Camulodunum Town

In spite of the persistent cough, the weariness caused by this cold, and the usual aches, I set off for a trip on the railway to an ancient city, Camulodunum!

Once again Greater Anglian Railways  worked well.  Trains were clean and on time, staff efficient, almost pleasant, though some would say the seats a wee bit hard.

The only downer was the two women, one young and one far from young who sat down in the seat in front of me.  The coach was empty so they sat next to me and talked!  Not just conversation, but grannie, who was dressed for a walking trip, and the painted hussy talked excitedly, enthusiastically, and said nothing!  

But they said it loudly!

I looked out of the window in case they turned in my direction.

It was indeed a very long 8 minutes before the train moved on the stroke of 10 am.  I looked forwards to 10 more minutes of this before we change trains.  However, the young creature left two minutes later at Freeport, clearly working in a shop designed for women with an arty feel and too much money.

Silence fell. 

The next 8 minutes were wonderful.  Only normal conversation could be heard through the now more populated coach.  As I pulled myself up to leave I noticed the walking grannie do the same.  As I alighted I ensured I moved to a distant part of my connection, which was full of normal passengers.  

Only a man asking for my ticket bothered me here. (£9:50 with old man card) 

One thing struck me, in days of old a job on the railways was for life.  Families followed their forefathers into the railways, it became part of the family.  I did not get the impression that many of the staff on the platform felt this way today.  Possibly drivers may have a different view of it all?

First call was to the ruins of St Botolph's Priory, built under the auspices of one William Rufus around a thousand years ago.  Reformation days saw it closed and soon it fell into disrepair.  However, to get there I had to pass St Botolph's Church, built 1836 in a type of Gothic style, next to the Priory, indeed it sits on what was the kitchen areas of said priory. 

I noticed this was open, it was not open last time I was here about 10 years ago, and now they open for prayer between 12 - 1 pm.  Good for them.

Considering the ruins are only half of the original size, people must have used the stones on their houses over the years, it speaks volumes of the importance of Augustinian's to William the Conqueror and his family.  Surely most houses at that time would have been plaster and lathe?  

Placed just outside the old Roman walls this must have been an astounding site for the locals, many of whom will have been forced to work on building it.  The Norman's liked to make a statement with their buildings.

Through what had once been a window, possibly making use of coloured glass, I saw this couple along with a man playing what I think is called a 'concertina.'  The couple stood over a grave or two and sang while he played.  I considered approaching and enquiring but thought better of this.  Who knows how long this has been going on in Colchester graveyards?  

The priory came to house many grave and vaults of the great and good.  One was Dr Roger Nunn.  He became a doctor in the town, rose to prominence, was involved in many good deeds, became Mayor eventually, helped the building of St Botolph's Church, and the hospital, which is still in use.  He gives the appearance of a man of ability who succeeded in improving the town for all classes.

There is of course, a war memorial in this graveyard.  The phrase 'The Glorious Dead,' reveals the sense of loss at the time, and the need to believe the cost was worth it.  It also gave those mourning somewhere to congregate as so many were buried overseas, or not identified.

The difference between Colchester and Chelmsford is simple, Chelmsford is boring, just a shopping centre, Colchester has these small roads full of shops.  The arrangement, caused by living inside the Roman walls gives the place a character not found in Chelmsford.  This long road, lying just outside what would have been the walls, has three names in different portions.  We are standing in Sir Isaac's Walk just now.  Who he?  In Colchester tells us...

 Sir Isaac’s Walk

Sir Isaac’s Walk was named after Sir Isaac Rebow (1655-1726), a local landowner who was Colchester’s MP for many years, and also its mayor, recorder, and high steward at various times. He lived in Rebow House, at the corner of Head St and Sir Isaac’s Walk.

The historical record shows that Rebow was a corrupt politician who left the town’s finances in a terrible state, and was cruel to his family and servants.

He was also a director of the South Sea Company, and a major shareholder in the East India Company. The South Sea Company was set up to ship enslaved African people to Spain’s colonies in Latin America. It is estimated that the company transported around 34,000 enslaved people over the 25 years it traded. The East India Company was also heavily involved in slavery and forced indenture in India.

He does not appear to be a nice man.  Still, Colchester named that section for him, what does that say about them?

I had no choice but to haul my bulk, in the heat, across to the Balkerne Gate!  This was the Roman exit heading west, passing my house as they tramped, hoping to spend the night at the crossroads in town, thus giving the troops a one day march, unless an emergency forced them to continue further.  

It is kept in decent condition, in spite of the publican next door sometime in the 1840s knocking half of it down.  This he did because the railway had arrived in Colchester, well, actually far from Colchester, at the bottom of the hill.  He made space so travellers could see his hostelry.  The station cannot be seen from here today however.  

