The Royal International Air Tattoo is held at RAF Fairford in the south of the charming Cotswolds in south-west England. Organised and run by the Royal Air Force Charitable Trust, the proceedings from this three-day annual event go to members of the Royal Air Force and other organisations who have been affected by war or tragedy in its service. I was privileged to attend in 2023 and again in 2025.
It is considered the world’s largest military airshow and displays as many as 250 aircraft from numerous air arms across the globe, European air arms being the most common due to their closeness to the UK and the NATO links. The RAF, being the host air force is naturally a major participant. The US too is often a major contributor, as it has bases in the UK and Europe, and usually there is a good selection of air forces from further afield. Of course, depending on operational requirements, changes do happen and with the conflict in Europe, numbers may be affected. Both years had over 240 aircraft visiting of which nearly half are on the huge static display. It is without doubt, a feast for the senses!!
Many countries have heritage aircraft collections and RIAT is the perfect opportunity to display these treasures in front of an appreciative and knowledgeable crowd. Due to its rich history and pioneering past, there would be few who have never been to one of the over thirty significant airshows and flying days put on during the summer months across the British Isles.
RAF Fairford is a joint RAF/USAF base and has held the Royal International Air Tattoo since 1996 after being held at various bases since 1971. It is perhaps best known as the base for launching the B52 raids during the first Gulf War. It currently is home to the famous U2 spy plane which displayed its remarkable capability at the show in 2025.
It takes place over Friday, Saturday and Sunday in mid-July and public access is restricted, through advanced ticket sales only, to a maximum number to ensure the facilities and space, which is huge, can handle the numbers and attendees do not feel crowded as happens with so many other airshows.
RAF Fairford is turned into a massive fairground for aviation enthusiasts with techno zones, kids areas, endless shopping opportunities from airshow merchandise, clothing, military collectibles to model aircraft. Plus, there are numerous opportunities for patrons to meet aircrew from the various air forces and purchase memorabilia. It is superbly organised with over 2000 volunteers, many from the local Air Training Corps squadrons (I was one of those back in the early 1970s), although the narrow Cotswold country lanes leading to the airfield make it a longish wait if you don’t get started early. This year 200,000 people attended over the three days. Tickets are not cheap, entry starting from around GBP50 up to GBP80. (kids are free). Then you can upgrade to special hospitality venues with buffet lunches and bar, and with outstanding access to the flight line and private facilities.
The show usually has a theme. In 2023 it was ‘In-flight Refuelling’ and in 2025, ‘Eyes in the Sky’, so many exhibits and displays follow these themes. 2023 was also the 100th Anniversary of the Italian Air Force, always a major contributor to the Air Tattoo, so the organisers created a special separate section to commemorate this special anniversary. The Italians sent some wonderful aircraft from every generation.
The flying display starts around 10h00 and continues virtually non-stop until 17h30 on Saturday and Sunday with a condensed show on Friday. If you are keen – and many are – Thursday sees the arrival of most of the aircraft and there are special places outside the airfield for enthusiasts to park and watch. Similarly, Monday has them all departing.
There is a static display as well which is over a kilometre long, so you need to have your walking shoes on. The static aircraft are carefully displayed behind the flightline so patrons can get a clear view of all the aircraft from all sides.
For the fans, there are numerous places to watch the show – grandstands, private pavilions, gardens, public areas – to suit everyone’s pockets and wishes. Of course, there are food trucks galore – although a bit pricey the food is pretty good, plentiful water stations and most importantly, adequate and clean toilet facilities has been my experience over the years.
Weather can often play a role in an airshow so doing three days as we did, covers all bases in case low cloud or heavy rain disrupts the show. It can also be quite hot and as there are no real shelters to speak of, ensure you have sun block, plenty of water, rain jacket and a lightweight camping chair is a great idea if you are in the public viewing area.
For aviation photographers, there is almost unlimited scope. All you need are blue skies with clouds and a bit of humidity – so the shock waves visible on the fast jets wing surfaces are more pronounced. This is called “fluff” in photographer’s parlance.
‘Fluff’ on the upper wing surfaces of an RAF Typhoon
Friday in 2023 was almost a complete wash-out with only a handful of displays being possible in the already shorter display schedule. The rain came down incessantly with gusty winds across the runway. When the last of an interrupted display, an Italian Eurofighter Typhoon, had to do an instrument landing due to lack of visibility, they called off the remainder of the show.
Soaked through, my old school mate Jonathan and I, headed off back to our guest house in Broadway – changed and went straight to the wonderful Crown & Trumpet for a few pints and dinner.
Saturday and Sunday in 2023 were much improved although there were a few interruptions from rain showers but virtually every participant displayed – only a few older propeller aircraft didn’t fly due to the excessive cross winds and low cloud base at times.
Two of our days were spent in the public viewing area where we pitched two deck chairs in a nice spot and were able to go walkabouts to see the static display. On the Sunday, we spoilt ourselves and were looked after by the Cotswold Club, a nice marquee with tables and chairs out on the lawn right on the flightline, as much tea and coffee as you like, a cash bar, and a delicious buffet lunch and scrumptious afternoon tea as part of the deal. A most civilised way to watch an airshow, despite the fact that the marquee was a bit crowded because of patrons huddling under the roof during the few short rain showers. The sky was a beautiful canvas of white and grey puffy clouds interspersed with blue, constantly moving with the wind.
The following pages are a selection of images from the two years I visited the Royal International Air Tattoo.
The ‘business end’ of a Eurofighter Typhoon The Royal Air Force’s Typhoon demonstrator Black Jack – call sign “Anarchy” displays its stunning colour scheme
The Swedish AF JAS 39 Gripen EFor the first time in British skies since 1945, the immaculate Me262A 1a (replica/restoration) from the Messerschmitt Foundation, Manching, Germany.The French Armee de l’Air et de l’Espace Dassault Rafale C solo demonstrator.
A Greek AF Dassault Mirage 2000
In 2025 I was joined by my friends from Northern Ireland, Dave and Joy Mullin, for their first treat at RIAT. The weather, although mixed, was largely fine for the weekend with brilliant skies for photography. Dave, being a seriously good photographer, rented a 400mm Olympus tele lens for the weekend. 10 minutes into the flying display, my Leica/Pana tele lens auto-focus packed up, so Dave let me have a play with his very nice Oly lens. Luckily we have the same camera.
The show kicked off with some outstanding helicopter displays from the Army, Royal Navy, German Navy and the Portuguese Air Force.
British Army Air Corps Augusta Westland AH.1 Apache
The airfield grass was very dry, the area having had almost no rain for six weeks, and after the Apache display, it caught alight, not surprisingly! The next display was delayed while the fire brigade extinguished the fire.
Portuguese AF Augusta Westland Merlin AW101
The ‘Eyes in the Sky’ theme for 2025 centred around reconnaissance and intelligence gathering aircraft. These highly sophisticated assets can gather incredible amounts of data and are used heavily in monitoring activity on and over ‘enemy’ countries’ borders, over the oceans and are able to fly and loiter for long periods of time. Many are also capable of deploying offensive weapons.
USAF Lockheed U2 ‘Dragon Lady’ based at RAF Fairford
Many air forces have their own specialist demonstration teams of solo displays. The aircraft are often adorned with striking paintwork designed to highlight the shape and presence of the aircraft as it displays. We had some outstanding displays particularly from the F16 pilots from Poland, Belgium and Denmark.
The Danish AF F16 Fighting Falcon’s last season before the F16 is phased out of Danish service
The undoubted star of the show, and winner of the prestigious “best in show” award was the Polish Air Force’s F16 piloted by Major Maciej Krakowian “Vlad”. It was without doubt one of the best solo displays I have ever seen and thoroughly deserving of this award. Sadly “Vlad” died in a practice accident in Poland a couple of weeks after RIAT. We casually met and chatted with some of his Polish friends in a pub in the Cotswolds shortly after the airshow in England. They would have been devastated by the tragedy.
Here are a few images of his superb display in this beautifully presented F16 Fighting Falcon.
RIP Vlad.
The Polish AF advanced F16 Block 52+ Multi role fighter
The static display at RIAT is huge. You need time to see it all. With over 1.5km of displays, they are very well presented for the public and quite spread out. You rarely feel crowded and are able to get good views of the aircraft from all angles. The display is a complete collage of types, from historic aircraft to experimental, civilian and research types. Many are similar types to those seen in the flying displays so you get a feel of what you have seen in the air.
Part of the huge static display at RIAT with a Czech L-39 Albatros in the foreground, a Polish F16, Luftwaffe Tornado ECR and a Eurofighter Typhoon GR4 of the joint RAF/Qatari AF squadron.
The remarkable hand painted C130 Hercules of the Pakistan Air ForceThe Pakistani AF JF-17 Thunder, a Gen 4.5 multi-role fighter joint development between Pakistan and China.
Demonstration teams form an integral part of the air show schedule. The world renowned RAF Red Arrows, the Saudi Hawks, the UAE Al Fursan, the Korean Black Eagles display often as do the Swiss in their F5s, the Patrouille France and the Italian Air Force’s flamboyant Frecce Tricolori.
Always a crowd favourite, the Red Arrows demonstrating the “Tornado” in their BAe Hawk T1s. These ageing but very successful aircraft are also due for replacement in 2028.
The Italian AF Frecce Tricolori in the MB 339 are known for their colourful and flamboyant style
Popular crowd favourites are the big transport aircraft that deploy troops, supplies, provide evacuation and humanitarian aid to trouble spots across the globe. Most impressive is the Airbus A400M (Military), an example from the Luftwaffe demonstrated its impressive short landing and take off capabilities.
An RAF C17 Globemaster heavy transport.
Whenever the venerable B52 makes an appearance at an airshow, it never fails to impress. This huge 70 year old aeroplane has been improved and developed continuously over its tenure, showing what a superb platform it is.
The B52 on short finals at RAF Fairford
The airshow would not be complete without the darlings of the sky. The Battle of Britain Memorial Flight is custodian of several Spitfires, Hurricanes, a DC3, some DHC Chipmunk trainers and one of the two remaining airworthy Avro Lancasters in the world. The other is in Canada. The Flight demonstrated a Hurricane IIc and a Spitfire Mk IIa together with the Lancaster. The slow and graceful pace of this demonstration is a gentle interlude between the frenetic jet displays.
The Avro Lancaster followed by the Supermarine Spitfire IIa and the Hawker Hurricane IIc
To finish off, one of the stars of the show, and my first sight flying, is the beautiful and graceful Italian Fiat G.91, the mount of the Frecce Tricolore in the 1960s. This was displayed together with the Leonardi M346 Master, due to replace the ageing MB 339 in 2028. Here are a few images of the three types of aircraft that will have served in the Italian Air Force’s demonstration team.
A story of a couple of 70-year-olds summiting the world’s highest free-standing mountain.
When on the 14hr QF63 Sydney to Johannesburg flight, I decided to document my expectations and fears based on so many unknowns at the time, my preparation and lead up to the actual event. The reality follows later.
Genesis – anticipation and preparation
In February 2025 I received a WhatsApp message from an old friend of mine, asking me if I’d like to climb Kili.
Pit was my boss at Siemens when I worked in South Africa in the 90s, and we’d done a fair bit of hiking together. From 1982 to 1985 we were neighbours in Jukskei Park, a suburb north of Johannesburg. Back then we’d walked the Otter Trail on the southernmost part of Africa. We hiked the Fish River Canyon in Namibia, The Royal Natal National Park and more recently, a hike from the southern villages of Munich to the Austrian border, across the Bavarian Alps over four days, experiencing gorgeous scenery and every type of weather a mountain range could throw at us.
My immediate reaction was “that sounds interesting – let me do some research”. And that is exactly what I did. The next day I bought a book written by an English climber Henry Stedman, who has hiked all the various trails up to the ‘top of the mountain’ and tells of his experiences, warts and all. I also researched heavily online and, while I was under no illusions that this was going to be very tough, I was ready to make my decision – Why not? Let’s do it! – even though many reports warn that it is not without its dangers. Some even say that the final assault on the summit “may be the hardest thing you’ll ever do”.
In my quest for more info, I was astonished how many people had tried it. Pit had done the climb many years ago and of course was a great source of info and encouragement too. Many others had succeeded and many had not, succumbing to that dreaded Altitude or Mountain Sickness, or just sheer exhaustion. This, and mental stamina are the two biggest challenges to making it all the way to Uhuru Peak (Swahili for “freedom”) renamed in 1961 when the then Tanganyika obtained its independence from Great Britain.
Kilimanjaro is the world’s highest free-standing mountain (meaning it does not have adjacent peaks – as do Mt Blanc and Everest for example) and peaks at 15m under 6000m above sea level. It is considered in mountain terms as “an extremely high mountain”. While artificially provided oxygen is normally not required at the summit, you may not stay long once you get there, for obvious reasons. The travel guides say that summiting Kili (5895m or 19,341 feet) is more difficult than reaching Everest base camp, (5364m), mainly due to the longer acclimatisation period you have in the Himalayas.
After much deliberation about guides and tour companies and dates of our climb, we finally selected EPIC Expeditions, a company with representatives in Australia, UK and South Africa and ‘on the ground’ in Tanzania. Such an expedition is not a cheap exercise, and although it is possible to cut corners and “do it on the cheap”, Pit and I felt that we wanted all the basic support structures and little “luxuries” for two old blokes, to be part of the package. Things like our own chemical toilets and a shower etc. Precious? Maybe. We believed EPIC would provide all this, and we were soon to find out.
