Hoo Peninsula Archives - Remote London

Yantlet Creek: a short walk between two estuaries, the Thames & Medway

Ian Tokelove — Sun, 10 Apr 2022 20:40:07 +0000

This short walk takes us from Allhallows and the remote London Stone to the Grain Tower and the Medway Estuary.

Allhallows lies on the eastern edges of the Hoo Peninsula. It’s a small, remote village twinned with a larger holiday park, where white, static caravans reflect the ever-changing moods of the Thames Estuary.

Once there were big plans for Allhallows. It was to be a resort town, Allhallows-on-Sea, with an amusement park and swimming pool, dwarfing all other English resorts. A rail line was extended to the village, and a railway station opened in 1932. And then came the Second World War.

The resort development stalled, and now only the incongruous bulk of the British Pilot pub hints at what might have been. Recently closed, the Pilot still marks the starting spot for this walk, to explore a newly opened section of the English Coast Path.

The coast path and Thames Estuary

From the pub, a track heads east across rough pasture, then up and onto the sea wall. Across the estuary, on a good day, the windows of Southend-on Sea glint and glimmer, exchanging random semaphore signals with the marshalled ranks of holiday homes.

The Thames Estuary is four and a half miles wide here, but at low tide it seems one could walk across the wide, muddy flats all the way to Essex.

Yantlet Creek

The path quickly reaches Yantlet Creek and turns inland. This creek once bisected the Hoo Peninsula, separating the Isle of Grain from the mainland. Since at least medieval times the creek was a marine thoroughfare, allowing smaller vessels to cut between the Medway and Thames. However, the sinuous creek was subject to silting, and the channel required regular dredging. Yantlet Creek has long been lost to navigation, it’s tidal limit now stifled by sea walls and sluices.

Due to its importance as a waterway, a coastguard station once stood close to the mouth of the creek. Smuggling of untaxed goods was rife along the estuary, and it was the luckless coastguards’ job to stop the illicit trade. Their home was often a moored hulk, often shared with their families.

The hulk at Yantlet Creek was swept away in 1897 and the coastguard station moved further inland to Avery, on the edge of Allhallows. Weathered bricks and foundations can still be seen beside the creek, testimony to the lost station.

The Black Widow beacon

Since at least 1905 a maritime beacon has also guarded Yantlet Creek. This was known locally as the Black Widow, as the uppermost body resembled a round head above a long cape or skirt.

The Black Widow beacon has recently fallen, toppled by wind, erosion and age. A foundation of four stout wooden legs remain, but the Widow’s rusting metal figure now lies twisted and broken in the mud below.

The London Stone

Beyond the beacon, a remote monument rises like a phantom, a curious, weather-beaten obelisk marking a forgotten border. This is the London Stone, raised in 1856 to briefly mark the eastern boundary of the City of London Corporation’s jurisdiction over the lucrative waters of the Thames.

The London Stone is twinned with the more accessible Crow Stone at Leigh-on-Sea, across the estuary. The City lost control of these disputed waters to the Crown in 1857, but in its time, this granite pillar would have been visited and toasted by the Lord Mayor of London and his dignitaries, as they formally marked and celebrated their territorial claim over the Thames.

When the tide is low the Creek can be reduced to a jumpable stream, allowing access to the Stone. There is mud, but also firmer shell and sand. There is no official public access, but we generally have the right to roam below the high tide mark. However, it’s best not to venture too far beyond, as the area is as an active Danger Zone with a risk of unexploded ordnance.

Yantlet Creek Memorials

Look for two much smaller monuments beside the path. One commemorates a man named Geoffrey John Hammond, who drowned here in 1975. The handcrafted bronze plaque, and a later addition in honour of his wife, have both been stolen, almost erasing their memory. I’ve written more about this memorial when describing another Allhallows walk. The other stone commemorates the construction of the Thames Flood Defences, raised after the disastrous North Sea flood of 1953.

In summer, the path here is a frenzy of colourful wildflowers. On a grey winter’s day, all tones are muted, lifted only by the sight of little egret, their pure white plumage contrasting with the dull landscape and brooding sky.

The path follows the curve of the creek. A few buildings on the other side of the Creek hug the landscape. An old, unused quayside is melting back into the land and the water. Oil storage tanks squat low on the horizon.

The tidal creek is cut short by a sea wall, separating saltwater from freshwater. The new public footpath cuts across this wall, away from Allhallows Marshes and onto the Isle of Grain. Previously, the only right of way was on and into the marshes, following tracks which loop and circle around themselves.

Allhallows Marshes

Allhallows Marshes are home to the rare remnants of a Second World War Decoy site. During night-time air raids, circular cuts would be flooded with oil and ignited, to imitate burning oil tanks and hopefully draw enemy bombers away from the refinery on Grain. I’ve written more about Allhallows Marshes here.

