As always my ideas were good. I would venture out to Lexden, wander through the park to the 'earthworks' and find if I could a way to the tumulus where an Iron age King, possibly Cunobelinus is buried. Naturally wandering about in the Bluebell filled woods was a delight, especially as few were about, yet it was not possible to find my way to either object I sought. The earthworks was behind a fence somewhere in the woods and it was not clear how to get onto the path behind the tumulus, so I let the king sleep and wonder if there was in fact a second way into the woods which I did not find. I did however pass three bags standing alone at one point. Either someone was hiding nearby or they were transported by aliens as they passed through the woods though why anyone would carry three such bags through the woods was unclear.
Lexden was a mere village for many years and was referred to as 'Lassendene' in the Domesday Book but was of little importance until the rich Victorians from Colchester a mile to the east moved here to build big houses and enjoy clean air. Nothing but agricultural work in the rolling hills of the area. Today's large fields are ploughed, seeded by tractor and machinery while in days of yore hard work for the man ploughing with oxen on such hills and then while harvesting later in the year.
Clearly some had been making money fro many years before that time, and being on the main road there was naturally a 'Toll booth' to extract money from passers by and to help maintain the roadway, when they got around to that. The resplendent house had the name 'Weavers' on the door but this does not look like a weavers type of home. He may of course have made his money and employed workers elsewhere, there were lots if such in this area.
The churchyard and the woods teemed with Bluebells. Masses of them crowded together under the towering trees. Few creatures more however, a few birds flitted among the trees rushing about to feed themselves as they produced eggs and a single squirrel avoided me in a hurry and raced up a nearby tree.
This hill, along with a dead tree and what looks like blocks once used to stop tanks during world war two were ideal playmates for the males of the area. A nearby tree had an improvised ladder which would have been brilliant had I been a few years younger! A great place for kids.
Many such trees were all around some around four hundred years old, coppiced by the looks of it for much of that time. When the rich moved out this area must have been roped off for the 'Lexden Park House' built at the far end, no poor peasant would be gathering firewood from here then.
With a wood, a pond and ducks to feed plus acres to run around in this must be a marvellous place during the summer months for kids. If all this belonged to one family it must have taken an army of cheap workers to maintain the grounds.
In case there were no ducks or geese around someone has placed four large geese in this corner alongside a tree trunk shaped like a human. The ducks and one solitary wary Canada Goose sitting close by did not show any appreciation of the artwork to my knowledge.
During the English Civil War (why call it 'civil' when so many died?) Lord-General Thomas Fairfax camped his men here while he laid siege to Colchester. To the east lie 'Hilly Fields' which appear to contain much woodland now, but which gave a good view of Colchester defences a mile further east. A cannon from the town caused many casualties among the Parliamentarian forces until similar weapons were brought up to demolish the battlements the cannon was based on. I wonder whether Fairfax used the 'Sun Inn,' now a private house but since the 1500s a busy tavern or whether he imposed himself on 'Weavers' over the way? Boudica did similar before destroying Colchester a few years before this. She gathered her troops around this area and then trashed the town.
St Leonard's Church, St Leonard was patron of prisoners apparently, was built and remodelled during the 19th century. Some form of church building had begun sometime in the 12th century but this small agricultural village had little wealth and even by the 1600s the building was in poor condition. The present church, of the Liberal Catholic tradition, whatever that is, however is in fine condition and expanding to enable facilities for more to attend their business. A bit too 'High Church' for me but a pleasant place to sit and talk to Jesus after wandering through the woodland. It is always good to find such a church open, too many thieves force the buildings to be kept locked much of the time unless someone is attending them.
I found it interesting that in spite of the war memorial on the main road there were no individual war graves to be found. It is possible I missed them, churches tend to let the grasses grow around this time of year to benefit the wildlife which struggle with the loss of farmland and the concreting of front gardens for car parking. There were several gravestones indicating some of the people who resided here had held important posts during the 'Raj' and wished their grave to reflect their position. How strange that class is reflected even in death. However the Braintree weavers Courtaulds would have been pleased as the funerals would have been attended by many leading ladies wearing, and outdoing one another, with black dresses made from the Black Crepe which their local mills manufactured.
