In the beginning...


It is told in the folk tales, whispered on the whiskey tongues of sailors, murmured in the dark, only half un-believed, that the devil himself created Whitstable.

The story goes like this: After a particulary joyful spree of mischief around Canterbury one winter’s night, the devil flew north, flaming, howling and laughing, heading for hell. But not alone! But with fists full of Canterbury revellers, houses, AND the steeple of Canterbury cathedral! What fun!

Feeling very pleased with himself, and looking forward to the fun he would have with his collection, he passed over what is now The Thanet Way, and was knocked suddenly sideways by a blast of icy north wind. The Devil in his surprise dropped his clutchings, scattering the houses and people over the coast, forming Whitstable.

Shivering a bad word, the Devil stormed off back to his inferno to warm up.

Some doubt this story. Saying the Devil isn’t real, and Whitstable is just an ordinary fishing town. But all I can say is, that if you want proof just consider where Canterbury Cathedral’s steeple now lies......

It fell into the sea that night, and we can still see it to this day. Lying there in the water, a little bit more pebbly than it was. But no less a spire........ it is The Street!

Some say that if at midnight, and the tides are right, and the moon is full, you walk out and follow the Street all the way to the end, you will find yourself the gates of hell!

All images and text © Quinton Winter 2019