The Lady Harley Memorial...

Perhaps one of the most striking artefacts in Cuxton’s history is also one of the hardest to find and appreciate. Hidden away on the south-western wall  of the Lady Chapel in St. Michaels and All Angels Church (and not accessible to the public) is the Lady Harley memorial...

Commissioned by Sir Robert Harley in remembrance of his late and first wife Ann (who died in 1603) the marble installation is a richly-coloured classical wall monument and one that (rather perversely) is now completely obscured by the church organ. It deserves so much better and needs some repair and restoration, although the work undertaken on it in 1723 by Lord Edward Harley (the famous parliamentarian and son of Sir Robert and his third wife) has lasted well. 

The Harley family is of ancient lineage (with one source suggesting that it pre-dates the Norman Conquest) and by 1221 were in possession of the Shropshire manor from which they took their name. The property subsequently passed out of the family through an heiress, but by that time a family branch had established itself at Brampton Bryan, ten miles south west of Ludlow. Situated in the extreme north of Herefordshire, Brampton Bryan lay close to the borders with Radnorshire and Shropshire.

From the fourteenth century the Harleys played a leading part in those two county communities. The first member of the family to make a place in national life was Sir Robert Harley (1579-1656), who became Master of the Mint under Charles I and M.P. for Radnor Boroughs in 1604, for Herefordshire in 1624, 1626 and 1640 and for Evesham in 1628.

On 13^th. Feb. 1602, Sir Robert married Ann Barrett. Born in 1583, she was the daughter of Sir Charles Barrett of Belhus, Aveley, Essex and Christian (nee Mildmay) Barrett and the sister of Sir Edward Barrett. When Anne Barrett-Harley's father died, her mother married Sir John Leveson on 9th June, 1586.

Heraldic symbols on the Harley memorial: the red and white chequer is associated with the Barrett family, whilst the other devices are those of the Harley dynasty...

Ann was thus the step-daughter of Sir John Leveson, then owner and resident of Whorne’s Place, thus establishing the link between the Herefordshire-based Harley dynasty and Cuxton.

The match probably arose as a result of Harley’s close connection with the Shropshire branch of the Leveson family, for the brother of Sir John Leveson Junior, (Sir Richard Leveson of Lilleshall Lodge, Shropshire) was his first cousin. Although marriages within the aristocracy in those days were often merely arrangements driven by politics and property, it seems that there was genuine love between the young Robert Harley and his equally youthful wife.

Sadly, their marriage was cut short after just less than two years – Lady Ann Harley and her new-born baby son Thomas both died in childbirth on 1st. December 1603.

It seems possible that the couple were staying with Sir John Leveson at Whorne’s Place at the time, as records show that Sir Robert was latterly acting on behalf of at least two Kentish Lords (Sir Henry Crispe of Quex House, Birchington and Thomas Crayford, the son of Sir William Crayford of Great Mongeham) making representations for them in the Houses of Parliament.

What is certain is that Ann and her child were laid to rest at St. Michaels and All Angels Church, with Sir Robert Harley instigating the remarkable monument to her memory that still exists today.

The text of the main plaque on the memorial leaves us in no doubt as to the extent of Sir Robert’s grief...

"HERE DEATH HATH SPORTED, TYRANT-LIKE IN BLOOD,

IN TAKINGE LIFE FROM YOUTH AND WOMANHOOD,

ACTINGE THE DOOME OF HIS INFORCED DUTY,

REGARDLES OF MODESTY OR BEAUTY,

BUT I AM MUCH IN LOSS OF SO GREAT BLIS,

THOUGH NOT REPAIRED YET COMFORTED IN THIS,

THAT DEATH IN HIS PROUD CONQUEST HATH NO JOTT,

OF THIS UNTIMELY SPOILE FOULEN TO HIS LOTT,

EARTH HATH POSSESSION OF HER EARTHLY PARTE,

WICH SHE INCLOSETH IN A MOTHER'S HEARTE,

HERE SOUL IN HEAVEN, HER MEMORY ALIVE,

AND THAT WHICH EARTH DETAINES NOW SHALL REVIVE,

AND IN DESPITE OF ALL DEVIDINGE DEATH,

MEETINGE THE REST SHALL DRAW A JOYFULL BREATH"

The plaque below reads:

