Back to Arizona

All good things must come to an end. Yes, there were some things I didn't get to do, but all-in-all a refreshing trip and I have all these images as an aide de memoir.

Yes, sister dear I have all my 'stuff'. One last bit of video of the out of Silver End towards Rivenhall and the Kelvedon turn offThe obligatory shot out of an aircraft window . . . The San Fransisco Peaks above Flagstaff just visible under the murk near the top of the picture.

A last walk with Solo

Compare and contrast an old oak tree still bare on my arrival three weeks ago; and in leaf this evening.
A very pleasant evening after the cloud and rain this morning. Still a bit windy (out of the west 10-15mph?). Current temperature about 45°F. I've mentioned Solo - here he is.

A favourite pursuit is angling and most water in this part of Essex is controlled by the Kelvedon and District Angling Association.

Rainy morning

My last full day. I go into Colchester one more time for a book-browse before returning the car and to make sure there is nothing that I absolutely can not live without; and buy some Pam Ayers poetry for my sister.

I suppose I'd better start packing. Isn't this where we came in?

To East Anglia

I needed to make one last foray into the past after my brief picture-taking visit to Witham this morning. I first arranged to keep the rental car one more day so that I could visit one more tower where I used to ring during the time Kathy was stationed at RAF Lakenheath. I checked on-line (Why didn't I do this before my trip?) to make sure Thursday was still practice night at St Peter and St Mary Magdalene, Fordham. I 'phoned Roger, the Tower Captain, to confirm and let him know I would be there. And so, off I set at about 1pm. Why so early? To do more sightseeing and take pictures. The journey became another pilgrimage, not quite to the sea again, but to Lord Nelson's county to visit England's Nazareth . . . Little Walsingham.

On the way I stopped to take a quick picture of Constable country in Dedham Vale.

The river Stour here forms the natural boundary between Essex and Suffolk. It is very difficult to see in this shot but Dedham church tower is just visible, rising up above the middle of the tree line, in the distance. Much of the vale still offers views that John Constable saw and painted, especially along the river which passes to the north-west of Dedham. It's possible to hire a rowing skiff to row the three or four miles down river to Flatford Mill and Willy Lott's cottage. The river is tidal at Manningtree and flows out to the estuary between Harwich and Felixstowe.

A very fine restaurant, The Talbooth, lies at the Bottom of Gun Hill on the Essex side of the river as you come into Stratford St Mary.

I stopped again in Thetford home of Burrell traction engines, Thomas Paine, St Peter's suffer's from benign neglect (except for the bells).and St Cuthbert's is the parish church where all the action is; priory ruins (not pictured), earthworks and castle mound.Thetford is one of those unsung little towns, possibly because it was one of the 'rotten boroughs'. It is at the centre of the Brecklands, an area roughly bounded by the towns of Swaffham, Watton and Brandon, scrubland mostly given over to forest and a large Ministry of Defence training ground now. It also contains Grimes Graves, flint mines of the stone age. Brandon was main the flint knapping centre of England. View of Thetford town centre from the top of the castle mound. I didn't stop again until I reached the Slipper Chapel outside Walsingham; but I passed many notable sites such as the reconstruction of an Icene village (Boudicca's tribe; I've talked about Colchester without mentioning Boudicca??? Shock-horror) at Cockley Cley. The road offers a fine view of Castle Acre which contains ruins of another priory and a castle built by de Warrenne (I think); the parish church, dedicated to St Andrew, is quite prominent and the 'local' is a popular pub with travellers: The Ostrich.

The road also offers a dramatic view of another imposing church tower at Fakenham, another Norfolk market town. From Fakenham I took the road towards Wells-next-the-Sea, through the Barshams to Houghton St Giles and down a side lane through a ford to the Slipper Chapel and the Roman Catholic shrine of Our Lady of Walsingam. This is where pilgrims would leave their shoes to walk barefooted to the Shrine of Our Lady (St Mary, the Virgin Mother of Jesus, Star of the Sea, Queen of Heaven) who had appeared to a Lady Richeldis in the thirteenth century. Mediaeval England was very much 'into' St Mary the Virgin which is why so many English churches are dedicated to her. I didn't doff my shoes to walk the last mile to the shrine which was probably originally in the grounds of the Augustinian priory of which only the gatehouse, in Little Walsingham High Street, and a portion of the church remain. The Anglican shrine was built in the 1920's and has been a centre of national pilgrimage at Pentecost since.

