A Glaikit Stupidly visits Dunmow Oxfam and Nothing in Witham

Monday morning, weathermen all claiming it would be hot, but I noticed it would  be only 30%C today, so I took a bag to the Heart charity shop and while there searched for a wide brimmed hat.  None were found!  Could it be they had all been sold, or possibly retrieved from charity bags before being taken to the shop?  I had noticed a hat which fitted while in Tesco earlier, but it really was designed for someone sitting watching cricket all day, a bit too pretentious for me I thought.  Other likely shops were of course shut, and the charity shops only had one suitable hat which was too small for my head.

Right, said I, I shall go to the 'Designer Village, and visit 'Mountain Warehouse.'  

However, after waiting in the Bus Park for a while I did not see a suitable bus, so I took the airport bus when it came and headed in the other direction for Oxfam in Dunmow!

I like this shop because the rich folks of the district always place plenty of good stuff in here.

I found nothing!

There were birthday cards aplenty, always good one in this shop, so I filled up on those.  But no suitable hat, nor indeed anything for men at all that I could see.  It appears men are not donating, I shall rephrase that, women are not donating their men's old clobber, possibly because they have already flung out all his favourite outfits and bought new ones.  

Only one other charity shop open in this town, a proper overcrowded, dingy shop, as they ought to be, same story however.  I mentioned to the lass inside that she was lucky to be out of such sun, "You should not be in it then," she said.  "Yes," I replied, "But I am stupid!"  Funny how quickly she accepted this.  Later I was to prove myself correct.  Other shops were closed, and the only one with suitable headgear is very expensive, aimed at the country gent, and that I am not.  I think he was closed as there appeared to be no-one at home.  Nothing for it but to sit and wait.

I sat and waited while taking lunch somewhat hurriedly in a small, but attractive pub, next to the bus stop, the 'Boars Head.'  I say hurriedly as I did not note the times correctly and ended up awaiting stupidly once again in the sun...  Eventually the 133 arrived, on time and driven by the same driver that brought me here earlier.  He drove well, but was not very friendly, he appeared to be possibly Vietnamese or some such, capable but with little English.  A good driver who needs to work on his repartee with customers, though it is hot in that seat I suppose.  

The advantage of the bus was the view of passing Wheat and Barley fields, some harvested, some in the process thereof, and all shining brightly in the sun.  As we passed through the small village (small village, large wallets) of Felsted  I noticed the Rooks, well spread out, chomping on the grass at the famous rich people's school.  Life goes on in the country, no matter what happens elsewhere.  These rooks can sometimes be traced back for hundreds of years as having roosted in one place continually.  

Having decided that I would make use of the 'Boars Head' for 'lunch,' next time I was in town searching the charity shops, I happily enjoyed the return journey, once again noting the rooks still in place, the cornfields, the green of the hedge rows, the half dressed women, some of whom only now reveal that they are actually female, the youths glued to their phones, headphones on, and almost all on the journey, bar the elderly who need it most, carrying water, by now somewhat warm.

The bus dropped me near my door, the driver did not return my grunt as dismounted.  In this area it is normal to thank the driver, most of whom return this greeting, something I never did in either Edinburgh or London, nor did we out in the country areas.  It is good however, and most drivers of all companies appear friendly and helpful for the most part.

At home I searched the fridge for food that was at the 'eat by' date.  So lunch/ consisted of using up four Chicken Samosas care of Sainsburys.  These are not as good as real Indian ones but will do. 

I contemplated lying asleep for an hour, I contemplated just continuing to stuff my face.  I contemplated nothing in the end. 

Then stupidity arose within me once again.

This will be a surprise to both my readers.

Maybe, thought I, I could get a bus to the 'Designer village' and visit the 'Mountain Warehouse,' and get a wide brimmed, safari hat?  Maybe, on the other hand, I ought to lie down in a darkened room?  Maybe I don't require a hat, just a brain?  Of course, to walk out again as the temperature rose to well over 90% would be an act of crass stupidity and only the lowest would consider this.

I caught the 15:20 bus.

I had checked the timetable, I knew the route, I knew what I was doing.  

I even looked at the front heading as we boarded, 'Witham via Stubbs lane,'  it read.  

I wondered for a moment as the other bus I saw earlier had 'via Designer Village'' but I put that aside as my mistake as this was the 38A.

