Cloudy skies. Slight misty rain. Wearing jumpers again. End of the heatwave!

Philip and I went to the little local Anglican Church around the corner this morning for our Sunday worship. Very welcoming to us.

Then we hit the road again. Heading east for the village of Cranbrook on the Weald of Kent for a bit over an hour. I asked what “Weald” means, but in the end I had to google it. It means an area of woodland. Kent is another beautiful county. I’ve noticed that the English are very parochial about their own particular county.

Kent is green, green, green. Much more than forty shades of green. Interspersed with fields of golden wheat and oats. Some of them have been harvested. Once you get off the motorways, the narrow country roads go through tiny, old villages with the iconic round high oast houses. Which used to be used with something to do with the hops. Sometimes you drive through long tunnels of dark greenery with the trees forming a green tunnel to drive through.

Cranbrook is a village of 7,000 people. With its old houses and cottages lining its narrow winding streets. We’ve been to Cranbrook before as Philip has got lots of detailed knowledge of his ancestor connections here.  We got there a bit early, so wandered up the High Street looking at the different shops and buildings.

Then went round to visit Keith (Philip’s fourth or fifth cousin) who is in his mid-80s, and a very sprightly gentleman. And his wife, Val. They live in a very English bungalow, and had cooked us a wonderful lunch. We didn’t really know them, and really enjoyed getting to know them better and hear their life stories.

We drove with them through misty rain and narrow roads with very high hedges pressed up against the sides of the road. Firstly to the tiny nearby village of Biddendon.

Where lots of Philip’s ancestors were connected.  If you look at the sign in the picture, it’s a sign of conjoined twins who were famously known as the Maids of Biddendonl. Nothing to do with Philip’s family. Just part of the local legend.

Then on to a hamlet of 3 or 4 houses and the Church of Sain Nicholas at Boughton Malherbe. But you pronounce it “Bawton Malfree”. 

There, during the summer, the farmers’ wives and other ladies of the area, every Sunday afternoon put on Cream Teas. The epitome of English culture and life. It’s to raise much-needed funds for their church, and they’ve been doing it for years. The scones, the strawberry jam and the cream are all home-made.

Normally it’s held out in the church yard, amongst the tilting tombstones and you look out through the trees on the top of the hill over to the Weald of Kent. On a fine day you can apparently see all the way to the sea. 

But not today. Misty, drizzly English rain. So they set up the little tables in the aisles of the church. I had such a lovely afternoon there. Such an English cultural experience. I decided to go with the flow and be culturally relevant And I had TWO cups of tea and two scones with jam and cream.

Old stone flag floors. High, soaring, old oak beam trusses. Intricate carvings on some of the pew ends. Old, very old memorial stones. 

The ladies serving the teas were so warm and friendly. Told us a bit about the history of the church. Seems to have been there since Saxon or Norman times. A chaplain of Queen Elizabeth 1 is buried there. And there’s a fence-protected yew tree in the yard that was planted by her.

And another coincidence. The early members of the nearby manor and farm, and the patrons of the church were called Wotton. Back in the 1600s. A family name on my mother’s side. We don’t have anybody that grand in the family, but an interesting coincidence.

I talked to one of the tea ladies. And she insisted on sending her husband home to get a history of the church for me to buy. So I’ve bought it. And I’ll let you know if I ever find out we’ve got gentry in my bloodline! 

When we went back to Cranbrook, Keith and Val took us to the graveyard of St Dunstan’s Church.  And inside the old church too. Many of Philip’s ancestors here were Strict Baptists, but got buried in the Anglican graveyard. Philip’s Ancestors were known to be the bakers in the town in the 1800s.

Wonder if the English summer will come back?