Once on Grain, the path follows the line of another flood defence wall. To the left is the no-go military Danger Area. To the right, arable fields lead to the island’s industrial heart, much reduced but still impressive. The path joins West Lane which quickly leads into the village of Grain.

A flooded gravel pit is passed on the right. The darkly humorous ‘No Trespassing’ signs make a pleasant change from the usual ‘Keep Out’ notices which confine so many public rights of way.

The Grain Tower and Medway Estuary

Walk past the fire station, following the straight line of Chapel Road. When the houses run out, a bridleway cuts left, the road heads right and a public footpath carries straight on, towards the sea.

Follow this path to the seawall, scramble up, and you’ll find yourself overlooking the old causeway which heads out to the Grain Tower, protecting the mouth of the Medway. At low tide you can walk out to the Tower, at high tide you’d need a boat.

This isn’t a long walk, between Allhallows and the Grain Tower. Maybe 6km, allowing you to step from one estuary to another, enjoying seascapes, wilderness and history, with a distant industrial backdrop.

More information

My thanks to Liza S for joining me on this walk, undertaken in March 2022. We cheated and used cars for this one. There is no public train service to Allhallows or Grain, and Sunday bus services are limited.

The post Yantlet Creek: a short walk between two estuaries, the Thames & Medway appeared first on Remote London.

Gravesend: a circular walk exploring the Shorne & Higham Marshes

Ian Tokelove — Fri, 04 Dec 2020 21:03:45 +0000

Gravesend is a gateway town, a final outpost as the Thames meanders towards the North Sea. The streets are rich in history but marred by a modern, one-way system. Traffic accelerates through the town and spits from junctions, a threat to the unwary pedestrian. However, beyond the town’s gritty, industrial quarter, paths lead out to the quietness of remote marshes and the sparsely-populated Hoo Peninsula.

The Promenade makes for a good start point, overlooking the river. Nearby, an old canal basin is home to residential moorings. The disused basin was dredged in 2004 and the tidal lock gate restored, allowing access from the Thames. The canal which served this basin has been lost under industrial development, but it’s not far away and may soon resurface.

A footbridge crosses the lock, and the path enters a rundown industrial zone, formerly a 19^th century iron works and later a timber yard. A narrow lane leads between tall, battered walls of corroding brick and layered corrugated iron. Muted hammering carries from behind boarded windows and blocked doors. A tang of solvent, smoke and burnt plastic tinges the air.

The path narrows then passes an overgrown tangle of undergrowth, enclosed by a high, barred fence. A stained and laminated printout, cable-tied to the barrier, tells of a largely forgotten story. Nearby, compacted beneath seven metres of landfill and concrete, lie the remains of a Hawker Hurricane fighter aircraft, shot down during the Second World War. The pilot, Flight Sergeant Eric Williams, is probably still at the controls.

Flight Sergeant Eric Williams

On October 15, 1940, Williams had taken off from RAF Stapleford in Essex, along with other Hurricane pilots, to intercept German raiders coming up the Thames. However, they were ambushed by Messerschmitt 109s as they rose to meet the incoming bombers, and three Hurricanes were quickly shot down.

Williams crashed into what was then Barton’s Timber Wharf, apparently unconscious or dead at the controls. The aircraft went so hard and deep into the water-logged ground that the Royal Engineers, tasked with recovering his body, were unable to do so. Since then, there have been several official attempts to locate his remains, along with other unofficial digs. There is some confusion as to exactly where the aircraft ended up, with differing accounts and no hard evidence.

The Ministry of Defence suggests that the main body of wreckage may have been taken by amateur aviation archaeologists, leaving only fragmentary remains. But nobody knows for sure. For now, Williams remains the only British pilot shot down over the mainland, whose remains have not been recovered, or marked on-site by an official plaque.

Gravesend redevelopment

Gravesend’s industrial area is likely to be lost to development in the near future, providing one last opportunity to record, and mark, Williams’s resting place. A lost section of the Thames and Medway Canal also lies buried below the industrial estate. With redevelopment, the canal is likely to be restored as an ornamental leisure feature.

Emerging from the industrial estate, a crossroads provides a direct route towards the Thames or a straight-line path ahead. This path follows the line of the canal, now open to the sky.

The Thames and Medway Canal was a great idea that never quite worked out. The idea, first suggested in 1799, was to create a canal shortcut across the Hoo Peninsula, linking the naval dockyards at Deptford and Woolwich with Chatham Dockyard on the River Medway.

A long canal tunnel had to be dug through the chalk ridge which overlooks the Hoo, between the village of Higham and the town of Strood, overlooking the Medway. More than two miles long, this is the second longest canal tunnel in the UK. However, when the canal eventually opened in 1824, the Napoleonic wars were long over, and military demand was much reduced.

The canal continued with limited success, and in 1846 the tunnel was sold to the South Eastern Railway company, and the rest abandoned. The North Kent Line now follows the line of the canal, punching through the tunnel on the infilled canal bed.

