Bacon

 

I took this picture eons ago while trundling up the old railway, or 'Flitch Way,' as it is called.  The name derives from the competition that takes place every leap year in what until recently, was the Flitch Pub' in Little Dunmow.  The winner receives a 'Flitch of Bacon.'  Like many such pubs this is now a restaurant.  Because of the size of the event the judgement now takes place in Great Dunmow.

The competition, which goes back many years into the 14th century, they say Chaucer mentions this, is simple in outline.  The idea is to find a couple who have not regretted their marriage since being married in the past year and one day.  The award is a 'Flitch of Bacon.'  Aggressively questioned by magistrates, and providing witnesses that they have not regretted their marriage once, a jury then decides the outcome.  

It appears few 'Flitches' were ever awarded!  

I wonder if any of my readers have gone a year and one day without regretting the marriage?  Of course you must ask the spouse this also, no magistrate will question you, no jury decide.  There again the bacon will come from Tesco if you had won. 

I wonder if I will ever ride that bike again?  I doubt it now.  Things do not appear to improve and I am losing interest.  I may have to find someone who needs a bike to take it on, do it up and have fun.  

I miss the Flitch Way itself mind.  A  two mile long stretch up to Rayne, busy at times with dog walkers, and how the dogs love it, people strolling along, and much further on the horse riders out for a trot. 

It gave some nice pics also.

Up the Old Railway

It was quarter to six in the morning, the sun shone from behind the trees in the east, the wood pigeons sat bleary eyed on the fencing staring into nowhere, I climbed aboard the dirty, ramshackle bike and headed west.
Having filled the tyres with fresh air the day before I was prepared for the journey.  I had not bothered to check the gears, brakes or anything else as I knew all would be well, at first I was wrong, the gears took a while to remember what to do.
I passed through the market centre dodging the early Burger vans setting up for the Saturday Market.  The market is indeed an ancient one beginning in 1199 when the Bishop of London, who had inherited the land from the Theign Athelric, got permission from King John by promising him taxes could be raised this way, John agreed and also agreed to a similar market in Chelmsford which more or less exists today.  The cattle and sheep have been replaced with Burger vans, fruit and veg stalls, and on monthly occasions a variety of items produced in a desperate fashion to reinvigorate the town.  Lowering the rates on shops might help but the council see that as a bad idea.
Peddling down the High Street, another new invention in medieval times, I find the way very rough. A while back the road was relaid using red bricks and looked marvellous, since then buses and vans running over its length have turned it into a glacial like mountains range, cycling is harder here in town than in the old railway.  The road from London crosses Braintree where it meets 'Stane Street' running from Colchester west.  Whether it was the wealth produced by the market or the Bishop deciding to reroute the road in favour of his dwelling on, appropriately, Chapel Hill, is unclear but this new way became the High Street.  Next door to the shop on the corner, the blue fronted one, lies an ancient house which has served as a hotel of sorts for some years.  The owner once told me a wooden pillar in the house had been dated to, I think, 1387 AD, which indicates the ages behind some of the shop fronts.  Most now have Victorian or more recent fronts but behind that lies ancient years and memories.

Slipping, and I mean slipping, past the church which has stood for almost a thousand years, probably on the base of a Saxon wooden edifice, and the houses nearby cover what were Roman graves, I head for the traffic lights on the old London Highway.  I note on old documents they referred to a road as a highway at all times.  Mr MacFarlane would be happy on this once dirt track wandering through the woodlands heading on a pilgrimage to Bury St Edmunds.  Edmund died 869 AD so such pilgrimages continued until Henry VIII removed them in religious zeal, so he could marry again.  A busy road for many years.
At the lights few realise that to our right stood an Iron Age settlement.  In the gardens round about the occasional grave can be found if you dig deep enough, usually Iron Age, occasionally a family argument.  Not wishing to ponder this I continue past the Victorian houses which appeared as wealth grew and farmland was bought out and turned onto the pavement in a bid to beat two early morning joggers (and they needed to jog) to the old railway line, the 'Flitch Way.'