'Spring Lane' now a quiet side street as the new bypass has taken almost all traffic away offered some delightful cottages, once farm labourers homes now owned by those who can afford half a million I suggest. The influence of Flemish weavers can be seen on many houses in Essex, their 'Dutch Roof' is a common sight here. The Victorian semi detached would have been admirable for the farm hand as his several children, two up and two down and an outside loo to yourselves. I particularly liked the old street lamp being used at the side of the house. The locals have put the old horse trough to good use. Turning what could become an eyesore into a delightful piece of road furniture.
Waiting on the bus outside what once was the workhouse. This was built on Jeremy Bentham principles it seems to me. Four winds reached out from the centre, from here the men in charge could looked down each wing without having to change his position, 'Strangeways Prison' in Manchester was built on similar proposals. The whole is surrounded by buildings forming a circle with the entrance, for the nice people at the front, I suspect inmates went in the back! The building is seen on the 1877 map and now of course has been transformed into flats. I wonder what stories could be told...?
Morning arrived quite early today as it often does. The early sun inspired me so much that long before eight I was engaged in exercising my knees to a painful level. The stretching ensured that I had therefore to sit and ache for a while before stuffing myself with peanut butter covered brown (organic) bread before realising this was not the best option.
In an effort to avoid stiffening up I went for a walk down the hill. Here stand houses dating back to the 13 -1400s. This one stands close to a similar effort that forms the back end of a house on the corner. I suspect that these once served workers from the nearby fields or possibly in the many weaver connected trades that flourished down this street. I also suspect that once these had thatched roofs and were not so dainty as they now appear. I suspect also they cost less that the vast price they go for today.
Street Details
Essex houses, made of timber and plaster, often have patterns such as this on the walls sometimes covering the entire wall. Whether the design has any significance I cannot say having found no information of the houses I pictured. How long they have been there is also hard to tell. These building go back several hundred years and have found many uses, Inns, weavers, dyers, various cloth trades (the 'Bays and Says' of the Flanders folk who worked here in the past were famous. No one receiving these goods checked them as they knew they would be correct and they would not be cheated.) and of course one pub remains but the shops have gone with the weavers and their cloth.
This fellow and his mate has been gracing the doorway off 'Wentworth House' since the 17th century but the house itself probably began back in the 1400s. Over the years, as with all the others, it has spread from a mere hall, added rooms, workrooms and then another storey on top and until quite recently was in a mess. Restoration has given someone an expensive but historical work of art.
The smaller houses go back a bit also, these have interesting but not always genuine ancient items upon them. Genuine in age maybe but possibly in some cases recovered from elsewhere. This is one of three in a row, well decorated, brightly painted and costing a small fortune with a very busy main road outside the window. Why do people buy there?
My limbs told me to head homeward so I eased my eyes by bathing them in greenery by the river. This is a well kept spot but someone had chucked some files away at one place. I was tempted, not to greatly, to jump in and seek my fortune but managed not to.
Someone has been tending these trees for many years but I know not who. This was merely a place for the river to overflow (sorry Texas) and now contains recent housing costing just under half a million. I am sure they all have a stock of sandbags at the rear nowadays.
The reflection makes this picture a bit abstract and it takes some looking to understand it. Lovely and quiet today, no kids yelling, no couples groping, no passers-by, just the birds and the slow flowing river. Flowing so slow I thought it had stopped. Recently there has been a plan to put a number of (expensive) houses across the other side. This has caused upset and will certainly spoil this walk and the view over the other side. Money however speaks volumes!
This is what happens when thistles explode! So be careful when passing them.
Having exercised, walked, eaten and slept I now sit here aching all over wondering why I bothered! Tomorrow it is museum day and the last week of the holidays. I expect thousands will come in tomorrow and many mums begin to long for the peace and quiet next week. I will be longing for it also by lunchtime!