We began the tour in the normal fashion but instead of heading for the 'Designer Village,' ('Designer Village' a replacement for 'Freeport Outlet,' but the same things, rejects and high prices) we turned up Chapel Hill and headed instead for Stubbs Lane.  A tour round the houses I did not mind, I have not been down this way for a long time,  and as we left the town, fought past lorries, vans and too many cars at the roundabout, we then headed away from the 'Designer Village' and out of town!  

I resigned myself to my mistake.  I must have read the timetable wrong.  This bus does not go to the, well you know where, and I decided to sit and wait, visit Witham, and accept my fate.  

However, while the bus does reach the terminus it travels all around the place.  We passed through as many small villages as we could, one bus an hour it appeared, and I was delighted with the country view, the passing cottages, often 'Jig-saw' perfect, large one time homes of the important people, often large barns now millionaire homes, and once again fields, harvested or awaiting such as we trundled carefully along the narrow, often blocked by parked car, roads.  Small houses built for farm workers 200 years ago, rarely have parking lots attached, those that do are often hidden behind bushes and not appealing to H&S lovers.  Once again, the driver, possibly a brother of the first man, brought along the same attitudes and similar careful skill in taking us to our end.  

16:00 hours and we had arrived.

As we passed some of those large houses in which dwelt large families accustomed to their position in life I felt no jealousy.  On the contrary I realised I do not want such needless wealth.  Comparing what I need, and what is on offer, it would be easy to find a decent place, large enough for visitors (which I never have) or family, and small enough to manage.  Who needs so much space as some have?  I suspect prestige, and living out a fantasy is often involved, as well as believing that you have reached a certain place of importance and this must be reflected in the abode.  Showing off may have a place also.  When I become rich, I will one day, I would hope to make use of the money, not just waste it on prestige projects like a little Boris Johnson. 

Witham, six miles from home, is a world away from Mid-Essex.  This is London overspill territory.  Less than an hours commute from Liverpool Street, it has long attracted those who wish a life while taking London money.  Sadly many less desirable types have also arrived, all brought along with them the London attitudes that are loved worldwide.  There is a word of attitude difference between the towns, though the few people I spoke to there were as friendly as you like yesterday.  However, it was few people as arriving late many shops had shut, and being Monday others had not opened.  I wandered about, catching the sun, knees weakening, body failing, and therefore noticing nothing new about my condition.  I contemplated the 'White Hart' for third lunch, but thought I would check timetables first.  Ah, 16:21 is my bus, thirty or so minutes to wait.

Having checked all the shops, not much to be found here, I obtained a cool water bottle, not quite cold from Greggs.  I thought how funny, this famous bakers and I buy a bottle of 95p water and ignore the cakes.  I have not used Greggs for 20 years, I might never, having little need for them, but they are a formidable success.

Few famous people in this town but Dorothy L Sayers, an author of many books, had a home here until 1957 when she passed away.  She stopped using the house at that time.

I stood at the bus stop, in the shade, watching the women pass by reading the advert over and over. There is little to recommend Witham, this bus stop and car park does not help.  

16:21 the timetable said, and again it was the bus tour of the country I awaited.  The 38A would take me home and deliver me to my dinner.   

I waited.

I waited, checking the time.

I waited.

16:21 came and went.

I waited.

I waited for some time before a 38A, clearly the one that would collect me and tour the nation before dropping me of miles from my door, stopped across the street at the terminus on the other side.

I waited.

The driver, a woman, got out and walked to the 39 Bus behind.  

I  waited.

She spent 15 or so minutes gabbing to the driver.  

I waited.  

Eventually she headed back to her bus, I crossed the road to enquire if she was mine?  I had better rephrase that, I asked if she was the bus I wanted.  "Yes," she said, "But...."

It appears Miss Stroppy was not happy at driving a bus in what she called "40% of dangerous heat."  

Other buses managed I noted.  Short wearing Miss Stroppy was clearly a union girl, and was waiting in 'management' to answer whether the bus would run!  I noted the old couple, laden with shopping across at the bus stop, I would have pointed them out but she was off back to the 39 bus to attempt to avoid work.  What about the passengers I thought?  That couple carrying shopping will find it hard to get home.  I doubt she cared.  My work experience indicated that she was indeed a union girl, and I suspect quite used to finding conditions difficult.  

Earlier I had hesitated walking up the road towards the station where a choice of train or bus awaited, now I stumbled up the hill.

