I was here today.....

Another epic journey of four miles and 35 chains, and back again!  Wot?  A 'chain' is a measurement used on railways, and in other engineering works, it measures 66 feet, or 22 yards, or 100 links, or 4 rods.  10 chains equal a furlong, 8 furlongs a mile.  Railway distances are measured in miles and chains from the starting station.  Each object, bridge, station etc, is listed as so many miles and chains from the starting point. By inquiring in my book on this railway line I can tell I cycled around this distance.  The doubtful bit is me getting to the line which takes a few minutes.  So today I went a mere 9 miles, almost!  This 'Halt' was added to the railway to encourage passengers during the twenties.  Bus travel was hitting the railway money, which was never strong, and folks walking the half mile from the village would hail the train, climb the steps lowered  by the guard, and go their way. 

D Trevor Towe

How it was done. No doubt 'Health and Safety' would stop this now!

Early morn but the sun was already high and I made several attempts to capture the light rays coming through the gaps in the trees.  The problem was the sun was too bright, something the camera and I are not used to dealing with.  Out of the treeline the sun made everything too bright to capture easily.

The brickwork on Victorian bridges is much admired however every so often a weakness arises.  Possibly this one took cracks from bad weather, rain turning to ice and over time developing cracks that threatened to collapse.  Only one house lies over the bridge, a farm, so what passes can be quite heavy even though the road is only occasionally used.  The repair will hold it up, no doubt for years, and also allow people to pass safely.  However it is not worthy of the original architecture, but it will be cost effective and safe.

Naturally real life returned during Andy Murray becoming the first SCOTTISH Player to win at Wimbledon.  The brats over the road have somehow managed to make something catch fire. Who knows what it was, I could not see for the trees, but these firemen will have a busy time in the sun, there is always someone setting dry haystacks on fire somewhere around here.  Tsk! 

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Ichabod and I

Ichabod, the bike that is, and I struggled up the old railway early this morning before my mind was wide enough awake to realise what I was doing.  My knees are now well able to explain the short trip, and loudly at that!  A chap I know belongs to one of those cycling groups, you know the type, helmets, shorts, bright tight jerseys and riding bikes costing several hundred pounds, well he was commenting on their 'run' of just over a hundred miles.  They had done a bit more the day before!  These imitation Tour de France types sometimes come past here, and if on telly I will watch it myself.  Men like the idea of being tough or strong enough to ride up hills and speed along straight rods, always comparing the time between your past time and some other superstars.  Incidentally I watched a programme featuring Clare Balding, a lass referred to by one man as 'Dyke on a Bike,' cycling around the hill of Devon in one of those excellent short travel programmes.  Indeed I like this type of thing and Balding does present herself well here.  However she mentions the small point that she was on a 'short run,' of just 30 miles!  I considered this during my ride up the slope and calculated that by turning back I would get home after completing 3 miles.  My knees agreed that was far enough today!

Farmer Jones will be happy that in spite of the rain his crop is succeeding this year.  I am claiming this is wheat but I expect you experts will tell me it is something completely different, like mango or the like.  His wide field looks in quite good nick in spite of the refusal of the council to allow him to sell some fields to a builder who wants to create 500 homes there.  Luckily even our Councillors are too busy planting said 500 houses on a different farm to care for him.  I am glad as this would spoil the old railway for many of us.

It seems like years since I have been up here and the rain has developed the vegetation somewhat!   This stuff lined the path all the way up, in spite of being curtailed by the Rangers who have stopped it encroaching the entire path.  There is something refreshing about breathing in such an atmosphere (unless you have Hay Fever or Asthma I suppose), listening to the birds singing, beasties rummaging through the undergrowth and cheerily allowing occasional cyclists to rush past as they must get to work before eight.  How I love not having to do that these days.  I miss the good bits, the people, the routine but not the hassle, office politics, grumpy folks, and of course the public!  

  
How much better this looks when greenery is everywhere, also when the way home is downhill!

Occasional remnants of the old railway.  A sign to indicate the rise and fall of the track ahead.  Just ride a bike pal and you soon find how far the track rises and falls!  