Kilimanjaro sits near the border with Kenya on the eastern side of Tanzania, an hour’s flight in what I call a ‘vomit comet’ from Dar es Salaam. (My term for a small passenger aircraft with propellers). The mountain sits almost slap-bang on the equator and has four different climatic or eco-zones; rainforest, heathland, alpine desert and arctic glaciers. Kili is considered a dormant volcano (In fact, it consists of 3 volcanoes, the last eruption being 200 years ago) which is evidenced by the masses of lava-type rock, when broken down, forms scree. It is apparently very difficult to walk on unless the scree is frozen, forming a solid mass. The ‘top of the mountain’ consists of glaciers which are reported to be diminishing since the early 1900s.
Research done, monies paid and questions asked, it was time to check out the ‘essentials gear and documentation list’ which is quite extensive. In such an environment, you must be very well prepared. And there are formalities to consider too.
The Tanzanian visa was granted (A$160 of which A$90 goes to a government department), but it was a straightforward process. It turned out the visa department is managed out of the UK, and I received it in a week.
Then there is the question of vaccines, in particular Yellow Fever! Neither Pit nor I were keen to have more jabs, so I referred to the Australian Government website ‘Smart Traveller’ which was not a lot of help as its advice was vague to say the least. (They seemed to get all their info from the WHO, which in itself is cause for concern). It always errs on the side of ‘caution’ and if you followed it, you’d be jabbing for anything! But everyone to their own – I on the other hand obtained advice from the Tanzanian High Commission website in South Africa which was very clear. It was not needed if you did not enter a Yellow Fever risk country (transiting passengers excluded). Some relief after reading this.
The question of medication for altitude sickness – Diamox (a diuretic that relieves the symptoms of Altitude Sickness). From research, it appears there is no definitive medical opinion on whether Diamox works for everyone. I decided to get my GP to prescribe some just in case. I was also told by a medical person that Viagra also helps with AS, but I will leave that thought right there 😊
One of the main challenges to successfully making the summit, are oxygen levels and altitude sickness.
We were also required to complete an extensive medical questionnaire, signed by my GP. Luckily it was a formality and described me as being in “chronic good health” which I found a strange term.
Over the next months, the kit needed for eight days and nights on the mountain was slowly assembled. We decided to take the Lemosho Route, a longer traverse around the southern side of the mountain, starting in the west, giving us maximum time to acclimatise.
Although no mountaineering skills are required, it would be stating the obvious to a seasoned hiker, but this is no ordinary hike. No mountaineering skills are required, but we will have a guide as one is not allowed to climb Kilimanjaro without one. Porters are on hand to carry everything except your day backpack. There is absolutely nothing on the mountain except some long drop toilets that, I believe, are to be avoided at all costs! Everything must be carried up and brought down again – everything!
The ‘mules’ of the mountain will carry tents, beds, cooking items, food and water etc. The guide is medically trained in the event of altitude sickness and if severe, a team will take you down to a hospital, and in worst case, a helicopter evacuation. We believe that the maximum operational height for the helicopters is base camp. If anything happens above this level, you are transported down in a weird contraption resembling a cross between a stretcher and wheelbarrow.
The key to appropriate dress for the varying climatic conditions on such a huge mountain is ‘layers’ so you can add and take off as conditions change. They say on summit night, you will wear just about everything! And one of the most important items of clothing are your boots. They should have good ankle support and be water resistant. I spent good time researching boots and finally bought some from a reputable outdoor shop close to home.
EPIC Expeditions will provide sleeping bags rated for -20 C as temperatures can be extreme, especially the nights before summit day. Be prepared for the worst conditions – they say, although the time of year we will climb, is supposed to be the most favourable.
Our first two days in Tanzania will be spent at the Ngare Sero Mountain Lodge to chill out by the pool, get over jetlag etc and a hike on Mt Meru to clean out the cobwebs before we start the climb proper. Mt Meru is a conical shaped extinct volcano of approx. 4000m overlooking Kili. This is recommended as a partial acclimatisation exercise, and the views of Kili are said to be spectacular.
The amount of physical preparation advice varies. Some sources say you need to do many high energy hikes beforehand, others say not a lot is needed if you have a reasonable level of fitness and overall condition. In Pit’s case, he did several hikes uphill to iron out any issues, and I maintain a reasonable level of fitness by playing competitive tennis and cricket. We will find out if this is enough.
I packed only one camera and one lens for weight reasons – my new OM System OM1 Mk2 with a M Zuiko 24-80mm PRO lens plus a polariser, as they say the high-altitude glare is extreme. I hope this is adequate. This is backed up with two batteries, a power bank plus a headlamp for the summit night. They apparently wake you at 23h00 and you start climbing to reach the summit in time for the sunrise on the Roof of Africa. This ‘last push” they say, is probably “the hardest thing you’ll ever do”.
In Reality
Pit and I met at OR Tambo Airport (I still have difficulty not calling it Jan Smuts Airport – previously named after a man who made a far more valuable contribution to the world than ORT) for our trip to Kilimanjaro via Dar es Salaam. We took off on the 28th of September 2025 at 22h00 – an awkward time for a 4-hour flight. It was hard to get any sleep. We did the whole check-in thing again – the Tanzanians seem to have a fetish for scanning bags but are completely inconsistent with what they question.
Flights were uneventful and on schedule, touching down at Kili (JRO) at 06h30, getting some glimpses of that mountain we were about to climb. Pick up at the airport was smooth and we arrived two hours later at the Ngare Sero Mountain Lodge. After some argy-bargy with reception (we had booked an early check-in, but no one seemed to know), we had breakfast in a beautiful setting overlooking the river and finally got to our rooms around 11h00. After a few hours I started to feel very ordinary and spent the rest of my day looking down a toilet bowl, with food poisoning I suspect. Not a good start at all!
Our view at breakfast at Ngare Sero Mountain Lodge
Feeling a lot better the next day, we embarked on a short hike to Mt Meru, a 4000m dormant volcano a couple of hours from Kili. This was to get the legs going, test out the backpack, trekking poles and to get some oxygen in our lungs prior to tomorrow’s start on the ‘big one’. This was also our introduction to our Kili head guide Olariv (we called him Ola). We hiked through bushland and up the slopes, seeing some giraffe, buffalo, baboons, and beautiful bird life, well protected by our ranger armed with the very common and well-known eastern-bloc weapon of choice, the AK47.
On our drive back to the lodge, we were stuck in a traffic jam like no other! Presidential elections were due in Tanzania on 29th October. The incumbent president decided to try and impress voters with a 500-vehicle motorcade, completely shutting down a major route between Arusha and Moshi. Posters of her were on every lamppost, tree, wall and people were carrying flags and wearing the obligatory freely given out T-shirts. We saw absolutely no evidence of an opposition party – we wondered whether they were even allowed! So bad was the traffic mayhem, I had opportunities for some candid street photography. Eventually, Pit got out of our vehicle, went to the toilet and, using exceptional initiative of a previous CFO, brought two beers back from a nearby bar!! In the meantime, the traffic had not moved. Only in Africa! 😊
That evening we met our climbing partners at dinner. Nick and his mother Maewan from Calgary, Canada, Alvaro and Joana from Lisbon, Portugal made up the other four in our group of six. We seemed to get on well immediately and over dinner, our head guide gave us the pre climb briefing. He explained things like measuring oxygen and heart rate levels twice a day, symptoms of altitude sickness and how to deal with them, medication, and generally what to expect on Day One. There was a palpable feeling of nervous energy and excitement about what lay ahead. An early night for all as we had a three-hour drive the next morning to the start at Lemosho Gate.
On the way to Lemosho Gate – Kili stands guard over the plains of Tanzania
Day One – October 2nd
Start: Lemosho Gate
Start Altitude: 2250m
End Altitude: 2861m
Vertical Gain / Drop: 611m
Distance: 7km
Hike Time: 3hrs
Km/h: 2.3
End Point: Forest Camp
We soon realised that nice long sleep-ins were not part of the deal, as 06h00 was wake-up time to get ready, finalise packing our duffel bags (which the porters would carry all the way to base-camp), backpacks, and have breakfast. Departure was at 08h00 by a converted Landcruiser with large sightseeing windows.
After a 3-hour drive from the lodge to our start point, the six of us, plus our head guide Ola, arrived at Lemosho Gate. Some formalities were required to be completed before we could commence, but we were shocked by the number of other climbers present. Busloads of hikers, porters and guides were disgorged into the forest clearing. We were told that Lemosho is “the quiet route”! According to Ola, this is now the preferred route of 40% of climbers.
Our climbing group – Me, Nick, Maewan, Joana, Alvaro and Pit just before we set off on our 8-day adventureOur planned route: from Lemosho in the west, traversing the southern part of the mountain and summiting from the south east and returning south to Mweka Gate.
We eventually got going after Ola completed the paperwork. He is a young guy, around 34, who has climbed Kili 208 times!! We felt in good hands, and he turned out to be an intelligent man and a good communicator. The forest canopy brought pleasant relief from the warm sunshine at this lower part of the mountain. The trail was up and down with the occasional respite of level walking. It was well maintained at this point and hiking was straight forward. The stunning Colobus monkeys, seen easily in the dense foliage, greeted us from the treetops, their white flashes of fur giving them away. Blue monkeys were also a frequent attraction. The sounds of birds were ever present, but the odd sighting was all we could hope for in the thick canopy. Ola was great, full of information whenever we asked, and he often stopped and imparted his knowledge.
inspecting essentials!The rainforest canopy as we continued our hike upwards
This was a fairly short day, a good distance first up, and we arrived at camp mid-afternoon and managed to sort everything out camp-wise – soon discovering that we were one tent and a toilet short. A minor glitch, as these would be ferried up tomorrow by the hard-working porters. They simply gave one of the kitchen tents to us for the night. As was to become a regular daily occurrence, our oxygen and heart-rate levels were taken in the morning and then again after dinner. It became a bit of fun in the mess-tent at dinner as we all compared numbers the pulse oximeter dished out.
One of the most important parts of the camp was the mess-tent: This was to become our meeting place and communication centre, and where we received all our important nutrition. We had good times in the tent, irrespective of weather and temperature – many good laughs, serious and not-so-serious discussions and all the time with great company.
By dinner time we were all hungry. It had been a long day so all six of us gathered in the mess-tent for some great and humorous service from Simba, our camp steward. First up was a delicious butternut and coriander soup – where the usual debate on the merits of coriander brought out colourful comments. This was followed by a high carb/protein meal of meat, vegetables and potatoes.
Ola asked us many questions – this also was to become routine – relating to our state of body and mind, eg how much water did we drink this day? Do we have any headaches or nausea, tiredness levels etc. I had drunk 3l since morning which was the norm and according to the guidance. This was drummed into us as being the best antidote to altitude sickness – remain fully hydrated!! We were all feeling pretty good and Ola recorded everyone’s stats on a form.
The tents provided were excellent. The sleeping bag, which took a bit of getting used to, was rated for -34degC, but was not really needed at this low altitude, but we were told that the temperature at the base camp can be quite brutal. The camp beds were great and mattresses very comfortable. No excuses for a bad night.
My energy levels were a lot better today after the bout of what I suspect was food poisoning. Overall, I felt good, which was a huge relief as well. We are now at 2600m – already on the up and we are all in anticipation of what tomorrow will bring with a long day ahead again.
Day Two – October 3rd
Start: Forest Camp
Start Altitude: 2861m
End Altitude: 3561m
Vertical Gain / Drop: 700m
Distance: 7km
Hike Time: 7hrs
Km/h: 1.0
End Point: Shira 1 Camp
I don’t know who, as it was dark, and I was half asleep, but I was brought a cup of hot black Tanzanian tea by one our camp crew at 05h00. The plan was for a 06h00 start, but as we were yet to develop a proper routine, we finally left 06h40. I slept well considering the excitement and adrenalin pumping through my veins. A bowl of hot water to wash with was very welcome. Showers were taken the night before.
Our head ‘butler’ Simba, such a lovely man – called us for breakfast with a comical high-pitched greeting of “bon-appetiti”, so we all assembled in the mess-tent for a breakfast of porridge and fruit followed by eggs and pancakes, coffee etc. Our vital signs were also taken, all of us seeming to have decent levels of oxygen and heart rates.
We eventually set off after being warned by Ola that “it’ll be a hard day”. He wasn’t kidding. The first 3.5 hours was a steady uphill grind – straight up – on a very uneven, rocky path which in all honesty seemed a lot more like climbing a mountain than the relatively easy path of yesterday. The landscape had changed. We had left the Rainforest Zone of the first day and were now in what is known as Heather and Moorland Zone, consisting of tall protea and the fairly common tree groundsel. It was hard on the legs, particularly your quads – I wished I had done a bit more training on these. The rest of the climb eventually cut back across a ridge which gave us views of Kibo – the highest point of Kili – far in the distance – in all its grandeur, partly covered in cloud. The last hour or so was slightly downhill across the vast Shira Plateau to Shira Camp No1.