I say hill, because the station when built cut through the hill in normal Victorian 'nothing will stop us attitudes' in the 1840s.  It may be this which revealed the hill was once the beginning of Witham being an Iron Age settlement.  Typical of Victorian engineers not to worry about this.  By 913 AD Old Witham was founded next door to the station.  A Roman temple also was found not too far from here.  The 'Knights Templar' were given land here in 1148, as you know, and realised they could only make limited use of the old town, though they must have used the church there, so they were granted permission to  open commercial premises on the London Road to catch passing trade.  This is where the majority of todays town is based.  

Knights Templar knew how to make a few bob.  

No bus was appearing, and as I arrived people were flooding out of the station, indicating the London commuters were not all working from home.  I pushed in, paid £5:30 for a single ticket from a long suffering lady, I was too rushed to search out and use my Railcard, and took the lift downstairs.  I checked with the young lad trying to keep the toddler happy if this was my train.  "Yes," he said, "It's says so up there." and laughed.  I had not thought to look at the sign now found on all trains telling you where you are going.  I made a feeble excuse and chatted about the kid, who was enjoying the train.  I found a seat, collapsed into it and soon we were on our way.  The ten minute journey saw the end of my, now warm, bottle of water.  I left the train, mixed with the locals most of whom also began their journey at Liverpool Street.  I do not consider travelling an hour a day on a crowded train much fun, let alone when forced to do so for London wages.  However, when in London I often took much, much longer to get home from say North Finchley than many of these people would have done getting home today. 

Witham Station often has fast express and fast Freight trains hurtling through.  At 9:27 on the morning of September 1st 1905 the Liverpool Street to Cromer express passed through.  As the express hit the crossover tracks a rail had been loosened by men working to insert ballast under it and had not completed the job as the train arrived.  The rail worked loose, with the speed of the train derailing the 14 wooden coaches and hurtling them across the platforms at speed.  Ten people died, including one railway worker on the platform, and 71 were injured.  The worst, so far, accident in Essex rail history.

I had considered leaving the train one stop early as this would drop me off at the 'Designer Village.'

Sense overruled.  

I left the station realising what had gone wrong.  As we passed yet another new development for £400,000 houses we passed the 38A going in the other direction.  A wee while later we passed another!  This made no sense as they run at hourly intervals.  Then I realised, the other bus was a 38 and on the front were the words 'Via Designer Village.'  Fool!  

I checked the online timetable today and saw indeed two buses, and I had managed to not only get on the wrong one in the first place I failed to get back on the same wrong bus later, as it was "Too Hot and dangerous."   

As I wearily, and I mean wearily, climbed up what now became an enormous hill towards home a 38A bus, with driver, came round the corner.  That driver is yet wondering why that nutter on the corner was waving his fist at him.

As I ate my frugal 'eat what you find and eat it again' meal I contemplated the day.  This was difficult as my eyes were closing after I ate, with the pint of Gin & Tonic I was drinking, and yet another pint or two of water to follow.   It had been good to see the countryside, to be outside, to meet people and go the wrong way, so somethings were worth while.  Maybe next time I will do things differently?  

However, with the warm nights sleep can be fitful, last night slumber began around 10:30 and lasted unbroken until 5:40.   

Today, when the ParcelForce man arrived at lunchtime with my Forres Pies I mentioned to him it was 106%F.  I also gave him a bottle of cool water, which may be the best tip he gets today.  I noticed the van had another dozen boxes on board!  How hot was his van?  Of course these men are all franchised today, this means that if they do not deliver they do not earn money.  Unlike Miss Stroppy he cannot grumble it is too hot and dangerous, he just has to continue, concentrate, and hope for cold drinks everywhere.  

31.5 indoors today, and facing north I do not get the sun directly.  That I suppose is 107%F...

I sit starkers and frighten people each time I rise from the seat.  Good innit?  

"We Apologise for the Delay..."

The sun is shining, it's everywhere, don't have no worries, don't have no care so I trooped off to the bus stop for what the internet told me was the 10:29 bus.  Naturally the Bus station indicator read 10:33.  I waited, he waited, then she also waited but nothing happened.  We stared at the bus station entrance but that did not work until I got fed up of warming myself amongst this lot and headed down to the railway station where I changed my tentative plans and reached for my old man 30% off card.  Colchester it was then and he comes my train as I changed at Witham running on time to take me to my destination.
My knees were not too keen however.

