Friday Frolic

I frolicked among the graves again today, I had permission from the various bodies concerned.  This was a required return as I had missed somebody yesterday, I found him where he lay, right under my nose.  Isn't it always the way?  Another kept himself hidden, after four years in the trenches he would be good at this.  Imagine however spending all that time avoiding bullets, coming home after your regiment is disbanded in early 1919, then dying of appendicitis a few weeks later?  How sad is that?  I found him through an internet search and this means I must return again on Monday, unless he has moved elsewhere.  There is good exercise to be had wandering about, sometimes the earth has sunk somewhat and falling into a depression is always a danger.  This almost happened to me but I recovered quickly as I'm sure I heard a small piercing voice cry "Do come in...."  I found myself several seconds later at the gate and on the way out.

I came across this while scouring the old pics.  I may have shown it here before, maybe not.  This I found in a village close by a while back.   A lovely touch in a building that faces the main street, and a very noisy one at that.  An excellent renovation I would say.  That is if he actually did put another door in around the side.

In days of yore this used to be the only way to hear music outside of the wireless and the local brass band.  These days it must be impossible to buy the needles, although many must still have records and use the thing.  Oh the delight of scratching a record and having the best track on the album jump as it played, worse still to repeat the same note over and over again.  How we suffered!  Kids today, they know nothing!

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Victorian Door

Sadly as I passed the other morning the sun was shining on the other side of the street.  This is unfortunate as I would rather this door stood out a bit brighter than it does.  It belongs to what was once the vicarage, and Victorian vicars were very important indeed.  Powerful in the world around them their houses reflected their importance.  To obtain such a 'living' was something to be sought, although whether they cared  about God or not is debatable.  Anthony Trollope spoofed the Anglian church of the mid century in his book 'The Warden.'  It was so good even I read it!  Today things are somewhat different. large vicarages, rectories and deaneries have now been sold off, turned into flats, demolished or like this one put to a variety of uses.  Here we find offices and living accommodation together I believe,  and I do know a lass born here when dad was vicar, and that must have been around the time of the second world war.  How times change.

                                   

like so many others the vicar would merely cross the road to his church and begin his work, although he ought to have been working before this I say!  His church has stood on this site since the 12th century, possibly following on from a Saxon construction and even a Roman cemetery.  The town was a mere fifteen miles from the Roman garrison in Colchester, a days march and this may well have been a regular stopping point.  Certainly a small hamlet of some sort was erected here.  Lots of bits have been found from that time.

As the vicar crossed the path to St Michaels church he would possibly note this niche on the back of the church.

In times past as pilgrims made their way across to various shrines, there was St Edmunds in Bury St Edmunds, and another at Walshingham in Norfolk, they would make use of such niches where some form of blessing could be found.  Sadly I cannot remember all the details and I have no info to hand.  I could spend time on Google but my chips are beginning to burn so I will let you ponder on the blessing received b y the neds empty beer bottle and KFC bag instead.  

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Knockers

As I trundled around the world the other day I noticed the aged door on the Norman arch at Felsted Church.  An aged door, although I know not how aged, with this large knocker on the front.  How much more reliable is such a thing on the door in comparison to the electric bell that only 'ding dongs' if the button is pushed correctly, if the batteries work, if the thing is in the mood.  A dirty big knocker like this will always get an answer as such an iron brute will be heard all around the town when the postman calls.  Not that the postman would be delivering to the church tower I suppose but you never know.  You do know he will ensure you hear him knock however.  Well you would if it was me!

     

For those interested, and you are interested,  this is the door upon which is found the knocker.  I love these aged doors.  The iron nails and spars along with the aged wood do have a certain charm and attraction.  Compare these to modern hollow doors that are found in most houses, the glass horrors in modern buildings, which are difficult to see at times, and the general quality in comparison to modern rubbish!  Good job I'm not one to complain eh?


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17 Mile (ish) Trip

Huge covering of mist greeted us today, however by half seven the sun broke through as I pedalled slowly past the early morning dog walkers and huffed and puffed my way to the back roads.  Here I delighted in avoiding dead rabbits and various birds left by speeding careless, or uncaring drivers and as yet undiscovered by the crows.  And were there crows?  I'll say!  Of course they could be Rooks but as no-one can tell the difference it makes no difference.  Each time a skwack was heard each nearby tree had a dozen nests.  Soon they will be full of raucous young, deafening anyone within earshot.  I would have pictures but they are remarkably shy and the mist hid the brutes anyway!