Shira 1 was quite a settlement! There must have been over 200 climbers plus porters, guides and cooks etc. Far larger than we imagined. This camp sat at 3600m, and the altitude change is slowly beginning to tell. The search for oxygen was felt on the climb up and I could feel a slight pressure in my head – a bit like a mild hangover. Some of the others also noticed something. The group was getting along very well and we were developing a good rapport with Ola, Emmy and Aruna, the two other guides. There was lots of laughter and banter at lunch and dinner and some more serious discussions on the state of the world, where we seemed to share similar views. Thank goodness for that – imagine doing something so tough and difficult with a bunch of Lefties? We had many mature, educated discussions on the state of world politics and managed to solve most of them 😊
Soon after arriving at camp around 13h30, we were greeted by our first dose of mountain weather, an ice rainstorm hit us, and we sheltered in our tents for around two hours before it abated. The tents fared very well and shortly afterwards we gathered in the mess-tent for tea. They served popcorn and very nice ginger biscuits. This turned out to be the norm for afternoon tea.
View across the Shira Plateau. The weather changed in minutes completely obscuring Kibo and serving up an ice rain storm on our exposed campsite.
We were now starting to see the benefits of paying those premium prices. What a pleasure it was to have your own toilet and shower! The toilet was a simple caravan type chemical toilet with a tent around it for privacy. No doubt, worth every cent because the alternatives didn’t bear thinking about. The shower was a similar tent construction. You washed while one of the camp staff pumped warm water, via a manual knapsack type garden pressure sprayer. You had to be very economical with water, as the pump guy would also get pretty worn out if you had a non-stop shower!
Temperatures are now starting to drop as we head towards 4000m, especially at night, and for the first time we were given hot water bottles! These were terrific! We had dinner, with more of Vincent’s amazing soup, had our vital signs checked and recorded followed by an early night around 20h30 in preparation for a wake-up call at 04h45 and a 06h00 start across the Shira Plateau and a 500m altitude gain.
Day Three – October 4th
Start: Shira 1 Camp
Start Altitude: 3561m
End Altitude: 4101m
Vertical Gain / Drop: 540m
Distance: 10km
Hike Time: 6hrs
Km/h: 1.7
End Point: Moir Camp
The mountain dominates and almost overpowers the surrounding landscape like few other mountains I have seen. It is huge and as it stands proud over the surrounding terrain, it also appears to be getting further away from us, not closer.
Last night was a better night’s sleep, I think for all of us. I woke with a headache which was quashed by one paracetamol in 15 mins. We were awoken again at 04h45 with tea from Simba and the welcome bowl of hot water. Breakfast was again a mix of porridge, eggs and fruit, while Pit had his private stash of muesli and fresh milk. This morning, I shared Pit’s muesli as I had no appetite for a big breakfast. Your appetite reduces with altitude, so you must force yourself to eat energy giving food needed for the tough day ahead.
We set off across the Shira plateau, an almost endless trail of volcanic rocks and the common tree groundsel, with the massif of Kibo partially out of sight due to cloud. The air was icy, and my thin merino inner gloves did nothing to stop my fingertips from becoming quite painful. Once the sun came up, things improved, and layers could be removed. I promised myself to be far better prepared next morning.
The first two hours were relatively easy with wide tracks – but these soon became steep and rocky requiring intense concentration as to where you were planting your feet on every step. You dare not look up at the dramatic scenery for fear of tripping. The climb up the ridge was slow and I had to stop every 20mins or so to catch my breath. The reduced oxygen was beginning to tell, and the need to find your own slow, steady rhythm between breathing and legwork, became ever more important. Once we’d navigated the vertical rocks on the ridge, it was a fairly gentle downhill to the camp, arriving at around 13h00.
Everything was ready for us, including a kind porter, Nixon, offering to carry my backpack the final 500m. I put up no resistance. Moir Camp sits below a huge lava ridge, against a volcanic wall. Our camp site was in a great position. Ola sent a runner early morning, prior to our wake up, to the next camp, where he reserved our site for us. This route is not the most direct but gives the team the best opportunity to acclimatise to the altitude which is getting increasingly difficult to manage.
This afternoon we were formally introduced to all the porters and other staff. It takes a total of 40 support staff to look after 6 climbers!! Can you imagine it! 33 porters, 1 cook plus a trainee, 1 camp manager plus one trainee and 3 guides!! Assisting Ola, were two other guides, Emmy and Aruna, who paid close and personal attention to all of us all the time. We never walked without a guide somewhere near us. The head guide set the pace – “Pole Pole”, Swahili for “Slowly-Slowly”, a term we were to hear every day. Ola set a slow, steady pace from day one. He remained in front and one guide remained at the back. If you needed a break or wanted to take photographs, as I did all the time, a guide remained with you. You always felt you were being looked after.
Day Four – October 5th
Start: Moir Camp
Start Altitude: 4101m
End Altitude: 3902m
Vertical Gain / Drop: 503m/701m
Distance: 10km
Hike Time: 7hrs
Km/h: 1.4
End Point: Barranco Camp (via Lava Tower)
Today we head towards the southern part of the mountain, travelling west to east. Here they expected a high chance of rain, especially near the Lava Tower. This is the hardest day other than the summit day. Eight hours of difficult walking and moving into over 4500m in altitude. Ola mentioned that this day will be a good indicator of how we will manage the summit.
I woke with a bad headache that lasted all night, and a paracetamol didn’t have any effect. I also had nausea, both symptoms of altitude sickness. In the mess-tent at breakfast, I couldn’t even look at food and overall was feeling pretty ordinary. Given today is a tough one, things were not looking good. Our head guide arranged that one of the porters would carry my backpack. Erick was a huge help, as I doubt that I could have made the day’s hike carrying it. He was brilliant, walking the whole day with me, ensuring that my water intake was adequate, and generally supported me. My energy levels were the lowest I had ever experienced. I was virtually stopping every 50m! It was a tough hike, across volcanic boulders and rocks presumably from one mighty eruption.
The temperature had dropped to minus two degrees overnight and the icy rocks glistened in the early morning sunlight. Our tents too were coated and stiff with ice and the zips were hard to open. The scenery however was spellbinding, and the constantly swirling clouds made it even more so as they rolled in through the valleys, across the ridges and over the top of us. Ola decided to test us: 1-hour constant walk, then have a short break. Thereafter another hour and a short break. It didn’t quite go like that.
We had a longer and very welcome break after 3.5hrs before we embarked on the long and arduous downhill to Barranco Camp at 3902m, a nett loss in altitude, as part of our acclimatisation process. The other five in our group are all feeling some effects of altitude but nothing serious. Mine was the first where one of us really felt ordinary. It was here that I decided to take the Diamox tablets prescribed for me in case. I took half a tablet (hoping for no side effects). Nick and Maewan had both taken Diamox earlier, without issues. By the end of the day, both headache and nausea had gone, but I was utterly exhausted.
We are getting closer to our base camp at Barafu, and the massiv of Kibo appears through the clouds every now and then, just to remind us that we still have a lot of work to do. It seems the closer we get, the bigger it gets, as if it is teasing us. It is a serious mountain and gives this aura of an unconquerable monolith right in front of us.
Lunch was good and thankfully I was able to eat normally again. I must confess, I was quite worried earlier whether I would make it through the day.
Pit, on the other hand had more important issues. His personal muesli supply was finished!! And he and Ola, had a robust discussion on the topic. Pit wasn’t backing down and Ola, to his credit, made some deals and managed to resupply the precious breakfast. Pit was a happy hiker once again.
Day Five – October 6th
Start: Barranco Camp
Start Altitude: 3902m
End Altitude: 4101m
Vertical Gain / Drop: 299m/101m
Distance: 6km
Hike Time: 6hrs
Km/h: 1.0
End Point: Karanga Camp
Barranco camp was huge, a point where three different trails merge – hence so many hikers and porters. There must have been 2500 people camped at Barranco! Here again Pit and I discussed our fortune at paying that extra for private toilets and showers.
Oxygen rates were up, and I can assume the Diamox had kicked in. If that is the case, I will continue with half a tablet twice a day. I felt better today than I had on any day over 4000m. I slept well apart from a mild headache which eased once I was up. Set-off time was 06h00 and Erick insisted on carrying my backpack. I wanted to carry it as I felt better and my energy levels had improved, but Ola explained that he wanted to give everyone the best chance of summitting, and that once we had negotiated the famous Barranco Wall, I could take it back.
The ‘traffic’ at the Barranco Wall was not as heavy as predicted, certainly due to our early departure from the camp.
The first two hours required a high degree of application and concentration. No walking poles were needed – just hands for balance and feet for stability. At times it was exceptionally steep, requiring a helping hand now and then to get you over huge obstacles. Placement of hands and feet was paramount to prevent a fall.
Once we reached the top, we rested on a flat piece of volcanic rock, shaped between 150,000 and 200,000 years ago through volcanic activity and landslides. With smiles on our faces, we exchanged and enjoyed snacks and chocolates.
After scaling and scrambling over the Barranco Wall, we hiked across a huge glacial valley – its moraine, evidence of a once huge glacier making its way down from Kibo.
The massif of Kibo was now on our left-hand side, a constant reminder as we trekked east, that it still needs to be conquered. The illusion created by this mountain was one of, the closer you get to it, the further way the summit seemed. And just as quickly as you walk down one ridge and up the other, clouds roll in to obscure it again. Constant drama! And once again just as we arrived at camp, a rain shower. Ola’s timing was impeccable!
The common tree groundsel, some of which are 3m high, with Kibo in the distance.
Karanga Camp is the last water-point. Ola explained that once arrived at camp, porters go down to the river to collect water! In total 500 litres, which (minus tonight’s consumption) must be carried up to Upper Barafu camp to supply the entire team with sufficient drinking and washing water. Last shower before final ascent!
Without the porters, we simply would not have been able to do what we did.Moraines are evidence of huge glaciers once having graced the slopes of Kilimanjaro – receding over the past hundred years.
Day Six – October 7th
Start: Karanga Camp
Start Altitude: 4101m
End Altitude: 4604m
Vertical Gain / Drop: 503m
Distance: 5km
Hike Time: 6hrs
Km/h: 0.8
End Point: Upper Barafu Camp (Kosovo)
This morning was a later start – 07h00, even though we were woken at 05h15, and our objective was to reach Upper Barafu Camp to give us an hour’s shorter climb the following day – Summit Day. It is also smaller, and as it turned out, a much nicer camp, for Lower Barafu was crowded, litter strewn, dirty and generally badly maintained. For what appears to be a bit of a mystery, Upper Barafu camp is also called Kosovo, but we were unable to find out why.
The ascent was very steep across volcanic scree. Ola noted that this stretch of mountain is good preparation for the summit climb. Altitude was beginning to tell, and it was slow going with many rests, although we tried to get into a steady, slow rhythm – “Pole Pole”.
We arrived at Upper Barafu camp around lunchtime. During lunch Ola gave us our summit briefing, for today is the day we make our assault on the world’s largest free-standing mountain. The idea was to get some sleep between now and dinner. Then try and get some more sleep after dinner, for we would be woken at 23h00 for a 24h00 start, the aim being to get to Stella Point by sunrise! This was going to be a huge day! The final climb is 1293m and it is steep and tricky, and you are tired. “Do not fall asleep!” Ola told us. “Keep walking!” A local saying goes: “Those who die on the mountain go straight to heaven”.
The final stretch is expected to take 7-8 hours, and we would have a maximum of one hour on the summit – if we make it! We would then hike back down again, via a slightly different route, to Millenium Camp, after a short rest in Upper Barafu. The temperatures at the summit are very low. Ola inspected our summit clothing. Layers – one thermal T-Shirt (long sleeve), thin fleece, thick fleece, puffer jacket and rain/wind jacket over the lot. Thermal tights, hiking trousers and rain trousers over these. An extra pair of socks, neck, ear and head protection – beanie and sunnies, and we were good to go. Protect your fingers too.
Ola also warned us that we’ll see people coming down the mountain, aided by others and looking very ordinary. He said “do not worry about that – you are all well prepared to summit successfully”. But he added “expect to feel different” – nausea, headache, fatigue, dizziness etc. One bit of advice was that if you are nauseous – let it all out. You’ll feel a lot better! We will stop every hour for the first 4hrs, then every 30mins after that. Expect to feel very tired!! Bring 3l of water and energy bars.
After lunch we all retired to our tents, full of anticipation and I guess some nervousness. I managed to catch a couple of hours before being called for dinner. I was feeling quite OK at the time, although everything was a bit of an effort. Even tying shoelaces or zipping up the tent was a chore.
The view of Kibo 1291m from Upper Barafu camp. This was the last time we’d see this in daylight. The next time would be at midnight.
We were given a light dinner (pizza) although most of us did not appear too hungry. Appetite is suppressed at altitude, so you had to force yourself to eat. I don’t think any of us slept much after dinner. Our minds were racing with the huge challenge that lay ahead – we just rested in the clothes we were to climb in. At 23h00 Simba did his thing once again. A nice hot cup of Tanzanian black tea and a snack in the mess tent. This was the real thing now. And we were all ready for it.
Day Seven – October 8th ‘Summit Day’
Start: Upper Barafu Camp (Kosovo)
Start Altitude: 4604m
End Altitude: 5895m
Vertical Gain / Drop: 1293m/2134m
Distance: 8km
Hike Time: 9.5hrs
Km/h: 0.8
End Point: Kibo (Summit) via Stella Point and back to Millenium Camp
When I stuck my head out of the tent at 23h00, I could not believe my eyes. In the time after dinner, 5cm of snow had fallen, the sky had cleared to a dark inky blue, and we had a full moon!! The sight was quite surreal. It was bright beyond belief. No problem to snap pictures with an iPhone! And we wouldn’t need our headlamps either. Climbing up to Kibo in this would however be more of a challenge now, with the ground being partially obscured by snow and the rocks slippery. But such was the scene before me, I almost felt I was separated from the planet.
