Showing posts with label Apples. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Apples. Show all posts

Tuesday, 25 March 2014

Ardent of Faversham


A brief return to Faversham, one of my favourite places. In his 1969 Shell Guide to Kent Pennethorne Hughes says 'A delightful market town and small port, obviously conscious of its historical and architectural heritage, but busy and contemporary. It has no showpiece for gogglers, but any number of pleasant buildings.....[and] has various industries: grain and flour, oysters, bricks, canning and packing works for the fruit and vegetables from the country roundabout, and a pleasant and occasional smell of brewing'. It still feels as though bricks and flour should be stacked up on the quayside, and there is certainly much activity down there, but the town still has at its heart the brewer, Shepherd Neame, the oldest brewer in Britain. (Check out their Unmitigated English new bottle labels.) The town is also the setting of Arden of Faversham, a brilliant play once ascribed to both Shakespeare and Marlowe. Murder and mayhem amongst the grain sacks.

Oddly, the Shell Guide has only one Faversham photograph, by Edwin Smith, of the 1574 Guildhall perched on its timber supports. So I'm hoping the picture above of Standard Quay gives something more of both the flavour of the town and the Shell Guides sense of place, following far behind in the footsteps of Smith, John Piper et al. The big white house is, I believe, an old Customs House.

A correction to the above has arrived at Ashley Towers from a stalwart of the Fleur de Lis Heritage Centre in Faversham, who tells me that the 'Customs House' I had assumed it was is, in fact, '...the home of John Matthew Goldfinch, our foremost builder of sailing barges, who had his yard next door. His most famous barge was the eponymous Goldfinch, launched c1894. She was sold out of British service c 1930 and sold to a sugar company in what is now Guyana. The key point is that she crossed the Atlantic under sail, with no auxiliary.Yet she was designed only for UK coastal waters and short trips across the Straits of Dover and southern North Sea to ports from NE France to the Baltic.' 

Wednesday, 31 July 2013

Cider with Molly


So, there I was, roaming disconsolately around 'History Live!' the new wizzy and slightly queasy name for English Heritage's Festival of History at Kelmarsh. Why do they do this? It's like the English Tourist Board now being 'Enjoy England'. Yes, I will, thankyou. Anyway, I wandered about under the lowering skies, looking at Roman soldiers on their iPhones, chatting up WWII nurses doing each other's hair and generally feeling glum at the lack of light for my pictures when 'lo!', I walked into the beer tent and saw this on the bar. Now I don't normally drink the fruit of the apple, but how could I resist this? Quite apart from my well known penchant (in certain select quarters at least) for white on red polka dots, I just loved the design. It took me a while to get to the small print, but '100% cider apples' and 'Herefordshire' did it for me too. So what's it like? Let's put it like this. Come Christmas I want a reasonable quantity stowed in the cellars of Ashley Towers. As it says on the label: 'Well rounded, medium, still.' Thankyou to Celtic Marches who made it and designed the label- just for me it would appear. 

Sunday, 24 August 2008

Low Light, High Hopes


"Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness! Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun..." Keats knew what to say, and although we're not supposed to even think that autumn is approaching, the tell-tale signs are there and I for one welcome them. "Oh don't say that" people say "We haven't even had a summer yet". Well I have, and not being one to lie about on a beach with seven million others I can't wait now to get the stove going with my new coffee maker perched on it, and the button sewn on to my blue serge pea jacket. It's not that I haven't enjoyed myself these last few weeks- the same rain that has thwarted my farming friends from safely gathering everything in has also meant that the countryside has kept greener and fresher than usual. And there have been some spectacularly cloudy skies, very good for photographs. So the farmers could all be grateful for that. I look out over my neighbours' manicured park (they're out there now under one of those big green umbrellas drinking Pimms) and up across the rougher pastures to the ironstone manor half-hidden in trees and shadowed by the gradually lowering sunlight. But the best thing, apart from the boys fishing snails out from under the shed in order to enlist them as Lego spaceship captains, are the restless swallows lining-up like music notes down the telephone wires. A tuneful ode to a coming autumn. Oh, and thankyou to Tess of the d'Urbervilles for letting me get near her tempting apple.