Riots and reedbeds

For a while, the canal path traces riverside industry, and then the Metropolitan Police Service Specialist Training Centre. Within the compound, mock streets and buildings provide a training ground for riots and ‘entry and search’ procedures. Farther to the east, the Milton Firing Range, on Eastcourt Marshes, is now the Met’s firing range. This was formerly a military training ground and dates back to 1862.

Reedbeds line the canal and on an autumnal afternoon, the footpath’s banks are lined with colourful wild berries, a feast for incoming migratory birds. Several redwing were feeding in the branches, refuelling after flying in from Russia or Scandinavia. Overhead, pylons and transmission lines offer a fizzy, audio-static backdrop to the birdsong and industry.

Along the path, in fields to the left, two curious structures stand, isolated doorways which emerge from the rough grazing pasture. Perhaps these were connected with the nearby firing range, from which shells were lobbed onto the marshes, liberally dotting the landscape with bomb crater ponds.

The path comes to another crossroads. A bridlepath leads directly out to the Thames and the ruined Shornemead Fort, but you can also continue along the canal. The waterway eventually becomes overgrown, petering out where it meets an industrial estate.

From here, Canal Road quickly takes us to a railway bridge and the entrance to another, small industrial estate. Tucked away between the railway embankment and the fenced estate, a public footpath squeezes its wooded way towards Higham Marshes. This is a little-walked path, and all the better for it.

Higham Causeway and Barrow Hill

At a basic railway crossing, a wooden sign catches the attention, marking a route out to the River Thames across Higham Marshes. Much of this path is believed to follow the line of the ancient Higham Causeway, which led to a ferry across the Thames to Essex. In Roman times, when water levels were much lower, the river crossing may even have been a wide ford.

Out on the marshes, a low mounded hillock is reminiscent of a prehistoric burial mound. Barrow Hill is a natural feature and not a manmade cairn, but it may have been the site of an ancient burial site, discovered in 1880.

Excavations on Higham Marshes revealed a crushed, crouched skeleton along with 79 beads, which appeared to have been hung around the deceased’s neck. The exact location of this excavation is unclear, but Barrow Hill is the most likely spot, being the only ‘high’ ground on the marshes. The mound also shows signs of apparent excavation.

Thames embankment

At the river embankment, a rough track continues towards the Thames. At low water, the jagged remnants of an old jetty still lead out towards the Thames. Seeking shelter from the wind I hunkered down below the river bank and noticed a curious bundle of sticks emerging from the eroding mud.

I can’t be sure, but others have suggested this is a fish trap, possibly dating back to the Bronze Age. It certainly looks handmade, rather than natural, but has yet to be recorded by experts. Remnants of a larger fish trap have been found nearby.

The lost Tudor blockhouse

As well as being the spot where Higham Causeway meets the River Thames and an ancient crossing point, this is also likely to have been the location of a small Tudor blockhouse, built in 1539. Records are sketchy, but it is known that five artillery blockhouses were built along this section of the Thames during the reign of Henry the Eighth. These forts were to guard London and the Thames against a threatened invasion from Europe.

The Higham blockhouse was disarmed in 1553 and no trace is now apparent, either lost to the tides or the stone removed for use elsewhere. The compact, chunky foundations of one of the accompanying forts can still be seen in Gravesend at Royal Pier Road.

The river path continues downriver towards Cliffe Fort, or back towards Gravesend via Shornemead Fort. With the light already fading, I started towards Gravesend. This has previously been a pleasant walk, but trespassing dirt-bikers have churned and deeply rutted the path. I understand the fun they have, but not their lack of empathy for others who wish to enjoy these landscapes.

Shornemead Lighthouse

The foundation of the old Shornemead Lighthouse stands just off the foreshore. This unmanned lighthouse was built in 1913 and was reached by a walkway, reaching out from the river bank. Erosion of the river bank meant the walkway had to be extended, and eventually, in 2004, the lighthouse was removed. The extinguished tower now stands in storage at Denton Wharf in Gravesend, where it can be seen from Mark Lane.

The path continues towards the new Shornemead Lighthouse, a striking red and white tube rising from the river. Signs of Second World War defences can be seen along the path, half-buried when the river defences rose against a new threat, the rising tides.

Shornemead Fort

Shornemead Fort is a disused artillery fort, dating back to the 1860s. The fort was initially well armed, but eventually subsidence made it unsafe for the heavy guns to be fired. The fort was disarmed between 1895 and 1907, before being temporarily and lightly re-armed during the First and Second World Wars. It was retained as a training facility and then abandoned in the 1950s.

The Royal Engineers demolished much of the structure in the 1960s as a training exercise, leaving only the impressive, heavily fortified casemates still facing the river. The magazines remain below but are flooded and inaccessible. The structure is decorated with colourful graffiti and remains an imposing structure, although sadly the paths around the fort have been ripped and shredded by the off-road bikers.

