Tickled by the Turning Tide: The Folkestone Poems

I am pleased to announce that my first collection of poetry, Tickled by the Turning Tide: The Folkestone Poems will be published on 6^th April 2023.

When I was first taken on holiday by my parents to Folkestone at the age of ten, I could never have thought that, more than half a century later, I would not only return to the town to live but be publishing a book of poetry inspired by it.

All thirty three verses reflect my adopted coastal home, covering key moments in the town’s history, from its fishing heritage to its role as a port of embarkation for war, and from its period as a fashionable seaside resort, which welcomed royalty and writers, to its decline and subsequent regeneration as an art and dining destination.

I also explore aspects of modern living in a town that is changing rapidly.

Since I moved here with my wife in 2016, I have not only written and performed my poetry in a variety of locations, including coffee houses, bars and even on the steep, cobbled Old High Street, but also created and run a successful series of literary evenings, initially as a lockdown solution but still going strong after three years, and delivered award winning walking tours of the local area.

The official launch will take place at Folklore on Tuesday 11^th April 2023 at 7pm, at which I will be signing copies and reading a handful of the poems.

I will also be delivering more readings at the Steep Street Coffee House on Thursday 4^th May in the coming weeks in addition to running walking tours on 22^nd and 26^th April to promote the collection.

The book will retail at £10.99 in the UK (USA £12.99) but, for the first two months, I will be offering it at the discount price of £8. For those living in and around Folkestone, I will be happy to deliver or arrange collection. I will also be delighted to sign the book (for those wanting its value to diminish immediately!).

It will also be available for sale from 1^st May  at the Folkestone Bookshop, Town Hall/Musuem, Steep Street Coffee House and The Great British Shop on the Old High Street. I am currently negotiating with other outlets to do the same. If you have any questions in the meantime or wish to purchase a copy once it is available, please either message me on one of my social media platforms or email me at tonyquarrington@msn.com.

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Walking in Literature’s Footsteps

Ever since I started my walking tours in 2017, I had wanted to combine my passion for  literature with Folkestone and Sandgate’s rich tradition of welcoming eminent writers by visiting the locations they lived in and frequented. The temporary respite in pandemic lockdown restrictions allowed me to scratch that itch in September 2020.

One of the prerequisites of a good tour is to be blessed with fine weather, and this was the case today. An added bonus was the fact that most of the guests already knew each other, which with their mutual love of literature, contributed to a relaxed and enthusiastic atmosphere.

The number of guests was restricted due to the prevalence of the “rule of six”, though we did stretch the definition to mean six guests plus the tour guide, a minor infraction at a time when the beach and coastal park were regularly inundated with large groups of visitors. 

Meeting at the Step Short Arch on the eastern end of The Leas, pride of place for the first reading went to a Nobel Prize winner, Samuel Beckett. The Irish writer’s connection to Folkestone might not be well known to many residents, but in 1961 he had stayed at the Bristol Hotel, since demolished and replaced by No. 1 The Leas, as a condition of getting married to his long term lover, Suzanne Dechevaux-Dumesnil. 

I will spare the reader every precise detail of the itinerary, other than to report that we visited more than a dozen locations. These included The Bayle, Old High Street, Folkestone Harbour, Sunny Sands, Mermaid Beach, the Riviera and Radnor Cliff, returning to the Leas, with the final reading from Wilfred Owen at the Metropole. The recently opened Lift Cafe provided a welcome refreshment stop around half way through the tour.

At each location I read an extract from a writer linked to it. In addition to Beckett, the following were represented – H.G. Wells, Charles Dickens, Wilfred Owen, Carol Ann Duffy, Thomas Ingoldsby, Jocelyn Brooke and Henry Williamson. I even slipped in a handful of my own Folkestone inspired poems, though I envisage that the inclusion of more noted authors on subsequent tours will mean a reduced role for my efforts. 

