Foggy Night

Having spent the foggy morning in the museum feeding mince pies to the old folks listening to the children's choir as they entertained them I was not available when the postman called to deliver yet another Christmas parcel.  So tonight I dragged my weary bulk down the long slog to the sorting office. The fog had worsened, the night had fallen, the opportunity to attempt night shots beckoned.

Overworked posties vans rested for the night, overworked posties did likewise. Whether they rush home to note the price of their free (cheap) shares, donated by H.M. Government as a bribe to keep them sweet I don't know, but most will be well aware of their value today.  How lucky these van drivers are to deliver around the rural areas, especially in summer.  No struggling along with a huge bag on a bike, or pushing one of those absurd trolleys that the management now wish to insist all postmen use thus making deliveries even slower than they are now!  Sometimes you wonder how the men in the offices get their jobs. Could it be that when you have no experience of a job you will be able to suggest a better (e.g. cheaper) way of doing it?  Could it be an office wallah is just incompetent?  Most  sorting office managers had at one time been postmen today however many have little work experience (of any kind) and those above them clearly none whatsoever.  The future of mail delivery in the UK is not good!

This building was once the social club of the major works that stood opposite. After a hundred or so years of operation the company shrank and moved on, it may even yet operate in a small way elsewhere.  The building has served many purposes since, being closed by the constabulary occasionally, and now appears to be a mere pub.  The naming of such places tells a great deal about the area and the history thereof, it reflects on the clientele as well as the owners, it speaks of the townsfolk and indicates something of the local culture.  This one is called, 'The Pub!'  No doubt it tells you all you need to know of the locals!

Can you just imagine what life was like when we used coal to heat us?  Each house, plus every factory, pumping out coal smoke drifting over the towns. Weather like this brought down the mixture of smoke and fog which we referred to as smog, a choking blinding substance that encouraged bronchial disease, blackened buildings, led to traffic accidents killed more people than cold weather does today. Dickens 'Bleak House,' begins with a vivid description of Victorian London in the rain, people slithering down one side and up the other at Holborn Viaduct, or before that was built to be more correct.  Rain, mist, smoke, people, all mixed in together.  It must have been awful when smog fell and folks were so unhealthy anyway!  

Ah well, I got my packet, a tin of toffees and struggled home while looking for pictures. My life you see is so exciting, are you envious, what?......oh!    

   

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Sounds and Smells

In her comment yesterday Jenny mentioned the sound of her door closing being the same sound the original owners would recognise from over a hundred and something years ago.  This got my little mind considering the sounds and indeed smells that greeted peoples in differing ages.  Jenny lives in the centre of the big city, very different from my surroundings but many similarities would be seen.  The noise of doors is just one, doors being better made then!

The pub pictured above for instance, this has been a hostelry for some time, the first publican I found was noted in 1793 and the building dates from that century.  Outside you note the road sign offering directions, a car is parked, usually several are found here, and the road itself suffers constant traffic, sometimes quite heavy.  The air can fill with fumes, children pass in droves from the nearby school, shoppers swarm daily.  The ambulance station further up offers blue flashing lights and sirens, as do the occasional police vehicles.  Little aroma is offered, unless you stand close to the chip shop or Chinese take away. Nothing is noted of any vegetation, only the farmers compost from distant fields once or twice a year fill the air. This then is the normal traffic of a small but busy market town.
Compare the picture below, dated to the early years of the 20th century. 
In the far left just behind the pram stands the Inn.  No traffic passes, not even a horse!  Carriers left daily from here for local villages or London, each day a different direction.  This was the only means of trading goods until the railways arrived.  Coaches taking passengers at six miles an hour shook them up all the way to distant places, also leaving from the various Inns around the town. The noise was less, the smell of horse and carriage would be notable, as indeed would the carrier himself be!  Gardens close by would offer fragrance from flowers, next door the bicycle makers would give the sound of metalwork and accompanying smells.  Men with shirt sleeves rolled up would finger the watchchains on their waistcoats waiting for their lunch break in the pub. Somewhere dogs would bark and a gardener would ensure the horses leavings would aid their crops in the back garden, in spite of that aroma.  Smoke from chimneys may well rise lazily into the air, the distinct smell not being noticed by nostrils taking it for granted, they would notice it when rain brought it down upon them, leaving soot on the buildings and her washing on the line.  No radios blare, no car horns or engine noise, no army helicopter noisily heading for Colchester, no adolescent deafening himself with lousy music at a hundred decibels, no woman pushing a pram while checking her mobile, though she may well be talking loudly into it!  
The sound of silence at night would be manifest to the modern ear.  Animals in the distance would be heard, the factories working nights would make noise in the distance, a train puffing along would be a sound remaining in the mind for ever to those who heard it.  The depth of the darkness around would shock while it would enable a clear view of the stars above, unless it rained!  Streets lights, gas lit later in the 19th century, would only exist in town and the surroundings would be very black. The main form of transport would be coach, or bike, however by the early 1900's a car may be occasionally seen ruining the atmosphere.  Most would still walk everywhere while trains would be used for longer distance.     

