Other in Kent

The Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch Railway is one of the most remarkable miniature railways in the world, running for fifteen miles across the flat expanse of Romney Marsh in Kent, connecting the historic Cinque Port town of Hythe with the shingle headland of Dungeness. Operating on a gauge of just fifteen inches — one-third of the standard British gauge — it is no mere tourist novelty but a fully functioning public railway with a long and proud operational history. The railway runs a fleet of steam and diesel locomotives, many of them scaled-down replicas of famous full-size engines, hauling genuine passenger carriages across a landscape that feels genuinely remote and otherworldly. The coordinates 50.98500, 0.94160 place this entry at or near the New Romney station, which serves as the operational heart of the line and houses the railway's main works, locomotive sheds and a museum. New Romney is the midpoint of the route and its administrative centre, making it the most significant single station on the line. The railway was conceived and built by two wealthy racing driver enthusiasts, Captain Jack Howey and Count Louis Zborowski, who shared an obsession with miniature railways. Zborowski died in a racing accident at Monza in 1924 before the project came to fruition, but Howey pressed ahead alone, engaging the legendary locomotive engineer Henry Greenly to design the locomotives and infrastructure. Construction began in 1926 and the first section, from Hythe to New Romney, opened to the public on 16 July 1927, with the extension to Dungeness following in 1928. From its very beginning it attracted extraordinary attention; the opening was attended by dignitaries and railway enthusiasts from across the country, and the young railway was championed in the press as the world's smallest public railway. Howey ran it with an earnestness that bordered on eccentricity, insisting on operational standards that matched those of full-size railways, complete with proper signalling, timetables and staff in uniform. The railway played an unexpectedly serious role during the Second World War, a chapter that gives it a peculiar historical depth. After the fall of France in 1940, Romney Marsh became part of the front line of potential invasion, and the railway was requisitioned by the military. An armoured train was constructed on the fifteen-inch gauge, fitted with a locomotive sheathed in steel plate and armed with anti-aircraft guns and rifles mounted for infantry. The railway was used to patrol the coastline and move troops and supplies across the marsh. This wartime service was extraordinary for what was, in peacetime, essentially a pleasure railway, and the story remains one of the most striking footnotes in British railway history. The line suffered considerable damage and disruption during the war, and Howey had to work hard to restore it to public service, which he achieved by 1947. A visit to New Romney station gives a vivid sense of the railway's character. The station buildings are solid and purposeful, built to a reduced scale that nonetheless conveys genuine railway gravitas. The locomotive shed and works are often visible from the platform, and on a busy operating day one can watch the engines being prepared, watered and turned with all the ritual of a working steam railway. The smell of coal smoke and hot oil drifts across the platforms, and the sound of the small but surprisingly powerful locomotives — they produce a genuine, full-throated steam whistle — is both charming and unexpectedly evocative. The carriages are snug and open-sided in summer configurations, and riding the railway at a gentle pace gives passengers an intimate connection with the passing landscape that faster, enclosed transport entirely misses. That landscape is one of the railway's most distinctive features. Romney Marsh is a flat, ancient, reclaimed land of dykes, sheep pastures and wide skies, with a quality of light that has attracted painters and writers for centuries. The marsh has a reputation for eeriness and isolation that is entirely deserved; on grey days the horizon dissolves and the land seems to float, while on clear days the visibility stretches to the sea cliffs of Folkestone and across to France. Dungeness, at the southern terminus, is even more extraordinary: a vast shingle headland, the largest in Europe, dominated by two nuclear power stations, two lighthouses and a scattering of fishermen's huts and eccentric converted railway carriages. The late film director Derek Jarman famously made his garden here, and Prospect Cottage, his black-tarred house with its driftwood and flint garden, is a place of quiet pilgrimage for visitors. Nearby, the town of New Romney itself is a quiet, pleasant settlement with a fine Norman church, St Nicholas, which bears evidence of the great storm of 1287 that altered the course of the River Rother and ended New Romney's days as a significant port. Hythe, at the northern end of the line, is a more substantial town with its own remarkable curiosity: the ossuary in the crypt of St Leonard's Church, which contains the stacked skulls and thigh bones of over two thousand individuals, dating from the medieval period. The whole region rewards slow exploration, and the railway itself is the finest way to experience the transition from the settled, cultivated northern end of the marsh to the raw, elemental shingle of Dungeness. For visitors, the railway operates a seasonal timetable with the busiest service running from spring through to autumn, though special events and Santa specials extend the season into winter. Trains run throughout the day on operating days, and it is possible to board at any of the intermediate stations as well as at the main termini of Hythe and Dungeness. New Romney station has a café, a gift shop and the railway's small but well-stocked museum, which displays historic photographs, artefacts and information about the locomotives. The museum alone justifies a stop here even for those who only ride part of the line. Parking is available at New Romney and at both termini. The railway is accessible by public bus services connecting with Folkestone and other Kent towns, though a car makes exploring the surrounding marsh considerably easier. Families with young children find the railway particularly appealing, as the small scale and gentle pace are perfectly suited to small passengers, but the railway emphatically rewards adult visitors with any interest in engineering, history or landscape.