Of especial interest to me is the Chantry chapel designed by Laurence King and built using, yes, hand-made bricks from W.H. Collier.Pilgrims are accommodated in the hospice,which has grown over the years, and the public is invited to enjoy the gardens which contains the stations of the cross.One natural public place of the village is The Commons. At the other end of the village is Friday Market. There are also Friary ruins, Sunk Road (reported to be haunted) and the fine parish church redecorated by Laurence King after a disastrous fire which gutted the building in the early 1960's. Mmm, I didn't take any pictures of the distinctive flint-and-brick work and the Dutch influenced gable ends . . . I stayed for Mass at the shrine so didn't walk more as time was pressing and I needed to eat and then aim to arrive at Fordham for ringing practice at 7:30pm.

Witham

Prounounced Wittam (or Wi'um, the ' being a glottal stop, in 'Essex-speak') unlike the river in Lincolnshire which isn't.

Fans of Dorothy L Sayers books should know that she lived and died here; it was in front of this house that I was stopped by a plain-clothes policeman in a Wolsey and taken home as he thought I might be running away from home as he'd passed me before walking along the road towards Witham two miles further back by The Fox at Rivenhall End. I was about seven years old.The Town recognised Dorothy L Sayers by naming a few streets after her and erecting this bronze of the lady with her cat Blitz (Thanks for the correction, Ruth. I think I need to get my eyes tested).

What was the cinema remained unused and empty for many years until it was transformed into a library and also contains the Dorothy L Sayers Centre.

The main thoroughfare is Newland Street. Some of the shops I remember from over forty years ago are still in business: Mundy's and Holt the butcher. Julian, my nephew, did a catering internship at the White Hart;

and the George and Red Lionremain but sadly the Spread Eagle, famous for the four gables, is no longer a pub.

Modern Witham grew up away from the mediaeval market town which grew up around St Nicholas' church, Chipping Hill. 'Chipping' is an old term designating a market as in Chipping Norton, Gloucestershire.

Two general views from each side of Newland Street looking towards London.

This is the school in Spink's Lane that I attended from 1962 to 1969.
This brick pedestrian bridge over the river Brain is a quiet corner of Witham below Chipping Hill which has not changed much; but the surrounding housing estate has.

Colchester redux

Anthea took me to lunch at Perry's, a large garden centre/nursery/restaurant in Inworth. Salmon and broccoli pie and jacket (baked) potato. And my American friends must understand that English broccoli is tender and flowery; and one can still buy purple sprouting broccoli, a little more expensive because it is a biennial; therefore less commercially viable.

Whilst Anthea had her afternoon nap I nipped off to Colchester again, I'd seen something in a shop window on one of my previous visits that I just had to buy. And I browsed in a chain bookstore, not half as interesting as Browsers in Woodbridge . . . and bought a couple of books. Paperbacks; not expensive tomes. Another quiet day wondering where the time went . . .

Wild flowers and woodland

I accompanied William walking Solo across the fields, that is on public footpaths around the fields, this morning. In the nearly three weeks I've been here many of the trees have come into leaf and the early spring flowers are dying off.

Catching up

I took a long drive yesterday evening (it's light until nearly nine o'clock) up to Diss, Norfolk by way of the A12 and A140, across the A1066 to Thetford (lost again for a little while) then followed the roads down to Bury St Edmunds (roads all different again) to Sudbury (Ah! no changes to the roads or traffic flow for forty years) The road from Sudbury to Halstead and thence to Braintree is just as hairy (i.e. dangerous!) as when I used to cycle it back in the days when I did a lot of cycling. Many stretches of those roads now have limits of 40 and 50 miles per hour and I obeyed the 30mph limits through villages

I roused myself up this morning wondering what to do and chatted with Anthea; William is on 'lates' this week and lay in bed watching the telly most of the morning. I read and edited yesterday's blog adding a few more pictures. I pondered the things I have not done: the folk festivals I did not get to; the open ringing days I missed; the steam days at railway preservation sites like the East Anglian Railway Museum at Chappel, Essex (Blur's first gig in 1989 I learned from a local paper). I know I'll take this video of the other pond and the top of the garden. The pond contains a variety of fishes: ghost koi, green tench, leather carp and a couple more that I won't attempt to spell.

