A Glaikit Stupidly visits Dunmow Oxfam and Nothing in Witham

Monday morning, weathermen all claiming it would be hot, but I noticed it would  be only 30%C today, so I took a bag to the Heart charity shop and while there searched for a wide brimmed hat.  None were found!  Could it be they had all been sold, or possibly retrieved from charity bags before being taken to the shop?  I had noticed a hat which fitted while in Tesco earlier, but it really was designed for someone sitting watching cricket all day, a bit too pretentious for me I thought.  Other likely shops were of course shut, and the charity shops only had one suitable hat which was too small for my head.

Right, said I, I shall go to the 'Designer Village, and visit 'Mountain Warehouse.'  

However, after waiting in the Bus Park for a while I did not see a suitable bus, so I took the airport bus when it came and headed in the other direction for Oxfam in Dunmow!

I like this shop because the rich folks of the district always place plenty of good stuff in here.

I found nothing!

There were birthday cards aplenty, always good one in this shop, so I filled up on those.  But no suitable hat, nor indeed anything for men at all that I could see.  It appears men are not donating, I shall rephrase that, women are not donating their men's old clobber, possibly because they have already flung out all his favourite outfits and bought new ones.  

Only one other charity shop open in this town, a proper overcrowded, dingy shop, as they ought to be, same story however.  I mentioned to the lass inside that she was lucky to be out of such sun, "You should not be in it then," she said.  "Yes," I replied, "But I am stupid!"  Funny how quickly she accepted this.  Later I was to prove myself correct.  Other shops were closed, and the only one with suitable headgear is very expensive, aimed at the country gent, and that I am not.  I think he was closed as there appeared to be no-one at home.  Nothing for it but to sit and wait.

I sat and waited while taking lunch somewhat hurriedly in a small, but attractive pub, next to the bus stop, the 'Boars Head.'  I say hurriedly as I did not note the times correctly and ended up awaiting stupidly once again in the sun...  Eventually the 133 arrived, on time and driven by the same driver that brought me here earlier.  He drove well, but was not very friendly, he appeared to be possibly Vietnamese or some such, capable but with little English.  A good driver who needs to work on his repartee with customers, though it is hot in that seat I suppose.  

The advantage of the bus was the view of passing Wheat and Barley fields, some harvested, some in the process thereof, and all shining brightly in the sun.  As we passed through the small village (small village, large wallets) of Felsted  I noticed the Rooks, well spread out, chomping on the grass at the famous rich people's school.  Life goes on in the country, no matter what happens elsewhere.  These rooks can sometimes be traced back for hundreds of years as having roosted in one place continually.  

Having decided that I would make use of the 'Boars Head' for 'lunch,' next time I was in town searching the charity shops, I happily enjoyed the return journey, once again noting the rooks still in place, the cornfields, the green of the hedge rows, the half dressed women, some of whom only now reveal that they are actually female, the youths glued to their phones, headphones on, and almost all on the journey, bar the elderly who need it most, carrying water, by now somewhat warm.

The bus dropped me near my door, the driver did not return my grunt as dismounted.  In this area it is normal to thank the driver, most of whom return this greeting, something I never did in either Edinburgh or London, nor did we out in the country areas.  It is good however, and most drivers of all companies appear friendly and helpful for the most part.

At home I searched the fridge for food that was at the 'eat by' date.  So lunch/ consisted of using up four Chicken Samosas care of Sainsburys.  These are not as good as real Indian ones but will do. 

I contemplated lying asleep for an hour, I contemplated just continuing to stuff my face.  I contemplated nothing in the end. 

Then stupidity arose within me once again.

This will be a surprise to both my readers.

Maybe, thought I, I could get a bus to the 'Designer village' and visit the 'Mountain Warehouse,' and get a wide brimmed, safari hat?  Maybe, on the other hand, I ought to lie down in a darkened room?  Maybe I don't require a hat, just a brain?  Of course, to walk out again as the temperature rose to well over 90% would be an act of crass stupidity and only the lowest would consider this.

I caught the 15:20 bus.

I had checked the timetable, I knew the route, I knew what I was doing.  

I even looked at the front heading as we boarded, 'Witham via Stubbs lane,'  it read.  

