A Day Holiday!

I've just had a holiday!

A church friend took me all off two miles up the road, (Rayne Station is 2 miles and 14 chains from Braintree Station in case you wished to know) where we got coffee from the one time booking hall!   Closed many years ago it has been run for some time by volunteers (I think) with a successful coffee shop attached.  This now provided takeaway coffee and cake for aprice from behind a security window.  I wish I had known this before. The coach just peeping in the photo is used as a museum, when open, and the use of the building in this way is very successful on normal days.  

Naturally, I suggested this spot as I knew it would be quiet, with an occasional passerby, the old railway line now being a popular walking/cycling spot.  Today the car park was full, with others outside, so we squeezed in at the end and joined a long - distantly seperated - queue for coffee.  Very slow, only one man doing everything, and having avoided the slice of tempting cake we both regarded as fattening we could afford it.

 

 

How lovely to photograph something other than a Daffodil!  A pot of pansies at the end of the platform, next to the aged railway cart, supplied some colour to the scene.  Sitting nearby I allwed the young lass to disgorge her worries and offer news of the past year.  We have not met for a year, I wonder how many others are in similar situations?  The sun shone occasionally but the clouds kept hiding it again.  This however, did not deter the number of people walking/cycling/dogwalking from using the line.  The coffee queue never ended, it went on for ever and I suspect this is a constant at this spot these days, there is nowhere else nearby to wander abroad.

 

Had we more time we may have trundled up the path a short way, but neither of us would have gone far.  Age is not a blessing!  It must be 18 months or more since I have been here.  The place is looking a bit grubby, the grass worn by the people attending events before Lock Down, as well as the daily traffic.  This is rather sad, the popularity of the place enhanced by Lockdown leading to a despoiling of the area.  A well kept station building however, and a marvellous day out for me!

 

A Small Mistake

A small but not fatal mistake was to rise when not quite awake and cycle up the old railway when not quite up to it.  Weeks have passed since I journeyed up there, it showed!  Oh how my knees are letting me know it showed!  Still, I saw the sun, even though the cold air cut through me, I saw the countryside again, the occasional dog walker, one or two joggers and most of them being what I call 'London overspill.'  These are folks who commute to London during the week and never return the 'Good morning,' as London folks do not know how, and stare straight ahead as if you do not exist.  During the week the passersby are much more friendly.  
Returning to home quicker than expected I returned to bed to recover.  After that I forgot to do anything much and spent the day watching football.  Other things can be done later......

  
Lighter mornings that make me rise early, sunny evenings that offer interesting skies, but I ignore them to watch the football and suffer aches.  Good job I am not one to complain, that's all...

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Cemetery

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While some find cemeteries eerie places I tend to find them interesting for a variety of reasons. This morning the sun shone, a Blue Tit (or was it two?) hustled back and forward from a very small hole in the wall as it fed the chicks inside. two local village dog walkers ignored me from a distance and I was left to enjoy the sunshine and blue sky. Peace and quiet in such places gives the opportunity to think.  This small churchyard, with once again a church comprised of millions of red bricks, contains many graves of the wealthier sort from Victorian and Edwardian times. You could tell by the bricked in tombs and iron gates placed there to stop grave robbers removing the corpse, only the rich could afford these. These are actually more for show than effectiveness as I suspect a grave robber wants a fresh corpse, not one weeks old. What is less obvious is the part of the graveyard where the poor were buried, this is unmarked, and who knows how many were laid therein?  For a while I mused over one unreadable stone, most were sadly, guarded by a low iron railing, as to the day of this funeral around a hundred years or so ago. Who was he/she? What was the weather? I could imagine the elaborate Victorian hearse, drawn by two horses (there is at least one still in use around here), the mourners gathered around, the vicar and the whole performance. I wondered if anybody today in this village knows who he is?   

Several memorials, such as the iron one seen below, contain the name 'Richardson.' It appears likely that family will have relatives still around here. However once the third generation pass on who can remember the deeds of those who lie here? Whether they were good or bad, whether they managed to contribute anything positive, are lost to us now.  So many lives and so many stories. These iron memorials abound around here. Many are like this round one, containing names and details, now difficult to read, with others being small crosses. I wonder if this a local idea? I have not seen them elsewhere. 

The setting, when the sun shines, is lovely indeed. The sun, the blue sky, the trees covered in birds and bees, and the green fields behind with growing crops. Another small gate leads to the fields and is irresistible to anyone with a camera! The only disappointment remains the fear of theft that locks all church doors around here. A wise precaution but a nuisance just the same.

  

 
It was as I was having a last look around I heard the singing. No-one was to be seen, all was quiet and peaceful. Birds flitted through the trees and a bumble bee buzzed around flowers left at a grave when I heard the song.

"Come and join us

 Come and join us"

 

I got on the bike and decided I had finished my exercise for today. I got home much quicker than I had got here......

 

 

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Door in the Wall

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Some people like doors and some people like brick walls. I like both! The walls are things I often bang my head against, usually meafo.. mentaph .metaphorl.. in my head, and sometimes in reality. The doors I tend to walk through, opening them first for the most part naturally. I am not sure if this door has been opened in a long time, I am standing in the church graveyard as I take the picture, and to walk through the door you may need permission from the various bodies concerned. Behind the wall lies a farm, although whether the wall belongs to the farm or the churchyard, the church is made of similar brick, I cannot say and I suspect you really don't care one way or the other. I suspect the farm belongs to the 'Big Hoose' that lies, surrounded by fir trees rather like a tall green wall, just down the road behind the farm. The Lord of the Manor in England liked to have his own church near by, even if there was a Parish Church available. Maybe the original house was through there and this was the main man's personal door to the service, who knows, and I again suspect you are beginning not to care! 


The amount of red bricks made in the south of England over the years, and particularly in the nineteenth century, must be enormous! Houses, churches, farms and industrial buildings, rail bridges and walls around the many manor houses and landed gentry's properties gave much work to bricklayers in times past. I suspect this is a nineteenth century wall, possibly built when the church was renovated in 1840. Such artisans would meet at weeks end in a designated public house and an offering of sixpence was collected into a fund. From this payment would be made when one of the men met with sickness, accident or distress. This is why there are so many pubs called 'The Bricklayers Arms.' I cannot remember what is the point of the big 'S' metal spar in the wall. I read about these once long ago and promptly forgot what I had read. I do this often. I cannot remember what is the point of the big 'S' metal spar in the wall. I read about these once long ago and promptly forgot what I had read. I do this often.

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