23 March 2022 - The Blackwater and the Crouch
Miles driven today = 33
Total Miles to date = 74
We had a peaceful night and were sheltered from the worst of the wind in the car park at the Jolly Sailor. It felt great to be tucked up in our van bed again and we woke up to a completely condensation-free windscreen this morning.
With the forecast looking reasonable for most of the morning and early afternoon we decided to head further into the Dengie Peninsula. A succession of roundabouts around Maldon had us reminiscing our toll-free journey through France before we picked up the B roads through the village of Steeple with its church made of a hotchpotch variety of masonry.
At Bradwell-on-Sea we followed the road as far East as we could go, culminating in a rough car park where we pulled on our walking boots and followed the footpath along the old roman road to the Chapel of St Peter's on the Wall. So called because it was originally constructed on the walls of the Roman Fort of Othona which previously stood on the site.
The Chapel was originally part of a Celtic monastery which was founded by St Cedd in 653 AD.
A delapidated hide close to St Peter's Chapel.
Nowadays the old Roman name of Othona has been taken by a small Christian community who have a settlement nearby. This decorated pill box was on the beach close to the community's buildings.
"Sales Point" with the beach huts of West Mersea visible across the estuary.
We were getting thoroughly buffeted by the wind and it got a bit damp for a while so we hunkered down in the shelter of another pill box to eat our sandwiches. I always thought the coast in this part of the World was a succession of continuous mud flats but the beaches on this peninsula predominantly consist sand and shell.
My Dad was a prodigious sailor. A "Man of the Sea" is what I entitled the eulogy I wrote for him when he passed away in 2011. He first got hooked as a boy on family holidays to the Norfolk Broads. He served on Destroyers throughout WWII and his fascination continued throughout his life, building a Vagabond dinghy in our living room before progressing on to a 16 foot Wayfairer and then small cabin craft. He kitted out his 26 foot Super Seal himself around the time he retired and continued to sail it well into his 80's. We even moved from Hertfordshire to Suffolk when I was 3 so that he could be closer to his boat than he was to his City office desk.
However the sailng bug never rubbed off on me I'm afraid and I put that down largely to the fact my Dad would enlist me as crew when racing his Wayfairer and we regularly ended up capsizing and swimming in the cold, muddy and jellyfish infested waters of the River Orwell. Even the bribery of an underaged pint of bitter shandy and a packet of crisps in the clubhouse bar wasn't enough to shake my aversion.
As a young teenager I was sent away for a few days one summer holiday to an intensive sailing course in the shadow of the nuclear power station at Bradwell-On-Sea. I didn't want to be there and I'm still to this day perplexed as to why I was encouraged to attend other than to improve my skills and therefore hopefully ignite a sharing of my father's fixation with boats. It didn't work and although I did enjoy spending time with my Dad in latter years on his larger and more comfortable boats I resented it at the time, so returning to the scene for the first time today and doing something that I actually have enjoyed has been somewhat cathartic.
Bradwell was also the site of a WWII aerodrome and we walked around the perimeter of the old airfield for a while. I thought this crashed Spitfire memorial to the men who flew from here and never returned was in rather poor taste if i am to be totally honest.
When we got back to the van I plotted out our walk on the OS Maps app at 5.7 miles which was a bit further than I had intended.
I had looked into the possibility of doing another pub stopover at the Cricketers in Bradwell but the Landlord and his good lady wife retired 3 weeks ago and the pub is now shut for the foreseeable.
I also fancied having a look around Burnham on Crouch but when I rang the caravan park in the town I was told they don't open until Easter. So we drove a seemingly inexplicable series of Z bends through the charming village of Tillingham to the Bridgemarsh Marina near Althorne. I tried to ring the office here to no avail but found an alternative number which turned out to be the owner who is on holiday in Morocco but he gave us his blessing to stay the night provided we find somebody to pay the £10 charge before we leave.
There is a further tenner payable for EHU, which we have declined but there are toilets and fresh water facilities. It's a bit delapidated but very quiet. In fact we are the wrong side of the sea wall but I've been assured that today's tide was the highest for a while and that wouldn't have quite reached our wheels. We are also only a few minutes walk from the station if we want to pop into Burnham before we head on tomorrow and if we were so minded it's a direct line to London Liverpool St going the other way.
Also we do have 4G signal here so I can hopefully upload my first 2 day updates and we can enjoy a bit of netflix on the telly tonight.
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