I considered entering for lunch but noted his 'Pint £5:20' notice outside.  Possibly to keep students away, possibly for those attending the Mercury Theatre opposite and to the left of the photo.  They can afford his prices.

What once was used as the bothy for the Roman soldiers, mostly from Gaul or Germany, while on guard duty now hosts a couple of attractive plants, happy to live on the old stones.

St Peter's Church here at the top of North Hill, and you have to realise Colchester sits at the top of a hill almost all around, was mentioned in the Domesday Book in 1086.  The church was probably begun in Saxon times yet little is known of those far off days.  There were then two priests which reveals wealth, and the town had seven in all indicating other churches were nearby.  When the Priory got going it took over the church in 1102, typical big business, and appointed their own man in charge.  

Things changed over the years, buildings are developed, bits added, and in 1692 an earthquake shook the town damaging the tower and knocking chimney pots off roofs.  I do not think any were killed but shock upset many.  This church flourishes today but unlike St Botolph's, no longer remains open at lunchtimes.

Priests were a strange bunch, most followed where they were told to go but occasionally one appeared to believe the scriptures.   One such was John Ball, he was working in Colchester at times, though his somewhat radical sermons and his desire to make use to Wycliffe's bible in the vernacular caused much annoyance to the Archbishop and others.  

He was jailed several times, banned from preaching, but still managed to speak all around Essex and Suffolk, until jailed again in Kent.  In 1381 he was released by Kentish rebels and addressed the rebels at Blackheath saying:-

'When Adam delved and Eve span, 

Who was then the gentleman? 

From the beginning all men by nature were created alike, and our bondage or servitude came in by the unjust oppression of naughty men. For if God would have had any bondmen from the beginning, He would have appointed who should be bond, and who free. And therefore I exhort you to consider that now the time is come, appointed to us by God, in which ye may (if ye will) cast off the yoke of bondage, and recover liberty.'

 

Arrested in Coventry, tried convicted, hanged, drawn and quartered.  

I wonder what he would have made of the Church of England today?

Having noticed the £5:20 charged at the 'Hole in the Wall,' I lost any intention of having lunch.  However, the name of this pub made me  consider it again.  I mean, in Camulodunum you have to visit the pub called by that name have you not?  I considered the people sitting outside and decided it was worth a try.  I slunk wearily to the bar, a bar offering a dozen beer pumps featuring beer I had never heard off.  That's the trouble with pubs, unless you know the company running them you have to guess what beer is on offer.  The not too keen barmaid sulked when I indicated IPA, the only name I knew, suffering me long enough to give back change.

This is a decent, well laid out establishment, who's clientele appeared to be of similar age to myself.  It was likely that most were regulars, though the board across the way advertised cheap student drinks.  I suspect they may be drawn in come evening time.  If in town again I would once again enter in. 

I was happier to sit than I realised.  Everything was aching, from my feet up and my ears down, and I had only been wandering about for just over an hour.  Nothing for it but to sit there watching young students pass by.  Are these girls 16 or 18 I wondered?  Are they at the16 year old collage or the University the town boasts about?  There were many about, this being lunchtime, mostly female, few males, why?  I once got a single deck bus home, an hours journey, full of such females from the 16 years collage, their conversation is not what I wish to endure again.   

Enlivened by IPA, but not by enough, ought I to return for another?  I made my way to the castle.  On the way I noticed the M&S store had closed down.  Such a busy wee town yet both Debenham's and M&S have gone, I think Primark is the only large store left.  What does that say about the cost of living and big business competence?  

The Castle is of course not a castle.  It stands on the remains of the Roman Temple, supposedly the temple of Claudius, and the remaining double arches that form the basement were the only parts of the temple to survive that nice Boudica woman when she passed through.  The Romans and the Romanised locals who sheltered there were trapped when the place was burnt to the ground.  

Rather typical of a woman in a bad mood I say.  

It is £13:50, no concessions for the aged, to enter, so I didn't.  It is 20 or so years since I was inside, when I and one other whoever he was, got a tour by a Blue Badge Guide.  Very good it was too, and since then vast sums have been spent doing it up, hence the entry fee.  Mind you I was not capable of walking around there yesterday. 

The gardens around were busy, sun now shining without cloud cover, and judging it was getting time for a train I headed back down via all the charity shops along the way.  Sadly this was disappointing, though each and everyone of these shops was busy, as nothing suited my needs.  

I could not avoid this impressive war memorial.  The figures on it are tremendous.  The council at the time clearly considered themselves important enough to spend vast sums on an expensive and outstanding memorial to the fallen.  How much of that is civic pride as opposed to remembrance you can work out for yourself.  

I stopped off for a moment in St Botolph's prayer hour.  This lies just around the corner from the station, as indeed does the magistrates court in case you require it.  Then climbed aboard the train that had just arrived.

