Petrie - The Story of Kent

For all my wonderful children and grandchildren

First published in 2017

The History Press

The Mill, Brimscombe Port

Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

This ebook edition first published in 2017

All rights reserved

Anne Petrie, 2017

The right of Anne Petrie to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the authors and publishers rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

EPUB ISBN 978 0 7509 8321 1

Original typesetting by The History Press

eBook converted by Geethik Technologies

T his book could not have been written without the generously given help and time of many people.

Roger Parker and Jon Spence corrected my mistakes, improved my grammar, suggested sources and made helpful criticisms about the way the story is put together. Any remaining errors are mine alone.

Anne Thompson, supported and chauffeured by husband Alan, took most of the photographs, risking sunstroke, braving gale-force winds on the Kent coast and finding her way to impossibly remote sites. She was assisted in editing the pictures by Matt Gore. Thanks are also due to Bill Ridley for finding the elusive oast house, to Andrew Sweeney for permission to use photos from St Leonards church and to Elizabeth Pearson and Alison Noyes for information about Dungeness.

The staff at Hythe library dealt uncomplainingly with the huge quantity of books I ordered over the course of a year, and were always ready to help with any queries. Finally, I am hugely indebted to the authors of all those books, whose research forms the basis of this story.

D awn, on an early autumn day on the south coast of Kent, high up on the White Cliffs above Dover: a man on horseback shades his eyes as he scans the horizon. He strains forward as the first rays of the rising sun strike the grey sea. He thinks he spots movement. A few minutes later he is sure. He turns and gives the signal to his comrades. They mount their horses, javelins at the ready and wait.

But the ships stop short, out of range of their weapons. They drop anchor and ride the waves for hours, also waiting. Men come and go from the ships and can clearly be seen conferring with their leader. They wave their arms and point and nod, but not a word can be heard. It would make no difference if they spoke as clearly as bells, for they talk in a tongue which is strange to the men on the cliffs.

When the sun is well up, other ships appear, manned with soldiers in heavy leather and metal armour and helmets. But still the ships do not land. They weigh anchor and sail east along the coast.

The man on horseback gives the order and his army moves off in the same direction, mounted chieftains followed by their cavalry, men in chariots, foot soldiers bringing up the rear. They march along the high undulating ground which drops eventually to the flat stretches of beach that lie to the east. Here the ships drop anchor again and the armoured men start to disembark.

At first it is laughably easy to pick them off. The sea is breathtakingly cold, the foreign men cannot stand on the slippery shingle of the sea bed, and waist-deep in water their heavy armour weighs them down. They slide, stumble and fall, losing their weapons and cursing. The waves break red on the shore. Then some of the smaller, strange-looking ships of the alien fleet break away. The crew start to use oars to bring them close inshore and a hail of arrows is directed at the beach. Great machines on the decks hurl rocks with deadly accuracy at the defenders. The foreign soldiers, in shallower water, flounder less, start to reach the beach and to cut down their enemies. The islanders are outnumbered and out-armed and they do the only sensible thing retreat.

Such was the first day of the first known attempted invasion of Britain, the first of many which, for the next two millennia, put Kent on the front line of the defence of the nation.

In 55 BC, Julius Caesar, fresh from subduing the Gauls, had turned his eyes towards Britain. He wrote later that he thought the Britons were helping the Gauls, and that although it was the wrong time of year for a full-scale invasion, he would like to get a feel for the place and its people. Others have attributed his mission to a desire to see whether Britain was rich enough to be worth invading (he was heavily in debt) or to a need to bolster his reputation as a soldier at home. The Britons knew none of this: they just got wind that he was gathering troops on the other side of the Channel.

A plaque on the shingle beach at Walmer commemorates Caesars first landing in 55 BC. (Anne Thompson)

Caesar had sent a spy ahead of him, who sailed the Kent coast but did not land. The Roman fleet of about a hundred ships set sail for Dover, which must have been identified as a good natural harbour, but sensibly Caesar did not disembark as he could see the native tribes gathered on the cliffs above, poised to shower javelins down on his army. He waited a while, anchored in deep water, for more of his fleet to catch up, and sailed along the coast to an open beach, probably at Walmer. The Kentish tribes followed him along the cliffs and put up fierce resistance on the shore. It was not they, however, but the British weather which finally persuaded Caesar to retreat. An autumn storm seriously damaged the Roman fleet. With winter approaching, Caesar exercised his discretion and sailed back to Gaul. He would be back.

The operation was a propaganda success for Caesar and the next year, better armed and better prepared, he tried again with, according to him, no fewer than 800 vessels. He landed again at Walmer, and this time was unopposed. Caesar, never afraid to blow his own trumpet, wrote that the tribes were terrified by the vast number of ships, but it may be that they were just mustering their forces.

He took some of his crack troops and marched inland, meeting and rebuffing Kentish warriors on the way. After a brief hiatus to repair some storm-damaged ships, he continued his march about ten days later. Now he met the massed forces of the Britons, from north of the Thames as well as from Kent. The Britons risked a few skirmishes, but soon realised that they could not win in a pitched battle and tried guerrilla tactics instead. Undeterred, Caesar forged ahead until he reached the Thames, where he is said to have used an elephant to help his troops cross the heavily defended river.