There was of course no real requirement to build this railway line, joining Braintree to Bishops-Stortford, the line from Braintree had connected to the Liverpool Street line since 1848 but the railway company was afraid that their line from London to Cambridge might be compromised by a competitor running from London through Bishops-Stortford to Norwich, the answer was to run a line across their plans and so this line came to be in 1869, after the usual squabbles, usually about money. 
The public came for a while however after the Great War lorries took away much of the freight and charabancs took the public leaving them almost at their doors while the railway line was often a mile from the villages themselves.  By 1952 the last train ceased and twenty years later freight also failed and the rails were removed.  Hard work by the Rangers, that is Essex Rangers who maintain the ground not a football team, has enabled the way to be a perfect rest from town life.  Those who plan to place over 500 hundred houses alongside the way require removal to Afghanistan in many folks opinion.

  
Having spent so much time indoors I was happily surprised by the verdant way as I passed.  The Rangers had maintained the way so well it was a corridor of green all the way up.  Funny how at this time of the year the colours disappear and green and white become the main draw.  Only a handful of colourful plants were noted, most were white flowers. 
The picture shows part of the land that a local developer wishes to change into housing to his advantage.  Several hundred houses could replace this view, much to everyone's disgust.  I can understand the farmer wishing to cash in, farming is not a great winner and Brexit brings no guarantees with it so I understand his wish to sell out.

I think this is the farmer who wishes to sell the land.  The future for such as he is not clear and it is understandable if they will seek other revenue.  I note the horse and the gymkhana material to the side which is new.  Further up there were four young ponies chasing each other around their field happily and I would imagine they will spend time this week carrying little Tabitha and her friends over the jumps.

I must be at least a year or more since I rode up here.  The weather was wonderful as I headed up the slope, only one old lass being overprotective to her ageing dog was to be seen.  The air was filled with the scent of lush foliage and I breathed deeply as I rode.  There again I have to breathe deeply when on the bike, puffing like the wee tank engines that one crawled up the slope at 25 mph overtaking the likes of me with little effort.  It was wonderful to be out this far and being empty with even the bypass traffic lessened at this time there was a kind of silence filled only by bird song and rabbits rustling through the undergrowth.   

While installing the railway and the new station the engineers had to build the new bridge.  The road until this time crossed the line, it still does, but it was felt that it was better a bridge went up to enable people safely to cross and avoid holding up all the horse and carts desperate to rush through their day.  Houses were being built on the other side and a new road was put in.  In keeping with the standards of English villages life, the street through the village was called 'The Street,' so the new street was given the name 'New Road,' a name it keeps to this day.  The road that led to the school, now converted into very expensive housing, retains the name 'School Road.'  This however was far enough for me today so I turned the bike around and slowly trundled down the still quiet slope.

I stopped occasionally on the way down to listen to the birds singing but discovered silence each time.  It appears they were watching me carefully and only sang when I had gone.  The rabbit holes that have existed half way up for as long as I have been here were empty, not that I looked in, but I wondered about the life a rabbit has deep down underground all his life.  Underground in safety I suppose as there were rabbits to be seen but quick to run for it when I passed.

Jemima here had been sitting chomping leaves when I appeared.  Her friend had no hesitation in running but she is either brave or stupid enough to wait until I had taken her picture before she moved.  How do I know this is a she, well can you prove me wrong?

Very few brightly coloured plants now, the rabbits must have been busy.  The predominate colour is now white.  Do the wee beasties prefer this?  Does this attract them at this time of year?

Canny mind what this is called but it was abundant today.  All along the way there was verdant greenery with this plant filling in the spaces.  

The summer weather (is it summer yet?) never fails to surprise.  While I was attempting and failing to capture the sunshine behind me a large black cloud was forming and hiding itself behind the trees.  

At the bridge, where my lack of fitness made me get off and push both ways up the slope leaving me feeling so guilty about this that I refuse to tell Dave in case he cuts me off, I stopped to attempt a picture of the light rainbow.  Not too bad an effort and a rare sight for me.  I did not hang about as I realised another cyclists hint is 'always carry a cap' as rain will fall.  I knew it would not rain and was naturally drookit by the time I got home.  

   
Raindrops falling while the sun shines blindingly ahead of me.  Not a great picture but indicates the rain at this time.  One hundred yards down the road, when I got home, the rain stopped.

