This is the entrance hall of Ramsgate Station. We left our train to pursue its way to its final stop at Margate while we walked on into town.
On the way, we called in at a newsagent’s shop to check Tigger’s Euromillions ticket. And guess what: yes, it didn’t win anything.
Ramsgate is a strange town which gives off an aura of faded glory, at least, that’s the effect it has on me, though what this glory might have been or why it faded, I have no idea. Its heyday as a seaside town is a hundred years in the past and the Channel ferry service which brought it a temporary importance is long gone, a victim of the Channel Tunnel.
Today, I believe it lives mainly on tourism and its large port now turned into a marina.
The name of this town probably does derive from an animal but not from a ram. In 1275 the name is recorded as Remmesgate and this suggests that it combines two Anglo-Saxon words: firstly, hrem (genitive hremmes), meaning ‘raven’ (the bird) and, secondly, geat meaning a gap in the cliffs allowing access to the sea. There is, however, an outside chance that Rams derives from a personal name, that of the owner of the land or that of a notable inhabitant.
On the way we saw this old shop front with period glasswork advertising leather goods and “grindery”, which would probably have been tools for working leather and perhaps even a blade sharpening service.
We spent the afternoon with Tigger’s people then caught a bus back to the port where we had dinner in a restaurant before taking another bus – to the station this time.
Happily, we did not have long to wait for a train to St Pancras. We prepared our tickets for inspection and settled down for the ride home.