After lunch I nipped down to Kelvedon to buy tickets for the first night of Kelvedon Players' production of Alan Ayckbourn's How the Other Half Loves. The 'nip' turned into another wander around the village and a visit with Carol and Eva, old friends of Anthea. Carol took me round his collection of Great War and WW2 memorabilia of everyday life displayed in a Quonset hut which used to be on the Rivenhall airfield. Many Americans who served in the bomb groups stationed there have visited, and contributed to, Carol's collections. Off ringing again tonight . . .

Behold, the Sea.

I made a brief pilgrimage to a very special place in Essex today. My longstanding friend Steve came to visit today as he had not seen my sister and William for far too long. Steve just works too many hours repairing boats in a very busy marina on the Orwell estuary outside Ipswich. This machine is his chosen mode of transportation: After profuse apologies for his long absence over a cup or two of tea, we decided on a trip to Burham-on-Crouch, a small town where Steve once lived and worked. I managed not to get lost as I'm in more familiar country; but I did go quite a long way along a very narrow road which became a private road to a farm out on the Dengie Hundreds; making a wrong turn explains that, not getting lost. I was saved from making a bad video clip of part of the journey when the camera batteries died and I had no spares, so we went shopping for batteries so I could continue taking pictures. But I'm getting ahead of myself a little. I can't say I 'know' the country between Maldon and Burnham well but the Althorne bends are legendary in these parts. These are a series of sharp bends right, left, right, left, right, left . . . it's like going up (or down) stairs sideways. We drove along the street in Burnham where Steve used to live and then went down this lane, slowly It's not quite so scary as it looks because it is a one-way street and, as is evident from the SLOW on the road, I wasn't going the wrong way along it. Traffic flows change over the years and I have tried, once so far, to go along a street the wrong way . . . there was nowhere to park so on we went to Southminster and Tillingham on the way to Bradwell-juxta-Mare. Latin attaches itself to some place names for the pedantic e.g. parva, magna, cum; but the common man just says, 'little', 'great' or 'with'.

The weather was a bit blustery with the occasional shower but when we eventually reached the end of the road and parked the car, after my quest for camera batteries, we had arrived here:

I like to say that one can stick a pin anywhere in to a map of England and there will be a wealth of history connected to that spot. Some history is more readily available. St Peter-on-the-wall has connections through St Cedd, the Anglo-Celtic missionary who brought Christianity to the Anglo-Saxons of Essex at the invitation of King Sigbert, with Lindisfarne, off the coast of Northumbria, and Iona, in the Inner Hebrides. Cedd arrived by sea from Lindisfarne in 653 A.D. After the Romans withdrew from the British Isles a mystic but down to earth Christianity was maintained through the great missionary Celtic saints: Aidan, Columba, and Cedd among others. Cedd was one of twelve commissioned by Aidan. The interior now, 'twas bare when I first knew it.I first saw St Peter's from Mersea Island, across the estuary of the Blackwater. It beckoned as only a remote, lonely place can. The chapel was build with material at hand, namely the remains of a Roman fort.
Wild life abounds, mostly a great variety of birds. We walked a long the sea wall. At last I had arrived at the sea, but the tide was out. This video pans from the decommissioned Bradwell nuclear power station, to views of Maldon, the hills (the terminal morraine of the last ice age as our geography master like to remind us) beyond Goldhanger and Tollesbury across the estuary; The Strood; Mersea Island; and Brightlingsea across the Colne estuary and finally the North Sea.

A sailing barge was tacking up the estuary towards Maldon, but my simple camera does not have the telescopic capacity to take a decent shot; this was the best I could manage. Oh, the horizon isn't very straight is it? These pictures only convey a little of the atmosphere of the mudflats, creeks and estuaries of the Essex coastline. No definitive cliffs here declaring, "This is where England begins." Tidal flows are great and low tides expose many miles of sand and mud; when the tide rushes in the unwary can be caught out on the sand banks or mudflats.

