LINES of geometry and solitude. The black line of saltmarsh meeting the water, the grey band of the estuary, the horizontal far shore of Kent, the arc of the wintered sky, the decurved beak of the curlew crying its own name into the silence. Downstream on the vanishing plane of bleak water, the giant cranes of DP World London Gateway, metal praying mantis. Looking along the graffiti-strewn, two-yard-high concrete sea wall: in each direction as far as the human eye can see, no one. Not one soul.
Flat water, flat land; the estuary foreshore the lowest point of the landmass. A low point. A wasteland of saltmarsh. The grass prostrate before the wind and, down in the dark twisted creeks, a hint of gathering mist. In the unkept field behind the sea wall, piebald horses of uncertain pedigree. No colour, no warmth. A vast panorama in monochrome.
The Thames estuary in November. A confirmation of desolation. You will never be so alone as walking its edge in winter, the tide-departed faecal sludge riven by rivulets and studded by detritus: a bent bike dead on its side, discarded shoes, washed-up bottles devoid of messages. Along the estuary of the Thames, where the primitiveness of the environment is intensified by the impersonality of industry, with its petrochemical works and gravels. The estuary of the Thames: where the wildness of Nature is intensified by the proximity of a populous capital city. London is a mere 10 miles away as the gull flies.
Denne historien er fra November 22, 2023-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Denne historien er fra November 22, 2023-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
Allerede abonnent? Logg på
Kitchen garden cook - Apples
'Sweet and crisp, apples are the epitome of autumn flavour'
The original Mr Rochester
Three classic houses in North Yorkshire have come to the market; the owner of one inspired Charlotte Brontë to write Jane Eyre
Get it write
Desks, once akin to instruments of torture for scribes, have become cherished repositories of memories and secrets. Matthew Dennison charts their evolution
'Sloes hath ben my food'
A possible paint for the Picts and a definite culprit in tea fraud, the cheek-suckingly sour sloe's spiritual home is indisputably in gin, says John Wright
Souvenirs of greatness
FOR many years, some large boxes have been stored and forgotten in the dark recesses of the garage. Unpacked last week, the contents turned out to be pots: some, perhaps, nearing a century old—dense terracotta, of interesting provenance.
Plants for plants' sake
The garden at Hergest Croft, Herefordshire The home of Edward Banks The Banks family is synonymous with an extraordinary collection of trees and shrubs, many of which are presents from distinguished friends, garnered over two centuries. Be prepared to be amazed, says Charles Quest-Ritson
Capturing the castle
Seventy years after Christian Dior’s last fashion show in Scotland, the brand returned under creative director Maria Grazia Chiuri for a celebratory event honouring local craftsmanship, the beauty of the land and the Auld Alliance, explains Kim Parker
Nature's own cathedral
Our tallest native tree 'most lovely of all', the stately beech creates a shaded environment that few plants can survive. John Lewis-Stempel ventures into the enchanted woods
All that money could buy
A new book explores the lost riches of London's grand houses. Its author, Steven Brindle, looks at the residences of plutocrats built by the nouveaux riches of the late-Victorian and Edwardian ages
In with the old
Diamonds are meant to sparkle in candlelight, but many now gather dust in jewellery boxes. To wear them today, we may need to reimagine them, as Hetty Lintell discovers with her grandmother's jewellery
