onionbagblog

My Wivenhoe Trail routine route is to cycle East each morning, Bannatyne bound and past the Hythe. It’s an enjoyable enough ride, observing the changing tidal levels and the transition from the wildlife of Ferry Marsh, down to the semi-industrial Colne banks by the Hythe. Compared with the average UK daily commute, you couldn’t ask for a more perfect way to peddle start your morning.

But it is the opposite West of Wivenhoe Trail route which holds the fascination for me, and likewise for many others whom I have met of late. Sadly the Trail on the old Crab ‘n Winkle Line taking you out towards Alresford Creek can’t offer the luxury of the indoor Bannatyne pool and spa, as can be found in the opposite direction.

I am a man of routine - I therefore have no reason to cycle along the old Crab and Winkle Line each morning. All of this *may* possibly change next spring, when the wetsuit makes a comeback and I replace indoor swimming with a daily dip in the Colne instead.

Nope, the glorious, glorious stretch past the Sailing Club, alongside White House Beach and then the end of the line at the Creek, is a route that has so far been reserved for special occasions. Which usually means the weekend run, a luxury that my aching body can no longer withstand for a full seven days of the week.

High (ish) tide and a blue skyline greeted my running route this weekend. I returned back to base, threw a bicycle helmet in the direction of @AnnaJCowen and told the girl that we needed to be out there to make the most of the landscape. I forgot to tell her that she may star in my latest hit and miss video, but at least my cycling companion brought some faded glamour to my latest flip cam effort.

What I simply adore about this side of the Wivenhoe Trail is how you can observe something different each time you pass along the track. This list isn’t exhaustive either - the path to the Creek changes every day as the seasons slowly take hold of the landscape, and present a new vista in which to reach out to.

Such a shame then that I whizzed along on my Essex MTB, and then speeded up the footage back at base. Hey hoe.

The changing trail surface also helps to preserve the longevity of my weekly runs. I love the transition from gravel, to mud, and then back on to road running as I head back to Wivenhoe via Ford Lane, and then along the Alresford Road.

The natural stopping point that the Creeks puts in your way seems just perfect for my own running engine. Any further milage and I’d hit the metaphorical wall. Brightlingsea can wait, for now.

And so with apologies for any dog walkers / ramblers / fellow bicyclists who momentarily became caught up in my nonsense filming session on Sunday, sit back and enjoy above a ride along the old Crab and Winkle Line.

Chapeau!

Music: Cocteau Twins, Bluebeard. No particular reason other than it fitted the length of the film. And it’s rather ace.

Plus: It has been pointed out to me that any readers coming to m’blog via Facebook don’t get the Viddler embeds. Grrr. This should see you right…

Just as the sun was starting to set across the tranquil reach of the Alresford Creek, I decided to find another local feature of considerable solitude - the ruins of the burnt down St Peter’s Church at Alresford.

Martin Newell, the Pop Genius of this Parish, tells the story in words with far better insight and exposition than I could hope for. I settled instead to try and capture the mood of a late autumnal afternoon in an abandoned place of worship in photographic form.

There has been a Church standing just up from the Creek since the 12th Century. Nothing special in the wider schema of post-Norman places of worship; but somehow the fire that destroyed St Peter’s in 1971 has transformed the site from an average parish church into something really quite special.

The empty shell of the main structure has now become exposed, revealing 700 years of running repairs within. The building has become more alive than it probably ever was when in use. Unshackled from the protocol of Christian worship, St Peter’s now provides a place where you can poke around and truly explore some 12th Century architecture.

I stood abreast of where the altar would have been located. Some of the original tile work remains on the exposed floor, and here you can take up a commanding position, as thoughts race through your mind of the seven hundred years of history that have passed through these walls.

Although a small space, the simple maths of the timeline tells you that St Peter’s has witnessed some incredible moments over the past seven centuries - scandal, gossip and death. Just another day in rural Essex village life.

But it wasn’t just another day back in 1971 when St Peter’s was finally erased as place of Christian worship. Local legend has it that witchcraft, a popular practise around these parts, played a role in the destruction.

An elderly lady emerged on Saturday, just as I was about to step down from my imaginary altar. She was on her way to attend to a grave, and we engaged in some local conversation.

She told me the local legend of how the “dark forces” of Alresford are rumoured to be responsible for the destruction of this ancient building, back on one night in 1971. Myth or legend? Either way, I wasn’t prepared to hang around until sunset to find out.

I surveyed the scene from the altar once again, and then thought of another question to ask the elderly grave attendee. I turned around, and within a matter of only a couple of seconds, she had vanished.

Oh Lordy.

A quick look around the graveyard once again, but no sign. The timeline of dearly departees stretches from the pirate grave of Robert Bray in 1724, all the way to some 2009 gravestones. You can take away our church, but you can’t take away our sacred land.

Which is all rather reassuring. St Peter’s remains a deeply religious, magical and indeed mythical place. Here’s hoping it can remain standing for at least another seven hundred years.