Hopping down to Kent
Despite a heavy cold, we decided to take another spin down to Kent to check out some sites I’d not covered before.
Of course, I couldn’t forget Mikki’s needs, so we scheduled in a few shops on the way.
First stop of the day was Shoreham, before moving down to Ashford.
My main target for the day was Julieberries Grave, but sadly I didn’t find it, despite having an OS map and a bit of exploring around the Kent Fishery. I should have taken the book with me I guess... Heading up to Canterbury, we passed directly by Bigbury Camp, but couldn’t see anywhere obvious to stop and explore.
Mentioned in Dyer’s “Discovering Prehistoric England” as “a late Iron Age, univallate hillfort of irregular shape and about 10 hectares in extent” .
We drove right by it, according to the map, but couldn’t see much at all through the trees.
After a quick diversion into Whitstable, we headed back to the Aylesford area and I hunted down the White Horse Stone without much difficulty.
I’d failed to find this site on a couple of previous occasions, and had been told it’s tricky to find, but strangely went straight to the stone this time round with no problems whatsoever.
From the A229 southbound, take the slip road immediately after the Shell garage, and park. Walk back toward the garage, and follow the path round to the right. There is a bridge across the railway line, the stone is less than 100 yards up the footpath on the left.
Heading back towards London, we stopped off to pay our respects to the Addington Long Barrow before the final stop of the day at Coldrum.
I was so angry after visiting this, the last stop of the day. Some idiots had set a camp fire within about 8 feet of the stones (see picture). The ashes were cold, but didn’t look as if they’d been rained on, so were obviously recent and fresh. In addition, one of the rails of the surrounding fence had been broken, presumably during the camp’s high spirits.
On the positive side, I learned something new. This was originally though to be the remnants of a stone circle, as shown by a plaque at the base of the terrace.
Bastards! What kind of people do something like this, then claim to be in touch with the spirits of place? There are obviously regular meetings here, judging from the detritus spread around, the numerous clouties in the trees and the fire pit (it was cold).
If I were local, I’d set the old bill on ‘em.