Beyond the fort, the RSPB have dug a 1km long ditch to keep the bikers out of the Shorne Marshes nature reserve, a home to endangered wildlife. They’ve also had to contend with egg thieves, illegal hare coursing and even the theft of a £5,000 electric fence.

The path home

Between the fort and Gravesend, the river path is low, and in places, broken. Recent high tides have flooded inland, the water gouging deep channels in the sandy substrate, as it flows back to the river with the dropping tide. With the additional damage caused by bikers, this is currently a tricky stretch to walk.

Walking in the dark, I passed a floodlit cement works, and initially missed the steps leading over the seawall. A tight concrete path now channels the walker towards Gravesend, before hitting a dead end next to a boat yard.

Mark Lane leads the walker away from the river and back to the start of the canal, and the gritty path through the industrial estate. With time to kill before a train, I sipped hot soup from a thermos in the Promenade gardens, overlooking the dark Thames and distant lights of Tilbury, before making my way home.

Useful links

Flight Sergeant Eric Williams

MOD report on search for Flight Sergeant Williams from 2015 (PDF)

Old Shornemead Lighthouse

Higham Blockhouse

Nearby walks with RemoteLondon

The post Gravesend: a circular walk exploring the Shorne & Higham Marshes appeared first on Remote London.

Walking the Hoo Peninsula, from Strood to Kingsnorth Power Station & back

Ian Tokelove — Sat, 10 Oct 2020 18:02:36 +0000

The landscape in front of Strood Railway Station has been swept clean, leaving a broad stretch of fenced-off flatlands awaiting redevelopment. This will be Strood Riverside, a mix of residential apartments and public spaces overlooking the Medway.

Upstream, the old river wharves have been replaced with a concrete play area and a strip of green. At the broken end of Strood Pier, a sunken barge drowns twice a day with the incoming tides. A large, slightly dilapidated submarine is floating offshore. This incongruous vessel is a Soviet Navy submarine from the Cold War, renamed the Black Widow. The submarine is currently in private hands and undergoing restoration.

Saxon Shore Way

The Saxon Shore Way follows Riverside Road east along the Medway, before climbing a narrow chalk ridge between two exhausted chalk quarries. Glimpses to the south reveal the Medway City Estate, a congestion of warehouses and light industry. Much of this was unspoilt saltmarsh until around the 1970s, when it was lost to landfill and later development.

The path drops down to the busy Berwick Way then follows the noisy A289, funnelling traffic below the Medway. The narrow footpath then pushes along the edge of a MOD training base, hemmed in by a razor-wire topped fence.

Upnor Castle

At Upper Upnor we finally escape to a quieter, gentler landscape, squeezing past the MOD base and down to the riverside. Upnor Castle blocks progress but the steep, narrow High Street is charming, with a pubs either end.

The footpath follows the castle walls east, before dropping down to the old Ordnance Works. An old rail line appears from under the wall before running into the dark undergrowth. A derelict WW2 shelter can be seen along its lost track, the bricks wrapped in bramble and ivy.

Boatyards and yacht clubs follow at Lower Upnor before the Saxon Shore Way really meets the shoreline. It’s good to feel the beach crunch underfoot. This path is tidal, so best avoided on a high spring tide. Another footpath tracks inland, a route which I’ll walk on my return.

The coast here is wooded, with occasional tracks leading up into the trees. In places, low sandy banks catch the sunlight. These are peppered with the tunnels of mining bees, hundreds of small caves, reminiscent of ancient cliff dwellings. In early October, dozens of bees were still attending their nests, too busy to be bothered by my attention.

A Second World War pillbox slants forwards onto the foreshore here, undermined by the Medway tides.

Cockham Wood Fort

The remains of Cockham Wood Fort also guard this stretch of coastline. A rare survivor from the 17^th century, the fort was built in 1669 and boasted more than 40 guns, capable of firing from two tiers. The fort was abandoned in 1818 and gradually fell prey to the theft of building materials and coastal erosion. Now, only the brickwork of the lower battery is easily accessible.

More boatyards follow, the path cutting a line through Port Werburgh. This is now a gated community, offering secure accommodation afloat or in identikit ‘luxury’ homes. The older piers at either end of the harbour are made from hulked concrete barges, re-used following the Second World War.

Ship graveyard

Leaving the boat yards behind, the path passes a cluster of wrecks, slowly decaying in the soft Medway mud. There are at least ten abandoned barges here, with other boats decaying alongside them. The saltmarsh around them is now a precious wildlife habitat. The estuary was once lined with such saltings, but only scraps remain.

Out in the Medway, Hoo Island lies long and low on the water. Fort Hoo (1871) sits at the eastern edge, guarding the estuary. There was once a causeway out to the island, of which remnants remain. Most of the island has been used for landfill, layered over lost saltmarsh.