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Early Morn

I shocked myself this morning by rising not long after five and being on the bike by quarter to six.  The shock being that I have not been on the bike for weeks and the sun shining compelled me to get out there before the postmen get up.  Naturally by the time I had propelled myself fifty yards the gray clouds began to gather.  However the foliage along the old railway was abundant this morning.  The picture does not give a decent shot of the colours to be found in these wild plants that lined the pathway.  The warmer weather does make life so much better!   However once I had spent half an hour on the bike, wandered around town to stop my knees stiffening I then had the joy of going back to bed!  

Nothing much else happened.

How I endure such an active life I know not.  

I did once again attempt to finish my speil on the local regiment during the Great War, once more I found myself rewriting it from the beginning.  Scrawling things on here is one thing, writing something for folks to read is hard, especially when facts honestly given turn out to be wrong!  Bah!  It's hard being illiterate, whatever that means.

From here I can glimpse the red sky in the distance, too difficult to photograph from here, and find this sky curiously satisfying.  What is it that makes the world around us so attractive and refreshing for the mind?  The greens of the vegetation, the colours of the sky, the fragrance of flowers all make the day worth having, no mater what else is occurring.  Lovely, whatever it is.

Hmmm, I seem to be in a good mood, I must read the 'Daily Mail' that will soon fix that!

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6:30am Bike Ride

What a wonderful sight to see, blue sky and sunshine early in the morning!  The fact that my fingers froze so I could hardly hold the camera is of secondary concern.  The freezing mist dwelt in the folds of the hills as the sun sprung up.  The colour was a deep red but sadly my pictures cannot show just how red it was.  A bright scarlet ball rising above the trees and slowly evaporating the mists.  Being early few were about, and that is an advantage.  One or two walking dogs, who care nothing about the weather it appears, one or two grudgingly heading for work.  This early often allows folks to mutter "Morning" as they pass, although there is always a woman, with a big dog, who looks away, nose in the air, as you pass.  Does she know me....?

It is so good to be out on the bike again.  My bones are creaking like an aged barn in a gale but  being out in a part of the country does you good.  The birds flit through the trees, pairing up and preparing the nests for the soon to be new arrivals, rabbits dodge the bike, but not the farmer in the distance with his gun I noticed, and another sign Spring is close, fields are blocked of to stop gypsies arriving.  Breathe deeply the fresh morning air, change your mind when it freezes the throat, cough all the way back down the track.  Back by half past seven for fried egg sandwich  breakfast and slowly stiffening muscles.  I use the term 'muscles' in the widest possible term here.

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Early Morn

Well, earlyish.
A strange sight greeted my creaking knees as I huffed and puffed up the old railway this morning, blue sky and sunshine!  Even the wind dropped, although by the time I propelled the beast home again I had begun not to care.  Just imagine, sunshine!  No dark clouds, no rain, even less snow!  How almost Spring like for a few hours. 

How can things disappear?  I had three wooden spoons, rewards for my efforts, a big one, a small one and a middle one.  I use the middle one constantly but it has disappeared!  It is not where it ought to be, not in the cupboard, not to be found anywhere.  How can anything disappear so completely?  I've searched the cupboards, I've crawled on my hands and broken knees all over the floor,  I've checked the rubbish bins, it's gone!  I wonder who broke in to steal a wooden spoon....?

Soub? Is that you Soub?

Look, blue sky!  Ignore the frost covering everything!

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So,what was it....?

It lies here, just of the old railway, turning green and falling apart.  It reminds me a lot of myself.  I suppose it once formed part of Farmer Brown's life and was parked here and forgotten.  It may even be a stolen vehicle dumped by thoughtless youths.  Whatever it was it no longer is.  

I came across it after having a touch of the sun this morning!  The sky was blue, the sun shining, and I was fooled into getting in the bike and trundling out.  I became further fooled by the thought that I could meander up the old railway and see the country, even though the fields all around were covered in white frost as I left.  I forgot that the sun shines in Antarctica also!   I donned my cap and thick gloves and sallied forth.  How nice to be up early and on the bike again.  I have not been up there for months.  The place looks a bit weather beaten, much has been cut back by the Rangers, and their keep fit volunteers, although selfish folks with dogs think standing in the middle of the track is funny.  Words could easily be exchanged with some of these dog lovers.  