At 24h00 we set off – “Pole Pole” with Ola maintaining a slow but deliberately steady rhythm, making it easy for us to follow. The conditions were perfect, starry sky, full moon, not a breath of wind, and dramatic scenery everywhere. I could have stopped every few minutes for photographs, but I realised it was important to maintain a steady pace for the team.
Most of us had a summit porter to carry our day packs. This was a huge benefit as energy was at a premium. My porter, Erick, was always encouraging and supportive – he wanted to achieve this together. It was good to have him there. Some of the others too had great support from theirs.
Our first target was Stella Point – the place where many say, “they’ve had enough”. The trail zigzagged for hours – up, up and up towards the “top of the mountain’. After about 3hrs the wind started to pick up and the higher we got, the stronger it became. It started to blow the freshly laid snow into our faces, the ice particles stinging our skin. Face protection and sunnies helped a lot but this was not our only challenge. Fatigue was the thing to worry about. Some of us were almost falling asleep as we climbed. You could see Kibo way above you – slowly getting nearer but your exhaustion was beginning to play games with your mind.
Our base camp was at 4600m and by now we were at over 5000m and still we kept going up! Oxygen became noticeably less. Our lungs were working overtime and rest stops became more frequent. “Pole Pole” – was the only way. Step by step – which after a while was more like a shuffle. This was the only way to move forward – keeping your eyes down, making sure that where you placed your feet would enable you to make a secure step. A misstep could cause you to lose balance and because of the extreme fatigue, you might not be able to arrest a fall.
The rest stops gave me a chance to take photographs of this amazing place. Holding the camera and freeing your fingers became a chore and I was also concerned that the battery would seize. But no such issue thankfully.
By now our group had splintered as we all had our own pace. This was fine and expected too. Our personal summit porters stayed with us. At around two thirds distance, Pit was beginning to struggle. Any little thing that didn’t work right seemed to be exaggerated and the fight to carry on became harder. He wanted to go back while he still could. I stopped and chatted to him – saying something along the lines of “you’ve come too far to go back now”. I also asked his porter Aruna to have a word with him. This, and the sun appearing over the horizon, seemed to work as Pit managed to get a mental and physical recharge and continued upwards. It is so easy to want to just go back. You are feeling so physically and mentally exhausted that you wonder if you have anything left. Afterwards I did say to Pit, that, as a German, he’d not want to be beaten to the top by an Englishman – to which he replied with a grin “of course not”.
The last hour to Stella Point was very hard indeed. The scenery distracted you a bit. Now you were stopping every 10 minutes for breath, such was the energy sapping rarified air. Looking out over the crater rim and the glaciers and icefields was out of this world. By now the sun was over the horizon and the orange sky had turned the snow an opaque yellow. Mt Mawenzi displayed its jagged peaks below us, sitting proudly well above the clouds. There were not enough superlatives to describe the scene which seemed to get better with every step.
By now your legs were not obeying your brain. You carried on telling yourself to keep going, one small step at a time. Stella Point was a short climb before us – a milestone at least. Time for a break. By now I was wasted / totally exhausted. We reached the ranger’s hut at Stella Point where many people had stopped – they’d had enough. High up beyond it lay the last 45 minutes climb to “the top of the mountain” – Kibo, Uhuru Peak – just one more big effort, one more push! We kept going, almost robot-like, head down, deep breaths, talking to ourselves. The last bit of strength in our legs and oxygen in our lungs, eventually got us to the top. I had no idea where the others were – I only had myself to think about but the elation and relief and sense of achievement getting to the top – Uhuru Peak 5895m (above sea level), was huge!
I found Pit who had summited just in front of me. I was in tears, partly out of sheer relief that I had made it, despite doubts at times, but also that I was able to send a personal message of wishes and hope from the roof of Africa to my dear friend Gary back in Melbourne, who is going through far greater challenges than this.
Before I left Melbourne, I painted a ‘get well soon’ banner for my friend and told Ola that I had this in my backpack and I must get this to the summit – and he should remind me, should I be too exhausted to think about it. He did remind me, and the photo tells the story.
We hung around the peak for about half an hour, taking in the scene, having the obligatory photos taken at the famous signpost, before being told to start our descent.
After climbing for eight hours, we now had to negotiate four or so hours of steep downhill, firstly to Upper Barafu Camp, for a rest, and then down to Millenium Camp, for our overnight stop. It is now early morning, and we’d been awake since 23h00 and still had a whole day’s downhill to do.
On our descent – the magnificent Mt Mawenzi slowly being swallowed up by cloud
The initial stage was as expected – thick scree (broken down volcanic rock) covered the trail and you literally slid down on your heals, keeping your feet pointing slightly apart, your knees cushioning your weight, walking poles keeping you upright. It took a bit of getting used to. It was almost as if you could snowboard down, such was the soft texture of the scree. But our legs were weak, and we were still tired, and it was very difficult going. I think the overwhelming sense of achievement felt earlier, helped us overcome this challenge and we made Upper Barafu Camp in fairly good time to a well-deserved break and a hearty welcome from the camp crew, who stayed at base camp.
We also had a chance to congratulate each other and hear everyone’s stories. Joana was not feeling great. She said it was touch and go ‘up there’ as her legs and brain were not coordinating at all – she was wobbly. But she made it – and she was probably the fittest of us all. The common thing between us was utter fatigue and the risk of falling asleep while resting, but we all made the summit and that was incredibly satisfying.
After a couple of hours rest, we carried on to Millenium camp where we’d have our first proper rest since yesterday afternoon. The downhill continued, over rocks and slippery logs forming steps. Our knees were now taking a hammering, and you had to walk carefully. Porters screamed past us as they hurried to set up camp before we got there. We had such respect for the porters, for without them, we could not have done what we just did. They carry loads most of us would never even try, on their backs, shoulders and even balancing awkwardly shaped packages on their heads!
After about 4 hours we made Millenium Camp and a well-deserved rest. As we arrived some of the porters were singing and our excellent soup cook, Vincent and the camp attendant Simba, welcomed us to the camp with handshakes and hugs. It had been a huge day – nearly 1300m climb in snow and at night followed by a descent of nearly 2000m, over 10 hours of hard hiking at a rate of about 800m per hour! The great thing about it though, we all kept our sense of humour. And we were very grateful for our summit porters and guides who were there all the way.
And to put everything into real perspective, on the way down, Pit saw a man holding hands with a guide while walking. Pit spoke to him. He was one of ten, all of them blind, all of them guided up to the summit and guided down again. Very humbling, and we discovered they had achieved a new world record.
And we saw hikers carted down on those strange stretchers on wheels, collected by helicopters to be transported to the nearest hospital. Again, we have to say, thanks for all the care and due diligence from Ola and the team, as this did not happen to any of us.
Pit asked many who looked about the same age as the two of us, where they came from, congratulating them etc and asked their age. It seemed Pit and I were the oldest on Kibo on that very day!
Day Eight – October 9th
Start: Millenium Camp
Start Altitude: 3762m
End Altitude: 1799m
Vertical Gain / Drop: 0m/1963m
Distance: 13.5km
Hike Time: 8hrs
Km/h: 1.7
End Point: Mweka Gate
Our final wakeup call at 04h45 and another early morning departure for what is our last day in the Kilimanjaro National Park. The aim was to reach the Mweka Gate early afternoon for all the end of climb formalities, presentation of certificates, tips for the guides, crew and porters and a bit of a celebration too, prior to another 3-hour drive back to our lodge for one last night.
We were moving back into the rainforest, and the temperature was cool and damp. The bush was thick and lush, the steps and rocks slippery and quite treacherous at times. But we made steady progress. I stopped for photographs often, especially for some of the exquisite wildflowers growing amongst the greenery. Bird sounds were constant, but they were so hard to see, let alone identify them. The group was well ahead of me, but I didn’t mind, as all this was, believe it or not, coming to an end.
After group photos were taken and certificates were passed around, we all gathered for a meal and a glass of champagne.
Pit made a lovely gesture by addressing the group of the 40+ before us. He made special mention of the porters, without whom, the expedition the six of us had just accomplished, could never have happened. He thanked them all along with the cook, Vincent, who made the most delicious soups every night, the camp attendants for the cheerful serving of meals, early morning cups of hot tea and the manual pumping of the showers. And finally, he made special mention of the guides, whose expertise, care and advice were critical in all of us successfully reaching the ‘top of the mountain’.
All the porters and other staff had been told of their tips – which is such an important part of their income – and they all gathered round and started singing and dancing – they were obviously happy with what they received, and they deserved every cent.
My sincere thanks, and acknowledgement to Pit Suessmann for convincing me to do this, his contribution to this blog, and for the camaraderie and friendship along the journey. This was really a ‘joint’ effort (excuse the pun) and, I should say that we were extremely lucky to have four other delightful people on our climb, Joana, Alvaro, Maewan and Nick, with whom we got along exceptionally well. We encouraged each other, talked about our challenges, had plenty of laughs along the way – because, after all, we were all in this amazing place for a shared reason.
On our three-hour ride back to the lodge, a beautiful rainbow appeared across the cattle fields and coffee plantations of the foothills of Mt Kilimanjaro – somehow a fitting sign-off to a magical time that has come to an end.
Pit and I spent one last night at Ngaro Sera Lodge, enjoyed a dinner and drinks with our newfound friends, and the next morning transferred to Kilimanjaro airport for our flight back to Johannesburg. We parted company with thanks and a good embrace – without too many words, for they were not needed.
And if I keep talking about what we just did, then so be it. We had all achieved something special, something very personal, for when up there and your inner voice is telling you to stop and go back, you press on, because this is what you came here for.
Simon White & Pit Suessmann October 2025
Footnote
For those reading this blog, and I hope you felt some inspiration from it, a gentle word of warning: Kilimanjaro is a truly wonderful place, however, if you decide to embark on an adventure like this, be extremely diligent and thorough in your research on the various operators on the mountain. Our experience told us that, to go with Summits Africa – the operation ‘on the ground’ in Tanzania who provided our end-to-end service, you must book through a “partner” of Summit Africa. You may not book directly with them. EPIC, our company of choice is one of over 160 listed who use Summit Africa to provide their package that they sell to you, the climber. They are required to communicate all customer requirements and important information to Summits Africa, via a ‘run sheet’ which you must check for completeness! Our travel companions used different companies – but had the same package with Summits Africa that Pit and I had – with considerably different prices.
We believe EPIC was a good choice. Summit Africa also had an excellent employment policy that both Pit and I identified with, and found it important, especially with regard to the porters. But be cautious that you don’t fall into the hands of ‘cowboys’, who may disappoint you, the climber, and exploit their staff.
Pit and I have also written letters to the relevant government agencies in Tanzania with our concerns regarding the state of the trails, facilities and sheer numbers of people on the mountain. In our opinion, mass tourism is threatening the viability of the Kilimanjaro National Park and potentially hundreds of jobs, and we believe this urgently needs addressing.
We hope our concerns and recommendations will not fall on deaf ears.
After a wonderful week in Cape Town in November 2022, Nicky and I spent a week at a lodge in a private game reserve three hours drive north of Johannesburg – Elephants Crossing.
We first heard about this place from a photographer acquaintance of ours, who did a publicity shoot some time ago, and thoroughly recommended it. We intended to visit the well known Kruger National Park, a day’s drive from Johannesburg, which had always been our ‘go to place’. The KNP usually provided great game viewing, very basic but clean bush camps, a vast and varied wilderness and good value for money. We had not given a lot of thought to a private game reserve, I suppose mainly due to the cost, as some charge exorbitant fees . But over the years, we have found the Kruger Park has become less value for money and for foreigners, quite expensive. The state-owned SA Parks, which runs many reserves in South Africa, seems to think it’s a good idea to slug non-SA residents with a huge daily park fee – for no additional value. Once we did the maths of staying in the KNP, plus car rental (or flights), the relatively long and difficult drive to the park – many locals advised against driving due to informal settlements bordering the park that have mushroomed over the years – we decided give KNP a miss this time.
Elephants Crossing provided a viable alternative, with a whole lot of luxury and personal service thrown in. After an uneventful drive north from the peculiarly named O.R.Tambo airport, we arrived at the West Gate about midday and were met by a ranger with the biggest smile. We got to know Pearl quite well over the next week. She drove us the forty minutes to our lodge in a secluded part of the 36,000 hectare Welgevonden Game Reserve https://www.welgevonden.org/. Part of the Waterberg UNESCO biosphere reserve, the lodge is perfectly situated on a high rocky outcrop offering guests magnificent views over the vast bushland below.
All the staff were out the front to welcome us with a drink and hot towels before showing us to our accommodation – a huge ‘tent’, part canvas and part brick, an outdoor private shower with the sky as your roof, a stylish bathroom, a huge bed and all the other comforts of home. I think this is what they call ‘glamping’. Outside the tent, we had our own personal splash pool and a veranda to sit and watch the world go by in total seclusion.
At 4pm we were taken on a game drive in an open top four wheel drive, by our own personal ranger – Pearl again. This, and early morning, is the best time to see game, for it is cooler, the shadows are lengthening and the light is absolutely perfect for photography. After an hour or so Pearl found a nice open plain where we stopped and climbed out from the vehicles for G&Ts and nibblies – as you do. Being out in the open where the only sounds are the snorting of zebra, the laughing of a hyena or the grunt of the Gnu or Wildebeest, is such an uplift for the soul. You are totally surrounded by nature in its true sense and the world and all its troubles become totally irrelevant.
