Borrowing Cats

"Delving into Margate's History, One Procrastination at a Time"

Procrastination—I could confidently say I have a PhD in it. It’s now August 21st, exactly 7 months and 21 days since I first intended to write this article. Really, it should be 8 months, but I’m giving myself a quick pass. My hometown of Margate, UK, has changed so much this year that, for the first time, it feels slightly odd having lived here for most of my life. Gentrification is rife, with young professionals selling their cardboard box dwellings in London for tidy profits and setting up homes by the seaside. A pint of beer is nearly 9 quid (for the American reader, "quid" is like "bucks" for pounds).

As a local historian, it’s been a pleasure to share my knowledge with newcomers and tourists to this town I call home. But one incident on a wet Saturday afternoon over a pint made me realise that if we’re not careful, the town could lose the correct narrative of its many historical stories.Like many of my tales, this one starts in a pub.

“Luke, we’ve been told you know your stuff about Margate history. We’d love for you to give us the lowdown and answer any questions we might have,” said a local group of queer artists that met at a pub I frequent.

“Sure,” I responded quickly.

I went and met the group, and we had a great time—well, until about two and a half pints in. They asked about the various streets and house names, and I answered to the best of my knowledge. Then someone asked what I knew about the “Council estate.”

“Oh, you mean Millmead?” I said innocently, only to be met with some very glum faces.

“Millmead?” one guy repeated, only to be nudged by a woman next to him, who in a very exaggerated, middle-class accent said, “Oh, you mean Upper Cliftonville. He means Upper Cliftonville.”

My subconscious ‘non-telephone voice’ wanted to shout, “What the f£#k are you going on about?” but physically, I just smiled in agreement.

Slightly tipsy, the woman placed both hands on my shoulders and insisted, “It’s Upper Cliftonville,” before proceeding to use half-filled pint glasses, loose peanuts, and a bundle of car keys to outline rudimentary locations of the town.

“Here is Upper Cliftonville, here is Margate Proper, and over here is Upper Northdown,” she said, clearly channeling a very cocky estate agent who created these names to sell cheap houses for very expensive prices (I’m seeing a doctor about my acute cynicism). Then she added, “You may know these locations as something else, but going forward, can you refer to them as I just told you?”

I point-blank told her no, drank my beer, and left very confused. Like anyone, I have standards, and though I am relatively young, I am one of the few locals researching the town and seeking out interesting subjects beyond just the artists. Frankly, I find the narrative of Margate as an "artist town" weak and, if properly researched, a bit too dark for the town to handle. Personally, I believe there’s much more to Margate’s heritage than just the artists.

Art isn’t a subject that interests me much, but I’ve done hours of research, and what I found made my stomach turn. This is why I don’t discuss "The Artist." If you’re ever in a conversation with me about him, I’ll address him simply as "Joe," because that is his name.

There is absolutely no doubt that having a center named after "Joe" has been the catalyst in Margate’s successful regeneration. But personally, I believe there are many other pioneering and game-changing characters, actually from Margate, who equally deserve to be recognized as the catalyst for the town's new direction. One name that springs to mind is 'Cobb'—the industrialist family who had significant business interests in brewing, engineering, and even their own bank. Over three generations, the Cobb family was instrumental in the shipping of people from the colonies and, later, in recognizing the moral implications of their activities and taking steps to rectify societal wrongs. For me, the history of the Cobbs and their impact on Margate’s development is far more compelling than the overemphasised narrative of the town as merely an artist haven.

Francis Cobb 1792 - 1855 Banker

There are nods to the Cobb family scattered all over the town, but I can say quite honestly (and with a slight air of arrogance) that if it wasn’t for local historians, these visible time capsules would go unnoticed.

So why now, and what’s all this about borrowing cats? Well, if I digress for a moment: I was disgruntled and soaked from walking in the rain back from the pub. After cracking open a can of BrewDog when I got in, I fatally decided to have a quick nosey at Facebook. For me, it’s the gift that keeps on giving. With my satirical and, let’s be honest, extremely sarcastic sense of humor, I can always find something on Facebook that will make me laugh—whether it’s a “You ok hun?” type post or someone “asking for a friend.” Unintentionally, Facebook can be comedy gold. So, with that in mind, I stumbled across the very uniquely named “Margate Salads” group, an eclectic mix of pretentiousness and progressive wants and needs. People literally having three sheets of paper to give away because they don’t want them wasted, or requesting lifts to the other side of the country for no money, just “good chat.” What a recompense! So I logged on, and there it was: “Does anyone have a cat I can borrow?” A hammer, a drill, a cup of sugar—those I could understand. But a cat? Gone are the days of genuine need and concern.

And that brings me to the story of the "Margate Archive." I started it with the noble aim of documenting the real stories of our town, but before I knew it, a very similar group popped up with a name that was nearly identical. To avoid blurring the lines, I decided to abbreviate it to "Margate Arc." Clever, right? Wrong—it just added more confusion. So, after drawing a line in the sand (literally, at the beach) and racking my brain for something truly unique, inspiration struck. And thus, "Borrowing Cats" was born—because what better name to represent the quirky spirit of Margate and its people?

I’ve lived in Margate all my life, alongside my wife and children, and I’m passionate about bringing the real stories of this town to light. From its humble beginnings as a small religious outpost to the fishing hamlet it once was, and now the progressive town it has become, Margate is a fantastic place with a history as rich and varied as its inhabitants—whether they’re borrowing cats or not. My goal is to share these stories with the world, but with the real narrative, the one that truly belongs to Margate.