The idea when I began was to trundle around the back roads in the sun looking for interesting things.  The mist did hamper this somewhat, as did interesting things that were too far away or too near the windows of the expensive houses that I passed.  I know these houses are expensive as there were Mercedes and the like parked there in abundance.  Now I am not one to look through folks windows but I did notice few people were up and around.  Few closed their curtains either!  While I enjoyed the trip I did make the slight mistake of going down a new road and enjoying the slope downwards.  Great relief from the pedalling but the road sign at the far end pointed me towards Dunmow and unwilling to go back up the slope I foolishly went on, this was far too far from home for my knees.  There was nothing for it but to continue until and hope for a way back to appear.  Luckily I stumbled on a road back and ended up in Felsted instead.

Felsted has yet another 12th century church and I suspect a Saxon one stood there for a while before this time.  Again possibly this spot was used as a pagan site even before the Romans began their tour of Brittanica.  A lovely church, closed today sadly while they spend money renovating the place.  Nice door at the base of the tower, with a Norman arch (please confirm).

Just how many people have passed through this door over the years I wondered?  Today I suspect merely those intent of playing the bells that hang high above, certainly not to fix the clock on the side that appears to have been stuck at three minutes past twelve for ten years!  Right next to the church is an old school building dating to the 1500's.  I wondered why there were names cut into the wood.  Graffiti has always been with us.  We must let the world know we exist.

The flash was required as they lie in a darkened alleyway, but it is possible to make out some names, and the date 1806.  About that time the school moved to an impressive site just down the road and became a major public school.  The school was popular enough for special trains to run from Liverpool Street to carry the sons of the rich to their education at beginning of term.  

A gurgling river would have made a better picture had I not been looking into the now bright sunshine.  The scene would also have benefited from not having an empty water bottle lying there.  Plastic has brought much benefit to us, as well us filling us with toxic chemicals, but people's inability to dispose of it properly is a pain!  Wallace would agree!

   

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Closed Door

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No time to post anything at the moment, and several posts are only half witted written so here is an aged church back door.  The one the vicar used to escape rebellious parishioners.


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More Doors

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The late Victorians and Edwardian's knew how to make an attractive doorway. In Edwards day there appeared to b an abundance of red brick which was used in houses like the one shown. 'Up north' in Manchester and other northern towns red brick was more abundant and appears to have been seen as something special by the architect, or builder, of 'Hillcrest' in 1904.  Of course then he would have had fewer houses around him and any photographer of the day may well have been more used to cycling up the hill and would not have been seen hanging on to the lampost as he considered how to photograph the doorway. He would also have avoided the car driver making rude noises as he past by.  

John Brown built his house much earlier and with bricks made in his own works. Several houses around here have similar layouts and I think are quite typical reflection of well to do businessmen's houses of their day. Brown used his own bricks and additions to the plan however like almost all such homes they now are occupied by offices or split into several flats. All rather sad really however if they were in a better area they would be worth going on about half a million. The doorway has a Greek influence in the pillars which has gone by Edwardian times. The rounded doorway has become square and fashions change every few years, especially if people have money to throw around. It goes without saying that my fashion has not changed for some time.....

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Cogitating Friday

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Cogitating Friday is just another way of saying 'nothing happened.'  That ought to read, 'nothing happened again' actually.  I cycled slowly up the old railway in the early morning sunshine, I attempted to photograph beasties breakfasting on bright yellow wild flowers but the camera is not up to this, and I shopped at three supermarkets in a bid to save cash (but not while on the bike) and I failed to save cash!


Other than that the day has slipped by without me doing anything - again!  This whole week has been a waste. I don't know why I got up on Monday, and I had so many plans.

