Lydd on Sea

Lydd on Sea is a post war village on the East coast of Walland Marsh near Dungeness Point. The vast majority of the homes there are bungalows. Other than the miles of beach upon which Sea Kale grows profusely, there is nothing there. There is not even a station there, despite the fact that the Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch Railway line runs through the village. There is though, the sound mirrors, WWII listening devices, that are on small islands in a man-made lake nearby.



It was very peaceful there. There was not a great deal of traffic; the odd bus and the whistle of the trains chugging past nearby.


I noticed that a couple of campervans were also parked in the little car park overnight. I was later told that the council there have a relaxed attitude towards such vehicles parking there; “As long as you’re not taking the piss.”, as it was put to me.


In the morning, the rain came,


but by the afternoon, it was glorious sunshine again. At which point, the vista is expansive and the White Cliffs of Dover shimmer in the distance.



Rowan’s appetite returned by the this time. She seems to have settled down. She’s still feeling the loss, though. Arian was her big sister.





Later that afternoon, I was doing nothing in particular, I heard a bang. I looked out of the window and saw a van stopped on the car park entrance. Nothing appeared to be awry. I then carried on with my life. A while later, I realised that the van was still in the same position. Ultimately, curiosity got the better of me, so I went to investigate. As soon as I saw it, I knew exactly what had happened. A car was buried in the side of the van. The car had slammed into the van having tried to overtake it as it was turning into the car park. It appears that he was speeding, too.


As dusk arrived, I went to switch on the lights in my caravan, but no, nothing. Lights not working. The charge controller had also tripped out. I investigated. A fuse carrier had broken and a cable had come loose. I repaired temporarily enough for the evening. The next day I unhitched the caravan and unsheeted the truck. I repaired the electrical problem and reset the solar panel. I grabbed some logs from the back of the truck. I then took advantage of the fact that I had the back open, by cracking on with some running repairs. At some point, the door had been caught by something, possibly a branch, and scratched the wood. Fortunately, a quick rub down and restain was all that was needed.


In the early evening, I was repotting the plants that had been knocked over.* All of a sudden there was a load of commotion as a flock of Plovers landed on the caravan roof. From there, they flew onto grass mound on the beach as Rowan went to investigate.





The evening Sun turned the sea a beautiful pale blue.



The next morning, I popped across to the little convenience shop before tacking down. Just as we were ready to leave, a car park attendant appeared. He asked, “Are you just leaving?”


I said, “Yes.”


“OK.” Said he and off he went, followed a minute or two later by us.





*see entry Last days in Hastings


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