I'll find the words to describe these pictures later . . . meanwhile . . . . here are a few more pictures of the flat littoral of Essex depicting Bradwell power station, dramatic clouds and more mud.

Last day in Southampton

Brief trip into Southampton city centre this morning. This being a holiday week-end there were many people about shopping, yes, on a Sunday; used to be unheard of in England. Voyager of the Seas was about to leave from the quay and I snapped a few pictures of the wall and Bar Gate and a couple of plaques on the Jane Austen trail.

Briefly . . .

As one ages one indulges in gentler pursuits. This morning the destination was Winchester by way of Hillier Gardens on the other side of Romsey. Sir Harold Hillier established the gardens in 1953. There are 180 acres to wander on grassy paths through woodland and formal gardens. The magnolia is nearly over; there was plenty of Japanese flowering cherry and the Azaleas and rhododendrons were coming in to bloom in Brentry Woodland . . .

Winchester is a wonderful city famous for the cathedral; the Wessex kings and the round table; and the Winchester Bible. Marion, Des and I made it up the narrowest spiral staircase I've ever climbed, and I've climbed a few with my bell ringing exploits, to the top of the central tower. The bells are left in the 'up' position ready to ring.The ringing chamber.The tour up the tower lasted just over an hour. Another view from atop Winchester cathedral tower looking towards the old city wall and castle. There is a cricket match in progress. Hampshire is the home of cricket, unless you are a Yorshireman, of course.After a cup of tea and scones Des had to visit his favourite antique clock and watch shop . . .

In the evening we went to the Chinese State Circus, in Southampton for just six days, to be entertained with some amazing acrobatics.

Come to the maypole, haste away, for 'tis now our holiday

I expect you may have been wondering what happened to the last day of April? Oxford (and rain) happened; and no access to a computer to edit the blog and upload pictures. . . . . I'm suffering change-ringing withdrawal symptoms. Already? I'm not quite at the sea-side once again. Southampton. A guest at Des and Marion's in Bitterne. I left Silver End for Oxford yesterday morning; this is the car I'm driving

I found my way to Braintree and was promptly mystified by the roads none of which were at all familiar to me. I didn't 'find' myself' and feel confident until I reached Hemel Hempstead and recognized a pub, the Leather Bottle. Ha! I was on the right road. I've noticed that some reliable, sensible pub names have changed. At Aylesbury I followed the signs to Oxford, but I missed Thame . . . oh well. Julian's black cat, Caesar, didn't swear at me when I let myself into the house, I guess he got socialized during his week long stay with Clare's cats and all the coming and going of people at Silver End. First order was tea, as it is everywhere; Then a walk down to the Plain, across Magdelen Bridge

Then right along Long Wall to snap the original Morris works

From there into Holywell

to Broad Street; look at all those bicycles - must be term time.

I resisted the temptation to go browsing in Blackwell's then made my way to Carfax for a trip up the tower to take more pictures in the rain.

As the intensity of the rain increased I made my way past the castle and back around to the bottom of St Aldates to Folly Bridge over the Isis (known everywhere else in England as the Thames) Do you find all these parentheses tiresome? I shall I stop making them if you like. By now the rain was hard enough to dissuade me from walking along the tow path to Iffley lock as my dear sister had suggested; instead I walked in Christ Church meadowson the city side of the river where some fine old cows were browsing. Affixed to the wall behind Merton there is this plaquecommemorating the first 'fire' balloon flight. I arrived back at Princes Street just before Julian left for his evening duty in the kitchen at Lady Margaret Hall (now co-ed). I settled down with bread and strawberry jam and more tea and World Championship snooker from Sheffield Crucible on the telly. Very relaxing. Clare and Robin soon arrive with loot from a shopping trip in Oxford and we settled down to an evening in front of the telly watching the news, Eastenders and My Family; and the Clare let me play with the Wii after she'd had enough of Guitar Hero.

