On our pilgrimage to Canterbury, we decided to stop in Wye in Kent, for provisions. When we collected our daily bread in Wye Bakery, I found myself lost in another age. Allow me some creative liberty in my tale…
The quaint Wye Bakery is accessed via an ancient corridor constructed three hundred years ago.
Walking through the corridor transported my imagination back in time. The Franklin, from The Canterbury Tales, invited us inside to taste the bread. Alas, we did not wish to dip the lovely bread into wine, particularly at such an early hour. We thanked the Franklin for his hospitality and bid him to return to Chaucer’s England. The ancient vision dissolved, as the aroma of fresh bread brought us back to the present day.
Inside, we were greeted by the baker Mrs Hickson, and her daughter. Mother and daughter are passionate about the health benefits of traditional slow baking. It is hoped that Mrs Hickson’s daughter will be able to apply her Nutrition Degree to the business.
The pastries were buttery, crumbly and utterly delicious. The bread had a wonderful robust structure and a delicate taste like sour dough. Is there anything more comforting than simple bread and butter? One could taste the attention to detail in every single crumb.
I heard Robert Browning say:
‘If thou tasteth a crust of bread, thou tasteth all the stars and all the heavens.’
I urge you to visit Wye Bakery. It is refreshing to listen to Mrs Hickson wax lyrical about a business that consumes sixteen hours of her day. Taste the delights of the labour of love that could be your daily bread.
Fifteen miles from nowhere, we saw a faded sign for ‘Fish Shack’. We followed a road to the middle of the beach desert until we reached a decaying old boat that was almost as big as a whale. Yes, and the 
Expecting greasy fish and chips, I was handed plaice and salad with a large cup of builder’s tea. The food was absolutely delicious! The plaice, caught only hours earlier, was cooked in olive oil on a hot plate. The fresh salad had an olive oil and lemon dressing. It was served in a small cardboard box, but they will probably steal this idea on the Great British Menu. And builder’s tea could be the new Pinot Noir. I must confess that I declined the bread roll, but understood that it was a nod to the fishermen who eat this food.
Seizing the moment, we decided to go for a walk on the beach. We were told it was fine to walk on the beach if we didn’t touch the ‘fishing tackle’!! Forget visiting a maritime museum, there were artefacts on the beach such as rusty anchors and abandoned nets. These savvy people are obviously protecting the objects d’art to prevent art galleries and Michelin starred restaurants from displaying them in their gaffs. The food and the setting were perfect: The Fish Shack is indeed a funky little shack. Get yourselves off to the food getaway!
Who knows? Maybe this place will become either the Dungeness Modern Art Gallery or even the Derek Jarman Modern. An art gallery and restaurant without walls could be the new concept of the 21st century. Visit now as in the future you may need a credit card without a limit.
But I received an education in opportunity through William’s eyes. It warmed my heart when William delighted in his full belly and compared Aunty Betsy’s Christmas feast to the meagre ‘turnip and potato soup’ that he was accustomed to.
One is shocked, educated and made to feel compassion like the central characters. I tasted ‘the grit and grime’ of the novel from the safety of my armchair, and felt the warmth of ‘the straightforward good folk with no pretentions or guile’. Yet, I did want to get on my soap box and rant on behalf of my ancestors who would have struggled as ‘wealth and poverty oozed through the smoke from the chimneys.’ I wanted to call on Sir Titus Salt for help!
Jessie: How did you feel when you had finished writing your book, and did you miss any of the characters?
We agreed that the spirit of the woman seems to beckon you. From a distance, the sculpture looks like a projected image – prompting: is she real or imaginary? As you approach, the sculpture is flat like the silhouette on a stamp.
I decided this was also a sculpture but others were sceptical. A plaque marked the spot as if to reassure me.
I wonder if you would be able to spot the sculptures that instigated our discussions?
Today, I attended the Bennet household. Alas, Elizabeth was not at home. I was rather shocked to be greeted by her father, Mr Bennet. I did not see a servant.
Finally, he asked the parlour maid to show me into the library. Strangely, every book on the shelves has been penned by a Jane Austen. I was most impressed with a book entitled, ‘
Lost in Austen’s books, I read until the clock struck four and my stomach rumbled. Venturing into the corridor, surprised that the house was silent, I decided to depart. A Miss Austen opened the door and insisted on my company. She informed me that Mr Bennet lives in her imagination, but he had been seen loitering on the doorstop on many occasions.
Amused by my breeches, Miss Austen invited me to take tea with her. She smiled when I explained they are cropped trousers. We sat in a very modest parlour. The maid served tea and a buttered apple tart. Delighted that her books had made me forget time, Miss Austen commented that. ‘…for my own part, if a book is written well, I always find it too short.’