Previously on the Essex Way Walk
Wandering along a metalled track with trees either side there is quite a commotion to my right. From the undergrowth emerges a deer. It drops onto the road and springs into the undergrowth of the bank opposite. I am more startled than the deer, the dogs are slack jawed in amazement. It was great to see this animal if only fleetingly, knowing it is there somewhere in the wooded area is a good feeling.
Probably something to do with Langham Hall which is somewhere beyond the trees.
All along this section of the walk there are houses dotted in the most unlikely of places (there seems to be some sort of ornamental weathervane competition going on in these parts). They somehow fell out of step when the rest of us were marching towards progress. Again lovely to know they are there and long may they stand isolated or huddled in pairs for protection, inhabited and happy.
Just the fact these places exist hidden and almost forgotten puts a grin on my face.
Langham Church appears, everything a village church should be, although it lacks a village. Well nevermind, you cannot have it all.
Just within the church wall some leaning gravestones drip Victorian sentimentality. They can be excused doing so, many mark the graves of people buried in their 20’s and 30’s by broken hearted parents.
Jeremiah Henry Downes is an example:
Mourn not for me my parents dear
I am not dead but sleeping here
Like a flower so fresh and green
I was cut down and no more seen.
He died on 3rd Jan 1885, Aged 27.
There is always a pause for reflection and it is always uncomfortable.
Within the confines of the church wall is a small building with a big plaque upon it. The inscription explains the building was put up in 1832 for the express purpose of instructing the poor girls of the parish in the ways of the Church of England. And between church services for the reception of the poor and infirm. It also instructs that the Rector should examine both children and teacher.
Today it has the less impressive plastic sign screwed to the door telling us we are no longer allowed to smoke in the building. I don’t think anyone would want to enter it really, as the frosted window allows us the view of an industrial sized bin in which does not seem capable of holding all the crud.
The final strange detail of this building is, it has a letterbox.
So the parish was large enough to have poor girls in number enough to need a building along with poor and infirm cluttering up the place between services.
When I came walking back this way the stone slabs of the Lych gate was strewn in confetti. Someone had just got married. It lifted the previous impression the church had left on me and I was glad of it.
On past Primrose Wood.
One of the small roads we cross is the very improbably names Sky Hall Hill. I was inordinately pleased to see this place as one of my most current pastimes is plugging odd street names into google maps to see if they are unique or not (or at least if google maps knows of more than one occurrence of the name). I was pleased to know Sky Hall Hill is unique in the world of street names.
Essex is not known for its gradients so presumably the merest hint of elevation is cause for over celebration, but this does strike extreme. No sign of Sky Hall, but Sky Hall Cottages stand just a way up the road. This is an area dotted by Halls and the old money they represent.
With old money is usually old ways and an understanding of the environment in which they are stewards of. This is perhaps an oversimplification but also there are some barn conversions along this bit of the path.
Despite the fact these people live in barns it looks like they have quite an attitude about it. It feels like stockbroker belt money has enabled them to do it. Signs are everywhere with upstart notions of what they consider are their rights, push button access and ludicrous gates with power assisted shutting mechanisms fail to block old rights of way. The inhabitants of these places seem to be at war with the very countryside their money has allowed them to move into.
Old money does not make as much noise.
In sharp contrast is a newly thatched barn, it looks splendid, long may it serve its purpose, a sharp contrast to the barn conversions.
Two hares were playing in the field. This was a day of wildlife and I added them to my image collection along with a number of butterflies which were kind enough to sit still long enough for me to take images of them.
The little village of Boxted sits in my direct path.
Like so many villages it has lost its school. A church funded school, it is very small, very forlorn and very for sale. The sign noting it has permission as housing. There is something sad about the closing of these seats of learning. It knit the community together for a long time, a school by the church in a wooded lane. There was an entire continuity of life right there. Broken now and will not be mended.
When I was there gardeners were hard at work in the graveyards of the church.
Moving along I became aware of a considerable “swooping” noise. I looked up to see an ugly wind generator. It is the first indication of Carters Vineyard, for four pounds you can take a self-guided tour of the place. A large ugly sign boasts this achievement as well as trumpeting its alternative energy scheme. I had just seen that for free, I averted my eyes in case I had self-guided myself into some sort of fee paying requirement.
More signs warning me of nebulous dangers I had no interest in exploring in the first place, but it was nice to know they had erected fences and put up signs to warn me in case I took leave of my senses and wandered aimlessly off a well defined path. Signs are very clearly the modern equivalent to territorial pissing just usually not as pleasant and less informative.
With a bit more wandering to reach Great Horkesley outskirts, this section of the Essex Way was completed. It was more than time to strike out for home.
In total I was to walk 17miles before I returned to that oddly fractured memory-scape of Dedham and just because a quick picture of clouds for Constables sake.
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In the next instalment things don’t go entirely to plan.
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