LET THIS INFORM PROSPERITY THAT HERE LYETH ANN DAUGHTER TO CHARLES BARRET

OF BELHOUSE IN THE COUNTY OF ESSEX, ESQR. WHICH ANN WAS MARIED TO SIR ROBERT

HARLEY, KNIGHT OF THE BATH THE 13th FEBRUARY 1602 AND DECEASED THE FIRST OF

DECEMBER 1603 BY WHOM HE HAD ISSUE A SON NAMED THOMAS WHICH LIES HERE ALSO

BURIED IN MEMORY OF WHOM HER SORROWFUL HUSBAND HATH CAUSED THIS 

MONUMENT TO BE ERECTED AS THE LAST OFFICE OF HIS LOVE

"LINQVENDA TELLVS ET DOMUS ET PLACENS VXOR"

The last line translates from the Latin as “Leaving Earth and home with a pleasant wife”.

In his Registrum Roffense of 1769, John Thorpe tells us that below the monument, on white marble, there was also an inscription that read: “This monument was repaired at the charge of Edward, Lord Harley, 1723”.

I can find no such marble and I assume it was removed during the Victorian "restoration" of the church in the 1860s. 

Death's Head, topped by an hourglass: perhaps a symbol of how fleeting are our lives on earth...

It is recorded that on August 27^th 1723, Lord Edward Harley rode out to Cuxton “through very straight (narrow) lanes” to inspect the monument. When he reached the village, it is said that some poor women of the place strewed mint upon the road out of their aprons (a practice that seems as unlikely as it is bizarre, at least by modern standards).

In terms of the location of the monument, Edward Hasted (in his 1797 “History and Topographical Survey of the County of Kent: Volume 3) tells us that it was to be found “in the chancel, within the rails of the south wall”. Similarly, the Registrum Roffense states it was set "within the communion rails, on the South wall". In that position today is a stained-glass window, of a plainer and seemingly later design than the two magnificent windows in the south-east and eastern chancel walls.

This suggests that the Harley monument may have been moved to its current position as part of the church restoration works of the 1860s, which saw the building of the “new” south aisle and restoration of the Lady Chapel, where the memorial now resides.

This proved to be somewhat unfortunate. In 1881, the church organ was duly installed in the Lady Chapel, thus completely obscuring the view of the Lady Harley memorial. If the memorial had been left where it was, it would have been so much better. Why the church officials decided to place the organ in the Lady Chapel really is completely beyond me. It would have seemed logical to place it in the newly-enlarged nave.

Fruit, and in particular apples and pears, were associated with female fertility and here, possibly allude to the death of the young mother. Pears were also associated with mortality or death.

Ironically, it is conceivable that the Lady Harley memorial could well have suffered a much worse fate as a result of the religious beliefs of its creator. Sir Robert Harley was a committed Puritan, supported in his beliefs by his third wife, the splendidly-named Brilliana (daughter of Sir Edward Conway, then a Secretary of State). In April 1843 (against the febrile background of the English Civil War), Sir Robert was made head of the Committee for the Demolition of Monuments of Superstition and Idolatry, which presided over the destruction of a great deal of religious art and architecture. Fortunately, the memorial escaped the fervour of the puritans.

In terms of the photograph you see here, it is a composite of about 20 individual images. There is only about a four foot clearance between the monument and the back of the organ. I therefore had to mount a camera on a frame and move it around to gather the images I needed to put together an overall view, using the magic of image processing software.

(Note that I have taken the liberty of making some small “enhancements”: I have erased the rather thoughtless electrical wiring for the organ that otherwise disfigures the right hand side of the memorial. I have also “replaced” the missing scroll to the left of the gilded lion’s head below the main plaque. Otherwise, what you see is how it is - or how it would be, if the organ wasn’t in the way!)

Whilst the process of compositing from multiple close-ups has resulted in some rather odd perspective effects if you look closely, the final image nevertheless gives a good overall impression of the memorial, one that has not been seen for over 140 years.

References:

1)   The History of Parliament, entry for Sir Robert Harley (1579-1656)

2)   The Harley family and the Harley papers by Clyve Jones, 1989

3)   WikiTree entry for Anne (Barrett) Harley (1583-1603)

4)   Edward Hasted, 'Parishes: Cookstone', in The History and Topographical Survey of the County of Kent: Volume 3 (Canterbury, 1797), pp 389-403

5)   Cuxton – a Kentish Village, by Derek Church .p.22, 24 (1976)

6)   Puritan Iconoclasm in England 1640-1660, pp. 75-136 (Ph.D thesis by Julie Spraggon, 2000)

7)  Registrum Roffense, by John Thorpe, pp.769-770.

