Night Highway Repair

I was a bit perturbed to see this monster outside my window the other night.  There had been some noise further up the road but I did not expect a Dinosaur type machine to look in on me.

He had disappeared by morning and much later on Friday evening he turned up again, along with several large trucks.  There was much to-ing and fro-ing by these vehicles, men in bright orange suits pointing fingers this way and that while the late shoppers at Sainsburys tried to get home.

Eventually, late on, they managed to get under way.  Grumbling re the state of the potholes has risen considerably in recent days.  The road here, once made stable by Roman soldiers giving it the name 'Stane Street,' now known by less happy terms as holes appeared everywhere.  The building of two blocks of houses on either side of the road did not help, Gas, Electric and Water all took turns in digging up the road and then doing it all over again for the other side of the street.  Then faults occurred and they had to do it all over again.  Some of the workers offered to camp in the park to save time coming and going!  The temporary patches put on the road after this did not go down well with the locals, many spleens were vented!  Being some 15 years or so since this was last resurfaced the County Council has decided to resurface now.  How long will this last I wonder?

Scrape the surface and dump it straight into the lorry in front.  The Roman soldiers slogging their way along the road would have loved this machine.  I wonder how much this costs?  I must say I have not been so fascinated with men working on the roads since I was coming up for 3.  Way back then I remember what I am sure was a steamroller used by the men creating the roads in our new housing estate.  Over the Brazier hung 'Tate & Lyle' syrup tins from a short improvised metal handle.  This was their tea!  No fancy mugs in those early 50s days. 

Being right outside my window I was not going to miss this, even though I was slouched in bed when they began.  Efficiently they removed the surface, slowly walking the great machine along, careful guiding required.  Alongside the men swept the pavement clean of dust, I had to do my own window, nose and throat myself, as they followed the craft alongside.  Quite why they all wore hard Hats when nothing was going to fall on their heads was not explained. 

The sky, being almost Mid Summer, was brilliant, deep red as the night wore on.  Well after 10:30 when I managed to take that shot.

 
See how clear it is at that time, the youths happily exchanging drugs unafraid of the police who cannot get past the men working on the road way.  Clearly this lot work together often, such teamwork requires practice.  Scraping the ground requires a truck to move in front of the machine while manoeuvring backwards and forwards to fill the truck evenly.  Then when laying the tar similarly a truck has to load the laying machine carefully, tipping it's load without covering everyone in road surface.

As the light faded various machines and men in yellow outfits wandered about.  Here they were working around an electric 'hole in the road,' doing their best not to destroy it.

Filling the beast while blurring my picture.

The first layer goes down, more to come tonight I understand, and it surprised me how hard the layer was.  The men walking on it left no impression behind.  The smell of tar is much better than the dust that was flying about earlier.

Such jobs involve much intense work followed by lots of standing about while the machine gets refilled, the men in charge discuss the next move, or some hold up arrives.  The workers appeared to get on well with the few people passing by.  The wage may be quite good, especially as most of the work is done at night.

What happened to the large machinery I do not know, I awoke to find this man running about and others painting temporary white lines in the road.   There is more disruption to follow but as far as I can see they have done it with little stress on others, not counting the Sainsburys lorry that arrived at the wrong time, and left little mess.  The cynics this morning still did not appear full of joy at the work.  I think they are hoping it fails so they can say "I told you so!"

The View From Here

The building in which I dwell was erected in 1812, or so my late Landlord told me.  Life then before Victoria came to the throne was I suppose quite different.  Whether the occupants worried over much about that nice Napoleon chap who was spending the year in Russia, a place that rejected him in similar manner to many others taking also the lives of many thousands of his soldiers, I do not know but they were probably more concerned with the goings on at the ‘Big House’ behind or the many farms in the locale.  I suspect the educated women were more concerned with the likes of Jane Austen’s ‘Sense and Sensibility.’  There being no census at the time it is difficult to work out exactly who resided here or how they made their name.  The building indicates some degree of wealth.

