If you are looking for a pub that says this is old England then you can do no better than the Royal Oak pub between Dover and Folkestone. The night we visited the pub is was surprisingly busy and standing room only was the order of the day.
Approaching the pub at night from the direction of Folkestone does take a little guess work and memory if you have passed the place in the day. The building, though well lit, sits beneath the horizon and hills so there is little silhouette to warn you that you have arrived. There were few cars in the car park which was very surprising considering the number of people that crowded the bar.
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On entering the bar you are surprised at how small it is considering the size of the building and car park, it is what you would expect of an old English inn though do not be too disappointed there is an extension to the back of the pub that absorbs much of the crowed. The barman was a cheerful chap and the beer, pints of bitter all round, were extremely good. Normally at this point we would tell you who the brewery was and the types of beer served and our thoughts on the price but we did not have time to make notes.
We had only been in the bar a matter of minuets before Digger was approached by a man who thought he recognised Digger. There was a few moments where each worked out where they had worked when both men realised that it was over forty years ago they met when Digger was a Soldier and the other man a Messenger Boy on the GPO.. Much of the conversation related to Digger’s father who was a Mechanic on the GPO and gave the Messenger Boys what for when they tampered with their motorbikes.
Even though much of our time was taken up with events that happened forty years ago what we did notice were the number of people who were eating, the lavish portions of what looked like a mixed grill that everyone appeared to have selected and the speed of service. Though the service and presentation were fairly basic, no pretty girls in short black skirts and white frilly aprons the food looked and smelt delightful and we all realised that we would be going home to baked beans on toast.
When we have time in 2008 we are going to return to the Royal Oak for a meal. The Royal Oak is not a theme pub, the Old English atmosphere is real, the pub was warm and friendly as were the people and staff, I do not recall any music, thank god, and I imagine little has changed in this pub for several hundred years other than there was no sawdust on the floor.
The Royal oak is situated nearly midway between Folkestone and Dover on the New Dover Road near what was the Blue Channel Caravan Site. Most visitors to the pub chose to arrive and depart by taxi which made good sense if you were going to enjoy a drink. The postcode for those with Satnav is CT18 7HY and the telephone number 01303 244787. If you go there for a drink or meal remember to tell the landlord where you saw this.
We may reach this very prominent natural
feature of the district by a pleasant path from Holy Well along the
foot of the escarpment. Or, for a change, suppose we go up the Dover
Road, and then turn off to the left, just above the limekiln. We shall
then get a good panoramic view of many miles of both land and sea
(possibly a sight of Boulogne Cathedral, and that without a glass), and
also a good look-down on the curiously shaped summit of Sugar-Loaf
Hill. A path across the fields from the
turnpike gate, through a
district known as "Gibraltar" will take us on to Castle Hill, or as it
is also called, Casar's Camp. The view obtainable here is even more
extensive than that from the Sugar-Loaf, reaching from Dover Pier on
the left to Dungeness on the right. We appear to be in a district rich
with " memories of the past;" the hand of man is visible all along the
brink of thehills—a tumulus to our left, another here to our right, while the banks are artificially sloped along almost the whole face. One would think there must have been many a struggle here between the early invaders and those who fought for the "humble cottage in Britain." Our interest just now, however, centres in the lull itself. Folkestone is said to have
possessed a Pharos in Roman times, but while that at Dover still
remains, every trace of ours is gone; several antiquarians have thought
it stood probably on this very spot. It does not seem very likely that
it would have been such a distance from the sea. But
Lambarde says that in his time " there were yet extant to the eie the ruined walls of an antient fortifi cation, which for the height thereof might serve for a watch tower." However, there are no traces what ever now of such a building, whatever it may have been. Intrenchments there are, outer and inner, plainly traceable, but antiquarians cannot agree about those who dug them. Why it is commonly called Ccesar's Gamp no one can tell, for there are no certain records in writing that the Romans ever en camped in the neighbourhood. Some will have it the works are Celtic ; excavations were made here a short time ago under the superintendence of General Lane Fox, and escarpments were laid bare, evidently military work, and a deep well on the summit was partially emptied; beyond however a few doubtful pieces of pottery and a small specimen of archi tecture that was Norman, I believe little was found. General Fox is however to read a paper giving an account of it shortly, and then we shall know what conclusions he has been able to draw from the ex cavation.
We will leave then the historical associations, and follow out a pursuit at the present moment more con genial to our minds.
The slopes of the hill make one extensive carpet of flowers all through the summer. We have here a grand metropolis of orchids, not only the commoner ones, the Early Purple (Orchis masada), the Spotted (0. mandata), and the Green-winged (0. Morio), but Bee orchids literally by hundreds, and the Late Spider (Ophrys arachnites) not at all rare among them. The Pyramidal (Orchis pyramidalis) and the Sweet-Scented (Gymnadenia conopsea) grow thousands, and I know of one specimen at least of the Man Orchis (Aceras antkropophora) found here. Two species of Best-harrow (Ononis arvensis and spinosa) are common, while the Milkwort (Polijt vulgaris) and the Wild Thyme (T. Serpyttun) are almost as plentiful as the grass itself. All along the hedgebank at the foot we find the parasitic Broom rapes (Orolanche).
