Spain

For the occasion of my nephew-in-law's wedding we visited Sevilla for a few days. My first time in Spain. Apart from the wedding itself we spent a lot of the time with our relatives doing the tourist thing. I am not a good tourist. I don't like being in hordes of people milling around aimlessly. I hate queues. I don't like paying for food that IMHO is not as good as I get at home. Or frankly inedible. They raved about the food and tell me I am fussy. But (short of famine) do I have to eat every squiggly squishy suspect item that some foreigner wants to consume? They tell me I am not adventurous enough and yet I note that "they" don't adventure hiking into mountains or swimming in the lake or bike riding to the coast and back or running barefoot. I don't expect others to be like me.

Found in the paella

They (a different they) tell me that Sevilla is a very beautiful city but, frankly, I would rather have been in the country. So I am a wet blanket. Sure, there are interesting buildings to gaup at and I did plenty of this - walking and taking pictures, like the one below. Walking through hot Sevilla is a whole lot better than sitting doing nothing.

Seville cathedral roof detail

They (yet another they) say that Bruckner had a counting mania - I found myself wondering how all this ornamentation connected with the internal structure and might easily have started counting. One could spend many hours...

Talking of buildings, there are zillions of churches in Sevilla, mostly huge and all ornate. One wonders how there could ever have been enough penitents to fill these buildings and pay for their construction and upkeep. I went inside one and was amazed by its ornate baroque retables. Such incredible devotion, but to what?

Detail from side altar, Iglesia del Salvador

High altar, retable by Cayetano de Acosta (1770- 1779)

In retrospect I find it is possible to tour the crypt and roof of the church. Maybe on my next visit!

In the square in front of the church is a shop where you can buy religious icons. Like the one in my picture below. The workmanship is poor, unlike that inside the church, and I wonder - who buys this stuff and what exactly do they do with it? One of our neighbours has, in her home, a painted plaster statue of some saint, about two foot tall, and she uses it to hang her jewelry on.

Religious icon of unknown purpose

We were staying in the old city where the streets are narrow. Some are open to one-way traffic and finding your way around in a car is a sort of perverted entertainment. We had some exciting times with our GPS telling us to go down dead-end streets.

Typical Sevilla street

Maybe my description has been too negative. We had a great time: the wedding venue and our hotel were excellent. And I am already planning in my mind some routes for barefoot running should I ever return. If only it was a tad cooler and they had a few decent Fish and Chip shops.

But we did get to visit Southend

After all this bad press about Rayleigh I should say that it wasn't quite all bad. For example I have fond memories of sitting next to Ginty at the end of a wide, slidy church organ stool whilst he played, and being amazed at his foot-work. Even more amazing that he had lost two fingers in a circular saw accident in his youth, but still managed to play. Sitting here was a good deal more interesting than being in the congregation where I would have to sit perfectly still. Because an eruption would occur if my foot even accidentally just touched the next chair on which my aunt sat. It is hard for a boy to keep his feet still when they do not reach the floor.

Southend Illuminations c. 1960

Or there were the occasional trips to Southend-on-Sea, best if it was just our family going. My father would drive from one end of the esplanade (Chalkwell Avenue) to the other (Thorpe Bay) so that we could see the Illuminations. And if there was time to stop then...

Never Never land

Never Never land

...There was Never never land - an area of the cliff gardens transformed with weaving pathways decorated with fairy castles and goblins - all a bit dated and seedy in my memory but I appreciated sussing out where all the paths led to and figuring out how they wired up the coloured lights or animated the models.

...There was a fun-fair by the entrance to the pier. One favourite attraction was the Crooked House (built 1953) - with the usual perspective trick that makes a person appear huge or small depending on where they stand in the room. And then there was the pier itself, the longest pleasure pier in the world at 1.33 miles. I loved the pier shuttle train - back then it was electric and twin track. It was replaced in 1984 by diesel power running on a single track.

Southend pier train c. 1949

Southend pier train today

The pier, built in 1830, has suffered many injuries during its life - fires in 1959, 1976, 1977, 1995, 2005, and run through by a boat in 1984 - but has always been repaired as it is a major tourist attraction.

Cliff lift

West of Never Never land there is the cliff lift. I thought it too short to be worth the ride (I could easily beat it using the steps) but interesting  none-the-less.

Golden Hind, c. 1960

Another attraction was the Golden Hind (only a replica and, sadly, not there now) with its wax-works torture chamber that James Watson has so aptly described here. Although I remember not been allowed to see the torture instruments, delicate children as we apparently were.

Very occasionally we would be treated to a Rossi's ice cream in which I remember the amazement of finding bits of real strawberry. Not so unusual now but, back then, ice cream could be different colours but generally didn't have bits in it.