Comprised of two dwellings one house would be a quite small but for the day more than acceptable. The smaller would have three rooms upstairs, the larger possibly four.  Modern amendments to the layout make it difficult to understand the original, the rear section being knocked down and rebuilt slightly amended from first.  Questions arise that I cannot answer, most irksome.  Before the car park they could at least get the gardener to grow veg in the rear of the house and possibly kept a horse in a nearby stable.

Had they been the types interested in the world around them I suppose they would have purchased some sort of newspaper or rely on common gossip, and there would be plenty of the latter around. The years happenings would not escape, news travels fast, bad news travels faster.  For a start there were ‘Luddite’ risings in various parts of the country, something they no doubt hoped would be kept ‘up north’ where such behaviour belonged, there was also Lord Byron, home from Naxos to upset married men everywhere objecting to a Bill demanding the death penalty for Frame Breaking at the same time publishing a book, ‘Childe Harold.’  ‘Childe’ as you know being a medieval title of a young candidate for knighthood.  Having travelled across Europe, missing out the bits that were at war Byron says too much about himself in the poem.  Young men sick of the many years wars seeking some adventure in their lives, young men from wealthy backgrounds that is with nobility thrust upon them of course.  Most men wold be lumbered where they were at the time.  Byron of course found distractions, mostly female, and a purpose in fighting a war for Greece, not bad for someone avoiding war.

Farm types would have heard about the meat cannery that had opened in Bermondsey and questions would have been asked concerning whether this was a good idea or not.  The use of hammer and chisel to open such cans would imply a negative approach at first I suspect.

While few would have heard or cared about the birth of Charles Dickens and Edward Lear that year the women of the house would certainly have heard about and been willing to participate in the new dance that swept Europe, the Waltz.  Even Byron mentioned this. 

One event that could not escape notice was the shooting of the Prime Minister Spencer Perceval during May that year by one John Bellingham.  Bellingham had been working in Russia and fallen foul of intrigue and spent several years in prison before being allowed to return home.   His feeling was he had a justified grievance and wished for compensation from the government, something the government was not willing to give.  Having been advised by one civil servant to “Take whatever action you think right” Bellingham obtained a pistol and was noted often hanging around the Lobby of the House.  At 5:15 on the 11^th May as Perceval was making his way to a committee Bellingham stepped forward and shot him dead, the only British Prime Minister ever to have been murdered.  The deed done he sat down and awaited his fate.  At his trial an attempt was made to prove he was insane but the judge disagreed and three days later Bellingham was hanged, he had however for various reasons some degree of public sympathy.

Whether there were arguments for and against the shooting of a prime minister in these houses is unknown but as they trimmed the wick in the oil lamps and huddled under several blankets in a vain attempt to keep out the northern winds hammering against the windows such events must have caused a reaction.  Such things did not occur along this road however the highway to the north did have a gallows at one point where offenders were left hanging about for considerable time, as a warning to others.

I am not sure this worked.

Outside the view over fields would be acceptable, a cow or two roaming there, slow moving traffic on the dirt road, few houses further down leading out of town but as this was the main road to Colchester it may have seen many a traveller pass by let alone the workers heading to and from the fields. 

The road had indeed been a busy one for many a year.  This road was aged by the time the Romans decided to harden it, thus giving it the name ‘Stane Street,’ and enabling their well armed troops to pass on their journey elsewhere quickly.  ‘Quickly’ is not the best word as it is around fifteen miles to Colchester and that was around a day’s march for a man carrying his equipment over his shoulder.  Resting here for the night they would continue West for a day before the next stop at Dunmow a further fifteen miles away.  Long before this traders as well as armies had passed by this area.  The Trinovantes reached over this area even though their capital was in what is now Hertfordshire when Julius Caesar popped in.  Trouble brewed with those to the west and it was Julius who convinced the Catuvellauni to cease attempting to take over the area and remain back home towards Swindon, their home area, this they did but once he retired to Gaul they returned and became lords of the district.  The road was old even then with people having moved around long before the North Sea came into being so possibly ten thousand years have elapsed since this trail changed to a muddy track that soon turned into a major road for the Romans to harden.

