Our Dartford Neighbourhood

I remember an article from a newspaper when I was young. I am not sure of the title or the paper or the author. It was a disparaging piece by someone who travelled through my hometown one rainy day. What I do remember decades later was the belittling of my hometown… and of me by extension. After all, I was a member of the community that created it. Constructive criticism is one thing. I lived there: I knew things could have been done better. But writing an article that our city was ugly and had no redeeming value: that was just mean. It has taken me several decades to realise that the article said much more about the author than it did about me. Sure, I was not in the bustle of a financial centre or in the mix of a cultural hub. But we had a bustle and a mix of our own. It probably was hard for a privileged outsider to appreciate what accomplishment might look like amidst the barriers inherent to the underprivileged community of my hometown. My experience in Dartford has been less than superlative. Perhaps that says more about me than about Dartford. But I will do my best not to disparage an entire town as I cannot appreciate its journey.

So as the name suggests, Dartford is named for a ford across a river. The river in this case is the River Darent. The ford is now a bridge, although I was unaware of the bridge or the river even though I drove over them many times. I only discovered them when I found a picture of them from beneath online.

Dartford to most people in England today conjures a very different more conspicuous river crossing. The Dartford Crossing consists of tunnels going under the Thames north (pictured) and a huge bridge going over south (pictured). It is the only major road crossing the Thames east of London and the tunnels are frequently closed to escort hazardous and wide loads through them, leaving motorists inching through their own car exhaust in the resulting backlog. But eventually, they continue their journeys, leaving behind their exhaust cloud as a memory of the pause in their journeys. I wonder sometimes if another invisible cloud of frustration and impatience that also grew while waiting for the traffic to resume its progress is also left to linger.

Walking around town, Mick Jagger is everywhere: not the person. I have never seen him in person, not that I know anyway. But his name and photographs are everywhere: well, not recent photographs. Photographs from maybe half a century ago. So obviously, he is from here. In fact, the hustings I wrote about in June was held in the Mick Jagger Centre. Legend has it that Jagger and Richards first met on Platform 2 of the Dartford Railway Station and there is blue plaque (pictured) there to commemorate it.

Photo Credits

Bridge: kentnews.co.uk

Tunnel: connectplusservices.co.uk

Blue Plaque: localrags.co.uk

Dartford Flat

Fascinating older stuff: a recent sample

While our recent wanderings over the past several months may not have included any stone circles, I did manage to run into my first dole table (pictured) outside of St John the Baptist Church in Penshurst. There are apparently only a few of them left. In addition to being used in the 1500’s & 1600’s to settle contracts and tithes, food and money were left out on them for those in need. The medieval church also had some pretty amazing monuments inside.

I was excited when I happened upon what  I thought was a medieval hagioscope at St Martin of Tours Church in Eynsford. A hagioscope is a hole in an interior wall so that the worshipper(s) could see the elevation of the host. But I cannot find it on any official lists, so it may not be a real one. But the dark roof timbers contrasting against the whitewashed walls (pictured) make for a remarkably tranquil atmosphere.

More recently, during Open House London, we visited Temple Church (pictured), London. This medieval church was fashioned after the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, which was a common practice by the Knights Templar at the time.

Photo Credits

St John the Baptist churchyard, Penshurst

St Martin of Tours, Eynsford

Temple Church, London

What was said was for you, and you alone.

Just after his visit with the Oracle, Morpheus tells Neo, “What was said was for you, and you alone.” I have always taken this statement to mean that Neo must not reveal what the Oracle told him to anyone else. But a recent insight suggest a more nuanced interpretation.

I was listening to something on the radio the other day that really moved me. When I shared it with others, it was clear that they did not find it as moving. I suppose this situation exposes another related misapprehension of mine. The weight and depth behind a nugget of wisdom is not the same for everyone who encounters it. The  resulting effect is more related to where the listener is on his/her journey than it is in the content of the message.  So it doesn't matter if Neo tells anyone because it will not have the same meaning to another. It will only have the specific effect it is meant to have on him and him alone.

As usual, it takes me a little while to catch up with the rest of you. So that was 17 or 18 years… have I missed any thing else since?

Photo Credit
ixquick-proxy.com

June Visitors

Really enjoyed our June visitors

Election 2017

Seeing some of headlines in American newspapers of the UK election, I feel I should say something to my American friends. You may be aware that in the UK, we do not vote for Prime Minister (PM). It is even much more English than that, however. There actually is no PM in law per se. I was going to say ‘constitution’ but instead wrote ‘law’ because we have no constitution per se. Its all convention. Lovely, welcome to England. So by convention, the PM is typically the leader of the party with the most seats in the House of Commons. At the moment, Theresa May is that party leader.

As I live in the consistency of Dartford, I am voting for the Member of Parliament (MP) to represent Dartford in the Commons. This is only my second parliamentary election and I was much more clued in. This time around, I concluded that there are three things I might vote for: the party leader, the party manifesto, or the MP.

In this seven week election campaign (the last American presidential election campaign was more like 100 weeks), I found myself personally attracted to the personal views of the Labour party leader, to the views in the Green party manifesto, and to the personal views of Liberal Democrat party candidate running in my constituency. I am not sure how the typical British voter deals with this scenario.

The eventual outcome was that the Conservatives held the Dartford seat. Sure, I’m disappointed, but having met him at the hustings, I have no doubt that my MP is doing what he believes is best for our constituency and will do so in a civil, dignified, and respectful manner. I feel similarly about the PM. So while my view did not prevail in the election result, I retain a strong sense of hope that civility will rule the day, and I sincerely wish my MP and the PM well. That does not mean I am not determined to work toward my vision of the future. I just see bitterness as destructive, and as not ultimately serving my desired outcome. I got this attitude because it is all around me.

This is where the American headlines claim that the UK is as divided as America is completely wrong. There may be a similar difference of opinion in the terms of percentages from election results. But in terms of bitterness, vitriol, and cynicism, there is no contest. I love and miss the country of my birth much in the way that I love and miss my parents. I pine for more time with family and friends living there, but I do not miss for one second the delusional comparisons, the hyperbolic overreactions, or the spontaneous dehumanisation of anyone with a different political view that have become the norm in politics and media there.

Photo Credits

Polling station sign: milkround

Results graphic: The Guardian

Sightseeing in Kent

A few weeks ago we went on a search for the Medway Megaliths which is about 20 miles from where we now live.  They are remains of large tombs from between 5000 and 6000 years ago.  This one is called Kit's Coty House.  I am continually amazed how much old man made stuff is still standing in this country.

Last week we went to the White Cliffs of Dover which are about 60 miles away.  Apparently they are made of chalk by a kind of algae.  The cliffs are visually quite striking.  Apparently huge parts of it collapsed in 2001 and 2012 and we are not supposed to go up to the edge, but I only learned that now on Wikipedia just now.  I guess I will not get as close if I go back.

Photo Credits
My beloved & I