Around Britain

Travelled from Fenchurch Street on a Day Return to East Tilbury. Alighted at Tilbury Town and set off to Tilbury Docks Station. Went wrong and had quite a detour before returning to the river at Tilbury Fort. Apparently this was where Queen Elizabeth gave her inspirational address to the troops before the Armada.

I hugged the coast past a power station and walked alongside East Tilbury Marshes. Parts of this area seemed to have been used for tipping rubbish in the past. I saw someone digging among mounds of earth. There were lots of bottles but they didn't look worth digging for. It was a superb day and I saw some large boats on the Thames.

I passed Coalhouse Fort and looked across to Coryton and Canvey. A shimmering muddy beach stretched way out into the stream. A large flock of birds flew at the water's edge just above ground level. From a distance they looked as if they had discovered a new means of locomotion, skimming over the earth's surface.

I intended to turn on a public footpath level with the northern extremity of East Tilbury and thereby reach East Tilbury Station. Unfortunately I went too far and came into Mucking Marshes. I entered a land fill site and had to climb a couple of fences to reach a road. The path had petered out. A Land Rover pulled up beside me and a sour looking man asked “Who are you?” I was clearly trespassing but I didn't think my identity relevant. However, this man looked extremely unfriendly so I thought it best to humour him and gave my name. He said that the site was dangerous and that he would have to drive me to the gate. I got in and endured the company of this implacable man. He was taking himself and my misdemeanour far too seriously even after I explained my innocent mistake. I suggested that a notice on the shore indicating that the area was private might stop people inadvertently straying onto the site.

I had to hike along a narrow road for a couple of miles before reaching the station. I was out for 3 hours nine minutes.

At Fenchurch Street I bought a Day Return to Stanford-le-Hope. I alighted at East Tilbury to resume where I left off last week. At the entrance to the land fill site from which I was ejected last week, I saw that it was run by Cory Environmental. That is a division of the company which employed my father for his entire working life.

At Mucking village I took a footpath just beyond the church through Stanford Warren Nature Reserve. A notice informed me that this was the largest Phragmite reed bed in Essex. The reeds had a ragged top quite unlike the neat busby tops of bull rushes. There were a number of lakes under the jurisdiction of Shell Angling Club. Beyond these I came onto an embankment. This ran alongside Hassenbrook and looked out over Mucking Flats towards the Estuary where a large container ship was passing by. Ahead I could see the beginning of the vast oil refinery at Coryton. This was too far for me today, so I took the road turning back towards Stanford-le-Hope where I caught the train back to London. I was out for just 1 hour 33.5 minutes.

The long break was enforced by the foot and mouth restrictions. Much of the countryside was closed down for a while in an attempt to contain the disease. It's been open now for months but I just got out of the habit of Around Britain. I was all set to resume in September when the terrorist attack on the World Trade Centre made me hesitate. The next section circumnavigates the Coryton Oil Refineries.

Caught 1220 at Fenchurch Street for Stanford-le-Hope. Strange encounter on train as I waited for it to start. A young man sprayed the compartment with a strong smelling substance. I asked him whether he was killing insects but apparently it was perfume. He wanted me to watch his jacket, cassette player and a bag containing his other possessions whilst he went out for a smoke on the platform. As the time for departure approached I just knew he was going to miss the train leaving me with the responsibility of dealing with these articles. I cracked, and opened the door to suggest he got back on board. He thanked me and said he thought the train was not due to leave for at least another five minutes. He then told me about himself at some length. He was a boy soldier following his father into the service. He was now 22 and had just left the Army after six years with arthritic knees. He worked as a security guard earning £5.30 per hour normal rate and £7.50 night rate. I suggested that this job gave him plenty of time to read books but he said that didn't really interest him. In any case he had to spend most of the time watching screens. He lived in Portsmouth with his wife and daughter and was visiting his family and friends in Essex for the first time since he joined the Army. He was attending college to study Maths and English for his GCSEs. He wanted more interesting work but didn't want to travel that much because of his family. He had obtained an HGV licence in the Army but didn't really want to drive a lorry. At West Ham station he became animated. Apparently he supported a football team of that name. He showed me a West Ham badge on his shirt and the tattoo on his arm reflected the same theme. I did not volunteer any information about myself nor did he evince the slightest interest in that subject. He departed the train at Grays saying that he had enjoyed our conversation.

