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Walking the River Roding, from Redbridge to the Barking Creek Barrier & the Thames

Ian Tokelove — Sat, 24 Jun 2023 18:18:27 +0000

The River Roding rises from the Essex flatlands, just east of Stansted Airport, then flows south towards the Thames. As the river nears Greater London, it’s floodplain plays host to the M11 and then the North Circular, the quiet water contrasting with the background roar of traffic.

Our walk picks up the river at Redbridge, a suburban station on the Central line. The station abuts the Redbridge Roundabout, where the North Circular arches over a humming vortex of circling vehicles. A pedestrian subway leads under the A12 and then into the calm centre of the roundabout, then out to Royston Parade.

Heading south, a cycleway leads away from Royston Gardens to follow the North Circular. The path traces the edge of the disused and overgrown Kearley and Tonge sports fields (marked on Google Maps as Royston Gardens). A large gap in the fence provides easy access, and well-worn paths edge the unused football pitches.

Disused goal posts rise from the wild meadow, their white paint flaking into a sea of erupting grassland. It’s reminiscent of the wonderful, but threatened, Warren Farm in Ealing.

The Roding’s hidden valley

Heading away from the North Circular, the path passes a series of abandoned hard courts. A single basketball stand remains, tipped and tangled against a torn, chain-link fence. Beyond these courts, and the fencing, the Roding flows in a surprisingly deep valley, lost and inaccessible in a jungle of springtime growth.

Walking on, the path rejoins the cycleway, tracking the bank of the river. The Roding flows shallow and clear, small fish shoaling and darting below its glittering surface. Across the river, Wanstead Park also gives access to this stretch.

Approaching Ilford Golf Club, the path bridges the river. An obvious gap in the fence leads to a well-worn, woodland path along the Roding, edged with cow parsley. It may not look it, but this is roughly the extent of the highest tides, the incoming tide pushing against the river’s natural flow. I’ve kayaked here on several occasions, hitching a tidal lift from the River Thames.

The Alders Brook

Returning to the main path, we lose the river for a while, and trace the edge of the City of London Cemetery, protected by tall, iron railings. On the other side of the path, the Alders Brook, largely unseen, is an offshoot of the Roding. This small stream rejoins the Roding at Ilford, effectively islanding part of the golf club.

A ramshackle collections of huts and allotments can be glimpsed where the Alders Brook flows away from the path, providing space for an off-grid community of sorts.

Passing below railway viaducts, the path loses the brook, and follows graffitied walls to the main Romford Road. Crossing the dual-carriageway, and beneath the North Circular at Ilford, we again pick up the Roding. There’s no official path here, but the Friends of the River Roding have tramped and cleared a route to Barking. A well-trodden route is visible between the river and an elevated slip road, leading up to the North Circular.

The hidden Roding path at Ilford

Jumping the barrier, we follow the path, narrow and heavily littered. When kayaking the river, I’ve frequently seen tents here, shelter for the homeless, but on this occasion, we only saw evidence of previous camps. There’s scattered drug paraphernalia, needles and twists of foil amid the plastic bottles. It’s not a path that all will enjoy.

The path briefly opens up beside the slip road, then plunges back into the undergrowth. The way ahead was often hidden amid a riot of spring growth. The route sticks to the top of the river valley, close to a wooden fence and the ever-present hum of traffic on the other side.

The path is lined with young trees, including cherry. Below, the river is largely hidden in its valley, but the view occasionally opens up to reveal reedbeds and swathes of yellow flag iris.

At one stage, the path detours briefly under the North Circular, following broken chain-link fencing. The shadows of old fires dot the concrete, and there is more evidence of homeless lives.

Rejoining the undergrowth, the path follows what seems to be an old embankment, but it was so overgrown we could hardly tell. Cow parsley and nettles stood chest-high, overlooked by the soaring North Circular. Across the river, the foundations of apartment blocks are rooted into landfill, on the site of an old chemical works.

Rail lines over the Roding

The path finally opens out when it reaches the railway lines into Barking. Trains pass low overhead, on buttresses of concrete and steel. In the shade of the bridges, we met and chatted with a friendly volunteer from Thames 21, leading a group taking part in a river survey for London Rivers Week.

