The Chatham Dockyard is a historic dock based in my hometown region, Medway, Kent. In its prime, it was a Royal Navy dock which survived regular bomb raids and housed great battleships like the Cavalier, and Ocelot in World War II. Now Decommissioned, along with these great battleship’s ships, the dockyard has transformed into a commercial site featuring a few businesses, and a maritime museum. It is an educational retreat for schools and local festivals like the ‘40s events’ that reminisce about the port’s past. Manned by an army of volunteers, who diligently work to preserve valuable artefacts, artillery, and vehicles, keeping our history well and truly alive.
The Maidstone & District bus is a vehicle hidden in the dockyard’s warehouses. One that has been persevered by my uncle Peter since 2014. Commissioned 64 years ago, this bus ran a regular service that shipped its workers in its time to and from the dockyard. However, it is more than just a regular service bus. It was a bus that took my mother to the alter on her wedding day, the bus that my dad had many drunken rally road trips with the local boys, and the bus that was the only topic of important conversation in Grandad Watson’s vocabulary.
Stepping into her cabin, the smell of diesel is sewn into the withering corners of the yet-to-be-replaced fabric seats. You can almost hear the echoes of stories and adventure. From top to bottom, her walls are proudly decorated by a collection of rally titles awarded from each county of England. The hidden treasures of strangers’ history can be found all aboard one vehicle. I remember a small soviet pin hidden under the centre compartment of the steering wheel; its owner remains a mystery. In the driver’s seat hangs an old grey and green uniform, a memory for some but for me was the perfect attire to dress up and play pre- tend in. Looking out her window the memories of days lounging and pretend driving in this seat flood back, watching out as festival goers decked out in their 40s attired usher pass followed quickly by the steam train that ran every 45 minutes. Some approached the bus and peered in, others greeted a half-asleep Grandad Watson who propped in his camping chair with a cup of tea in hand, sat listening to each passer’s reminiscent personal account of their days on the bus.
Although the dockyard is a perfect example of a united community working towards a cause. I found my visit was more than just a documentation of a community, these images represented the perspective of an inner child who upon returning to the dockyard relived personal memorabilia.