This was not my real intention today as I had t come here many times a few years ago and did not find much enthusiasm for the place.  I had less enthusiasm for the adolescents from the collage wandering about like 16 year old's.

 
The Mill here on the Colne River has been in use at least since the 1100's and possibly from before that.  Most of the time it dealt with 'corn,' that is wheat to you and me, but occasionally had other uses.  Colchester of course goes back to the Romans and before them possibly the site was used early after the last ice age 8000 years BC.

You can see from this how effective the hillside offered a defensive perimeter.  After the Romans rather stupidly did not organise such defences Boudica destroyed the place and Mr Emperor ensured such a mistake did not happen again.  Much altered since it shows just how difficult an attack from ground level would have been.  

Being one not renowned for intellectual stimulus I continued to walk very slowly in heat reaching some say 29%.  The walk around the castle park is indeed long and while my body ached I found I just had to see what was around the corner.  I knew a pill box stood nearby having found it 20 years ago and here it remains.  Blocked off now and impossible to enter it was part of the UK's defences against that nice Mr Hitler who did not bother to visit. 

Situated here on a bend of the Colne it offered the defenders a good view of the river, and I suspect most of the trees had been removed then to give a clear sight to them, it also offered a very good chance of death if attacked as not other pill box stands nearby to cover, unless it stood on the other bank among the new housing estates.

 

If indeed the trees were scrubbed in 1940 they have returned well in the years since.  All around the trees tower overhead and these men in particular impressed me with their height.  That may have had something to do with the blue sky and burning sun behind them of course.

Now remember I just wanted a dawdle in the sun not a twenty mile hike and here I was, at two miles an hour, hurpling along further and further from the railway station and knowing full well that I had miles to go back to get home.  It was however the old desire to see what was round the corner once again that made me limp on.  How stupid can an individual be?  I was aware of many things forgotten since the last sunshine many moons ago.  I ought to have worn the sunglasses glasses not these ones, I ought to have a hankie to wipe away the perspiration that flowed so easily, and I ought to have ensured I had bought a lighter jacket from a charity shop for the summer.
The only bright spot was buying a 59p bottle of fizzy water to carry in my pocket, usually I forget that.

 
This huge building was working when I last passed this way 20 years ago.  The water, with a tidal reach of about 20 feet from what I could guess, was full of suitable working boats.  It is of course now flats!

Next door the building, called 'The Mill' was an interesting sight, also flats and possibly some other noisy use.  I did not venture round to look.

Camulodunum was built on the hill and here at the bottom near the quay stood a variety of aged houses.  The river has been in use for thousands of years and the Romans made good use of it at this point to bring in goods from Gaul and troops from wherever.  This house appears to have been quite substantial in itself and had another 'front' added on to the side facing the road at a point later in time. 

This is more typical Essex substantial house, one that began with a 'hall' and added things as they prospered over time.  I suspect it goes back to the 16th century at least.  

It looks like some rich man has benefited the poor by providing 'almshouses' here.

In the days before Thatcher, sorry the benefits system people often stuck their hands in their pockets to aid the poor, a system that does not exist today because the media through constant propaganda have convinced the nation at large that those on benefits are all scroungers, even if their legs have been blown off and an arrow sticks out of their head, they are fit to work!  Much more of that after Brexit!

The main building supplied all their needs although i suspect this is now accommodation of some sort and the whole place may no longer be for the poor but for the very rich!   It is important when wandering about to look up as above the road there are always signs from the distant past to see.

By now I was aware of how far I still had to travel and my muscles were informing me of my stupidity in a manner worthy of a medical student.  I ached and ahead of me lay 'East Hill' and like most hills this one went upwards.  Not the names, nothing fancy here, 'East Hill,' 'North Hill,' I suspect that is the military influence, still strong as until recently a huge army complex, now housing, lay in the middle of town.  I think I am right in saying the Para's still have places here though this time I saw no army vehicles whatever.

This building intrigued me, a small 'church' looking style of housing with unreadable words above the window.  However my bleary eyes made out the word 'Orphanage' in time, yet another example of church people doing the work the state now does, possibly better!  It was also used as a girls school and was paid for by a Mr A. Diss and cost him £700 to erect!

No charitable person appeared offering to carry me up this hill past the run down aged housing come shops that have stood there for hundreds of years.  They were not built to withstand such traffic rumbling past though the ones on the other side of the road were better built and mostly of a Georgian or Victorian time.

