10/13/2008

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.
~~~

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Being from Folkstone myself it was real nice to see the stories u wrote so extremely well. The pictures u shot are just real good. I felt real proud to say I was from Folkstone when I finished reading your review about my birth town. Best wishes. Ms. Janet Boothroyd, M.Sc. (I have a real Uncle Monty like u in our family.
But he does not write or have a serious blog in any way like u).