POSTCARD FROM KENT

Bob Barton investigates a network of caves, takes a ride on a thriving heritage railway, and marvels at the beauty of the garden of England

Though I was born 10 years after the end of World War Two, I have an enduring childhood memory of clambering around a disused air raid shelter. It was reached, after negotiating clumps of stinging nettles, in an area we called the dump, near where we lived. Inside, it was pitch black and cavernous, with several underground chambers. My intrepid pals and I would explore without the benefit of a light - not even a match.

These days, it would be securely cordoned off, but not then.

Those memories came flooding back when I took a tour of one of the largest public wartime shelters in the country. I'm not referring to a bunker in a city centre but a network of caves in deepest Kent. Chislehurst Caves (020 8467 3264, chislehurst-caves. co.uk) were quickly (and unofficially) used as a shelter when the bombing of London started in 1940. Soon, people thronged there by the thousands each evening. The caverns grew into an underground city of sorts.

I joined one of the regular guided tours. Our small group was shown bunk beds of the sort used by sheltering families. Areas set up as a chapel, canteen, first aid station, lavatories - even a bank, post office and dentist surgery - were pointed out by our guide, Darren. Most of the vast labyrinth is unlit, so we were handed paraffin-burning hurricane lamps. Their flickering flames cast strange shadows on the walls, some of which are decorated with elaborate carvings.

The caves aren't a natural feature but entirely man-made. Technically, they are mines as they were hacked out of the ground by Romans, Saxons and their successors. Men dug for chalk and flint. During World War One, the space provided a ready-made ammunition depot.

Later, in the 1920s and 30s, the caves housed a mushroom farm and rhubarb grew well, too. I could feel the temperature dropping as we trekked deeper into the void. We could see our breath.