Church Hill...

 The buttercups were out...

Panorama form Upper Church Hill....

The above shot took several goes as the area is fenced off and I am too old and creaky to climb over the fence. I was determined to catch the view on camera however, so I had to have the camera on a pole and poke it through the fence. It somehow seems just wrong that a private landowner can fence off such a spectacular view point, one that provides such good views of the valley and the village... 

Baker's Field (Lower Church Hill - mercifully still accessible...)

Cuxton Station...

The South Eastern Railway Company received authority to build the railway line from Maidstone to Strood in 1853, with Cuxton Station opening on the 18th June 1856. A party as held in Station Meadow behind the White Hart to celebrate the event. 

The station was built on land owned by Lord Darnley, who apparently had the right to stop any train should he wish to board it.  

Cuxton Station c.1860. The Station Master is on the platform, wearing a top hat...

The design of the station clearly reflects Lord Darnley’s influence, with its intricate leaded windows and characteristically ornate chimneys.

The gravestone of Cuxton's first Station Master, James Hyde...

The role of Station Master was once a highly prestigious one within the local community. 

Since the above picture was taken in 1972, the gravestone has toppled over and broken. It still lies in the churchyard, by the path that leads up to the gate onto Six Acres.

Cuxton Station, c.1870...

The unusual double-armed signal and ground frame in the picture above were latterly replaced by the current signal box. 

Cuxton Station, 1914...

On the platform in the above picture are Francis Cook (son of Edwin Cook, then the Station Master), Ethel Cook (his daughter) and their friend Lily Peters. The elegant oil lamps were kept topped up by the Station Porters.  

Cuxton signal box, c.1910...

The staff of the station at this time comprised the Station Master, two clerks, two signalmen and two porters. The 24 hour day was divided into two shifts. There were also porter-signalmen to help out if needed. Each station also had a plate-layer or lengthsman who maintained the track. 

Members of Cuxton FC, Good Friday 1908...

Cuxton FC used to play their matches on Station Meadow, which used to be behind the White Hart where Hillcrest Drive is now. Pictured above are the “Old Crocks”, who played the “Junior Swifts” in an old'uns versus young'uns match: unfortunately I don't know the result! 

The station can be seen in the background on the right.

Pictured above are a push-pull unit, two coaches and a tank loco leaving Cuxton for Maidstone, in the days of Southern Railway before electrification. 

Mr. Besant, a boat builder, lived in the house on the right which later became the "Besto" office.

Cuxton Station building, c.1960...

Cuxton Station, c.1960...

Today I ventured down to the station to take pictures of things as they are now, as Christmas Day is the only day when trains aren't running and the signal box is unmanned...

Cuxton signal box, 2022...

The signal box is still the one featured in the picture from 1910, and it seems as if that was the last time it got painted. The signalling for this stretch of line is still not automated and thus signalmen man the box 24 hours a day, every day except Christmas Day.

Cuxton station building, 2022...

The ticket office closed in the mid-1980s and has remained boarded up since then. In 2019, National Rail sold it off to Archco, a property development company, as was Halling station.  Attempts to turn the latter into a takeaway pizza joint (!) have fallen flat. Quite what fate awaits the sadly neglected Cuxton station is anyone's guess.

Cuxton station 2022, taken from the same place as the view from 1914 above...

Why are are our local stations so run down and shabby? In the early 1900s, Cuxton railway station was staffed with a dozen or so people. Now, in these modern and wondrous times, no-one runs it at all and the building sits there, boarded up, unloved and uncared for.  How can that be called "progress"?

Doubtless it is no longer considered to be cost-effective to provide Cuxton's commuters with a pleasant environment to start or end their journey. The cost of UK rail travel is one of the highest in Europe, yet my own experience of travelling by train abroad leads me to conclude that our rural stations are the dirtiest and most run down. 

Perhaps the biggest difference between the UK railways of 1910 and those of today is that they aren't run for commuters any more. They are run solely for the benefit of shareholders, who have paid themselves £1 billion in dividends over the past six years. Then, of course, there is the senior management to pay for, whose brilliance has resulted in the slums we call "railway stations" today.

Now that corporate parasites have sucked all of the money out of the UK's railway infrastructure, it seems that even our current UK government has finally realised that privatisation doesn't work, at least as far as railways are concerned. It is unlikely that we will be seeing any improvements to Cuxton railway station in the near future, however.