Herne Bay Pier is one of the most historically significant and melancholy structures on the Kent coast, a place that invites visitors to contemplate both Victorian ambition and the slow, remorseless power of the sea. Located on the north Kent coastline, the pier at Herne Bay holds the distinction of being associated with what was once the second longest pier in England, stretching an extraordinary distance out into the Thames Estuary. Today, however, the pier exists in a truncated and fragmented state, which paradoxically makes it one of the more fascinating and photogenic structures along this stretch of coast. What remains is a stubby landward section and, isolated far out in the water, the original pier head — an eerie, detached remnant standing alone like a small island, its separation from the shore making it one of the strangest sights in coastal England. The history of Herne Bay Pier is a story of repeated ambition and disaster. A first pier was constructed at the site in 1832, part of a broader effort to develop Herne Bay as a fashionable seaside resort and to create a landing stage for paddle steamers travelling between London and the Kent coast. That original structure proved inadequate, and a much grander replacement was opened in 1899, ultimately extending to around 1,264 metres, placing it among the longest piers in the country. The pier became a central feature of Herne Bay's identity, serving both as a practical embarkation point and as a promenade where Victorian and Edwardian visitors would stroll to take in the sea air. The twentieth century, however, brought serious misfortune. A severe storm in 1953 — the same catastrophic North Sea flood event that devastated communities across eastern England and the Low Countries — severed a significant section of the pier, cutting off the pier head from the main structure. Rather than undertaking the enormous cost of full restoration, authorities removed the damaged middle section, leaving the pier head stranded offshore, where it has remained ever since. In person, Herne Bay Pier has a quietly haunting character that is quite unlike busier, more commercially developed piers elsewhere in England. The surviving landward section is a modest, functional structure with a small pavilion at its end, used for various community and leisure purposes over the years. Walking out on it, you are struck immediately by the wide, flat expanse of the Thames Estuary stretching ahead of you, the water often grey-green and lightly textured by the wind. The pier head sits out in the water at a distance that makes it look deceptively small, and on misty days it can seem to float free of any context, a ghost of the Victorian structure it once connected to. The sounds are those of any exposed coastal pier — the creak of timbers, the slap of waves against the supports below, the cries of gulls — but the visual drama of that isolated pier head gives the scene an unusual, almost cinematic quality. The town of Herne Bay itself is a pleasant, unpretentious seaside resort that has never quite achieved the fashionable status its nineteenth-century developers envisioned, and this has preserved a certain unaffected charm. The seafront promenade runs along a broad shingle and sand beach, backed by Victorian and Edwardian terraces and some later twentieth-century development. The town has a clock tower dating from 1837 that is often cited as one of the earliest freestanding clock towers in England, a little-known fact that gives Herne Bay an unexpected place in horological history. To the east along the coast lies Whitstable, famous for its oysters and highly regarded as a foodie destination, while Canterbury — one of England's most important cathedral cities — is only a short distance inland. The Isle of Thanet and the towns of Margate, Broadstairs and Ramsgate are accessible along the coast to the east, making Herne Bay a reasonable base for exploring this part of Kent. For visitors, Herne Bay is straightforward to reach. The town has its own railway station on the line between London Victoria and Ramsgate, with regular services making it accessible as a day trip from London. By road, it sits close to the A299, the Thanet Way, which connects to the M2 motorway. Parking is available along the seafront and in the town centre. The pier itself is freely accessible, and the beach and promenade are open at all times. Summer months bring the most visitors and the best chance of calm, clear weather that allows you to properly appreciate the view of the isolated pier head, though the quieter months of spring and autumn have their own austere appeal, particularly for photography, when the muted light suits the melancholy character of the place. Dogs are welcome on the beach outside the summer season, and the flat promenade is easily navigable for most visitors. The disconnected pier head remains privately owned and inaccessible to the public, which only adds to its mystique. Over the years there have been various proposals to restore or reconnect it, and periodic debates about its future have become something of a recurring feature of local civic life. It has been used occasionally for filming, its isolated, decaying silhouette providing an atmospheric backdrop. The whole ensemble — the truncated pier, the stranded head, the flat estuarial waters between them — has made Herne Bay Pier a favourite subject for painters, photographers, and writers drawn to themes of decline, endurance, and the passage of time. It is, in its ruined way, one of the more emotionally resonant structures on the English coast.