All Steamed Up!

 

I have not been getting out as my back still aches, so here is a picture of the wee trains that once ran around this area.  My back was loosening up so last evening I hobbled up to Sainsburys for one or two needed things and considered all was well.  This morning I found I was incorrect in that opinion and my back had stiffened up just like a couple of days ago.  Bah!  This means I have to be careful for the next day or so once again.  Tsk!

 

 

Instead of anything sensible I this picture of a short train (pulled by an F5 engine as you will realise) running towards Braintree in the days of long ago.  When the line to Colchester reached Witham there was a demand, loudly from the Courtaulds MIll people and many other industrialists and farmers, to branch the line to our door.  This arrived in 1848, I was not present, and remains to this day with an hourly service, hold-ups permitting, daily.  Eventually, in 1869, the line was continued to Bishops Stortford, and a variety of trains, both passenger and frieght (we used to call that 'goods') trains ran along the line.  This was fine for a while but after the Great War bus and lorry traffic increased, many ex-army lorries took the goods produce, and a Charabanc or two would carry people right into their villages.  

By 1951 the last passenger train left, by 1972 the last freight.  A sad loss to many, but with the middle classes owning cars by the 1930's, and now most have to have a car in this are, railways such as this were not going to last.  They served their time, though the real purpose of this line was to prevent another company cutting through and offering competition to the GER Colchester to Norwich line!  This line was always small beer.  

There is always talk of reopening the line as Stansted Airport is at the other end, however this would cost more than it may be worth, including a huge flyover at Dunmow.  This is a pity, maybe I should try and get Boris interested in this.  It would appeal to his publicity needs and while the end result may fail it would benefit the area, if it happened, though at a cost of £100 million it probably won't.

 

Sunday Blether

I didn't bother to watch the historical sight of Boris attending a press conference, even one in which I am told all the questions were pre-prepared.  It was however no surprise to see on Twitter the news that Boris backed his man Dominic Cummings.  The anger that has resulted will be treated with contempt by Cummings and his paymasters behind the scenes.  We must ask who is paying who here.  The Koch Brothers?  US hedge funds?  Who pays Matthew Elliott and his crowd?  Who is buying all the data Dominic is selling to the USA?   Why do the media keep quiet?  
What more is to come out of this corrupt government?

Unusually quiet around here these days.  Most folks outside of government advisor's have been following the rules, only occasionally someone will be caught trading drugs in the park or like here be chatted up by a policewoman with paperwork.  No idea what was going on, he was sitting on our step when they arrived.  I was woken from my siesta by the van door slamming, this causes me to reach for the window in case it is a parcel for one of us.  There was even one delivered today!  However, this was just a drunk I think, someone must have called for the police, or possibly he has been annoying folks in town.  As always no more has been heard.  Possibly they drove him to the border and dumped him on Suffolk, always a good idea!

Looking through the old pics I came across this one.  I always liked this, but it may be a while before I take it again.  The strong winds the past few days have put cyclists off, not many pass by, and while the old railway line is quite sheltered the wind would be against you going up hill.  Not a pleasant time.  Great coming home however.

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. 

Short Jaunt

Waking before six at this time of year is not a bad thing in my view, unless like me you have had insufficient sleep yet the brain will not close down.  This dumb approach to life left me spotting this picture first thing and attempting to reproduce the yellowness of the early morning sun, quite something today.  Within a few minutes I was on the bike and racing slowly towards the old railway in an attempt to enjoy cycling when its quiet.

Fifteen minutes later and the cloud was beginning to blot out the sun, typical.  Instead I pondered over the farmer who has sown wheat here and is half way through harvesting the crop.  He has been desperate to sell to a local money grabbing developer for years and once again has put in a bid to erect around 500 houses.  This would fill the space between town and village causing much upset and ruining the old railway as a glimpse of country much loved and required by folks like me.  
Who can blame a farmer for wanting out?  Once Bexit comes and the promises of Brexiteers are seen as hollow regarding the cash farmers would receive, fishermen have just began t understand that also, then food production will be unprofitable and Farmer Jones's all over the shop will be unhappy.  However a strenuous effort by people with talent has opposed this move once again and it may well be that they will succeed in stopping this development.  Several others are ongoing all around this area, the Tories are keen to build on 'green land' as their friends the developers are cashing in and they get something out of it, those with expensive homes get bills and debt while we all lose a green lung.    

Farmer Jones has got the huff once again and forced the Rangers to erect fences ensuring the public do not take their dogs onto his land, something they have been doing to his fallow fields for years.  Behind this one he has also chopped trees and attempted vainly to block the long established path and ensure he is continued to be loved by local residents.  Further up the road a similar large plot was threatened with housebuilding and someone bought the fields and turned them into a decent nature reserve, well it will be in a few years when grown.  That would cost a great deal here however as the area is quite extensive.  

 
How nice to see the bike out in the country again.  Not that I went far, just far enough to wake me up, and then return to do the ironing and have a jolly day with that....any woman willing to lend a hand?