May Day I got up bright and early to go down to the Plain

to hear the choir and bells of Magdelen sing in, and bless, May morning at six o'clock. The bridge was closed, a very unpopular measure to prevent revellers jumping into the shallow Cherwell from the bridge, so I couldnt get into the city. I missed the Morris dancing! The bells rang up in peal but I couldn't hear them very well for the noise of the crowd. I returned to Princes street for breakfast and went to the shop to replenish the larder and buy the morning newspapers before packing ready to set off for Southampton. I miss my trusty navigator (Kathy). After we'd had an initial catching up with our news chat Marion and Des took me to Romsey Abbey church, one of those very large parish churches of cathedral dimensions. We plan a trip to Winchester tomorrow. Stay tuned.

Haven't quite got to the sea yet.

This was more of a rest day taking Anthea to Maldon; and shopping after lunch whilst I took a quick shufty to the quays before going back home by way of Goldhanger with a quick detour to Heybridge Basin.
Probably one of the most photographed and painted views of the quay at Maldon with St Mary's church overlooking the river.

The bridge carrying the road from Heybridge and points north at the bottom of Maldon Hill.

The Old Ship pub (freehouse: meaning it's not tied to, or owned by, a particular brewery) by the lock into the basin. And a view looking downstream on the estuary of the Blackwater towards the North Sea. Very blue isn't it?

William likes to take candid pictures of people . . . easy to do when I'm snoozing.

Crinkle-crankle to treble bob

This was to have been a rest day from my running around the countryside, but guess what, I did some driving around the countryside anyway. I'm sure some of these country roads weren't as narrow when I bicycled along them when I was a boy. And one has the sensation of driving through a green tunnel with the tall, thick hedges on either side of the lanes.

I went on an expedition to snap pictures and visit some structures build with Collier's bricks.For three and a half years after leaving school (What do I do now?) I worked at W H Collier trying to make bricks. Some of the results ended up in this crinkle-crankle (a decorative, wavy wall)

along a road in Great Braxted, Lea Lane. This close up displays something of the variety of colours and the texture of a hand-made brick. Time was when a maker could recognize the bricks he made from their shape and the characteristic face pattern.(Not really; one cheats and looks at the letter on the frog before the brick becomes part of a wall!)

I followed back roads to Wind Mill Hill to a single lane road which has become a farm track, except it is metalled, as it is so little used by general traffic. There is a triangulation point still in a field nearby; a legacy from the days when England was first mapped by the Ordnance Survey. There were bluebells in their natural woodland habitat.

I visited Feering the village where I delivered mail for a while, too, on a push bike. The parish church, now part of the united benefice of Kelvedon and Feering, is dedicated to All Saints. As in so many English church yards, there a is great old yew tree in he churchyard.

And there is a village green with village sign, old telephone box and post box.

I followed part of my route along Goggeshall Road to Feeringbury Manor and turned up another road which is little more than a single track road to Sky Green and Langley Green past Honigals Farm to Great Tey and then to the brick works

in Marks Tey. The brick works was sold by the family that had run it for over a century but still trades under the name W.H.Collier. There are fewer hand-makers now and I met Terry, who is now retired but works a couple of days a week, and reminisced about the 'good' old days when it really was hard, long days. I tried to make decent bricks for three and a half years and worked with Terry then, and we remembered Tadeusz 'Ted' Noremberg the best and fastest maker we knew; he made it look so effortless and his speed came from economy of movement. And we didn't wear gloves then, either.

More place names on the old A12 between Kelvedon and Colchester: Copford, Stanway, Lexden. I came into Colchester and parked at the top of Balkerne Hill opposite the Hole in the Wall, the remains of the Balkerne Gate in the Roman Wall; the Mercury Theatre and Jumbo the Victorian water tower.

My quest was to walk around some more and take a few more pictures and find Jack's (at the end of Long Wyre Street!).

I then took a leisurely wander around the Castle museum which has fun things to do like wearing a replica of a Roman soldier's helmet, hefting mail amour to feel just how heavy it was and draping a toga over your shoulder. There was also an exhibition of etchings and woodcuts by seventeen local artists including James Dodds. That, for me, was a totally restful day completed by ringing a plain course of Kent treble bob on the delightful bells at Inworth in the evening before getting back to Silver End to write this a correct some errors in previous blogs. A writer is his own worst editor.