A delightful morning, home for three sausages, three egg omelette, and two rolls left from earlier in the week, almost fresh enough.  Then back to bed!  So glad I am fit enough to travel a just a few miles on the bike, hopefully this continues. 

Morning Bike

The old railway line was becoming busy as I made my way back from my exercise run this morning.  The delight in watching men struggle up the slope knowing that they have a days work ahead of them and are rushing to be at work by eight o'clock leaves me quite satisfied.  Very satisfied that I no longer require to do this.  Better to travel to work this way mind rather than on a commuter bus or train where you have no control whatsoever over the running of the transport.  Nothing but punctures and women with dogs can annoy you as you race to work.  For me of course the women and dogs often mean a few words exchanged, Fifi keen to rub her head into my knee although the dog was less keen for some reason, and then a few words with a retired man and his close to retirement dog, 'seen it done it, just lets walk and feed me' type dog, and all this while trundling slowly down the slope and not struggling upwards.

Six thirty and I was heading into the old railway line.  The mist was dissipating quickly from the dip in the land as the sun rose majestically (what does that mean exactly?) and soared into the sky.  I tried to stop it and told it to wait until I was in position but it did not listen to me.  As Jenny noted fields like this, somewhat enlarged in recent times, contain no birds.  Those that exist do so in the areas off the old railway where trees and shrubs have arisen since the trains ceased forty years ago and wildlife has increased.  The Rangers control the area well and yet if we relied on the farmers much would be lost.  It must be said that many farmers do cut corners when harvesting and allow larger areas at the ends of many fields to go wild.  Some have dropped fields altogether, possibly for EU money, and encouraged wildlife in this manner.  The man here just wants to sell this farm and plant 3500 houses but the council said 'NO!'  Good for them, this is the wee towns one real country area, a link between town and village with no reason to bring the two together except money making.  Three area on the other side of town will have housing, more appropriate in my view but not popular with all.

This was supposed to be an interesting image of the sun hitting the mist as it hung over the trees.  No matter what I did, no matter what I fiddled with nothing like the actual picture I saw arrived in my camera.  Still it's OK as an image.  It does however make the pylons look like they are the stars of one of the 'Star Wars' type movies, pylons ready to march across the earth dominating the land, although some would say they already do that.  Mind you if they did not march those who object could not communicate their objections as they would have no electric!

One thing I love about this time of year is the bright early morns when I can get the bike up the old railway and take a picture or two, even if they don't work out right.  The sheer brightness of the sun over the fields brought to mind those who had to work those fields in the days of long ago.  The harvest would be cut by man and scythe, heaped by women into stalks and only late in the 19th century did a man, usually a grumpy self important one from the north, arrive with a machine and thresh the crop for the farms.  I did read an item about this that Thomas Hardy put into one of his books.  I got the impression he had read it also and made use of it but I could be wrong.  Even with the machine to help this was hard work from morning till night and the pay was not good.  After the harvest there comes a time to plough and sow and start again all the time watching the sky as country folks know the weather required watching all the time.  The sky hinted at slight red this morning as I rose and I suspect the old agricultural labourers would tell what the day held even from that, though they would be working by six in the morning to tell the truth.  Hard work all day for what?  Possibly seven shillings a week?  Maybe more for the ploughman or cowman, but nothing at all when the crop fails.  One of the first acts of the Cameron government was to drop the protection given to farm hands, not that many exist today.  Country people vote Conservative and they are important to the Party.   

This old fashioned type of signpost has been removed in some areas but Essex keeps them and I think this right.  There are enough modern tin signs on main roads and these add a wee bit of character to the area.  One, standing in town since long before the war had become a wreck yet the council replaced it with the same type of sign, not a modern one.  Good for them I say!

The 'Crix Green Mission' looks like a hall grafted onto the back of a typical Essex farmhands house.  The hall roof has a Dutch inclination to it but I am afraid as this Hamlet comprises a mere 13 houses it does not have much use.  Services led by St Michael's occur but how often I know not, and the hall is used during elections for voting purposes.  At one time it must have had a full time member who know ll the people round about, and there would be many more farmhands then, but today while the house is occupied the hall clearly does not have a full time staff today.  Imagine living in a  Hamlet of 13 houses, most of whom are now quite pricey.