The railway crossing here allows a view of the old houses dating back many years that flow down from the East Hill.  Once the town expanded it had to go down these hills as the centre has little space.

It was then I realised I was not on my train.  I just climbed aboard, somewhat surprised at how quickly it left the station, before realising this train runs just between Colchester and Colchester Town.  No one warned me about this.  I was surprised and wondered if this could pay, however the number climbing aboard as I changed once again made it clear this was a popular train.  £3:10 single ticket, good for those coming off one train, and Colchester is a busy station,  and cheaper than the bus to get from north of town to south.  

Once again a short wait brought a 720 to head me homewards.  I moved to the head of where the train would stop partly to take pictures with no-one in the way, partly because the walking grannie was there also.   Anyway I positioned my self so the train at my next change would stop exactly at the lift shaft.

It didn't.  

It went two coaches further.

I made use of the lift, walked to the next one, kept the door open for a cyclist, again kept it open as he left, and moved to the front portion of my train which arrived as I walked.  All that was left was hobbling up that steep hill, finding food ready and waiting for me, and sleep, lots of sleep, oh and a bit of cramp.  

This morning I ache everywhere.  No trips for a while now.   

Wet Sabbath

 

In spite of the rain I marched of to Kirk this morning, full of joy, anticipation and cheese omelette.

Not necessarily in that order.

Dodging puddles on the rollercoaster pavements, keeping close to the wall when passing large puddle on the road, always a target for a special type of driver, and ensuring I did not trip up and fall flat on my face I made it well on time.

The need to arrive early is to ensure my seat is not taken by some nasty person who does not follow the church rules.  As we had a joint service with the other half of what they call 'our benefice' this meant many would arrive not knowing the rules.  Indeed, arrive some did, but as one man indicated "Our seats are safe.  Being Anglican types from one of the 'dressing up' churches, they will all sit at the back." As indeed they did.  Latecomers were seen to panic as they might have to sit on the empty seats towards the front, some taken by our people, and also the thought of sitting beside one of us upsets them.  I marked my seat on arrival with my damp jacket, and the one next to me just to be sure with my cap.  No one asked for them.  

The 'other place' is indeed a 'dressing up' church.  Robes aplenty for the vicar (who now runs two churches to save the Bishop money), candles, an icon, organ music and heavy hymn books, while following a booklet led liturgy.  'Our place' is a much more 'informal formality,' which some find disconcerting.  Being what is referred to as a 'Low church,' many of us have more 'reformed' type backgrounds, Baptist etc, and are loath to attend the 'High Church,' with its near Catholic approach.

I often refer to them as a 'papist outlet' but I am not sure the vicar agrees.  He appears to like that sort of thing.  Having met the Bishop, and upset him regarding his approach to the gay takeover, I have an idea he also likes the parades, bells, liturgy and pomp of the 'other place' and considers it more worthy than us.  I think we may take the attitude that this is just 'too bad.'

Anyway, we went quickly through the meeting, the songs were good, the 'other place' people have a choir and some of them can sing well, our lass praying scrambled her way through, John spoke with direct biblical truth, which may have confused some, and an Anglican communion was observed.

The we drank coffee to wake us up, some gossiped, I met up with those I have not seen for a while as I was off, all the young women asked for me, as you would expect, and I got a lift home to eat and sleep it off.  

Now I plough through the days football before going back to bed again.  That extra hour from turning back the clocks was an hour short I say! 

     

High Church Morning

 

It was off early this morning to the High Church.  For reasons of economy, or something devious, our Low Church has been attached in a Benefice to this Bells without Smells church, all robed and organ blasted, very unlike ours.

I arrived in time, as I opened the door I heard a hand held bell tinkle, I entered to find the parade awaiting the off.  As the organ began the choir also began, the Beadle (I suppose) in front carrying the cross on a long pole, quite normal for such churches.  Behind him the berobbed choir moved, followed by the church warden holding high above his head  a red book, most probably a bible, behind which our vicar, now responsible for two churches, starred in the procession.

As they marched I slid in to my seat in the rear pew.  The church has the usual layout, two rows of pews, at the front on the left in a box, hidden somewhat by curtains in case we see him sleep, is the organist, in front one of those large Eagle shaped brass lecterns and a small table with a candle burning.  On the right another lectern, for the routine stuff, while the pulpit rises above for the preacher to overlook the congregation while speaking.  These stand in front of an imitation 'Rood screen.'  The 'Rood screen,' which once separated the clergy from the plebs, had above it a cross, a 'rood.'  This one was never complete as far as I can see.  The archway allows us through to the choir stalls, and I must say the choir was indeed very good at their job, and this also allows us to get close to the altar bearing four large candles and other items, imposing itself somewhat above us.  The Catholic version of such would never allow us to be behind the screen, we were always kept apart.  Many churches show evidence of how various conflicts from Reformation times affected the church layout, this one, being built in 1900 avoided such trauma, but has seen two world wars.