Just imagine, cold sunshine, snowdrops appearing, even some blossom appearing on one or two scraggy bushes.  The finches sang,  dogs wagged tails, and I now ache all over.  Anyone got time to do massage.....? 

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Sabbath Day

Some of you may be aware of the existence of Jerry the Rebel down there in Missouri or Arkansas or one of them cowboy areas of the US of A.  His well read blog 'As the Crackerhead Crumbles' may well be known to you.  It may also be coming to an end.  Poor chap has been somewhat unwell (as well as being clearly sick in the mind, which is why I like him), he has been somewhat unwell for a long time.  This has now left him with a lack of feeling down his side and it is possible he has had a bit of a bummer here.  He may not be posting for a while, and if you never glanced at his quixotic (what?) blog make sure you do now, before it either ends or his wife takes over!  

Before seven this morning I had managed to trundle up the old railway for the first time this week. I was so early there was not one dog walker to be seen before  I made my way back.  The sky blue, the vegetation very well fed by the rains, and a lovely wind blowing me all the way home.  Just a small touch of green is something we need each day.  Quite how I survived London I sometimes wonder.  The sights, sounds and smells off the country are required to keep us mentally and physically alive I say!

On the way back I was once again intrigued by the sun shining through the water at the nancy boy fountain.  The green spot is sun interference, not a lamp on the fountain in case you wondered.  A strange fountain, erected in the thirties, but the sun playing on the water is magnificent I reckon.  

I had intended to photograph the chimneys on this 'Arts & Crafts' type house a while back and managed this morning when all was quiet.  I had not realised that all three chimneys were so very different.  Whether these were used by the builder to show his talents, a permanent advert or 'spam' if you prefer, I know not, but they do make me stop and think when looking at them now.  Three totally different approaches to the same simple job and each a masterpiece in itself.  Well done to the builder, whoever he was!  Sadly I have no note of his name and this building does not appear to have been listed!  

A 'friend' of this blog has sped this on to me as he claims the female readers of the blog would benefit from studying this carefully.  This 'friend' added his thought that 'Ironing,' 'cooking,' 'cleaning,' and other 'female jobs,' could be added to 'sewing,' and the ladies could benefit themselves by practicing the advice found here and benefiting their man by a wise use of sewing when the football is on so as not to disturb what he referred to as 'their Lord and Master.'  When I enquired as to why this was not posted on his blog he muttered somewhat and came up with, "Too much on there at the moment."  Not sure if I believe him.  

His address can be made available for the correct amount....... 

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Dawn Sunshine

A night of peaceful slumber, broken only by the town drunk yelling at his personal windmills, saw me wake twenty minutes before six. The bright sunshine brought out the deep green in the grass all across the park.  Birds chirruped as they danced through the branches, nibbling the buds on the trees, high overhead an airliner sped east, leaving an ever so slight trail across the bright blue of the morning sky.  I decided to rise, threw aside the newspapers that I had kept to keep me warm all night, and left the damp park bench in search of breakfast.  

Having fought two crows and one raven over the leavings from a polystyrene food container I reached for the bike and decided this might be a good day for exercise.  Before leaving I checked the e-mail and slung a cup of cheap tea down my throat.  Actually slung was the correct word as I dropped it and spilt tea all over the laptop! "Dearie, dearie me," I said.  That explains the tea stains on the page you are reading.  

While the rising sun blinded those heading towards its rising this did not prevent the north wind from chilling my hands as I raced slowly along the old railway line.  I was so early only two dogs were walking their owners at that time.  This fine brown horse awaited me as I neared the village, although to be fair, he neither awaited me nor was interested in me, and he refused to show me his best side.  His mate, not shown, is not shown because he made a point of showing me his worst side, and emphasising this in what I would call a needless manner!                                                

 The farmhouse in the distance is typical of many houses around here.  From what I can gather some go back many, many years although inside they are sometimes much adapted as they are not always that large.  The mud caked floor tends to be expensively tiled, sometimes old flagstones still exist.  I notice that the rooms were usually small and wonder how many would live in such a place?  The occupants would most likely be the 'better sort,' so imagine what the farm labourers possessed!   Some look very good indeed but the half million required to buy one is quite steep, and these houses are usually right on the roadside, this was fine in 1750 with an occasional highwayman, herd of cattle or stage coach passing, not so fine with boy racer and his mates today I warrant.

