Alphabetical Kent: Boughton Street/Boughton/Boughton-under-Blean

As part of a project to get to know my home county a bit better, I'm visiting one randomly chosen place (that I've never been to before) beginning with each letter. Here's B.

Boughton Street, or Boughton-under-Blean, or just Boughton is a village around 2.75 miles east of Faversham. At the 2011 census, it had a population of 1,971 people, which is quite a bit more than the first place I visited in this series, making me hopeful that it would be slightly more interesting than Acrise. Getting there was a little easier; a train to Faversham then a bus that took me straight to Boughton. The bus deposited me on Bull Lane, a road that runs north out of the village alongside some fields. The initial view northwest from here was really rather good, especially in the afternoon sunlight; much better weather than last time. I headed down the hill into the main heart of Boughton.

The village is a classic design seen all over Britain; one main street running through the middle with houses strung out along the road. Houses at the western end of the village range from timbered Tudor constructions to rather more modern affairs. The first building of note I encountered was the first of two pubs in the village, The White Horse. The pub is an ancient coaching inn, and was mentioned in Geoffrey Chaucer's seminal work The Canterbury Tales (as indeed was the village in general). According to its website, "beautiful landscaping has turned a pleasant pub garden in to an Englishman’s dream." Whether that claim is true I don't know, as the pub didn't look particularly open when I passed by (although another glance at the website reveals it was open, damn). I carried on, and found myself outside a tall church-esque structure, which upon closer examination I found was a Wesleyan Chapel (was being very much the operative word here; this looked definitely closed). The path down the side looked privately residential, but there was what looked like a car park at the bottom, so I ventured down for a look at the back, which almost turned out quite badly; a dog appeared from a hidden entrance and made a beeline for me, sniffing me inquisitively before whining at me. I sensed perhaps it was wise to make my exit from the back of the church, a feeling exacerbated when the dog followed me back up the path. As I carried on up the road, I noticed the owner of said dog come out of their residence. Fearing a confrontation of some kind, I kept going with my headphones in, wandering innocuously up the road towards a public convenience. The owner passed me as I turned away from the main road, but said nothing, and I made it to the toilet unscathed.

There was no sign of dog or owner when I emerged and restarted eastwards. Next along the road was the village's second pub, The Queen's Head. Not quite as old as The White Horse, it's nevertheless still over 400 years old, and also boasts of their private beer garden, which is maintained by their own gardener apparently. A little further on stands St. Barnabas' Church, with the village war memorial outside. The main road at this point is sunken a few feet below the pavement level, a result of regulations brought in during the "turnpike mania" of the mid-18th century. Past this point the village becomes much more residential, even along the main road, and the only businesses from here to the end of the village are a garage/petrol station and The Dairy restaurant. I paused at the junction of Staplestreet Road and The Street, admiring another view northwest which had opened up, and also the view to the northeast, where thickly wooded slopes rose up above the houses. I turned around and headed back into the village.

I only really had a couple more things to explore, and the first of these was the village hall, which is situated on the south end of the village recreation ground. I took the long way round, via where the bus had dropped me off (and would pick me up later), and walked along The Charltons, another residential street. The village hall was rather disappointing really; given the architectural vintage of the majority of the village, I was not expecting a bland, squat brick structure with no interesting features whatsoever. The hall also houses the village library. I carried on past the village primary school, and back down to the main road. I paused outside an abandoned hotel, which had been gone for several years by the looks of it. A little bit of digging revealed the hotel had been closed for at least 8 years, as planning permission was given to convert it into apartments at the end of February 2009; I can safely say that didn't come to fruition. With a little bit of time left to kill, I nipped down a footpath that led to a footbridge over the road that means Boughton retains an air of village tranquility: the Boughton Bypass. Before 1976, the A2 ran through the middle of the village, a route as old as the Celts, but it now runs in an arc round the south of the village, diverting all that traffic away; something I'm sure the residents are very grateful for.

