The O-Folk in the South of England

Day Two

The day before we'd noticed that there was a steam railway that ran through New Romney to the point of the beach at Dungeness. I'm a sucker for these big gadgets, so we followed the coastal road from Folkstone down through what was called the Romney Marshes. This is not the garden spot of England, by the way; we were definitely in the low-rent district of the beachfront. A high causeway kept the sea from flooding the flats and not incidentally blocked any view to the water. A few of the houses strained up two or three floors, trying to catch a glimpse, but the game wasn't worth the candle and the houses were mostly delapidated and their yards had all the charm of trailer parks.

The steam trains turned out to be miniatures, one-third full size with carriages that were just big enough to get into. This kind of stuff is perfect for touristas like us, so we each bought a ticket and climbed aboard. This being an Okonski vacation, the train, rather than sweeping down a shorefront line with postcard views of the beach, instead scuttled down a trench between high fences erected by beachfront homeowners who apparently didn't care much for steam trains. We got an occasionally glimpse of the beach as we crossed roads, but for the most part just sat and waited to reach Dungeness with little to look at besides each other.

Dungeness is a spit of sand and rocks that was perfect for absolutely nothing except a lighthouse and a nuclear power plant, so naturally the British made it a wildlife sanctuary as well. British wildlife sactuaries frequently double as bombing ranges, military training grounds, that kind of thing. The land around the holding pools behind the nuclear plant, in which spent nuclear fuel is stored, are home to "species found no where else in Britain." I don't wonder.

Whenever Tim sees a castle, tower, lighthouse or the like that's open to the public, he absolutely must climb to the top. I drew the short straw and climbed up with him. This was one of those lighthouses that was manned way back when; some poor schmuck had to wind up the clockworks once an hour to keep the searchlight turning. These days it's just a tourist attraction, and you can see the automated replacement lighthouse in the background, behind Tim, who's furiously holding on to the rail as the wind tries to blow him into the Straits of Dover.

I had more pictures, but the film got lost while we were unpacking and we haven't found it yet.