Thames Estuary Archives - Remote London

Walking the River Roach: Rochford to Barling Ness

Ian Tokelove — Sat, 02 Sep 2023 15:02:35 +0000

Rochford is a small town with a long past, sited near the tidal limit of the River Roach in Essex. Southend airport is nearby but our route takes us away from the concrete and tarmac, and towards the saltmarsh and sea.

It isn’t far from the Rochford rail station to the Horse & Groom pub, where a short lane leads to the River Roach. The path traces a line of what appear to be overgrown glasshouses, and soon reaches the river, here no more than a wide stream.

The landscape soon opens out to reveal a wide wetlands, reeds gently swaying in the breeze. This is Mill Head, a former mill pond, fed by the stream and the incoming tide. The derelict grain silos of Stambridge Mills dominate the far view; two massive, box-like, concrete structures that have outlived the rest of the mill.

The path traces the reedbeds and can be followed across a footbridge to the remains of the mill. Access was easy when we visited, the wire fence missing in many places. Aside from an occasional, passing dog walker, we had the place to ourselves.

Stambridge Mills

Much of the Stambridge Mills site has been levelled, leaving only concrete and wild plants flourishing amid the broken slabs. The towering silos, and the concrete underfoot, are graffitied with the usual, colourful daubs.

Mills have stood at this spot for hundreds of years, powered first by the force of water released from the mill pond, and later by steam. Stambridge Mills, the last in a long line, closed in 2000 and was largely demolished in 2014, after fire.

The mill’s concrete wharf overlooks the upper Roach and a boatyard. A few ramshackle house boats and smaller craft were sitting firmly in the mud, waiting the tides return.

Returning across the footbridge, the path now cuts south through an industrial park, to Sutton Road. The road crosses a second tributary steam and after half a kilometer, at a junction in the road, a public footpath cuts back towards the Roach. The path is signed and would otherwise be easy to miss; it seems seldom walked.

The path follows a field edge, then meanders through some woodland, before reaching the river and another view of the boatyard. Looking downriver, the creek opens up and widens into a flat landscape.

The River Roach

Our route heads out along an old sea wall, a boundary between saltmarsh and fields. In places, there appear to be old oyster pits, rectangular cuts into the saltmarsh. Such pits were cut to store harvested oysters, ready for market.

After a while, a borrow dyke begins to run alongside the path. These inland moats are the ditches from which clay and soil was dug to create the seawall.

This is a wide landscape, flat and remote, far from other voices. The path reaches the point known as Barling Ness, where Potton Creek branches south from the Roach. The Roach flows on, between the islands of Wallasea, Potton and Foulness, before joining the River Crouch as it nears the Thames Estuary.

The Ness makes a natural spot to break. If the tide is low and the season right, samphire can be plucked from the mud near the high tide mark, juicy and salty.

Potton Creek and Barling Marsh

The path follows Potton Creek, and here we caught the attention of a seal, who watched us as we passed, before returning to the business of catching fish.

Across the creek, Potton Island is out of bounds, under the ownership of the Ministry of Defence. The island’s peaceful fields were once considered as a potential, long-term storage site for high-level nuclear waste, back in the 1980s. Thankfully that never happened.

Inland however, lies another type of waste. Our path skirts Barling Marsh, the former marshes lost below low, grassy hills of landfill. The land was first quarried for sands and gravels, and then, from 1994, used as a dumping ground for landfill. Once busy with scavenging gulls, the site is now approaching the closure phase, and appears peaceful, almost natural.

The Thames Estuary is lined with sites like this; places where huge quantities of unwanted rubbish and rubble were dumped, out of sight and out of mind. Once capped and greened, these wasteland slopes reshape the landscape, their toxic hearts still beating, and waiting.

Barlinghall Creek

Potton Creek splits, the seawall path now heading east along Barlinghall Creek, towards the distant spire of All Saints Church.

Two broken wooden hulks lie on the edge of the creek, one little more than hull and ribs. Scraps of red and blue paint hint at a brighter past. Small, modern boats are dotted along the creek, served by the wharf at Barling Hall. The original Hall is long gone, believed demolished in the 1820s. The wharf here is now a repurposed WWII concrete barge, another familiar sight along these coastlines.

The footpath continues long the creek, but we cut inland here, following the lane to All Saints Church. At the church we turned right, following the quiet Mucking Hall Lane, flanked by fields of autumnal stubble.

Mucking Hall

After Barling Magna Wildlife Reserve, we took the Private Road to Mucking Hall. The signage isn’t obvious, but this is a public right-of-way. We followed an unmade lane between more fields of stubble, before encountering an unexpected roadblock, a small army of Canada geese. They stood their ground until we were close, before reluctantly allowing us to pass.

Passing Butler’s Farm, we picked up another footpath, cutting across fields towards Sutton Hall. After a while we found ourselves unexpectedly walking alongside a miniature railway track, between an avenue of trees. This surreal, little rail line belongs to the nearby Hall, and can be hired with the venue.

There’s another All Saints Church here, dating back in parts to the 12^th century. The cobwebbed doors suggest disuse, but a plinth of jarringly modern concrete, poured beside one ragstone wall, implies otherwise.