Back on the main road, I walked westwards, down towards the western edge of the village and the road crossing of the bypass. Nothing much interesting down that way, apart from Boughton House and a farm. Just after the bridge, a footpath led down into the woods on the south side of the village. I still had some time left, so I plunged into the trees. The path itself was barely there, and aside from a small stream, there wasn't much of merit about the path, which was quite muddy (I almost slipped over at one point) and eventually brought me out alongside the A2. I made my escape via another path which led to the earlier path from the footbridge and came out onto the main road (again). As a last little exploration, I decided to head down the eastern side of the recreation ground and along the northern end, which brought me out opposite the hop fields I'd been dropped off at a couple of hours ago. I made my way back up the road, and waited for the bus to take me back to Faversham.

So, Boughton/Boughton Street/Boughton-under-Blean then. A nice village certainly, but although the place has history behind it, it somehow feels lacking in presenting any of it in an engaging way. Having said that, it was certainly more interesting than Acrise (not that that's difficult!).

P.S. If you'd like to see what the village was like before the A2 got diverted, there's an interesting little video here.

Some more pictures from this trip on Flickr:

 

Alphabetical Kent: Acrise

As part of a project to get to know my home county a bit better, I'm visiting one randomly chosen place (that I've never been to before) beginning with each letter. Here's A.

Acrise is a hamlet in southeast Kent, about 6 miles north of Folkestone. The civil parish had a population of 172 people according to the 2011 census, which should give you an idea of the size of Acrise. I wasn't particularly enthused by my (or rather Excel's) choice for my first location of this project, especially after a glance at a map showed a church and not much else. However, maps don't tell you everything, and so I set off on a dull, slightly snowy morning to start a 2 hour journey, beginning with a bus to my local station (I could've walked, but I was feeling lazy). From the station it was a train to Canterbury, then a bus ride down to Densole. From here walking was my only option.

The walk into Acrise took about 25 minutes, down a straight flat country lane at first, lined by low bungalows on one side, and open fields on the other. The snow had picked up slightly by this point, and a fair breeze was blowing it all around, adding to the already chilly conditions. Cars were an infrequent hazard (no pavements here), and a couple of dog walkers were the only people I saw for the next hour. Coming to a crossroads, I was formally welcomed into Acrise, with the sign also proclaiming it to be in the Kent Downs Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. Here the lane got narrower and more undulating, and I soon found myself descending into a small valley. The fields on either side, with the exception of one small paddock containing a few horses, were strangely devoid of flora or fauna save grass, and it didn't take long to find out why; Ministry of Defence signs proclaimed the area to be used for troop training, and forbade access to the public. Never mind, my destination was just up the other side of the aforementioned valley.

And suddenly I was in the centre of Acrise.The road I was on formed a small triangular junction with another road that led off to the north, towards Swingfield and Denton according to the signpost in the middle. The signpost also told me where the church was located, not that I would've had much trouble finding it, given the lack of much else significant in the vicinity. I therefore squeezed through a narrow gap between a fencepost and a white gate and set off up a muddy path towards the church. The church is dedicated to St. Martin, and is from Norman times, although much of the original architecture has been hidden behind 14th century alterations. It's a small, simple church, and reputedly has remains of a wall painting depicting Saint Martin himself to the side of the chancel arch.

I say reputedly because unfortunately the church was locked and gated on my visit, and so the above information has been lifted from the informative Friends of St Martin's Church website. The outer walls of the church were discouragingly lacking in any sort of information, historical or otherwise, and so my initial curiosity about the church was left unsated at the time. I wandered cautiously round the side of the church, taking care to avoid any graves, but the church remained stubbornly obstinate in its absence of any sort of interesting fact, and so I decided to head back out to the road.

The only other building of significance in Acrise is Acrise Place, which borders the church on its western side. Some history about the house can be found here, but suffice to say the site was definitely not open to the common public thankyouverymuch. Apart from that, there was a small trading estate with a large warehouse and some small stone outhouses (and a surprising number of Jaguars parked up), and a couple of farm houses further up the road. Generally speaking however, this was not the most auspicious start to this project, and as I walked back to Densole to catch a bus and start my journey back home, I was already wondering what I'd do if the whole project turned out like this. I guess I'll just have to hope Excel throws me somewhere slightly more interesting for B.

Some more pictures from this trip on Flickr: