Folkstone's "Dickens Room." By Uncle Monty.

Folkstone's "Dickens Room."

Story By Uncle Monty.

Photos By Alex Albion.

Part 2 of 2.

~~~

Over 550 years-old, The British Lion pub first opened

at Folkstone in the year of 1460. Outside at The Bayle

it looked like the place was quiet and deserted until I

openly ventured inside to find it packed and busy with
loads of locals enjoying a drink or two with plenty of
companionship and serving platefuls of good home
British cooking. Nick and Dee Gill from West Yorkshire
were the hosts and Dee did all the cooking that for me
was worth several encores. The menu was about as
British as they come with the usual Steak and Kid-
ney pie, Yorkshire pud, and spotted dick, among
other classic English food dishes to choose from.
~~~

My Trout.

~~~

But for me, I wanted their local catch of large

Folkstone fresh broiled Trout with lemon, green

peas, boiled new spuds, four vegs, and light fish

gravy. Plus, a hotpot of English tea along with a

nice bowl of deep green mint ice cream with thick

dark chocolate sauce to round off my mid-day

lunch at The British Lion’s own tiny "Dickens

Room." Adored with momentoes of Charles

Dickens himself on the walls, the dining room

was snug and warm and held only four or

five dining patrons at any one time.

~~~
Eight and half quid for the delicious trout.
A quid and twenty pence for my hotpot of

boiling tea. And, three and half quid for the

mint ice cream saw me spend less than 14

quid in all for my good lunch at the "Dickens

Room." The meal was big enough and healthy

enough for me not to worry about going back

later for evening dinner. I was full and my

English belly told me so: "Please, don't stuff

me anymore," it said. Okay ... The same lunch

at Folkstone's British Lion would have cost

me probably 25 to 35 quid in London or

New York or Paris for sure.
~~~
My Trout Gone ...

~~~

Other lunch patrons included four elderly and abit

snooty ballroom dancers who had come to Folkstone

from nearby Drellingore to spend the weekend ball-

room dancing to their old heart’s content. I was told

when I asked that they did not dress up in fancy

evening dress when they danced as non-professionals.

The wife of one of them looked like she was almost a

hospital case from the way she hobbled along. How

she could ballroom dance I don’t know unless she

was held up like a rag doll with her shaky legs and

ghost-like face that I wouldn't want to meet in

some dark Folkstone alleyway late at night. Talk

about Halloween, she was the part if you asked me.

Her skin looked like she’d spent days in a full

lavatory bucket of white bleach for she looked

whiter than the White Cliffs of Dover. And, when

she spoke she sounded like death warmed up …

Pooooooor woman. She also trembled like a leaf.

So much for glamorous ballroom dancing, I said

to myself as she left The British Lion moments

before me … I was glad I wasn’t going to the

ballroom dance after seeing her and after my

delightful British lunch at the "Dickens Room."
~~~
Folkstone's Sacred Grounds Since 630AD at St. Eanswythe.

~~~
At Folkstone’s St. Eanswythe (shown above),
Christian worship has taken place since the beginning

of the first religious nuns there in 360AD. Only an

heathen or an idiot wouldn’t recognise such sacred

burial grounds upon seeing such like I did. The anc-

ient design of the oval, oblong, graves was something

unusual to me. I cannot recall seeing the same style

and shape of such graves any where else other

than for the first at St. Eanswythe's.
~~~
Folkstone's Own "Guitar Man."

~~~
He was doing well as I tossed in a quid coin
for his guitar playing near Folkstone’s Parade
Steps. I immediately dubbed him as the sea-
side town’s own “Guitar Man.” His guitar

case was pretty full of tossed coins as he

stopped for a moment to be photographed,

as shown above, with my own black and white

graphic of him based on the image I originally

took of him in full pure colour. I then used my

Corel paint to add my dimension to the

original image of the "Guitar Man."
~~~
Preaching The Word Was He.

~~~

Here’s a fellow who is one of Folkstone’s

own seaside folks (shown above) preaching
the good word. His name is Eric, he told me.
With all the zeal of an American televangelist with
just myself and another one or two onlookers more

curious about him than of the word he spoke. He’s been
doing his preaching for years. One of his “followers”

– an elderly lady – told me she’d been bedridden for

20 years and thru the power of prayer she was

suddenly made whole again. How true her story

is I do not know, but I hope it wasn’t a figment

of her emotional imagination or perhaps of her
old age senility. Whatever, we did pray together
holding hands in a circle, while Eric-The-Preacher

earnestly invoked the fine name of our good Lord

just for me. Whoopi ... It was nice of him, I think …
As for the ex-bedridden lady, she begged not to

be photographed when I asked her if I could have

her stand posed next to Eric. Her false teeth

then came out like fangs at me. I think she'd

be better off bedridden, again, if I dare say.
~~~
A glorious view of Folkstone's waterfront.

~~~
The kidz had just made a "big" catch - one small crab.
~~~
Folkstone's Own "Blues Band" ready to play for charity.
~~~
Folkstone's Modern Grand Burstin.
~~~
Two young weekend beach surfers at Folkstone.
~~~
I've written snippets here, if you will, of my first visit to
British Folkstone having spent a long and an enjoyable
weekend there at what is its October tourist off-season.
"Folkstone's Seaside Folks" I've also written about in
my earlier short piece and again here in my more
detailed story with several more photos that I think
helps illustrate the variety I found as I ventured all
over the seaside and fishing town of Old Folkstone.
I do hope you've enjoyed my story as much as I
have enjoyed telling you about it ...
~~~
Kudos everybody, Uncle Monty.
+John Henry Newman, 2oo8.
~~~