A remarkable landscape

By Dr Stephen Scoffham – Cabinet Member for Climate, Environment and Biodiversity (Folkestone-Hythe District Council)

The chalk downlands that stretch for over 100 km across Kent form a remarkable and very special landscape. The rocks which lie beneath the surface have had a profound influence on just about every aspect of the ecology and the settlement of the region. Once heavily wooded, the land was gradually cleared and settled from the seventh to the fourteenth century. The current pattern of roads, fields, parishes, woods and farmsteads was shaped by the needs of these early settlers. In consequence, the landscape that we see today is in itself an historical document – intricate and full of detail. However, like so many ancient ‘texts’, it needs to be interpreted.

Some years ago, I came across a book which is one of the definitive texts on the Kentish landscape. Continuity and Colonization by Alan Everett (Leicester University Press, 1986) is a detailed account of the evolution of settlement in Kent and the interaction between people and the environment. Everett pieces together the story of the past from the pattern of roads, tracks and parish boundaries found on maps. The link between the poor chalk soils and uncultivated woodland is a recurring theme. He considers changing farming practices and cites historical charters. Place name evidence is particularly important and he examines this in great detail.

I have been fascinated to learn about the history of the Folkestone & Hythe District. For example, why are the parish boundaries in the downland areas often irregular and locked together like the pieces of a jig saw? The answer, it seems, is that in the past the forest was subdivided in such a way as to give each parish or group of farms a carefully proportioned share of woodland. This also explains why in some places a number of parishes come together at the same point – in order to give them all reasonable access to resources. The relationship of parish boundaries to farmsteads is also significant. These are often found on the edges of a parish because they marked the edge of the forest at that time.

Churches are perhaps one of the most notable features of the landscape. Hill top churches, of which there are quite a number in the downlands, are particularly interesting as they may well have originated through the need for prominent landmarks for herdsmen in a heavily forested landscape. Everett also explains that although most Kentish churches were rebuilt after the Norman Conquest, a significant number were established in places that go back to Jutish times (seventh century), the Roman period or even earlier. He also ponders about the significance of holy wells and springs which, in the past, were believed to have healing properties and were associated with fertility cults and the worship of female water spirits. The fact that the spring-head churches in both Folkestone and Lyminge are dedicated to female saints (Eanswythe and Ethelburga respectively) might perhaps indicate a pre-Christian tradition.

Place names are another captivating topic. Many downland place names provide evidence of land reclaimed from the ancient forest or wald. This appears in various local forms such as wold (Womenswold), walt (Waltham) and wheel (Wheelbarrow Town), whilst Acrise (oak brushwood) and Wootton (wood farm) bear witness to woodland clearance. Additionally, the forest lodges or steads of the early settlers are remembered in names of hamlets such as Exted, Elmstead, Maxted and Palmstead. A few names are linked to old routes such as Stone Street and the Pilgrims Way but in a land that originally consisted of scattered isolated farmsteads the majority of farms were named after beasts, birds, plants or the trees of the forest such as beech, oak and elm.

Place names also provide evidence of farming practices and the rural economy. For example, a cluster of names around Swingfield (swine field) on the crest of the downs north of Folkestone indicate that the area was once used for grazing pigs. There are direct references to oxen in names such as Oxenden Wood, whilst the stock ponds or soles needed for dairy cattle account for names like Sole Street. Additionally, many parts of the ancient woodland were managed or regulated through coppicing or harvesting. This traditional practice in which trees are cut and allowed to spring up again on a regular cycle is referred to in names containing copse or spring and does much to account for the abundance of blue bells and anemones which are now such a feature of the Kentish woods.

Everett is finely attuned to the topography of the downland as well as its settlement history. He celebrates the quiet woods and combes, the ‘sudden winding valleys, lonely farms and solitary churches.’ The chalk country of Kent is, he declares, ‘quite unlike that of any part of England’ (p47). What made it so distinctive was the sheer extent and abundance of the woodland, underlain by poor soils, which extended in a more or less continuous belt across the entire region.

The peaceful, silent and largely remote downland landscape which Everitt described some forty years ago has changed dramatically. Yet the region can still only be accessed by narrow lanes and, apart from Hawkinge on the outskirts of Folkestone, remains free from urbanisation. Everett’s meticulous analysis sheds a fascinating light on how the different elements that are inscribed in the downland landscape have evolved over hundreds of years. in the same way as, to use his words, ‘the experience of a lifetime is inscribed in the lineaments of the human face’ (p13).

In November, the Kent Downs National Landscape and the Parc Naturel Regional des Caps et Marais d’Opale submitted an application to UNESCO for a Cross-Channel Geopark covering the two landscapes, and the Strait of Dover between them. If successful, this will bring international recognition for this remarkable region, its geology and its cultural history. We have inherited a unique heritage from our forebears and it deserves to be treasured.