Block the Blocks: a message of protest from ‘my friend’ the Folkestone Mermaid

Cornelia Parker’s Folkestone Mermaid modelled by local mum Georgina Baker

By Jeremy Miles

I receved a message from my friend the Folkestone Mermaid today. I say ‘my friend’ but if truth be told we’ve never actually met. She just feels like a friend  and as a stalwart champion of my old home town, seems to support all the right concerns for its future.

Georgina Baker, a Folkestone mum of two, was the model chosen by Cornelia Parker to fulfil a commission for the town’s second Arts Triennial back in 2011.

Cast in lifesize bronze but in Mermaid form she has now sat at the end of The Stade on a granite boulder beside the fishermen’s harbour wall keeping a watchful eye on the ever-changing seascape and out towards the horizon for the past 13 years.

Originally conceived as a reinterpretation of Copenhagen’s ‘Little Mermaid’ and inspired by HG  Wells’ story of The Sea Lady and Hans Christian Anderson’s famous fairy tale, Parker decided that rather than a literal copy of the Copenhagen Mermaid she wanted to base the work on a real person.

She invited local residents to apply and Baker was chosen from a shortlist of six. It was a good choice. Not only has the Folkestone Mermaid become a noted feature of the town loved by residents and visitors alike, but Georgina Baker has taken her duties extremely seriously. She now sees herself as a kind of custodian of the history, heritage and traditions of Folkestone and particularly the harbour area. Hence her message earlier today which regards the controversial development plans for massive blocks of residential flats extending along the seafront to the Harbour Arm.

In a Block the Blocks message she urges us to protest further over the size, design and location of the monstrous plan and encourages people to add more signatures to the petition that she started last year.

Many of us have already lodged complaints over the hideously inappropriate size, design and location of the project and Georgina’s message alerted us to a new planning application seeking imminent approval of existing details. I did not take much persuading.

These flats which have already been described as looking like something out of the Flintstones are simply wrong. To build them on the harbour site would visually destroy the character of the area and swamp it with a wholly over-intensive influx of residents. It would drive business away from the town centre and clog the seafront with traffic. It would look horrible and be a disaster.

As someone who was born and brought up in Folkestone and into a well-known family with local links dating back more than 200 years, this is important to me. Even though I haven’t lived there for nearly four decades, I worked in the town, got married there and had ancestors in the fishing community who helped man the local lifeboat and others who were customs officers and even possible smugglers. I have continued to visit Folkestone regularly. I care deeply for it and think that most of the developments that have seen it evolve into one of the most popular seaside locations on the south coast have been wonderful but these flats are a step too far and risk undoing all the good that has been achieved so far.

A town transformed by art

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Richard Wood’s ‘harbourside’ Holiday Homes

We went back to the old home town for the 60th birthday party of a young friend at the weekend. There were lots of reminders of why I love Folkestone. I was born and brought up in the town, went to school there, met and married Hattie there and cut my journalistic teeth on the local newspaper. Though we’ve returned many times since we haven’t actually lived in Folkestone for more than 30 years. It is full of good memories though, particularly of the local arts scene.  Inevitably I suppose most of the writers, artists, musicians and actors I used to know have moved on but great to find the old place still full of character and artistic energy. Continue reading “A town transformed by art”

Pages of the Sea – lamenting the madness of 1914-1918 and the boys who never came home

Folkestone, Sunday 11th November, 2018: An amazing day. We woke early in a hotel built on the old brickfields and headed for the sands. Found what was probably the last parking space in town and made our way in pouring rain to join  Danny Boyle and lots of other people on the beach to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the Armistice that marked the the end of the terrible conflict that was the First World War.

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Wilfred Owen

Boyle’s Pages of the Sea project saw portraits of soldiers who never returned from the battlefields in France etched in the sand at low-water on beaches around the UK. They remained briefly as a poignant reminder of the sacrifice made by so many until their images were erased forever by the incoming tide. Continue reading “Pages of the Sea – lamenting the madness of 1914-1918 and the boys who never came home”

Remembering the fascinating and illustrious roots of Folkestone’s annual autumn book-fest

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Benjamin Zephaniah at Kent Literature Festival in 1984. Photo by Hattie Miles

Meet a young Benjamin Zephaniah. The year is 1984.  I had just interviewed the then still relatively unknown Rastafarian dub poet and Hattie took this photograph. We had talked about the scourge of heroin and the drug casualties that appeared to be reaching epidemic proportions on the streets of Britain. Little did we know… 

Zephaniah was just one of the fascinating and talented writers, performers and musicians taking part in that year’s Kent Literature Festival. This wonderful event, run by my old friend the poet John Rice, had been held annually since 1981 (or maybe it was 1980) and was really hitting its stride. Based in my hometown of Folkestone it offered a feast of literature with famous authors and performers rubbing shoulders with emerging talents and  newcomers.  Continue reading “Remembering the fascinating and illustrious roots of Folkestone’s annual autumn book-fest”

25th May 1917 – the WWI air-raid that blasted Folkestone into a new age of violence

 

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My great grandfather William Henry Stokes one of 61 people killed in the Tontine Street air-raid

The date:  Friday 25th May 1917. The time: 6.22pm.

It was a beautiful early summer’s evening and for the people of Folkestone the start of a seaside holiday weekend. In bustling Tontine Street children were playing while their mothers chatted and queued outside Stokes Brothers the greengrocers. There had been wartime food shortages and a new delivery of potatoes had just arrived. A crowd had quickly gathered as news got around. Shopkeeper William Henry Stokes, my great grandfather, and his staff were doing brisk business.

The mood was surprisingly carefree. Despite the terrible death toll on the Western Front just a short distance across the English Channel, the actual violence of war had had little direct effect on the town. The sound of distant explosions caused scant concern to the shoppers outside the Stokes grocery store that evening. It was just the military practising at nearby Shorncliffe Camp. Or so they thought. Continue reading “25th May 1917 – the WWI air-raid that blasted Folkestone into a new age of violence”

The class of 64 and the Folkestone Triennial

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A  few days ago my wife Hattie and I found ourselves staying in a seaside hotel as guests of a girls school reunion. The ‘girls’ in question were former pupils of the near legendary St Margaret’s School in my home town of Folkestone. The class of ’64 celebrating the fact that it is 50 years since they were first turned loose on the world.

Continue reading “The class of 64 and the Folkestone Triennial”

Learning a reporter’s trade amid multiple shipping disasters

The Folkestone Herald editorial office in early 1970s on a day when no ships sank
The Folkestone Herald editorial office in early 1970s on a day when no ships sank

Exactly 43-years ago today I walked into my first newspaper office to start a long and eventful career in journalism. The bi-weekly Folkestone Herald and Gazette was a great place to learn the reporters trade. The paper had the advantage of being based in one of the most characterful towns on the south east coast. It had been on the front-line during the war. Hell-Fire Corner they called it when the bombs rained down. I grew up there during the 1950s and had an unquestioning understanding of the place. It was strange but I knew nothing else. Continue reading “Learning a reporter’s trade amid multiple shipping disasters”