The Hoo Stop Line

Continuing along the trail, a pill box has been partially engulfed by the sea wall. Along with a nearby anti-tank blockhouse, this was port of the Second World War Hoo Stop Line. A deep, wide ditch formed a defensive line which stretched inland. At the shoreline, concrete anti-tank blocks still lead out into the estuary mud.

Another structure, probably dating from the Second World War, can be seen half a kilometre farther on. Four u-shaped concrete brackets (one has fallen) once supported something, but nobody seems sure what.

Kingsnorth Power Station

The path continues along the river wall. The scenery inland is of reedbeds, wet grazing marsh and pylons. Ahead lies the last standing remains of Kingsnorth Power Station, the bulk of the structure having been razed to the ground. The chimney here was formerly one of the UK’s tallest structures, a fallen landmark which towered 198 metres (650 ft) in height.

The dead power station is guarded by tall, electric fences. On the seaward side, curving concrete defences rebuff storm tides. Kingsnorth Jetty stretches out into the Medway, from where huge quantities of coal were unloaded. EU clean air directives forced closure of the polluting power station, with demolition beginning in 2014. The chimney finally fell in March 2018.

The path is forced inland here, skirting the marsh. A flutter of distinctive wings drew my eye to a peregrine falcon, which rose to a pylon perch. These marvellous predators are making a comeback after years of persecution, a rare success story. At Burnt House Farm I took the path west. I did not stroke the dog.

The public right of way is quickly lost, blocked by a low mound of spoil. Thankfully, I had an OS map and was confident of my direction. As I climbed over the ridge I spotted a Devil’s coach horse beetle scrambling for cover, a bold and fearsome little carnivore.

The overgrown path heads west, between a high ridge of vegetated spoil and excavation pits. After passing the wooded edges of Abbots Pools, the rough track reconnects with the Saxon Shore Trail, which then follows Abbots Court Road. A pillbox by the road is another indicator of the old Hoo Stop Line.

St Werburgh Church

Cutting past St Werburgh Church, once can’t help noticing the massive family vault of Mr Richard Everist, dating from 1830. Everist was a yeoman farmer, a man who owned his own land, and he clearly did well from it.

The path continues along a straight, private road with permissible access. The bare fields on either side would have been boring were it not for a generous band of sunflowers, sown for wildlife rather than profit. The sunflower heads hung dark and heavy, still ripe with seed. When autumn’s migratory birds arrive from the east, these field edges will provide a welcome refuelling stop.

A narrow, fenced path through the edge of Chattenden village leads down to the welcoming, winding paths of Cockham Wood. These lead back to Lower Upnor and the Medway, from where I could retrace my steps in the fading light, back to Stood Railway Station and a return to the other world of London.

More information

The Thameslink service from London Bridge to Strood takes just over an hour. If visiting from London, note that Strood station is outside of the Oyster Card fare zone.

For a Peninsula walk on the far side of Kingsnorth Power Station see Walking the Stoke Saltings on Kent’s Hoo Peninsula

The post Walking the Hoo Peninsula, from Strood to Kingsnorth Power Station & back appeared first on Remote London.

Walking the Stoke Saltings on Kent’s Hoo Peninsula

Ian Tokelove — Tue, 21 Jul 2020 11:19:42 +0000

The Stoke Saltings are a maze of low islands, marsh, and mud, embraced in the underbelly of Kent’s Hoo Peninsula. The saltings are bracketed to the east by the Isle of Grain’s gas tanks and container port cranes. To the west, the low, wide bulk of an Amazon warehouse squats behind a battered wire fence.

A short track leads from the small village of Stoke to the saltings, where a tumbledown boatyard faces the Medway Estuary.

I headed east, treading a narrow public footpath along the estuary embankment. The view over the estuary appears timeless, the muddy channels and seamarsh dotted with the occasional, crumbling wreck.

Mud, mud, glorious mud

In truth, the local mud was an ingredient in the manufacture of Portland cement, and the saltings were well worked and much reduced during the 19^th century. The work was mostly manual, the muddies toiling at low tide to fill barges, which would then lift on the incoming tide. Old maps show footpaths leading out towards distant sheepfolds and grazing marsh on the saltings, all lost to the cement works.

The meandering river wall divides two landscapes, freshwater and salt. On the landward side, wide channels are fringed with reedbeds and chattering birdsong. Cattle graze on low lying pasture and reed bunting chirrup from swaying perches amid the reeds.

Gold Nugget Wharf

The path passes the remains of Gold Nugget Wharf, accessible at low tide. This small wharf offers treasure of a sort, in the form of broken pottery, which was dumped here to enforce the wharf’s structure. Alongside the fragments of bowl and plate sit larger brick wasters, bricks which were rejected during the manufacturing process, but which could still be used as filler.

At another lost wharf, the skeletal remains of an unknown boat nudge the foreshore. Her wooden hull has mostly rotted away, but a rust-bitten ladder still rises into the air, echoing the distant container cranes.

