Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 5/A walk from Rochester to Maidstone
A WALK FROM ROCHESTER TO MAIDSTONE.
Among the scenes of natural beauty, combined with antiquarian and historic interest, that are now easily accessible from London, the lower part of the valley of the Medway claims an important place. A summer day’s excursion to this portion of the “Garden of England” has left some pleasant memories, which we would now, for the information of pedestrian readers more especially, endeavour to revive.
The Mid Kent Railway, traversing, first, the undulating woody district around Bromley and Beckenham, and afterwards the fair meadows and rich hop-grounds which diversify the smiling valleys of the Cray and the Darent, lands us finally at Strood, within sight of the ancient towers of Rochester. That old city, rising boldly from the right bank of the broad and navigable Medway, at once impresses the beholder by the strength and dignity of its position, as well as by the lofty and venerable towers which surmount its other buildings. Its commanding situation, doubtless, gave it that importance which it possessed in the days of the Heptarchy, and even during the period of the Roman occupation. The internal aspect of the town, notwithstanding its proximity to the dockyards of Chatham, and the changes which railway operations have effected in its neighbourhood, is still in tolerable harmony with its picturesque site. Ancient houses and gateways meet the eye while we ascend its steep and winding streets, and bright glimpses of the river and the surrounding green hills are obtained from unexpected openings. Near the centre of traffic we observe a market-house in the quaint style—half French, half Flemish—which prevailed, at least in provincial towns, towards the close of the seventeenth century. An inscription records the fact of its erection at the expense of one of England’s unforgotten worthies—the valiant Sir Cloudesley Shovel, at that time one of the members for Rochester. Remembering his important services to his country and to the cause of freedom in the days of King William and Queen Anne, and the tragical fate which overtook his fleet and terminated his career on the rocks of Scilly, we hasten towards the objects of highest interest in Rochester—its castle and cathedral. The former, crowning the verdant and here well-shaded bank of the Medway, is admirable on account of its massive yet elegant tower and the pure and magnificent Norman architecture of its interior. No assemblage of buildings in England, indeed, affords a better study of this interesting style than does this castle, together with the adjoining west front of the cathedral. The latter, especially, with its interlacing arches, rich ornamentation, and singular statuary, leaves a peculiar and lasting impression on the mind. Though rebuilt in the Norman period, it suggests, by the great antiquity and originality of its style, thoughts of that earlier and more national Saxon period which witnessed the foundation of the see and the first erection of Ethelbert. If we miss the aspiring elevation and the grand comprehensive unity of the subsequent pointed styles, we have here not merely the interest of variety, but also a distinct impression awakened by the solemn and mysterious massiveness, the cloistral depth and seclusion which seem to prevail. Those ponderous arches, those barbaric but rich capitals and mouldings, seem to bring us into contact with a remoter and more primitive state of society, when the bold free life of the northern races was but newly engrafted on the expiring civilisation of the old nations. Entering the cathedral, we find the western end still completely Norman, chiefly the work of Bishop Gundulf in the days of the First Henry; but, as we proceed eastwards, the succeeding styles prevail, the characteristic simplicity and grace of the Early English predominating. Below, the spacious crypt—a forest of pillars and gloomy vaults—is worthy of attention, and certain dungeons may be visited, which look even now sufficiently awe-inspiring. Leaving the precincts, we are not unmindful of Bishop Fisher, the learned adversary and victim of Henry VIII.; nor of a subsequent occupant of the see. Bishop Sprat, now, perhaps, less remembered for his learning and his political notoriety in 1688 than known as the author of some dreary and affected poems.
Quitting the city, and taking a road nearly parallel with the river, we ascend a steep hill whose summit commands a wide and magnificent prospect. The “Medway smooth” of Milton is seen issuing from the barrier of chalky hills which traverse the county and cross several of its river valleys. Pursuing its majestic course, in many a bold curve, through the narrow but fertile vale, at length it widens seawards to complete that union with “Father Thames” so sweetly sung by Spenser. The numerous towers and spires of Rochester and its suburbs are seen rising above trees and shipping, and lower down the busy dockyards and great arsenal of Chatham. The distinctive features, both ancient and modern, of English scenery and civilisation are seen grouped together in striking and comprehensive unity.
Pursuing our pilgrimage across the country, and keeping as long as possible in sight of the “lovely Medua,” as Spenser has termed the river, we admire its green banks, its mazy sinuosities, and the numerous antique churches seated near it, even where extensive lime-works contribute more to utility than to beauty or atmospheric purity. Soon, however, a very different region is reached, for we have to cross the hilly barrier already mentioned, whose steep sides, sprinkled with aged and gnarled yew-trees, are haunted by fresh and cool breezes; hedge-rows and ragged copses are gay with the green clematis, the white-blossomed cornel, and the ever-graceful briony. As we rise towards the open downs the wild plants, which delight in the soil of the chalk formation, display their bright and varied hues. The botanist cannot fail to observe the unusual size and beauty of the wild milkwort, with its calyx of dark blue, pink, or white enclosing its singular and delicate blossom.
On reaching the summit of these heights a truly noble prospect expands before us. The great central plain of Kent, through which the Medway here flows, is seen spreading wide eastwards and westwards, not with that monotony which wearies the eye in some of our agricultural counties, but exulting, as it were, in all the rich variety of cornland, pasture, and hop-grounds, alternating with luxuriant orchards and dark woodlands, while, enclosing the glowing picture with a noble frame, the far-extending downs of Kent and Surrey rise blue in the distance. As we descend into this great inland basin the interest of the journey does not diminish. Winding country-roads lead through this blooming, undulating country, past many an elm-shaded hollow, and along many a breezy ridge, where innumerable larks welcome the sunshine; while old mansions and granges, amidst vast walnut and yew-trees, contribute, with quaint timber cottages and old mills, to enliven the varying scene. At length we reach Maidstone, the capital of this fine district, a town which unites to an aspect of considerable antiquity all the tokens of modern activity and prosperity. It is, indeed, the centre of the Kentish hop-district, and, from its position at the head of the Medway navigation, it has become the seat of various manufactures and considerable local traffic. The bridge commands a pleasing view of the Medway, on whose eastern bank rises an ancient and stately church. Old timber-fronted houses, decorated with fantastic carving, are conspicuous in some of the principal streets. In history, however, Maidstone has not obtained much celebrity, the only recorded event of importance being the storming of the place by Fairfax in 1648.
We bid farewell for a time to the pleasant old kingdom of Kent, leaving Maidstone by the North Kent Railway, which affords frequent glimpses of the Medway and Thames.