An archaeology dig in the centre of town has revealed the road layout from the past with a large centre at the junction of roads from east to west and north to south existing for considerable time. During the creation of a town centre shopping precinct many Roman and Iron Age artefacts were discovered alongside an idea of the homes used by the locals.  Edinburgh, that huge, magnificent and important city has been a powerhouse for over a thousand years yet this wee market town has been around longer, a lot longer.  The meeting place would provide accommodation and respite and in 1108 the Market Charter developed the town economically.  I bet the shops were better then than now.

As I speak cars pass by mostly ignorant of those who have preceded them on this road.  Do people care these days as to who came before them?  Some find History dull but we need to know who came before us to ensure we understand just exactly who we are.  Sadly this upsets our chosen outlook on life all too often and we reject what we see.  Myth is better than fact.  I cannot travel this road without considering the many feet that have trodden before me.  Something I never did in Edinburgh but some time ago I realised we lived on an aged drovers road, a road many had driven their cattle or sheep along for eons before us.  When children we discovered a cave made from a small rocky outcrop that many years before had become a drovers bothy.  There was a clear door and indeed a window therein so possibly this had also been home to someone, a shepherd possibly, one not from afar off but based here, the local castle still has sheep on its land after all.  However as kids naturally we called it ‘The Witches House.’  It may well be hidden amongst trees surround the new well to do housing in that area today.  Whether witches reside there I do not care to know.

The truth is that following any major and many minor roads in the UK we walk in the footsteps of many who have gone before us.  Thousands of years of life, in spite of ice ages, have left their mark. Almost all main roads and many faintly visible today go back millenia.      

   

As we have avoided pics of the park

As we have avoided pics of the park for a while I thought I would cease your anxious wait by allowing a peep at the gray, dreich, damp weather that in the UK we call 'summer.'  I would have preferred to leave the house around six and picture the sun rising slowly over the trees, however reality sank in and I stayed in bed until seven.  The rain, continuous and heavy, stopped about lunchtime.  Only then did I consider wandering out.  Having considered I waited until I was sure the rain would stay off.  After three I left the house and by ten minutes past it was raining again!

As I crossed the road back to my condominium I pondered on the history of the road I crossed.  For several thousand years people have trod this way.  Long before the Romans arrived I suspect a path through the woods which covered the area was formed by the feet of travellers.  With the early Britons established in what is now Colchester a firm trail must have led this way.  Roman engineers then remodelled the road according to their engineering principles and thus earning the way the term 'Stane Street.'  

Roman troops marching he fifteen miles probably encamped at this spot where the road from London to Lincolnshire crossed heading north.  Hence the beginning of a hamlet on this spot.  Later development around 1200 under Church auspices saw great growth for the market.  The number of animals brought along this road to market, the number of troops, the individual travellers over the years interest me.  Thousands, millions of journeys have been made over the years.  

I suspect most of them grumbled about the summer rain!

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Old Maps

Am I the only one who finds old maps fascinating? Shown here is a map of the South of Scotland, concentrating on Edinburgh and the Firth of Forth, but the date is difficult to establish. At 3/- a copy, (that's three shillings to young folks, OK, that's 15 pence to you very young folks), and 'cloth bound,' it was designed for those rich enough to possess a motor car which enabled the middle classes to join the toffs driving around the country. Such driving became popular in the 1920's and with cars (That's 'automobiles' to those in North America) being so expensive the working classes, who often drove lorries and vans for employment, could never hope to obtain a car of their own. Indeed in was only in the late fifties and early sixties that car ownership really became a possibility.