Prittle Brook

From the church, another path heads east across flat, arable fields, towards Prittle Brook, a tributary of the Roach. The path then follows the stream to Sutton Road, where, in theory, a public footpath leads across a field towards Rochford. However, the field was ploughed and any path, if there ever was one, was erased.

Believing in our right of way, we clumped across the broken earth to the edge of an industrial estate. Off to one side, a cluster of low yellow pylons hinted at unseen paths above us, their lights ready to guide nighttime pilots into nearby Southend Airport.

Pushing our way through a tight, overgrown path got us back to the Roach, where we’d first encountered it as a stream, and thence to the Horse and Groom for post-walk refreshments.

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Thank you to Liza S for joining me on this walk in September 2022.

The walking distance is roughly 21km or 13 miles.

With hindsight, I’d probably have taken in more of the coastline on the way back, skipping the inland section. The flat, featureless fields have little to offer, other than the two churches .

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From the Swale to Bedlams Bottom, a Medway Marshes walk

Ian Tokelove — Sat, 19 Aug 2023 15:50:43 +0000

This walk starts where the King’s Ferry once shuttled between the Isle of Sheppey and the Kentish mainland. Today, the modern Sheppey Crossing sweeps high overhead, dwarfing the older Kingsferry Bridge, which still carries rail and road. Up until 1860, no bridges stood here, and ferries were the only way to cross the Swale.

Three hundred years ago, the ferry keeper had “a Priviledge to drudge for Oysters” here. It must have been peaceful. Now, jet skiers tear the water and shatter the peace, tracking endlessly back and forth, circling and going nowhere.

There’s room to park here, and Swale station has somehow survived. A single platform is served by trains from Sittingbourne.

The Saxon Shore Way

The Saxon Shore Way follows the Swale, and we head north-west, treading the cropped grass of the sea wall. Ferry Marshes lie inland; drainage channels in the wet pasture reflecting the winter sky. Robust horses graze to a backdrop of pylons and distant industrial stacks.

Away from the jet skis this is a peaceful, if exposed landscape. Few trees grow here. In the far distance, massive tankers cruise the deep-water channels of the Medway, and the white stacks* of Grain Power Station catch the eye.

At Chetney Marshes the path cuts inland, rendering further access along the sea wall untenable. If we could continue, we’d find ourselves within a stone’s throw of Deadmans Island. This low-lying saltmarsh was used to bury the numerous dead of prison ships and isolation hulks. Erosion has opened the old graves and scattered nameless human bones along the foreshore.

Following the path below a line of pylons, a large, circular earthwork can be seen on the left. Perhaps once used to shelter livestock, its ancient purpose is no longer clear.

The landscape is flat but wild. A few scrubby bushes have managed to set root in the shelter of ditches; others cling to the frame of an old wind pump.

Meeting the angriest man in Kent

The path crosses a lane, marked as a bridleway on OS Maps, which leads to a remote cluster of modern barn buildings and grain silos. The OS Maps show the path continuing, as far as a lost farmstead known as New Chetney. But the way is blocked, with a plethora of keep out signs. Up close the place looked sinister, with a dead rabbit smeared into black, muddy tyre tracks.

Heading back to the path, we noticed a pick-up truck approaching. The driver swung his vehicle over to block our way and we got to meet the angriest man in Kent. I’ve never heard the f-bomb dropped so frequently, as he harangued us for trespassing on his private lane. He wasn’t interesting in listening, or reasoning, or explaining why a public right of way was now his and his only.

Others have written that this landscape has a darkness, a threatening vibe, but I’d never felt it before. I’ve felt it now. This man was consumed with anger, diseased with rage. It wasn’t a pleasant encounter.

I caught up with my companion, who’d wisely walked away from the abuse while I’d tried to reason. Ahead, another inlet of the Medway beckoned, the low sun glittering across the golden, tidal mud.

Stangate Creek and HMS Éclair

Chetney Hill, to the right, is a circular half-island, connected to the mainland by a narrow neck of land. In 1801 this was chosen to be the site for a quarantine station, although the station seems to have only been partially built. Based on the ‘lazarettos’ of the Mediterranean trading ports, this would have been a place where sailors and passengers arriving in the Medway could be isolated, during times of epidemic disease.

Ships which did arrive carrying disease were often forced to anchor in the sheltered creeks. HMS Éclair arrived here in 1845, its crew decimated by yellow fever, after a torturous return journey from West Africa. Having been sent out to suppress the Sierra Leone slave trade (recently abolished in Britain) the Éclair limped back to Portsmouth. However, the authorities took one look at the diseased vessel and told it to continue to the Medway, and Stangate Creek.

The sick were removed to other ships for care, while the survivors remained on board. Subsequently, the white members of the crew were also relocated, leaving the Kroomen (West African crew members) on board.

Sidney Bernard and his solitary grave

More than half of the ship’s crew had already died on the journey that brought the Éclair from West Africa to this remote spot on the Kent coast, including the captain, the surgeon and the assistant surgeon. On route, the stricken vessel had been refused permission to land at the island of Madeira, but Sidney Bernard, the 27-year-old assistant surgeon on HMS Rolla, offered his services and was appointed surgeon to the Éclair.

At Stangate Creek, five more crew died, followed by Sidney Bernard. His solitary grave is sited on Burntwick Island, at the mouth of the creek. At the time, it wasn’t understood that yellow fever isn’t contagious but is caused by a virus, transmitted by mosquito bites. It’s likely that infectious mosquitos were still breeding in the warm, damp bowels of the steam-driven Éclair, unnoticed, but deadly.

At the time, it wasn’t unusual for ocean-travelling ships to lose half their crews to disease, but Sidney Bernard’s death drew attention to these losses, and to the brutal quarantine treatment which could await those who survived.

Martyred in the British press, the death of Bernard helped, in part, to focus attention on the plight of the navy and the conditions endured by naval crews. This in turn led to transformative public health reforms, sowing seeds for today’s National Health Service.

Bedlams Bottom

Continuing along the creek, one reaches Bedlams Bottom, where a graveyard of abandoned vessels lies along the coastal path. Twenty-five hulks have been recorded, although some have now decayed beyond recognition, or are lost below the mud. With the winter’s sun low on the horizon, we didn’t linger long, but followed the footpath to the lane at Raspberry Hill, and then across fields to Sheppey Way.

At Sheppey Way, the path was (at the time of writing) completely lost in a tangle of undergrowth, so we followed the road until picking up the path alongside. Under a pale moon the route wasn’t always clear, but the sweeping heights of the Sheppey Crossing gave us something to aim for.

Ridham Dock

Back at the Swale, and in no rush to leave, we followed the coastal path east for about a kilometre, to the mouth of Ridham Dock. The path detours inland here, around the docks, so we headed back to the bridges, and bade our farewell to the moonlit marshes.

Once, we might have slaked our thirst at the Lord Nelson, overlooking the approach to the ferry crossing. Known locally as the First and Last, and dating back to at least 1841, the pub was apparently swept away by the construction of the first bridge, the Kingsferry, in 1959. No sign remains, of either the pub or of the large, second world war pillbox which protected the road and rail crossings here.

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My thanks to Kirsten D for joining me on this walk, undertaken in January 2022. We used a car for this one. Swale station is served by an hourly train service, including weekends.

* One of the three stacks collapsed during Storm Eunice in February 2022.

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Walking the River Roding, from Redbridge to the Barking Creek Barrier & the Thames

Ian Tokelove — Sat, 24 Jun 2023 18:18:27 +0000

The River Roding rises from the Essex flatlands, just east of Stansted Airport, then flows south towards the Thames. As the river nears Greater London, it’s floodplain plays host to the M11 and then the North Circular, the quiet water contrasting with the background roar of traffic.

Our walk picks up the river at Redbridge, a suburban station on the Central line. The station abuts the Redbridge Roundabout, where the North Circular arches over a humming vortex of circling vehicles. A pedestrian subway leads under the A12 and then into the calm centre of the roundabout, then out to Royston Parade.

Heading south, a cycleway leads away from Royston Gardens to follow the North Circular. The path traces the edge of the disused and overgrown Kearley and Tonge sports fields (marked on Google Maps as Royston Gardens). A large gap in the fence provides easy access, and well-worn paths edge the unused football pitches.

Disused goal posts rise from the wild meadow, their white paint flaking into a sea of erupting grassland. It’s reminiscent of the wonderful, but threatened, Warren Farm in Ealing.

The Roding’s hidden valley

Heading away from the North Circular, the path passes a series of abandoned hard courts. A single basketball stand remains, tipped and tangled against a torn, chain-link fence. Beyond these courts, and the fencing, the Roding flows in a surprisingly deep valley, lost and inaccessible in a jungle of springtime growth.

Walking on, the path rejoins the cycleway, tracking the bank of the river. The Roding flows shallow and clear, small fish shoaling and darting below its glittering surface. Across the river, Wanstead Park also gives access to this stretch.

Approaching Ilford Golf Club, the path bridges the river. An obvious gap in the fence leads to a well-worn, woodland path along the Roding, edged with cow parsley. It may not look it, but this is roughly the extent of the highest tides, the incoming tide pushing against the river’s natural flow. I’ve kayaked here on several occasions, hitching a tidal lift from the River Thames.

The Alders Brook

Returning to the main path, we lose the river for a while, and trace the edge of the City of London Cemetery, protected by tall, iron railings. On the other side of the path, the Alders Brook, largely unseen, is an offshoot of the Roding. This small stream rejoins the Roding at Ilford, effectively islanding part of the golf club.

A ramshackle collections of huts and allotments can be glimpsed where the Alders Brook flows away from the path, providing space for an off-grid community of sorts.

Passing below railway viaducts, the path loses the brook, and follows graffitied walls to the main Romford Road. Crossing the dual-carriageway, and beneath the North Circular at Ilford, we again pick up the Roding. There’s no official path here, but the Friends of the River Roding have tramped and cleared a route to Barking. A well-trodden route is visible between the river and an elevated slip road, leading up to the North Circular.

The hidden Roding path at Ilford

Jumping the barrier, we follow the path, narrow and heavily littered. When kayaking the river, I’ve frequently seen tents here, shelter for the homeless, but on this occasion, we only saw evidence of previous camps. There’s scattered drug paraphernalia, needles and twists of foil amid the plastic bottles. It’s not a path that all will enjoy.