River Roding Moorings

A good path leads on towards riverside Barking. In the distance, tower blocks sprout from Abbey Quay. Along the way, we pass the River Roding Moorings, where a small group of barge dwellers live. They play an important and active part in caring for the tidal stretches of the river. Similar communities can be found all across London, hidden away on the capital’s waterways.

At the entrance to the River Roding Moorings, two spike-like tips of huge timber beams seem to be wearing rusting, ancient helmets. These wooden piles would once have been driven deep into the river bed, supporting and protecting the river wall.

Nearby, the path curves around a stretch of salt marsh, a small vestige of the tidal reedbeds which once lined the Thames and her many tributaries.

Mill Pond and the Short Blue Fleet

The route crosses London Road and follows the river, now firmly embanked and channelled in its course. At Mill Pond we get a glimpse of old Barking’s harbour. Once busy with ships and trade but now mostly silent, the water is broken only by a sleek racing kayak from the nearby Barking and Dagenham Canoe Club.

It may not look it, but this was once home to the largest fishing fleet in the world. In the 19^th century, hundreds of fishing smacks were based at Barking, as part of the Short Blue Fleet. Fishing was replaced by chemical works and breweries, and now they too are being replaced by residential development.

We had to detour inland here; the way ahead temporarily fenced off to make way for more residential blocks. Signage wasn’t clear, but we regained the river at the Barking Barrage, where a lock and tidal weir hold the river back. The barrage was built in the late ‘90s, to revitalise a largely derelict industrial riverfront. At high tide you won’t even notice the weir, but at low levels the river tumbles down a series of steps to the tidal section below. The lock gate allows boats to navigate beyond the weir, but only at high water.

Hand Trough Creek and the A13

The path detours around Hand Trough Creek, the remnants of Back River. This former stream once branched off the Roding, just south of the railway bridges, before rejoining the river here. Another footpath tracks the lost Back River’s path back towards Barking.

A small, old wharf provides a good view back towards the creek and the barrage. At low tide, across the river, the remains of a wooden slipway still slides into the river, perhaps a remnant of late 19^th century shipbuilding.

The path follows the river under the A13, the residential blocks on the other bank giving way to warehousing. Passing the Showcase Cinema, now silent and awaiting commercial redevelopment, the path becomes tighter and more overgrown. This is a quiet back route towards Beckton Nature Reserve.

Nature and Beckton Sewage Treatment Works

The reserve sits between the mighty Beckton Sewage Treatment Works and the Roding and offers a more attractive route than the main path. There are one or two dead-end tracks, which are worth exploring as they don’t go far. The nature reserve path rejoins the main path by the treatment works.

The sewage treatment works is the largest in Europe, managing the waste water of much of north London. Treated water flows alongside the main path in a fenced, concrete channel. The flow is dark and fast, flecked with white bubbles. The aroma is one of washing powder and laundry detergent – a perfume that even the most aggressive treatment seems unable to shift.

The outfall and the Princess Alice

This flow was once channelled, completely untreated, into the River Thames. The outflow was timed to coincide with the ebb tide, taking the effluent downriver and away from London. The sewage came right back with the next incoming tide, but it was diluted, and safely downstream of the capital.

This practice continued until the Princess Alice disaster in 1878, Britain’s worst inshore shipping tragedy. The Princess Alice, a crowded passenger ship, was heading back to London from Sheerness when it collided with a collier, sinking rapidly just upstream of the works. More than 600 died in such heavily polluted water that the authorities were compelled to act, ensuring that sewage was treated before being released into the Thames.

The Barking Creek Barrier

As the path winds towards the Roding, the stunning, guillotine-like structure of the Barking Creek Barrier rises high above the river. On the far bank, Cory’s waste management site now adds its own, distinct aroma to the landscape, the whiff of household rubbish and bin lorries.

Beckton Desalination Plant

Before reaching the Barrier, and the Thames, we pass a large lagoon, sheathed in concrete walls. This is part of the Beckton Desalination Plant, also known as the Thames Gateway Water Treatment Works.