I wondered for a moment as the other bus I saw earlier had 'via Designer Village'' but I put that aside as my mistake as this was the 38A.

We began the tour in the normal fashion but instead of heading for the 'Designer Village,' ('Designer Village' a replacement for 'Freeport Outlet,' but the same things, rejects and high prices) we turned up Chapel Hill and headed instead for Stubbs Lane.  A tour round the houses I did not mind, I have not been down this way for a long time,  and as we left the town, fought past lorries, vans and too many cars at the roundabout, we then headed away from the 'Designer Village' and out of town!  

I resigned myself to my mistake.  I must have read the timetable wrong.  This bus does not go to the, well you know where, and I decided to sit and wait, visit Witham, and accept my fate.  

However, while the bus does reach the terminus it travels all around the place.  We passed through as many small villages as we could, one bus an hour it appeared, and I was delighted with the country view, the passing cottages, often 'Jig-saw' perfect, large one time homes of the important people, often large barns now millionaire homes, and once again fields, harvested or awaiting such as we trundled carefully along the narrow, often blocked by parked car, roads.  Small houses built for farm workers 200 years ago, rarely have parking lots attached, those that do are often hidden behind bushes and not appealing to H&S lovers.  Once again, the driver, possibly a brother of the first man, brought along the same attitudes and similar careful skill in taking us to our end.  

16:00 hours and we had arrived.

As we passed some of those large houses in which dwelt large families accustomed to their position in life I felt no jealousy.  On the contrary I realised I do not want such needless wealth.  Comparing what I need, and what is on offer, it would be easy to find a decent place, large enough for visitors (which I never have) or family, and small enough to manage.  Who needs so much space as some have?  I suspect prestige, and living out a fantasy is often involved, as well as believing that you have reached a certain place of importance and this must be reflected in the abode.  Showing off may have a place also.  When I become rich, I will one day, I would hope to make use of the money, not just waste it on prestige projects like a little Boris Johnson. 

Witham, six miles from home, is a world away from Mid-Essex.  This is London overspill territory.  Less than an hours commute from Liverpool Street, it has long attracted those who wish a life while taking London money.  Sadly many less desirable types have also arrived, all brought along with them the London attitudes that are loved worldwide.  There is a word of attitude difference between the towns, though the few people I spoke to there were as friendly as you like yesterday.  However, it was few people as arriving late many shops had shut, and being Monday others had not opened.  I wandered about, catching the sun, knees weakening, body failing, and therefore noticing nothing new about my condition.  I contemplated the 'White Hart' for third lunch, but thought I would check timetables first.  Ah, 16:21 is my bus, thirty or so minutes to wait.

Having checked all the shops, not much to be found here, I obtained a cool water bottle, not quite cold from Greggs.  I thought how funny, this famous bakers and I buy a bottle of 95p water and ignore the cakes.  I have not used Greggs for 20 years, I might never, having little need for them, but they are a formidable success.

Few famous people in this town but Dorothy L Sayers, an author of many books, had a home here until 1957 when she passed away.  She stopped using the house at that time.

I stood at the bus stop, in the shade, watching the women pass by reading the advert over and over. There is little to recommend Witham, this bus stop and car park does not help.  

16:21 the timetable said, and again it was the bus tour of the country I awaited.  The 38A would take me home and deliver me to my dinner.   

I waited.

I waited, checking the time.

I waited.

16:21 came and went.

I waited.

I waited for some time before a 38A, clearly the one that would collect me and tour the nation before dropping me of miles from my door, stopped across the street at the terminus on the other side.

I waited.

The driver, a woman, got out and walked to the 39 Bus behind.  

I  waited.

She spent 15 or so minutes gabbing to the driver.  

I waited.  

Eventually she headed back to her bus, I crossed the road to enquire if she was mine?  I had better rephrase that, I asked if she was the bus I wanted.  "Yes," she said, "But...."

It appears Miss Stroppy was not happy at driving a bus in what she called "40% of dangerous heat."  

