A Summer’s Day Beside the River Crouch
That day in 1939, such a short time before the second world war started, has lingered in my mind as one of sunshine, the rippling river, and the wide open space of the great salt marsh which stretched, seemingly endlessly, interspersed with little creeks and larger ones too wide to be leapt over.
To start with my friend and I had made up our minds that a day by the river would be something to enjoy. Our mothers gave us sandwiches and we set off. What our mothers did not know was the plan we had in our minds that we did not communicate to them. Looking back I know that we should have told them that we were going to the river, and also the means by which were planning to get there. However, we did not.
We made our way down Plumberow Avenue, not calling on my Grandma and Auntie Maud on the way. Plumberow in those days passed a number of houses and bungalows and then went on through fields to the Lower Road. We took a short cut through the fields, crossing the Lower Road beside a caravan site and carrying on till we reached the beginning of the marshes. This was our great plan; to carry on over the marshes to the seawall that protected the land from the incursion of the river which was tidal. It would have spread far over the land in the past. This was quite a good and exciting plan but could have been a dangerous one as will be seen. We knew our mothers would not have approved of it at all! Our only excuse for this for being so foolish must be our youth.
Anyway, we carried on across the wide and fascinating marsh, peering into creeks to find crabs and jumping across the narrow ones until we at last reached the river. The journey was muddy and quite hazardous at times.
There were the seawall banks, and as we climbed them the beautiful River Crouch came into view. The water rippled and gleamed, the splendour of the huge and cloudless sky above us went on for ever, and there was not a soul in sight. I think we were quite overcome. Our naughty plan had come to pass!
By that time we were both ready for lunch and we produced our picnic. We sat there utterly at peace with the world. Everything was perfect.
After getting rid of the hunger pangs we had to decide what to do next. Paddling seemed a good idea. We walked along to a wide inlet from the river, and we decided this would be a suitable place for paddling (remember we were very young and foolish). There was a wide bank of mud to be traversed before we could reach the water. The mud was sticky and slippery, but we managed slip and slither a little way before my friend slipped right over and was smothered in mud.! Her dress was filthy.
This made us struggle back to the seawall where my friend took off her dress. I have always been somewhat pessimistic about the weather, and I had brought a raincoat with me. This I was able to lend to her. I think she must have bundled up her muddy dress and carried with her. My raincoat pockets were always filled with odds and ends, and were usually unpleasantly sticky, but even they would not have taken a dress however tightly rolled up!
We were very lucky not to be drowned. The water went down and down and we should never have survived paddling in such dangerous conditions. All I can say is that our guardian angels must have been kept very busy that day.
We pottered about for a few more hours and then decided we had better make our way home. As we once more crossed the marshes dusk was falling, and a mist was following us. I remember it as being like the Great Grimpen Mire in The Hound of the Baskervilles. We were luckier than the villainous Baskerville who sank in the bog. We reached home safely.
At both our homes all was fear and turmoil. Both our Dads were out looking for us and my Grandma and also Auntie Maud were there. I think we both realised that we had been very,very bad indeed. In spite of all this I cannot help remembering this as a day of delight.
Here is a poem I wrote in which I have tried to convey something of the feelings of that day.
Salt Marshes.
I remember the marshes,
So wide and sky-roofed,
With creeks where crabs might lie.
Adventure was in those marshes,
Glorious childhood adventure.
On the way to the glittering river
Who knew what wonder might be found
On that wide wind-blown loneliness.
Sitting on the sea wall, eating sandwiches,
The river in front and the marshes behind,
We belonged to the place,
We belonged to the time,
As never before and never since.
Our mud-stained feet and luckily undrowned bodies
Were one with the river.
One with the salt-born loveliness,
And one with Creation’s eternal soul.
MSK
That day in 1939, such a short time before the second world war started, has lingered in my mind as one of sunshine, the rippling river, and the wide open space of the great salt marsh which stretched, seemingly endlessly, interspersed with little creeks and larger ones too wide to be leapt over.
To start with my friend and I had made up our minds that a day by the river would be something to enjoy. Our mothers gave us sandwiches and we set off. What our mothers did not know was the plan we had in our minds that we did not communicate to them. Looking back I know that we should have told them that we were going to the river, and also the means by which were planning to get there. However, we did not.
We made our way down Plumberow Avenue, not calling on my Grandma and Auntie Maud on the way. Plumberow in those days passed a number of houses and bungalows and then went on through fields to the Lower Road. We took a short cut through the fields, crossing the Lower Road beside a caravan site and carrying on till we reached the beginning of the marshes. This was our great plan; to carry on over the marshes to the seawall that protected the land from the incursion of the river which was tidal. It would have spread far over the land in the past. This was quite a good and exciting plan but could have been a dangerous one as will be seen. We knew our mothers would not have approved of it at all! Our only excuse for this for being so foolish must be our youth.
Anyway, we carried on across the wide and fascinating marsh, peering into creeks to find crabs and jumping across the narrow ones until we at last reached the river. The journey was muddy and quite hazardous at times.
There were the seawall banks, and as we climbed them the beautiful River Crouch came into view. The water rippled and gleamed, the splendour of the huge and cloudless sky above us went on for ever, and there was not a soul in sight. I think we were quite overcome. Our naughty plan had come to pass!
By that time we were both ready for lunch and we produced our picnic. We sat there utterly at peace with the world. Everything was perfect.
After getting rid of the hunger pangs we had to decide what to do next. Paddling seemed a good idea. We walked along to a wide inlet from the river, and we decided this would be a suitable place for paddling (remember we were very young and foolish). There was a wide bank of mud to be traversed before we could reach the water. The mud was sticky and slippery, but we managed slip and slither a little way before my friend slipped right over and was smothered in mud.! Her dress was filthy.
This made us struggle back to the seawall where my friend took off her dress. I have always been somewhat pessimistic about the weather, and I had brought a raincoat with me. This I was able to lend to her. I think she must have bundled up her muddy dress and carried with her. My raincoat pockets were always filled with odds and ends, and were usually unpleasantly sticky, but even they would not have taken a dress however tightly rolled up!
We were very lucky not to be drowned. The water went down and down and we should never have survived paddling in such dangerous conditions. All I can say is that our guardian angels must have been kept very busy that day.
We pottered about for a few more hours and then decided we had better make our way home. As we once more crossed the marshes dusk was falling, and a mist was following us. I remember it as being like the Great Grimpen Mire in The Hound of the Baskervilles. We were luckier than the villainous Baskerville who sank in the bog. We reached home safely.
At both our homes all was fear and turmoil. Both our Dads were out looking for us and my Grandma and also Auntie Maud were there. I think we both realised that we had been very,very bad indeed. In spite of all this I cannot help remembering this as a day of delight.
Here is a poem I wrote in which I have tried to convey something of the feelings of that day.
Salt Marshes.
I remember the marshes,
So wide and sky-roofed,
With creeks where crabs might lie.
Adventure was in those marshes,
Glorious childhood adventure.
On the way to the glittering river
Who knew what wonder might be found
On that wide wind-blown loneliness.
Sitting on the sea wall, eating sandwiches,
The river in front and the marshes behind,
We belonged to the place,
We belonged to the time,
As never before and never since.
Our mud-stained feet and luckily undrowned bodies
Were one with the river.
One with the salt-born loveliness,
And one with Creation’s eternal soul.
MSK
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