At various times Coleridge lived at numbers 3, 7, 28 and 29 Wellington Crescent and various other houses Ramsgate, I suppose you could say he is what Turner is to Margate or Dickens is to Broadstairs. Ramsgate has connections with quite a few famous people, so you could say this for a lot of them starting with King George IV, excuse the Cruikshank cartoon, click on it to enlarge, the joke has probably worn off by now.
Somewhere in my confused memory I have the idea that last Wednesday a blue plaque, nothing to do with dentistry, was to be unveiled on Number 7 Wellington Crescent, I didn’t really make much of a note of this as I assumed that this event would be subject to some sort of publicity.
There is a very good book about Coleridge’s association with Ramsgate you can buy it on Ebay for a price see http://www.ebay.co.uk/sch/i.html?_kw=Coleridge%27s&_kw=Holidays&_kw=Ramsgate I thought this was quite amusing as I have it on the shelf in my bookshop for £15 and have just put a copy on Amazon for £20.
With seller fees and whatnot you will have to email me if you want a copy for £15 plus postage at cost.
In the words of the bard:
‘O I wish, you were here, and that we could all Ramsgatize till the midst of December!’.
Here is his account of bathing at Ramsgate:
I was myself very unwell on Monday & Yesterday – but this morning, I have cleared up again, and had such a Trio of Plunges into the very heart, Liver, and Lights of three towering Billows this morning, the last of which fairly hurried me back, I might almost say, into the Machine – but actually, to the top-most step of the Ladder – so that I narrowly escaped a bruise – The wave set the Carpet afloat, and had I not instantly called out to Philpott, that his Pot was over-full, I should have had my outsides, alias, extra-cuticulars, alias, Cloathes, seized by the grim old Surge-on without any to redress me… It was glorious! I watched each time from the top-step for a high Wave coming, and then with my utmost power of projection shot myself off into it, for all the world like a Congreve Rocket into a Whale
And this of a steamboat:
I never saw a Steam-boat look beautiful—tho’ always interesting—till yester evening ¼ past 4, when it pencilled it’s way toward the Pier and then described a horseshoe wake of grey lustre within the Harbour as it curved round in the largest possible Circuit to the old Station at the Landing-steps, all in a glory of the richest golden Light reflected from it’s sides and Uprights, & transmuting it’s long pennant of Smoke into a huge Cylinder or what shall I call it? Of Topaz.