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One of the most familiar figures in Folkestone town centre, with a shock of white hair sprouting out of his hat, and a bag of papers on his arm, is an octogenarian Irishman who reluctantly moved here in 1963 and never left.

The first time I met this man was shortly after I moved to the town in late 2016. I had decided to offer walking tours and was anxious to consult as many people as possible, not only to assess the interest in the project but also to tap into the experience of those who had previously done this.

The name that kept coming up as the best person to speak to was Eamonn Rooney, whom I was already aware of through buying some of his books on the history of the town.

But there was one snag – he was not the easiest person to track down as he was not on social media. But I managed to find him in his favourite coffee shop where he went every morning. He was sat in a corner of the restaurant with mug, pen, paper and books spread across the table.

And now, almost a decade later, I sat down with him again, in that very same cafe, on the eve of his 82nd birthday, to chat with him about his long association with Folkestone.

Born in Newry in 1944, spanning the counties of Armagh and Down, Eamonn was an average but lazy student. It was the influence of Mr O’Neill, his English teacher, and Mr McCourt, his Art teacher, that encouraged him to take his studies more seriously, though he was later told he “would never amount to anything” by the nuns who ran the school he attended in Belfast.

It was his parents who brought the name of Folkestone to his attention. So, in the spring of 1963, he took a trip, only intending to stay for a short while.

On arriving at Folkestone Central he was struck by the flower displays on roundabouts (after all, it was “Floral Folkestone”). He was impressed with The Leas (a “pleasant surprise”) and Kingsnorth Gardens (still a “hidden gem”).

His first encounter with a Folkestone “celebrity” occurred in the photocopy shop opposite Grace Hill Library. He started talking to American actress, singer (she starred in the long-running rock musical “Hair”), and mother of Mick Jagger’s son, Karis, Marsha Hunt, who was sending a fax (remember those?) to the USA. She said that she would never be able to remember his name, so christened him the “History Man”, and thereafter referred to him as that whenever they met, usually at the supermarket or Metropole jazz club.

On the recommendation of his brother who had just been demobbed from Shorncliffe, he took a summer job, but it was as a bus conductor that he first established himself in the town, and for which he is still fondly remembered. His route for 8 years primarily covered Cheriton, Morehall and the bus station and, as a result, the rest of the town remained largely an unknown quantity for him.

Time to buy a street map!

He had been told that Folkestone was primarily a Victorian town, so had “written off” the Bayle and the Old High Street as places of interest. But one day he met the watermills and windmills expert, C.P.Davies, whom he regards reverentially to this day as the preeminent local historian, who told him that there was “a lot of history” in Folkestone with a (buried) Roman Villa, significant Anglo-Saxon heritage, not to mention an extensive military history.

That was the moment when the “History Man” discovered his holy grail, starting a decades long love affair with the Heritage Room on the first floor of the Grace Hill Library. Eamonn was devastated when Davies retired shortly afterwards.

He also fondly remembers Amanda Oates of Shepway District Council who was responsible for organising events at the Lower Leas park Amphitheatre. Since she left, the facility has been sadly neglected.

The history research was all well and good, but he still had to earn a living. After being rejected by several Park Farm factories he was offered a job at FWM Plastics, followed by Silver Spring and Portex, for whom he worked for 15 years. It was during this time there that his writing career began with articles in the company’s Blue Line magazine and then the Portex and Folkestone camera clubs. And in 1985 he founded the local history society with Charles Whitney (chair), Alan Taylor and Peter Bamford.

In the early nineties, he took a three day a week job at the much lamented Martello No.3 visitor centre with an evening security role in the Leas Cliff Hall, followed by a winter job at the seafront car park. Between 1989 and 1996 he not only performed the role of town greeter but also delivered tours on behalf of the New Folkestone Society.

But it was in 1995 that the role for which most people remember him presented itself. Shepway Council had a vacancy at the Leas Lift, a position for which Eamonn’s undoubted customer facing skills made him ideally suited. When the council relinquished the lift in 2009, he was approached by the Folkestone Estate to take responsibility through a management agreement (CIC). With Terry Begent agreeing to handle all the business affairs, they formed a “dream team” until the lift closed in 2017, and it is a matter of great sadness to Eamonn that it remains closed (though, we hope, not for much longer).

Eamonn has more stories from his time as a tour guide than I have space for. One I particularly like is when he showed an American party into the British Lion pub, and as they were leaving, was asked “hey, buddy, aren’t we going to have what you Brits call a swift half before we go”? After the obligatory few drinks, Eamonn began to thank the group for joining the tour when the same guest enquired “hey, aren’t you going to finish the tour?”. Which, of course, like any self-respecting guide, he did.  

Eamonn finds it remarkable that the young teenager who left Northern Ireland with no immediate prospects should meet an array of prominent individuals in his adopted town over the next sixty years. In addition to Marsha Hunt, these included Lord Radnor himself at his Wiltshire castle, Eastenders actress, Michelle Collins, whom he met at a BBC Wales interview, and Prince Harry at the opening of the Step Short Arch on the centenary of the outbreak if the Great War on 4th August 2014.

Eamonn has utilised his research to publish many books and pamphlets on Folkestone’s history, both on his own and in collaboration with others, notably Alan Taylor and Terry Begent. Asked which he was most proud of, he cited the history of the Belgian refugees at the outbreak of the Great War and the illustrations and text he provided for   

John Rice’s Folkestone: A Photographic Record.

And the next? Probably Stuart Folkestone.

Whatever it might be, I for one will be buying it.

Happy Birthday Eamonn, may you have any more!

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The café door creaks open and a cheerless couple,

Thirty-five years together today, shuffle to an empty table.

Their order of two large one shot lattes,                                                        

And a slice of carrot cake with two teaspoons.