Foolishly I watched as a bus stopped at the bus stop and the driver remained there in an attempt to fit into his timetable.  Foolishly I ought to have whipped out the bus pass and got myself up the hill.  I didn't!  He drove on.
However on the other side sat a large once glorious building now refurbished and possibly an office complex featuring this fine bird high above the road making it obvious what the original company stood for, well not to me!   
In fact the area here is the 'Eagle Gate' one part of the towns defences.  The building was built by the 'Colchester Brewing Company' in 1888 indicating a flow of cash had arrived since 1828. 

Beer was beginning to lodge itself into my temperance mind as I ploughed on uphill.  The I noticed this Georgian (?) building squashed alongside two more showy offerings.

Above the door we see yet another image of Jesus tending his sheep.  The image of the shepherd not really working too well in this concrete jungle in which many live but the fact remains true.  This also must have been an offering towards improving or teaching people, probably young folks.  Do similar works exist today?

Almost at the top of the hill I found St James the Great standing ready to welcome me with open arms, which it didn't last time I passed as it was closed.  This church like so many others would open daily but folks do tend to wander in and pinch things so it was open this time for a small service in the side chapel.  A very nice chap at the entrance encouraged me to enter even though the service was almost finished and so I did and thankfully sat in a pew at the back and discovered my body preferred sitting to walking uphill.

As you might expect this cavernous church has stood here from around the 1200's and most likely a wooden Saxon building stood here before that.   I sat and listened at a distance unwilling to wander about as the wee service continued in the corner.

  
I was hesitant about photos also in this high church anglo-catholic church but I managed one or two.
These long poles carried by the verger during parades in such churches are often delicate artistic items.  However reading about the local church in the 1600's we see the verger/beadles often using their staffs to ensure unruly youths ((forced into church by law and uninterested in what was taking place) paid attention and kept the noise down.  Such churches often have graffiti on pillars as the crowd stood through the service and often found ways to keep themselves occupied.

 
 I left the friendly Beadle and made my way into the edge of town for lunch which comprised one £3:90 worth of Colchester No1 in the rather trendy 'Three Wise Monkeys' 'Tap House.'   Here I was served by an attractive friendly young woman who along with her friend helped lift me out of the soft clinging chairs used to trap folks into staying all night.  At that price right enough I could have bought food!

Staring out the pub window I cogitated on my return to the railway station.  Either through the crowded hot town (always a 'town' here not a 'city' as they wish to keep the dubious accolade of 'England's Oldest Town.'  I decided again my aches crying out to get the bus to wander through the castle grounds, a mistake by the way as it was downhill and I could hardly walk properly as I went down the slope.  Fool that I am!  

After a slog through the uninteresting boring hot streets full of decent houses I took what I considered a short cut and got to the station as quick as if I had gone the other way.  Here announcements informed me as I drank my £2:50 Americana coffee provided by the busy yet friendly lass in the 'Pumpkin' cafe on the platform, that the train was late, very late as it happens, because of signalling problems.  Surely I thought others would also be late until I realised this one came from a different starting point.  'Slow' is a word many of my teachers often used, one or two used other words.  However my carriage arrived as we see here and happily the crowd climbed aboard and I found myself sitting in a suitable seat to get the full benefit of the sun shining through my window, jolly!

 
I have to change trains as on the outward journey and was greatly cheered to find I had arrived seven minutes after my hourly train had departed!  Once again I sat in the sun watching the girls trains go by, once again near to the arrival of my train the repeated announcement that the '15:29 for Colchester Town is running late de to technical difficulties.'  This was running also in front of mine which meant my 15:35 was going to be late as indeed it was becoming the '15: sometime or other' when it arrived.  
I entertained myself by taking pictures of the rabbit in the distance chewing away at the abundance of vegetation on the remains of the one time Maldon line.  No trains here since Beeching and few before that.

The train speedily made it to home arriving at the time he ought to be departing.  I was home by 16:12 aching, hot and bothered, and desperate for food, rest and a massage from an attractive young woman.  One of these has not arrived.
I ache, I was daft in walking so far in the sun, my head is like a beetroot and as hot as an oven, and I am not planning going anywhere tomorrow, bar Tesco that is.  However the change in plans was enjoyable, I love the train!  I met good people, saw interesting things and got out of myself for a while, much needed at that.  So I am pleased but the pictures are snapshots as I was too weary to compose properly and just snapped things I liked.  I missed a great deal.  However it was a good day in the sun.