Walking on, I came to a small flock of greylag geese resting on the path. They honked in noisy defiance as I approached, before making an indignant exit in a flap of wingbeats, flying low to a new roosting spot.

Stoke Saltings and the Isle of Grain

The riverwall bends sharply, before heading inland towards Grain Road. The channel here is Colemouth Creek, which once joined with Yantlet Creek, which flows south from the other side of the Hoo. The Isle of Grain was once a real island, accessible only by boat.

A few small boats are tethered above the tide’s reach on the sea wall here. Scraps of litter and discarded cans indicate ease of access from the road. A rudimentary bench, burnt and blackened by a disposable barbeque, bears a small, undated memorial plaque.

I retraced my steps, beyond the boatyard and towards the Amazon warehouse. Horses graze on the landward side. Just beyond the boatyard, a jumble of concrete and brick landfill spills onto the marsh. Rabbits have dug a twisted warren amid the broken rubble, their bolt holes mirrored by the tiny, pencil-wide tunnels of mining bees. A stunted plum tree grows here, the fruit almost-ripe and sharp on the tongue.

The submarine wreck

Out on the saltings, beyond the ribs of another unnamed wreck, I could just make out the remains of a World War 1 German U Boat. The submarine lies marooned and broken in the mud, having broken free while being towed for post-war scrappage. I’ve visited the U Boat before, kayaking in from Grain with a couple of friends, although it was hard spotting the submarine in the marshy maze.

As I walked on, I noticed thousands of small, bleached-white crab shells snagged on the strandline, a mysterious, ragged white line of mortality. A possible explanation is that sudden drops in winter temperatures can cause mass mortality in crabs and other marine life, particularly in shallow waters.

The end of the path

The path ends with a high, battered wire fence, suspended on leaning concrete posts. The land beyond is private, a mix of razed infrastructure and lucrative development potential. An old wharf still bears life, shirts and jeans flapping from a clothesline aboard a large, derelict-looking barge.

Beyond the fence and the Amazon warehouse, the broken frame of Bee Ness Jetty reaches out into the estuary. Built to serve a former oil refinery, the jetty stretches more than 2.5km into the River Medway. This was the longest jetty in Britain, and still would be if it weren’t so broken and badly collapsed.

I had hoped to get as far as the jetty, and a hole in the fence was tempting, but this wasn’t a day for trespass. I headed back towards Stoke, past the boatyard. A few forgotten boats caught my eye, their paint peeling and flaking into wildflowers. A tang of epoxy resin and burnt plastic hung in the air, but I didn’t see anyone else in the wide, empty landscape.

More information

More Hoo Peninsula walks: www.remotelondon.com

The Medway muddies: https://www.ft.com/content/e014cec6-7941-11e1-9f0f-00144feab49a

Bee Ness Jetty: http://www.beyondthepoint.co.uk/property/bee-ness-jetty/

The post Walking the Stoke Saltings on Kent’s Hoo Peninsula appeared first on Remote London.

Exploring the Hoo Peninsula from Allhallows, a remote Thames Estuary walk

Ian Tokelove — Sat, 04 Jul 2020 15:03:07 +0000

The Hoo Peninsula

The Hoo Peninsula breaks away from north Kent, forming an almost-island between the Thames and Medway estuaries. The roads are dead-end routes, leading out to lonely farmhouses, small villages, and industrial zones. Much of the peninsula is low-lying marshland, a jigsaw puzzle of rough grazing grounds bounded by narrow drainage channels.

A footpath traces the remote, northern edge of the Hoo Peninsula. This thin line stretches between Gravesend and the small village of Allhallows at the eastern tip of the peninsula.

Dagnam Saltings

I set out from the Allhallows holiday camp, following the promenade west, towards the marshes. Once past the yacht club, the narrow beach gives way to saltmarsh and mudflats, known as the Dagnam Saltings.

The path winds along the edge of the marsh, above a beach that is sometimes shell, sometimes mud. On high spring tides this would be a dangerous path. Wind and salt-spray have scoured the warning signs of words and meaning.

A couple of pillboxes look out across the estuary. One stands on a sandy spit and is accessible. The other is marooned in mud and as the tide returns, becomes an island.

Plastic pollution, an ongoing battle

Torn scraps of plastic flash and flicker amid the reeds and sedge. London’s litter is carried by the river and wind to the east, where it catches in the seamarsh and along the foreshore.

I found a scarred DVD, a sci-fi shoot-em-up from fourteen years ago, still secure in a broken case. I took it home, plugged it in and it still played.

West Point and the Thames Storage (Explosives) Company

The path leads out to a secluded beach at West Point, with distant views of Canvey Island and the Coryton oil refinery. Inland of the beach stand seven ruined explosive stores, dating from about 1892.

Gunpowder was repacked here by employees of the Thames Storage (Explosives) Company. The powder arrived in this remote spot by boat, brought ashore via a landing stage (now lost) just to the east of the beach.