Is taken by the bright young female server.

Their coffees, which would earn a Neapolitan barista

Instant dismissal with their passable similarity to

The water in which the cups will later be washed,

Are delivered with another winning smile.

Husband and wife instantly reach for their smartphones

And settle into a prolonged and gloomy silence.

Not a word passes their lips, save for the occasional

Whisper to share the contents of an email

Or comment on a social media thread,

A sigh or nod the barely perceptible response.

They remain as wedded to their screens

As their thirteen year old grandchildren,

Whose own behaviour at the breakfast table

Incurs their disapproval and chastisement.

They leave the café as quietly as they arrived,

Avoiding the jaunty “thank you, see you soon”

From beside the espresso machine.

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Fancy a coffee?
Plenty of establishments
To choose from,
All over town they are,
Where you can sit and savour
Your black americano
Or caramel latte,
Even sneak a slice
Of millionaire’s shortbread.

Sorry………closed.

Run out of underwear,
Looking for a new dress,
Or, like me, you need
To get your cowboy boots heeled?
There’s plenty of shops
For you to browse and buy in.

Sorry……….closed.

Need some peace and quiet,
To rest your weary feet?
Pop in the library
And enjoy its warm embrace
As you scan the shelves
Or browse the events flyers.

Sorry………closed.

Is your hair getting too long
Or your nails are cracked?
The hairdresser or beautician
Will see you right in no time.

Sorry……….closed.

Caught short while out and about?
Drop by the town hall,
Asda, Sainsbury’s,
Or any of the aforementioned cafes,
Or Pleydell Gardens
Or Radnor Park.

Sorry………closed.

Arrange to meet a friend
And take a stroll along the prom?
Hug, hold hands
Or just walk side by side,
That costs nothing, surely?

Sorry……….not allowed.

All simple, everyday pleasures
We readily take for granted,
Now temporarily withdrawn.

An inconvenience, an irritation,
A jolt to our comfortable routine.

But a small price for our safety,
And the opportunity
To appreciate them again.

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Our first morning in Bernal Heights was spent in getting the washing done from the week in Tahoe (one of the most welcome features of having your own place in the city), catching up on the morning commute and weather forecast on KRON4, trying to avoid re-living the Giants’ frustrating defeat in Phoenix the night before and re-acquainting ourselves with proper granola and sourdough toast.

We finally slipped out into the warming sunshine (was the rain really so torrential when we arrived last night?) a few minutes before one o’clock, heading for our favourite lunch spot (well, actually our only one up until now) of Progressive Grounds on Cortland.

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Lugging – perhaps unwisely – bagels filled with cheese, egg and peanut butter in our stomachs, we set off on one of the neighborhood stairway walks described by Adah Bakalinsky in her extraordinary book entitled, strangely enough, Stairway Walks in San Francisco. Bernal Heights has the greatest number of stairways, around fifty four, in a city boasting several hundred.

Normally, we would wander aimlessly around the area, stumbling, or not, upon some natural or architectural gems purely by chance. But today I wanted to ensure that we didn’t miss any of the sights (though locals will surely disabuse me of such presumption when they read this ).

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Our walk began at Holly Park Circle at the intersection with Bocana Street. The view looking back towards the hill provided perspective and familiarity.

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One of the most satisfying features of a visually stunning city are the signs at the intersection of streets. For me, they are as iconic as the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz or cable cars.

Whilst Haight/Ashbury and Powell/Market may be among the most celebrated, it is those that you discover in half-forgotten corners of downtown or out in the neighborhoods that provide the real thrill, not least when the juxtaposition of names appears particularly incongruous.

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We circled Holly Park, stopping intermittently to scan the horizon – from downtown to Bayview, Hunters Point, Candlestick Park and McLaren Park. The marriage of sky and trees enabled some lovely photographic opportunities.

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The decision to follow a recommended walk was vindicated because we might otherwise have missed a number of delightful and ingenious gardens and stairway as we criss-crossed the streets of the western side of Bernal Heights.

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Stunning views of Twin Peaks, Diamond Heights, Noe Valley lay before us or peeked through overhanging trees at every point.

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The love lavished on these community gems was evident in the signage that accompanied them. How could you argue with such requests?

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This being San Francisco, the stroll was never on the flat for very long.

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Fortunately, there were rest areas laid out to enable the perspiring hiker to take a breather, notably on the long, steep Esmeralda Stairway that we dipped in and out of towards the end of the walk.

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Such a shame there isn’t a Wordsworth Street, especially in such a literary and artistic neighborhood.

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Why couldn’t this have been a downhill stretch at the beginning of the walk rather than the latter?

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Finally, proof that aliens are among us.

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At the top of Esmeralda we joined Bernal Heights Hill where, as had been the case when we visited last year, dogs greatly outnumbered humans. We sought out the mud and pebble path of the short Moultrie Stairway and, via Powhattan and Bocana, returned to Cortland where frappés beckoned at Martha and Brothers.

The walk had been every bit as thrilling – and challenging – as we had anticipated, undertaken in increasingly warm conditions.

A great first afternoon in the neighborhood!

 

 

 

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As our month’s stay in San Francisco’s Noe Valley sadly draws to a close, here are a few photos we took of the neighbourhood.

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Flowers and Festivals

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Bougainvillea sprouting everywhere

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Saturday morning Farmer’s Market

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Can never leave here without parting with our money

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Excellent local bookstore

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Constant lines outside Chloe’s café 

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But we preferred this one – the Eggs Benedict has it!

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Famous movie location  (“Sister Act”)

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOur favourite 24th Street bar

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Excellent coffee and bagels at Martha’s just a block away

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If we run out of anything, there’s always the corner store

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