Good Morning

This is a recuperate day. Being here for such a short time is like changing gears on the fly: I neither live hear nor am I a tourist and the quotidian round is much the same as at home except for the bell-ringing and seeing old friends. I've not posted many pictures of people. I wanted to capture a sense of place; familiar and unfamiliar sights. The smells: the must of woods, the vegetable smell of the blooming oil-seed rape (canola). The feel of a cool misty morning: damp, dewy grass sparkling in the morning sun, soft showers. The sounds of birdsong, children playing in the nearby school, the hum and changing gears of cars, 'planes flying out of Stansted airport, dogs barking, cooing pigeons.

I've not made time to play much music or read; it is enough to stand and stare (and I haven't made much time for that dashing about in a car) I will go and take some pictures of Feering and do a little shopping and browsing in Colchester, maybe stop by the brick works in Marks Tey on the way too . . . so much for having a quiet day.

Colchester redux

I think I'm caught up with time now as I awoke with the birds singing at first light at about five o'clock this morning. I wasn't awake enough to go walking with Anthea this morning so went to buy a paper to have a go at the cryptic crossword puzzle. The cloudy, showery weather which had been forecast for the week-end finally materialised; it had to I was to take Julian (younger nephew) back to Oxford; and it usually rains when I go Oxford, last week being an exception. First I was to meet a ringing friend and her husband who travel to Colchester from Cambridgeshire regularly to visit her parents. We took refuge from the rain in the Minories, a gallery with a refreshment shop at the top of East Hill, Colchester. We then walked around Colchester to some of the less frequented historical places of note in the town like remains of St Botolphs Priory and St John's Gate.

Another of my favourite corners is Scheregate Steps in a passage connecting St Jon's Street with Isaac Walk and Eld Lane. I was disappointed to see yet another pub name change: the Clarence is now the Purple Dog. Scheregate Steps are over the site of part of the Roman wall much of which remains in other parts of the town notably Balkerne Hill where much remains also of a Roman gate into the town and Lower Castle Park. below

There are many formal flower beds in the Castle Park but the daffodils and hyacinths are over and the roses (for which Colchester was once famed) will not be blooming for another month or so but the tulips were in full bloom.
The remains of the Norman keep are massive. It is build partly on the foundations of a Roman temple.


Hollytrees houses a museum of childhood. A rather elegant brick building. I like brick building because I hand-made bricks at one time . . . The Dutch quarter is also a quiet area off the High Street that is worth exploring on foot. East Stockwell below and West Stockwell below left streets . . .

To the sea . . . almost.

I slept well after yesterday's festivities and dressed hurriedly to join Anthea, my sister, walking Solo across the fields. This is routine and the walk follows public footpaths around the fields of the farmland surrounding the village. Another beautiful day despite forecasts predicting cloudier weather with a 10% chance of rain showers. After breakfast I took myself off to Woodbridge to see one of my longstanding friends Steve. He's lived and worked around Woodbridge and East Suffolk for well over twenty years now. After the obligatory cup of tea and a catch up chat with ours 'doings' since we last talked in person eleven years ago we took a long walk around the beautiful town of Woodbridge. I'd already taken a tour by car as I could not find my way to Steve's bachelor pad forgetting I had to make a complete turn around a roundabout (Am. Eng. = traffic circle) to make the turn into Haugh Lane off which he lives so I ended up in Melton, realized my mistake headed back to and through Woodbridge and this time I reached Martlesham before turning back and finally asking a young man for directions. No, I don't need satelite navigation thank you very much and I do think I have a fairly good sense of direction it's just my memory that's a little faulty sometimes.

Many local pubs are struggling to stay open and nearly all serve good food to help make ends meet. This is the Angel just off the Market Square where sits the Town Hall and another fashionably popular pub.
Two views of Woodbridge Shire Hall.

Just off Market Hill is the parish church dedicated, as so many churches were in mediaeval times, to St Mary. The imposing tower houses ten bells the tenor weighing about 25cwt. And, yes, I have rung at a practice night there many years ago. I know, I know the tower appears to be toppling over backwards . . .

One of the pleasant shopping streets; this one is very pleasant as Browsers is on this street . . . yes, a book shop!