The path briefly opens up beside the slip road, then plunges back into the undergrowth. The way ahead was often hidden amid a riot of spring growth. The route sticks to the top of the river valley, close to a wooden fence and the ever-present hum of traffic on the other side.

The path is lined with young trees, including cherry. Below, the river is largely hidden in its valley, but the view occasionally opens up to reveal reedbeds and swathes of yellow flag iris.

At one stage, the path detours briefly under the North Circular, following broken chain-link fencing. The shadows of old fires dot the concrete, and there is more evidence of homeless lives.

Rejoining the undergrowth, the path follows what seems to be an old embankment, but it was so overgrown we could hardly tell. Cow parsley and nettles stood chest-high, overlooked by the soaring North Circular. Across the river, the foundations of apartment blocks are rooted into landfill, on the site of an old chemical works.

Rail lines over the Roding

The path finally opens out when it reaches the railway lines into Barking. Trains pass low overhead, on buttresses of concrete and steel. In the shade of the bridges, we met and chatted with a friendly volunteer from Thames 21, leading a group taking part in a river survey for London Rivers Week.

River Roding Moorings

A good path leads on towards riverside Barking. In the distance, tower blocks sprout from Abbey Quay. Along the way, we pass the River Roding Moorings, where a small group of barge dwellers live. They play an important and active part in caring for the tidal stretches of the river. Similar communities can be found all across London, hidden away on the capital’s waterways.

At the entrance to the River Roding Moorings, two spike-like tips of huge timber beams seem to be wearing rusting, ancient helmets. These wooden piles would once have been driven deep into the river bed, supporting and protecting the river wall.

Nearby, the path curves around a stretch of salt marsh, a small vestige of the tidal reedbeds which once lined the Thames and her many tributaries.

Mill Pond and the Short Blue Fleet

The route crosses London Road and follows the river, now firmly embanked and channelled in its course. At Mill Pond we get a glimpse of old Barking’s harbour. Once busy with ships and trade but now mostly silent, the water is broken only by a sleek racing kayak from the nearby Barking and Dagenham Canoe Club.

It may not look it, but this was once home to the largest fishing fleet in the world. In the 19^th century, hundreds of fishing smacks were based at Barking, as part of the Short Blue Fleet. Fishing was replaced by chemical works and breweries, and now they too are being replaced by residential development.

We had to detour inland here; the way ahead temporarily fenced off to make way for more residential blocks. Signage wasn’t clear, but we regained the river at the Barking Barrage, where a lock and tidal weir hold the river back. The barrage was built in the late ‘90s, to revitalise a largely derelict industrial riverfront. At high tide you won’t even notice the weir, but at low levels the river tumbles down a series of steps to the tidal section below. The lock gate allows boats to navigate beyond the weir, but only at high water.

Hand Trough Creek and the A13

The path detours around Hand Trough Creek, the remnants of Back River. This former stream once branched off the Roding, just south of the railway bridges, before rejoining the river here. Another footpath tracks the lost Back River’s path back towards Barking.

A small, old wharf provides a good view back towards the creek and the barrage. At low tide, across the river, the remains of a wooden slipway still slides into the river, perhaps a remnant of late 19^th century shipbuilding.

The path follows the river under the A13, the residential blocks on the other bank giving way to warehousing. Passing the Showcase Cinema, now silent and awaiting commercial redevelopment, the path becomes tighter and more overgrown. This is a quiet back route towards Beckton Nature Reserve.

Nature and Beckton Sewage Treatment Works

The reserve sits between the mighty Beckton Sewage Treatment Works and the Roding and offers a more attractive route than the main path. There are one or two dead-end tracks, which are worth exploring as they don’t go far. The nature reserve path rejoins the main path by the treatment works.

The sewage treatment works is the largest in Europe, managing the waste water of much of north London. Treated water flows alongside the main path in a fenced, concrete channel. The flow is dark and fast, flecked with white bubbles. The aroma is one of washing powder and laundry detergent – a perfume that even the most aggressive treatment seems unable to shift.

The outfall and the Princess Alice

This flow was once channelled, completely untreated, into the River Thames. The outflow was timed to coincide with the ebb tide, taking the effluent downriver and away from London. The sewage came right back with the next incoming tide, but it was diluted, and safely downstream of the capital.

This practice continued until the Princess Alice disaster in 1878, Britain’s worst inshore shipping tragedy. The Princess Alice, a crowded passenger ship, was heading back to London from Sheerness when it collided with a collier, sinking rapidly just upstream of the works. More than 600 died in such heavily polluted water that the authorities were compelled to act, ensuring that sewage was treated before being released into the Thames.

The Barking Creek Barrier

As the path winds towards the Roding, the stunning, guillotine-like structure of the Barking Creek Barrier rises high above the river. On the far bank, Cory’s waste management site now adds its own, distinct aroma to the landscape, the whiff of household rubbish and bin lorries.

Beckton Desalination Plant

Before reaching the Barrier, and the Thames, we pass a large lagoon, sheathed in concrete walls. This is part of the Beckton Desalination Plant, also known as the Thames Gateway Water Treatment Works.

