Having arrived at Margate, you can make it the starting point for many a delightful excursion. Boulogne on the French coast, for instance, across the channel, is directly opposite Margate; steamer fare round trip, six shillings—a dollar and a half.
Other pleasant excursions are made to Canterbury and to Ramsgate. To these places run “pleasure vans” accommodating twenty persons and the fare ranges from threepence to a shilling, according to the style of vehicle. If you do not care to patronize the pleasure vans, you may hire a victoria at two shillings per hour. Canterbury is the site of the famous cathedral. At Ramsgate lived the Jewish philanthropist, Sir Moses Montefiore, for nearly the length of his long and useful life—one hundred years.
Another interesting excursion is to the old-fashioned village of Broadstairs, for many years the home of Charles Dickens. The house Dickens occupied and which he called “Bleak House,” still stands on its commanding site at the top of the cliffs directly overlooking the sea. A description of Bleak House, with illustration, appeared in the Home Journal in January, 1891, and has been widely copied in this country as well as in England. Broadstairs is only a five-mile drive from Margate, fare by victoria four shillings.
Few Americans who cross the ocean go to Margate, but they may spend a couple of days or a couple of weeks there with advantage. Margate is a town with a history. Its foremost historical feature is the Church of St. John, built in 1050. It has seen the rise of Norman, Plantagenet and Tudor dynasties and still stands, the oldest of England’s possessions. In the time of Queen Anne, according to the chronicler, to be buried in a sheet cost sixpence, and a shilling was the extravagant price of a coffin, but the honor of being buried from St. John’s Church cost two shillings more! Marriage banns were to be had at St. John’s for three-and-six.
Modern Margate is one of England’s most popular watering-places. There are many pleasant walks and some fine buildings. One of the pleasure resorts is the ocean pier. Here, three times a week, a large band of picked musicians perform a good programme giving a promenade concert directly over the breakers.
It is the boast of the Britisher that his government is “parental;” it not only assumes to take charge of the individual, but it does in many particulars compel him to take care of himself. If, for instance, you are caught boarding or leaving a moving train you are fined “forty shillings” (ten dollars)—a favorite sum for a fine, by the way, is that same forty shillings.
The pier at Margate would seem to be an exception to the rule of safety; it cannot be called absolutely safe at night. The boat landing below is reached by several flights of wide stairs, and the lowest flight is open and unguarded, not only in daytime but also at night. In addition to this the lower part of the pier is not lighted at all, and it would be the easiest thing in the world on a dark night to walk off by accident into the water. Why more accidents and loss of life do not occur is surprising. Twopence admits you to the pier, and it is a popular democratic resort.
At night the scene near the pier is a lively one. Street restaurateurs, their barrows ablaze with flambeaux, line the highway and drive quite a business selling plates of oysters, mussels, cockles and snails, which are more or less tempting.