Back at the Lodge at around 7pm just after sunset, we were treated to drinks and a wonderful dinner prepared by our own personal chef, Eddie. As there are only 10 or so people in the lodge at any time, you may either sit at your own table or, as with us, joined a family from Germany and a local couple. There is no formal menu. The chef comes to your table and describes in mouth watering detail what he has prepared for you that evening. And it doesn’t disappoint either. After dinner there is a wood fire on the deck for you to gaze into while sipping a nice local red, as the brilliant African night sky appears before you.
After a full day, we retired early to our luxury tent under the starry sky – unblemished by the lights of civilisation – for the next morning we had to be up and ready to go at 05h00 on our next game drive, just as the sun begins to creep above the horizon. After coffee and rusks, biltong and dried wors (spicy sausage) accompanied us on our three hour drive into the bush, before returning to the lodge for a sumptuous breakfast of whatever you like.
The following week was spent in very much the same way with different parts of the game reserve being explored every day. If you dont want to get up early – no problem, you don’t have to. During the heat of the day, you relax at the lodge, have a delicious lunch, an afternoon nap, or pretty much do as you please until the evening drive. Often game comes right up to your tent and you need to be careful not to leave any food around as the cheeky Vervet monkeys are very forward and can be quite aggressive. But you are completely safe.
Elephants Crossing Lodge, within the Welgevonden Game reserve, is situated in the vast expanse of the Waterberg Mountains, a varying landscape, from steep rocky hillsides, deep ravines, waterfalls, lakes, to open plains and thick bushland. It gives sanctuary to a huge diversity of wildlife, birds and flora. At this time of year, the game has recently given birth to its young and these new-borns are everywhere, constantly shielded from danger by their mothers.
Each day was as good, if not better than the last, and we really felt, they were doing this just for us. Elephants Crossing is not a resort and it is definitely not a zoo – it is a refuge, although you receive a high level of luxury and service, it is an unpretentious place where you can totally relax, unwind and immerse yourself in the unique atmosphere and character of the African bush.
As usual I had my cameras and some useful lenses with me on all game drives, and for opportunities that arose back at the lodge. Here is our wonderful week in pictures:
A Blue Headed Agama – on the tree above our tent
I have always had a soft spot for zebras for whatever reason. Half donkey, half mule, a bit of horse – they also have a particular character due to their spectacular markings, which, we were told are like fingerprints. They are also up there with the Wildebeest when it comes to the preferred cuisine of the big cats.
Here is my selection of zebra images.
On one of our G&T stops, this zebra appeared oblivious to the fact that humans were in its territory. As it carried on grazing, I slowly got down on my knees, lowered the camera to the ground and let it walk right right up to me. I could have stroked its nose.
Tourists who are not familiar with the African bush, tend to seek out “the big five” – Lion, African Buffalo, Rhino, Elephant and Leopard. Without doubt, they captivate the imagination of the thrill seeker, however, once you spend some time in a place like this, you soon realise how much more there is to such an ecosystem. A knowledgeable ranger can be a mine of information and you will be amazed how this all fits together in one huge circle of life. Ask questions and they will astound you.
Here is a selection of some of the lesser known species which all play their role in this habitat, a noticeable absence being the Leopard – an animal that seems to avoid me at every opportunity.
African Monitor Lizard
The undoubted ‘king of beasts’ is the Lion. We had three different sightings – on one occasion a pride had very recently killed a Wildebeest and had gorged themselves to such an extent they could hardly move. On the second sighting, we probably missed ‘the kill’ by an hour. This time a larger pride took two Wildebeests. With the advantage of the open top vehicle we managed, with stealth, to get quite close to the lions once they had finished their meal, but were far enough away not to disturb them. We spent probably an hour at this spot just watching these wonderful big cats lounge around after their meal.
Not all were happy with our presence
The Hunter
Perhaps the one animal that captures the imagination of the public, unfortunately for all the wrong reasons, is the rhino. This almost prehistoric creature, hunted for supposed aphrodisiacal properties of its horn, is the most gentle of beasts. Poor eyesight is compensated by an extraordinary sense of smell and its huge size. The reserve management prides itself on its sophisticated and effective poaching tracking and deterrent and as it is a privately owned concern, is able to direct funds into this essential activity. Sadly, many state run parks in South Africa suffer from underlying corruption endemic in the country, where rhino poaching is rife and honest authorities struggle to overcome this cruel and constantly growing trade.
A matter of scale – a White Rhino in the company of a Glossy StarlingRhino calves face off
There had been an unusual amount of rain during spring in the Waterberg which made the bush extremely thick, making it more difficult to spot game. Water was seeping from every crack and crevice in the mountain sides and flowing onto the tracks. The rivers and streams were all swollen and we had to drive carefully over many of the low bridges. The varying topography of the landscape offers many beautiful views across the Waterberg and it is rare that you go many days without a typical Highveld thunderstorm which often gives a dramatic light and sound show. Many of the tracks around the game reserve are difficult, even for a 4WD. We were taken to all corners and were very privileged to see all aspects of this wonderful habitat.
Highveld storm brewing
Egyptian Goose
The world’s largest land mammal is the African elephant which can weigh up to six tons. They typically consume 150kg of food daily and drink 200 litres of water. The trunk alone can hold ten litres. We had several sightings of these graceful giants of the bush, including in places you don’t normally see them, foraging on steep slopes – we were told they had a taste for a certain berry.
Graceful Giant
Spraying mud on their backs helps to cool the skin during the hotter monthsWe were so busy watching the herd above, we didn’t notice this guy come up behind our vehicle. As we moved off very slowly it wandered off back to join the others.
And so our week at Elephant’s Crossing in the Welgevonden Game reserve has come to an end. It was a truly memorable experience. This lodge offers a nice balance of not-over-the-top luxury – with a genuine, rustic bush experience, having everything done for you – while never being bored, being served delicious meals by friendly staff, and at the same time allowing every privacy you need to just relax and enjoy what the African bush has to offer.
After a week in the suburbs of Johannesburg, still smarting from a huge wake-up call on the dire situation South Africa finds itself economically, politically and socially – it was on to the next stop of our 5 week trip. Airlink, one of the few local airlines still operating, brought us to the Mother City – Cape Town in a neat, new Embraer 190.
Nestled in the vast shadow of Table Mountain, this is without doubt one of the most beautiful city settings anywhere and one can quite understand why Sir Francis Drake called this southerly tip of Africa, “the Fairest Cape”. It is quite spectacular.
This was the place where European settlement started, firstly by the Dutch in the late 1600s when setting up resupply stations for the Dutch East India Company, and the British soon after. Wherever you look when travelling around this area, you see natural beauty. The mountains majestically dominate the pockets of settlements along the peninsular and the city. There are wineries and stunning estates dotted amongst the valleys and slopes, with magnificent stately homes along with towns, all with a seafaring history, nestled along this treacherous coastline.
It is impossible to avoid making comparisons to our experiences around Johannesburg. Most noticeable is the relative cleanliness of the place. Granted, we didn’t see everything but roads seem to be well maintained, the streets tidy and there is a general feeling of order and management – and when we were there, they still had electricity all day!
The contrast to Johannesburg is massive. You think you are in a different country. From what we could gather, the main reason for this is that the Western Cape, the province in which Cape Town is the main city, is governed by the Democratic Alliance (DA), the opposition party to the ruling socialist ANC, in power since the end of Apartheid. The DA, it appears, is not as consumed by the greed and corruption endemic in the ANC, allowing a modicum of law and order and more appropriate government. It is a matter of opinion whether this will continue but the thought of an ANC government taking power in the Western Cape is frightening.
Cape Town nevertheless, has its fair share of problems and serious social issues. The fact that much of the rest of South Africa has huge unemployment, significant crime and basic services are not being adequately provided, hundreds and thousands are ‘migrating’ to the Western Cape in search of work, putting huge pressure on the already-stretched councils. This ‘semigration’ as the locals call it, is causing the development of huge informal settlements or shanty towns found in almost all towns around Cape Town. The largest stretches all the way from the main airport to the city, some 15km! The blurred landscape of tin shacks, portable toilets, wires and satellite dishes secured to the roofs, seems to go on forever, hugging the main freeway, some spilling over as space becomes a premium. This is the first thing tourists see when they leave the airport.
With this comes extreme poverty and crime. While walking around one needs to have your wits about you as approaches from people either wanting money or food, or with other criminal intent are quite frequent. We had a few experiences during our short stay here but thankfully no serious encounters. The plentiful police and security presence, especially in tourist areas, is certainly welcome but we wondered what it might be like amongst the masses of tiny dwellings, which one must not forget, are peoples’ homes.
We stayed in Camps Bay, on the very smart advice of our travelling companions Dave and Joy – both accomplished travellers and photographers, who spent many years visiting this area taking part in the famous Two Oceans road race and the Argus Cycle race. Camps Bay is one of those elegant and well-to-do small towns on the slopes of the Twelve Apostles on the Atlantic side of the Cape Peninsular. It is in a sublime setting with accommodation, cafes and restaurants aplenty, beautiful beaches and glorious sunsets nearly every day. But only the brave or crazy – or those in a thick wetsuit – swim in the freezing water, influenced by the Antarctic, far to the south.
Camps Bay is situated on the western side of the Cape Peninsular about 20 minutes drive from the city of Cape Town. Using it as a base, we toured the area for a week and managed to get our fair fill of what this special part of the world has to offer – in beautiful weather too.
Camps Bay with the Twelve Apostles in the background
Not far from our base, we had a day out at the famous Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens – a UNESCO site on the slopes of Table Mountain. While the flowers were past their magnificent best, it is still a wonderful place to stroll through and explore one of the most important flora ecosystems in the world.
The botanical gardens at Kirstenbosch – Cape Town
From Camps Bay we took the spectacular Chapman’s Peak Drive, stopping off at Hout Bay, then on to Kommetjie and then across the peninsular skirting Simon’s Town (no joke) and back along the False Bay coastline to Kalk Bay.
Hout Bay from Chapman’s Peak Drive
Kalk Bay – the well-known Brass Bell overlooking False Bay was the place of a reunion with friends from Australia, UK and South Africa after some 40 years. The beers and wine flowed, stories were told and some good fish dishes consumed.
Dave, Joy, John, Simon, Graham and Nicky at the Brass Bell, Kalk Bay. The naval base at Simon’s TownA pit stop for a coffee at KommetjieChapman’s Peak Drive with Kommetjie in the distance
Groot Constantia – It would be remiss of me to not provide a short history lesson about this place as its impact on the South African wine industry and the expansion of wine farms into the Cape region, cannot be understated.
Groot Constantia is the oldest wine estate in South Africa. History tells us that in 1685 Simon van der Stel, governor of the Cape of Good Hope received land from his employer, the Dutch East India Company. With a solid background of wine and brandy making at his home at Muiderbergh in the Netherlands, he established Groot Constantia on 763ha of prime land behind Table Mountain. Over the years the wines produced here gained notoriety across the world for their excellent quality. The development of this small parcel of land formed the origins of the South African commercial wine industry.
The buildings on the estate are designed in the late Dutch Renaissance style which can be seen on many of the estates scattered over the Cape Town, Stellenbosch and Franschhoek regions.
The magnificent Groot Constantia manor houseLunch under the oaksView across the vines towards False Bay
Continuing on the topic of wine, we paid a visit to Muratie – one of the most authentic estates we have ever been to, situated about an hour from Camps Bay near the attractive town of Stellenbosch.
In our travels, we find so many wine estates are just commercial enterprises aimed at pushing through as many people for wine tasting and meals as possible, while forgetting the essential reasons for the visit – the history and atmosphere around the art of viticulture. Muratie was such a pleasant surprise. It was relaxed and had an authentic ambiance which allowed you to take a gentle stroll through the estate and its small art galleries and gardens, picking up all the history as you go.
The wine tasting rooms are secluded, private and intimate where you receive personal attention from the staff. Dining is in a shady garden setting, and we had their top Sauvignon Blanc with a sharing plate of cheeses, meats and delicacies.
Table Mountain in the distanceOne of the numerous little galleries One of the intimate tasting rooms
Stellenbosch, Franschhoek and Somerset West are about an hour’s drive east of Cape Town and the region around these small towns is just wall-to-wall scenery – majestic mountains, vineyards and beautiful wine estates.
But it’s not only wine that this region is famous for. Anton Rupert, one of South Africa’s most influential businessmen, philanthropists and conservationists, founded a motor car museum outside Franschhoek . It is a superb collection of around 220 cars and motorcycles of which over 80 are on display in four custom-made, climate-controlled buildings. You don’t have to be a car enthusiast to truly appreciate these fine examples of classic motoring history.
Visitors are required to book an appointment which allows an unimpeded and quiet stroll through the beautifully staged displays.
One of the four climate-controlled buildings housing the Franschhoek Motor Museum’s collection of classic carsA huge surprise was to see the immaculate Jody Scheckter’s 1974 British Grand Prix winning Tyrrell Ford 007
The 1974 Autosport publication I kept all these years, showing the very same car, as an eighteen year-old, I watched win the British Grand Prix at Brands Hatch.
This pristine Renault Gordini rally car was one of the stars.
Cape Town and its Mountain
This part of the world lends itself to some extraordinary photography. Magnificent scenery is everywhere and some of the most photographed spots still offer up alternative views, lighting and creative options.