Water is pumped from the Thames as the river ebbs, stored, desalinated and purified, then pumped to north-east London. Opened in 2010 and costing £250m, there are some questions about the plant’s effectiveness. It wasn’t used during the very dry conditions of summer 2022, despite water shortages.

The path finally meets the Thames, just beyond a massive pylon. The Barking Creek Barrier and outflow are a little downriver, and at low tide the beach below is one of rubble and mud. The river and mudflats can be good for birdlife, especially during winter, the birds drawn in by the nutrient-rich outflow.

Thames Mud Butter

Back when the sewage work’s flow was untreated, the fat in the noxious discharge rose up and floated on the surface of the river. This grim waste was reportedly skimmed off, collected and sold as Thames Mud Butter – thankfully repurposed as an industrial lubricant rather than an edible spread. Sewage fat can still be an issue, with massive fatbergs occasionally turning up under London.

Looking across the Thames, the old landfill sites at Thamesmead have rewilded into a green, tree-lined landscape, stretching along the river. Massive redevelopment is planned, transforming this ‘undeveloped and underpopulated’ land into a huge residential district called Thamesmead Waterfront. The riverside path on the southern bank is well worth exploring before the development kicks in; it’s a good path which feels almost rural in character.

The final stretch

Before heading back, if you still have energy in your legs, there’s a little more path to explore. Heading upriver, the path traces the treatment works, towards what was once Beckton Gas Works. Few walk here, as it is currently a dead end, although graffiti artists have repurposed the seawall and concrete silos into colourful canvases. The path ends at a high chain link fence. There’s a gate, but it’s locked, and the path beyond is completely overgrown. It’s time to head home.

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Thank you to Kirsten S for joining me on this walk, in late May 2023. The distance is roughly 12km, and we then had to retrace our steps and get to Barking railway station, perhaps another 5km. Give yourself plenty of time if you want to walk this, especially in summer, when the unofficial path between Ilford and Barking can be heavily overgrown.

Check out The River Roding Trust: preserving, protecting and restoring the River Roding

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Walking the River Ebbsfleet, from Northfleet Harbour to its Springhead source

Ian Tokelove — Sat, 06 Aug 2022 18:05:00 +0000

The River Ebbsfleet meets the Thames at Northfleet in Kent, where it forms a natural harbour. Today the river’s flow is dammed by a huge floodwall, constructed in the 1970s to hold back the Thames. Roman boats once sheltered in Northfleet Harbour, and it grew to be a busy industrial inlet serving the local cement works. Once busy, the harbour is now an undisturbed, off-grid home to wildlife, but perhaps for not much longer.

Northfleet Harbour is banked on one side by an aggregates works, still churning out asphalt, and on the other by a razed cement works. Below the old and disused wharves, the Ebbsfleet flows between banks of silt and fly tipped landfill. A wild, secluded wetlands has developed in the sheltered basin. Reeds grow verdant, and water birds nest and squabble and chatter.

A changing landscape

The old Portland Cement Works will soon be a building site, heralding the regeneration of this former industrial town. There are also plans to remove the seawall and restore the harbour, creating a new marina. Although the wetlands would be lost, this could potentially be better for the river, reconnecting it to the Thames and allowing migratory fish to return to the Ebbsfleet.

Turning Northfleet Harbour into a marina could work for the developers too; consultants say such redevelopment would potentially “enhance the value of the surrounding developments by up to 20%”.

An old slipway still runs into the harbour from Grove Road. The way down is gated and barred. Although the posters of the Northfleet Harbour Restoration Trust have been slashed, they still reveal some of the history of this lost harbour.

The Trust want to see this slipway reopened to give public access to the harbour and the Thames. The river has a rich maritime history, but public access is pitifully low. As a kayaker, I’m well aware of how far apart public access points can be.

Northfleet Harbour and the River Ebbsfleet

A narrow, industrial lane leads past a battered wall of bricked up, arched windows, to what was once a cement mill and wharf. More recently a rough car park, this old wharf borders the upper reaches of the harbour, and there is sometimes access here.

Scrambling up a bank of overgrown rubble, one can look down onto the clear waters of the Ebbsfleet, flowing close to the opposing riverwall. The sheer harbour walls are piled high with mounds of tipped demolition waste, leading down to a meadow of nettles, and then the river.

Jumping down, I made my way through the nettles to a narrow riverside path. This track has perhaps been worn by the Restoration Trust, perhaps by other feet or paws or claws.

The old harbour walls seem to concentrate the freshness of the air, distilling the aromas of green growth and flowing water. The path traces the river, to where it emerges from the mouth of a large concrete tunnel. Something resembling a sizable sluice gate has been torn free, and now lies at an angle in the mouth of the tunnel.

The underground Ebbsfleet

The water here was clear but flecked with bubbles of foam. The air smelt too clean, with a hint of perfumed soap or suds. The only sound was trickling water and distant birdsong. I’d have waded to the tunnel mouth, but I didn’t fancy exploring the rest of the Ebbsfleet with wet feet.

