CHAPTER TWO
The Estuary and its Towns
SHEPPEY, on the coast of which is the Warden Point that forms one end of the Port of London boundary line, is an island, separated from the mainland of Kent by the Swale. People frequently speak of it as the “Isle of Sheppey,” but this title is not strictly correct, for the name Sheppey really includes the word “island.” William Camden, that old writer on geographical subjects, informs us that “this Isle of Sheepe, whereof it feedeth mightie great flocks, was called by our ancestours Shepey—that is, the Isle of Sheepe.”
Though it is only eleven miles long and five miles broad, this little island presents within its compass quite a variety of scenery, especially when the general flatness of the whole area round about is borne in mind; for, in addition to its riverside marshes, it has a distinctly hilly ridge, geologically related to the North Downs, surmounted by a little village rejoicing in the high-sounding name of Minster-in-Sheppey, wherein at one time was the ancient Saxon “minster” or “priory” of St. Saxburga. But the oft-repeated words concerning “prophets” and “honour” apply to this little out-of-the-way corner, for the men of Kent are wont to say that when the world was made Sheppey was never finished.
Naturally, from its situation, right at the entrance to the Thames, Sheppey always played some considerable part in the warfare of the lower river. What happened in these parts in very early days we do not know. We can only conjecture that Celts, coming across from the mainland of Europe in their frail vessels, found this way into Britain, and without hindrance sailed up the River to found the tiny settlement of Llyndin hill: we can only surmise that later some of the Saxons worked their way guardedly up the wide opening while the main body of their comrades found other ways into this fair land. Not till the ninth century do we begin to get any definite record of invasion. Then in 832 we find the Vikings, with their long-boats, hovering about the mouth of the River, landing in Sheppey and raiding that little island with its monastery on the hill. They returned in 839; and in 857 they came with a great fleet of their long-boats—350 of them—in order that they might advance up the River and make an attack on the city. In 893 they came yet again, landing either at Milton Creek on the Swale, or at Milton nearly opposite Tilbury (it is uncertain which); but the men of London drove them off. So it went on for many years, invasion after invasion, till the days of Canute, when the River played a very great part in the warfare, now favouring, now hampering the Danish leaders.
From the time of the Norman Conquest onwards there was, of course, nothing in the way of foreign invasions; and the Thames, ceasing to be a gateway by means of which the stranger might enter England, became a barrier impeding the progress of the various factions opposing each other in the national struggles—the War of the Barons, the Wars of the Roses, and the great Civil War. In these, however, the Thames below London played no very great part. Not till the days of Charles II., when the Dutch helped to write such a sorry chapter in our history, did the Thames again loom large in our military annals.
Sheerness is, of course, the most famous place on the island, for it has long been a considerable dockyard and port. The spot on which it was built was reclaimed from the marshes in the time of the Stuarts, and was chosen in the days of Charles II. as the situation for a new dockyard. If we turn up the “Diary” of old Samuel Pepys, the Secretary of the Admiralty of those days, we shall find under the date of August 18, 1665: “Walked up and down, laying out the ground to be taken in for a yard to lay provisions for cleaning and repairing of ships, and a most proper place it is for the purpose;” while on February 27, two years later, His Majesty was at Sheerness to lay those fortifications which were destined within less than six months to be destroyed by the Dutch.
The other important town in Sheppey is Queenborough, a well-known packet-station. Originally this was Kingborough, but it was rechristened by Edward III. in honour of his Queen, Philippa, at the time when William Wykeham (of whose skill as a builder we shall read in the chapter on Windsor in Book III.) erected a castle on the spot where the railway-station now stands. Eastchurch, towards the other end of the island, developed a splendid flying-ground during the War.
On the other side of the Medway, forming a peninsula between that river and the Thames, lies the Isle of Grain—a place which is not an island and which has nothing whatever to do with grain. It consists of a marshy promontory with a packet-station, Port Victoria, and a seaplane base, Fort Grain, and very little else beside. At its western extremity is the dirty little Yantlet Creek, close to which stands the well-known “London Stone,” an obelisk set up to mark the point where, prior to the Port of London Act, ended the power of the Lord Mayor of London in his capacity as Conservator of the Thames.
Westwards from Yantlet Creek are great flats out of which rise the batteries of Shornemead and Cliffe, considerable forts designed to serve with that of Coalhouse Point, opposite on the Essex shore, as a defence of the River. They were built in no very remote times, but were practically never anything else than useless against modern artillery, and were destined, so later military engineers said, to do more damage to each other than to any invading foes.
On the Essex coast, opposite Sheerness, are two famous places, Southend and Shoeburyness—the one a famous resort for trippers, the other an important school of artillery.
Not so very long ago Southend was unheard of. Defoe, who covered the ground hereabouts pretty thoroughly, makes no mention of it even as a hamlet; yet to-day it is a flourishing and constantly growing town—not so much a watering-place nowadays as a rather distant suburb of London. For here and in the adjacent district of Westcliff, now by the builders and the trams joined on, and even in Leigh still farther west, live many of London’s more successful workers, making the daily journey to and from town. Nor is this surprising, for Southend is an enterprising borough—one that makes the most of its natural advantages, and endeavours to cater equally well for the residents and the casual visitors. Of course, the town will always be associated with day-trippers from London, folk who come down with their families to get a “whiff of the briny,” and a taste of the succulent cockles for which Southend is noted, and to enjoy a ride in one of the numerous boats, or on the tram that runs along the mile and a half length of Southend’s vaunted possession, the longest pier in England. And while we laugh sometimes at these trippers with their ribald enjoyment of strange scenes, we must admit that they choose a most healthy and enjoyable place.
At Shoeburyness, approached by way of the tramcars, things are far more serious. Cockney joviality seldom gets so far from the pier as this. Off the land here is a very extensive bank of shallows, and here the artillerymen carry out their practice, the advantage being that in such a spot the costly projectiles fired can be recovered and put in order for future use.
Canvey Island, which lies tucked away in a little corner to the west of Leigh, is yet another example of man’s triumph over nature, for it has veritably been stolen from the waters. It was reclaimed as long ago as 1622, by one Joas Cropperburgh, who for his labours received about two thousand of its six thousand acres. And Dutch most assuredly Canvey is—with quaint Dutch cottages, one of them a six-sided affair, dated 1621, and set up by the very Dutchmen who came over to construct the dams, and with Dutch dykes dividing the fields instead of hedges. Robert Buchanan, in his novel “Andromeda,” wrote of it in these terms: “Flat as a map, so intermingled with creeks and runlets that it is difficult to say where water ends and land begins, Canvey Island lies, a shapeless octopus, right under the high ground of Benfleet and Hadleigh, and stretches out muddy and slimy feelers to touch and dabble in the deep water of the flowing Thames. Away across the marshes rise the ancient ruins of Hadleigh Castle, further eastwards the high spire and square tower of Leigh Church.”
At the village of Benfleet, which he mentions, the Danes landed when in 874 they made one of their characteristic raids on the Thames Estuary; and here they hoarded up the goods filched from the Essex villages till such time as there should come a wind favourable for the journey home.
Like various other places on the Estuary and the lower reaches of the River, Canvey Island has on occasions been proposed as a place for deep-sea wharves, so that unloading might be carried out without the journey up river, but so far nothing definite has come of these suggestions.