Later I took my stiffening muscles to 'Chris & Jim's' to take a weight of my mind by having my hair cut.  I was surprised they remembered me as it has been so long since I entered the place.  By far the best barbers around, and it is no wonder they are popular!  It does however appear to me that  one of the few shops that open and survive are hairdressers or barbers!  There must be nearly two dozen around here, mostly aimed at women of course, but today men appear so fussy over their hair.  Footballers show their increased wages loosens their fashion sense by appearing on the field in wilder and wilder hairstyles.  The more absurd they appear the more likely some twat will copy them.  Of course young players not only copy fashion the hair identifies them on the field, and a good game will be noticed by those that matter.  An old trick which still works.  Proper men of course just let their hair grow Hippy style, although we did worry about 'split ends' a lot......

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The Sunny Chancellor

The UK budget occurred yesterday, I missed it.  Usually I sit through most of the hour or two while the man responsible for the British economy mumbles on, sipping whisky and water and supported occasionally by gruff cries of "hear hear," from his side of the House.  This year I just couldn't be bothered.  Whatever they say it is clear you will suffer.  This year it appear Gorgeous George has made a complete hash of things, lowering taxes for the rich and raising taxes for pensioners, good vote catching stuff Georgie!  When asked if he would benefit from lowering the top tax rate he claimed he did not earn enough!  Just his MPs salary. Hmmm I believe him, but he is lying in his teeth!  (Sue me George!)


This morning I jumped on the bike to avoid his smarmy lies on the radio and made my way, slowly, to Felsted station.  Actually this has been a private house for many years but the 6 miles and 12 chains distance was more than I have managed this year! That's 12 miles and 24 chains plus a bit more today.  I'm getting so fit I may soon be almost human. (A chain is 66 feet by the way.  Railways, estate agents and others still require to use this measurement today. 10 chains make a furlong (used in horse racing) and 8 furlongs make a mile, but you knew this.)  I almost went a bit further however the bridge at Felsted has been removed and this means a roundabout meander to continue.  Behind the old station house lies a Gypsy camp and I wandered into this by mistake.  The dogs were quickly awake at a strangers approach, one keen to eat my leg was a bother, and a chap standing by a huge bonfire, there is always a bonfire in such paces, pointed out the way to go.  As I made my way back, once again assaulted by the dogs, I was impressed by the amount of broken glass lying around.  One or two skips overflowed into the road, but the glimpses inside the caravans, mobile and static, through open doors showed a high standard from the women of the house.  No surprise there.  I would have continued on but at the beginning of the trail lay another pack of dogs so I decided to return home.  Just as well as I was knackered by this time.  Two slices of brown bread and cheese is not sufficient sustenance!


It impressed me that the dogs I encountered were all small 'yaps.' No big dogs to be seen.  Very good watchdogs, loud and aggressive, but the bites considered less dangerous and newsworthy than the bite from an Alsatian or Doberman.the fact is such dogs are much more likely to bite, just ask any postman!  Appearances deceive and these folks are no fools.  It is about ten years since I was last there, and the camp appeared very much tidier the last time, maybe it's just me?  Some folks complain about gypsies, the mess they leave when they camp unwanted, and I have endured that outside my door before now, the criminal element, and the all round trouble they cause.  Much of this is true of course, and gypsies, or 'travellers' as the media has decided we must call them now, do not do themselves any favours all too often. On the other hand I have seen similar conditions in this town, from the noble locals, and big cities have areas so 'deprived' no traveller would dare park a caravan there overnight.  There was a report that some in that camp were Christians and did a lot of good in the area, and a radio programme recently revealed a christian group composed of gypsies, and proud of it too, running an proper evangelical group on the outskirts of Edinburgh.


I wonder if it is within us all to make barriers between us?  What comes first, crime or rejection, being different or being bad?  The chap who gave me directions was friendly enough, although all the other eyes contained suspicion and glares.  Mind you I find that walking the streets everywhere I go, maybe it's just me.....


Anyway, do you like my style?  geddit?  Style, see....oh forget it.

