I’ve lived on the Isle of Sheppey for 25 years – Here is what I really think of it

This is a Rank Bolt guest post written by Isle of Sheppey resident, Ian Holland.

When I first crossed the Kingsferry Bridge onto the Isle of Sheppey back in 2000, I didn’t expect I’d still be here 25 years later.

I was a 31-year-old mechanic with a battered Ford Escort and a sense that life might be quieter on the island.

Now, at 56, I’ve seen this little patch of Kent change in ways I never imagined—and in others, not at all.

Sheppey has a way of getting under your skin. It’s got that end-of-the-line feeling, like the sort of place people either forget about or purposely escape to.

But for those of us who live here, that’s part of its charm. You’ll often hear locals say, “Sheppey’s not for everyone”—and they’re right. It’s rough around the edges, but it’s real.

Let me walk you through what it’s like to live here—not as a visitor popping in for a weekend by the sea, but as someone who’s made a life out of this strange, weather-beaten island.

A Community With Character

The first thing you notice when you live here long enough is the people.

Sheppey has a strong sense of community, built on shared resilience and, frankly, the fact that we’re all a bit cut off from the mainland.

When the bridge is closed—thanks to fog, wind, or the occasional vehicle breakdown—you realise how isolated we really are. But that’s also when neighbours check in on each other, when strangers give you a lift, and when local Facebook groups go into overdrive.

In Minster, where I’ve lived most of my time, there’s a real neighbourhood vibe. The corner shops know your name. The blokes in the pub ask how your mum’s doing. The postman knows if you’re having a rough week. That sort of thing matters.

I raised my two kids here. They went to local schools, played football down at Sheppey United, and grew up with sand between their toes. It’s a proper upbringing—simple in the best way. You’ve got countryside, coastline, and community. What more do you need?

Nature and Space to Breathe

Sheppey isn’t just a collection of towns; it’s an island of contrasts. You’ve got the marshes of Elmley, wide and wild, with skies that go on forever. On a misty morning, it can feel like another planet. The birdlife is stunning—herons, avocets, marsh harriers. It’s the sort of place where time slows down.

Then there’s Leysdown.

I’ve got a soft spot for it, even if it’s seen better days. The arcades, the smell of fish and chips, the occasional hen party in flamingo costumes—it’s part of Sheppey’s peculiar charm. Some people call it tacky. I call it honest.

I go for walks along Minster Leas most evenings. The sunsets over the estuary are underrated. And when the tide’s out and the beach is quiet, it feels like the whole world’s taken a breath.

The Struggles Beneath the Surface

But it’s not all sunshine and sea air.

Sheppey has problems. We’re one of the more deprived parts of the South East. Wages are low, and job opportunities are thin on the ground, especially for young people. If you’re not commuting off the island—which can be a nightmare during rush hour—you’re probably working in one of the warehouses or at the prison.

There are three prisons on the island. Most people forget that. They employ a lot of locals, sure, but they also cast a long shadow.

When something goes wrong, Sheppey hits the headlines—and rarely for good reasons. Drugs, crime, unemployment, poor transport—these are real issues, and they don’t get the attention they deserve.

The healthcare situation isn’t great either. The hospital is small, and you’re often sent to Sittingbourne or Medway for anything serious. If you don’t drive, you’re at the mercy of a patchy bus service.

Forgotten by the Mainland?

There’s a sense among many of us that Sheppey’s been overlooked—by politicians, planners, and anyone who doesn’t live here. Investment is slow. Roads are crumbling. The high street’s a mix of betting shops and boarded-up windows.

And yet, we carry on. We patch things up ourselves. You’ll see community clean-up days in Sheerness. You’ll find local food banks run by people who’ve known hard times themselves. It’s not glamorous, but it’s gutsy.

I remember when the Sheppey Crossing pile-up happened in 2013—more than 130 cars involved. It was chaos. But out of that came stories of locals running into the fog to help complete strangers. That’s Sheppey in a nutshell: unpredictable, a bit battered, but full of heart.

A Place That Stays With You

People often ask me if I’d ever move away. Truth is, I’ve thought about it. Who hasn’t, when they’ve been in one place for so long? But whenever I imagine living somewhere else—maybe somewhere a bit shinier or better connected—it just doesn’t feel like me.

I’ve built my life here. I’ve seen the island through every season, every storm, every sunrise. I’ve known good times and heartbreak here. My kids might move away, and that’s okay. But I’ll be here. I’m part of Sheppey now, and it’s part of me.

There’s a kind of pride that comes with living somewhere most people don’t understand. I don’t need them to. I know what we’ve got here: raw beauty, real community, and resilience that runs deep.

Sheppey isn’t perfect. It’s not trying to be. It’s muddy, unpredictable, and full of contradictions. But it’s home. And after 25 years, I can say this with certainty: if you give it a chance, this little island will show you who you are.

So if you’re ever crossing that bridge, whether for the first time or the hundredth—slow down, take a look around, and remember: there’s more to this place than meets the eye.

And maybe, just maybe, you’ll feel what I felt all those years ago—that strange pull, like the island’s reaching out and saying, “Welcome home.”