A Walk in the Sunshine

Last night as I reclined on my bed wondering whether to change the sheets now it was August I decided on a day in Camolodunum (which the spell checker thinks is 'Numerological' for some reason) and so i rose somewhat earlyish and made for the bus station and the 9:20 bus.  
Naturally being me the bus leaves at 9:15, someone has amended the timetables again!   
So thinking clearly I changed my plan and got on the free bus to the shopping centre where I realised my runabout jacket was fine for carrying a camera in the pocket but not for a sun which had decided to shine for once.  We arrived at 9:30 only to find the shops there don't open until ten!
Grrr!  My plan was to look for a sports/dress type jacket to make me look smarter than I was today, and many clearly agreed with this plan.  I glanced at a window or two, a young shop staff member arriving for work or two and got a dirty look or two in response.
I made for the free bus.
However instead of returning home I took another bus, grasping my free bus pass for old people in my hand and we wended our way past the harvested wheat fields, through a village here and a village there and after around an hours quiet tour we arrived in Witham some six miles from home.  A car would have taken the straight road and been there in fifteen minutes.  It was however a good day out, no screaming kids on the bus, the country views were enjoyable as I have not been amongst them for a while and some villages were part of the WW2 research and I saw them close up.

Witham is not a great place to be.  It lies on the road from Camolodunum to Londinium and during the medieval period the Knights Templar who owned the land in the towns original centre in 'Chipping Hill' obtained permission (which means promised taxes to the King) for an Inn and associated buildings on the main road.  This blossomed into the grubby town that stands here today.  Fifty years ago it was not a bad place however the London overspill, trains take an hour to Liverpool Street) meant it grew abundantly and not very nicely with lots of Londoners and their outlook forming the majority of the near thirty thousand populace.   
The 'Spread Eagle Inn' pictured above in a grubby state today has they claim stood here since 1300.  This may well be right, although much of it is 15th century and the Victorians did it up somewhat, and along the road the Town Hall stands where the 'George Inn' stood for several hundred years.  Travellers by foot, horse or coach would find this a suitable stopping place before the railways came. Methuselah Head was publican here in the late 1890's and into the 20th century, that's the sort of name a publican requires!

At first sight it looks like this was once a jolly nice house that has been ruined by changing first into a
shop and then into a bookies!  However while once it may have been a nice house, without water or toilet, it may well have been inhabited by some rough nasty type of whatever 'class.' We alas do not know.  he lived well, the chip shop is next door!

This derelict building was once very grand.  The town found a mineral Spa during the late 1700s and made capital out of this for a while, and the number of late Georgian/ early Victorian buildings lining the High Street indicate money was coming from somewhere but I am not sure where.  Agriculture was certainly big but what industry at that time I have yet to discover.  There are many delightful but now grubby buildings used for purposes other than that for which they were made.

This dwelling like many in these parts appears to be timber and lathe, such a fragile looking building material yet it has stood here since the 14th century like so many others.  I remember it as a book shop a few years ago.

 Witham's most famous resident outwith the English legal system is one Dorothy L. Sayers famous for her detective fiction featuring Lord Peter Wimsey.  These are still popular and have occasionally turned up in TV dramas, possibly they contain too little guns, explosions and naked wimmen for audiences today however.  I did hear on a TV or was it radio programme that she was married to a man who spent his time in the pub down the road crawling home drunk each evening.  Possibly because of her Christian humanism she never divorced him but luckily he died seven years before she did, she died in 1957.  

You would be surprised, if not disappointed, if I omitted the Witham War Memorial wouldn't you?

 The better half of the high Street possesses Georgian and Victorian buildings still in excellent condition costing excellent prices.  I am not quite sure what goes on in this one but it represents many of similar design along the way.  They all possess several steps and a railing or two, usually with a boot scraper alongside.  In the days of dirt roads and nothing much for a pavement such steps were required for the genteel and everybody else.  How mucky must the lobby indoors have been I wonder?  The Greek influenced doorways show the lack of understanding of ancient Greece by those who travelled there on the 'Great Tour.'  They thought all Greek temples were white but most had colours all over the pediments and friezes.  These in this country were always white.  White stone is marvellous in Greece where the sun shines daily, not so marvellous in Edinburgh where the skies are gray and soot from the chimneys turns them black!

