Apr 7, 20239 min read

Rochester: Dickens’ Childhood and Tales

The bolder graffiti appeared on the walls, the closer we were to London. I recalled Iain Sinclair’s description on London. The wind blew freezing cold breath, despite its already April. Jasmine and I constantly looked for shelter to keep ourselves warm, as we waited for the train heading to London Victoria station.

The train arrived, carrying a sardine packed passengers from the City of London which they would transfer to Southern parts of England. London Victoria was just a 10 minutes’ journey away, where we would travel East to Rochester. The station gave a Waterloo vibe, but it had more shops. There was a Weatherspoon right above a two-storey tall WHSmith.

We hoped on the train that would bring us to the Kent town. Rochester faces the same situation as New Malden. Although it claims itself as a Kent town, some websites promote Rochester as a part of London. I soon recalled my Italian friend Greta stating her sister who resided in London until I mentioned my Rochester trip to her the day before over tea.

“My sister lives in Rochester,” she exclaimed. “Oh, you should have told me earlier or we could travel there next week together.”

Once we noted the light green Rochester bridge from the window, it was time to set off.

Food at the Castle Grounds

Due to its more modern, sleek black exterior, Rochester Station stood out among the Rochester brick houses. Nonetheless, it was close to the town’s historical site. A bit of walking took us to a medieval gateway called Chertsey’s Gate, with the passage underneath leading to the Rochester castle grounds.

The castle grounds shared similarity with Guildford’s in terms of its appearance, but it was slightly bigger and greyish in appearance. There was a long queue near the entrance, waiting to purchase a ticket at a white makeshift tent, but the procedure was fast. We received a blue wristband ticket each that included an entry to the castle keep and the Medway Food Festival at the castle grounds.

Before visiting the keep, we ventured around the festival tents for a light lunch. There was a wide range of local and foreign delicacies, such as Turkish delights, farm cheese, and bubble tea. Among the food vendors, local crafts were displayed in the most visible way ever, such as the wooden kitchen utensils or the stacks of painted floral mugs. Shockingly, a Tunbridge Wells dog treat company made their presence among the food vendors. While enjoying food, visitors were accompanied by a live performance on the stage. There were two Elvis Presley cosplayers hovering under an orange tent.

I had my eyes on a crepe stall, for which the price was reasonable compared to the Christmas market in front of London’s National Gallery. I ordered a banana and Nutella filling while Jasmine preferred hers with extra cinnamon.

“How long this festival would last?” I asked the aunty, who was pouring the crepes mixture on a hot crepe pan.

“It’s the last day of the festival,” she said, while chopping a slice of banana. “Until five pm.”

We were lucky.

We ate our fresh, piping hot crepes by the castle walls, where we could look at the river below full of docking boats. Near to where we stand was a temporary amusement park with young children playing merry-go-round, spinning teacup, and bungee jumping.

“They looked funny,” Jasmine giggled as she pointed at the children being strapped while hopping at the mini trampoline. They looked like froglets, trying to leap for the first time.

Castle With No Floors

Despite standing at 113 ft. (34.44 m) tall, Rochester Castle has no proper flooring. What we saw was an open-spaced with two mezzanine floors to observe the damaged parts. To reach the castle’s top, we had to walk up the spiral staircase made of uneven stones.

The first room was assumedly a resting chamber, before converting into an introductory space about the castle. For centuries it had experienced many wars and conflicts, which contribute to the keep’s damaged state. After its last owner, Sir Anthony Weldon, the castle belonged to the city in 1884. A model castle showed what it could have been originally. There was a Great Hall where banquets were held and a mural gallery where the bards performed. Now the wooden floors had disappeared, and its past glory could only be seen in the illustrations around the castle. This royal apartment had become a home for the local pigeons.

Like most medieval castles, the narrow corridors with low ceiling were enough for one person to go through. Many times, we had to make way for the other visitors to descend. As we were approaching the top, we could see the Rochester Cathedral and its white triangular squire in full view. The exposed castle battlement gave a panoramic view of the houses in Rochester and River Medway filled with boats. Right below was a white mansion which might belong to a posh family. Back then, knights on-duty would scout any hint of enemy assault before it reached to the town centre. Although we tried to take as much photo as we could, the wind constantly blew our hair.

Some parts of the castle had a layer of black protective net right above. Although it was meant to shield visitors from the rain, but we suspected its real purpose as a pigeon poop shield. The brown gravel ground was the resting place for pigeon carcasses, which slightly disgusted Jasmine. There was a tunnel leading to the castle’s lower ground, where it once served as a cesspit filled with rubbish. When the aristocrats and royals were enjoying a feast of roasted meat, no one bothered about the smelly condition underneath their feet.

Cathedral with Over1400 Years of History

Those who had lived in the keep could wake up late for the Sunday mass, as the cathedral was only a less than five minutes journey from the castle ground.

Passing through the arch entrance, what amazed me was the paper doves flying on the ceiling. A project made by local schoolchildren to promote world peace. Like most cathedrals, there were small chapels, bishops in eternal slumber, and an organ as the church’s heart. Towards the end of the cathedral was a private library, behind a chapter doorway with Judaism figures like Ecclesia in a blue dress and Synagoga in her blindfold. Beside the library was a memorial for Dickens, who had grown up in this town. His body was buried in Westminster, along with the other famous English men and women.

There was no voice in the cathedral except footsteps and occasional whispers. We indulged in this moment of serenity, as we read the inscriptions of the chapels, bishops, and the Great War heroes. Near to the side entrance was a mural fresco drawn by a Russian iconographer to commemorate the cathedral’s 1400th anniversary. On the wall depicted the baptism of Jesus in the Heavens, while the King and the people of Kent followed suit.