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Underground Heritage

London Underground History

Jenny's excellent post regarding her outing along an old London Underground (but overground) disused line brought to mind the websites devoted to disused stations.  These stations are historical masterpieces, well sometimes, and always interesting to inspect.  Many overground lines have been turned into pathways much used for leisure purposes while some, if the remain recognisable, are derelict and much vandalised.  Two very good site on the underground are :

London Underground History

and

London's Abandoned Tube Stations

British Railways lost most of their stations and rural lines in the early sixties.  This means the vast rail network left behind a vast network of pathways, many now developed for leisure use, and ageing station buildings.  For some years rail enthusiasts, often called 'anoraks' round here, have photographed such places. These also are fascinating, especially for the nostalgic who once used them when steam was king!  Obviously only me then......

Check this out:

Disused Stations

and

Urban 75: Railways

You may also be sad enough, like me, to enjoy this:

Derelict London

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Timber!

Just a bit peeved at the site of trees that have been chopped down.  In the UK removing trees requires permission from the local authorities because of a variety of reasons.  So I was surprised to find the folk controlling the old railway line have chopped down lots of the trees that graced the path.  I accept many were getting old, and that one or two looked a bit dicey, but there is now a row of stumps awaiting beasties to move in.  The colour is much brighter than my picture shows, it appears a bit feeble on this laptop so use your imagination here.  The bright yellow wood stands out against the leafless trees and not yet grown weeds around.  No doubt the Rangers know what they are doing, but it still seems a pity to lose so many lovely trees.

Joyce Kilmer. 1886–1918 119. Trees I THINK that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree.   A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;   A tree that looks at God all day,         And lifts her leafy arms to pray;   A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair;   Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain.     Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree. Bartleby                                         Joyce Kilmer   (A man by the way) .

Cycling Early in Morning

Having managed to cycle up the old railway this morning, and already losing the aches, I intend to follow the line a bit further tomorrow on the basis that if I am out of this place I will not be endangering the laptop!  It's fascinating in a way that at one time, like 1914, thousands of miles of such lines covered the nation.  Small towns and out of the way places were connected by railways, as long as there were some bigger towns along the way to make it pay of course.  Engines such as the one shown would chug along at speeds between 20 to 50 miles an hour, stopping at well made stations and small halts comprising no more than a twenty foot platform, an oil lamp and an entrance way.  Some became very successful and carried thousands of passengers, many struggled from the off, built by enterprising local men with grand but sadly mistaken ideas.  By 1950 most were overtaken by the more convenient bus and the beginnings of the car worship that was complete by the 60's.  A shame in many ways, as railways are more romantic than cars, but the cost, especially of steam, was prohibitive.  Famously Dr Beeching, under instructions from transport Minister Marples, who had made his money in road building, killed of the majority of the local lines.  
Tomorrow I intend to get as far as what remains of the station, although not this one, it's 15 miles away!  I must get some fitness as Spring is Spinging and punctures permitting I will be away.  I wonder what the ambulance service is like....?



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Saturday

The golden leaves look fabulous while hanging on the trees that created them. This morning I once again saw them strewn across the pathway, bright and golden, yet almost impossible to capture on camera.  Here they look somewhat sodden and dull yet at the time the whole area is brightened by the light, such as it is with rain clouds above, bouncing from them.  The rain has been crashing through the trees in the last 24 hours and the wee man in the shopping centre brushing them up was murmuring curses towards the small tree as he worked.  A non stop job this until the tree has lost the last leaf, I used to suffer this in times past and do not wish it again. 

   Wiki

The Greeks are still at it today.  With the whole world economy finely balanced on their shoulders the PM, Papadopolous, has been playing 'cat and mouse' with the Germans and French leaders. With the cameras not available both took him aside and bounced his head off a wall a couple of times, Hoplite like, and encouraged him to see things their way.  Now, with Saturday evening upon us, nothing is really much clearer  among the Hellenes.  It does appear that a new government will appear in Greece but the umpteen billion debt remains.  Maybe this time they might ask all those millionaires that live there to pay their taxes?  What sort of nation allows the rich to avoid paying tax.....hmmmm now I think about it.....

  Daily Mail

In the south west of England a major road accident.  Several vehicles were involved in a smash.  At least seven are dead and 43 injured.  The cause as yet unknown.  Whatever the cause, drive safely where ever you are!