Perhaps the most photographed view of all is that of Table Mountain taken from Bloubergstrand, across Table Bay, where its unique shape is perfectly silhouetted against the sky and the city is seen sleeping under its shadow. We took a drive out there to see if we could make the best of what promised to be a good sunset.
The cableway to the top of Table Mountain starts near Lions Head, another wonderful viewing spot. After a short trip in the large gondola, you reach the peak where 360 degree views are on show. From the top, on a clear day, one can almost see to the end of the peninsular at Cape Point. The views of the city and surrounding landscape are sublime.
From Table Mountain looking south towards Cape PointCamps Bay from Lions HeadThe trail up to Lions Head Late walk down from Lions Head with the city below usRed Winged Starlings Wild flowers atop the mountainThe road to Cape PointOn our walk down from Lions Head at dusk, we came across this Spotted Eagle Owl only 10m from the trail. The camera’s sensor managed to obtain plenty of detail despite the lack of light.
Back in Cape Town we visited the colourful area of Bokaap, just on the edge of the city centre.
This vibrant neighbourhood is considered the historical centre of Cape Malay culture. Bo-Kaap is known for its distinctive pastel coloured houses and cobbled streets, once reserved during the Apartheid years only for Cape Muslims. The area is traditionally a multicultural neighbourhood and is the oldest surviving residential neighbourhood in Cape Town.
There were a few busloads of tourist in the area and not all the locals appeared too pleased with their presence.
The last few days of our Cape Town experience were spent around Franschhoek, Somerset West and Stellenbosh. It was here that we visited Vergelegen Wine Estate, home to a remarkable garden with centuries-old Camphor trees, and more exceptional Cape Dutch architecture, all in a grand setting below the Hottentots Holland Mountains.
The Homestead at VegelegenThe Rose Garden300 year old Camphor treesThe Hottentots Holland Mountains
Our ten days in Cape Town have come to an end, having probably only touched the surface of what this region has to offer. We are already trying to convince friends back home to do a trip back in 2024-25.
Cape Town, with its surrounding landscape, is truly a remarkable part of the world with everything for the visitor – good food and wine, extraordinary scenery and above all, it is fairly safe as long as you have your wits about you.
Our wish and hope is that Capetonians, Cape Town and the powers that be, do not succumb to the criminally irresponsible fate that has befallen much of the rest of South Africa over the past 25 years, for it is truly one of the few remaining gems left in this country.
Have you ever wondered why you tend to appreciate a place so much more only once you’ve left it?
This question has crossed my mind a number of times and while I have no answer, I have attempted here to rationalise it in words and pictures, and tell a story at the same time.
After a couple of very tough years, Nicky and I decided to take a year off in 2019 and travel. During that year, we spent quite a lot of time around Eynsford, where I spent much of my childhood.
Eynsford on the River Darent with its medieval bridge and the 12th century Norman church of St Martin of Tours
If my father in 1953 had not felt the need to further his career in journalism in Fleet Street, London, the centre of the world for that profession at the time, I’d probably never have found Eynsford.
Is it not the case that you tend to appreciate things more and are more critical as an adult than in one’s formative years? And in the case of a place, is it only after you have moved away? When it came to Eynsford we did, twice! Both times regrettably on my part, although those regrets have not stayed with me, only the occasional thought of what might have been.
Eynsford, situated in the south eastern corner of England, is not just a pretty face. While it is without doubt one of the prettiest villages in Kent in one of Kent’s prettiest valleys, it has also carved its place in history and punches well above its weight on the scale of significance. Given its population has only grown from 800 in the 1800s to around 2000 in 2019, it has made some valuable and no doubt to some, surprising contributions to the history books:
Even before the Kingdom of England was founded, the Romans built a villa at Lullingstone, just outside the village, the remains of which is one of the finest examples in the country.
William De Eynsford is believed to have been ex-communicated by Thomas Becket in 1163 which was cancelled by Henry II and lead to Becket’s murder in 1170.
Percy Pilcher successfully flew lightweight gliders in the 1890s near Eynsford.
John Wesley who founded the Methodist movement, lived in Eynsford.
In 1875 Sir William Hart Dyke and two friends drafted the modern rules for lawn tennis.
The silk for the gown Queen Elizabeth II wore at her wedding came from the silk farm at Lullingstone.
And most significantly, in the movie Love Actually, the Eynsford vicar at the time played the part of the vicar who married Juliet & Peter.
My earliest recollection, I think, is my first day at primary school just before I turned five, or is it the photograph taken some time later by my proud parents in that very fetching navy and white uniform that has embedded that memory in my 64 year old mind?
We were schooled in an elegant Victorian building with a quadrangle where British Bulldog was the game of choice and kids fell and grazed themselves and cried and then got up and life continued. We used to walk, yes walk, holding hands in orderly fashion every day, to the Victorian canteen for lunch at the other end of the village, the site of the original school back in 1835. Here we were forced to eat semolina and brussel sprouts but thankfully not at the same time.
Isn’t it strange, I can never remember it raining while I was at primary school! After all everyone thinks it rains every day in England, yet we walked or cycled everywhere!
The Victorian canteen on the right was originally a school back in 1835 and the only thing left of Eynsford County Primary School.
And what about the report cards we got at the end of the year!? The comments by the teachers were so well written, you knew exactly what they meant, or rather your parents did! Mine seemed to have had a common thread………. I seemed to always try hard but “was a bit slow”. No wonder I tried to keep the reports from my parents for as long as possible. But a friend’s report card takes first prize in originality and to the point………… “He sets himself a low standard which he struggles to achieve”.
In 1973 the school closed and combined with nearby Farningham and located to a new complex halfway between the two villages, now known as the Anthony Roper County Primary School. The grand old building was demolished as I am told it could not be used for anything. On the site now is a retirement complex and all that remains of the old structure is a large brick sign “Boys. Girls & Infants” part of the original entrance.
Our house 3rd from left – SummerOur house far left – Autumn
We lived in the tallest and thinnest house in the street up against the wheat fields at 54 St Martin’s Drive. It had very strangely shaped chimneys which have since been removed. I never understood how Santa Claus managed to get down them but we always had presents so he must have. We had our first pet, a cat called Koshka, which is Russian for cat, a consequence of my father’s numerous forays into the Soviet Union in the early sixties.
Mum seemed to be forever baking cakes, sublime jam roly polys and spotted dicks with real custard. We built an endless number of Airfix aeroplane kits, many with a fair amount of Humbrol glue smearing the cockpit canopies and dubious paint jobs. The Battle of Britain was re-enacted often until every aircraft was shot down. My father usually won the dogfights as he had the advantage of height and sun. And when the Red Arrows in their diminutive Folland Gnats first displayed their soon to be legendary precision flying at Biggin Hill, we were there.
“The Little Wood” in summerIn the distance, “The Big Wood” in winter.
In summer, my two brothers Martin and Andrew, and I used to listen out for the combine harvester and race up to the top of the garden to see it make the first cut of wheat or barley right next to our fence. The wheat appears so much shorter now and lifting a bale of hay to build a fort needed two children back then. In winter when it snowed, we went tobogganing in the fields on one of my father’s contraptions made from bits of wood. We threw snowballs at Andrew mainly because he was an easy target. We spent a lot of time in those fields and the woods above our house which were known as ‘the small wood’ and ‘the big wood’. The ‘big wood’ was so far away then!
The path leading to the ‘Big Wood’ and a view looking up St Martin’s Drive in spring.
Deep inside the dark and foreboding ‘big wood’ amongst the tangling bracken was a perennial pond, probably fed by a spring. In April it is carpeted with primroses and bluebells. We didn’t see them this time, the bluebells I mean. They are only there in April – surely one of nature’s wonders.
Fields of Gold – Eynsford “half hidden in dregs of Kentish haze” on a summer’s day in the Darent Valley
This perfect existence was interrupted late in 1966, the greatest year for English football, when my father’s profession took us into deepest darkest Africa – Rhodesia. Some white prime minister had declared independence from Britain without approval and my father was sent to cover the story for Reuters. As I was only eleven I didn’t really have a say, so I left Eynsford and all my friends behind. Mum, my two brothers and I departed from Tilbury Docks on the aptly named Union Castle mail ship ‘Rhodesia Castle’ and sailed for Beira, Mozambique where my Dad met us four weeks later for our drive to Salisbury, Rhodesia. Our departure from Eynsford for Africa was even in the local newspaper. It was a big thing in those days. Little did I know I’d be away a while but would come back.
The office in Salisbury (now Harare) Rhodesia was soon changed to Johannesburg and we all went there for a few years. Apart from the endless sunshine and terrific holidays it was not a totally happy time. I didn’t like the schooling system there and as a rather shy English boy, you were a bit of a target for the teachers. But I did make some friends and I am still in touch with some.
After Africa we came back to Eynsford and into the same house, which was quickly converted to double glazing and a new central heating system. I reconnected with a few of my old friends, especially those who still lived in the village and went to the same high school – one of the new Comprehensive schools for those who didn’t get to go to a Public or Grammar school. Some people used to tell me that if you went to a Comprehensive school “you were a bit thick”.
So in early 1972 off I went to Swanley Comprehensive to start my ‘O’ Levels and with a bit of luck a few ‘A’ levels too. The school’s ‘houses’ were named after famous Englishmen and I was placed in ‘Harvey’, after the physician who first recognised the full circulation of blood in the human body. To my immediate shock and horror, I noticed no uniforms were worn and many of the boys’ hair was the same length as the girls! Of course, they all supported a football team. Lucky for me I was an Arsenal fan and they were winning in the early seventies. And there was a ‘common room’ for the sixth formers where you could smoke! I could not believe my eyes and I think the surprise showed as I felt very uncomfortable. Luckily for me one chap, Martin Halford, approached me and offered to show me around. I will be forever grateful to Martin as he was the one who helped break the ice. I am still in touch with Martin who now lives near Milton Keynes.
The teachers and teaching methods were so different to those of the autocratic “short back and sides and no skirts above the knee” South African types. Remember though – this was 1972! Firstly, you were treated like a young adult and if you wanted to learn you were well supported. If you didn’t then they sort of left you alone. This was so very different. Whether it was right or not is open to debate but I know what I preferred and I was certainly no superstar with the books but did OK.
We even had political debates! On one occasion my friend Jonathan and I joined forces to put the case for Ted Heath’s Conservative manifesto in the upcoming General Election – a tough ask for anyone. We were totally annihilated by Labour in the debate. But this didn’t bother us. It was quite refreshing to be able to do such a thing and we still talk about it today. I did however make some good friends and found there were a lot of very bright students in my year.
The last few years of my schooling were some of the happiest of my life because I did so much important stuff;
What a fine bunch!
Under the nickname ‘Chalky’, I bought my first LP, Albert Hammond’s ‘The Free Electric Band’ which still today I can recite every word of the album. I had my first slow dance to Elton John’s ‘Yellow Brick Road’ at a party with a girl called Barbara. Then, somehow soon afterwards I ‘got’ my first girlfriend, Kate, who lived in the same street and who didn’t even like me in primary school. I got my first jobs picking blackcurrants and raspberries on a local farm and then smelly work at a paper mill in Dartford.
I bought my music freedom with a state of the art Grundig cassette player with my earnings. I had some talent for art at school so got to sketch a real live naked female model! My first round of golf was played at Lullingstone GC where I lost more balls than I can remember. I was our school’s First XV rugby team flyhalf and thought I was pretty good – but as they say “the older you get the better you were!”
I joined the Air Training Corps, rose to the lofty rank of sergeant and in 1973 went solo in a glider, an open cockpit, wood and canvas Kirby Cadet MkIII on the hallowed grass airfield at RAF Kenley. Since then my passion for aviation and the RAF has never waned. We raised money for charity by walking around the Isle of Wight but I think we cheated a bit and only did half of it. The Malt Shovel further up the A225 towards the railway station was where my rite of passage, the site of my first legal pint took place. It holds special memories of bar billiards, a few late evenings and pints of lager and lime, so popular at the time when as a youngster you hadn’t quite got the taste for real beer.
Then came the biggest shock of my life. Honestly, at the time it really was. My world ended there and then! Completely beyond all my comprehension, my parents decided to return to South Africa at the end of 1974. What on earth were they thinking? Here I was, in England with my ‘O’ Levels and a couple of ‘A’s, 18 years old, in love, a good bunch of mates and nowhere to stay, no job and no immediate prospects either. In 1974 the economy in the UK was not in great shape, which may have been one of the reasons for them wanting to leave.
But in one of my Dad’s poems he wrote many years later, it was for other reasons…..
“This will be the last time I suppose,” she said.
Step by step they brushed through the summer rye,
mounting the leeward slope of the Downland hill.
Below, at the bottom, the well-remembered village,
Half hidden in dregs of Kentish haze.
“Perhaps,” he answered, leading her to the crest, where
the ragged hawthorn hedge ran down to the copse,
where in winter he remembered the squabbling rooks
in frosted morning sunlight.
Ahead, the loved wood. There would be ghosts there:
their children’s voices, the fox’s hole caverned in
mossy roots, the dark-shadowed pond from
immemorial winters, where sharks were feared to
lurk…..
All this exchanged for sun and ease.
How long since the bargain had been struck? Thirty
years gone? No – more!
“We can surely come again,” she said. Steps are slower
now.
“Yes, but only if we never left again.”
Anthony White 1929-2012
Some friends took the train with me and saw me off at Heathrow. I don’t even remember who was there as I was so emotional. I really did not want to go but there was really no other way.
And this was the last time I lived in Eynsford.