At Stanford-le-Hope I set out resolutely for the oil refineries scanning the skies for rogue aircraft. I crossed a private railway line which probably served the refineries. The path took me onto saltings on the estuary side of the protecting wall. Quite soon the path was blocked and I had to retrace my steps. My map showed a public right of way all the way round the refinery but it looked as if this had been closed some time ago.

A path took me through Corringham and Fobbing but I couldn't find the path across Fobbing Marshes. I walked by field edges and the odd farm track towards the railway and road visible ahead. Near the railway there were way marks but these led me into an overgrown field where the nettles attacked my bare legs. The long grass concealed tightly packed mounds of vegetation and I nearly sprained my ankle in the gaps between. A phantom path brought me to a corner of the field where the undergrowth seemed impenetrable. I did not want to turn back so I tried to smash my way through with a stick. The stick was rotten and soon broke. None of the sticks I found lasted much longer but I was progressing towards an open field beyond the thicket. Then I espied black water beneath the tangled nettles and brambles. This defeated me and I turned back. Eventually I found a crossing over the railway. I walked alongside a dual carriageway for a while until I found a path to Pitsea Station where I caught the train back to Fenchurch Street.

I was out for four hours and had very little progress to show for it.

There was no one to sell me a ticket at Fenchurch Street Station so I walked through the open barrier. No one asked to see my ticket on the train and there was no one at Pitsea Station nor any barrier. It is a strange aspect of ticket pricing policy that a return often costs little more that a single. I was not therefore tortured by guilt when I purchased a single back to Fenchurch Street from Leigh.

My path never strayed far from the railway line all the way from Pitsea to Leigh. I passed St Margarets Church and saw that a notice had been pinned to the door. It invited whoever had enquired in 2000 or 2001 about a wedding at the church in 2002 should ring a certain number urgently. At Benfleet Station I could see the road across a narrow creek leading onto Canvey Island. I was not sorry that I was able to ignore it and pass on. I proceeded on a raised track with Benfleet Creek to my right and a drainage channel to my left with the railway beyond. Further away the land rose up towards Hadleigh concealed behind a ridge. The tower of an otherwise ruined castle stood on this rising ground. I passed between Hadleigh Marsh and Two Tree Island. Ahead, Leigh remained in view long before I reached it and the station was on the near side of the town.

Today's section took me 2 hours 10 minutes.

Again I made for Fenchurch Street. This time I bought a Day Return Leigh-on-Sea although I had to wait until I reached my destination before being able to do so. The ticket office at Fenchurch Street was closed as it was last week.

Today took me through a substantial conurbation – Southend and its environs. I started on the western edge (Leigh) and ended at the eastern (Shoeburyness). The area is served by no less than 7 stations – Leigh-on-Sea, Chalkwell, Westcliff-on-Sea, Southend Central, Southend East, Thorpe Bay and Shoeburyness.

The day was as perfect as it could be for mid-October. The resort was caught unawares by this. Everything had been made ready for the off-season. The beach huts were padlocked, the tea rooms and fish and chip cafes were closed, many of the shops had their shutters down and most of the toilets announced that they had been closed since 1st October. And yet this day was finer than many a one in high summer. It was not hot certainly but warm enough for clothes to be shed and for many to stroll along the promenade. The tide was in and I looked across the widening estuary to Sheppey and the Isle of Grain. Someone was sufficiently beguiled by the conditions to go out on a jet ski. Later I saw the odd beach hut opened up and people making tea in the small kitchens. They sat outside in their deck chairs, warmly clad, mug in hand, not deceived by the weather but prepared to take advantage of the year's late flourish.