Sometimes looking back the world appears easier back then.  We ignore the rickets, five and a half day working, at least, ten or twelve hour days, washing by hand for a large family, what several children could do to a mother, if she lived that is, poor pay and real class distinction.  We really are better off today, so why are so many having to use 'food banks?'  It would be glib to say we have a Conservative government but that clearly plays a part.  The outfall from the 2008 collapse affects us still and many suffer.  Some of the diseases that endangered the children in the postcard view may well be a danger today!  That aside life is better for the majority now than it was then.  The vast majority are in danger of being fat and all the attendant problems this brings than they are in danger of hunger.  The minority require food banks but I can tell you how close that is to us all.  A disease, redundancy, and a badly managed recession can put anyone in that danger.  For most of us however we will look back on the past and say "It was better back then!"          

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Look! Almost Summer!

Bright coloured flowers!

Blue skies and sunshine!

And my chariot awaits!


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MORE SHOPPING WOES!

So you don't like me shopping? BAH!  I went anyway!

It was rubbish! 
The Oxfam shop exists here, it remains overpriced and did not have what I want!  Waterstone's here had more floor space and more books I didn't want, but found two I can suffer.  Almost no bookshops left in this country, even the second hand ones are mostly charitable types now.  Amazon has much to answer for!

Still I got 'Annals' by Tacitus (or Takitus if you prefer) plus 'Britain BC' by Francis Pryor.  Also having passed two folks with flu I expect to get that also, Flu hates me with a passion.  I'm convinced virii and germs recognise me wherever I am.  There are ancient canals in boring  Chelmsford, the bridge is dated 1787, the one below I mean, as that is the year the canal opened, and runs over the River Can which leads tothe Basin.  The green one is considerably later and not so attractive.  From Chelmsford basin, now a nice walk in the sunshine, the boats would make their way to the Heybridge Basin near Maldon.  Horse drawn barges, very romantic but commercially slow, carried 25 tons of grain, flour and whatever to the coast, bricks, coal, timber etc were brought back.  The horse were used until the 60's even!  The commercial side ended in 1972,unusually the rail links did not compete with this canal and that is the reason for its survival.  

I attempted to take pics of the fabulous wee houses I passed but the bus moved too fast and only this one in a village survives.  T last time I was in Great Leighs, about 15 years ago I cycled around the back roads visiting the tomb of the Reverend Clark, he of 'Echoes of the War' fame. Then it was a small place, with lots ofinteresting wee houses and people watching through the net curtains as I passed.  Today it has swollen enormously owing to housing development.  You get a glimpse of such housing development in this picture here.  I know what I prefer.  Other villages have kept the developer at bay and houses from several hundred years ago deserve a visit in the summer.  If I'm free that day!

