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Acrisius was the king of Argos and the brother of King Proetus of Tiryns. Acrisius was warned by an oracle that he would one day be killed by a son born to his daughter Danae. So he promptly locked her up in a tower and threw away the key. But the god Zeus got in, disguised as a shower of gold, and became the father of Perseus.Danae and her son Perseus escaped.Acrisius grew old and longed to see his grandson. He summoned the boy.The oracle's warning came true.As Perseus showed off his athletic skills to his grandfather, he hurled a discus which hit the old man's head and killed him.
What has all this got to do with tiny Kent village of Acrise? Possibly nothing; possibly a great deal.
On a bright and breezy July 22nd, Rosemary, Peter and John pedalled away from Elham Church, framed by a collection of pretty cottages and substantial houses, past the magnificent Vicarage - now more likely inhabited by a banker than a cleric.
Soon we faced the first climb. Long and steep but quickly rewarded by spectacular views over rolling hills and fields bursting with ripe corn more than ready to be gathered in.
Peter has taken close interest in a vast tree trunk.The celebrated arborial sleuth Sherlock Stutchbury immediately deduces that the fellow who felled this monster was lucky to escape the wrath of the 'elf 'n safety police'.The direction of the cuts indicate that he had little control over where the tree would fall.
We did identify the genus of the tree; was it a beech or a birch Rosemary?
Onward to the sparsely populated hamlet of Acrise.The largest property appears to be a well hidden mansion owned by the MOD; is it not therefore paradoxical that a sign at the main entrance bears the words 'Out of bounds to all troops'? John concluded that this was clearly an MI5 safe house, where suspected traitors undergo in-depth interrogation by George Smiley and his team. Every possible home comfort - including an excellent wine cellar - is provided by the totally loyal and forever discreet housekeeper - Mrs Marsh. Occasionally George needs to brief his masters on Project Acrisius, and can be seen in quiet conversation with the Minister's private secretary over dinner at a corner table in the nearby Abbots Fireside restaurant.
Emerging from the shadowy world of Acrise, we rode along peaceful lanes to the village of Swingfield, about which Edward Hasted wrote in 1799:
"This parish lies in a very lonely and unfrequented country, most of it is upon high ground. The Church stands in the north east part of it,having a small village near it"
Hasted goes on to recount that " In 1745 there was a large assembly of noblemen, gentry and commonalty of the eastern parts of this county, to the number of four thousand, who met here accoutred with arms and ammunition, to oppose any invasion which might be made on these coasts, of which there was then great apprehension in this county".
How sad it is that the magnificent Church of St Peter in Swingfield - with its links to the Order of the Knights of St John of Jerusalem, its witness to so much of our history, its splendid architecture,is now classified as 'redundant'. Five hundred and fifty thousand pounds is needed to restore it. If only Zeus could drop by with a shower of gold!
As we cycle away thoughtfully from Swingfield,we soon perceive a chapel perched on a hilltop, which Peter hasn't seen before; most unusual given his encyclopaedic knowledge of Kent's topography. It turns out to be St John's Commandery. An English Heritage site, founded in the 12th century to administer the local estates of the Knights Hospitaliers, who were themselves established early in the 12th century, following the First Crusade, to help sick and poor pilgrims on their way to the holy land. The Chapel itself dates from the 13th Century, and was converted into a house in the 16th C. It has a fine north porch, and a remarkable medieval crown-post roof. There is also a surviving piscina.
On to Wootton, and down briefly to the main A260 near Denton, which we gratefully exit to climb Snodehill. Peter points out a track to the left - towards Gatteridge Fm - which we could explore another time.
After a final steep climb we are now on the home straight back to Elham, where we are joined for an excellent lunch at the Abbots Fireside by Jessica and Sophia, who is in very high spirits and chats away to everyone about Madagascar. She also asks after Auntie Dydiane; with impeccable pronounciation.
Apart from us, the dining room is empty and we wonder how long this, and many other equally good restaurants in the area, will be able to weather this prolonged and deep recession. Even George Smiley has had to trim his expenses and forego the rare roast beef and Chateau La Grange Figeac 1978.
As we load up the bikes, John notices that the Church clock stands at ten to three, so at least there's honey still for tea.
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