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:

Some doubt this story, saying Whitstable is just an ordinary fishing town, and the devil isn’t real and only exists in the hearts of humans. But all I can say is that if you want proof, just consider where Canterbury Cathedral’s steeple now lies...

The devil was suddenly knocked sideways by a blast of icy north wind. In his surprise he dropped his clutchings, scattering the houses and people over the coast, forming Whitstable.

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

Feeling very pleased with himself, and looking forward to the fun he would have with his collection, he flew north and passed over what is now The Thanet Way.

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! With fists full of Canterbury revellers, houses, AND the steeple of Canterbury cathedral! What fun!

It fell into the sea that night. 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, and you walk out and follow the Street all the way to the end, you will find yourself... at the gates of hell!

Ye olde origin of WHITSTABLE?