My word to describe Dungeness is ‘godforsaken’ yet I love the place. Another relative described it as ‘the land that time forgot’ and then they went on to say that they loved the place. Maybe there’s weird taste in the family for there is no doubt that Dungeness is different and odd.
I’ll now offer a paragraph I sent to a friend – a friend, it must be said, with similar railway nerd views to my own.
I do love Dungeness. It is such a godforsaken spot that you have to love it. It has its huge shingle beach, dotted with white flowering cabbages and pink valerian. Fishing boats are hauled up the steeply sloping shingle by ancient bulldozers and the detritus of this fishing business, along with some very expensive boats, lies scattered everywhere. The backdrop is the huge and daunting nuclear power complex plus a couple of lighthouses. And the sounds are glorious. Obviously there is surf on shingle, the screech of the gulls and the occasional whistle of a line fisherman's reel. But then there is also the sound of real steam trains, apparently going fast by the sound, but of course, they are miniatures so their four beats to a bar are very fast. Because we are on flat land, with level crossings, each train brings the frequent mewl of the L.N.E.R. type whistle. You can hear them for miles as they chunter, quite slowly, across Romney Marsh.
Enough introduction – let’s take a look at the place – actually well towards the New Romney end for starters. Here, things like power stations, lighthouses and fishing boats were conspicuously absent from the scene
There was some of the valerian – such a pretty flower in such an unpromising location, although the valerian did tend to cling to the fringes of the shingle.
There’s a good mix with valerian in the foreground and an out of use static boat hoist beyond. Then out on the shingle there’s a sea cabbage and beyond that a white horse covered sea. Yes, the wind was strong. And that strong wind was popular.
The kite surfers were out and seemed to be having a grand time.
Back towards Littlestone, there was still sand for we were right on the edge of the shingle spit of Dungeness. That sand must have been ideal for getting the kite kit into the water, and then, who cared where they went. We must have been looking round to the Folkestone area there.
For a while, I pondered on just how and why this apparently hopeless terrain, for plants, should come to support the sea cabbage in leaf and flower.
But the kiters kept taking the attention. Is that a bluebird I see – well we are looking round towards the White Cliffs of Dover. I take it the wind was ideal here for the kiters zapped up and down, parallel to the shore at what seemed like enormous speeds.
What a magnificent scene with the mixed flora and a plethora of kite boarders.