It was a huge success, lasting four hours (with the aforementioned pitstop), concluding with a drink outside Keppel’s. As an additional souvenir of the day, I provided everyone with a printed booklet, entitled A Sort of Confusing Brilliance (a quote from Kipps by H.G. Wells), containing all the readings and biographical information. 

A second tour was promptly planned for October, but it fell foul to awful weather, and any chance of an alternative date was scuppered by the subsequent lockdown. But, in 2021 it will become part of the standard package of tours.

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How the Walking Tours Project Was Saved

The summer of 2019 had been a curate’s egg for my three year old walking tours project. Some had been well attended, whilst others had been less so, with one or two even cancelled due to a lack of bookings or no-shows.  

As the summer progressed, and the customary Californian holiday beckoned, I became increasingly disenchanted about its future, and resigned to focusing exclusively in future on my writing (which would not have been a hardship, rather a shame that I could not pursue both passions).

And then, either side of the aforementioned break, two things happened which changed everything. 

With only a week to go, I was reluctantly persuaded, I cannot recall now by whom, to add one last tour before closing down for the summer. So, on a thankfully balmy late September morning, I stood beside Yoko Ono’s Earth Peace stone slab in front of The Grand, waiting for two or three people to turn up.

And two or three did appear on the stroke of eleven – only to be joined in the next ten minutes by a further fourteen guests of all ages and group sizes. 

Now, seventeen would ordinarily be a few too many for a satisfying tour. I pride myself on providing every one with an enjoyable personal experience, and that number is a challenging one to accomplish that aim.

But, this morning, it worked. Everyone was engaged and in high spirits, asking pertinent questions and getting along with each other – a tour guide’s dream. It was an absolute joy to acquaint them of the history and art associated with the “finest marine promenade in the world”.

After more than fifty organised tours over five months, the best, had been saved until last!

And the remuneration was very welcome too!

Returning from San Francisco in early November, I remained enthused about the upcoming season. 

But I wasn’t prepared for the next surprise. 

About a month later I had agreed to deliver some readings at the Eleto Chocolate Cafe on behalf of colleagues in my writing group. During the interval, cuddling my second large glass of sauvignon blanc whilst sat in semi-darkness at the back of the room, I received a text message from the Folkestone Town Council advising me that I had won the 2019 award for the best home based business in town!

Now, firstly, I was unaware, prior to this moment, of the existence of such awards, and, secondly, that I had even been nominated for one. My shock, even embarrassment, was only heightened when I discovered later the quality of competition I had “beaten”. 

My recollection of the remainder of the evening is more hazy, though I believe the readings went well. I may have toasted myself with an unintended third glass of wine.

So, early on a crisp Monday morning a week later, I was handed my certificate by the Worshipful Mayor in a modest ceremony at Anna’s tea rooms on Cheriton Place. 

By now, I couldn’t wait for the 2020 tour season to begin.

But 2020 was to prove a year like no other.

But that’s another story (see separate post).

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2020: A Walking Tour Year Like No Other

Following the unexpected boost provided by the popular final tour of the preceding year, and the business award from Folkestone Town Council, 2020 always promised to be an exciting year. And within days of the commencement of the New Year, the season’s prospects looked even brighter. An approach from the leader of the Sandgate Parish Council resulted in an agreement to deliver ten walking tours of the village, linked to the dates of the Farmer’s Markets in Chichester Hall on the first and third Saturday of each month from May to September.

And, for the first time, I was given funding to research and design the programme, and to compensate for any slow take up in interest.

In addition, the Folkestone Channel Rotary Club asked me to deliver a day long tour and introductory presentation to their members, including colleagues from Belgium and the Netherlands, as part of their fortieth anniversary celebrations. A date had also been agreed with the Friends of Folkestone Museum to conduct a talk, followed by a walk around the Creative Quarter. 

Finally, there was the added enticement of the fifth Folkestone Triennial, scheduled from 5 September to 8 November, during which I had undertaken to provide a series of artworks tours to complement the official programme.

But within three weeks of the launch event, all had “changed, changed utterly” in the prophetic words of W.B. Yeats a hundred years before.