I concluded that this was the best time of year to see Southend. The fun fair and shops at the foot of the imposing Palace Hotel would be densely packed in high season. This was the place to come for tattoos, body piercing, souvenirs, amusement arcades and a gamble at the casino. Nor should one forget the pier which must be one of the longest in the world. The mud flats exposed at low tide, stretching far out into the estuary, no doubt facilitated its construction.

This section took me 2 hours 20 minutes. From now on this journey will change. It will become increasingly difficult to do it in day trips as I leave London further behind me. The stations will be in the wrong places if they exist at all. I shall have to stop over night in order to complete sections where transport is not available.

Bought Day Return at Fenchurch Street for Shoeburyness – the end of the line. It was a superb late Autumn day and remained so. Plenty of insects about. I walked along the front at Shoeburyness and was soon confronted by a barrier indicating an MOD artillery range. The red flags were flying and I could hear the boom of the guns. I turned inland and followed a path which hugged a fence adjoining the firing range east of Great Wakering.

Oxenham Farm did not encourage visitors. More than one notice declared the road to it private but my map (admittedly very old) showed a public right of way which gave me access to the water's edge beyond the Danger Area. No one challenged me except a couple of dogs. On top of the embankment just beside the farm I could look across a narrow waterway to Rushley Island. Beyond it were the islands of Havengore and Foulness. I proceeded north towards Potton Island. At a Boat Yard I had my only encounter. A woman indicated the way when it was not clear and, in response to my question, told me I was in Suttons Boat Yard. Potton Island was also occupied by the MOD. There was a building on the far side of the bridge across Potton Creek where I thought I would be challenged if I attempted to cross although I couldn't see anyone.

I now proceeded along a stretch of embankment which, at Fleet Head, almost brought me back to where I had been before. It was a lonely place much favoured by birds. An enormous flock of sea gulls standing on a field rose lazily when I clapped and quickly settled again. Between Fleet Head and Little Wakering I saw a flock of more than a hundred. Pheasants and (I believe) partridges were plentiful. There was a marshy area between the embankment and the open water riddled with waterways which must have suited them.

I passed through Barling Magna where there were some old houses and a church. This had been in view for a long time as I progressed over the flat, treeless landscape. I took the bridleway through Mucking Hall and over fields until it met the road at Butler's Farm. Ahead a series of small planes came in to land at Southend Municipal Airport. I suffered an unpleasant spell as I walked along a busy road initially without a pavement. The lorries and school buses were clearly too much for the road. To my relief I was able to escape the road by way of a path over a field just after an industrial estate. At Rochford I quickly caught a train to Southend Victoria. Since the ticket office was closed I paid my fare at Southend.. I now walked to Southend Central to catch the London train.

Today's section took me 4 hours 19.5 minutes.

A day return took me from Liverpool Street to Rochford. By travelling on Saturday I intended to start early without suffering the week day extra cost of beginning one's journey before 10 am. In fact the train I took from London was the 10.20 so I gained no extra time and was likely to finish in the dark.

The day was cloudy, dry and completely still and warm enough for me not to need gloves even after dark. I was on the north bank of the River Roach. By passing through a tidal creek the river looks impressive but isn't. The creek begins just east of Rochford and is fed by streams so small that they bore no names on my O.S. map. It would have been surprising if it were otherwise since the river competes with its neighbouring river, the Thames, for catchment areas.

I was on the Roach Valley Way, not greatly used by the look of it. Mostly I walked on top of an embankment. To my left dead-end tracks led to Waldens and Barton Hall and I saw no one. Occasionally, to make better progress, I would descend to the track running along the inland side of the embankment. As I approached Paglesham Easterend, I saw a couple of people out exercising dogs. I passed through a boat yard near the village. This had a high proportion of rotting hulks moored near an equally dilapidated building projecting out into the river.

