My Experiences of Oxney Bottom

We lived in the nearby village of Kingsdown in the sixties and the stories of Oxney Bottom used to intrigue me, especially as our school bus passed through it every day. It was a very gloomy stretch of highway and the infamous double 'S' curve in the road was quite noticeable from the top deck of a bus going at speed. You could just catch a glimpse of the large tower of the manor house over the trees as the bus passed the turn-off for St Margaret's Bay. One weekend, a friend and I decided to investigate further and we headed for Ringwould, locking our bikes in the bike shed of the local school  before walking the rest of the way to Oxney Bottom

It was a beautiful day and from the top of Ringwould hill we could see the sea sparkling in the distance and ahead of us in the valley the green darkness of the woods. As we neared the bottom of the hill we could hear the endless barking of the dogs in the kennels to the left of the road. After following the main highway for a while we found a gravel road heading south into the woods. It was good to get away from the roar of the traffic on the main road and soon we were completely surrounded by trees and undergrowth. The road wound its way through the woodland ending up at a pair of grand gates that were obviously the entrance to someone's property. As we headed back down the road we spotted a small trail running off into the trees to the east. This path was not easy to follow, it often curved back on itself, running up and down hilly areas in the woods with no apparent direction. We were afraid that we might fall into a well or deep hole, as a recent newspaper story about a child who had died in this manner in these woods was still fresh in our minds. There were holes in the ground to each side of the path in places and these appeared to be small trenches. They could have been the remains of old foundations, or maybe something from the war. Finally ahead of us through the trees, we could see a stone building on a bit of a rise. It was the ruined church. At this time I knew nothing about the history of Oxney, so this was quite a surprise. There was no roof and the interior had been made into a graveyard with six or so gravestones from Victorian times, mostly bearing the family name 'LaCoste'. Someone had chalked a rough signpost  onto a smooth tree trunk. It showed directions to the highway, the kennels, the large house we had seen, and also to the Manor House.

We set out in the direction of the Manor House, greatly fearful that we were probably trespassing, as would be the case today. The afternoon had turned chill and overcast and we were soon lost in the thick woodlands. To our surprise we came across a small child-sized house, primitively built of stones and almost completely enveloped in vines. It had a very creepy aura to it.  Frederica Sharp mentions such a building, in her writing called " Memories of Kingsdown in the old days", apparently written before the Great War. She describes the discovery of a small 'fairy cottage' on the grounds of Oxney Court Estate sitting alone and empty on the edge of a dark and silent wood. She mentions that they called it the 'Witch's House' from that day on. Could this be the same structure?

A little further on we came to a high large wall that sliced its way through the woods in both directions. There was an overall air of neglect and decay about it. Nature was slowly reclaiming the wall and in places it was cracked and in danger of falling because of the encroaching trees and undergrowth.

At one point we climbed through a break in the wall to see if we could catch a glimpse of the house. Things in what had once been the gardens were just as overgrown as out in the woods and it was difficult to make much progress. Then we saw it - the Manor House! Hiding behind undergrowth we edged forward, expecting at any time to be stopped by the residents or their groundskeeper. It soon became apparent that the house was in ruins. The building had evidently once been very beautiful and stately. Sadly, rooms full of rubble lay open to the sky, there were huge gaps in the walls and the windows were all missing. Fireplaces hung on the walls above us with a profusion of weeds growing in their grates. Trees and creepers clung to the structure, snaking their way through windows and openings in the building. Some joker had penciled the name 'LaCoste' in a spooky script onto one of the walls that still had its plaster. Around the back of the building there were some underground cellars that still had their staircases intact. We were too scared to investigate these further. Various  plumbing fixtures lay strewn around on the ground along with bricks, tiles and other parts of the structure. We noticed that our breath came out in a light fog,  just as it would on a cold winter's day, yet this was the middle of summer!

The large tower with its battlements seemed to be quite intact, so we cautiously started to climb the great staircase. However closer to the top the walls had some gaping cracks in them and we felt it would be dangerous to climb any higher, so we retreated back to ground level. To the rear of the main building there were a few out-buildings, these had lost their roofs and the trees and heavy vines that entangled them had a grotesque effect. Some rooms had complete 'ceilings' of thick branches and greenery. In one of these we found the concrete slab covering the well where the unfortunate child had fallen to his death. It is hard to describe the terrible sense of gloom that the heavy encroaching vegetation created in this back area, whereas the main frontage of the house had an aura of tragic beauty about it - an elegant old lady mistreated and abandoned.
We had had enough of this place for one day and headed back to the main road and the world of the living. I did go back on later occasions with other friends and relatives, but nothing could ever induce me to go down into the cellars or climb to the very top of the tower.
I was determined to find out more about this mysterious place and its history, so I spent hours looking through books in both the Deal Library and also the one at Dover. Deal had more information if I remember correctly and the local history books were kept locked in a separate upstairs room in glass bookcases. There was no difficulty getting permission to access the books and much of the historic information on these pages is from my recollections of what I read, along with more detailed facts gathered from the internet.

One evening, I decided to go back to the church and write down the inscriptions from the gravestones to see if they would offer some more clues to the former residents of Oxney Court. My sister and her boyfriend joined me on this expedition and looking back it was one of the most foolish things I have ever done.
It was getting dark as we entered the woods and before long we were lost, stumbling through the trees without any kind of pathway to follow. We had a flashlight but we were using it sparingly so that it would last till we were back on the highway. A light mist swirled through the trees and we had to step carefully to avoid many small trench-like holes in the moss-covered ground. Were these old graves that had since collapsed or something from the war years - I never found out.
We were so hopelessly lost that our one hope was to find the ruined church or to stumble onto the gravel road that led back to the main road. Finally we happened across the church and despite our wish to get away, I hurriedly wrote down the inscriptions with the aid of the flashlight for it was now pitch black. My sister's boyfriend kept shining the light up onto his face from his chin, creating a very macabre appearance. At least another half hour later we made it back to the road. The mist had thickened considerably at this point and we kept well to the side to avoid being hit by oncoming cars. It was fascinating to note how the mist would get sucked up by the air currents created by the vehicles, wafting in front of the following car almost like an apparition. It could well be that this would account for some of the stories of the Grey Lady, as well as for some of the many accidents that have occurred here over the years.

Investigations at Oxney Bottom

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