Dead End

Out of the city and down to Dungeness, the place that in the words of Jonathan Glancey ‘broods at the very edge of the map of England. It is a natural dead end.’ 

Dungeness catches the imagination like few coastal settlements. 
It is not exactly a village, and certainly not a town. 
It is neither a resort nor a place many people will feel particularly comfortable with. 
It has no pier, no amusement arcades, little or nothing in the way of rock, saucy postcards or kiss-me-quick hats. 
It has no hotel. 
It is very much its own place, a kind of willful stage set on the very south-easterly tip of England. 

I last came here over a decade ago when we were staying at Butlins up the road in Rye; we came out across the shingle and drove as far as we could into the entrance of the power station.
And Hannah took photos and made a little video through the window of Laurie’s knackered car. 

‘…the presence of the power stations has created a hybrid landscape, one that is harsh and bleak but within which a raw and undeniable beauty continues to surface’ David Chandler  

It was all almost exactly as I remembered it – bleak terrain, moody sky - though the beautiful Shingle House, where I stayed this time is a subtle addition to the sparse scattering of structures.

I walked during the day, during the black black night and in the early morning. I took lots of photos. I collected shells and stones and I made some drawings.

Night: The power station (L), the Shingle House

Sunrise

 Sunset