Shortly afterwards I turned north alongside Paglesham Pool which separated Wallasea Island from the mainland. This is quite a sizeable island but, according to my map, has nothing on it except at its north west corner opposite Burnham-on-Crouch where there is a ferry. In that corner there is the Creeksea Ferry Inn and a holiday centre. After making my way round Paglesham Creek (passing near Paglesham Churchend) I came out near the bridge which connects Wallasea to the mainland. This bridge straddles an area of salt marsh where an arm of Paglesham Creek more or less connects up with a creek leading off the River Crouch. It is debatable whether it is a true island and therefore properly excluded from my journey. There was a path along the embankment leading off along the north side of the island. The embankment on the western side was closed and notices barred entry. The map showed that the public right of way ended half way round. There was not one contour line on the island which was crossed north/south by dykes of geometrically precise regularity. The embankment surrounded the island and there were areas of salt marsh separating it from the water. I decided that it was not practical for me to walk round it, I probably couldn't do it and I didn't have to anyway.

It was now about 3 pm and I needed to make progress back west towards Hockley and its station. Nevertheless I didn't want to do a long stretch of road walking so I turned from Lion Wharf up a creek which took me to the embankment running alongside the River Crouch. I made good time round Black Point but now the light was beginning to fade. Fortunately it took a long time to get really dark so, when I reached Upper Raypitts Farm, I decided to stick to the riverside. I could see the odd light on the other side and a couple of times the short train serving Burnham-on-Crouch and Southminster passed by. Southminster must be the smallest terminus in the country. An odd white triangle ahead turned out to belong to a largish yacht viewed over some intervening land. The occasional motorboat chugged by. One had stopped and the voices of the passengers from afar carried supernaturally over the water. To the south Canewdon Church on higher ground disappeared into the dusk.

From just after 4.30 it was getting quite dark. The embankment around Upper Raypitts Farm and beyond was capped by a concrete path so I was able to jog along comfortably. Ahead I could just pick out the lights of South Fambridge. Surprisingly the path from that village to the embankment was little used and accordingly overgrown. From the village I made my way by road to Hockley Station. A train drew in full of Southend United football supporters just as I crossed the footbridge.

I was out 6 hours 27 and a half minutes today. The next stage should take me to Burnham-on-Crouch but beyond that it is much too far for a day trip and I'm not sure there's anywhere I can stay.

Today I travelled from Liverpool Street on a Day Return to Hockley. I intended to make my way alongside the River Crouch to Burnham-on-Crouch but it didn't work out like that.

From Hockley Station I made my way back to the Hullbridge Road. It was a pleasant day and I found that I could run quite comfortably. My problems started when I decided to leave the Hullbridge Road which was fairly narrow with persistent traffic. I did so at a place called The Dome by a pub near Lower Hockley Hall. My OS Map showed a footpath leading over a marsh towards the River Crouch. It always looks so straightforward on the map. In fact the path was little used and once in the marsh it disappeared. The map indicated a turning to the west which I never saw. I was almost up to the River when I realised that I would either have to retrace my steps or cut across the marsh. I never did like going back. The marsh consisted of raised damp ground broken up by countless winding muddy water channels. I suppose these fill up when the tide comes in and the tide might even cover the raised ground sometimes as well. In addition there were occasional wide muddy cuts following a straighter course often with flowing water in them. From my viewpoint I could only see how the land lay for a few yards in any direction. Beyond that it was clear the land was broken but the nature of any channels was hidden from my gaze.

Progress across this landscape was tortuous. I could see the embankment beyond the marsh where I wanted to be but I could not take a direct route towards it. I was forever changing direction, doubling back, going out of my way to find a better place to cross between adjoining areas of raised ground. Descending into the muddy channels was not pleasant. The sides were slimy with slippery mud. Often I could see the tracks of birds over the mud but I knew that my feet would not skim over the surface.. I studied the consistency of successive muddy tracts to gauge the best crossing place. Just when I thought I had made it I came upon one of the wider channels with a shallow flow of water. I was concerned about the mud because this channel was several yards across. I decided to walk alongside it to find a better place to cross and, quite soon, espied a bridge. This must mark the path I should have taken. I thought I was out of it at last but another wide channel appeared to cut me off from the bridge. I was so close to the bridge that I decided to cross this last channel. At once I sunk deeper than before and one of my shoes started to come off. I had barely started the crossing. This was dangerous. I pulled myself out and got back onto the raised land. I was coated in liquid mud up to and above my ankles. I walked back along the main channel and decided to wade across it in the hope that the mud would not be so bad under flowing water. This turned out to be the case and I hauled myself up onto the embankment which surrounded the marsh.