Water is pumped from the Thames as the river ebbs, stored, desalinated and purified, then pumped to north-east London. Opened in 2010 and costing £250m, there are some questions about the plant’s effectiveness. It wasn’t used during the very dry conditions of summer 2022, despite water shortages.

The path finally meets the Thames, just beyond a massive pylon. The Barking Creek Barrier and outflow are a little downriver, and at low tide the beach below is one of rubble and mud. The river and mudflats can be good for birdlife, especially during winter, the birds drawn in by the nutrient-rich outflow.

Thames Mud Butter

Back when the sewage work’s flow was untreated, the fat in the noxious discharge rose up and floated on the surface of the river. This grim waste was reportedly skimmed off, collected and sold as Thames Mud Butter – thankfully repurposed as an industrial lubricant rather than an edible spread. Sewage fat can still be an issue, with massive fatbergs occasionally turning up under London.

Looking across the Thames, the old landfill sites at Thamesmead have rewilded into a green, tree-lined landscape, stretching along the river. Massive redevelopment is planned, transforming this ‘undeveloped and underpopulated’ land into a huge residential district called Thamesmead Waterfront. The riverside path on the southern bank is well worth exploring before the development kicks in; it’s a good path which feels almost rural in character.

The final stretch

Before heading back, if you still have energy in your legs, there’s a little more path to explore. Heading upriver, the path traces the treatment works, towards what was once Beckton Gas Works. Few walk here, as it is currently a dead end, although graffiti artists have repurposed the seawall and concrete silos into colourful canvases. The path ends at a high chain link fence. There’s a gate, but it’s locked, and the path beyond is completely overgrown. It’s time to head home.

More information

Thank you to Kirsten S for joining me on this walk, in late May 2023. The distance is roughly 12km, and we then had to retrace our steps and get to Barking railway station, perhaps another 5km. Give yourself plenty of time if you want to walk this, especially in summer, when the unofficial path between Ilford and Barking can be heavily overgrown.

Check out The River Roding Trust: preserving, protecting and restoring the River Roding

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Walking the River Ebbsfleet, from Northfleet Harbour to its Springhead source

Ian Tokelove — Sat, 06 Aug 2022 18:05:00 +0000

The River Ebbsfleet meets the Thames at Northfleet in Kent, where it forms a natural harbour. Today the river’s flow is dammed by a huge floodwall, constructed in the 1970s to hold back the Thames. Roman boats once sheltered in Northfleet Harbour, and it grew to be a busy industrial inlet serving the local cement works. Once busy, the harbour is now an undisturbed, off-grid home to wildlife, but perhaps for not much longer.

Northfleet Harbour is banked on one side by an aggregates works, still churning out asphalt, and on the other by a razed cement works. Below the old and disused wharves, the Ebbsfleet flows between banks of silt and fly tipped landfill. A wild, secluded wetlands has developed in the sheltered basin. Reeds grow verdant, and water birds nest and squabble and chatter.

A changing landscape

The old Portland Cement Works will soon be a building site, heralding the regeneration of this former industrial town. There are also plans to remove the seawall and restore the harbour, creating a new marina. Although the wetlands would be lost, this could potentially be better for the river, reconnecting it to the Thames and allowing migratory fish to return to the Ebbsfleet.

Turning Northfleet Harbour into a marina could work for the developers too; consultants say such redevelopment would potentially “enhance the value of the surrounding developments by up to 20%”.

An old slipway still runs into the harbour from Grove Road. The way down is gated and barred. Although the posters of the Northfleet Harbour Restoration Trust have been slashed, they still reveal some of the history of this lost harbour.

The Trust want to see this slipway reopened to give public access to the harbour and the Thames. The river has a rich maritime history, but public access is pitifully low. As a kayaker, I’m well aware of how far apart public access points can be.

Northfleet Harbour and the River Ebbsfleet

A narrow, industrial lane leads past a battered wall of bricked up, arched windows, to what was once a cement mill and wharf. More recently a rough car park, this old wharf borders the upper reaches of the harbour, and there is sometimes access here.

Scrambling up a bank of overgrown rubble, one can look down onto the clear waters of the Ebbsfleet, flowing close to the opposing riverwall. The sheer harbour walls are piled high with mounds of tipped demolition waste, leading down to a meadow of nettles, and then the river.

