Notes from Tower, West Malling, Kent

A quick 40 minute drive saw us arrive at the quaint Kent village of West Malling with 50 minutes to spare for our appointment with Mike North, key holder for the tower and our guide for the visit.

Driving through the high street, we spotted the English Heritage sign for the Tower, indicating a sharp left turn down a narrow lane. After a couple of minutes we soon realise that the helpful local youths had moved the sign, so we turned the car around and headed back to the centre of the village.

We took a guess at a left turn once we had reached the junction with the high street and our luck was in, five minutes later found us looking high to our right across the opposite side of the road at the cold grey tower rising from a ridge into the murky Kent sky.

The Tower from the Road

Seeing nowhere to park, we turned the car around and headed back to the country park we had passed to our left, a couple of hundred yards back down the road. Parking the car up, we checked our camera’s and made the walk back to the Tower.

As we approached we noticed what appeared to be a spring rising from the foot of the hill upon which the tower was located. The well was dressed with some old looking brickwork and looked more than just an exit place for a stream. I made a mental note to ask about the spring when Mike arrived.

Entering the gate from the main road into the field, we looked up at the tower. It looked far wider and more impressive than the few pictures that we had seen of the place over the last couple of days. Although there was some debate as to the purpose of the tower, it definitely seemed too large for the 14th Century church tower that legend decreed it to be.

Taking a closer look at the brickwork, the building looked as if it dated back to at least Norman times, if not Saxon. Looking around, we noticed that the adjoining wall from the property ‘next door’ that led back down to the road contained an older course of brickwork in its lower levels that probably dated back to the same time as the tower itself.

Making our way up the path alongside the tower, Laura leading the way, we could see the impressive view, even from ground level, that the tower had of the surrounding valley. This made our mind up, this was surely no church tower, but part of a previously larger defensive structure that no longer existed.

Turning sharp right, following the right angles of the building, we made our way up towards the steps to the door of the Tower. As we turned, my eyes were drawn to the lower, first floor window. There was nothing there, but I felt it necessary to take a photograph for later inspection. As we stood by the door I commented to Laura about the window. She, too, had the same feeling, but both of us weren’t sure if we had actually caught a glimpse of one of the pigeons that we could hear clearly flying around inside the building.

Laura sat on the step against the door and commented that she could feel the door vibrating from the noise of the pigeons inside. Although I didn’t catch what she said next I got the feeling that I wouldn’t like to be one of those pigeons.

As the meeting time approached I suggested that we make our way back down to the gate in case Mike had arrived. As we walked back down the path I asked if Laura had picked up anything yet, to which she replied ‘nothing’.

Walking down the hill we turned to look at the tower again. Both our focus were drawn to the uppermost window overlooking the snaking road. We both commented but felt, once again, that this was probably nothing more than perhaps catching a glimpse of a bird flying past the window inside the building.

Reaching the entrance to the field I could see that Mike had arrived and we walked to greet each other. Introductions over, Mike gave us a brief history of the tower, brief only in the context that very little was actually known about the building and common consensus was that it was a defensive tower rather than the church tower than it was once thought to be.

The only legacy of the small chapel that once stood next to the building was to lend its name to the Tower.

The Spring at the foot of the hill

 Once Mike had finished going over the history, I asked him about the spring at the entrance to the field next to the road. Mike confirmed that it was an ancient spring and votive offerings had been found there when it was excavated many years ago, indicating its sacred nature. Unfortunately, the few offerings found consisted of drilled bones and had proved difficult to date.

Once again we made the slow climb to the top of the hill to the entrance door of the tower. Placing the key in the door, Mike warned us about the pigeons and what we were likely to find inside. To Mike’s credit, Laura and myself were not at all disappointed.

Opening the door, we were greeted by the remains of several dead pigeons in various stages of decomposition lying on the floor in front of us. Above us, several more pigeons were flying against the net stretched across the top of the tower to restrict their access. I found it sort of ironic that instead of keeping the birds out, the net, had in fact, entombed them.

Inside the Tower

We quickly inspected the inside of the tower, with Mike pointing out the features that could still be seen. He then turned and, with a wry smile, suggested that we may wish to scramble over the locked gate to the stairwell that was built into the wall of the tower to the left of the enterance door, leading to what were once the upper levels.

I turned to look at Laura and she looked back and nodded. As I accepted the torch from Mike, that he conveniently already had to hand, I debated in my mind as to whether or not he had actually offered us an invitation, or in fact a dare.

Clambering over the wrought iron gate, I found myself at the foot of a crumbling staircase, covering in inches of pigeon droppings. I turned and held the gate for Laura to stop it from moving as she climbed over. A couple of seconds later she joined me at the foot of the stairs and we looked at each other, both visualising the grim task ahead.

There was no turning back now and the grinning Mike, stood there staring at us, just knew it.

Facing up to the fact that there was nothing else we could do other than put our best foot forward and not sink too far into the muck, we made our way carefully up the stairs. We soon realised that this was the least of our problems as it was very difficult to maintain our balance and there was very little support to grab onto with our hands.

We made our way slowly upwards, our path illuminated by the amber torchlight, our footsteps crunching on the remains of a hundred dead pigeons as we continued our grim journey to the upper reaches of the tower.

After a couple of minutes we reached our goal and stood looking down at the damp golden gravel that now made up the floor. Question 1. - Why do things always appear to be higher when you are perched precariously on a thousand year old crumbling staircase hidden by layers of pigeon droppings and corpses?

After taking a couple of pictures it was an easy decision to quickly turn around and make our way back down the stairs. Question 2 – how come it is actually more difficult to walk down stairs than it is to go up?

After what seemed an eternity, we found ourselves climbing back over the iron gate, just relieved to get the ordeal over with. Handing the torch back to Mike, I thanked him for taking time out for showing us around the building and sharing it’s history with us and suggested that it would be a good time for us to depart and leave him to get some lunch in.

Walking back to the road, we made small talk and found out that Mike had been associated with the building for some 10 years and clearly cared about it. Having made our goodbyes, we walked back to our car, we paused only to take some photographs of the spring.

Before we made our way to Rochester to visit the Castle, we decided to pop back into the village to grab something to eat ourselves at one of the pubs we’d spotted in the high street

Over lunch we discussed the tower and whether or not Laura had picked anything up from the tower. Despite our shared experiences with the windows, she had sensed nothing and felt that, just like the physical building itself, the location was just a shell and retained nothing of its former life over the centuries.