In late July we have had a lot of hot and sunny weather, but also odd thunderstorms.
Although the garden is dry much of the time, it is not as bad as the drought-stricken
years at the end of the last century. I do hope there is more rain around in September, as
we could do with a good fungus season following the near disaster of last autumn!
A Dengie notebook
Graham Smith 48 The Meads, Ingatestone, Essex CM4 OAE
Back in the mists of time - 1965 to be exact - when I first began visiting the Dengie, the
Crouch Valley Railway between Wickford and Southminster was a quaint rural branch
line that had miraculously survived Mr Beecham's axe a couple of years previously.
There were porters at every station, warm fires in winter in the waiting rooms at Burnham
and Southminster, and lovingly tended flowerbeds on the edge of the platforms. The
service itself, though, was bad. There were no trains on a Sunday, except during July
and August, and a two hourly service at other times using engines that had seen better
days and were subject to frequent breakdowns. The railway's eventual redemption was
occasioned by the development of South Woodham Ferrers New Town and the expansion
of Burnham, as a result of which British Rail decided to electrify the line, run direct
services from London, and to offer a regular Sunday service throughout the year. It is
now a joy to use. Delays are few and when they do occur are usually the result of
circumstances beyond management control - kids chucking lumps of concrete on to
overhead wires or cattle straying on to the tracks. On one memorable occasion we came
steaming round a bend and ran over two foxhounds, fortunately missing the huntsman
who was frantically trying to get them off the line. In another instance, at Shenfield, I
was due to catch the first train out of London on a Sunday morning. It arrived full of
revellers looking decidedly worse for wear. One staggered off the train, crashed into a
drinks dispenser on the platform, lurched back into the carriage, banged his head against
the hand rail and collapsed, vomiting, at my feet. I have found that upon reaching middle-
age I have become more tolerant of some aspects of human behaviour and less tolerant
of others. This performance fell into the latter category and I was tempted to help the
fellow back on to the platform with my boot. Better judgement prevailed, however, and
there then followed a twenty minute wait for an ambulance to arrive, as a result of which
I missed my connection at Wickford. The station master immediately hailed a taxi and I,
together with the only other passenger for that train, were conveyed in style to our
destinations. That would never have happened in the 1960s.
As a non-driver I have never understood the mentality of some motorists, who sit
uncomplainingly (well, almost) in traffic jams for hours on end at weekends but act as if
the end of the world is nigh should their train to work be ten minutes late! Perhaps they
should take up botany. I've spent many a happy hour pottering round railway stations
looking for plants, often a rewarding pastime as the rough ground and derelict sidings
Essex Field Club Newsletter No. 42, September 2003 9