The buildings were widely spaced due to the risk of explosion, and there are records of one building being destroyed on 29th July 1905. The thick walls, reinforced by bunds of earth, were designed to channel explosions (and presumably employees) up and through thin roofs. The buildings may have been used until about 1913, when the lease on the land expired. A much larger range of similar buildings can be seen farther along the Hoo Peninsula, at the north-western tip.

Walking away from home

The path cuts inland alongside St Mary’s Bay, where the beaches and saltmarsh are protected by wire. I watched a small bird of prey, flying low and being mobbed by starlings. So far I’d seen plenty of wildlife, but only two other people, walking together along the Thames path.

I took a track inland, intending to head back towards Allhallows, but the warm evening was too beautiful. I walked away from my car, scattering rabbits from the cropped path, towards the lowering sun.

At Manor Way, the path turns towards the Thames. The track here is wide enough for vehicles, but seldom used. Spikes of teasel grow plentifully, and rabbit holes occasionally puncture the rough trackway.

Manor Way leads, via a locked gate, to Egypt Bay, but I hopped another fence and took an overgrown concrete track which promised a quicker route to the Thames embankment. This led to two small concrete buildings, dating back to the Second World War.

Defensive electric lights once stood here, presumably sweeping the river for enemy activity and watching for aerial mine drops. Now, birds nest in the abandoned buildings.

Curious cattle

Back at St Mary’s Bay, a herd of about forty steers proved a little too curious for comfort, crowding close on the path. The bolder ones pushed nearer, as if to prove their bravery to the others, jostling each other for position. Thankfully, they’re twitchy beasts, backing away when confronted, but I was glad to put a gate between us.

I returned to the inland path and headed back towards Allhallows, brushing my way through waist-high wildflowers and grass. At the Dagnam Saltings, I noticed something I’d missed on my way out, something very old & man-made, eroding from the marsh.

Possible prehistoric trackway on the Hoo Peninsula

A survey published in 2004 refers to a possible prehistoric trackway nearby, and also to Bronze Age saltworks. I’m chasing the experts up on this one.

I got back to Allhallows as the sun set. A couple of clumsy Maybugs (one of our larger beetles) were drifting over the path, one bouncing harmlessly off my face in its simple pursuit of food or mate. The holiday homes stared our blindly towards the estuary, their empty windows dark in the coronavirus lockdown, as I walked unseen, away from the marsh.

The Flying Fortress memorial

Next to the yacht club, on the promenade, a small memorial commemorates the crew of a B17 ‘Flying Fortress’ which went down in the Thames here on 19th June 1944.

The flak-damaged plane, numbered 44-6133, was limping home from a bombing raid in Northern France, as part of a 30-strong formation. The pilot, on his first combat mission, was struggling to control the plane when it suddenly lurched sideways and hit the leading B17.

44-6133 turned over, lost a wing, and plunged vertically into the Thames. Only one of the nine-man crew survived. Finding himself thrown from the disintegrating plane, he was able to pull his ‘chute and survived. Six of the crew from the other B17 were able to bail out, as it flew on severely damaged. With a dead pilot at the controls the B17 threatened the oil refinery at Coryton before turning and crashing off Canvey Point. The full story can be read on the aviationtrails website.

For another walk from Allhallows, heading east towards the Isle of Grain, see remotelondon.com/allhallows-yantlet-creek

The post Exploring the Hoo Peninsula from Allhallows, a remote Thames Estuary walk appeared first on Remote London.

Walking from Allhallows towards the Isle of Grain, exploring the Thames Estuary edges

Ian Tokelove — Tue, 30 Jun 2020 14:32:55 +0000

The holiday park at Allhallows looks across the Thames towards the distant, cluttered shoreline of Southend-on-Sea. A narrow beach of family-friendly sand and shell leads to an expanse of thick, dark mud, swept regularly by powerful tides.

In June 2020, with camping sites still under coronavirus lockdown, the beach is almost deserted. The holiday homes stand empty and quiet.

A public footpath leads from Allhallows into the holiday park, passing the gated security post, and down to the shoreline. I headed east, away from the land and towards the sea. The path follows the ridge of the river embankment, thickly lined with cranesbill and nodding florets of wild carrot.

Yantlet Creek

At Yantlet Creek, the path turns inland, following the waterway. Across the narrow channel lies a disused naval firing range, off-limits to the public. This used to be a testing ground for large weapons, lobbing long-range shells out to sea, to be swallowed by the Maplin Sands.

A weathered monument stands where Yantlet Creek meets the Thames. These sad stones once held two bronze plaques, commemorating a life lost here, and a partner’s death a few years later. Both plaques are now gone, presumably stolen and melted down for scrap. Memories rendered, very nearly lost and forgotten.

