This is NOT a Joke and there is no punchline... by Ali Wilkin

I love The Hythe.

I figure I should start there because quite a few people I know outside of SOURCE seem to find that a little strange. Their eyes narrow, as if this will help them discern if I am telling the truth, or see the joke I must surely be telling before I get to the punch line. No, really (I find myself having to say). I really do – if only you could spend some real time there...

That’s part of the problem I think – most people are just passing through on their way to somewhere else, or popping to B&Q to pick some stuff to do that gardening job they’ve been putting off for the last month. Sometimes they believe me at least long enough for me to start to tell them about this place I love, and some of the (occasionally a bit bonkers) things that SOURCE do. Because SOURCE love The Hythe as much as I do. (It is quite literally part of the job description – and it is comforting to know that I am not alone in this love affair).

I love the tidal river – the salty-smelling layers of rich and fertile silt and mud that encourages great swathes of green to grow in the banks, and the ducks and swans to congregate over the mud. And whilst all of this would be more aesthetically pleasing if the birds and greenery did not also have to overcome the shopping trolleys, car wheels and other discarded items to which the river plays host, I love the sheer defiance of it. For all that has been thrown at The Hythe or that is left forgotten and unwanted, The Hythe keeps going, it’s life perpetuating despite the thoughtless actions of others.

Rich as The Hythe is in its history, what has always struck me is the potential future that bubbles under the surface, just bursting to break ground and grow. There is a smell of suppressed potential in the air, almost as potent as the traces of salt and sewage that lace the wind. It is not hard to see why the developers eyed the land around the river so greedily when they applied to build those flats and town houses along its banks: I sometimes imagine them as Roman invaders, coming up the river and staking claim to a land that it will take them decades to understand.

There were others before them of course – Tesco’s staked its claim and gave The Hythe a new bridge and B&Q too saw a space it could fill. And like the Roman invaders, The Hythe has first succumbed and then enveloped the interlocutors: Hawkins Road is the street of trade and those who (like me) came to work are absorbed into the rhythms of this place, coming and going like the tide and always leaving a little piece of the self behind.

But it is neither the river nor the ‘invaders’ who give The Hythe its defiant nature; within the various mini-boundaries that the roads, bridges and river create; it is the people who do that. The very first Hythe Forum meeting is something I will never forget – the room at the Hythe Community Centre was packed full of people who were angry and frustrated from the years of being ignored. But they were there, defiant in the face of those decades of forgetfulness, determined that the agencies and councillors who had been brave enough to arrive would hear the full force of their anger. There was no attempt to spare the councillors: given the chance to speak they did – loudly and clearly, leaving no room for doubt or uncertainty. It was like riding a sudden storm, a crest of anger that had found its breaking point and would need no invitation to drench those who stood before it.

It was a wave that knocked down a building and stopped fires in its tracks; it was a wave that wrapped you up in its passion and love. It was the day that my missional calling turned to the deepest, most fiery love. I would lay myself down for this place. Truly I would.

Spend some time here: walk the banks of its river, hear the voice of its people and feel the beat of its heart – I dare you not to fall in love with it too.