Eynsford Railway Station
As soon as I arrived in Johannesburg, I started doing odd jobs to save to go back to England and wrote a gazillion letters to Kate. I had no idea what I wanted to do for a living. I suppose this transient state didn’t help either. But then, as one usually does, you move on, make new friends and start forming a new life, new interests and the tyranny of distance and time makes the old urges weaken.
The following years were spent forging a career, earning money, growing up into a more mature, responsible adult in a country I always knew I’d leave one day.
On an overseas trip with my friend Graham in 1978 we went to Eynsford to show him my roots. Then I went back again in 1982, and again in 1986 but just for a look, and to check on the house to make sure the new owners were maintaining the magnificent spring rockery my Dad planted out the front. For a time they were but that unfortunately has now gone.
After my last visit I pencilled this sketch, from a postcard, of the bridge and church which still hangs in our dining room today.
This might have been a subconscious reminder of my roots and the fondness I have for this place. Maybe it was my father’s love of Kent and his passion for church spotting – like trainspotting but not like the movie – which to be honest I only really got to understand after he died.
His so eloquently penned prose and poetry obviously influenced me in some way. Walking from village to village, church to church, pub to pub was such a cultural delight for him no matter what the weather. Going through his papers and photographs, there is little doubt in my mind where his heart lay.
I was fortunate to have had a rewarding career with Siemens and as it developed allowed me to travel. I took advantage of trips to Europe to add on a long weekend here and there to see new places.
On many occasions I linked up with my father, who even in his later years took lessons in short story writing at Oxford. We toured the countryside, naturally stopping off regularly at pubs to sample the local brew – Sharps Doombar being his favourite tipple. He was not a religious man at all but there was usually a church visit. I was always impressed with his ability to clearly identify whether the church was Norman, Saxon or whether the nave may have been built in another era, or what type of windows it had – Perpendicular, Decorated or Early English. In 2006 we went to Eynsford, just for a look, for I had not been back for twenty or so years and my father even longer. We ended up chatting in the street to grown up children of people we knew back in the seventies.
Then came the one thing that reconnected people from everywhere! The marvel of Facebook! Suddenly I could make proper contact with all those whose contact I’d lost. So I embarked on a bit of a mission and went about trying to reconnect with school friends, distant family and mates from my childhood in England and the early days in Johannesburg, all who had lives and jobs which took them all over the world. This re-connection has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. It also provided a totally new connection with Eynsford.
I was surprised to find so many old friends and acquaintances still lived in and around the village. Most had retired but above all, that first meeting with some after so many years was quite extraordinary. All a lot greyer and somewhat more rounded, it was as if the years had just faded away and we picked up where we had left off, of course filling in the gaps.
On this latest trip, reminiscing was the order of the day. Jonathan, my mate from school and the Air Training Corps, contacted Kent Gliding Club with the view of reliving some gliding together. He explained that “there are these two old farts in their early sixties who flew together in the Air Cadets 45 years ago and want to relive those times”. KGC was very obliging and organised two instructors for us and for £200 a full day’s flying. After a couple of aerotows and 4 winch launches, plenty of flying together and a whole lot of ridge soaring over the North Downs of Kent, the two old farts celebrated a brilliant day with a couple of pints down the pub in Eynsford.
In October the blackberries are ripening in the hedgerows and as I did as a child, went blackberry picking in the fields above Lullingstone with Nicky, Jonathan and Lucretia. As our hands turned slowly purple, our bags and stomachs gradually filled with plump ripe berries. These were used to make on of the world’s greatest puddings – blackberry and apple crumble. We sourced the beautifully tart English Bramley apples and together with a perfect crumble, dessert was sorted.
We walked and walked the countryside around Eynsford and neighbouring villages with Kate and Rob. The UK has over 200,000 miles of ancient public footpaths and bridleways and the area around Eynsford has a good slice of this. You could probably do a decent walk in this area every week for a year without having to repeat it, so are the options available and only 30km from the centre of London. We learned a lot about walking too. It is the best way to discover a country, its people and its dogs. A country which so openly loves dogs and where dogs are such a welcome feature of most pubs, says a lot about the country and its people. When walking in the countryside there is always a story to tell and someone who will listen.
Part of the story of the village since I left is etched in the churchyard of St Martin’s – parents of friends, the old publicans and neighbours from my childhood lie in peace in this most beautiful of churchyards. It is perhaps the centrepiece of Eynsford. This elegant Norman building of flint and stone with its elegant spire sits opposite the medieval humpbacked bridge over the River Darent. Before the bridge was built, access to the village was through the ford across the river which is still used today by larger vehicles.
The church is mentioned in the Domesday Book and records indicate it was probably built around 1100 and later restored in 1135 by William de Eynsford. It was only after we had visited the extraordinary tapestry in Bayeux, France that we truly understood the impact of the Norman invasion of England in 1066, the year of the Battle of Hastings. The influence of Norman architecture spread far and wide and hundreds of churches in their distinctive style were built in the southern half of the country. They make a beautiful interlude to the grand square Saxon towers. I think we can be happy with the results if this particular invasion. I spent some quiet time in the churchyard and tried to capture the mood of the place. I hope I have done it justice.
As with most cities, towns and villages it is the river which is the draw card. In the case of Eynsford, the River Darent, a tributary of the River Thames, runs west to east through the village out towards Farningham. It was in this river as kids, we caught tiny minnows with huge nets, took them home in a jar where they died soon afterwards. We could never understand why.
The valley of the same name holds more treasures in the immediate surrounds of Eynsford, all accessible by numerous beautiful walks. Farningham to the east, Shoreham and Otford to the west, Lullingstone, the Roman Villa, the nine-arch Viaduct from 1859, Castle Farm where a Dornier 17 crash landed in 1940 during the Battle of Britain, all add something to the tranquil beauty and history of the Darent Valley.
FarninghamView towards Austin LodgeThe chalk cross near Castle FarmDarent Valley golf courseChurch at ShorehamThe manor house at LullingstoneLullingstone Castle GatehouseShoreham nestled in the Darent Valley just an hour’s walk from Eynsford
The fields around Eynsford are mostly farmed. Farming has had an indelible impact on the English landscape which, when you think about it, is essentially man made. Hedgerows which provide protection from wind for cattle and crops, host a myriad of other plants, animals, birds and insects and contribute so much to the unique charm of this green and pleasant land.
Ancient byways – the Darent Valley from the North Downs near Otford
Eynsford has not changed that much in the past 45 years. Apart from a few dwellings being squeezed into some vacant land here and there and the huge amount of renovations done to houses mainly built in the early twentieth century, it is optically much the same. As with everywhere the number of cars, many parked in the streets, is probably ten-fold. Most noticeable are the original tiny garages, for when these houses were built, cars were so much smaller than today. Another noticeable change is the faint distant hum of the London orbital M25, not there in 1975.
But it still has the charm of yesterday and the villagers are justly proud of its “Eynsford in Bloom” initiative as during spring and summer it is a blast of colour befitting any postcard.
The cricket ground, where my father played as a fast bowler I believe, in the late 50’s and early 60’s before dislocating his shoulder standing up on a toboggan in the winter of 1962, is still there as is the pavilion. Just beyond the southern boundary is the river and it looks so much shorter today. Whether it’s because I hit the ball further today is a matter my teammates would no doubt argue.
Eynsford sustains four pubs which today is impressive. My favourite is the Five Bells and untypically does not serve food. These days pubs often need a dining facility to survive but the ‘Bells’ seems to be thriving. It was pretty full most times we went there – at one time with Kate, Rob, Jonathan, Lucretia, Russell, Helen & co. It is a true English original and still a great watering hole.
The ‘Bells”
This latest visit has been a lengthy one and enabled me to rediscover the village and the area properly and in tune with the seasons. So much so did I enjoy it, it made me want to write this and let the images accompany my story. And for the benefit of my readers, it wouldn’t be England if the topic of weather didn’t arise. No, it does not rain every day in England. And with the mindset of “there is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing” you’ll be fine, although the short days and long dark nights of January and February do require some mental stamina.
A crisp, frosty early morning up in the fields above St Martin’s Drive with the rows of houses of Bower Lane
And believe it or not – the beer is not warm and the food is good and varied. The real ales and ciders are excellent, served by courteous and friendly people wherever you go and you are totally spoilt for choice. In winter the pubs welcome you with steaming mugs of mulled wine and roaring log fires. After a long walk in the bracing air there is no better ending.
For Nicky, it has been a proper introduction to this lovely part of the world and thanks to the kindness of friends recently reacquainted and bonds reinforced, we had the privilege of a home from home for quite some time. We are so very grateful for this.
We will certainly be back to reacquaint ourselves with this village nestled in “dregs of Kentish haze” .
Ireland is famous for its impressive and dramatic coastline but unfortunately this trip didn’t allow us to visit the Republic of Ireland. However, Northern Ireland, while a different country politically, is still part of the same island and its coastline is also quite sensational. Based in Antrim with our “bookend” friends Dave and Joy, we decided to explore some of the north eastern parts of the coastline of Northern Ireland, an hour or so away.
According to legend, and we have come across a few in our travels, Fionn MacCumhail from the Fenian Cycle of Gaelic mythology was challenged to a fight by the Scottish giant Benandonner. Fionn accepted and built a basalt causeway across the north channel. As legends do, the story has a few sides to it and depending on which version you believe Benandonner flees back to Scotland destroying the causeway behind him. There are similar basalt columns from the same lava flow across the sea on the Scottish Isle of Staffa, possibly influencing the story.
According to geologists, about 50 million years ago during the Paleocene Epoch, County Antrim was subjected to violent volcanic activity causing molten basalt to intrude through chalk beds to form a plateau. As the lava cooled it contracted horizontally forming pillars with cracks propagating downwards. The size of the columns was determined by the rate at which the lava cooled.
This extraordinary geological feature and UNESCO World Heritage Site is called ‘The Giants Causeway’. It consists of approximately 40,000 interlocking basalt columns, some of which are 12 metres high and the solidified lava 28 metres thick in places. The shape and precision of these formations looks almost man-made, which just adds to the wonder that nature in fact manufactured this phenomenon.
The day we chose to visit this wonderful place was dry, clear and with the wind chill, minus 7 degrees! But we were well prepared and any thought of cold and discomfort was dispelled by the sheer beauty of the place.
It was time to get out the cameras so Dave, Joy, Nicky and I spent a good few hours on the causeway and on the cliff tops around this spectacle. I hope you like this collection of images of this treasure of Northern Ireland.
Close up image taken at 24mm FF @ 1/6 sec ISO200 – 3 images bracketedThe Causeway is made up of 40,000 basalt columnsA panoramic shot of the bay. We were lucky, few people were about.The columns when wet are treacherous under footDave in actionSome columns are 12m highNorthern Ireland’s coastline is rugged and the walks around the Causeway offer superb views
On another day we stopped for Guinness at Glenarm, a small village on the east coast. The winter light was quite stunning and enabled a few nice images to be taken. It dates back to Norman times and is claimed to be the oldest village in Ulster.
The imposing Barbican Gate at the entrance to Glenarm CastleWinter light on Glenarm church and the river which meets the sea not far from this point.The Bridge End tavern where we stopped for a Guinness in front of a roaring fire.After the rain – a disused factory just outside the villageThe Mull of Kintyre in Scotland can be seen in the distance.
This is our last blog on our Year of the Gap (although there will be one more special issue blog about a village in Kent, England but this may take a bit of time).
It is now time to go home, so this just leaves us to say a huge thank you to all the wonderful people we have met on our journey through 2019 but most importantly to the friends and family who put us up, fed and entertained us all those numerous times when we needed to be with people we wanted to be with. You made this trip quite special and something we will always be grateful for and remember with a smile. And also thank you to all those who viewed our blog and all the positive comments and encouragement.
Our first visit to the island of Ireland and the bit in the north that is part of the United Kingdom was full of surprises.
Our friends, Dave and Joy, with whom we shared an amazing three weeks in Namibia at the beginning of our year away, are now the bookends of our trip. Recently emigrated to the small town of Antrim, a short drive west of the capital Belfast, made them perfect targets for a visit. After all, what better way to discover your new home than with friends. Plus Simon needed some more tuition on some photographic techniques from the masters.
Belfast for Simon was a bit of an enigma and a place where an awful lot of bad things happened in the past. Growing up in England in the seventies the conflict known as “The Troubles” was a constant feature on the news and a source of great tragedy in the country. So it was with a certain amount of trepidation and inquisitive enthusiasm, that we took advantage of the City of Belfast’s free City Tour. Our guide was Brian and he was from Antrim and he was quite brilliant. This was not supposed to be a political tour but Simon could not help but ask questions of a political nature. Brian was very obliging and gave a measured and balanced response. However, it was almost impossible for Brian not to revert to “The Troubles” from time to time as this period in Northern Ireland’s history had such a marked effect on what the city looks like today.
It was the lead up to Christmas and Belfast had lots going on. Markets were everywhere and all the townsfolk were out enjoying the food and festivities. Here are some images of our walk around a very interesting place:
Christmas time at Belfast City Hall
Enjoying Christmas fare
Christmas Markets
Dave with Oly at the ready
Balfast Cenotaph
Brian our guide talks to the doorman at the Europa
The real murals of Belfast have a more chilling tale to tell
Belfast’s most glamorous product and perhaps the most famous ship of all time, sadly after showing so much promise also befell tragedy.
