I have absolutely no interest in my heritage. Family Trees bore me stupid. The past is the past and we should all look to the future, is my motto. That was until my Mother found someone famous in the not-too distant past. It seemed that my Grandad George W. Wells was the nephew of Herbert George Wells. You know, the man who wrote those little plays called War of the Worlds and the Time Machine?
It seems that somewhere along the line the Wells fortune had got lost in the post, although I’m sure that when Tom Cruise reads my blog this week (he is a big fan btw) he will send his fee over to me to distribute among the other surviving Wells clan. I love genealogy me. Family History stuff, bring it on.
As irony would have it, after retirement my Grandparents moved down to Sandgate, famous for not being Sangatte on the other side of the Channel, and lived here in blissful happiness. Why is that ironic? Because unbeknown to them they moved into a house no more than a hundred yards away from where H.G. Wells lived until just before the Second World War.
I was a regular visitor during the summer holidays to these parts. Hythe always seemed a sleepy little place, home of the Dymchurch steam railway terminus, an antiques barn and little else. But once every few months my Grandad would take me for a walk along the seafront all the way from Sandgate until we came across warnings about live ammunition ranges. Then we would do a right and head up to the old army training ground, known as Reachfield. If we were in luck we would stand on the edge of the pitch and watch a game, sharing a packet of lemon bomboms.
As I grew up, and visits to the Grandparents clashed with other things (i.e girls) I went years without retracing my steps. Both my Grandparents passed away some years ago and my trips to sleepy little Hythe died with them.
But then a few years ago I saw the name Hythe Town crop up. They had managed to reach the latter stages of the FA Cup qualifying, taking the mighty Woking to a replay. I couldn’t believe the transformation in the ground, now resplendent with a double-decker stand. The club were pushing for promotion from the Kent Premier League, and the cup run was delivering valuable additional revenue. In 2010/11 the club enjoyed its best season ever, finally reaching the Isthmian League but going one step further in the FA Cup, reaching the first round proper (becoming the first side from the Kent Premier League to do so for 50 years) before they lost of Hereford United. But they had reached the promised land at last, and they intended to enjoy the ride.
This season has seen progress, progress, progress. A chance to renew acquaintances with local rivals Folkstone Invicta (just the 1,022 for their game on Boxing Day) and a decent shout at the play offs in a very tight league. In my quest to conquer Kent football I have wanted to make the trip back down to Hythe for some time. A cunning plan prior to Christmas that kept the female Fullers happy ended with me listening 5Live in the car park of Ashford’s Retail Outlet centre as their game was postponed at the last minute. Shit happens in Non League football as I had been too painfully aware myself this week with the abandonment of Lewes’s game versus Carshalton due to a floodlight failure. Continue reading