And for the Entomologist there are Adonis, A and Corydon in their appointed seasons, Semele Cardni, Rhamni, Hyale, and Edusa with stray Helice. One of the grandest entomological sights I ever witnessed was on the hill there beyond the waterworks. It was a summer evening, bird and flower alike preparing for rest, when I saw as I stood at the top, the whole face of the slope covered with innumerable specimens of Adonis resting with outspread wings on the grass, their rich blue throwing back the of the declining sun. It afforded me intense pleasure, and no little astonishment, for there had been a heavy and prolonged thunderstorm the evening before, and I had expected to find few of these small butterflies about, at any rate in a respectable condition. How they managed to hide themselves in that downpour I was at a loss to imagine, but they succeeded in also preserving their resplendent colour deepened the mystery. But there they were, and I shall never forget the picture.
Among the moths we get Mi and Ghyphica,
Little Aenea, and all three of the Foresters (Statiees, Globulariae, and Geryon). Further along the hills west-ward several years ago I took many specimens of the Five-spotted Burnet (7. trifolii) flying about with Z. filipendulae, but I have never seen it since, either there or in any other part of our district. All along we find in October the handsome larva of the Fox Moth (Bombyx rubi) in great abundance, the perfect insect appearing in May. Only once have I been fortunate enough to see it on the wing, and then, of course, I had not my net. It only flies far tn hour or so towards the end of the afternoon, and. then only the males are about; the females hide
Themselves in the long grass, and the only way to
find them is to track the males patiently until they drop down. I took three males in my hat, and they are still my only specimens. Why should it be so difficult to rear this insect? The caterpillar hibernates and gets on very well during the winter, but in captivity ninety-nine out of every hundred invariably die in the spring, only a few entomologists have succeeded in rearing them. Along with my persevering friend, Mr. Blackall, I have hunted for the larvae in April but we have not found above a dozen altogether and those we did find died, mostly from previous attacks by parasitic diptera. We then searched later on for cocoons among the long grass, furze and brambles, and two crowned our efforts from one of which Mr. B. was fortunate enough to rear a female. Bombyjc rubi is in fact, a troublesome insect to get hold of. I strongly suspect that the caterpillar spins up at the end of its hybernation without going abroad much to eat, otherwise we should most certainly find plenty of them in the early spring. They are very prolific, but they have evi dently numerous enemies, as we found many frag ments of cocoon
The little nook by the side of the hill is known as the Cherry Gardens and contains the Folkestone Waterworks. A few years ago we should certainly have gone down and obtained some refreshment, for the air on these hills is appetizing, but now the cherries have departed, and the place is " private." Let us follow the path and stroll through the short lane and along the meadows homeward. There is one little object of interest here, if you are anything of an antiquarian, and that is the miraculous stream which flows uphill. In the field next to that through which our path runs, we may find a tiny little aqueduct through which one stream is carried, and under which runs a second. This aqueduct (so says tradition) was built by St. Eanswythe, daughter of King Eadbald (see page 2), to allow of the stream being conducted to her religious house for the supply of the inmates. There was a slight impediment in the way however, namely, that the elevation of the nunnery was greater than that of the source of the spring ; but she who "restored the blinde," and " for bade certaine ravenous birdes the countrey," "drewe the water over the hills and rockes against Nature," and the enterprise was successful. And even now this same stream supplies a large pond on the Bayle, near which spot the nunnery stood. If you will take your stand anywhere along the course of this stream, and look up it, you may easily fancy the source to be much lower than the spot where you are. Scientificmen of the present day tell us that the last thing in the world to which we are justified in trusting, is the evidence of our own senses. I give you this caution and there I leave the matter.
As we follow our proper path we may notice a small pond on the left, which I mention here for the sake of the beautiful sight it presents in May and June. Its surface is then covered with the large white blossoms of one of the Water Crowfoots (Ranunculus aquatiMs.) Once only have I seen a similar sight that surpassed it; it was in June, 1879 when I was walking along the canal side from Hythe towards Lympne. For two miles without a break, the water was one mass of blossoms. Once or twice every year I come across the fields for the sake of the view of snow white blossoms mantling this pond ; on a small scale it is to me what the " host of golden daffodils " was to Wordsworth,
" And oft when on my couch I lie,
In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude."
There are at least one or two moments in most men's lives productive of pictures like these —scenes from the Distant or the Past which flash on the eye of the mind and fill the heart with intense delight. One or two for each of us. Mine are but such as may fall to the lot of any ordinary person ; but one stands out supreme—the moment when I stood gazing on those magnificent falls of Cora Linn and Bonnington in that beautiful park near Lanark—gazing in silent worship, filled with awe, mingled with gratitude that it should have been given to me to behold such beauty, fresh almost it seemed from the hand of GOD. Another, nearer home, as I lay resting on one of the steep slopes on the cliff between St. Margaret's Bay and Dover Castle; the bright sun lighting up both land and -water, the sea like glass, and studded with sails, the regular thudding of the paddles of the steamers reaching the ear from a distance of two or three miles—a scene of enchantment, all so quiet, to be looked at only in silence and enjoyed.