Nothing for it but to run back down the line and head for breakfast.  My knees have had enough exercise this week but none tomorrow as I am on my last Thursday at the museum, I think.  With local kids back at school on Thursday I suspect we will be quiet for a change with only normal people arriving.  I may have to just sit there quietly all day and read a book....fat chance!

For those who don't understand 'Brexit' and such stuff, here are a couple of Irish Comedians to explain things in a simple and clear manner, sort off. 

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Rickety Ride

The rickety bike carried my rickety bones up the rickety old railway line this morning and left my rickety muscles more rickety than before.  I suppose this is called 'health.'  The sun shone and the people taking the week off took advantage to walk out with the dogs alongside the regulars.  This is fine as the dogs are happy, tails wagging and full of enjoyment at the aromas around them, some not always pleasant I fear.  For the first time in ages I made it all the way to Rayne, a full two miles of uphill slope and stopped just afterwards at this memorial to a deceased person.  Look closely and you note it is shaped as a crocodile, something which we have lots of in the pond nearby, and made out of one tree trunk.  Very well made I must say.

  
The plan to build hundreds of houses along here has met with much abuse and you can see why.  I understand why a farmer would willingly sell his land but this is a chance to escape the town and walk in a small bit of countryside, thousands of newcomers would not ensure a happy world here.
Note the old chapel now turned into a house.

The horses in this field never appear full of life.  I wonder if they are bored, tired or just not quite awake yet.  They always appear to be different horses, I wonder if he rustles them from somewhere?
They glanced up as my brakes squealed and quickly ignored me.

I cared not for their indifference as I was just happy to have reached this far and not had a heart attack.  The sun shone, people appeared friendly for the most part and I avoided all the dogs and got two children in one go!  A good day! 
The world appears happier when the sun shines and I had to make the effort this morning as another of those storms arrives tomorrow bringing wind and rain across the sodden parts of the country.  I feel for those soaked through yet again and join their despair as more rain arrives.  There is hope that this will be the last but all that water has to be dispersed yet.  
Now, where is the number for that lithe blonde lassie masseur...or is it masseuse?

Before Breakfast...

Long before seven this morning I trundled the bike up part of the old railway to look at the mist hovering over the land.  Even most dog walkers were still abed which indicates the chill in the morning.  The sun was dissipating the mist as I arrived, low lying clouds lay like an Edinburgh Haar over parts.  

To think a developer now wishes to plant several hundred houses here (plus GP etc) and the farmer is very keen to sell.  A couple of years ago similar plans for 500 houses were turned down after a long campaign, I suspect similar to arise now.  This is a wonderful natural spot, well cared for by the Park Rangers and so many houses will ruin it.  With this grasping governments attitude 'build and be damned' and a desperate need for housing this one may get some homes built.  There again maybe there is not so much need for housing after all, maybe stopping greedy Russians and Chines buying all of Central London and raising the cost of houses would enable Brits to obtain one already built?
Maybe encouraging people not to divorce might keep families together, support marriage rather than destroy it, tell single women to find their own accommodation when they have a baby rather than use council ones.  All such ideas will not get votes but could improve society.
We are being forced apart by the spirit of the air.  Independence and not community is the bias in the airways.  Self rights are more important than society duty, me first, and let others hang is the way.  Today parliament debate the 'assisted suicide bill.'  This is to allow people who wish to die to do so.  To many consider this a 'right' and others from compassion think it a good idea.  I remind them of the woman today who has been found to have written a note from her husband claiming he wished not to be revived, and she had poisoned him and written the note herself.  'Assisted suicide' is an excellent way to remove ageing or sick family members, especially if there is money to be found in the will.  I await their deliberations tonight.

I exchanged s few friendly words with one young lass as I grasped the camera expectantly noticing her dog, a golden retriever, wandering in and out of the wet grasses that abounded today.  I was glad I did not have to wash the beast when I got home, and she had another somewhere about also.  As I turned for home, my knees requesting this, I noticed this figure heading towards me.  She had the right idea, cycle alongside the dog, it makes him run faster and enables you to get home quicker! A not unusual idea and worth considering as the dog and you benefit.  Unless you fall off obviously!

