The Writers, Poets and Artists who went to Margate

A Town of Forgotten Histories and Misplaced Reverence

When people think of Margate, it’s usually a blend of beach, ice cream, or the place from Only Fools and Horses’ Christmas special. A town wrapped in nostalgia, where faded charm collides with modern-day regeneration. But what about the richness of its history? As someone who has spent years here, I often find myself quietly chuckling when people mention T.S. Eliot or “some artist called Joe” (Turner) as Margate's historical icons. It’s not arrogance, just a reflection of the uneasy realization that so much of the town’s real history has faded into the background, living in the shadows of tourism and social media filters.

John Keates, Some artist called ‘Joe, T.S Eliot and Lord Byron

If we were to peel away the carefully constructed layers of Margate’s recent reinvention, we’d find a wealth of history in abundance—one that people either don’t know or simply choose not to engage with. When arriving at Margate train station or stepping off the train, the first thing that catches your eye is the brutalist Arlington House flats. For me, it’s just people’s homes, but for the happy tourist, it’s been adapted as a flashy backdrop for Instagram feeds. Across the road is the shelter where T.S. Eliot wrote parts of The Waste Land as he passed through. Not the most welcoming of sights, perhaps, but in its way, it mirrors the bleak beauty of the work itself.

Had Eliot wandered through Margate a few decades earlier, the west side of the beach would have been an entirely different scene—a natural "pleasure garden" wasteland, untouched by the development that followed.

The shelter where T.S. Eliot penned part of "The Waste Land" sits on Margate’s windswept promenade, overlooking the grey expanse of the sea. Weathered by time, its white paint is chipped, and the simple ironwork benches inside offer a stark, quiet refuge from the elements, a place where the waves crash relentlessly against the shore in the distance.

I’ll admit, I’m no poet and certainly don’t profess to know much about Eliot’s craft. But after spending a good amount of time digging into his work, it’s clear to me that his contribution is impressive. However, I do wonder whether his brief time in Margate and his poems resonate with the town today or if it’s more of an outdated narrative for the locals. If Eliot had chosen to sit in Westbrook, near the road now named Buenos Ayres, he might have actually been looking at a real wasteland. This undeveloped part of town was one of several original pleasure gardens, natural areas meant as open spaces for all classes to enjoy. The town has changed since Eliot's time, and while his connection to Margate is always celebrated, it raises the question: Is his work, and that of others like him, truly representative of the town, or is their prominence simply a product of convenience for cultural tourism?

Take "some artist called Joe"—J.M.W. Turner. Despite my detest for the constant mention of him, I can’t ignore that the gallery bearing his name has been the catalyst for much of the town's regeneration. However, I still believe that there were more significant individuals from Margate’s past who deserved such recognition. For years, I’ve been confused by the absence of a proper nod to Turner around town. Until the Turner Contemporary Gallery was built in 2011, there were only subtle nods in the Margate Museum and library to acknowledge his influence.

John Keats, the celebrated Romantic poet, also had a brief connection to Margate. In 1816, Keats visited the town and wrote several letters during his stay, expressing his admiration for the seaside air and its rejuvenating qualities. Though his visit was short, like many other literary figures, his presence in Margate is a quiet reminder of how this coastal town has often been a fleeting stop for some of the greatest minds in literary history. Yet, much like Lord Byron and T.S. Eliot, Keats’ association with Margate is rarely highlighted, which raises the same question: why do these brief visitors receive more recognition than those who actually called the town home?

But for me, Lord Byron is the more intriguing figure. It’s not his poetry that captures my attention, but rather his darker side—his short temper and tales of fights and attacking people. He seemed a little unhinged, to be honest. Byron stayed at No. 13 Cecil Square around 1803, another brief visitor whose name, much like Eliot's, has been immortalized. We even have Byron Avenue and Byron Street here, along with a quiet pub tucked away in a residential backstreet. Yet, Byron was just a passerby, much like Eliot, and it’s always puzzled me why they are held in such high regard.

Interestingly, the street next to Byron Avenue is Milton Avenue—a nod to John Milton, the famous poet of Paradise Lost. While Milton never lived in Margate, his name still graces the street, capped off by an area called Poets' Corner. This practice of naming streets after well-known figures was probably just a way to make them more appealing to potential buyers. It's not uncommon to see street names like these used to add a layer of significance to a place.

In terms of actual Margate locals who contributed to literature, why isn’t more attention given to Herbert Evelyn Crook? A barrister and physician, Crook authored several books, including Margate as a Health Resort in 1893, a key work on Victorian seaside recuperation. Born in 1869, Crook lived in Margate for much of his career, writing about 20 books relating to medical and engineering theories. For those of us in the engineering field, myself included, his contributions are still relevant, and I’m proud to own a third edition of his book. (By the way, if anyone’s looking for a birthday gift in November, a first edition would be nice!)

Despite all this, when discussing writers from Margate, it’s always Byron and Eliot that come up. And when I mention that they weren’t actually from the town, people seem a bit disappointed. For some reason, we hold onto these passing figures, as though their brief visits are enough to cement their legacy here. Margate is now rife with creatives, but the question still remains: why are certain artists and writers—those who merely passed through—held in such high regard? What about the ones who lived here, who contributed to the town’s legacy and cultural landscape? Sir John Betjeman, who once advocated for the preservation of Margate’s heritage, is one example. Rossetti, though he lived nearby in Birchington, has a more visible presence in that town, with Rossetti Gardens and a hotel named after his original Rossetti Lodge. Yet in Margate, his name rarely comes up.

Margate, once a Victorian haven for health seekers, has now become a flourishing hub for creatives, with artists, musicians, and writers making their home here. From the rise of the contemporary arts scene surrounding the Turner Contemporary to grassroots collectives, the town is undeniably alive with creative energy. But while this regeneration is something to be celebrated, the question still lingers: why do certain artists and writers—like Turner, Byron, and Eliot—hold such a favored place in the town's narrative, despite their brief stays? Perhaps it’s because their names come with built-in recognition that transcends Margate’s borders. Yet, for those of us who know the town well, it’s worth asking whether figures like Herbert Evelyn Crook, or even the lesser-known poets who truly lived and breathed Margate’s air, deserve their own place in the limelight. As Margate evolves, maybe it’s time to reconsider whose stories are told and celebrated. After all, history is written not just by the visitors who pass through, but by the residents who stay and contribute to the town’s ongoing legacy.

Now, I’ll admit, there’s some irony in writing a Substack article that challenges the reverence for writers in Margate—considering I’m doing it in, well, an article! But here we are. My last piece about the tragic story of Kate Bonny was pretty well received, so I figured, why not push the envelope a bit and see if I could ruffle a few feathers by questioning the town’s literary darlings? This one might stray from pure history, but I like to think it’s part of a bigger conversation about how we choose to remember the past. So, if you’ve made it this far, I appreciate you indulging me as I play devil’s advocate. Hey, every town needs a bit of a shake-up now and again, right? On top of that, I’ve been lucky enough to receive some encouraging feedback from writers all over the world, with lots of helpful tips and guidance along the way. It’s nice to know that even as I challenge local narratives, there’s a global community of storytellers keeping me on my toes!