I love looking at such maps and pondering their date, and indeed the owners over the years. It is stupidly interesting to look at a map of the district from days of yore and compare them to the present day. For no good reason I can be excited by the residue of ancient pathways, buildings and workplaces that no longer exist in a manner that I cannot repeat for the buildings of today. Why this should be I cannot say, but there it is! There is of course a demand for these maps, they sell on E-Bay and online shops, and mine arrived via a local boot sale. I may peruse E-bay for a few days and hope for a windfall, or a couple of pounds anyway. 

I still do not understand the interest, but I enjoy perusing old maps. There was a badly made programme which featured one eccentric chap, brolly and all, wandering about following ancient maps and those who travelled on long gone roads. Had the programme been better made, and avoided his overacting and the cameraman's love of shaky camera and blurred picture,  it could have been very entertaining. All around us are ancient pathways that are still used today, In fact outside my window lies 'Stane Street,' so called after the Roman army used their technological expertise on it, although it must have existed for a long time before this, possibly some thousand or more years at that, as a thin winding track through the heavily wooded land. Roman roads themselves are often made from previous tracks, but our incomers military needs meant they just straightened out the bends and climbed straight over the hills! Today such roads traces can be see on Google Maps quite easily.

In Edinburgh a wander through Davidson's Mains leads to the public park at the end of the street. Few realise that the road ahead was once a busy drovers road and sheep and cattle would be brought from west and indeed from over the Forth in Fife along this ancient track. As kids we discovered a bit beyond the park an old bothy once used by such men as a night shelter. I wonder if it was allowed to remain when the expensive middle class houses were built in the sixties? It is knowing this that it is possible to trace the route once used by generation, on foot, bringing cattle to market from far away. History is on our doorstep. Thousands have passed this way before, although they probably drove a bit slower when oxen were pulling their carts!

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Resurfacing Stane Street

For several nights we endured the dubious pleasure of the men resurfacing Stane Street outside. The road runs from Colchester to St Albans, or at least it did in Roman times, it may still do so. This work has been a desperate need for some time, and at last it has been accomplished. Naturally, being a busy road it had to be done at night, late at night! There is nothing better than reading your book while listening to a dirty great machine scraping of the top layer of the road - right outside your window! Not only do we have the machine, the flashing orange lights, the lorry in front catching the waste, the noise but we also have the shouts, whistles and the constant beeping of the trucks going backwards. But happily only for an hour or two - or three! Now I am not one to complain, and certainly not to a group of blokes as big as this lot outside, so I accepted this as just one of the occasions you just have to suffer for the good of the town.

Naturally we had two suffer for two more nights while they actually laid the new surface. More revving of engines, more beeping, once more the sweeper vehicle went back and forth, and back and forth, again the flashing lights, again the scraping of shovels. Generously the workers stopped right outside my window after the first night, so they had to come back and work cheerily as I struggled to finish the book. How lucky am I? I felt so sorry for these men earning £500 a night for keeping the are awake, especially when the rain teemed down on the second night. My sympathy was something I shared with the mirror in the morning as I examined my red eyes. How we laughed! Still it is done now. The surface is flat and even, the only thing missing is road markings. There were far too many dangerous areas before, dangerous to those of us on bikes, and they have been put right. This is good and the surface will probably last for ten years before disintegrating totally.

These men are not the first to repair Stane Street. This road runs in an almost straight line from Colchester and was possible begun by the Romans, certainly made into a solid surface by them, although it may well have existed for many years before their arrival. How many feet have slogged along the road? Troops marching from Colchester would stop here for the night. Fifteen miles is a good days march in normal circumstances, for me anyway. The road connected not just with St Albans but crossed the road from London to Norfolk and the road north further along. If desired the Romans could march from Colchester along this road and reach any place in the Island in relatively short time. The soldiers on their march could be sure of the reliability of the road, as they were the ones who made them. One way of keeping the men busy in quiet times and developing the land also. I wonder if the legions worked at night, and if they made as much noise when doing so? Somehow I suspect they were little different.