But eventually it would be time to return to 10 Weir Gardens, Rayleigh. But even there things were not all bad - one of the better meals was Nana's steak and kidney pie which tasted entirely different to my mother's equivalent but even so was passable, ignoring the usual cat's hairs to be found in any food at Rayleigh. Cats were regarded in much the same way as the sacred cow is in India. The one table in the kitchen where all food preparation was carried out was teaming with them. I think I was young enough not to be too bothered by hygiene but I discovered later in life that the whole Rayleigh deal was very hard on my mother.

Site of 10 Weir Gardens

Incidentally Google Earth imagery (2013) confirms that 10 Weir Gardens has been demolished and is now but a private car park. The end of an era. I wonder if that 10-Weir-Gardens smell still lingers?

Dartford Crossing 2

In my last post I started talking about the journey from home (Alresford) to my father's parent's (Rayleigh). Despite the title I didn't get as far as the Dartford tunnel, so I'll try again...

Sometimes we drove through central London. As far as I can remember the route was the A30 through Staines, past Heathrow onto the A4 Great West Road and so through Knightsbridge. Here it became really interesting as we passed Harrods and the Victoria and Albert, and Natural History museums to Hyde Park corner and then to Piccadilly Circus. Which of course was the reason for coming this way.

Piccadilly Circus in 1962

From there we drove through Holborn and past St Paul's cathedral and the Bank of England. These were impressive places that kind of made me feel proud to be English. Then Aldgate and I think Whitechapel Road into the East-end of London.

London, our parents explained, has a West-end and an East-end. All the rich people live in the West-end, and all the poor people in the East-end with their jellied eels and Cockney rhyme. Travelling out of London through the East-end was kind of scary because of what one imagined poor people might do but, at the same time, I somehow felt more empathy towards the East-end people than those snobs in the West. I somehow felt privileged to be allowed to travel through their domain. This feeling of identification with the working class remains with me to this day. I would not want a white-collar job, I prefer to get my hands dirty, to be involved at the nuts and bolts level. Despite being an Oxford graduate.

Aerial view of the Hog's Back

After the tunnel opened in 1963 we generally took the Dartford route, following the A31 from Alresford through Farnham and onto the Hog's Back, a narrow, elongated ridge that is in fact the western end of the North Downs (more on that later).  There are beautiful views either side making it a special part of the journey. What with imagining driving along the back of an actual pig.

The Hog's Back ends at Guildford where the river Wey cuts through the North Downs. Exactly how a river can cut through high ground becomes easier to understand when you realise that the area between the North and South Downs was once even higher as evident from a geological cross section.

Cross-section from London to the Channel

We drive through Guildford city centre to get onto the A25 route to Dartford, passing the famous cathedral with its golden angel atop which, apparently, is 15' tall and turns in the wind. The angel was erected in 1963 a couple of years after the cathedral was consecrated - so all within my time-frame. From a distance the angel is but a golden sparkle in the sun, but I always looked out for it and still do when in the area.

Guildford cathedral

The golden angel atop

1952 map of Guildford east

The A25 starts at Clandon Park just east of Guildford and was our route around London to Dartford. It is the precursor to the M25 London orbital motorway and follows the southern edge of the North Downs. Clandon House was a hospital during the first World War and there is some connection with my dad's folk this being the reason why their house was named "Clandon". I think Ginty was there convalescing.

Marble Hall Clandon Park as war hospital

Clandon Park during WWI

Sadly Clandon Park was gutted by fire just a few days ago. Some furniture was hauled out but otherwise the whole of the interior was lost.

Clandon House gutted by fire 29 April 2015

The effect of the fire services seems pathetic

Leaving Guildford and Clandon behind the A25 climbs over the North Downs and begins its descend down the escarpment face at Newlands Corner and Albury Downs (see map). Here are walks and a beautiful view and we sometime stop here for a breath of fresh air. From then on the A25 hugs the southern base of the North Downs all the way to Sevenoaks.

Abinger Hammer in 1959

The next place I look out for is Abinger Hammer. The river Tillingbourne flows through the village where it was impounded in the 16th century into a hammer pond, providing water power for Abinger Forge which worked Sussex sourced iron. Such details elude me - it is sufficient to get a glimpse of the famous clock and I hope we can pass on the hour and see the bell struck.

Westcott village

1952 map of Dorking area

Westcott is the next village, pretty as its name, and then after Dorking the view-point of Box Hill on the left (highlighted in red) and Brockham to the right. I do not know that I will return here in my 20's with my first and only girlfriend in tow. Her parents lived at Great Brockamhurst at the time (highlighted in green). One of my first visits there ended up in a picnic together at Leith Hill south west from Dorking.

where we parked at Leith Hill

the view from Leith hill

I think we picnic'd by the car (a proper affair with tablecloth laid out) then climbed to the tower. Apparently the tower was built in 1765 with the express purpose of raising the elevation to over 1000' which, my father informed me, was the threshold between hill and mountain. We lie side by side in the grass without a care and I am ecstatic soaking up the warmth of her body. But I digress.