Getting out of Northfleet Harbour turned out to be considerably harder than getting in. The walls give little purchase to grasping hands and scrabbling feet. I got out, but it took several attempts.

The Ebbsfleet runs underground for about half a kilometre, along the line of Grove Road and on towards Ebbsfleet International train station. At a nearby car wash the apparent source of the fragrant bubbles became clear, the soapy waters draining down towards the hidden river. Nearby, a burnt out lorry added a touch of dereliction to the street.

The River Ebbsfleet above ground

Beyond a roundabout, where Thames Way meets one of Ebbsfleet International’s car parks, the river can be glimpsed again, through a high wire fence. I was expecting a ditch, perhaps a meagre stream, but the river still flows here. The river is inaccessible, protected by a high wire fence and is largely hidden by lush vegetation.

Thames Way traces the nearby river, bridging it before passing under a modern railway bridge. From here the river flows next to the road, more accessible, but in places bearing the usual urban detritus of traffic cones and plastic.

A footpath cuts away from the road and between a small sewage treatment works and the river. The Ebbsfleet forms another wetlands here, a pleasing expanse of swaying reeds, bordered by mature trees and the path.

The Ebbsfleet Valley and new development

A large new road bridge is an unexpected addition to the landscape, carrying Springhead Parkway to new housing. The bridge spans a lake, the open water contrasting with the wetland’s surrounding reedbeds. Supported by three columns, the bridge is rather elegant, adding to the landscape rather than dominating it.

The path follows the river, bordered by new homes rising on higher ground, overlooking the valley. The footpath then ducks underneath the High Speed 1 line to Ebbsfleet, following the river through a low, concrete tunnel.

Once past the new housing, the path develops a countryside feel, the rail tracks and the river largely hidden by trees. The broken branches of crack willow hint at the Ebbsfleet’s flow along this shallow valley. There’s hidden water here, bound up in the land, flowing from springs.

The source of the River Ebbsfleet

Springhead Nurseries marks the uppermost reach of the river, which now trickles in a ditch past the glasshouses and car park.

The modern nursery is an echo of the watercress beds which once flourished here, first planted by William Bradbery in 1808. It was at the source of the Ebbsfleet that the first commercial cultivation of watercress in England took place, harvested for the lucrative London market.

Beyond the nursery, the thundering traffic of the A2 bars progress to the low hills beyond. This is where the Roman settlement of Vagniacae once stood, straddling the ancient Watling Street. The village was a cult centre, with at least seven temples, perhaps linked to the healing waters of the eight Ebbsfleet springs recorded here. No trace remains above ground.

Despite OS Maps showing the footpath continuing on the other side of the A2, there’s no way under or over. Wild flowers, rocket and fennel dance chaotically in the blast of passing traffic.

Taking the high way back to Northfleet

Retracing my steps, I detoured to Church Path, leading to Northfleet’s Saint Botolph’s Church, poised high above a massive chalk quarry. The path crosses the cavernous pit in a long, narrow walkway, stretching out into the void. The views are great, but it’s a long way down.

The church sits amid peaceful graves and wild flowers. It’s a gentle haven before the ten minute trudge down Northfleet’s High Street to the railway station and the ride home.

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Walked on Sunday 1 May 2022.

Northfleet railway station lies outside of London’s current Oyster Card zone.

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Yantlet Creek: a short walk between two estuaries, the Thames & Medway

Ian Tokelove — Sun, 10 Apr 2022 20:40:07 +0000

This short walk takes us from Allhallows and the remote London Stone to the Grain Tower and the Medway Estuary.

Allhallows lies on the eastern edges of the Hoo Peninsula. It’s a small, remote village twinned with a larger holiday park, where white, static caravans reflect the ever-changing moods of the Thames Estuary.

Once there were big plans for Allhallows. It was to be a resort town, Allhallows-on-Sea, with an amusement park and swimming pool, dwarfing all other English resorts. A rail line was extended to the village, and a railway station opened in 1932. And then came the Second World War.

The resort development stalled, and now only the incongruous bulk of the British Pilot pub hints at what might have been. Recently closed, the Pilot still marks the starting spot for this walk, to explore a newly opened section of the English Coast Path.

The coast path and Thames Estuary

From the pub, a track heads east across rough pasture, then up and onto the sea wall. Across the estuary, on a good day, the windows of Southend-on Sea glint and glimmer, exchanging random semaphore signals with the marshalled ranks of holiday homes.

The Thames Estuary is four and a half miles wide here, but at low tide it seems one could walk across the wide, muddy flats all the way to Essex.

Yantlet Creek

The path quickly reaches Yantlet Creek and turns inland. This creek once bisected the Hoo Peninsula, separating the Isle of Grain from the mainland. Since at least medieval times the creek was a marine thoroughfare, allowing smaller vessels to cut between the Medway and Thames. However, the sinuous creek was subject to silting, and the channel required regular dredging. Yantlet Creek has long been lost to navigation, it’s tidal limit now stifled by sea walls and sluices.

Due to its importance as a waterway, a coastguard station once stood close to the mouth of the creek. Smuggling of untaxed goods was rife along the estuary, and it was the luckless coastguards’ job to stop the illicit trade. Their home was often a moored hulk, often shared with their families.