Cherry blossom, Cuxton library...

 Cuxton library's cherry tree seldom fails to deliver its Spring cheeriness...

What Goes Around...

Upper Bush in summer, before the vineyard...

Events in the Ukraine today seem to mirror those in Czechoslovakia in 1939. After nearly 80 years of peace, we appear once more to stand on the brink of war in Europe. That stark fact puts our own little local kafuffle about the Cuxton winery into sharp perspective. All of a sudden, the annexation of Luddesdown and Bush Valleys by Vineyard Farms Ltd. just seems trivial.

It seems that history is indeed cyclical, be it national or local. I prefer to think about local history. It is so much more comforting.

Fields above Warren Road, summer 2018, ox-eye daisies...

By all appearances, Medway Council have already decided that the Kentish Wine Vault is to be built on green belt land and the area of outstanding natural beauty that is Barrow Hill in Upper Bush. National planning guidelines for the protection of such areas have been waived aside. 

(Update: From Medway Council's Agenda Document for the Planning Committee 9/2/2022, p.79...

“Following the Planning Committee Meeting on 8 December 2021, further legal advice was provided as to whether the proposed development would constitute inappropriate development in the Green Belt. It was considered balanced, however due to the provision of the visitor centre and café/restaurant which would measure more than 1,000m². it was considered that the proposed development would constitute inappropriate development in the Green Belt [my underlining] and therefore accordance with The Town and Country Planning (Consultation) (England) Direction 2021, if the Planning Committee is minded to grant planning permission, the authority shall consult the Secretary of State.”

This is exactly what we have been saying for the last six months! It seems staggering that Medway Council's Planning department have only just found that out. This does not rule out the development from happening, it just takes the final decision out of the council's hands should it be approved on March 9th.)

The Kentish Wine Vault has already been cited as “coming soon” in Medway Council’s bid for "city status", well in advance of the actual planning committee meeting decision on March 9th., so it all still seems a done deal. The independent-minded councillors on the planning committee have been asking some pretty pointed questions of late, however, so maybe all is not lost.  

Whatever the final decision, from a local historical perspective it’s worth reflecting on what we have already lost...

Upper Bush valley seen from Barrow Hill, February 2018 - before the vineyard...

The trashing of Cuxton’s local environment by a municipal council is itself a cyclical phenomenon: it happened in the 1960s across Cuxton, with many historical cottages and buildings being demolished (such as the cottages at Upper Bush, the Old Post Office Row and the Rectory). It happened again in the 1980s, when Dean Valley was given over to Blue Circle as a cement quarry (the latter being another occasion where a rich company used the “jobs” ploy to fool a gullible council into giving it what it wanted).

The Vineyard Farms’ vainglorious £30m concrete bunker for rich tourists would merely be the final nail in the ecological coffin of Bush Valley, however. 

In truth, the main damage to our local countryside has already been done.

Upper Bush, before the vineyard...

Once upon a time in early summer, you could stand at the southern end of Bush Valley, or up on the eastern bank of Luddesdown valley, and look out across scenes of breath-taking beauty. Below you, a great, green ocean of growing wheat or barley undulated in the gentle breeze that always blew there, even on the hottest days. The reds of the poppies, the yellows of the various mustards and hawkweeds and the blues of the chicory and borage punctuated the green fields with splashes of rainbow colour. 

Luddesdown valley, before the vineyard. The white field at top right is down to chamomile, not bare chalk...

A few timorous deer sometimes ventured out from their woodland hideaways to forage among the crops. Innumerable butterflies flew along the pathways. Above, the larks sang and the swifts, swallows and house martins chased each other across the sky. And as evening drew in at Upper Bush, the Noctule bats skittered out from Red Wood and the pale shape of the occasional Barn Owl skimmed over the fields, hunting for shrews and field mice. The peace and serenity of the place was good for the soul.

Luddsdown valley, 2020...

Now just a couple of years or so later, much of this beauty has been lost to the dull, dreary monoculture of the vineyard. The ever-changing arable fields have been deep-ploughed, dragging the underlying chalk to the surface in white, sterile swathes. No more will wildflowers bloom in the profusion they once did. With the wildflowers gone, the insects and butterflies have also largely departed and along with them, the swallows and swifts. The wind-blown waves of wheat and barley have gone, possibly forever. The fields are now covered in ugly posts and steel wires to support the struggling new grape vines, making the valley look like a giant radio aerial and effectively wrapping the land in a wire cage. The larks, unable to fly across the fields because of the wires and the absence of cover, have left. Once alive with lark-song, the valleys felt silent, neglected and dead this summer.

