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.