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.