This escapade lost me a lot of time. I was relying on their being a crossing over the Crouch between Hullbridge and South Woodham Ferrers. The map showed a red cross on the river at this point where the river became much narrower. I wasn't sure what this indicated but I believe it must be some kind of ferry. If so it wasn't working in mid-January. In fact the whole area was almost deserted. The yacht clubs were closed up and the caravans and mobile homes along the riverside were empty. The houses looked like summer homes. I saw someone walking his dog. Since I had reached the edge of my map I asked him how far it was to the nearest bridge. He said that I had to go 3 or 4 miles to Battlesbridge. I asked where the nearest station was. That was also at Battlesbridge. I don't like walking without a map but all I had to do was to follow the river.

Battlesbridge was not much of a station, just a single platform on a single line and no shelter whatsoever. There were loudspeakers so approaching trains were announced. There was also a dial raised on a post with a couple of buttons on it. One was pressed for information and the other if there was an emergency. The fine was a maximum of £200 for abusing this. On the train the ticket man said it was not worth charging me since the fare to Wickford was only £1.05.

I walked into a biting wind. I had bought a Day Return to Burnham-on-Crouch but I never got that far.

At Battlesbridge, that most bleak of halts with a single platform serving a single line and no shelter, I disembarked into a light drizzle. I ran along a minor road to South Woodham Ferrers and followed the B1012 as it steered a course round countless new houses to the north of that town.

I reached a roundabout by a Garden of Remembrance. The road turned away from South Woodham Ferrers and a sign indicated that Burnham was 12 miles distant. The road looked narrow and busy and had no pavement. The drizzle persisted. It didn't appeal so I headed back towards the station. On a better day I would take the path on the embankment alongside the River Crouch. It was a longer route and conditions underfoot might be bad. At least I would have a prospect to behold, decent air to breathe and boats to watch rather than the traffic.

South Woodham Ferrers had the station it deserved. The station building was locked up. Obscene graffiti adorned the walls. A battered shelter on the platform offered the only respite from the wind. Along the back of it there ran a steel girder with a rounded top where one might perch. Two entrances gave ample access to the elements and a panel was missing from the front to minimise the protection still further. The structure was rusted, unlit and disfigured by graffiti. I wondered at the inhabitants of this town tolerating such a derelict station. Why didn't they paint it and plant a garden?

I was out only 1 hour 16 minutes today.

An improvement in the weather lured me back to South Woodham Ferrers if only to enable me to leave it behind.

I decided to keep to the roads and not seek out the banks of the Crouch. That promised a serpentine route on embankments with at least one retreat right back to the road. The road surface permitted running which I needed to advance my training for the Grand Union Canal Run now less than a month away. I progressed through streets of modest, modern houses to reach the roundabout at the edge of town. The prospect of running on the B1012 was unappealing as the road was narrow and the traffic surprisingly heavy and commercial for a peninsula. Perhaps most of it was destined for the B1010 turn-off to Maldon and Colchester. I maintained a reasonable pace and soon reached the left turn to Fambridge where there was a station on the Crouch Valley Line. Before Althorne (where there was another station) the land rose up and I had a good view over gently descending fields towards Bridgemarsh Island on the Crouch.

I entered Burnham-on-Crouch and completed the distance of 10.5 miles in 2 hrs 45 mins. The station building was all boarded up. I speculated upon the original function of the blocked apertures. One looked as if it might have served as a news agents hatch. Perhaps he was enterprising and sold hot drinks. One door gave entry to the ticket office and another to the waiting room. There might also have been a lavatory. What have we done to have these modest comforts taken away from us seemingly forever?