Well, on Thursday I went to the place mentioned in the title and posted two blogs about my journey. I know, I know, WP recommends regular blogging habits for a success it has yet to define and my irregularity has become the most notable thing about my blogging life. But hey, life is too short to obey rules for a success I don’t even begin to understand.
If you want the details, read the last two posts. If you do, you’ll learn I had an unexpected delay and so time to kill at Thorpe-le-Soken where I had anticipated a dash across the platform to get the connecting train. Admittedly I had imagined a bigger platform. Waterloo it ain’t.
Railway side of former entrance
Former grandeur 2
Former grandeur 1
Once the station entrance, now railway cottages
Thorpe-le-Soken with British Rail ( now sadly defunct) sign
Walton-on-the-Naze is by the sea, just up the coast from Frinton where, if memory serves, I spent at least one holiday as a small child with my parents, sister, great aunt, her daughter and grand daughter Alison. Under Alison’s supervision we dug man traps on the beach but I don’t think we caught anyone. Alison is now a successful (not a WP definition) artist based at Southwold. Frinton’s station platform was colourful.
Oh my goodness
For the kiddies
What a splendid place Walton-on-the-Naze is to spend time on a fine day outside the high season. The train conductor on the second train thought it should be fine for me to come home later so I am hoping that confidence is borne out when someone comes to check the tickets.
There’s not a lot doing by the station at Thorpe-le-Soken and I didn’t have enough time to explore, but there was evidence of decayed grandeur and Google informed me that Eduardo Paolozzi lived there. Google also informed me that beautiful properties for the price of my London flat are available.
Having spilt my snack down my front, I followed up by dropping avocado onto my jumper. Fortunately the sun was shining brightly when I reached WotN so I stuffed said jumper in my bag and presented a clean shirt to the world.
Out of the station and a walk beside a sparkling sea. I’m guessing most of the people I saw walking their dogs, or pushing young children in pushchairs are locals. The schools are back, many of the ice cream sellers and chip shops seemed to have shut up, maybe to allow staff to go on their own holidays. Continue reading
The coach left at 8.45am so there was no late breakfast on Saturday morning. It was great to have a day away immediately after returning from das Boot, and this one was arranged months ago, a charabanc outing to Harwich and Dedham with the local archaeological society.
Celia and I were early, partly because my efficient kidneys meant a loo stop before departure was compulsory. Though only for me; Celia is a camel. We diverted to Waterloo station. Why didn’t we think of buying our copies of The Guardian? Probably because apart from the loo, my thoughts were focused on snacks. This meant that although the day was a good way of escaping Brexit, it also turned into anxiety about finding a newspaper. Over the last ten days my need to know the news has reached maniacal heights. I did pick up a tweet which made me laugh aloud. pic.twitter.com/622b3OUTAT
As we among the last on the coach we didn’t get to sit together, but we both found congenial travel companions who added to the day’s enjoyment. I was, unsurprisingly, eager to use the facilities when we arrived at Harwich where coffee tea and cake awaited us at the second oldest building in the town. It turned to be facility. Singular in more ways than one, in that it was a little hut outside at the back of the building.
The only times I have been to Harwich before have been to take the ferry to Hook of Holland, and I have never seen anything of the town. I knew it was a town that has suffered from the loss of the Royal Navy presence and reduced port activity, so I was expecting a rather down at heel feel. But it felt contented, arty crafty, quirky, and quite comfortable with itself.
Official Venue Shanty Festival