   
High above holiday makers and a few business people headed elsewhere.  This may have been an inland flight to Edinburgh or Belfast possibly but it may well have had a European airport in its sights.  No-one appeared to wave from the window.   The thought that this seven in the morning take off meant the travellers probably left home at midnight or three in the morning to get to Stansted for the flight shows the problems re air travel today.  The flight to Edinburgh takes an hour, the preparation for take off three!  I may just cycle there next time.

After a massage from the Vietnamese Curry House and Takeaway Massage girls I might feel better however now I think I have been run over by a bus.  They say this makes you fitter, 'they' are not doing it....

Sorting Out files

Trieris, a replica of an Athenian ship.

Computers are wonderful machines, this wee laptop I use these days can be quite slow but it does the job.  I should say it may be slow but that is because I am listening to the radio at the same time and some things go slow.  One reason it is slow may well be the amount of stuff on it, therefore I have spent the entire day wandering through the files deleting things in preparation for downloading onto disc the items I wish to keep or don't require often.  I discovered the other day my pictures were somewhat messed up.  That is I had doubles and trebles of some, others had moved to other files by themselves, honest, and many left me completely baffled as to why they were put there in the first place.  

   Oxford Street 1897

Some of the pics were quite interesting, this one appeared from somewhere, who knows where, but shows a different view of Oxford Street than that seen today.  You will note some obvious similarities, rain, crowded pavements, shops, and generally dreary appearance overall.  The main difference I suppose it that the photographer can stand in the middle of the road and remain alive....if indeed he did remain alive!

Flitch Way

Some pictures reminded me that Spring sunshine is not far away, well in theory anyway.  I am also reminded that I used to cycle every day, now hardly ever. The weather is against it, icy cold today and looking likely to stay that way all week, the energy appears lacking and the desire also. As the mornings get lighter my desire will return.  Then I rise from beneath the duvet and seek the bright lights outside, unless it rains of course!  The cycling early in the morning, before dog walkers and folks heading for work arise, is enjoyable.  If I go out earlier all sorts of people block the way, hinder my progress and selfishly consider themselves entitled to be there, as if!  

   
This is a self portrait by Lady Clementina something or other, a lass who took to photography in the middle of the nineteenth century.  If I could remember more I would tell you what it is but my dim mind tells me she took pictures of her friends, and women dressed like that make very good photographs, but from her Kensington home she made the most of her hobby.  You had to be amongst the wealthy to be a photographer in those days.  The cost of the camera, the glass negatives, the time and staff required to develop the pictures all combined to make photography very expensive indeed.  George Eastman, and those like him, did the world a huge service by developing his 'Box Brownie' and other cheap cameras. The delight of seeing a successful photograph, no matter how inept to a professional, is just that a delight!

Most of my time however was spent amending the huge amount of Great War pictures that somehow got split into a variety of places.  So many duplicates, so many I canny mind obtaining.  The laptop is not the easiest machine for a hamfisted eejit to operate and the files kept disappearing into one another. This led to more confusion as I fought to get them back where they belonged only to find I had confused two similar files.  Like hitting your head on a brick wall it was so good when it was all over, at least I hope it is now.

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August Bank Holiday

As I left behind my somnolence this morning, it struck me that this was a 'Bank Holiday.' I knew this immediately I glanced outside that this was a 'Bank Holiday' because the sky was battleship gray, and a strong wind was waving the tree branches opposite. The term 'Bank Holiday' refers to the time when the banks, and most others, took time of for religious festivals, 'Saints days,' as they were originally, at least in England. Over thirty were known in the early part of the nineteenth century and gradually these have been amended to a handful. No longer concerned with Saints or banks it has become a standing joke that each holiday is greeted with cries of despair as the rain teems down and the wind howls along the streets! However it is not always this way, this is the UK after all, and there is just as much chance of sunshine as rain on such a days. Now for instance, as I glance at the passing girls trees opposite I see the sun is shining and the sky is blue and people are out attempting to make the most of the hot sun.