The exit led us to a tiny stone passage called Pilgrim’s Passage, once an important passage for medieval pilgrims to travel between Canterbury and Winchester. Today, we could exit to the town’s High Street instead of travelling further East.

Folktales and Stories

Eastgate House was a little further from the crowded part of the street. The most identifiable icon was not the house itself, but a black and white mural of a moustached man with an additional scarlet red graffiti screaming ‘Brexit is a mistake’.

This house was one of the remaining late Elizabethan houses. The house tour began with a quaint study room with a portrait of Sir Peter Buck, the first owner, and his writing desk. The baby blue walls brought out a lively atmosphere which contrasted the wooden structures. Moving upstairs, the family room displayed an elaborated plaster ceiling full of geometrical patterns. In the middle was the Buck family’s coats of arms, which were in full view within a mirror in the size of a desk.

Einstein once emphasised on the importance fairy tales. Aside from the familiar fairy tales’ symbols like the red clock from Little Red Riding Hood and the magic lamp from Aladdin, some galleries in the house were dedicated to narrating folklores around the world. Even mythos like the Mesopotamian’s Inanna and the Greek Persephone could influence popular children’s book like Alice in Wonderland, which was originally named as Alice’s Adventures in Underground. Fairies in old English folklore had a more malicious image; they would steal newborns from the crib unless church bells were rung to ward off these creatures. Sirens in Greek myth were symbolism of temptation, but in maritime culture, having a mermaid figurehead would ensure good luck and a safe journey home.

For a period, the house served as a local boarding school for girls, as seen by the small tables and chairs. The on-duty governesses were unmarried, and they received an extremely low pay. The school was featured in two of Dickens’ works, as ‘Westgate’ in The Pickwick Papers and the ‘Nun’s House’ The Mystery of Edwin Drood.

“Ah,” I released a cry when I saw Dicken’s wax statue in the next gallery. His eyes were closed, seemingly dozing off or thinking about the next chapter (I do this sometimes when I am generating new ideas or scenes). To him, Rochester was a special place where he spent his happy childhood, until his father’s debt. He had to work in a factory at 12 years old, which was common during Victorian times. His experience was a major influence in his works, which most of them had a bitter tone and overbearingly long and dry descriptions. I had the urge to escape the room, fearing the wax statue would open its eyes when figured out how to begin the consecutive chapter.

Walking down the stairs brought us to the last exhibit of the house, the kitchen. It showed a glimpse of the life of English housewives in the 16th century. There were guidebooks for women on the tasks to become a good huswife (the old spelling for housewife), ranging from the basic jobs like cooking to the complex ones like elixir concoction. Their world only revolved around the household and family, unlike modern women with a wider range of choices and worldview.

There is more about Dickens. He owned a two-storey tall Swiss Chalet, a Christmas present given by his actor friend Charles Fetcher. The chalet arrived in 58 boxes which Dickens had to build it himself. It was his writing place where he produced most of his works, and the place he died when he was writing his work, Edwin Drood. The Swiss Chalet is in the garden of Eastgate House, but we did not have access as it was sealed with a tape.

“Should we find somewhere to rest our feet?” Jasmine suggested. I also felt somewhat thirsty.

We soon found a bakery with pastries displayed on the shopfront. Jasmine fell in love with the gingerbread men, which she found it cute. The café opened its doors in 1908, and it retained the Edwardian vibe with the upholstered and cushioned chairs and mahogany tables. When I brought my chamomile tea to the table where Jasmine sat, she had eaten a part of the gingerbread man.

“You amputated it,” I said.

“Don’t say that,” she huffed. “That’s disgusting.”

We sat for half an hour until I finished my mug of tea.

50 Shades of Green

“This High Street is so peculiar,” Jasmine cried.

The street felt like a collage of colours, like the mysterious black and white, bare red bricks, modest white with mint accents, and energetic maroon and pink. Even the town’s visitor centre replicated the Santorini aesthetic with its pillars in blue and white.

“England’s largest second-hand bookstore,” Jasmine read the engraved words underneath a green signboard out loud. “Is this the one that I saw on the train?”

The storefront of the Baggin Bookstore looked like any other Rochester shop. After walking in, we were bombarded with shelves and trolleys of old hardcover books. One corner was dedicated to travel guides around Kent, which most of them were dated. Their reputation mostly came from the layered and long area, which was sectioned based on book categories. Non-fiction dominated the shop, which covered a wide range of topics like history, architecture and literary criticism. As for fiction, it was hidden at the end of the store. Aside from general fiction, there was a shelf devoted to Sci-Fi and fantasy, which the blue covers had faded, and creases grew on the book spines. Looking out the window, I could see a train heading from the station to London Victoria.

Guildhall Museum was next to the bookstore. How odd that it was closed on Sundays out of all days of the week. This 17th-century building incorporated Victorian elements such as the black streetlight, the olive-green hexagonal post box, and a brown plaque commemorating Dickens.

Across the River Medway was the Rochester Bridge, with two black lions guarding at each end of the bridge. Throughout the centuries, the bridge had distinct looks and was constructed of different materials. Instead of following the cars towards the other side of the river, Jasmine and I walked along the Esplanade where we could hear children screaming in joy from the castle grounds above us. An ebb caused by the damp river mud was exposed under the sun, and the patches of river grass by the bank looked unappealing. The Rochester Pier gate was locked, but there were a few canoeists marching out through an unsuspecting side entrance.