The White Star Line ocean liner RMS Titanic was built in Belfast and laid down at the Harland and Wolff shipyard in 1909. She sank on her maiden voyage from Southampton to New York on 15th April 1912 with 2,224 passengers and crew. Her amazing story has been retold in numerous movies, the latest of which probably made the Titanic a household name.
The City of Belfast has produced an outstanding museum to honour the craftsmen and women who built the ship and those who perished when it struck an iceberg three days into its journey. We stood on the very spot where Titanic’s keel was laid down and marvelled at how a museum could be made so well out of something that sits thousands of feet below the Atlantic.
The impressive Titanic Museum at the Harland and Wolff shipyard.
Workers’ time sheet
Structures used during building
The foundry during construction
Her keel was laid down here
First Class cabin
This is the spot where Titanic’s hull was laid down at the Harland & Wolff shipyard
We could not visit Belfast without seeing some of its famous murals. Unfortunately the murals tell a tragic story even though they are displayed on what are known locally as the “Peace Walls”. These peace walls are a series of barriers separating predominantly Republican and Nationalist Catholic neighbourhoods (who generally identify as Irish) from predominantly Loyalist and Unionist Protestant neighbourhoods (who generally identify as British). However, I should mention that our guide was at pains to point out that the modern and moderate people of Belfast are less likely to link their religious beliefs to their nationalist or unionist preferences.
Probably the most well known of the peace lines in the past few years separate the nationalist Falls Road and the unionist Shankill Road areas of West Belfast. There are approximately 97 peace lines in Belfast and we took a walk into the west of the city and managed to see some of the murals although the gates separating the two areas closed at 16h00 and we missed viewing the unionist murals.
The following images near Falls Road reflect only the Republican and Nationalist message and as you can see have an extreme socialist, communist, revolutionary and left wing leaning. Unfortunately, as we missed seeing the unionist murals which, we imagine, would have a quite different political message.
Our travels in 2019 are fast coming to an end but there is one more bit of Northern Ireland which totally blew us away – the coastline. Time did not permit travel to the Republic of Ireland which is noted for its dramatic coast but what we saw of Northern Ireland did not in any way disappoint. In our next blog we visit a world heritage site well deserving of its honour.
While staying with friends in Cobham, Surrey we were just chatting when we were asked whether we had ever been to Brooklands, just down the road. Well, of course, being a motor racing and aviation enthusiast, I had heard of it and was aware it was a motor racing venue and played a role in the British aviation industry, but I had absolutely no idea how significant this establishment was and its contribution to both motor racing and aviation.
Opened in 1907, Brooklands was the world’s first purpose built banked motor racing circuit, one of Britain’s first airfields and by 1918, Britain’s largest aircraft manufacturing centre which went on to produce such famous marks such as the Vickers Wellington, Viscount (the world’s first turboprop airliner) and the VC10.
From 1907 till 1939 Brooklands put British motor racing on the map with names such as Malcolm Campbell and John Cobb having raced there. In 1907, eleven days after it opened, the world’s first 24 hour endurance race was held on the 4.43 km and 9m banked circuit, the winners covering 2,545 km at an average speed of 106 kmh. 300 red railway lights were used at night to mark out the track. The all time lap record was achieved in a Napier Railton driven by John Cobb in 1934 at an average speed of 230.8 kmh.
The all time lap record was achieved in this Napier Railton driven by John Cobb in 1934 at an average speed of 230.8 kmh. The W12 powerplant of the Napier Railton
Below are images of the buildings including the 1907 BARC (British Racing & Automoble Club) offices. Much of the old infrastructure remains and is part of the Brooklands Museum, housing cars, motor bikes and memorabilia of such names as Sunbeam, Lagonda, Wolseley, Bentley, MG, Vauxhall, Rolls Royce, Halford and Bugatti. It is staffed by enthusiastic volunteers who give their time to explain every aspect of this historical complex.
The old BARC OfficesPart of the 1907 banked circuit still remains and is as high as 9 metres in some places
Brooklands had an even more illustrious aviation history. During WW1 it was closed to motor racing and several RFC (Royal Flying Corps) squadrons were based there. The indefatigable Hawker Hurricane fighter first flew from the airfield at Brooklands in 1935.
At the outbreak of WW2 the site was requisitioned for aircraft production, mainly by the Hawker and Vickers companies. Despite concealing the site and racetrack with trees and camouflage it was bombed with heavy loss of life forcing key elements of manufacturing to be outsourced to neighbouring sites including the research team behind the development of Upkeep, the bouncing bomb used by 617 Squadron in the Dams Raid of 1943.
In 1960 Brooklands became the HQ of the newly formed British Aircraft Corporation (BAC) and aircraft such as the BAC TSR2, BAC One Eleven and VC 10 airliners were built there. Major components for the Concorde (an example of which is in the museum) were also manufactured at Brooklands. The lack of significant orders for the VC10 and Concorde resulted in the site contracting from the 1970s and when British Aerospace, later BAe Systems took over in 1977 it concentrated on component manufacture and finally closed in 1989. The museum has some unique artefacts including a Wellington bomber brought up from the lake bed of Lochness, the Stratospheric chamber used in the 1950s to simulate adverse flying conditions and the record breaking Trans-Atlantic Air Race Harrier.
Major components of Concorde were manufactured at Brooklands
This Vickers Wellington was brought up from the bottom of Loch Ness in Scotland
Wellington bomb bay1960’s technology jet enginesUpkeep bouncing bombTallboy bombsConcorde main landing gearStratospheric ChamberBleriot aircraftTSR2 cockpit sectionViscount, the world’s first turboprop airlinerThis British Aerospace Harrier won the 1969 Transatlantic Air RaceSome classic air frames are still open to the elements and are in need of funding to bring them under cover.
18,000 aircraft representing 250 types were built at Brooklands before it closed in 1989. Its significant contribution to British motor racing and world aviation cannot be understated. Two years after the race track at Brooklands opened, the Americans built their own banked circuit at Indianapolis.
When we arrived in the UK in July we bought an annual National Trust membership. There are hundreds of National Trust properties all over the UK ranging from historical buildings to national parks. In Wales and Northern Ireland you get free entry and parking to all properties and even the Scots allow a discount on access to their national trust properties. The fee is quite reasonable and it paid for itself after only a few visits and we made good use of it during our stay.
One such visit was to a 14th Century medieval moated manor house at Ightham in Kent. Ightham Mote is situated in the beautiful Kent countryside and has its origins as far back as 1340-1360. It has been described as the most complete small medieval manor house in the country. Having changed owners several times over the centuries, thankfully the last owner bequeathed the property to the National Trust in 1985 which started a significant conservation project to bring it to its former glory. These images hopefully do this magnificent house justice.
The magnificent Ightham MoteOne of the dining rooms ready for ChristmasIt has its own herb and vegetable garden
An area in Kent we’ve not visited before is its north coast after the River Thames has found its lazy way into the sea. With our walking pals Kate and Rob accompanied by giant Schnauzers, Rafa and Jamie, we walked from Herne Bay east along the cliffs towards Reculver. Here again the coast is dotted with defensive landmarks, including some very strange ‘objects’ out in the water. These are the remains of defensive anti-aircraft platforms put in place in 1942/3 to protect London and Liverpool from aerial attack. These are known as the Maunsell Forts and are still visible from the shoreline on a clear day. Remarkably they have stood the test of time and the ravages of the sea. With maximum zoom we managed to obtain an image of some of these platforms.
The Maunsell Forts situated in the Thames estuary in amongst the off-shore wind turbines.
Reculver has its place in history too. Due to its strategic location, the Romans built a fort here during the invasion of Britain in AD43 and in the 2nd century another larger fort which became one of a chain of Saxon sea forts along the coast. In the 7th century a monastery dedicated to St Mary was established. Reculver flourished as an important trading point for several centuries but as the Wantsum Channel silted up and buildings constructed on the soft sandy cliffs were claimed by coastal erosion, its future was uncertain. The village was largely abandoned in the late 18th century, and most of the church was demolished in the early 19th. The ruins of the church remain, however its protection and the rest of Reculver from erosion is an ongoing challenge.
The north Kent coast with St Mary’s church at ReculverThe remains of the twin towers of St Mary’s church
More recently in 1943, the sea and shingle beaches off Reculver were used in the testing and development of ‘Upkeep’, Barnes Wallace’s bouncing bomb of “Dambuster”fame.
The path back to Herne Bay
On another day we took a drive down to the small town of Rye in East Sussex, just across the border from Kent. Rye is one of the Cinque Ports (Norman French meaning ‘Five Ports’) which were set up in the 12th Century for defence and trade purposes. In its day Rye was at the head of the bay right on the English Channel and almost completely surrounded by water. Today it is 2 miles inland due to silting up around the confluence of three rivers and sits high on the ‘Citadel’ above the surrounding marshland, now home to Romney Sheep.
Many of the 12th and 13th century buildings remain including the Mermaid Inn, where we had the most delightful mulled wine (Gluhwein) in front of a roaring log fire. The Ypres Tower is one of the oldest buildings in Rye built in 1249 to defend the town against the French.
The 12th Century Mermaid Inn
Rye today is a popular visitor destination with walking trails, a yacht and fishing harbour and numerous craft shops, inns and pubs amongst its cobbled streets. Numerous wineries, such as Chapel Down outside Tenterden, also one of the Cinque Ports, are nearby producing excellent whites and sparkling varieties.
Our place for an excellent lunch of some of the local sea delicacies
In our next blog we came upon a museum with a difference that we’d heard about but had no idea it would be so close to where we were staying in Surrey……….
Coming down from Wales we decided to take a slight detour into the county of Somerset and the beautiful Roman city of Bath. Bath is one of the most visited cities in England mainly because of the exquisite Georgian architecture, the graceful River Avon, Bath Abbey and the renowned Roman Baths. It was also home to Jane Austin for some time.
Bath became a popular spa town during the Georgian era but its history goes back to before the Romans in 60AD when they built a temple and baths in the valley of the River Avon. The abbey was founded in the 7th century and was rebuilt in the 12th and 16th centuries. But it has been the curative properties of the hot springs that invigorated the town and led to it being one of the most popular destinations for tourists, over 3.8 million day visitors making the trip each year.
Pulteney Bridge
On one of the very few days of rain and grey skies we experienced this year – after all it is winter – Bath was still quite exquisite. We unfortunately only had one day in the city but under our umbrellas and raincoats managed to see a few of the popular sites. The city has a wealth of museums and galleries which we could not take in this time so a return to this city would be on our list.
Royal CrescentThe Roman bathsBath is overflowing with Georgian architectureSome of the local Christmas decorationsEven in this weather Bath was impressiveThe Crescent in BathOn our way east we stopped off in the city of Salisbury. The Cathedral has the tallest single spire in Europe
It was then back east to one of our friendly bases in Kent where we spent the last few weeks of our time in England. We were keen to experience the special and unique atmosphere of a northern hemisphere Christmas plus see some more of London. In the meantime we also did some day trips and plenty of walking around the countryside, discovering more beautiful spots around the south east counties of England.
Because of its position and closeness to mainland Europe, the South East has many historical markers showing this. It was in these blue skies of the summer of 1940 where much of the Battle of Britain was fought. Just along the coast further west in Sussex, was where the Norman invasion and the Battle of Hastings in 1066 took place and the coastline and the waters around it still have remnants of defensive fortifications.
On the white cliffs near Capel le Ferne, not far from Folkestone is the memorial to the “The Few” – the aircrew who fought in the Battle of Britain. It is a fairly simple memorial with a granite wall naming all those aircrew and a large evocative statue of a sitting pilot looking out towards the coast of France only 21 miles away.
At the centre of a propeller, at the end of this blade sits a pilot looking out towards France from where the attackers came.The granite wall with the names of all aircrew Churchill’s famous quote after the Battle is still so relevant.The beautiful sculpture of BOB the dog representing all the Fighter Command squadron dogs. A Spitfire and Hurricane stand guard.
Then an amazing stroke of luck found us right underneath the return to England of the “Silver Spitfire” as she approached Goodwood, the home of the first Spitfire pilots training school. After 22,000 nautical miles, this 1943 restored Spitfire Mk IX made the longest flight and the first circumnavigation of the world by a Spitfire. Resplendent in its all-metal finish, this wonderful aeroplane was escorted by two of the RAF’s Red Arrows aerobatic team over the White Cliffs of Dover on its way home. After a frantic change of lenses Simon managed to get a couple of images of this snippet of a memorable achievement.
The ‘Silver Spitfire’ arrives home after the first round the world trip by a Spitfire escorted by two Red Arrows Hawks and the PC12 support aircraft.
Further east of Dover the White Cliffs provide some beautiful walks and pubs for either the end or the middle – or both. We started on the clifftops and headed east across farmland to Kingsdown for a very nice lunch at the Zetland Arms right on the shingle beach. The pub was full, warm and homely and it would have been easy for us just to spend the afternoon in front of the roaring log fire. But after our fill we continued back west, as the setting wintry sun started to put on a show, towards St Margaret’s Bay and the impressive Dover Patrol memorial above St Margaret’s at Cliffe.
Across the fields to KingsdownKingsdownThe shingle beach at Kingsdown and a wintry sunsetWalk along the clifftops towards the Dover Patrol memorialThe memorial to the Dover Patrol. A similar monument can be found in Calais, just across the channel.
Our next blog continues with the south east of England exploring Rye in Sussex and the north coast of Kent as well as one of the finest examples of a medieval manor house in the country…….
2025 An Amazing year 