 I love finding buildings like these, now commercial I guess they were once houses though it's possible they were used as shops from the beginning of their life one way or another.  A charming short row at the traffic lights where traffic thunders by daily.  Just where you wish to eat lunch.

Luckily I missed my bus.  This meant with time to kill I wandered down an area I had never ventured into before.  This took me along the River Brain and up to the best and oldest part of town.  Here I found this aged bridge and as I attempted to take pictures of the stones a few inches below the surface the dog appeared along with a despairing owner.  On holiday in the south west he got used to going in the water and insisted on doing so here.  When I moved on he was still standing there failing to understand why she wanted him out on a hot day and why she was not joining him in the cool water.  He might still be there.

At Chipping Hill I was almost at the oldest part of Witham.  There was an Iron age fort here in the distant past and from there a market appeared some time later.  I believe 'Chipping' comes from an old word meaning market but the book with the info is in the museum, not here!  Shown is an ancient bridge which carries innumerable traffic daily.  It is a suicide bridge in that only one vehicle at a time can pass and the drivers view is not perfect, indeed neither appears to be the drivers attitudes here.  Coming from this direction has priority but not all understand this.

The church of St Nicolas, note spelling, was built here in the 14th century, that's the 1300's to you.  This reflects the town's wealth by that date, wool mainly until the 1700's, but I suspect a previous church, possibly a Saxon wooden one, may have stood here before.  I was intrigued by this large memorial.  Church graveyards usually have one or two memorials from long ago for those who were great or thought themselves to be great in the land.  Unfortunately I have no idea who he is, and it will be a he.

  

To be honest this building was a wee bit disappointing, it was dark and gloomy inside in spite of the sunshine and had little going for it from my point of view.  I was not even sure what type of Anglican these were.  Clearly set up as Anglo Catholic but without that smell of candle wax so where are they I wonder?  

There is also a candle burning, usually a Catholic thing this as it indicates the wine and bread, the blood and body of Jesus, are kept nearby.  All very confusing, but not so confusing as my camera.  In attempting to convey the proper shades I went from too light to too yellowish, as shown here.  It's al so confusing, especially when getting tired wandering about.

Anglican churches can surprise me and finding two helmets, one 15th C and one 16th C, was a surprise although later I remembered another church has similar.  The 1500's memorial on the far wall had this grisly feature at the bottom.  The writing was a form of Latin so I ignored it!  Many Scots graveyards from that time also feature such reminders of death.  Cheery lot then...

Cheery indeed, here lie, with broken noses, Justice of the Queens Bench John Southcotte 1585, dressed in court dress, alongside his wife Elizabeth (nee Robbins).  I suppose these grandees must have known they were to be perpetuated thus?  With the reformation rising he might have been Roman Catholic and wished for the priests to pray for his soul and this would have been a good reminder.  Had he been protestant, as he should have been, he was just continuing the fashion of important souls everywhere of not being buried at the back of the graveyard amongst the paupers.

The old Iron forge still exists though I doubt you would get much done here today.  Tastefully redesigned for the discerning rich amongst us it stands in the old part of town and probably was in use in the 20th century still.  

"What," I hear you cry,"Is this all about?"
A crummy picture of a railway station with a vast Maltings in the distance?
In fact we are standing on a hill, Chipping Hill to be exact and this there 'ere was once an Iron Age stockade, the origin of Witham.  Built around 100, possibly a couple of hundred years before that, this was once surrounded by two ridges with a wooden stockade all around the core.  Round huts, that could last two or three hundred years, stood in the middle and people went about their business farming, hunting, fighting and watching football on TV.  During the 19th century the Great Eastern Railway, concentrating on reaching to Ipswich and Norwich did not notice the history as they cut through the small hill in front of them.  
I suggest the Iron age dwellings were better than the present London overspill myself.

With 70F degrees of heat upon me, that's about 21C in foreign, and my jacket weighing me down by now I headed for the bus.  A mere ten minutes brought me the way home once again through the narrow village streets with cars thoughtlessly parked where stone headed locals parked them.  Once again the harvested wheat offered a light golden sheen between the greenery, once again I noted the names in the villages.  Jeffery's Road was named after Jeffery's farm that stood here during the war and possibly for thousands of years before that.  Valentine Way in Silver End commemorated the Valentine Crittall of the metal window company of that name who built the village for his workers in its particular design.  

So with this in mind I ask who was this road named after...?

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