Upper Bush valley, 2022...

How quickly things can change.

It’s not just the aesthetic and ecological aspects of this transformation that bother me now. Given that war in Europe now seems inevitable, and that the UK has to import at least half of its food from overseas, the loss of thousands of acres of prime farmland to vineyards in Kent look to be a somewhat wasteful, pointless and questionable use of resources.

Fields above Warren Road, December 2021: ploughed-up chalk...

Vineyard Farms in particular seem to have destroyed the soil structure on their land. Vines may well be deep-rooted and will probably survive on the bare chalk that has been thrown up by deep-ploughing, but it is highly unlikely that the land could quickly revert to productive mixed arable use in the event of national necessity.

Food for thought maybe (no pun intended)?

Still, the advent of the vineyard is just another cyclical phenomenon.

After all, in the middle of the last millennium, vineyards were once a common feature of the Kent countryside. In the reign of Henry III, it was reckoned that the grapes grown in the Cuxton and Halling area were the richest in England. Like many across the country, our local churchs (St. Michaels in Cuxton) feature the remains of medieval wall paintings bearing a vine leaf motif, although this is probably more reflective of the role of wine in the Christian Eucharist rather than (as Vineyard Farms otherwise likes to boast in Part 3.6 of its Design and Access statement) an indication of local importance of the nearby vineyards...

Medieval mural in St. Michaels church, Cuxton, featuring was is believed to be a vine leaf motif...

Medieval wine (or at least, that which was drunk by ordinary folk) was pretty awful stuff by all accounts, as glass bottles and corks hadn’t been invented back then, with the wine stored open to the air and rapidly spoiling. Flavourings such as honey were often used to disguise the vinegary taste. Locally, a special red wine was produced by fermenting the local grapes with a proportion of blackberries gathered by the local people. This wine was used not only by the Bishop of Rochester (who had his palace at Halling) but was also supplied to the royal household, with small quantities even being exported to France.

Hop field at Upper Bush, 1910...

The mini-Ice Age of the mid-1550s saw the English climate cool and as a result the vineyards gave way to the hardier hop fields. Right up until the 1950s, much of Cuxton’s farmland was given over to hops. The remaining oast houses at Dean Farm and Ranscombe Farm are testament to a local agrarian economy that was not dissimilar to the old vineyards in many respects.

Hop field, Dean Farm, 1938...

It is quite wrong, however, to draw comparisons between the hop fields of yesterday and the all-encompassing monoculture of the Bush and Luddesdown valley vineyards of today. The individual hop fields were far smaller in area, were interspersed by other crops and certainly did not use the deep-ploughed soil sterilisation techniques adopted here to render the ground hostile to anything but the intended product.

Hop-picking, Dean Farm, autumn 1955...

I feel that the Vineyard Farms business model is a vulnerable one. Increasingly extreme weather and the looming UK economic crash (let alone a war) aren’t a good foundation for a fledgling wine business, even one backed by a tax exile’s billions, and especially one that has put such a huge amount of vines so hurriedly into one undiversified basket, so to speak.  

In 2019, Chapel Down put 300 acres of land just down the road at Bluebell Hill under vines. They don’t seem to feel the need to build a massive £30m luxury restaurant complex on Blue Bell Hill, and their modesty extends to a sensible time scale for wine production from their land (2026, unlike the original 2022 boast of Vineyard Farms that is looking increasingly unsupportable in reality).

The Kentish Wine Vault is designed to be a playground for the well-off rather than an actual working vineyard of course, but far fewer people in the UK will be falling into the “well-off” category. That’s another cyclical phenomenon, with even the middle classes becoming less able to afford even the basics as such as food, fuel and housing, and becoming dependent on the whims of their rich overlords for employment and survival, just as they were 150 years ago.

VF won’t be around for long, I’m sure, but for the moment (and if they live up their promises) there will be a hundred or so new local jobs in the offering, which is no bad thing. Not worth trashing our precious green belt farmland for, in my opinion, but that ship has sailed.

In a way, I’m kind of interested to see how Lord Foster’s promised Flying Saucer will turn out. Its spectacular white cow-pat design at least gives it an agricultural feel. 

And maybe VF can aim at the Russian oligarch market instead, giving the impending impoverishment of the vast majority of the UK’s indigenous population.

Grape vodka, anyone? 