This admiration for the sun I admit is not always good. A figure has just passed by on the other side, shirtless, with large bare boobs, and wearing my indoor glasses which are not good at that distance, I first thought it to be a female! But no, (and it's a big butt!) the creature was a near naked male taking his kids through the streets! I am just glad there were no whaling boats around just now or there may have been a harpoon flying in his direction! Jings what a sight! I'm glad I was wearing the wrong glasses! This sort of thing might be all right in the privacy of your own home but lease, not in public!

Anyway, early this morning, after stuffing my fat face I cycled off against the westerly wind and headed up the old railway. (Known as the Flitch Way)Because of the Holiday few were around even at that time, just after half past seven, and the empty track encouraged me to travel further afield than usual. In fact I made it to the old rail bridge that once led into Felsted railway station, I say once, as it has long since been removed. The station is now a private dwelling, (how nice is that?) and the occupants probably dislike the idea of people tramping past their window. Getting there and back gave me a run of around twelve miles on the bike, the most I have managed for a while. In the, now distant, past I made it all the way to Bishops Stortford and back, around thirty miles, yet today I struggle to do this little run. However at least I can do this and that pleases me, especially once I get home!

Very few people around, a few dog walkers, most giving a happy, if reluctant, greeting, except the miserable lass with two big gray dogs scowling as she always does. I think she believes herself attractive and expects men are looking at her, hmmm, not with an expression like that dearie! Why do women mistake a grunted greeting as you pass with an attempt on their honour (honour?). Is it arrogance that they think you should be looking at them, or that the girl is herself always on the lookout for a fancy man herself? Hmmm I wonder. One couple were noticed far ahead walking fast in an exercise pattern. Walking quickly, then swinging the arms, and I suspect knee bending every so often, as she put herself, and her man through torments to keep themselves young. They were probably the cheeriest people out there on the 'Flitch Way' today. As I made my way back they were still happily getting fit, although I believe he was already thinking of his bath, a quick rub down and a fine whisky by that time!


There is always one miserable jogger making his way along the old line. Usually someone in his late thirties, early forties, 'iPod' plugged in, doing his best to ignore the world and wishing death on each and everyone who greets his passing. What is it with such men? Are they desperate for fitness because of the needs of their job, or could it be a desperate desire to retain the last vestiges of youth? Sometimes I feel there is a mid life crises there and a fear of a slackening sex life, a loss of desirability to women, and a real fear that life has passed them by. The fact that we all go through this escapes them and their anguish is dealt with alone and unannounced to the world, at least in words. It's the manly way! I sometimes watch these men, often 'successful' in their sphere, big car, good house, good money, wife and kids, yet worried about their image or their place in the rat race. They are not content, that can be seen in their attitude. Now I realise that these attitudes change with each day, however we reveal ourselves more indirectly than directly in many occasions. I sometimes want to grab them and tell them Jesus can make their lives worthwhile, but you know they will pass by, either afraid to consider this or have no thoughts about Gods reality for them at all. What is going on in there?

The biggest problem today was of course the weather and the slopes of the old track. Now as I made my way west I hurtled along at a good speed as much of the line is flat and with the bike well oiled, and the tyres full of air, even on the slopes I made good time and this was indeed a fine healthy exercise for the heart. However the wind was somewhat against me though hidden to some extent by the trees and high bushes at each side. I was however glad the return journey could be taken in a more idle fashion, down hill. Naturally having reached the end, wandered around for a while to denumb my bum, I gratefully headed home. It was several minutes of avoiding the many rabbits that waited till the last minute before scurrying away at my passing before I realised I was still going upwards and now fighting an easterly wind. Where did this come from? Why is it that each and every day the wind and the slope is against you no matter which direction you are headed? I considered a phone call to the meteorological office but suspected that they would fiddle a computer somewhere and turn on the rain and complete my day for me. However I made it home, tired and grateful that I could cycle a bike, managed to smile at most folk I met, discussed the rules of the way with a dog or two and could stuff my fat face and then sit in a hot bath for an hour or two reading books (pictures available for a price!).

Of course my back now aches with stiffness, my knees are telling me this was too far, and I have not lost an ounce in weight. Still, it was worth it and I might try something similar tomorrow, if the weather lets me.