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The Saturday Picture

This is because I have nothing to say.  This is my default position in reality, a quiet, retiring sort of chap who keeps out of the limelight and leaves others to take all the praise and glory.  Oh yes it is!



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Country Air

For the first time in a while I cycled, slowly, up the old railway line. I went around eleven as it is quiet then and stupid me forgot the kids are on holiday. Therefore as the sun was shining the families ponderously made their way up the line.  The kids chatting to all the dogs that passed by, when that is they were not wandering through the bushes, the women gossiping about nothing and blocking the way for normal human beings going about their lawful business. The dads being dads, carrying the bags on their backs, sometimes alone with one child, as indeed were a granddad or two, and making me miss the not so young kids way up north.  In one way this was nice to see, in another they just got in the way! A good day out and of course I ache all over now. I must get out more, as people often tell me.


I was attempting to add the 'Beach Boys' song 'Country Air,' because this came to mind when sitting enjoying the sun, greenery and fresh air.  EMI do not allow this (are they not the folks who turned 'The Beatles' down?) so find it on 'YouTube' and hum along as you read.  I was indeed 'humming' when I got home.  

A good day also in that I had a £5 off voucher for the new 'Morrisons' supermarket. The staff, for the most part, are very friendly, you can tell they are new to this game, and I will certainly return next Friday - I have another voucher!  This means that this small town has three large supermarkets represented.  Tesco have three stores, one which has just been redeveloped. Sainsburys have one which is about to be redeveloped and they plan another so big it will replace a small industrial estate! There is already a 'Lidl's' and now the Co-op has closed 'Morrisons' have moved in.  Just how much do the thirty five to forty thousand folks here eat I wonder?  I spent £16:98, and that was after taking advantage of the voucher to stock up, consider how much others must be spending on things they can afford but do not actually need?  Being poor makes me careful with money and I tend to notice prices more.  I also notice how folks buy things with little thought and choosing the label not the product!  An expensive item will be brought rather than try the store version, even though they are just as good nowadays.  Something is bought because it has always been chosen rather than because of any worth it may have.  The tricks of the store also make us all spend on things we don't want and they laugh all the way to the Swiss Bank where the directors store their ill gotten gains. I prefer 'Tesco,' but I will suffer 'Morrisons' for one more week as I use up the last voucher.

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The Waterfall

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Trundling out to exercise my knees I wandered down the path usually occupied early in the morning by folks walking their dogs. Being late afternoon the women were busy in the kitchens preparing their man's dinner which is what they were made for! This meant I could enjoy the bright sunshine, the warm air, and the raging waterfall I found there.  What a lovely spot, especially when the dog walkers were absent and the neds who leave their 'Carlsberg' cans on the waterfall have as yet not arrived. This once was a delightful wooded spot lying just under the hill on which the farmhouse stands.  In the 1850's the railway built the embankment that lies just behind the photographer but even this does not detract from the site itself, in fact in may enhance it.  However as the town has moved outwards the youth has followed on.  Kids of adolescent age use the slope of the embankment as a slide and their older brothers meet to share a can of beer to prove they are men at last. How many fall in while being macho I have failed to ascertain, although I would enjoy a photograph of such!


And look! A brick bridge!  How wonderful! I wonder had we got aerosol spray paint when young would we have scribbled our names on rail bridges?  I suspect we would but the only such vandalism I can recall came when I was in my late teens, and that referred to gang names.  There were certainly lots of such scrawls in Glasgow when we visited but in was only around 1970 they began to appear in Edinburgh. I fear we would have followed the crowd had it arrived earlier however.  I prefer the bridge with just brick rather than someones initials.   

In fact I am now convinced we would have vandalised with the rest.  This door is found at the back to door to the 'stair' in which we lived.  The initials dug into the door began with the 'Teddy Boy' neighbours (and my brother) in the fifties and have been continued since. I suspect this door has now been replaced with 'modern improvements' but you never know.  Graffiti has always been important to people.  Armies marching through the Cilician Gates near Tarsus (in Turkey) left their mark on the walls.  Greeks, Egyptian, Hittite and all put their mark, and those who could write left a statement of their intent as they passed. Sadly I understand the motorway construction of the eighties destroyed the ancient gates!   My dad once admitted that he and his mates had done the same to Stonehenge. Tsk!  The druids will not be pleased.