References:

pp.5-6, Parish of Cuxton and Halling Church Magazine, March 2022.

p.102, Cuxton – A Kentish Village, by Derek Church, 1976 

Lost Livelihoods: Smelt Fishing...

Fishing for smelt at Whornes Place, c.1910. The Halling Lime and Cement (Trechman and Weekes)  works is on the left, with the
Wickham Cement Works (Martin Earles) at Strood in the centre background. Tingey's chalk wharf at Wouldham is on the right. 

Once upon a time a six-mile stretch of the River Medway, from the old Rochester Bridge upstream to just past Snodland, used to be of vital importance to Medway fisherman.  This was because in that short stretch of the river, smelts could be netted in vast numbers in early springtime.

The smelt (Osmerus eperlanus) is a small fish, seldom longer than about 25 cm. Their backs are an attractive olive green in colour, blending into an iridescent band on their sides fading to a silver belly. Related to salmon, smelts are ravenous predators of anything smaller than they are, their large jaws being equipped with long, needle-like teeth. Like other fish related to the salmon family, smelts leave the sea in autumn and gradually make their way up the estuaries to spawn on gravel banks in spring.

Cucumber Smelt (Osmerus eperlanus)

Sometimes called the “Cucumber Smelt” (or Sparling), the fish gives off a distinctive odour similar to that of a fresh-cut cucumber. Pleasant to the consumer though that might have been, the odour soon became cloying to the hard-working fisherman on the good days when there were thousands of smelts to be packed into boxes for transport and sale.

The fish were a gourmet dish in Victorian and Edwardian times and Medway smelts were held in particularly high esteem. In the early part of the last century, one mysterious buyer used to turn up on the river bank year after year to buy boxes of smelts straight from the boats: rumour had it that he was buying for the Royal table.

The smelt fisherman worked out of small open boats called dobles. Dobles (the name possibly an abbreviation of “double-ender”) were typically around six meters long, with a beam in excess of two meters. They were heavily-built, consisting of oak or elm planking an inch or more thick, fixed over stout sawn ribs and providing the weight needed to draw the drag nets that were used for fishing.

A doble at Whornes Place, c.1900, crewed by Harry Hill and his son Roland.

Amidships, the dobles had a characteristic feature – the “wet well”. This was a pyramidal-shaped compartment fitted across the boat with holes drilled through the boat’s bottom, to allow the water to circulate in the well and keep the catch fresh. These wells also aided the stability of the boat, strengthened the hull and also (because of the sloping sides) provided valuable stowage space for ropes, nets and other small equipment.

Although the dobles were rigged with masts and sails, these were taken down and the boats usually rowed when fishing the Medway smelt runs, called “shoots”.

The River Medway in 1910, with some smelt shoot locations indicated.

Unlike many fish, smelts moved from place to place quite unpredictably. A favourite spot may produce only a few fish on one day and yet thousands on another. The Wadhams brothers recalled one night at “Parsons Gate” at Halling during World War One when the river “boiled with fish” as they hauled their net in. Over 7,000 fish were netted in that one haul. 

It was traditional knowledge that in places upriver of Wouldham, smelts could only be caught at night (with the exception of Halling Hole). Kettle-shaped oil lamps (“pot flares”) were used to provide light for night fishing. It must have been an eerie sight to look out across the river on a misty night and see the smelt fishermen working. 

At Wouldham and Whorne’s Place, smelt could be taken day and night. Local knowledge was crucial to success and the names and locations of the “shoots” were passed down by word of mouth from father to son and from master to apprentice. Some of the names (such as “Found Out” and "Scunch") are quite intriguing and their origins are lost in time.

The sailing bawley Jubilee at Cuxton, c.1900. On the left is owner John Hill,
with his three sons Ernest, Charles and Harry and some visitors. 

At the height of the season in spring, the fishermen would group themselves into temporary partnerships of six or more. Slightly larger sailing boats, called bawleys (normally used for deeper water fishing, oyster-catching and shrimping – the name coming from the shrimp boilers many of bawleys were fitted with) were sailed upriver with two or three dobles in tow, the bawleys acting as houseboats for the fishing teams while the dobles did the actual netting of the fish.

Landing a smelt dragnet, Whornes Place c.1910...

