A river in Kent

An especially busy half hour of work, sat at the kitchen table in Dover helped me feel like I deserved a break. Mum and Dad came back from the dentist and picked me up at the end of the road, then we drove to somewhere on the outskirts of Hythe. 

The grass pollen count was high and I could sense it like an invisible haze in the air. It was a warm spring day, a taste of the summer soon to come. In the car park there was an information board faded to the extent it was barely readable, something about the surrounding wildlife habitats or the history of the village. 

We went to the café/taproom and got our various refreshments. At the table Mum and I shared our suspicions that the lady at the counter didn’t charge us for my Magnum. It was busy with people and their dogs, and it felt like a place that deserved to be busy because it was a pretty corner of Kent with hops growing round the edge of the seating area, a river nearby, a real fresh excess of greenery surrounding us.

We talked about Millais Road, where I grew up, where Mum and Dad still live, all the people who have passed through or remained. It was an exercise in squirrelling into recesses of memory that haven’t been visited for decades. All those adults seen through a child’s eye, the other children mostly frozen now in time, apart from the ones occasionally seen grown up and awkwardly shaped. There are people I haven’t thought about for years still living on the road. Mr. Gardner who taught me woodwork at school is still there, still alive, still remembers me apparently. The shared experience of a street where all the houses have either the same layout or a reflection of it; it feels like you’re all living the same life just in different flavours.

We went for a little walk down the river after our coffees. There were gaps in the trees and bushes along the riverbank for fishers to locate themselves, and you could hop down and have a closer look at the watery scene. It was all dense trees on the other side too, overflowing into the river, mirrored and rippling.

It was just a path off the main road but it was an immediate immersion in nature. For me, the first time in a long time it seemed, out on a walk for nature’s sake, and it was a refreshing return. We went further down a bit. On the left there were ponies, and Peter J Checksfield had put up a sign informing the ignorant thieves who stole his mink traps that they need educating, and if he catches anyone trespassing in his paddock there will be serious consequences. We laughed but didn’t linger – you don’t wanna get caught up in countryside issues you don’t understand.

The path was narrow and I hung back as Mum and Dad went on ahead, and as a result I was alone in seeing a little blue firebolt flash past over the river. It was a kingfisher, just the briefest of views before it disappeared into the trees, but that electric blue was unmistakable. I told Mum and Dad and we watched the area briefly but it didn’t come out, so we continued.

On the way back though we saw it again. This time a better view with some of that rust-coloured plumage on show too. And this time we all saw it, swooping quickly away from us down the waterway, a splendid burst of colour. We hung around for a little while, hoping for it to re-emerge, but we didn’t see it again. 

I would have happily sat on that riverbank all afternoon, looking out over the water waiting for the kingfisher to do its flights here and there, perhaps hunting to feed a new brood. I would have sat there for hours. And even though I couldn’t, it was reassuring in itself to have such a clear reminder of something that can bring me joy.  It was a sample of a familiar, not-so-distant peace.