One plan included winning the Euro Lottery and the £16,653,000 pounds on offer. However a couple in Largs decided that not only would they win this money but they would then come on to the telly and wave the cheque in our faces. I am sorry to say that this is not a good idea in my opinion. Had I won you would not know, although my paying my debts and buying a new pair of socks might have given some folks an inkling about my wealth. Some say the Lottery people give good advice and few end up depressed or in trouble because of their big win. Occasionally you read of one who will have lost the wife, family squabbles, duped by conmen, or suicide because the money has wrecked relationships, but most appear to have survived OK.
The interest on this money is 0ver £9000 daily, not counting tax obviously, but if 'Vodafone' can avoid paying almost £6 Billion in tax and pay a mere £1.25 billion and with time to pay then this couple could work something with someone.  

The man next door has not emerged, or at least I have heard no sound from him. I have discovered he owes rent going back months. Isn't life sad when someone falls apart like this? Is he having a breakdown I wonder, what can be done?  Well nothing to be honest. He will either come to himself and seek help or end up forced to find help. "There but for the grace of God" and all that. 

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Garage Doors

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The other morning I cycled, uphill all to often, down to the far off village. Among the interesting old buildings, now modernised and overpriced, I came across an old weatherboard barn like structure, now somewhat in need of renovation, and to the side of this now deserted structure I found a garage! Doors failing to fit properly, if indeed they ever did, windows slightly cleaner than mine I must admit, and paint still revealing an attraction greater than any soap opera to my mind. However if you look closer you will find one of the phenomena of our times. Yes indeed, in spite of the bedraggled appearance, the 'For Sale' sign, and a door not used since 1989 someone has inserted a free newspaper into the letterbox!
What is it about 'free papers?' You may well recall the episode of 'One Foot in the Grave' where the happy couple return from holiday in Spain to find their house had burnt down. All that remained was the front door and a little bit of wall on either side. It is night, glumly he pushes open the door to stare at the charred mess that lies before him. Stiffening up he turns and yells, "Would you believe it? They have put the free paper through the door, and it's todays! They have pushed this through the letterbox although there is no house standing!" It is funny because it is so true! Now I must say that postmen usually do the same thing. If a house has been burnt it does not stop the mail going into it. This however is done for a reason. Usually the house has been secured by the authorities, the mail belongs to the recipient who could be anywhere, or even dead, and the law states such mail must be delivered until the recipient informs the sorting office of th new address. (And today will probably be charged a fortune for this!) 

This is yours for a mere £145,000. All you have to do is renovate it, permission already granted, and turn the 'Old Forge,' one of the oldest of the towns businesses, into a modern dwelling that you can sell for four times what you pay for it. I like it as it is, but I suspect fussy people would want a proper roof put on it before moving in.


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Pub Crawl

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This morning, being a Bank Holiday, I strolled out through the quiet streets to attempt to take pictures of the houses in which my dead soldiers resided.  By that I mean when they were alive, as they stopped living their when they became dead, the council would not allow it. Anyway it was quieter than a Sunday today, the sun almost shone, the rain threatened and moved away, and I took one or two hasty shots. I am not too keen on taking pictures of houses when people are seen inside. The gruff question regarding what I am playing at can cause offence, I've found. The policeman's quizzical look can also hinder a steady camera and therefore early morning is the most suitable time for such work. Amongst the interesting finds, to me at least, was this old pub I once delivered to.  It ceased to operate as a public house a good few years ago and now houses this small company, and the two attractive young secretaries.  Funny how I always remember such young women. Not that my memory is that good but they were early thirties, wearing green and blue tops, had nice....anyway, the windows. Wisely they have not removed the windows, or indeed repainted the place, although the massive amount of traffic outside their door today means the paintwork suffers badly. If you look close enough you will note the cleverly crafted advert for Spirits which can be seen. 

 

In days of yore all pubs informed the world outside that they offered 'Fine wines,'  'blended whiskies,' and 'Famous Ales,' often on frosted glass panes. Whether they lived up to the adverts depended on how much the drinker imbibed I suppose.  Until the absurdity of the feminist influence some public houses were drinking dens for men only, and I think this may well have been one such. Small, close to the massive Iron Foundry round the corner, and in the evening full of spit and sawdust, heavily drowned in cigarette smoke and a haven for the working man in which to lose his weeks wages before going home to be belted by his wife!  Hmmm maybe this is an improvement!