And yet 2020 still became the most successful season in the four year life of Folkestone Walking Tours.

How could that have been?

As March begat April, which turned into May and then June, all the major events in town, including the Triennial, were postponed or cancelled. The only walking I was permitted to do fell into the category of daily “exercise”. I began to joke to anyone who would listen that, if and when lockdown restrictions were lifted, I might find myself the “only gig in town”.

And so it proved. 

On a cool, wet morning on Saturday 4 July I was joined on the steps of Rocksalt by fourteen human guests and a dog for a three hour stroll around the harbour and seafront. Despite persistent drizzle and intermittent dives for cover to avoid the seagulls seduced into joining the group by one of our number with large handfuls of food, it had been a enjoyable and liberating event. My prior concerns about the legality of the size of the group, and the potential inability to maintain the appropriate distance between each other, proved unfounded too as the police in evidence allowed us to move around unchallenged. 

The Sandgate tours got underway two weeks later, and I was eventually able to deliver the entire programme, with a further tour thrown in for good measure. 

But a remarkable thing happened to confirm my earlier prediction.

As society reopened, and many felt comfortable in leaving their homes again, I began to receive requests for tours from leaders of groups such as the U3A (University of the Third Age) and other “Meetup” parties. Starved of their customary range of activities, they were determined to enjoy the great outdoors again. With so little else on offer, walking tours became an even more attractive proposition than they might otherwise have been.

I even found time to offer “new” literary and artworks walks – and a special birthday tour for the family of the former Prima Pottery shop owners on the Old High Street.

With holidays cancelled, there needed to be no end date to the season, other than if further restrictions were imposed, which duly returned in November. But in the intervening period, I was able to deliver twenty six tours for a total of two hundred guests. That figure would have been even greater had the “rule of six” not been in force during part of the period, which left a number of prospective guests disappointed. 

In the space of eight months, 2020 had promised much, threatened to disappoint but ultimately delivered in unexpected but satisfying ways.

And then 2021 proved equally interesting. 

But that is for another day.

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I Sit in Coffee Shops

I sit in coffee shops, 

That’s what I do,

Sometimes outside, 

To take in the view.

There I write poems 

Or post updates online,

To let my friends know 

That I’m doing fine.

I might have a big breakfast

Or occasionally brunch,

And if I stay long enough,

It might stretch to lunch.

Cappuccino, no chocolate,

Is my customary drink,

But after two or three,

I can’t hear myself think.

So I revert to a pot

Of refreshing Earl Grey,

Instead of just leaving,

It allows me to stay.

I quite like the quiet,

But am up for a natter,

With anybody else

There for that matter.

If I’m using my laptop

Which is not that robust,

To keep it performing

A wall socket’s a must.

Django’s and Steep Street

Are my regular haunts,

Eleto and the Hideaway,

And Brown’s on my jaunts.

I love Bobbies too

In the old harbour station,

And the literate Lift Cafe

By the regeneration. 

There are a few others

I sometimes frequent,

But not conducive to writing,

So my time’s not well spent.

I sit in coffee shops, 

That’s what I do,

Sometimes outside, 

To take in the view.

,

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Still Smile

The situation as it stands
Is stay at home and wash your hands;
Shop only for essential needs
And exercise with dogs on leads;
Keep your distance, at least six feet,
And make no plans with friends to meet;
Do those jobs you have left for long,
Practice new skills or write a song;
Home school the children, if you can,
Sit in the garden, get a tan;
Spend more time in your living room,
Watch a film or connect on Zoom;
Do what works for you all the while,
But through this anxious time, still smile.

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Lake Life

With resident white mallard
On a seasonal sabbatical,
A newly arrived black cormorant
Struts and preens on the central island
Of Radnor Park’s fishing lake,
While ravenous pigeons wrestle
Over scarce, illicit bread stocks.