Laporte fullers earth work, Redhill

After Dorking comes Reigate and Redhill and my next memory is the Fullers Earth works - this being one of only three places in Britain where the stuff was mined . The idea of mining, in England, a substance that was mentioned in the Bible fascinated me although actually the Bible reference is to fuller's soap which probably wasn't the same substance at all. Production ceased in 1996 and the works are now derelict.

We pass through Bletchingley and Godstone. Funny how all these names were and still are dear to me: they are colourful and have a quaint ring about them, whereas place names close to Rayleigh (Brentwood, Billericay, Benfleet, Rochford, Maldon) seem grey and boring. Apologies to any of my readers that might live there!

Oxted and Westerham come next and then Sevenoaks. There actually were seven oaks, although six of them fell in the storm of 1987. Here we leave the A25 and head north along the A225 through the gap in the North Downs cut by the river Darent, through Otford, Eynsford and thus to Dartford.

1952 map of Dartford - no tunnel!

and with the tunnel

the day before it opened

The tunnel is about one mile long and I enjoy every moment of it. The sort of things I notice are the green "traffic-light" arrows (what were they for? - one could hardly stop or go backwards), the cat-walks either side, the ventilation fans in the tunnel and shafts visible on approach, and the staged increase in fluorescent lighting to get us used to daylight as we emerge. All that just to let you know what sort of a person I am.

And then via the A13, joining the arterial road at the Chelmsford intersection and thus to Rayleigh. More recently I have driven the M25 route, Dartford crossing and A13 route several times to Rayleigh to visit my now deceased aunt and the same feeling of dread came over me as I got closer. Such are memories.

Dartford crossing

Dartford crossing's tunnels and bridge today

The Dartford crossing joins the two ends of the M25 orbital motorway around London where otherwise the Thames estuary would get in the way. It now provides four lanes in either direction using two tunnels (North bound) and the Queen Elizabeth bridge (South bound) and has just been fitted with automatic toll collection. The crossing was opened in stages. The west tunnel was opened first in 1963 providing just one lane in each direction. That was long before the M25 was even a twinkle. And that's where I come in. I must have been about 11 then. My parents were in the habit of making the journey to visit my Dad's folk in Rayleigh, Essex maybe twice a year and this post is going to be all about the various routes we used. So prepare to be very, very bored or maybe stop reading at this point.

I explained here and here a bit about Rayleigh. My older sister and I used to dread going there. The feeling of dread started about half the way along the Arterial road - but I am racing ahead of myself. Suffice it to say that the destination was dreadful but the journey I loved. I have always loved journeys (whether driving or as a passenger) - and generally like the journeying somewhat more than the destination, the destination being a sort of necessary evil means to an end.  Whereas for Ali it is the opposite.

Google maps reckons a 2 hour drive from Alresford to Rayleigh. Back in those days it was more like 4 hours. Before 1963 the only way to get to Rayleigh was by going through London. The Dartford tunnel provided a route that happily avoided London altogether.

For the sake of those my readers (if anyone has made it this far) who might not be cognisant with South East England geography, here is a summary of the various routes on a modern map (there were no motorways in this area back then).

The various routes highlighted (click to enlarge)

The green and magenta routes were two ways of approaching London. Once in London you either went through the centre (imagine contemplating central London as a through route now!) or the North Circular road (shown in red). There was a South Circular but it was (and I believe still is) single carriageway and tortuous, so we rarely used it. And then the new Dartford route shown in blue.

After 1963 we almost always used the Dartford route, so my memories of the other routes must be from before I was 11.

We generally approached London on the A30 (green route). I am not quite clear on exactly how we jumped from the A31 (the magenta route and which goes through Alresford) to the A30. Either it would have been via Basingstoke as shown, or more likely further to the right through Aldershot (A331). It matters little because my memories are from further along.

We (I include my older sister, the younger one not yet having a say) used to beg my dad to go through central London because then we would get to see the pièce de résistance Piccadilly Circus with its amazing neon advertisements and the statue of Eros in the centre of the road back (as it was back then).

Piccadilly Circus and Eros

But again I am racing ahead. The A30 around Staines area passes through some very beautiful countryside. Indeed the very name "A30" is to me evocative of every good thing as (going in the opposite direction) it took us to our beloved Devon or Cornwall for our annual holiday.

Let's start at Camberley - I think my father was born (or something like that) there. Next comes Virginia Water. We would sometimes stop there to stretch our legs and it remains in my memory as a mystical place of dreams. That such a beautiful place (and name) should exist purely for the sake of enjoyment amazed me.

