Rogue or Proctor?
In Rochester, where I stayed last night, Richard Watts seems to have endowed most things. This hard to read plaque says he “…founded this charity for six poor travellers, who not being rogues, or proctors, may receive gratis for one night lodging, entertainment, and four pence each”.
Judith and Ian had provided the lodging and entertainment, but not four pence. However Ian sneakily polished my boots, which has to be worth at least that much. You can take the man out of the police force, but you can’t take the police force out of the man.
After a look round the cathedral and the castle, I headed off into the Hoo Peninsula. It was a hot a muggy day (rejected blog title: Hoo, What A Scorcher), so it was harder going than I expected. This part of Kent seems to be basically owned by the MOD — I walked through whole tracts of it which are decaying buildings which are no longer used, with rights of way which criss-cross them.
This took me to Cooling. Quoting from 1797, it is “an unfrequented place, the roads of which are deep and miry, and it is as unhealthy as it is unpleasant”. It’s a bit more frequented now, partly because the churchyard was the inspiration for the opening of Great Expectations:
Get Edward Hibbert’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
five little stone lozenges, each about a foot and a half long, which were arranged in a neat row beside their grave, and were sacred to the memory of five little brothers of mine, — who gave up trying to get a living, exceedingly early in that universal struggle
Cooling is also home to Cooling Tower. OK, it’s actually called Cooling Castle, but only because pun technology hadn’t really developed back in the 14th century. Or cooling towers, come to think of it. Jools Holland lives there.
From there through noisy bird sanctuaries, disused sand quarries, and unexpected flocks of ponies to Gravesend. Richard, a friend from Edinburgh who now lives in London, came out to have dinner.
This picture of my hands doesn’t show what I wanted it to show — it just looks as though someone has varnished the table without me moving them — but my right hand is noticeably more tanned than the left. It is my south-facing hand, as I walk west to east.
Tomorrow I cross the Thames. 200 miles to go.
If you’ve read this far, please consider sponsoring a mile of my walk for Freegle. Click here to do that or see my route.