No more anglers cast silent floats
On the teeming duck infested waters;
No rods and bait filled baskets
Bestrew the narrow concrete path,
Forcing me to trudge through
The muddied grassy verge
As a pair of greedy gulls stamp
Feet to tantalise tender worms.

A limpid sun shines apologetically
Above the mock Tudor tea rooms;
Nurses from near minor injury unit
Snatch fag breaks on the corner
Where discarded dog ends,
And twigs from overhanging trees,
Entice the ducks into mistaking
Them for a flavoursome breakfast,
(The fags and twigs, not the nurses).

After a day when few people pass
To witness the birdlife bedlam,
Dusk descends on a noiseless scene,
And a serene moon declines
Over Cheriton Road rooftops;
And in the littered concrete shelter,
Where youths habitually congregate
To drink and smoke and lark about,
There is neither light nor sound,
No need here for an enforced curfew.

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Easing the Lockdown

As the dread death toll still rises,
The public debate turns to when
We can come out of this crisis,
Be granted to walk free again.

Experts speak of apex and curve,
Reaching one, flattening the other,
Before we even have the nerve
To our former world uncover.

If we relax restrictive rules
Of business law and social life,
Is it a recipe for fools
To circulate more viral strife?

Might social distance still be right
To minimise exchange of breath?
Will my plain croissant and flat white
Be worth the price of pain and death?

We must think carefully what’s best,
Heed the need for work and wealth,
Saunter in the summer sun blessed,
Only hand in hand with good health.

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But Will We?

When this is over,
Will we still display humility,
And value the simple things
We have, rather than strive
Aimlessly, shamelessly for more?

We can,
But will we?

When this is over,
Will we still show the respect,
Gratitude and appreciation
For those once unregarded folk
Who keep us safe and healthy?

We can,
But will we?

When this is over,
Will we still show empathy,
Tolerance and compassion,
Qualities mislaid in recent years,
For those less fortunate?

We can,
But will we?

When this is over,
Will we still relish nature’s gifts?
Listen to the thrilling birdsong,
Smell the spring blossom,
And nurture our fragile planet?

We can,
But will we?

When this is over,
Will we still view the world afresh,
And accept our true place in it,
As mutual partners, not masters,
And, by doing so, secure our future?

We can,
But will we?

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Abandoned Harbour

Even the gulls are taking a morning off
As I drift around the deserted harbour;
The tide is out, the sky deep blue,
And the beach warm and yielding
Under my inappropriate footwear.

Amidst this light brown desert,
Brief rivulets of muddy water
Command me to take a run
And leap to reach the
Next patch of firm dry sand.

The railway viaduct now fenced off,
The Grand Burstin and Rocksalt
Both dark and sad and empty;
And the metal gates to the Harbour Arm,
Anticipated host to thousands
Over this warm Easter weekend,
Are firmly closed.

On a morning as delicious as this,
It would have been perfect
To stroll its two concrete tiers;
But the only tears today
Are for the sick and fearful
Imprisoned in homes and hospitals
Across an anxious but resolute land.

Bob’s seafood stall and Folkestone Trawlers
Plough lone furrows on the deserted Stade,
While a pair of deep wrinkled fishermen
Lean against the chain railing and reminisce
When fish was plentiful and the ferries full.

I bound another murky stream
And lean against the pink house;
Planted in self-isolation,
Its former lustre lost too,
With peeling paintwork and ponder the fate
Of the next Triennial, triumphantly announced
Barely a month, but another lifetime, ago.

I turn the corner of the East Head
Under the rock perched orange house,
That, unlike its pink neighbour,
Has had a reviving lick of paint;
Two young girls lift their skirts,
And paddle in the gentle, shallow waves
On the incessant, incoming tide;
I cannot avoid the uncharitable suspicion –
A sign of these strange and fretful times –
That, as they giggle and jostle each other,
They may not be from the same household.

I could stay here for hours yet,
Till the water washes over my shoes,
But an insistent call of nature,
Prosaic and not infrequent visitor
To this man of a certain age,
Summons me to return swiftly
To my home by the park.

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