Before the rain clouds gathered, and then failed to gather, I walked down to the pretty bits. I didn't mean to but got distracted after I met an old friend who has been gone from here for a while. By gone I mean he got himself into one of those corners life throws up and sought a way out. Being an employee of Royal Mail entitled him to search all RM jobs and he found one he fancied, in the Shetland Isles! Quite what brought that on I have no idea but his move has been a success for him. Obtaining one of the easiest jobs available and picking up a woman at the same time. Excuse me while I look up the dole office there online.Anyway as I was gibbering I was distracted by our talk and instead of the healthy walk down that way past the rich folks new houses and up past the age old houses containing the rich who moved there to be with their own kind in spite of the cost and the heavy traffic outside their window, I ended up in a wood! I sauntered down over the remains of a stile, damaged beyond repair by twenty years worth of 'youth traffic' headed for the nearby college, greeted a surly, imitation middle class artisans family as they, well she, struggled to cycle up a slope while nursing whatever bad mood had dominated their morning, and decided to wander past the 'burn' they call a 'river,' rather than the moneyed classes dwellings. Now being brought up overlooking the Firth of Forth a 'river' to me is something that is two miles wide and full of shipping. This one is a dozen or so yards across and slower than my mother in a Post Office! Now this is nice, and not to be sneered at, but really, is this a true 'river?' Ptah! Having had no breakfast to speak off (lies all lies) I was reluctant to wander far as I knew the path could go on for ever! Folk have been known to wander there for a picnic and never been seen again! I swear there is a platoon of Japanese soldiers who are still fighting the second world war there! Anyway I wandered around in the mirk for a short while.Now to return to my theme. I was alone! Nobody else moved. Nothing could be heard but the slow gurgle of water trickling, the birdies twittering and pages yesterdays papers some lout had deposited here and there rustling in the bushes. What does it require for someone not to realise that old papers, plastic bags and empty beer tins do not add to the beauty of the woodland? I asked a passing Mallard if the paper was his but he denied it. That apart the sounds were country like and enjoyable. However I was alone and as often happens, maybe because I read the papers to much, I began to wonder. I wondered what others thought if they saw me walking alone in a wood? I often pass a primary school when going along the old railway and half expect the neurotic mums to start screaming as I pass, alone. Now if I sat alone by a river bank with a fishing rod and stared into space nobody would ask a question, just a man fishing. However, if I sit alone by a river bank I get funny looks. A single man is not there to enjoy the nature around him, he is up to something! Other men often confess the same fear and it annoys me. When I was young we were told if something happens, get help from an adult. While were were warned about 'strange men' it remained an instruction to ask an adult, either sex, if there was a problem. Do kids get told this today? If a five year old lad fell over would I pick him up, cuddle his tears away, and set him on his road? Would I not be more likely to pass by in case a neurotic woman with short hair and dangling earrings came rushing out shouting 'Pervert!' If that happened I confess I may well murder her I must say.I realise some women feel hesitation in walking alone in some areas and at awkward times, but at least they never have the fear of being classed as a paedo! I suspect that fifty years ago there were proportionately just as many paedos around as today, but the fear is greater! The press are much to blame by screaming headlines, and government, national and local, just as much to blame by not offering an objective overview and proper judicial care. Our council rehoused a paedo a few years ago, his new place was opposite a children's playground! A small thing and I have never actually ran into trouble like this, but it is always a thought at the back of the mind. In fact some years ago at Pool Harbour they had a stall enabling kids to go 'crabbing.' While most gathered around the hut one lad, about nine year old, separated himself from the bustling mob, a leader of the future I reckon. As I passed he spoke, wanting me to be impressed with his considerable catch. Indeed I was and told him so, with one eye on the folks in the distance awaiting his boxer dad rushing over and planting me a thruppenny one! This did not happen but it was in my mind. I am in danger of becoming as neurotic as the readers of the 'Daily Mail!'
