CHAPTER IX 



RYE AND EASTBOURNE 



That old-world outpost on the marsh, the Cinque 

 Port of Rye, is a place I wouldn't willingly have 

 missed doing, and would always take some 

 trouble to renew the experience, if only because 

 I like to be right in understanding ; and a 

 travelled stranger, viewing the town and the 

 great hummock its site, must evolve a wrong 

 environment for the grey stone and red brick 

 turtle-backed settlement. You are impressed 

 with its Low Country stamp, and in your mind's 

 eye plan it out to fit in with Flemish towns and 

 pictures. Suppose, my friend, you who have 

 seen men and cities, you were shown in the 

 distance a thickly-built-over island mound, set 

 on a dead level of flats, dyke or ditch-drained, 

 with on one quarter of the horizon sea rising 

 from the shore-line. Would you not expect this 

 city or burgh to be invested by moats, and 

 poplars and willows, and quinces, with stagnant, 

 none-too-wholesome-smelling waters, and walks 

 or promenades mortifying gritty to the foot tread, 

 as is invariably the case on water-side all the 

 world over ? You will, my friend, I guess, while 

 first viewing Rye, the colony in question, be so 