 
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Knackered

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I have done little cycling for a while and went hurtling up the old railway early this morning.  That was fine, although the bridge crossing the dual carriageway has grown considerably since the other week! Foolishly I decided to go looking for interesting pictures. This however meant heading up a new road for me, and UP is the operative word. This is supposed to be a flat county so how come everytime I find a new road it goes upwards? Not just upwards but upwards right to the top!  It was better coming down I must say.  How do the boys in the 'Tour de France' go up hills at thirty miles an hour? Who said "Drugs?"  Paracetamol doesn't help I can tell you! And the only thing worth photographing was this rickety old house. I say rickety but it probably costs around £700,000!  

 

This keffuffle deepens. Nick Clegg (He is actually the 'Deputy Prime Minister!) has said Murdoch should think again about buying into BSKYB.  This is like asking a drunk not to drink!  Murdoch must by this company as the paper media is losing cash hand over fist.  TV advertising is the way ahead and everyone knows it.  The fact that his people have been buying Gordon Brown's children's health information, buying info from the Queens protection officers, indeed buying the top men at the Metropolitan Police, and thousands of as yet undiscovered dirty deeds will not stop Dave Cameron giving in to Murdoch. It may be delayed, it may go undercover, but folk like Rupert tend to get what they want, and I wonder if 'Dave' is big enough to stop him?

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Excercise and Cycling Early in the Morning.

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Start the day the proper way I say. Stretch both arms high. Ooooooh, not that far.
Stretch again, left arm,
right arm,
left arm,
right arm, ooo let's stop that there.
Touch toes, oooh slowly.  And again, and again, and again.
Grab ankle and pull left leg up behind and streeeeeetcch. 
Now the right one, streeeeetttccchhh.
No more off that!
Swivel head to the left,
the right,
the left,
the right,
the lef...no hold that, I'm getting dizzy now.
Chest expanders now.
Puuuuuullllll oooooh, tsk. I think that can wait.
Stretch arms again,
and again,
and again,
Deep breaths,
In. Out.
In. Out.
In. Out.
In. Out.Right, time to get out of bed.

What a morning! Bright sunshine, clear blue sky, slight breeze. I must get on the bike!
Twenty to six and I am off up the road.
Should I go to the left and up the old railway, or carry on and go down the cutting to the...oh never mind I am not awake and have gone straight on anyway. Early it may be but white van man is about. I know this as he has just attempted to reveal how many coats of paint covers his van. I wish he had found some way other than using my handlebars to do this!  Builders pass by in painted vans, rushing to overcharge their customers and find excuses not to complete the work while the sun shines. Folk head for work, probably these are the ones with keys to open up for the rest, and factory or shop will soon ring to the happy sound of human voices wishing it was time to go home. A cleaner or two passes eager (?) to dust, polish and hoover for £5.96 an hour. I note them all as they head for their destination, although I would have been better noting the traffic lights there as that would have saved that man in the Skoda using language that does not suit this time of day.

I aim to turn off for the railway but fail to negotiate the bend (maybe this is too early?) and am heading down the steep hill at breakneck speed holding the handlebars with two hands and my cap with another. I can foresee trouble ahead!  At the bottom of the hill I pass an adolescent lassie delivering the morning papers, or at least judging by the speed she is progressing possibly it is the weekly free paper she began delivering yesterday?

I grunt and puff as I struggle up the other side of the hill and looking to my right, and avoiding 'P. Grant. Builder and Handyman,' as he zooms along, and watch the sun rising over the fields. Visibility is at least ten miles although the dew is causing a very light haze that makes me eager to stop and take pictures. Summer mornings have a joy all of their own! However if I stop on this slope I may not start again so I continue. I pass through the village full of aged buildings which are very much at variance with the nature of the road that lies in front of them, and turn off into the station (2 miles and 17 chains distance from home) and begin the run home down the slope. Today I am so glad of this slope! Five miles seems like fifty these days, why do teens have all the energy?

Home before six thirty in the morning. Breakfast, read the papers, blogs, e-mails, and it is almost time to do those things that have waited since yesterday.