Dunmow Charity Shops

I took it into my head to visit the upper classes yesterday so off I went on the working class bus to an area more Conservative Party than our own.  You can tell the political leanings easily here, outside many million pound houses, and one or two worth slightly less than that, stood blue boards featuring a tree logo with the word 'Conservative' brandished upon it.  This I found somewhat ironic as a very large such board in a field on the edge of Felsted which we passed bore one such tree image and developers passing by would be only too willing to cut down all such trees and fill said field with million pound houses called 'The Meadow,' or 'Three Trees,' or 'Where are the Trees' or the like.  
The charity shops in a town of middle class wealth therefore ought to offer a higher standard of left overs and this indeed is the case here.  However my trawl through the shops failed to find anything I actually wished to spend money on bar a few original birthday cards although there were masses of items my sense of greed took a fancy to.  Foolishly I browsed the bookshelves and came close to buying one tome worth £3:95 until I realised this was only Vol 1, the chance of finding Vol 2 being rather scarce I persuaded myself this was not a good idea.
The volunteers in the shops who I spoke to were friendly, efficient ladies who appeared happy at their work.  This is not always the case in such shops, on too many occasions, caused by nervousness on inability to converse with anyone but the few you identify with, had left me with the impression such shops are run by menopausal women with a grudge against humanity.  Actually I meet them elsewhere often also.  If you are not happy don't be there I say but here in Oxfam the girls were cheerful.  These ladies were a bright advert for the shop in my opinion just as they were last time I passed through yonks ago.

Dunmow grew from a mere Roman crossroads stopping place into a bustling market town in the Medieval times.  Quite where the money comes from now I know not but there is plenty about, the houses outside the town begin at just over a million and while the cheap ones can be found, if you consider a quarter of a million cheap!  How does the normal individual earn enough to get a mortgage for that amount today?  Lawyers and other professionals possibly but you and I?  One thing I note is that people who pay a couple of million for a big house with acres of room plus servants quarters always have an outside swimming pool.  If you pay that much why not cover the thing in and use it all year round?  I suppose it is less for swimming and more for entertaining purposes, sitting around the pool in the evening with wine and backstabbing among friends I suppose.  One thing about such middle classes is the high divorce rate, money does not satisfy and some are rather too keen to share themselves out I reckon. Possibly I have just been reading the 'Telegraph' gossip columns again...?
However the vicar , the Rev Noel Mellish VC. MC. did not have a swimming pool at his town centre abode, he however did have a Victoria Cross awarded for rescuing wounded men over a three day period.  There is little doubt that had he not taken those few volunteers to do this work, returning under fire at first, then a great number of men would have died on those days, no-one else would have brought them in.  Such  a man ought to be remembered by his town folks, later he was the one who informed them from the pulpit that the Second World War had begun.
The rise in wealth hinders the bus however.  With Mercedes, fancy sports cars and those big imitation Jeeps come tanks called 'Jasmine' or 'Jemima' by the female owners parked on one side and Mercedes, sports cars and Jeeps coming the other way, all considering the road belongs to them rather than the common peoples bus, the drivers winding their way through the traffic must have wished they were doing this after the Great War when the bus traffic first began.
Mr Hicks, a well known Essex name, ran a 'Charabanc' from Braintree to Bishops Stortford at that time.  The 'Charabanc' was a simple bus, an uncovered row of seats with a driver at the front that revolutionised communication for the villages round the big towns.  There was the rail link of course but you often had to walk a mile to connect with that and the bus now dropped you at or almost at your door.  By 1952 there was no more rail link for passengers and the bus service, now with covered buses, improved greatly.  Lorry deliveries also hastened development during the nineteen twenties, the ex-army lorries abounded and many ex-servicemen found this the only way to survive in that 'dog eat dog' Conservative led 'austerity' time.
Today the rise in cars numbers, these folks have more than one each, means that the bus now appears only every hour and there have been attempts to end this also by people who don't need it.

 
While I enjoyed by short bus trip in the Australian hot sunshine I had also begun the day at six in the morning by cycling slowly up the old railway line.  How enjoyable that was as few were about and only an occasional mad barking 'Jack Russell' type were there to attack me.  The few other dogs I saw were so happy you could see laughter on their faces as they ran past.  What more can a dog ask than the chance to run free, note a variety of fragrances, the occasional squirrel to chase and a tit bit or two from the owner.   

You may consider this a work of art by some famous unknown artist who has made millions from offering such works to those with too much money and too little taste but you would be mistaken.  This is merely the pond at the far end of my ride where a solitary duck disappeared at my approach and was replaced by a million hovering beasties, the same type of beasties that hover in the shade of bushes in vast hordes awaiting passing cyclists who failing to avoid them end up swallowing the brutes via nose and mouth if great care is not taken.  In this case the sun reflecting of the water hid the brutes.  On occasion those who tarry here will see a collection of local insects buzzing around and a small board has been placed to indicate the general types found.  I saw one Mallard duck and a thousand flies!