Along the banks of this little stream where the trees are thickest, it is worth the entomologist's while to devote a night or two to sugaring. The three Eed Underwings (Latocala mtpta, C. sponsa and C. promissaj have been taken here.
It appears poor quality New Zealand lamb is being sold by many of the supermarkets at the same price as good quality British Lamb. Philip Hicks, a West Sussex farmer, in Farmers Weekly, argues that whilst Europe has placed movement restriction on British Lamb the New Zealand Lamb should be diverted to the European Market where there is a short fall. He names Tesco as a Supermarket selling poor quality imported lamb at the same price as top quality British Lamb (£11.20/kg).
Did you know that the cloths you wear may have been transported through five or more countries by sea and air, that the materials used could be oil based and never rot away, if they are made from cotton the chemicals and fertilizers used may be polluting the earth?
There is something about an English café that will always make it an
English Café. Is it the plastic tablecloth, the Formica tabletops, the
Wimpy seating and tables or the food preparation area? You can almost
see the cook with a fag hanging from his lips and the ash falling into
the food and several trucks parked on the pavement and the truck
drivers farting a fond farewell as the sullen waitress looks on.
Even when an English café offers adventurous food and a range of wines
we still do not quite manage that continental flavour, it would appear
to be a question of attitude. The British do not like servitude; we do
not like having to server others.
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Foreign workers have populated the
British Hotel and Catering Industry for the past 100 years, it has been
a recent event with celebrity chefs and vanishing industry and jobs
that British youth has seen the Tourist industry as a profession.To savour the café culture it was necessary for the British to take a
short ferry trip to Boulogne where could
spend two or three hours
savouring real coffee and food served by people that enjoyed their work
even though they may have been French.
With the demise of Folkestone as
a ferry port Folkestoners have had to forgo the pleasures of the
European Café Culture that is until recently, now Folkestone has its
own café culture.
Sweet Rendezvous is a small café run by Polish boys and girls who have made a success of running a café in what has to be an area of the town where most businesses fail. There is a simple sandwich menu with homemade bread, speciality breads, home made cakes and good coffee and tea. All the sandwiches are made as you wait, the café is clean and bright and the girls extremely pretty and friendly. There is a lack of seating that adds to the feeling that this is a very busy and interesting place to be and a place to be seen.
What makes Sweet Rendezvous successful is the quality of the food, the prices are reasonable, the menu is simple, the girls’ very nice, good manners and a smile with the service. They have the knack of remembering a face and greeting you as if you had not been in for a long time when it may have only been five minutes earlier or maybe a year ago and even the plain old tomato sandwich tastes exceptional.
You should also keep an eye open for the Polish specialities especially the soups.
Sweet Rendezvous is located near the Salvation Army Charity shop in Rendezvous Street and is open most days though is not open during the evening.
This weeks recipe is brought to you by Booffs Debat who has cooked throughout the world collecting recipes from over 120 countries. This weeks receive is from Korea and was enjoyed by Booffs when visiting Korea in the nineteen eighties. Gogi Bukum, is easily prepared by a competent cook at home without the need for too many tools and takes around twenty five minuets once the meat has been prepared.
It appears the Telegraph has death on the mind or there is very little interesting news to report from around the world. We do not need too much convincing that we are not only running out of space to build new homes we are also running out of space to bury the dead.
The Victorians recognised this problem and began building crematoriums the most majestic of these I believe to be the North London Crematorium at Golders Green. I say that because the majority of my ancestors from the past one-hundred years are scattered there as are some of the most famous British people. The Victorians’ thought that it would be a little like a library or block of flats with row upon row of shelves and cubby holes were we could store our loved ones ashes. Regrettably, they ran out of space.
A similar problem has occurred in churches and the graveyards have run out of space. The Church has now agreed to woodland burials and have, in some areas, consecrated the ground for Christian burial. This was a very urgent matter as many towns in England no longer had space to bury the dead.
There has been some concern that the Church of England, having had difficulty managing and caring for graves near churches will find it even more difficult to care for woodland graves that may be some distance from a church. The Church of England dismiss this though have made it know that there will be no gravestones only biodegradable wooden plaques; they have also suggested that a tree be planted with the body.
Tree and body planting would probably be more acceptable to many than heating and lighting the crematorium. Folkestone Magazine would like to take that a little further and suggest the burial be handled by the family and a tree chopped down and hollowed out and used as a coffin. The bark, branches and chippings could be put to one side for Indian Funerals. A woodland funeral could become a regular event for families bringing them back together. The celebrity chefs could show us how to prepare backed potatoes in their jackets, hot roast chestnuts and mulled wine for the winter and light smoked salmon salads using woodland herbs for the warmer days.
Folkestone Academy in hot water over parking, litter, noise and wayward teachers smoking in parked cars. Mr. Patterson, the Academy principal, is ashamed and disappointed though we note, not surprised. Folkestone Magazine is also not surprised perhaps if the children’s education was targeted towards the children instead of filling empty shops in the Creative Quarter perhaps the school and children might stand a chance
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