I hurried up the road to get the quarter past bus, which naturally did not arrive.  The highly sophisticated timetable has been well presented, it just forgot to add the bus might not arrive!  The first time I visited London I was somewhat taken aback to see the timetables on the stops informing us the buses arrived 'every fifteen minutes, but it then told us the times may not be adhered to!  That would never have done for Edinburgh!  

As I headed for the bus in a rush I passed this place.  Typical of many pubs in the London area and looking very neat today.  In stead of standing freezing in the bus station (why do they build them in such a way as to invite cold winds?)  I should have been in here. The bus arrived at twenty to the hour!  Bah!  

Still awake.....?  

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Lock Up

The old town lock-up.  In times past rogues, and often late night drunks, were deposited inside one of the two small cells.  As the building is only 12 feet long and six wide it may appear a little cramped.  This jail served the town well into the 19th century when a better police force, and later police station, were provided.  it was helpfully situated in the centre of town and in one of the worst roads.  I say 'worst' because there were then many public houses in the place and three down this road became notorious.  One was called 'Little Hell,' a second had the name 'Big Hell,' and the third was referred to as 'Perdition!'   None exist in the redeveloped street today.  Actually I think one does as now operates as a restaurant, whether it was one of the famous three I have yet to discover.  


the lock-up served its purpose, later became a store for ammunition belonging to the militia or Territorial Army as it became, and now some wish to preserve this as a relic from the past.  Not sure what use it could be put to today, suggestions welcome, although some may consider a lock-up after the football on Saturday nights finishes may be the best idea.  Personally I consider dumping adolescents there for a night the best plan.  

It appears the kiddies were attempting to set fire to the skatepark again last night.  Since this blight on the landscape arrived the brats have burned off the covering tarmac on the site, set fire to at least two trees, not counting the ones they just vandalise, burnt down the shelter provided, burnt down an empty hut, burnt all the litter bins, set fire to much else besides and yet the council provided a too noisy 'funday' for them last week?  Can I suggest a 'funday' for the neighbours?  I suggest locking the brats in the lock-up and leaving them there for a we...no, just leave them there! 

British Gas, who demand I pay extra each month, have disclosed today profits of 23%.  Centrica, the owners, made £1,45 BILLION profit.  Gas consumption rose by 3.5% but revenues by 21%.  No wonder that nobody would appear to answer questions on the BBC's 'Today' programme this morning!  It appears that while even the banks are hindered from lining the pockets of their directors energy companies can ignore the recession and grab what they can with no sense of responsibility to society as a whole.  It is time for nationalisation of these greedy companies.  Thatcher's bonkers idea that privatisation would benefit the nation has proved wrong so many times, and the energy companies are the biggest money makers of them all!  I will be phoning them today, I do hope the man has his ear plugs in.....

Old Inn

I passed this intriguing building this morning but can discover little about its history.  It appears to have begun in the late 1600's and was converted to a pub in the early Victorian era, but exact dates are not clear.  I wonder if it began as an Inn and became a pub?  Or was it a house thus converted.  It was well situated for its purpose, lying on the North Road a short walk out of town travellers would be plentiful.  Just try to imagine a dusty well used lane, an occasional horse rider, a flock of sheep or cows heading to market, maybe even some kind of cart for the wealthy, people walking on their journey.  Difficult with such a vast array of bus, lorry and car traffic thundering past, small shopkeepers, Indian and Pizza takeaways and a mixed population today, very different from those long gone days of dusty roads.  An interesting frontage which surely must have been a house belonging to some well of bloke of his day.  It appears to be a well run public house today, whatever the history.  I couldn't afford to go in.....

A special shot for the rail commuters amongst us.  This is what that tin of sardines you endure morning and evening looks like after nine o' clock.  Those green things are called seats, you sit on them, although you may never actually get close enough to do even that I suspect.

  
And yes, as you have asked,  I did get a picture of this beast, a Class 47 as you will know, standing at the station awaiting developments.  Not sure what it is used for although there is often one parked up.  Overnight transport I guess for the E,S & W  goods stuff.  Innit luverly?


