For, now De Ruyter’s topsails Off naked Chatham show, We dare not meet him with our fleet – And this the Dutchmen know!
Rudyard Kipling, ‘The Dutch in the Medway’
Happy World Poetry Day! What better time to do a spot of research into poems about Medway? I couldn’t think of any poems about Medway – or Kent for that matter – off the top of my head, but I was pleased to discover that its history has inspired many famous writers! Today, I’ve picked out a poem by Rudyard Kipling. This one sparked my interest because it’s about the Dutch raid on the River Medway in June 1667, which I’ve written about before.
Private Gardiner’s execution on the Great Lines, with revolting details (sorry, Mr Dickens!)
Me: “Do you think there were food stalls selling burgers and hotdogs, like on Bonfire Night?”
The Man of Kent: “More like peanuts and pies, beer and gin. Can’t imagine people were watching the execution sober.”
New Year’s Day 2026. The Man of Kent and I were walking on the Great Lines, and I was telling him the story of how Benjamin Gardiner had been executed here for murdering Sergeant Patrick Feeney, in 1834.
I was pondering what the scene must have looked like, almost two hundred years ago, when around 14,000 people packed onto the Lines to see one man put to death. I started thinking about the annual fireworks display that, until recently, happened most years on the Great Lines. As anyone who has attended that display knows, you can cram hordes of people onto those hills and fields. On Bonfire Night, there would also be food trucks catering to the spectators.
That’s when it occurred to me. With so people around to watch the execution, there were bound to be vendors who wouldn’t miss the opportunity to turn a handsome profit. Hence my question to The Man of Kent. I wasn’t being flippant; just voicing a morbid thought.
As it turns out, The Man of Kent wasn’t far off. Executions had entertainment value in those days, and local food and drink sellers would indeed ply their wares to the crowds. In fact, one former pie seller would play a prominent and sinister role in this particular affair.
Today on Medway, She Wrote: the murder of Sergeant Patrick Feeney at Chatham Barracks, the execution of Private Benjamin Gardiner on the Great Lines, and the portfolio career of Britain’s busiest hangman, William Calcraft.
Cat Fight, Coopers Chase, Cockie and more: a year of reading in Kent
“Book collecting is an obsession, an occupation, a disease, an addiction, a fascination, an absurdity, a fate. It is not a hobby. Those who do it must do it.”
Jeanette Winterson
Book collecting is “a fate.”
Collecting books is much easier to justify when you put it like that, isn’t it? I couldn’t help it; I was fated to buy that new book, even though I have a to-be-read pile the size of the Pentagon Centre.
Collecting books is my obsession, disease, addiction and fascination, as well as my fate. I wish I could make it my occupation, but I haven’t managed that yet. Regular readers will know I have next to no willpower when it comes to reading material, and I hoard books like Smaug from The Hobbit hoards treasure. That’s why I can’t move in the spare room of my house. Truth be told, since I wrote that post, the landing cupboard is now a casualty. But hey, that’s fate for you.
Now 17 may not sound like a lot. I know people who read over 50 books last year, others who read 100. 100! That’s Olympian levels of reading as far as I’m concerned. Seventeen isn’t a personal best for me, but I read as many books as I could in the time available, and most importantly, I thoroughly enjoyed them.
Today on Medway, She Wrote – a round-up of what I read in 2025, including five books set in Kent!
Antwerp is a city that makes a remarkable first impression if you travel there by train.
“Wow!” I gasped, like the gawking tourist that I am, as I emerged from the train and up the escalators into the main hall of Antwerp Central. More of a palace than a station, it’s understandably regarded as one of Europe’s most beautiful rail terminals. This immediate bout of sightseeing was the start of two lovely days in Belgium’s second city.
I’ve heard Antwerp described as ‘the Manchester of Belgium’, so naturally I was expecting to find rich history, vibrant culture, buzzing nightlife, and a top-flight football team.
Antwerp has all of those things.
It also had something else in common with Manchester.
Rain. And plenty of it.
Regular readers will be relieved to know that The Man of Kent had brought his trusty pack-a-mac, so the weather conditions were not a problem.
Today on Medway, She Wrote: what we did on an Autumn weekend in Antwerp, why Saturday night in the Grote Markt felt like a home-from-home, hunting for cocktails in dark courtyards, and one very narrow door.
A tour of Whitstable’s wonderful, whimsical street art
Ask people in Kent to name some things they associate with Whitstable, and they’ll probably say, seaside, oysters and Peter Cushing (he used to live there).
They might also say Whitstable Bay beers, and the Maunsell forts.
Ask me, and I would say all of those things. I’d also say, street art.
Whitstable’s coast has inspired hundreds of artists throughout history, notably JMW Turner. His famous watercolour, ‘Oyster Beds at Whitstable’ was one of several that he painted for a book, Picturesque Views on the Southern Coast of England, by W.B. Cooke. Turner was a frequent visitor to nearby Margate, and the Kent seaside was the subject of many of his paintings and sketches.
More recently, art in Whitstable has moved off canvas and onto buildings, as the town’s colourful streets have acquired a new collection of residents; murals all over the town that commemorate town folk, provide witty social commentary, and are eye-catching in the best way. Wandering around Whitstable is like being in an open air gallery, from the rainbow of shopfronts and pubs, to the street paintings and houses. Not to mention the glorious sea views.
I could blog for days about all the reasons I love Whitstable. Today’s post, however, is simply about the whimsical, wonderful street art that abounds in this quirky seaside town.
All aboard for the Maunsell Forts! A spectacular sailing trip on the X-Pilot
The Maunsell Forts lie about 14 miles off the Kent coast, their spectral forms appearing to float on the waves. Once a chain of vital anti-aircraft defences and intended to be temporary, they have remained standing for over 80 years. Their derelict shells are an eerie reminder of wartime, and inspiration for filmmakers, musicians, writers and sportspeople alike.