The hulk at Yantlet Creek was swept away in 1897 and the coastguard station moved further inland to Avery, on the edge of Allhallows. Weathered bricks and foundations can still be seen beside the creek, testimony to the lost station.

The Black Widow beacon

Since at least 1905 a maritime beacon has also guarded Yantlet Creek. This was known locally as the Black Widow, as the uppermost body resembled a round head above a long cape or skirt.

The Black Widow beacon has recently fallen, toppled by wind, erosion and age. A foundation of four stout wooden legs remain, but the Widow’s rusting metal figure now lies twisted and broken in the mud below.

The London Stone

Beyond the beacon, a remote monument rises like a phantom, a curious, weather-beaten obelisk marking a forgotten border. This is the London Stone, raised in 1856 to briefly mark the eastern boundary of the City of London Corporation’s jurisdiction over the lucrative waters of the Thames.

The London Stone is twinned with the more accessible Crow Stone at Leigh-on-Sea, across the estuary. The City lost control of these disputed waters to the Crown in 1857, but in its time, this granite pillar would have been visited and toasted by the Lord Mayor of London and his dignitaries, as they formally marked and celebrated their territorial claim over the Thames.

When the tide is low the Creek can be reduced to a jumpable stream, allowing access to the Stone. There is mud, but also firmer shell and sand. There is no official public access, but we generally have the right to roam below the high tide mark. However, it’s best not to venture too far beyond, as the area is as an active Danger Zone with a risk of unexploded ordnance.

Yantlet Creek Memorials

Look for two much smaller monuments beside the path. One commemorates a man named Geoffrey John Hammond, who drowned here in 1975. The handcrafted bronze plaque, and a later addition in honour of his wife, have both been stolen, almost erasing their memory. I’ve written more about this memorial when describing another Allhallows walk. The other stone commemorates the construction of the Thames Flood Defences, raised after the disastrous North Sea flood of 1953.

In summer, the path here is a frenzy of colourful wildflowers. On a grey winter’s day, all tones are muted, lifted only by the sight of little egret, their pure white plumage contrasting with the dull landscape and brooding sky.

The path follows the curve of the creek. A few buildings on the other side of the Creek hug the landscape. An old, unused quayside is melting back into the land and the water. Oil storage tanks squat low on the horizon.

The tidal creek is cut short by a sea wall, separating saltwater from freshwater. The new public footpath cuts across this wall, away from Allhallows Marshes and onto the Isle of Grain. Previously, the only right of way was on and into the marshes, following tracks which loop and circle around themselves.

Allhallows Marshes

Allhallows Marshes are home to the rare remnants of a Second World War Decoy site. During night-time air raids, circular cuts would be flooded with oil and ignited, to imitate burning oil tanks and hopefully draw enemy bombers away from the refinery on Grain. I’ve written more about Allhallows Marshes here.

Once on Grain, the path follows the line of another flood defence wall. To the left is the no-go military Danger Area. To the right, arable fields lead to the island’s industrial heart, much reduced but still impressive. The path joins West Lane which quickly leads into the village of Grain.

A flooded gravel pit is passed on the right. The darkly humorous ‘No Trespassing’ signs make a pleasant change from the usual ‘Keep Out’ notices which confine so many public rights of way.

The Grain Tower and Medway Estuary

Walk past the fire station, following the straight line of Chapel Road. When the houses run out, a bridleway cuts left, the road heads right and a public footpath carries straight on, towards the sea.

Follow this path to the seawall, scramble up, and you’ll find yourself overlooking the old causeway which heads out to the Grain Tower, protecting the mouth of the Medway. At low tide you can walk out to the Tower, at high tide you’d need a boat.

This isn’t a long walk, between Allhallows and the Grain Tower. Maybe 6km, allowing you to step from one estuary to another, enjoying seascapes, wilderness and history, with a distant industrial backdrop.

More information

My thanks to Liza S for joining me on this walk, undertaken in March 2022. We cheated and used cars for this one. There is no public train service to Allhallows or Grain, and Sunday bus services are limited.

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Walking the River Crouch: Burnham on Crouch to North Fambridge

Ian Tokelove — Sat, 12 Mar 2022 21:47:56 +0000

Burnham on Crouch sits on the northern bank of the River Crouch in Essex. It’s a small, historic town with a lot of pubs. It’s locally regarded as being rather up-market, well known for its yachting scene. On a summer’s day this can be a busy place, but on a cold winter’s morning we mostly had the streets to ourselves.

We were walking west, following the River Crouch upriver to North Fambridge and a waiting pub. I’d expected a flat, perhaps disappointing walk, but I’d not counted on the rich wildlife we’d encounter, which elevated our walk beyond all expectations.

Walking along the quay we passed a short line of houseboats, in varying degrees of repair. The aroma of chips tempted us into a local chippie, but the rank odour of burnt vegetable oil pushed us back out again. A nearby Tesco Express provided the sustenance we needed.

The Saltmarsh Coast Trail

The coastal path quickly leaves Burnham on Crouch and curves around Burnham Yacht Harbour. The path takes you right through the boatyard, past yachts parked up on trailers, before re-joining the Crouch. The tide was high, submerging the river’s saltmarsh border beneath a calm, reflective sheen.