The technique of dragnetting involved a skilful partnership of two men, one in the doble and the other working the net from the shore. The nets could be as long as 35 fathoms (65m) and about 3 fathoms deep. They must have required great skill, strength and dexterity to handle. The shore man kept track of the boat, walking along the shore and working the net around in a loop as it was fed out from the boat, so that it was in the right position to trap the fish. The rower then turned the boat in and ran it up on to shore and helped his partner pull up the net. The catch was tipped into the doble’s wet well, or straight into baskets if they were to be sold locally.

Harry and Blake Hill, emptying smelts into a basket, Whornes Place, c.1900

In a good season, a fisherman could earn up to £40 a week, earnings that would have equalled by few other trades at the time. Of course, there were bad seasons as well.

In the early part of the season, demand for smelt could push the price up to 30 shillings (£1.50) per 100, but average prices were 10 to 14 shillings per 100, dropping as low as two shillings per 100 in a glut. Sales to local people were around a shilling for 25 fish of less than prime size, but most of the smelt were boxed up and sent to Billingsgate by rail, the transport costs being borne by the fishermen.

Smelt fishing, Halling, c.1910

Smelts were fished heavily from the mid 1860s onwards, no doubt thanks to the railway giving access to London markets, although there was an absence of smelt in the 1880s that was blamed on pollution from the numerous cement works along the Medway at the time. The 1930s were also lean years and after 1945, the smelt stopped coming altogether.

Various reasons for the loss of the smelts have been put forward, but the most likely is simply that of over-fishing. Netting was permitted during the spawning season because the flavour of the fish was said to be at its best when the fish were laden with spawn or milt, but heavy fishing when the fish were at their most vulnerable proved not to be sustainable. Like many other mass spawning species, the smelt’s breeding strategy is to lay an enormous number of eggs at once, to overwhelm the predation of the eggs and hatchlings. It is also possible that the fish themselves need the stimulus to breed provided by the presence of thousands of other fish at spawning time. Either way, once the numbers fall below a certain level, the population collapses and takes a long time to recover.

And so a way of life that lasted for a hundred years faded away, probably never to return…

Reference: 

pp12-22, The Bawleymen: Fishermen and Dredgermen of the River Medway by Derek Coombe (published by Pennant Books in 1979, ISBN 0 9506413 0 8)

Vanished Cuxton: Brickhouse Farm...

Brickhouse Farm, Bush Road, Cuxton, c.1920...

The picture above shows Brickhouse Farm it as it was in around 1920, with a front extension facing Bush Road (built in 1815) and an older original portion behind. The rear half was probably over 300 years old. In the background are hop kilns (that building has been wonderfully restored and is now the B&B) with Mill Hill in the distance.

Brickhouse Farm was another building in Cuxton that was purchased by Rochester Corporation after the Second World War. In accordance with standard council practice at the time with regards to buildings in Cuxton, it was left to become derelict before finally being knocked down (in 1951) and replaced with the existing house.

The site of Brickhouse Farm, c.1971...

Bill Marshall, who lived at Whorne’s Place, managed to salvage two inscribed bricks from the Brickhouse Farm building as it was being demolished. These bear the initials L.K.G.K. though I do not know what or who they stand for. 

Engraved brick recovered from Brickhouse Farm....

Mr. Marshall also recovered the inscribed stone from the frontage. The initials on the stone are those of William Pye (who was responsible for the extension) whose family had farmed in the area since 1808 and lived at Court Lodge. His son (also called William) latterly lived at Brickhouse Farm from 1878 until 1916.

Engraved frontage stone recovered from Brickhouse Farm...

The Pye family used to hold summer evening garden parties every year, to which the local villagers were invited.  Every day, Mr. Pye used to give the farm workers skimmed milk free of charge. When the milk was ready for collection, a white card was placed in the kitchen window and the local children used to run down and collect it. 

Reference: 

pp. 92, 100, Cuxton – A Kentish Village, by Derek Church (1976, ISBN 0 903253 12 7).

Vanished Cuxton: Canon Shaw's Rectory...

Today's Cuxton Rectory, pictured in 1965 just after completion

The current Cuxton Rectory (pictured above) is a pleasant modern-looking brick-built house dating back to 1965. For better or worse, it replaced the truly elegant late Georgian-style Rectory building that was built in 1833 by the then Rector of Cuxton, Robert William Shaw.

Cuxton Rectory, c.1919...

Built from locally-sourced yellow Kentish bricks and having a slate roof, it was designed by architect Mr. Whitehead of Maidstone and built by a Mr. Tarsell. Construction work commenced on 8 May 1832 and was completed on 17 April the following year at a total cost of £1178-14s (about £180,000 today).