Woodbridge is a wonderful example of an English country town. It sits at the head of the estuary of the river Deben. The tide-mill is a famous landmark on the waterfront near the quay. The town was bombed by a zeppelin in the Great War (WW I) and many American servicemen from the nearby bases knew the town well.
A typical street of cottages

The Wilford Bridge, a pub just outside Woodbridge on the road to Orford, where we stopped to eat. Adnam's is a local (Southwold) well known brewery



Two views of the Ore from the quay at Orford. Henry II built a castle here; there are fine views from the top of the keep.

Clare's Wedding Day

The day finally arrived . . . so did the Rolls . . .

Clare and her mother (my dear sister) worked hard preparing for this day.

Not the best snap but the ceremony was over; the register signed and witnessed . . .

. . . the pot-pouri confetti tossed . . .

. . . and the last picures taken at Colchester Castle Park . . .

. . . then back to Silver End to eat drink and play . . .

More ringing at Dickleborough, Norfolk this evening. Managed a couple of touches of plain bob minor and followed some Cambridge surprise minor . . . Got a bit lost with all the new roads on the way but it took only an hour to drive back to Essex. Another day done but with not much to say for myself.

Peggles and primroses

Took the dog for a walk this morning and came across lots of cowslips but I didn't have the camera with me so back I went to snap them after reviewing how to get the camera into macro mode.

Then I had the idea to snap the primroses in the cemetary at Kelvedon before they are over.

There were a few bluebells, too.

No pictures.

A day to recuperate after wandering across London yesterday. So I read what the paper's had to say about Alistair Darling's budget; murdered some music on the treble recorder (had to bring something to play as I don't have the dulcimer); went to the bank for some money (no, it wasn't a hold up); and I finally plucked up the courage to go hire a car so I don't have to rely on other people to ferry me about the countryside. It's a Vauxhall Astra. I was a bit nervous about driving here again and kept telling myself, "Keep left; look right. Look right; keep left."

So off I went bell-ringing again this evening. Tollesbury, a village at the end of a series of creeks on the mud-flats between Maldon and West Mersea; or if coming by land at the end of a twisty-turny country road; why are Essex roads so twisty-turny? Because the navvies that built 'em kept their backs to the everchanging wind. Then a whole string of village names comes to mind so indulge me whilst I list them as some of the names evoke Essex for me: Feering, Inworth, Messing, Tipree, Tolleshunt Knights, Tolleshunt D'Arcy, Salcott-cum-Virley, Goldhanger, Wigborough, Peldon . . .

. . . I'd met the captain of the Tollesbury ringers at Kelvedon on Tuesday and she invited me to come ring on their practice night. Tollesbury have a light ring of ten bells, tenor a shade over 7cwt or about 800lbs don't ask me to convert to kilos. Compare this to the original six at Kelvedon where the treble (or lightest bell) was 7cwt and the tenor (the 1951 Festival of Britain bell) just over a ton or about 2240lbs. Now I've been invited to ring at Inworth on their practice night next week. The drive back from Tollesbury was fun. The art of driving from the 'wrong' side of the car on the left side of the road soon came back to me, after all I did learn to drive that way.

Tomorrow we'll be busy preparing for the wedding . . .

Oliver!

Griffin guarding the city boundary on the Embankment

London is a short train ride away. My, how things have changed. Well, what did you expect? London is still noisy and crowded and the buildings are even bigger, except those around St Paul's Cathedral thank goodness, but the characteristic smells are gone. Sadly, I feel none of the excitement I had as a child when going to London and I never worked there. Most memories are of church-crawling . . .

St Ethelberger's, Bishopsgate, is one church that I have fond memories of when I served at a High Mass there in the 'sixties. Fr Norman Small was the celebrant. The church was severely damaged by a terrorist bomb but has been beautifully restored.

St Paul's Cathedral from the South Bank near the Millennium Bridge.

Oliver! The show was brilliant; had me in tears . . .

Follow the Blue Line.

Another day travelling; this time a quick trip to Oxford. Well, not so quick really as the M25 was a little busy on the return trip. I had to take a picture of my birthplace, our house in the middle of the street, a 1930's semi-detatched ('duplex' in American English); and pictures of a copper beech; a tall horse-chestnut tree; the Cherwell in University Parks and South Park from the top of which many paintings and photographs of 'this city of dreaming spires' have been made.

I'm still trying to get the hang of taking pictures with this camera and am not taking the time to adjust quality and size; bear with me . . .