I er, maybe I will do them later...... 


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A bit of a door

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If truth be told the rest of it wasn't that exciting!  When first built this door would have seen many pass though and clamber aboard for the short journey to wherever. This line was a mere 17 miles (and 72 chains) long and never really fulfilled the expectations of the builders. While serving a purpose in transporting Victorian and Edwardians to and fro, especially Edward VII who often stopped off at Easton Lodge with his friends for partying at the 'Big Hoose,' the increase in bus transport during the years following the Great War took passengers away from the more expensive line. Farmers of the area did have an efficient way to deliver their goods to market. London was now within reach as the line connected to the main Cambridge to Liverpool Street taking their produce straight into the city.  Being a small village of a few hundred people, although I am not sure of the Victorian population, the majority would have been slogging it out on farms and related occupations. The number who could take time off from their 12-16 hour days to travel into town must have been few, and mostly female. As always the men would be suffering while the girls, at least the wealthy ones, shopped and gossiped. The maids would gossip also, but still have far too much to do before 'Madame' returned.

The increase use of lorries after the war led to a decrease of freight on the line in similar manner to the introduction of buses ruining the passenger traffic. While both ran reasonably successfully until after the Second World War it was clear the line was unprofitable. By 1952 passengers were no more and only freight used the line until it closed in the early seventies.  After some years of neglect it has now been turned into an excellent nature pathway, as I may have mentioned before. The station itself is the headquarters of the Rangers Service and has become a tourist centre. One other station, of similar design, has become a private house who's privacy is enhanced by the removal of the bridge over the road giving them a bit of security. I feel the owner must have been somewhat disappointed when the council put the goods yard into use as a Gypsy encampment! Another is being renovated at the moment I believe. It was offices for a while and probably will remain so now.  One has disappeared and now lies under the new bypass, not much for the railway enthusiast there! It does reflect the change in society well. The radical transformation of Britain, and the rest of the world, that occurred when railways arrived came to an end after 1945 with the increase of motor traffic. The road lobby in the fifties saw an end to railways as we knew them (not that I knew them that much!) and by the early sixties private cars abounded even in our street. Today they are everywhere except outside my door. Poverty is a horrid thing!

 In the centre of the picture, at the gate, you can see a short stretch of the single track line preserved as a memento of what once has been.  It is to be regretted that the old Johnson designed 'Little Sharpie' 2-4-0 engines no longer exist.
 

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Brickies

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Ever since those 'Fred Dibnah' the Bolton Steeplejack were on telly I have become fascinated with brickwork. Not that I am found staring at brick walls because this reflects on the excitement of my life, but the patterns revealed, the skill required and atrophy of mind are all involved. As I pedal up the old railway I pass a couple of bridges carrying roads over the line. This one served a farm or two and runs at an angle to the line. When you consider the skill required to build such an arch, let alone ensure it remains in place for over a hundred and fifty years, an admiration for these artisans grows. Bricklayers were one of the many groups of artisans that made full use of the 19th centuries desire to 'better oneself.' Gathering in groups they would pay a few pence a week into a kitty and when sick or short of work could draw a few shillings from the common purse. One near here went on to develop a brick making factory in the gravel pits opposite the railway station. Many houses were built from his bricks and he himself made this edifice from his own bricks and must have been quite important by the late Victorian age. Wasted as office space for far too many years this house once must have appeared a marvel to those who studied 'Self Help' books at the time.

Of course it was just as easy to lose everything overnight in those days and many did. The John Brown who owned 'Hollywood' leaves little trace that I can find but he achieved some success for a while at least. One other famous bricklayer was of course Winston Churchill! One of his 'rest cures' was to build walls in his house at Chartwell. The combination of creativity and a chance to rest the mind in the sun and inhaling fresh air and mortar did him good. He actually became a paid up member of a bricklayers union, and not many Conservative Prime Ministers could say that!  Looking at the bridge I was interested at the manner in which the brick ends are forming such a delicate pattern. The skill shown in many bridges, walls, and especially expensive houses shows much taste. Today of course only multi millionaires could contemplate such brickwork, so we end up with plastic and concrete! Ah well, it could be worse I suppose.


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