Cuxton Rectory, 1868, watercolour by Emily Clare Harvey

Canon Shaw was by all accounts quite a wealthy man, but not surprisingly over half of the money for the rectory had to be borrowed, which it was under the terms of the Relief Of The Poor Act (Gilbert’s Act) of 1782. Whilst giving government money to rich people seems a very 2021 thing to do, the Gilbert Act was intended to bring the gentry into closer involvement in poor relief administration, and Canon Shaw did indeed do much to improve the lot of the local population (such as building Cuxton’s first school in 1849) in exchange for the loan that helped to fund his splendid new rectory.

Canon Shaw’s rectory replaced the original Parsonage that was located down the hill from the church at the bottom of the valley in Bush Road, in a spot that is now occupied by the existing Scout Hall. The Parsonage appears to have been a damp, rather horrible place to live. As Charles Moore wrote in answer to a questionnaire sent to him by the Bishop of Rochester in 1780:

“…I have expended some hundred pounds and made a considerable part of the walls brick which before were only thin lath and plaster, yet from the great indifference of the house itself and its very low, damp situation (being the very lowest spot in the whole parish, it can never be made comfortable or healthy residence at certain times of the year…”

In 1858, Canon Shaw spent another £600 on the Rectory, enlarging the drawing room and adding a kitchen and over-room extension, as well as enlarging the stables and the coach house. The stable block was situated alongside the old Parsonage in Bush Road. The Rectory had an extensive garden and in 1875, the Rectory stable was converted into a gardener’s house at a cost of £162-11s-2d.

Canon Colson, c,1900...

Canon Shaw’s successor, Canon Colson, was also a keen gardener, fencing off the Rectory Garden in 1875 when he took office and building a heated greenhouse alongside Rectory Cottage at a cost of £140.  In 1876 he founded the Cottage Gardener’s Society, being of the opinion that:

“Few things add more to the temporal comforts and well being of a labouring man’s family than his taking pride in his garden. It may help lead him to better things – certainly keep him from worse…”

If only the robber barons who build our modern houses thought like Canon Colson.

The first fruit, flower and vegetable show was held in that year and the show became an established fixture in Cuxton’s social calendar, with Canon Colson’s hothouse plants (arranged by his gardener, Mr. Wilson) being a centre of attraction for many years.

A map from 1867 shows the extensive garden of the Rectory and the associated glebe land that stretched from the churchyard down to Bush Road. The map shows the area laid out as a park, with groups of trees and with Arrow Cottage, another cottage (now 35 Bush Road) and Rectory Cottage and stables forming the northern boundary along to the corner opposite the White Hart. 

35 Bush Road, c.1910 and c.1970, once part of the Rectory glebe estate

Behind Rectory Cottage was a small pond, to the west of which was the main vegetable garden and an orchard.  Around the rectory were formal gardens and trees. There was, at one a time, even a tennis court, located where the top of May Street is.

OS Map of 1869, showing the Rectory and the glebe land...

Canon Toone, Canon Colson’s successor, continued in the tradition of gardening Canons. He employed Jack and Charles Cogger as gardeners, helped by Walter (Wick) and Jim Cogger.

The Cogger family, tree-felling in the Rectory Garden, 1958. Looking on is Mrs. Rae, wife of Rector Charles Rae...

As was the case with so many of Cuxton’s historic buildings, neglect and the passage of time sadly took its toll on the Rectory. By 1961, when the Reverend Richard Allington Smith came to Cuxton, the building was in a sorry state, its roof timbers riddled with rot and according to the Reverend himself, draughty and difficult to heat.

Despite opposition from the Parish Council, the rectory was demolished in 1965 and replaced by the smaller and undoubtedly more practical but far less elegant structure we see today. Much of the glebe land was sold off at around the same time for housing, hence the name of the mini-estate on Bush Road, The Glebe.

The Rectory, 1964, just prior to demolition...

Canon Shaw’s Rectory, possibly above all other buildings that have been lost from Cuxton, could and should have been saved. It seems staggeringly short-sighted to have allowed its destruction, even by 1960’s standards.

Unfortunately we seem to be returning to those days, when money, vested interests and short-sighted expedience took precedence over the quality of local life…

References:

1)  Cuxton: A Kentish Village by Derek Church (published by Arthur J Cassell Ltd, 1976, ISBN 0 903253 12 7), Chapter 4, pp35-38, Chapter 6, pp59-60.