Geoffrey John Hammond, drowned at Yantlet Creek

Photographer John Shepherd captured the plaques back in 2008, shortly before they were stolen. His photograph from Flickr reveals an epitaph to Geoffrey John Hammond, who drowned here. The words are cast into metal and weathered by salt wind; each handcrafted letter accentuated by a blue patina.

The main plaque reads:

Geoffrey John Hammond, artist, teacher, naturalist, conservationist drowned on March 2^nd 1975 at the age of 37 years in these waters, visiting Yantlet Creek and its beach, beloved by him …. Deepest love and respect from the Dickens Country Protection Society of which he was a committee member, his wife, his family and his many friends.

“How still it is! I hear no more the busy beat of time, no, nor my struggling pulse ….. this silence pours a solitariness into the very essence of my soul, and the deep rest, so soothing and so sweet, hath something too of sternness and of pain.” (The dream of Gerontias)

Julie, 1977 and forever

Julie, Geoffrey’s wife, died a few years later, aged only 44. She was a sculptor. Perhaps she chose these stones, and cast the first plaque. The plaque in her honour simply read:

Julie Hammond
(Julie van Duren, Sculptor)
1937-1981
Wife of Geoffrey

Nearby, another monument leans at an angle, commemorating the construction of the Thames Flood Defence system. In the distance, beyond a navigational marker in the creek, the London Stone stands tall, to the north of the firing range.

The London Stone

The London Stone was erected in 1856 to mark the eastern boundary of the City of London’s jurisdiction over the River Thames. The Stone is one of several which asserted the City’s ownership of the Thames and the river’s valuable fisheries and tolls. The stone’s purpose was short-lived, with the City losing control to the Crown in 1857 under The Thames Conservancy Act.

The London Stone is twinned with another boundary marker on the other side of the estuary, the Crow Stone at Leigh-on-Sea in Essex. The London Stone can be reached at low tide if you’re prepared to risk mud, water and trespass.

The lost coastguard station

An eroding layer of yellow brick, topped with pitch, marks the remains of a small coastguard station, landing stage and lane which once stood here. Yantlet Creek was once a navigable waterway, a tidal watercourse which joined with Colemouth Creek, a tributary of the Medway.

Regular dredging allowed boats to take the creek shortcut between the Medway and Thames estuaries. In the 19th century, the Isle of Grain really was an island.

This remote location was ideal for smuggling, which led to the establishment of the coastguard station. At first, the station was probably based in a moored hulk on the riverside. The station was swept away in 1897 and a new station established in Allhallows.

The path follows the creek inland. This is remote land, the wildlife cautious of movement. I flushed a mixed flock of little egret and herons, pure white and charcoal grey against the clouded, windy sky.

Across the creek, the Isle of Grain oil terminal once boasted a huge refinery and around 100 oil tanks, but most have now been removed. The huge storage tanks which now dominate the horizon contain Liquefied Natural Gas (LNG).

With the wind blowing hard across the marshes, I ducked down from the embankment path and into the edges of the fen. Others were also seeking shelter here; small, bright dragonflies clinging to the swaying sedge. I think these are red-veined darters, the mature males a deep red, while the females and younger males are ochre-yellow.

Decoy fires and WW2 bombing raids

At the heart of the Allhallows Marshes, on the edge of a few farmed fields and the path to Binney Farm, a curious concrete structure draws the eye. This is a Second World War ‘night shelter’, a reinforced unit of two rooms and part of an ‘Oil QF’ decoy site.

In order to protect the oil terminal on the Isle of Grain, burning rings and crescents of fuel could be ignited here. The fires would give the impression of burning oil drums & storage tanks, luring enemy night bombers away from their real targets.

About 25m from the night-shelter, a series of concrete supports once held a large oil tank, fuel for the decoy fires. Similar structures still stand on the Fobbing Marshes across the Thames, built as a decoy for the oil refinery at Shell Haven.

The path that cuts east here, away from the farm and back towards Yantlet Creek, passes the shadow of a decoy tank, still visible amid the wild grassland.

If the burning decoys did their job and attracted enemy bombing, the marshes show little trace, but this crater suggests at least one bomb fell here during WW2.

The path home

I took the embankment path back to Allhallows. A young family had set up a crooked tent and were exploring the foreshore, slipping and sliding as they turned rocks and seaweed in search of crabs. Rather than head back to the holiday park I took another short path, leading from the Thames to The British Pilot pub on the edge of the village.

A herd of young steers quit their grazing to regard me with curiosity. Starlings rose and fell around them, catching insects drawn by their dung and disturbed by their hooves. I left the marsh and followed the quiet lane back to my car, and the fast road to London.

More information

Naturegirl blog, a walk to Yantlet Creek

Historic England, Oil Depot Bombing Decoy, Allhallows, Isle of Grain

This page updated April 2022 to include more information on the memorial to Geoffrey John Hammond.

The post Walking from Allhallows towards the Isle of Grain, exploring the Thames Estuary edges appeared first on Remote London.