Jumping down, I made my way through the nettles to a narrow riverside path. This track has perhaps been worn by the Restoration Trust, perhaps by other feet or paws or claws.

The old harbour walls seem to concentrate the freshness of the air, distilling the aromas of green growth and flowing water. The path traces the river, to where it emerges from the mouth of a large concrete tunnel. Something resembling a sizable sluice gate has been torn free, and now lies at an angle in the mouth of the tunnel.

The underground Ebbsfleet

The water here was clear but flecked with bubbles of foam. The air smelt too clean, with a hint of perfumed soap or suds. The only sound was trickling water and distant birdsong. I’d have waded to the tunnel mouth, but I didn’t fancy exploring the rest of the Ebbsfleet with wet feet.

Getting out of Northfleet Harbour turned out to be considerably harder than getting in. The walls give little purchase to grasping hands and scrabbling feet. I got out, but it took several attempts.

The Ebbsfleet runs underground for about half a kilometre, along the line of Grove Road and on towards Ebbsfleet International train station. At a nearby car wash the apparent source of the fragrant bubbles became clear, the soapy waters draining down towards the hidden river. Nearby, a burnt out lorry added a touch of dereliction to the street.

The River Ebbsfleet above ground

Beyond a roundabout, where Thames Way meets one of Ebbsfleet International’s car parks, the river can be glimpsed again, through a high wire fence. I was expecting a ditch, perhaps a meagre stream, but the river still flows here. The river is inaccessible, protected by a high wire fence and is largely hidden by lush vegetation.

Thames Way traces the nearby river, bridging it before passing under a modern railway bridge. From here the river flows next to the road, more accessible, but in places bearing the usual urban detritus of traffic cones and plastic.

A footpath cuts away from the road and between a small sewage treatment works and the river. The Ebbsfleet forms another wetlands here, a pleasing expanse of swaying reeds, bordered by mature trees and the path.

The Ebbsfleet Valley and new development

A large new road bridge is an unexpected addition to the landscape, carrying Springhead Parkway to new housing. The bridge spans a lake, the open water contrasting with the wetland’s surrounding reedbeds. Supported by three columns, the bridge is rather elegant, adding to the landscape rather than dominating it.

The path follows the river, bordered by new homes rising on higher ground, overlooking the valley. The footpath then ducks underneath the High Speed 1 line to Ebbsfleet, following the river through a low, concrete tunnel.

Once past the new housing, the path develops a countryside feel, the rail tracks and the river largely hidden by trees. The broken branches of crack willow hint at the Ebbsfleet’s flow along this shallow valley. There’s hidden water here, bound up in the land, flowing from springs.

The source of the River Ebbsfleet

Springhead Nurseries marks the uppermost reach of the river, which now trickles in a ditch past the glasshouses and car park.

The modern nursery is an echo of the watercress beds which once flourished here, first planted by William Bradbery in 1808. It was at the source of the Ebbsfleet that the first commercial cultivation of watercress in England took place, harvested for the lucrative London market.

Beyond the nursery, the thundering traffic of the A2 bars progress to the low hills beyond. This is where the Roman settlement of Vagniacae once stood, straddling the ancient Watling Street. The village was a cult centre, with at least seven temples, perhaps linked to the healing waters of the eight Ebbsfleet springs recorded here. No trace remains above ground.

Despite OS Maps showing the footpath continuing on the other side of the A2, there’s no way under or over. Wild flowers, rocket and fennel dance chaotically in the blast of passing traffic.

Taking the high way back to Northfleet

Retracing my steps, I detoured to Church Path, leading to Northfleet’s Saint Botolph’s Church, poised high above a massive chalk quarry. The path crosses the cavernous pit in a long, narrow walkway, stretching out into the void. The views are great, but it’s a long way down.

The church sits amid peaceful graves and wild flowers. It’s a gentle haven before the ten minute trudge down Northfleet’s High Street to the railway station and the ride home.

More information

Walked on Sunday 1 May 2022.

Northfleet railway station lies outside of London’s current Oyster Card zone.

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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.

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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.

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