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Woolpack Inn

This fine old building is the Woolpack Inn, Bocking.  Or at least it was in times past.  Today it is divided into three 'cottages,' the far one selling for just under £300,000 if you are interested.  The two outer buildings have dates of 1590 carved into them, the old Woolpack is dated around 1660,  There are of course many 'Woolpack Inns' around these parts.  Wool was England's greatest export for many years and until recently the Lord Chancellor sat on the 'Woolsack' in the House of Lords, this to represent England's wealth!  Today the speaker sits on a pouf!  Very apt!  Not sure what the carvings are supposed to represent but there are many in this long road.  An attractive road apart from the constant traffic that thunders down here throughout the day and night. The houses are very old and attract the 'best' type of resident, I do not live here. A man named Savill bought the pub in 1779 and his family were still running the place in 1841, it appears to have closed shortly after this as old photographs show the buildings as housing.  There were many more public houses in the past, partly because of the poor water, partly as eating places, and partly because the English are drunks I tell you!  1590 to 1660 concerns Raleigh, Shakespeare, Marlowe and Elizabeth as Queen.  James VI & I became King of two nations and he called it 'Great Britain' for the first time. We have the gunpowder plot, English settlers at Jamestown, plague, fire and war.  We can speculate as to how the residents of this area dealt with those occurrences but I wonder if the needs of the moment meant more to them than national events?  News spread very fast, although slower when  there was no 'Twitter' service, and people in small villages and towns would have been aware of much outside their own area.  Most surely would not have wandered that far from home unless war called, wouldn't they?  I wonder?  The house has recently been sold, if next door cost £300,000 then this would be more, I didn't make an offer.


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Saturday Night Out

So I decided after the dubious replies this morning that I needed a night on the tiles.  I intended to seek the bright lights of the town centre (paid for by credit card) and eat at the 'Thai Curry House and Takeaway Massage' where I have, er 'friends.'  Then head for the 'Independent Bar' where the landlord assures me there are no drugs allowed on his premises. When I pointed out to him when I met him in the street yesterday that a chap flung a brick at the head of another in his bar he replied, "Yes he did, but drugs were not involved. Just needless violence."  I couldn't argue with that.  However it may be better I reckoned that I went to the 'Nags Head,' or whatever it is called now.  There again I hesitate, what with the doormen, sorry 'entrance control officers' and the 'incident,' I must reconsider.  'The Bull' has stood in the market place for well over a hundred years, serving the public and being well recommended by one and all. Once it was filled with farmers and their ilk as the market pens were opposite the entrance. Cattle, sheep, and servants would be bought and sold in between 'refreshment in the 'Bull.'  I think it is a legal 'must' that every market town or village in England has a pub in the centre called 'The Bull!'  Today there are few farmers there watching the football on one of the may screens, few young males watch it in the early evening as young females wearing pelmets arrive and distract them. Hmmm that might affect my heart too much so I am not sure about that one. There is of course the ancient 'Boars Head,' and the other place next door, a third watering hole down the road full of rich trendy folks (they think) stoned out of their head, all of which can give one like me an evening of fun and jollity (laughing at them).  Pubs restaurants, happy young people, loud music, wine, dancing......hold on, wait a minute, it's raining!  Well forget it, I canny go out.  I have a hole in both my shoes and I am not squelching about in my condition.  Now, what's on TV instead....?     




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Night Experiment

A night shot that almost works, once I have cut out much of the surrounding area.  This worked quite well, it is the looks on the face of the man in the pub who wonders what I am playing at that could be tricky.  Two public houses next door to one another.  'The Boars Head' has stood there for centuries, as indeed have some of the customers, while the one next door who's name I forget has only been open a few years.  As there was also a wine bar and these two pubs almost opposite one another the council allowed a third to be opened a hundred yards up the road.  With two more and a night club a further hundred yards on round the corner some might have thought this a mistake.  It was!  If it wasn't for the late night football and the midday food this one would die.  The one a hundred yards up the road is so successful it only opens part time, football and all!  You can have too much of a good thing, especially during a recession.  Still the picture almost works so I don't care.  I have never been in any of these watering holes, and it is five years since I have been in any pub.  I see little attraction to gulping large amounts of booze these days which is just as well I suppose.