Made it home in time to ring, which brings us to 'The Blue Line'.

123456
214365
241635
426153
462513
645231
654321
563412
536142
351624
315264
132546

135264


Tower bells are rung full circle, that is each pull of the rope swings the bell 360° 1234546 is rounds. When calls are made only adjacent bells can change places: e.g. 124356. When ringing a method (the example is one lead of Plain Bob Minor) more than one pair of bells may change places. Copy the example and with a blue coloured pencil trace the path of one number. If you use 6 the result will look like a wide V on its side. 6 ends at the bold number five position. This is one twelve change lead. Trace the path followed by number five and note the position it ends at (3) and repeat (2 then 4) and four ends in position number six where you started. Link the blue lines into one continuous line of fives leads and the result shows the pattern of the number six bell through a plain course of plain bob minor. In the video example the conductor calls, "Go bob doubles" this is the signal for the first five bells to begin ringing the changes of plain bob doubles. 'Doubles' refers to five bell methods; 'minor' to six; 'triples', seven; ten bells is 'royal' and twelve, 'maximus'. Unfortunately you can only see the 3,4,5 and sixth (tenor) which always rings in last place or 'drums' in this video.

Plain bob doubles:

12345 6 behind is understood.
21435
24153
42513
45231
54321
53412
35142
31524
13254
13524

England day three

I am still catching up with time; it is 22:00hrs (10:00pm)local time (2pm AZ time) and I am still wide awake even after having a good stroll around Kelvedon again; this time with a camera!

Before setting off for Kelvedon I spent a leisurely morning reading the 'quality' newspapers.

Here are a sampling of the pictures I took in Kelvedon and Feering this afternoon.

The Sun Inn, Feering, just across the river Blackwater which is the village boundary.

below:A nesting swan near Grey's Mill, Kelvedon.

This is a very oblique view of the house in which I grew up.

There were just too many parked cars to take a decent shot.

The infamous Angel Corner (which is actually a double bend) now known as St Mary's Square. Viewed from London Road looking towards Colchester.

A morning walk

A typical Essex green lane with hawthorn hedges; below: blackthorn blossom.

I didn't get up early enough (jetlag?) to walk the three miles to my old parish church. My sister took me in the car and I arrived as the Eucharist began. Afterwards I strolled through the village, stopping now and then to reminisce about the shops and pubs which are no more, along the High Street and back "the fields way" by the railway. I called in on an old friend and chatted.

I did some more walking when I returned to my sister's. The blackthorn is blooming. Blackbirds and thrushes singing and I heard a skylark.

And the front garden featuring a pink magnolia. Right: Ornamental cherry in the grounds of the primary school, Silver End.

First day

First pictures of my sister's garden. Daffodils and green, oh so green, grass; one of the ponds, but you can't see the koi.

The flight from Phoenix was a little delayed . . . and delayed again. Darkness. I fancied we flew over the White Mountains and the lights down there were Show Low . . . Slept fitfully; glimpses of the Canadian tundra as the light strengthened; Atlantic obscured by clouds; landfall southern Ireland, Inch and the Kerry; the Irish Sea and the Wales; adjusting to the changes in air pressure as we descended following the M4, Windsor Castle, final approach over Houndslow and then touched down and taxied to the infamous Terminal 5 at about 14:25 local time. I felt a little like I was an extra in a sci-fi movie - shuffling along with the crowd (er . . . fellow travellers) in this disorienting building: upstairs, down escalators, whisked along in driverless shuttle train (mag-lev?), finally to the border and baggage claim.

Is England shrinking? Don't answer that; it's only my perception after being gone for so long. Green grass, rape in bloom, and the blackthorn! Hedges where I didn't remember seeing hedges before. The M25; the A12. Roads so narrow; the speed limit is what?

Each visit England becomes a little more exotic, and me native born. I hanker to do the things familiar to me in another life, catch up with good, life long friends . . .

Travel day one

I'm packed. Oops no I'm not . . . Jasper Snowden's DIAGRAMS; follow the blue line . . . I'll reveal the answer to that riddle later, eh, eh.

It's a four to five hour drive from here to Sky Harbor Airport (PHX)

Got a few last minute errands to run here first