Other buses managed I noted.  Short wearing Miss Stroppy was clearly a union girl, and was waiting in 'management' to answer whether the bus would run!  I noted the old couple, laden with shopping across at the bus stop, I would have pointed them out but she was off back to the 39 bus to attempt to avoid work.  What about the passengers I thought?  That couple carrying shopping will find it hard to get home.  I doubt she cared.  My work experience indicated that she was indeed a union girl, and I suspect quite used to finding conditions difficult.  

Earlier I had hesitated walking up the road towards the station where a choice of train or bus awaited, now I stumbled up the hill.

I say hill, because the station when built cut through the hill in normal Victorian 'nothing will stop us attitudes' in the 1840s.  It may be this which revealed the hill was once the beginning of Witham being an Iron Age settlement.  Typical of Victorian engineers not to worry about this.  By 913 AD Old Witham was founded next door to the station.  A Roman temple also was found not too far from here.  The 'Knights Templar' were given land here in 1148, as you know, and realised they could only make limited use of the old town, though they must have used the church there, so they were granted permission to  open commercial premises on the London Road to catch passing trade.  This is where the majority of todays town is based.  

Knights Templar knew how to make a few bob.  

No bus was appearing, and as I arrived people were flooding out of the station, indicating the London commuters were not all working from home.  I pushed in, paid £5:30 for a single ticket from a long suffering lady, I was too rushed to search out and use my Railcard, and took the lift downstairs.  I checked with the young lad trying to keep the toddler happy if this was my train.  "Yes," he said, "It's says so up there." and laughed.  I had not thought to look at the sign now found on all trains telling you where you are going.  I made a feeble excuse and chatted about the kid, who was enjoying the train.  I found a seat, collapsed into it and soon we were on our way.  The ten minute journey saw the end of my, now warm, bottle of water.  I left the train, mixed with the locals most of whom also began their journey at Liverpool Street.  I do not consider travelling an hour a day on a crowded train much fun, let alone when forced to do so for London wages.  However, when in London I often took much, much longer to get home from say North Finchley than many of these people would have done getting home today. 

Witham Station often has fast express and fast Freight trains hurtling through.  At 9:27 on the morning of September 1st 1905 the Liverpool Street to Cromer express passed through.  As the express hit the crossover tracks a rail had been loosened by men working to insert ballast under it and had not completed the job as the train arrived.  The rail worked loose, with the speed of the train derailing the 14 wooden coaches and hurtling them across the platforms at speed.  Ten people died, including one railway worker on the platform, and 71 were injured.  The worst, so far, accident in Essex rail history.

I had considered leaving the train one stop early as this would drop me off at the 'Designer Village.'

Sense overruled.  

I left the station realising what had gone wrong.  As we passed yet another new development for £400,000 houses we passed the 38A going in the other direction.  A wee while later we passed another!  This made no sense as they run at hourly intervals.  Then I realised, the other bus was a 38 and on the front were the words 'Via Designer Village.'  Fool!  

I checked the online timetable today and saw indeed two buses, and I had managed to not only get on the wrong one in the first place I failed to get back on the same wrong bus later, as it was "Too Hot and dangerous."   

As I wearily, and I mean wearily, climbed up what now became an enormous hill towards home a 38A bus, with driver, came round the corner.  That driver is yet wondering why that nutter on the corner was waving his fist at him.

As I ate my frugal 'eat what you find and eat it again' meal I contemplated the day.  This was difficult as my eyes were closing after I ate, with the pint of Gin & Tonic I was drinking, and yet another pint or two of water to follow.   It had been good to see the countryside, to be outside, to meet people and go the wrong way, so somethings were worth while.  Maybe next time I will do things differently?  

However, with the warm nights sleep can be fitful, last night slumber began around 10:30 and lasted unbroken until 5:40.   

Today, when the ParcelForce man arrived at lunchtime with my Forres Pies I mentioned to him it was 106%F.  I also gave him a bottle of cool water, which may be the best tip he gets today.  I noticed the van had another dozen boxes on board!  How hot was his van?  Of course these men are all franchised today, this means that if they do not deliver they do not earn money.  Unlike Miss Stroppy he cannot grumble it is too hot and dangerous, he just has to continue, concentrate, and hope for cold drinks everywhere.  

31.5 indoors today, and facing north I do not get the sun directly.  That I suppose is 107%F...

I sit starkers and frighten people each time I rise from the seat.  Good innit?