Glasgow Herald

I isn't it just the way!  Once it is too late 'new' evidence appears that 'throws doubt' upon the guilt of Megrahi, and are we surprised?  Well no actually.  His guilt was clearly a political stitch up and a disgrace.  There was evidence, deliberately ignored, that showed this man could not be guilty and that the PFLP were responsible for the downing of Pan-Am 103.  Now that the leader of that group is long dead, the west more willing to take on Syria, and Gadaffi gone the truth is allowed to sneak out slowly.  Soon all this will be swept into the abyss, just like the guilt of the man who brought down the Iranian jet that caused all this.


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Pub Crawl

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

 

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

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

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

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


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Strolling Through the Town Tonight

I took a stroll tonight, about nine o'clock, across the park opposite. The dusk grants us the wonderful sight of deep blue skies and clouds tinged with the remnants of a setting sun. The trees stand tall, darkly silhouetted against the sky. Far off a star twinkles in one direction and an aeroplane slowly arcs round in another.
Leaving the darkness of the park the street lights seem harsh and even painful. However, the air is remains warm and still. The streets quiet. Only when one reaches the town centre proper does the Saturday life appear. Couples and small groups wander towards their destination, the club or one of the, oh so many, public houses. From 'The Swan' blaring, and decidedly unmusical, music breaches the decibel limit. A noise made worse for the occupants by the assistance it receives from several inmates. A thin young man waits while his shapely girlfriend collects cash from the 'hole in the wall,' then, hand on backside, hers, not his, they happily head to a watering place.
Large, suited men, stand outside the club and several public houses. How nice to know that the local doormen have all received a certificate from an authorising organisation granting them permission to bash someone's head in while assisting his flight for the door. I find that reassuring somehow. At one door, three hoplites banter with the collection of adolescents sitting in the marketplace. Adolescents full of testosterone, fear, ignorance and a desperate desire to be old enough to enter the premises so well guarded by the bruisers. Drivers opposite rush to their cars to deliver the 'chicken and chips,' or 'Special Kebabs,' to hungry souls to
lazy, or to drunk, to cook for themselves.
People pass another of the three pubs in the market square, intent on their evening. What are their thoughts? Are they happy? We all love a good time, and they appear happy. This is the entertainment centre for the town, that's why they are here. A penny for their thoughts, especially in the morning!
Wandering past the taxis ranked in a row, drivers mostly standing chatting, awaiting the evenings end when they would earn their keep and overcharge to their hearts content, I pass to girls headed the other way. I noticed them, well as much as one can notice to young lassies with their skirts up to their backsides and legs that stretch all the way to the ground. As they passed, their eyes watched me suspiciously. Did they think they had overdone it? Were they too noticeable? Was I just another dirty old man? Well yes! Of course I am. How old were they? They looked sixteen to me but were probably at least eighteen, maybe older. The two noses had raised themselves in the air as they passed, I suspected their legs would be finding a similar position before the dawn broke, although they may not actually be sober enough to be conscious of it at the time themselves.
A typical Saturday night and wandering around I thought 'I miss this.' But do I?
Having a ball is, well, a ball! But is this what my life is about? I miss the social life, but do I want to be drunk and wasting life again? Jesus has made himself known and that life, however much fun it can be, does not satisfy! There is more to life than that!
I saw also my inadequacies as I passed by. The inability to relate to folks. I am always so far from normality it seems to me. Too self conscious, to much a wimp, too dumb. Just too inadequate. I wonder if I will ever relate to folk normally.
The love of Jesus must be stronger than I thought. How could he want me when there is so many worthwhile folk out there?