The bells, the bells
It was a big weekend in London – there was the Thames Festival with stalls, bands, entertainment and fireworks. And it was also Open House weekend where the public were granted access to famous buildings across the capital, such as the Gherkin.
So The Other Half and I decided it would be a great time to go camping in Essex.
We met Andrew and Cheryl at the campsite in East Mersea, on the island of Mersea, which is south of Colchester.
While it is an island, it is only separated from the mainland by a river, which at low tide is about two metres wide. But at high tide, the water spills over the causeway and cuts it off properly.
We pitched out tents in sunshine and headed off to Flatford Mill to check out Constable Country.
The area is absolutely beautiful. There are about eight sites along the river Stroud where Constable painted. But none of them looked much like his pictures – apart from the fact everything had changed in the past few hundred years, I think he painted his interpretation of the scene.
Consider the Haywain – this is the picture:
and this is the actual place:
As it began to cloud over, we hired a rowing boat, which I rowed as I was the only one who knew how to use the oars! The others had paddles though, and when we were under full steam, we sped along.
We drove back to the campsite via a very interesting old church, St Mary the Virgin.
The building looked like it was started in about 1200 and added to over the years.
Most curiously, the bell tower was not a tower at all but a shed with the bells suspended from the floor in a wooden frame. It looked like the ringers operated them with a windlass. Must be very noisy. I wonder if they all have tinnitus.
Inside they were selling Holy Socks and a plaque on the wall showed that it now had its first female vicar. Back in the 1400s there was a vicar with the excellent name of William Fleshmonger.
As the organist began piping Deutschland Uber Alles we returned to the tent and cracked open a couple of bottles of wine before heading down the pub. By this time the weather had turned into a bit of a hurricane. I was fearing we would be sleeping in a soggy pile of tent but it stood up to the wind and resisted the rain.
The pub was called The Dog And Pheasant, and it rather nice it was too.
At about 9pm our waitress turned into two lads of about 13 and 14. While I am all for children getting used to earning money, I’m afraid I had to report the landlord for allowing them to serve us alcohol.
So The Other Half and I decided it would be a great time to go camping in Essex.
We met Andrew and Cheryl at the campsite in East Mersea, on the island of Mersea, which is south of Colchester.
While it is an island, it is only separated from the mainland by a river, which at low tide is about two metres wide. But at high tide, the water spills over the causeway and cuts it off properly.
We pitched out tents in sunshine and headed off to Flatford Mill to check out Constable Country.
The area is absolutely beautiful. There are about eight sites along the river Stroud where Constable painted. But none of them looked much like his pictures – apart from the fact everything had changed in the past few hundred years, I think he painted his interpretation of the scene.
Consider the Haywain – this is the picture:
and this is the actual place:
As it began to cloud over, we hired a rowing boat, which I rowed as I was the only one who knew how to use the oars! The others had paddles though, and when we were under full steam, we sped along.
We drove back to the campsite via a very interesting old church, St Mary the Virgin.
The building looked like it was started in about 1200 and added to over the years.
Most curiously, the bell tower was not a tower at all but a shed with the bells suspended from the floor in a wooden frame. It looked like the ringers operated them with a windlass. Must be very noisy. I wonder if they all have tinnitus.
Inside they were selling Holy Socks and a plaque on the wall showed that it now had its first female vicar. Back in the 1400s there was a vicar with the excellent name of William Fleshmonger.
As the organist began piping Deutschland Uber Alles we returned to the tent and cracked open a couple of bottles of wine before heading down the pub. By this time the weather had turned into a bit of a hurricane. I was fearing we would be sleeping in a soggy pile of tent but it stood up to the wind and resisted the rain.
The pub was called The Dog And Pheasant, and it rather nice it was too.
At about 9pm our waitress turned into two lads of about 13 and 14. While I am all for children getting used to earning money, I’m afraid I had to report the landlord for allowing them to serve us alcohol.
posted by The WyeBird @ 3:19 pm
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