employees of the pharmaceutical mammoth have transformed this once poor and isolated part of Kent into a rural utopia of posh pubs, 09 registered BMW's, and pretty cottages with impeccably landscaped gardens. Bravo I say.

As we pedal quietly along a peaceful lane, a helicopter dives in for a close look at our little party, banks away then comes back in for a second reconnoitre; we feel nervous. Why are we being harassed in this way? Has Peter forgotten to renew his TV licence? Has John upset Gordon? We just don't know - but camouflage jackets may be wise for the next ride.

Robert can't help racing ahead - once I have jettisoned my unwanted ballast I will be up there with him.

Ruth chats to Lorna and me about all sorts of interesting things. Lorna is having no difficulty with the hills and is much fitter than she would have had us believe.

I am not ashamed of lagging behind because someone has to take the photos.

We pause at a crossroads and Peter explains that Goodnestone is far too close and we need to divert to Eastry so that lunch can be properly earned.

At last we arrive at the Fitzwalter Arms. Judith calls Peter on his mobile to say she is missing us.

Our reception at the Fitz is tepid. Ruth thinks it is because we are perceived as sweaty cyclists looking for a cheap meal; we are of course. We are told to wait in the garden for an hour - with the wasps.

The call to table does not come, so we walk into the dining room preferring to be stung by the prices rather than the vicious inhabitants of the garden. Peter points out an interesting architectural feature of the cottage next door, John notices the wasps nest in the chimney.

As it sinks in that we may have more to offer in the wallet and thinking departments, our hostess mellows. John can never resist extracting humour from the direst situations, and is remembered by colleagues at one meal, after the precious and pretentious waiter had announced a long list of complicated and overly elaborated desserts, whether he could have some tinned fruit salad.

The Fitz's resident chef was on fine form today and lunch was convivial and delicious. Special mention must go to the roasted plum, French toast and cinammon ice cream dessert which was just so much better than tinned fruit salad!

Some hours later, we remounted and were promised a short ride back to base. It was more arduous than some of us had bargained for, but utterly delightful, through some spectacular scenery and with one of those serendipitous encounters one only gets on a bike ride.

Robert proposed returning via Nonnington; to see the ancient Oak tree in Fredville Park. Am I unique in having lived in Kent for the best part of 40 years and never heard of Fredville park, seat of the Plumptre family? Certainly the name is hardly redolent with associations of the English aristocracy - Chatsworth, Blenheim, Sandringham and so forth -but of course we would be wrong to think this as the following notes explain:-

Freydevill 1266, Freydvile 1309, Fredvyle 1401, Freidfylde 1552 , Fredfield 1639, Fretfield 1780's map:

Fredville is in neither the Doomesday Book nor Archbishop Pecham's 1283-86 survey of the Manor of Wingham. The name is said to derive from the old French : freide ville , meaning a cold place, from its cold, wet, low position, however, an alternative origin is more likely as Fredville's situation does no really fit this description.

A alternative derivation could be from the Anglo-Saxon frith or frid meaning wooded country as nearby Holt Street; holt, a wood or thicket, and Hangers Hill; hangra, a wooded slope or 'hanging wood', show the area was once heavily wooded therefore giving a possible derivation from frith or frid feld ; literally a wood field, really a field or clearing in the wood. TH tended to be pronounced as D, so that, until quite recently, 'those', 'them' and 'that' were pronounced 'dose', 'dem' and 'dat' and as previously explainedfeld evolves into vil, so giving frid-vil.

Fascinating indeed……………and for those of you who have stayed with us so far…Well Done!

Back to the blog. As we approached the venerable Oak Tree in "FreidFylde" Park, we chanced upon the Game Keeper and his wife, who welcomed us in to the grounds of their glorious house and garden, once the stable block. This was a couple upon whom God has smiled. They have spent their lives in a corner of paradise for which many a banker would have risked premature burn out, or many a crook a few long years in Parkhurst. Hopefully the photos tell the story.

Mrs Gamekeeper comes out of the house with a photo album. A picture shows the stable block in the 1930's; like so many similar properties it was taken over by the Army in WW2. One evening, a careless soldier dropped a cigarette into a pile of straw. The house was almost totally destroyed. However the clock tower and arched entrance remain intact. Years later, one of the gamekeeper's children was playing in the garden beneath the tower when a lump of lead fell from the bell tower and embedded itself in the grass a few inches from the child. Mr Plumptre immediately gave orders for the top of the tower to be removed.

(Footnote: Fredville House - or at least part of it - was a private girls'school in the 1920's and 1930's; hence the group of pupils on the lawn in one of the album photos)

The oak tree is magnificent, even though it recently shed a colossal branch which now lies statuesque and surrounded by little heaps of 'frass' (death watch beetle poo to you). I think someone calculated the circumference as 30 yards.

We leave Fredville through the south gate and head for Barfrestone with its picture book cottages, bijou Yew Tree pub/restaurant, and intriguing St Nicholas Church perched on a steep hill on the village outskirts.

Out of Barfrestone up to Golgotha*, beneath which runs the East Kent Railway, and below that the former coal mine workings of nearby Tilmanstone and Snowdon Collieries.

(*Anyone know how this little corner of Kent got this name, being the Aramaic word for "Skull";referred to in the Bible as 'the place of the skull' ?)

From Golgotha to Waldershare House - a magnificent Georgian palladian mansion now divided into prestige apartments. Ruth recounts the legend of the gypsy curse which plagued the resident family for many years.

And so back for refreshments at Churchwood House. Thanks to Peter, Ruth and Robert for a delightful ride, and to Lorna for her company. Hopefully she will join us again.

Apologies for the length of this blog, but it was one of the best rides we have enjoyed.

PS If there are any non-riders out there who read these blogs, please feel free to give feedback on the message board. And to the person who gave last week's effort a single star rating, no-one has been hurt or taken offence, but if it happens again, do bear in mind the efectiveness of the gypsy's curse!