Bright windows towards the rear, emblazoned with three small heraldic signs, and a large sculpture of St Peter, though we cannot know what he looked like, comes forth from the wall.  A large wooden war memorial, commemorating the fallen and a previous vicar, fills much of the rear wall, almost impossible to photograph properly because of the oversized font that stands in front of it.  How do they make use of that?  

This church was built on spite.  The main church in Victorian days remains that today, a woman living in a very grand house on the edge of town was daughter of a previous vicar, and appears to have considered her opinions important.  However, she fell out with the vicar of her day, probably because he did not see her as important to a similar degree to herself, and so when she died she left thousands as a bequest to build this High Church.  Why not do so when alive?  Gladstone, one time Prime Minister, questioned why people left money to charity in their wills, "Why not give it when alive?" he asked.  Maybe she wished to avoid the grumbles that she may have faced?

A few years back, not long after I arrived in town the then vicar of this church was removed to a place recommended by Her Majesties Pleasure.  Or at least by a judge if not her majesty herself.  Sadly a collection of items on his computer were not fitting for his role.  Eventually, a man was found to take his place and he has, over some nine years I believe, built up a healthy High Church congregation.  They appear organised, keen, regular attenders, friendly and happy with their lot.  The credit for this must go to the vicar.  What a job he had at the beginning.

This morning the service I thought was too long, made us stand too much, making me aware of the pain in my back, and we followed the order in the yellow book, ensuring I failed to find where I was at the beginning, and made use of heavy song books which included the music for those who really can sing.  

I am not one of those.

The sermon was not clear, the acoustics are not great, the readings were followed via the weekly handout, and the prayers were from a quiet spoken lass.  As always in such places, the choir might chant, the congregation also, or a bell will ring, a halleluiah appear or some such, now and again, catching us lot out most times.  

I confess all this does little for me, though I did appreciate our own church all the more.  That is what a service ought to be, informally formal, with a controlled service, and making us all comfortable, rather than struggle with books and scripts!  

I did find Jesus speaking to me through one of the readings, and as we approached the Lord's Table.  This gave me much pleasure and much to think  about.

I left soon after the end, too many hovered about at the rear causing confusion, and as I walked a friend accompanied me chatting about his time in the US air force as a dog handler.  A Yank who came home when he was sent here.  Mind you, at that time we used Pounds, Shillings and Pence, and for him this took some doing to learn!  Home, a bad dinner, especially as I burnt my fingers and have had them in cod water since, and two poor football games to watch.   No wonder I am tired tonight.

Friday Wedding

Noon on a Friday may not be the normal time for a wedding, however, this was a wedding involving an Indian!  The vicar hails from Halesowen, but spent most of his time in Oxford.  His father was an Indian who came over many years ago and became, or perhaps was, an Anglican vicar.  Therefore when his daughter is getting married it is done in Indian style, even though the groom is English. 

Grooms do not matter on wedding day, they just say "I do," and shut up while the girls "coo" and "aaaaaah" over the bride.  The boys just admire the Rolls-Royce's. 

Last Saturday they had the eating celebration part, I did not make it, but the food was overpowering they say.  Being Indian style, presents, mostly of money, are handed over, I think as contribution to the funds.  There was certainly money amongst this lot today, Asians work, and work hard!  

Today there were no presents, just a ceremony in St Peters, a church that does all the dressing up stuff, all which makes good pictures for the photographers.  (Not me however, I left that to them).   Dad officiated, his mate Geoff led, and the choir led with a song that went on too long and was beyond most of us.  That is after the Indians had gathered!  Timekeeping is not their best habit, especially when coming a distance, and with kids, so the noon start was not expected and did not arrive!

However, all went well, Jesus was preached, 'Love' was spoken off, the brides mother was happy and relieved, the vicar beamed, the couple sat in the white Rolls Royce, one of three, the black one once used by Princess Margaret, and cameras and phones took pictures everywhere.  

Few from St Paul's appeared, work and other commitments holding them back, and so I felt out of place here, especially standing beside the Rolls.  

Sadly my pictures inside the church were none to good, however, this matters not as hundreds will be found elsewhere.  So, outside I just took shots of the people, though far too many people standing in my way for the pics I wanted.  I did manage a few of the young women however, quite by chance.

Standing around was not doing me any good, so off to Sainsburys on a Friday afternoon, to save me rising early in the morning, and bought some Onion Bhajis, again by chance.  Then home to seek a physio or a matron to ease my aches.  

Typical, none available...