   
I thought little of charity shops while watching the sun glint of the leaves and warm the stubs of crops in the fields around me.  Crops that have suffered too little rain for their good and while the sky has been dark, often damp, it has not yielded sufficient to please the farmers at the weathers mercy.  I can hear Sainsburys increasing their prices 'because of shortages' already!'  
However it is good to sit amongst green leaves and sunshine, in spite of the beasties that accompany you.  Rabbits sit upright in the distance wary of your existence, Robins and Blackbirds that a moment before you appeared were happily chomping on such beasties as could be found on the ground disappear while the chaffinches in the trees no longer sing as they wonder just what you are up to.  Still I like it early in the day even if it means my knees will remind me of their suffering later.

Occasional horses can be found trotting slowly along this part, however the day was too early for them.  These gates are to hinder neds who steal scooters or motorbikes and ride them up the old railway late at night when few are about.  While the police occasionally use bikes to cycle along this way these days I still think handing such neds over to the Saudi Authorities might be a good idea.  Maybe we ought to hand the parents over instead, that is if they have mothers.

  
Has anyone heard of a 'Long stay Catholic Church' before?  This one has all mod cons and services!
 

Morning Cycle

The rolling English countryside early in the morning sun is a grand sight, however if a developer gets his way this grand sight will turn into 1600 houses, plus Doctors Surgery etc.  The old railway walk will descend into just another litter covered backyard for thousands more people.  Since arriving here 21  years ago the population has grown from 30,000 to 40,000, the need for homes and the greed of developers would increase it by 30,000 more if they could.  The fightback appears to be holding at the moment, the first plan was turned down, the new one has faults and hopefully will not go ahead.  There are areas where such housing could be placed, this however is not one of them.

One man who would be happy is the farmer who I presume lives in this house.  He has been trying to sell up for years and who can blame him?  Farming is a hard life and easy money from the EU will end soon with no replacements on offer, even from a Tory Party that relies on farmer Jones and his vote, so selling the land for housing makes sense to him.  He will move far away I'm sure. 
The farmer requires a decent deal but housing will go against the needs of the locals for green space, and this development will join the town to the village and destroy the appeal for those living there.  Quite what the answer to this can be I know not.  
Just a wee bit further up the line they collected money to buy the land and use as a nature reserve, with added facilities for those health freaks looking for a place to exercise.  This is a good idea but money is not available for the land the farmer wishes to dump.  If only I had become the Billionaire I was meant to be...

Avoiding me at a distance were several horses.  The field here often has a horse or two, head down and uninterested in passersby, and I note rarely the same horses.  Maybe he trades them, hires them or just offers a field to feed them in. I don't know why?  The rabbits seem content with their arrival and look down their nose at the camera from a great distance, which is why there are no pictures of them.  This is the edge of the village which will be attached to the 1600 houses if greedy developer gets his way.  

  
The idea of rising early and cycling appeared a good one late last night, this morning it took on a different hue.  However my knees need the exercise so off I went, immediately unhappy about it, and in spite of the early morning traffic, the pain, the chill, I kept going and got some way up the old line before my knees began giving me their opinion of it all.  
The aroma early in the morn of the vegetation, the birds singing while hidden in the trees above, the glimpse of blue in the sky, all made for a delightful start to the day.  A dog was keen to make friends, the owner well she was less keen, while one other dog walker informed me the old industrial estate will soon be 125 houses, including flats!  I must agree with housing there as the place was almost empty of companies and gypsies were moving in, and that means vast amounts of rubbish left behind for others to clear.  Housing of the right type in the right place can be accepted.

Bluebells abound at the moment and it is a pity I am too far from the woods where they cover the land.  Yesterday I was shown pictures of woodland that was a mass of blue from one end to the other.  All I found were the poor wee things outside my door.  

Blossom is beginning to fail.  The bright white on some trees has fallen and these lovely red ones are turning a slight pink shade.  These are not long for this world so now is the time to picture them until next year.  The park was originally a house belonging to one of the rich folks who gave much to the town.  The gardens were very well organised, whoever planned them distributed a variety of trees around the place and after a hundred and more years some are beginning to fail.  The council have cut down several that were diseased or dangerous and have begun planting new ones in appropriate areas.  This blossom is quite new and is flourishing happily, hopefully all the others will do so also.

Home to find carpetlayers in the hall hammering away all day.  Just what my tired mind wants to hear.  However I fed them tea, once only in case they stay too long, and while doing this broke the kettle!  Since buying it there has been problems and now it has failed.  The bin for this and back to Tesco later for a new (cheap) one.  Yesterday I had to go there to replace the iron which died, the water dripped out the bottom alarmingly, and now more money is to be spent.  I wish I could survive as well as the Crows who I found feeding themselves in the town centre this morning.

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. 

.