Where do all the spare gloves come from?

Walking with a friend around the Ightham Mote estate on a warm January day we realised we were overdressed for the day. I kept my hat on to stop the cool breeze freezing my bald head but soon discarded my gloves to pop them in my coat pocket.

The trek on the 'blue' trail led from the car park to the hill leading down to Mote Road and from there on past the hop picker's huts to the top of Wilmot's hill. The ground was frosty in the shade but in the sunshine it was warm with vibrant colours lit by moderately filtered sunlight. It was a beautiful day and putting aside excuses about being too fat after Christmas we rested on occasion to take in the glorious views of the North Downs.

Walking under the trees the ground was frozen but were warm.

A short stop to sit on a bench and put the world to rights was much like a Spring halt. If it was not for the frost and the sun being low in the sky it was such a day. However, with gloves tucked in my pocket, hat warming my head and coat partly undone we upped and staggered on.

Walking the route anti-clockwise so to speak meant that we reached the top of the hill gradually and was presented with a stunning view of the downward pathway under the huge trees, and the magnificent vista of the Downs and the farmland below.

We walked down the track and on to where Wilmot's Cottage nestles on the shoulder of the Downs and the track itself then leads back past Mote Farm to the House and gardens of Ightham Mote

On a fence post somebody had set a black woolen glove on top of a white one. Lovers perhaps? Perhaps they chopped a hand off each and no longer needed the gloves? Whatever the explanation there they were, abandoned and sitting like a pair of birds on the fence, their incomprehensible message as mysterious as bird song.

And I wondered why somebody would leave one single glove on a fence let alone two. It was an unusual sight.

Yet, the mystery deepens when in Paddock Wood, just exploring the town, my Sister and I came upon yet another abandoned single glove!

What is going on?

Coincidence?

And yet, like the mysterious single sock that was dropped in the street near my home, it was there.

And if that was not enough on the way back into town on Paddock Wood's Commercial Road, there was a child's gloves resting on the pavement adorned by an animal faeces.

Where do these waifs come from?

Who abandons them and why?

At least the incidents add extra interest to the walks.