The cascade, Virginia Water

Totem pole, Virginia Water

The soil is sandy in this part of Surrey. Grey sand. The sort (my parents told me) that snakes liked, so we were to be careful on a hot day (because apparently snakes like to sun-bathe). The only poisonous snake we have in the UK is the Adder and it can be recognised by the "V" on its head. I think I have only seen one once in the wild and it was not at Virginia Water.

Shortly after this the fairy-tale red-brick building which is the Royal Holloway university rose above the tree tops on our right. Much more recently my niece was a student there, lucky thing.

Royal Holloway

And then, on the left, the water meadow Runnymede, another possible halt for a leg stretch or sandwich and, by coincidence, the place where King John signed the Magnacarta on the 15th of June, 1215. A bit before my time. And further to the left the vast reaches of the Royal Windsor Park and its famous castle.

We pass through Egham which always brought a chuckle (my father repeated his jokes often, it is a senile weakness I find myself slipping into) and Staines and then pass by two giant reservoirs on our left. All I can see from the road was a high, neatly grassed bank, but my father says there is water on the other side. So now I look out for these landmarks whenever I fly into Heathrow.

The road now hugs the edge of Heathrow airport and we see the giant tail-fins of parked aircraft and hope to get a close view of an aircraft taking off or landing. There are gigantic hangers marked BOAC or BEA.

After Heathrow the A30 joins the A4 "Great West Road" which is our artery into the depths of London. But this time we turn left and follow the North Circular Road (A406) which, back then, was single carriageway with only limited stretches of dual carriageway further along. It starts as Gunnersbury Avenue opposite Gunnersbury Park where we stop for mum to do some unspecified business with a charity there. It seems to take her ages while we have to wait in the car with nothing to do.

All these roads in and out of or around London suburbia have endless rows of semi-detached houses either side. I found it hard (and still do) to imagine how there could be so many people and why-ever they would want to live nose-to-chin along busy roads like these?  I do not remember much else about the North Circular - it was mostly boring houses, but there were some interesting bridges especially where it crosses the river Lee.

1952 map of the North Circular (A406) crossing river Lee and Gants Hill

Gants Hill underground station

Gants Hill sticks in my memory: it is where we turned onto the A12 eastbound and so was the beginning of the end of London. I think we stopped there once for a bite to eat or maybe the loo. I remember the London Underground signs there although am not sure why this station of all the hundreds should be so special. Today the North Circular has been re-routed and passes to the west of Gants Hill.

Flyover at Gallows Corner

Miles upon miles of suburbia followed, punctuated only by the round-about at Gallows Corner where we turned onto the Southend arterial road (A127). It seemed to take forever to get London behind us. I can recall my father's pleasure when, in 1970, a flyover was erected over this round-about to favour traffic on the arterial road. The flyover was made of prefabricated units rather in the way I might have made a bridge using toy bricks. One ascended at constant slope, then suddenly the angle changed to horizontal and then suddenly again to the descent. Apparently this flyover was meant to have a lifetime of 15 years but it is still in use today.

And then the arterial road. In my time it was dual carriageway all the way past Rayleigh to Southend. It was, we were told, a marvel of engineering. Originally a single carriageway, it was largely built by hand in 1920 as the first road in this country made specifically for motorised vehicles.

Half way from London to Southend

As we travel from Gallows Corner towards Rayleigh the hedgerows seem to get shabbier and shabbier and that feeling of dread in the pit of the stomach becomes more and more evident. Dad points out the Halfway House which seems to me a mild wonder for just happening to be exactly half way. I do not think we ever patronised the place.

Basildon onion

The next landmark we look for is the Basildon "onion" which, my father informs us, is a water tower. Which in itself sets me thinking: how could such a small structure contain enough water for a town like Basildon? The new town Basildon with its high-rise flats was, Ginty told us, something out of the Apocalypse. This made it all the more interesting to us children even though we had little idea what he meant.

Recent view of "the cutting" A127 ascent to Rayleigh

1955 photograph of the Weir round-about

We are now dangerously close to Rayleigh. I try to suppress the fact and at least enjoy the last few remaining miles which end in the cutting as we climb the hill on which Rayleigh is built. At the Weir round-about (it now has an underpass) we turn left, then right along Glasseys Lane and right again into Weir Gardens. Number 10 was almost at the end on the left. The picture below is from Google street view and shows the property still standing but sadly overgrown now that my aunt has died.

10 Weir Gardens, from Google street view

We park and ring the doorbell. The door opens and out wafts that Rayleigh smell followed by a gushing Aunt Mary, Nana and Ginty and a jumble of dogs intermingled with the odd cat. Perfunctory kisses are exchanged (how I hated them). We bring in our stuff and then sit down to eat watery boiled smoked fish with bread-and-butter and start counting the days until we leave.

As there is probably a rule about how long a blog-post can be I will have to tell the rest of this story in a future post.