Broadstairs

Under the roof of this old-fashioned house, Dickens passed a night in the autumn of 1841, and the beautiful park of Cobham was at all times one of his favourite resorts.

On the particular occasion just mentioned, he was returning from the annual sojourn which, at that period of his life, he was accustomed to make at Broadstairs, when, meeting his friend Mr. John Forster at Rochester, they passed a pleasant day at Cobham, sleeping at the Leather Bottle.

and on the following night at Gravesend, after another day's rambling in this delightful neighborhood.

It seems probable, though the fact is not mentioned by the novelist's biographer, that they would not be two days in the neighborhood without visiting Swanscombe Wood, where, according to tradition, the men of Kent made such a resolute stand against the troops of William the Conqueror on their march to London after the decisive Battle of Hastings that the victorious Normans granted them the confirmation of their ancient rights and customs.

The river, reflecting the clear blue of the sky, glistened and sparkled as it flowed noiselessly on, and the oars of the fishermen dipped into the water with a clear and liquid sound as the heavy but picturesque boats glided slowly down the stream.

Just as Mr. Pickwick saw it then, we saw it now, and the reflection occurred spontaneously that Dickens must often have leaned over the bridge as we were doing, and gazed upon the castle ruins and the sunlit stream which they were then overshadowing.

Mr. Forster relates that he met him here on his return from Broadstairs at the end of September 1841, and that they passed the day and night here, and we find them here again with the novelist's wife and Miss Hogarth and Macleans and Gerald four years later when they visited the castle and Watts's almshouse, and went over the fortifications of Chatham, having their quarters at the Bull Inn.

At a later period of his life, during his residence at Gad's Hill, Dickens often walked into Rochester, turning out of the High Street through the Vines.

Yeah, it's like kind of a UKIP stronghold.

Oh, of course it's in Kent because it's near like Broadstairs and it's like by the coast and Margate and all that where they're always like going, oh, immigrants coming by sea.

Yeah.

It was seen to have a very high level of local Euroscepticism and anti-immigration sentiment.

Welcome to the Max Spears first two hours of our interview in Broadstairs.

Now, during that time, we had a great deal of difficulties.

We met Max earlier that day, and we were being tracked by quite a lot of pairs of agents.

And Max was aware of a lot of hostile activity.

And we were having a chat.

And we eventually got round to Broadstairs.

Now, what happened was that one individual got through and triggered Max.

And he started to drink very heavily that morning.

Welcome to Broadstairs Life, where I speak with the people who make Broadstairs such a special place.

Welcome to Broadstairs Life.

Now, today I'm with George and how old are you, George? 14.

14.

Just going to be finishing up my summer holiday soon and getting back into the usual routine next week.

So no more.

Now, the reason we're having a chat is because you do something special, don't you? Now, you live in Bronx, don't you? You have us all in Broadstairs.

Your mates are all in Broadstairs.

My speculations about him were uneasy and manifold.

Whether his Christian name was Benjamin, by sextile, from his having been born in leap year, bartholomew or bill whether the initial letter belonged to his family name and that was baxter black brown barker buggins baker or bird whether he was a foundling and had been baptized b whether he was a lion-hearted boy and b was short for briton or for bull whether he could possibly have been kith and kin to an illustrious lady who brightened my own childhood and had come of the blood of the brilliant mother bunch with these profitless meditations i tormented myself much i also carried the mysterious letter into the appearance and pursuits of the deceased wondering whether he dressed in blue wore boots he couldn't have been bald was a boy of brains liked books was good at bowling had any skill as a boxer even in his buoyant boyhood bathed from a bathing-machine at Bogner, Banger, Burnmouth, Brighton, or Broadstairs, like a bounding billiard-ball? So from the first I was haunted by the letter B.

It was not long before I remarked that I never by any hazard had a dream of Master B., or of anything belonging to him.

But the instant I woke up from sleep, at whatever hour of the night, my thoughts took him up, and roamed away trying to attach his initial letter to something that would fit it and keep it quiet.

Yes.

Broadstairs.

Not one single good coffee in the whole of Broadstairs.

Yeah.

And then we went over to Margate and people call Margate like Shoreditch by the sea.

The coffee was mildly better.

I would say still quite bad.

But Broadstairs takes the crown for the worst coffee in the UK and the world.

They're literally stealing like food out of your hands.

And it all kind of came to a head, as it were, in Broadstairs about three months ago.

Fish and chips on top of the stairs, you know, it's lovely, it's idyllic.

And all I can kind of describe is probably like a calculated attack from the seagulls, which has led to her kind of phobia, you know, walking down the high street and like, what's going on? And I'm just looking for a bit of help, guys.