It appears there were forty three public houses in this small town at one time. There is only about a dozen today. I wonder what that says about society today? We have drunks on our streets night after night the press tell us, is this such a novelty? Could it be it was only drunk working men in days gone by, so that is alright then?  Jesus drank wine, and the best he served up at a wedding, but he was never drunk, so drink has its place, not remembering what you did last night does not. Actually I have trouble remembering what I did last night anyway.

The Victorians had great trouble with water supplies and drinking beer was a much safer option for many. Living in squalid accommodation meant that gas lit pubs, often with entertainment on offer, (this grew into the Music Hall) and the companionship of like minded souls made such places an attraction. Better housing, the radio, TV, the death of heavy industry and the end of male only pubs has brought about great changes in society's approach to pubs. The recession today means more buy their booze from supermarkets and drink at home rather than be ripped off by a 'local.'

People get very romantic about pubs these days. The media tell us the streets are full of drunken yobs (shocked that many are women as if that is something new) yet tell us we ought to help keep pubs open as they are centres of the 'Community?'  Really? Maybe in a village situation but not in the real world. Sad to say that these places mean little to me today. Drink is fine in its place but a bottle of Guinness is more than enough for me today.  The desire to spend money on drink holds no joy, although the companionship of good people found there does!  The men who filed in the 'Freemasons Arms' after work, bringing a smell of sweat, cigarettes and iron with them, would be amazed to see the plush pubs on offer today. They would probably be delighted with many of them but regret the passing of their own little hideaway.  The women, rightly stuck aside in the 'snug, would be much happier with the pubs of today, the cleanliness, the brightness, although whether they would care for the twenty foot football screen depends on many things. OK, who's round is it? What? er...is that the time? er, em... I must be off now, I er,  have a bus to catch, bye....


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Another Door

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They say when one door closes another smacks you in the face. Well this one did just that the other morning as I ambled along searching the gutters for dropped coins. Suddenly I realised that this was an old door! Yes I am bright that way. What I mean is that this door must go back, possibly to Georgian times. I reckon, without having investigated further, that this building was erected before 1850, and possibly nearer the start of the century.  Some wealthy individual had themselves a very nice house, in the centre of town, and on the main road out.  I wonder who it was?  I may have a shot at finding out one day.

The door is what caught my eye, at least the steps up to the door I mean. Until the 20th century I think this street would not have possessed an actual pavement. ( That's 'sidewalk' to those who do not speak properly) The main road would not be tarmac but dirt, and the pavement ('sidewalk') would be merely an extension of this patrolled by passersby. Horse drawn traffic, leaving their aids to growing rose bushes behind, added to the general smell and unhealthy street. With rain the place would become a sticky, mud mire.  That is why all such houses had steps leading up to them, along side of which would be metal scrapers (removed from these steps) which would be used to clean the boots before entering. Surely a town such as this would have paved the pavements  ('sidewalks') by the end of the 19th century I ask?  I am not sure they did. I must examine those old pictures later.

However this building is still in possession of rich folk. It is now a lawyers office with a very nice garden come car park at the rear.  While the light above the door is no longer gas lit I am sure it works just as well with electricity. The actual door is not represented that well but I think it is considerably later than the original one. So not worth investigating. There are several old houses here, now all offices of one sort or another, and only one appears to be used as a home, and that owned by a successful artisan!  I'm not jealous.....


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Sunday Evening and Nothing to Say

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Sunday evening and I have nothing to say so here is a picture of a door. 'A' used to like picturing doors, although I am not sure if this is one that would receive her consideration!  That lass tended to go for doors on ageing castles, châteaus and cathedrals. This is just an unused door on what is now a church with too small a membership to require more than one entrance, and this side door that once led to the gallery has not been in use for many a day.  The minister, a wee man from Glasgow, well past his 70th birthday, is a man who knows his God and continues to follow his calling. A grand speaker and canny man. His wife is what makes him what he is. The Bocking End Congregational Church once had several hundred attending, today there may have been less than thirty, especially as many are older than the minister, he has buried two thirds of his congregation since arriving 20 years ago! They are good people but the fabric is like me, a bit run down.

My empty, tired mind has nothing else to say. Many regard this as a good thing.....


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Door

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The village down the road, the one that attempted to stop the plague in medieval times by putting a rope across the street, contains this door. I wonder if......well maybe I shouldn't..... 

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