Today on Medway, She Wrote: A captivating trip to the Maunsell Forts aboard the X-Pilot, the Maunsell Forts’ connections to pirate radio and Doctor Who, and another encounter with our old nemesis, Admiral Michiel de Ruyter.
J.B. Fletcher comes to Medway! A review of the cult smash hit, Solve-Along-A-Murder-She-Wrote
“There are three things you can never get enough of in life, Lieutenant. Chocolate, friends and the theatre.”
Jessica Fletcher, Danse Diabolique
When I grow up, I want to be a combination of Jessica Fletcher and Mary Berry.
You may have seen the TV show, Murder, She Wrote, in which case, Jessica Fletcher needs no introduction.
If you haven’t, let me explain. Murder, She Wrote is a detective series starring Angela Lansbury as Jessica Fletcher, a retired teacher and author who writes mystery novels under the pen name, J.B. Fletcher. She lives in Cabot Cove, a small town in Maine with a murder rate to rival Midsomer. As well as being a bestselling writer, Jessica has a talent for solving crime. Wherever J.B. Fletcher goes, murder is never far away, and she cracks the case every time.
Jessica Fletcher is a queen of amateur sleuthing. Mary Berry is queen of cakes. They are both consummate professionals at the top of their respective fields, brilliant women with an abundance of talent, class and style. I rather like the idea of living in a lovely house on the coast, writing books and travelling all the over the world like Jessica, occasionally stopping to bake a scrumptious, perfectly executed cake just like Mary Berry.
But more on why I enjoy baking another time.
Today on Medway, She Wrote: How I came to love Jessica Fletcher, why Beauty and the Beast has more than one connection to Cabot Cove, and my review of Tim Benzie’s smash-hit show, Solve-Along-A-Murder-She-Wrote.
(And if you’ve seen Solve-Along-A-Murder-She-Wrote, you’ll know that last paragraph is what’s known as a pre-cap!)
Strictly Sicily: Dancing our way from Medway to beautiful Italy
Ballroom dancing made a man of me, One, two, three, four, I just plain adore your Ballroom dancing, I’ve seen it on TV, I got what I got from ballroom dancing.
We didn’t go to Mount Etna, or see the Valley of the Temples, or hit the beach. Instead, we explored an abandoned city, embraced driving the Sicilian way, and danced ’til after midnight at the local social club. This was not a tourist-trap trip; it was a taste of real Sicilian life.
This is the story of that visit, and why Sicily and dancing will always go together in my heart.
I finally managed to get round to visiting it in April 2024, an embarrassing 16 years after I first arrived.
Last year, I stumbled across a social media post about ‘Build, Demolish, Defuse’ weekend at the Royal Engineers Museum. I’d never heard of this event before, but it sounded interesting, so The Man of Kent and I decided to pop down and see what it was all about. It was a glorious day weather-wise, so we walked there via the Great Lines.
“What the hell was that?!” I exclaimed in a ladylike manner as we reached the bottom of the Great Lines Heritage Park. We had just heard a shot so loud it sounded like it was right in front of us. Another shot rang out shortly after. It couldn’t be coming from the Royal Engineers Museum, surely?
The Royal Engineers Museum
As it turned out, yes, it could. We arrived at the museum just in time to see a soldier firing a musket like they do in Sharpe. The gun sounded loud on the Great Lines, but up close the noise was deafening; my ears were ringing. Brilliant to see one being fired in real life though.
What we hadn’t appreciated then, is that the Royal Engineers Museum is VAST. We had decided to toddle down for the afternoon, but soon realised that was a major tactical error – there’s so much to see! And so much to do on Build, Demolish, Defuse weekend. One afternoon was not going to be enough time. Seriously poor planning and reconnaissance on our part.
This time, with the benefit of recon and intel from last year, we came better prepared and armed with a plan of attack. Today’s blog is a debriefing of our trip.
“I fell in love with you, The last waltz will last forever, It’s all over now, nothing left to say, Just the Gills at the Rainham End singing, Naa naa naa na-na-na-naaa Na-na-na-naaa, The Gills!”
The Last Waltz
“Do you fancy going to Sheffield at the weekend?”
“Sounds nice. I’ve never been to Sheffield.”
“Great! Gills are playing Rotherham on Saturday, so we can go the match, then have a night out in Sheffield with Sam and Dave.”
Well, I walked right into that one.
It was the early noughties, and early days in my relationship with The Man of Kent. We were both studying at Nottingham, and Gillingham FC were in the Championship.
At that time, I was young, and naïve, and my soul was not yet battered from years of consoling a long-suffering Gills fan. The Man of Kent would occasionally sing the old football chant, ‘In your Northern slums’, at me in those days – in good humour, of course. Despite this, I would accompany him to away games that weren’t too far from Nottingham, because Gillingham FC is one of the great loves of his life.
I remember a friend assuring me once that The Man of Kent “is a good egg.” This friend hadn’t met The Man of Kent at the time, so I asked how he could possibly know. My friend answered immediately and confidently, “Because he supports his local team – not everyone does.”
That’s true, on both counts. The Man of Kent is a good egg. He’s also not one of those glory hunters who were born and bred in Medway, but pledge allegiance to Man United or Liverpool or some other Premier League side. No. He is a staunch supporter of the Gills. He and his Dad attend every home game at Priestfield. Of course, like any football fan, he has threatened not to renew his season ticket after a run of poor performances, fumed for hours over a dodgy refereeing decision, and contributed a fair amount of salty post-match analysis to online fan forums. But he is Gillingham through and through. A true Shouting Man. Literally so on match days.
