Mark Mason

A museum of dirty postcards and Britain’s coolest bulldog: visit the strange side of the Isle of Wight

And would you rather stay in a pub or a monastery?

issue 10 January 2015

Every day the Isle of Wight becomes England’s smallest county: when-ever the tide comes in, the island steals the crown from Rutland, if only for a few hours. Taking the Wightlink ferry reminds you that the isle gave us the hovercraft, Christopher Cockerell’s early experiments there involving a hairdryer and some empty cat-food tins. Less successful as a seafarer was Lord Lucan, who once sank a powerboat off the Needles. It never surfaced, leading some to believe that when the time came to disappear he returned to the area and drowned himself.

Current exports include most of the signage for the London Underground (A.J. Wells and Sons, vitreous enamellers of Newport), and all manner of garlic from the Garlic Farm in Newchurch (fresh, black, smoked, elephant). The plant was brought to the island by Free French sailors stationed there during the second world war — the bland British food, they thought, needed livening up a bit.

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