September 30, 1989: Beltring to Tonbridge
Al Greenberg joins the Lees and Toby at the Addlestead Tavern
Our third day on the Wealdway can be described with brevity, since there was nothing particularly memorable in this completely level stretch of slightly less than nine miles. Perhaps the only new element in the mix was the presence of the American School’s new head of guidance, Al Greenberg, who was making only his second outing from London after having taken up his post. I found him at Charing Cross Station – shortly after buying my tickets. Dorothy had to work and the only reason I was buying tickets (plural) was that the Schnauzer wouldn’t stop squeaking at the window and it was hard to pretend that I was traveling alone.
Tosh and Harold soon showed up to complete our group. Harold stood in the ticket line while Tosh bought food. Then Harold stood in the coffee line while I chatted with another Schnauzer owner. Shortly before our 9:30 departure we boarded the train for Paddock Wood. Tosh paused to explain something about the school to Al, apologizing to Harold, “This will be the last time.” Harold, who must always endure our gossip, answered stoically, “No, it won’t,” and it wasn’t. We didn’t stop nattering about ASL the entire day – although occasionally Al was allowed to tell us how they did things at Mamaroneck High.
In less than an hour we were changing trains at Paddock Wood – but there was only a few minutes wait before our second train was chugging northwards. The Lees wanted to use the loo but there wasn’t really time because almost immediately the train stopped at the Beltring halt. In the month since we had last been here workmen, still in evidence this morning, had installed some seats and a red little canopy shelter on each platform.
It was a grey, misty, humid day. We never saw any sun, but it never rained either. We retraced our steps into East Peckham, not a particularly charming place, though full marks to the residents – who had piled all their newspapers in boxes for recycling. I did tell Tosh that for anal types like myself if it came to a choice between recycled toilet paper and trees then she could say goodbye to the rain forest.
There had been a traffic accident on the main road sometime earlier and the police and gawkers were still about. I didn’t have my maps out and so I was a bit uncertain about my turnoff. How could someone who went to U.C.L.A. forget Westwood Road?! Soon we were retracing our route through a suburban estate. On the other side was Addlestead Road and its tavern. I got full marks for having put us here exactly at opening time. It had just gone 11:00 and our publican friend from a month ago was just putting up his umbrellas.
We went inside and Harold and I had a half lager and Tosh had half a bitter shandy. Al didn’t take any refreshment except for some of his gorp (good old raisins and peanuts) – which I had to remind him should probably not be consumed on mine host’s premises. The publican remembered us (or was kind enough to say so) and he shut his Alsatian up in the back when Toby came in. We used the loos and I took my maps out of Dorothy’s little red knapsack, the one I was planning to use as my daypack in France in two weeks time.
Then, after the first of several photos taken in not very bright conditions, we continued west until we met the Wealdway. We decided not to cut across the first field but kept to the road that swept around in front of Kent House Place, an apartment building made out of six oast houses. We then turned south and followed a narrow lane – apologizing to Al for all the untypical road walking. At least we were in deep countryside now, able to nibble the last of the ripe berries as we progressed.
At Pierce Mill a couple in brown overcoats were at work on a fence, she applying shellac and he supervising. “I don’t know if I approve of this division of labor,” Tosh quipped. We had reached a stream and at last we were able to leave the road to follow its northern margin. A Wealdway stile imbedded in earth next to a tree had been upended with the tree in the famous hurricane. There the stile still lay, jutting out of the earthball that had once held the fallen giant upright. We pressed on until we found a footbridge. Two more came in quick succession as we crossed fields and reached the highway at Barnes Street.
We had just a small jog on the road before passing around ancient Barnes Place, a timbered house some 600 years old. Our route then lead us through an orchard, with hundreds of apples, some still edible, rotting on the ground. The others picked up a few of these but I didn’t bother. We followed a ditch and a hedge on our left. Gradually, and without any guideposts, it bent to the right and lead us up to the bank of the Medway. We had already completed almost half of our walk and it was time for lunch.
We selected a nice grassy spot overlooking the wide river. On the other side of a bridge there were sheep but Toby was content to remain on this side. He had some water and some biscuits but he got bored after a while and I had to keep calling him back from his explorations while the rest of us ate sandwiches and candy bars. Finally I discovered a nice stick and he found amusement in chasing this for a while. “I think I sat on some shit,” Tosh moaned. Some boats went by and we waved to passengers and to some solo kayakers.
After lunch I put the dog on lead because we had to cross the bridge and walk among sheep as we began almost four miles of progress westward along the banks of the Medway. This was a very pleasant and easy walk indeed, although I did build up a head of steam and had to take my Tigers cap off. At East Lock we switched to the northern side of the river. At a number of points, as, for instance, at Hartlake Bridge, we passed pillboxes. The Medway was well defended against the Hun.
I couldn’t help but think of the 35 victims of the 1853 tragedy at Hartlake Bridge, where two wagonloads full of East End hop pickers drowned when they went over the side. This was obviously still hop picking country – we passed many empty nets, waiting for next year’s vines. Because of the proximity of the motor road we now began to encounter fisher folk as well. I asked one how he had been doing; he said he had caught three or four chub, but he did not intend to eat any. Indeed I saw fish jumping up out of the water several times. The closer we got to Tonbridge the more crowded the riverbank grew with fishing gear and maggot boxes.
At Porter’s Lock we paused for another snack. Toby was charmed by the little bridges at these locks and kept rushing back and forth over them. Behind us a beautiful swan was still hoping for a handout. A little Jack Russell came through and Tosh then told us the story of how a Jack Russell had recently killed a baby. This I refused to believe and, indeed, the culprit turned out to be a Rottweiler – she knew it started with “R.” At Eldridge’s Lock we watched the changing of the water as a couple cranked open the lock and chugged on.
We left the last of the untamed banks at Cannon Bridge, crossed a busy road, and continued on the south side of river, using a paved path past two gasholders. We were now nearing downtown Tonbridge. It was possible to walk all the way to the High Street along the river, utilizing pavements below some new tastefully modern flats. But local yobbos were larking about without any deference to other passersby so we used the last of Medway Wharf Road to reach the bustle of Saturday afternoon Tonbridge.
We turned right so we could have a look at the Checkers Inn and the Moss Bros shop in their Tudor half-timbered glory. The Moss Bros shop looked like it wanted to pitch forward into the street. We crossed to the west side of the High Street and turned south, passing the ruins of the castle and making our way amid crowds of shoppers down to the station.
We had arrived two minutes before a London express and at 3:23, one of our earliest finishes ever, we were speeding back to Charing Cross after a very easy day. Al had proved a delightful companion and he seemed to have enjoyed himself. He went off to find the Jubilee Line with Tosh and Harold as I bought my ticket for Maida Vale.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: