Following weeks of dedicated training, a specially
formulated diet and general abstinence from all things that are known to be
unhealthy, 8 July dawned. Not so much
startling sunshine as general failure to commit on the part of the weather,
meant that wet weather gear and suntan lotion as well as emergency rations were
packed. Under the leadership of Miss
Long, Susan and I set off from Ashford (Middlesex) bound for Bradwell (Essex) –
in a car. We left, on schedule (almost),
at 0700 hours and arrived at St Peter’s Chapel just after 0900.
We both jumped out of the car full of enthusiasm and didn’t
yawn once as we prepared ourselves for a day’s strenuous walking (sorry, gentle
strolling). We had a quick look round St
Peter’s Chapel, which I could quite understand being mistaken for a barn, and
headed off to the sea wall, which we eventually located next to a vast expanse
of mud and under about three feet of overgrowth. Susan helpfully informed me that there are
four hundred miles of sea wall in Essex, but that we didn’t have to walk them
all that day as “we must leave some for tomorrow”; such a sensible girl. We headed off towards Burnham-on-Crouch leaving
Bradwell Power Station humming not so quietly behind us. The weather was mild although the sky did
look potentially threatening. So we
headed south, and then west and then south a bit more, followed by a small amount
of easterly direction then a bit more southerly. This, I hasten to add, was not due to our
navigational skills (which are, by the way, outstanding), but more to do with
the marshes, mudflats and general meandering of the sea wall. No wonder there’s four hundred miles of it.
There weren’t many other walkers (apart from a group who
could well have escaped from the local asylum), but we did see plenty of
wildlife. Experienced safari-goers as we
both are, the adder I nearly trod on and the partridge and other birdlife (I
can’t tell an oyster catcher from a whelk) we disturbed were much appreciated,
although we were a little slow in taking advantage of these photo
opportunities. (Susan’s camera also
makes so much noise, that each time she turned it on, another flock of probably
very rare lesser spotted winged creatures were terrified into flight.)
We came across several unidentified concrete structures
which we narrowed down to either being military defence or the world’s largest
concrete nesting boxes; either way, they’re birdhouses now. After seven hours’ gentle strolling with a
few sit downs covering a grand total of 13.5 miles (that’s 21.6km in case she
doesn’t finish the walk before Great Britain “goes metric”), we ambled into
Burnham-on-Crouch. We found our
accommodation “Ye Olde White Harte Hotel” right on the quay side. Purely by chance this also featured in the
Good Pub Guide, so we did feel obliged to partake of a swift half (of vodka –
don’t believe Susan when she tells you that she doesn’t have the energy or the
inclination to go out drinking at the end of the day, it’s just not true!).
We collected the car from Bradwell and, after a much needed
shower and a walk (yes, more walking) around Burnham, we had something to
eat. I eventually managed to drag Susan
out of The Star at about 9.30 pm and we staggered back to the pub (I mean
meagre accommodation).
Sunday did not look promising from a weather point of view,
it was quite windy, but luckily the rain managed to wait until later in the
day. We walked west out of Burnham
towards South Woodham Ferrers along the sea wall. There were plenty of boats out and the path
was much more well trodden and didn’t meander quite so much as the day
before. We made quite good time and
Susan managed to control her “fear of cows”, which she assures me is a medical
condition and not to be laughed at, as we strolled past some cattle which
actually turned and fled as we approached.
Not that I took this personally, it’s a well known fact that two lone
women wandering about on a Sunday morning can be a terrifying sight for even
the most confident of livestock.
Due to precision timing that the military would be proud of,
we arrived at the Ferry Boat Inn in North Fambridge
at lunch time. I managed to persuade
Susan that perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea to drink the bar dry before we
continued and we just had a quick drink before it started to rain. That was the end of the sea wall walking and
we walked through the village on the lanes, eventually coming out on the main
road heading into South Woodham Ferrers.
By this time, it was well and truly raining, although our naturally
sunny dispositions remained intact. It
was roads all the way to the end, and I must say I prefer the random approach
of the sea wall as opposed to the roundabouts of South Woodham Ferrers. Eventually we reached the end of the road
(quite literally) where we tried to formulate a plan to get Susan over the
river without going further upstream or using mechanical means. I think hijacking a rowing boat is probably
the way to go, perhaps under cover of darkness for added effect.
All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed the weekend and was very
proud to inform my mother that we had covered a total of twenty-six miles. She didn’t believe me of course, but that’s
quite understandable as I’m not generally renowned for my activeness. Although I cannot divulge the details of
matters discussed during the stroll, I do feel that my life is now somewhat
better planned, although there are some parties that really do need to be
informed of their involvement.
Principally, the person who is going to donate vast sums of money to my
worthy cause, my parents have considerable responsibilities and there’s a one
other that really should be located at the earliest convenience. And, no, I’m not telling you what his
function is.
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