The path meets Ferry Road just before Creeksea Sailing Club, but we found our way blocked by the high tide. A man watched us from the near but inaccessible club, keeping any advice he had to himself. Fortunately, a public footpath leads inland here, crossing a private lane which led us back to the coastal path.

For a while the path is edged inland by low shrubs and bushes, the bare branches coated in luxuriant growths of lichen. The footpath then reaches The Cliff, a short, unexpected gradient in the flat landscape.

The Cliff

The Cliff is composed of London Clay and is rich in fossils, dating back some 50 million years. The fossils drop from the eroding cliff face and include sharks’ teeth, shells, bird bones and pyritised fossil wood. However, many are small, so don’t expect easy finds. And don’t go digging into the cliff, it’s a protected SSSI.

I’d have liked to have explored the beach, but the tide was high, and we still had a long way to walk. We dangled our legs over the broken beach and grabbed a quick snack, our backs to the biting wind, before pushing on.

Flocks of dark-bellied brent geese were flying in, constantly chattering to each other as they picked out splashdown spots on the river, where they floated in loose, noisy rafts. Inland, uncountable lapwing were feeding on the wet fields, along with other, smaller waterfowl.

River Crouch oysters

As we approached Althorne we skirted a winding creek, then passed through a small marina. The sun was low, and we could have ended our walk here, catching a train from Althorne’s railway station. But we wanted to carry on, this walk was too good to cut short.

The path follows Althorne Creek, which winds past Bridgemarsh Island. The island was once home to a small farm and a brick and tile works, served by a ford and ferry at Althorne. The land was eventually surrendered to the tides, and while there is a glimpse or two of remnant structures amid the marsh, no buildings remain.

Ahead, rows of stubbed, blackened posts delineate old oyster beds in the silvery salt-mud. Like fences around fields, the posts once marked and protected a precious crop.

The dredging and farming of oysters from the River Crouch dates back to at least the 17^th century, and once employed hundreds of men and boys. The practice continued until the 1990s, when pollution finally reduced the oysters to unprofitable levels. The oyster beds now lie silent below a blanket of silt and the daily tides. Maybe, one day, they’ll return.

With the sun now butting the horizon, our path rejoined the main channel. The footpath threads along the sea wall, separating the Crouch from low-lying, wet pasture. Much of this is Blue House Farm Nature Reserve, managed by Essex Wildlife Trust.

Incoming wildlife

As darkness fell, squads of brent geese began to leave their inland grazing fields for the safety of the water. They flew in low v-formations, dropping over the sea wall towards the water. Some groups came right at us, only spotting us when close. Breaking formation, they honked noisy proximity alerts as they veered past us, before closing rank and heading on towards the water. In the fading light it was an electrifying, slightly unnerving experience.

Heading on, a distant glimmer of scattered lights marked South Fambridge on the southern bank. As we approached our path’s end, the dark masts of moored boats broke across the last coral glow of the sunset, and occasional voices drifted across the water.

Leaving the river and quay we headed through a cold and silent boat yard to a warm welcome at the Ferry Boat Inn, moving from one world to the next.

This coastal path along the River Crouch is about nine miles long, or 14.5km. The rail stations at Burnham on Crouch and North Fambridge are further inland, extending the distance by another 1.5 miles.

My thanks to Liza S for her company on this one, which we walked on 5th December 2021.

The path is just one section of Maldon’s 75 mile Saltmarsh Coast Path

Burnham on Crouch on the map

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Walking MOD Shoeburyness and the Wakering creeks

Ian Tokelove — Sun, 09 Jan 2022 15:28:14 +0000

MOD Shoeburyness, a high security Ministry of Defence testing base, separates the village of Great Wakering from the Thames Estuary. The base extends from the eastern edge of Southend-on-Sea to the tip of Foulness Island, and puts 14.5 square miles largely out of reach to the public. However, when the red flags aren’t flying, public access is allowed along the public footpaths and bridleways.

We started our walk at the far end of Victoria Drive in Great Wakering. An access gate, hidden just around the corner, leads through the security fence on days when access is permitted. Crossing the MOD road, the path heads towards the coast, bordered by expansive reedbeds and thick scrubland.

After crossing an overgrown military rail line, the path steps up to the top of the seawall. When the tide is low the view is of endless mudflats, reaching out to distant water. If the tide is high, and the winter waders are present, you’ll be treated to fabulous birdlife. On our visit, uncountable oyster catcher had gathered to await the tide’s retreat. Dunlin were flocking low across the water, a flickering, shape-shifting cloud.

MOD Shoeburyness

The footpath heads east along the seawall and soon reaches Wakering Stairs, where the infamous Broomway begins. A military watchtower gazes out at a tidal path which heads out onto the Maplin Sands. The path is thought to have claimed more than 100 lives, over its long history.

Inland, large concrete structures rise from the reeds and winding channels. Some have been hit with heavy munitions, their steel ribs exposed and rusting. This part of MOD Shoeburyness seems largely overgrown and unused, with most activity taking place on Foulness Island.

At Haven Point, Havengore Creek pushes inland, joining with other creeks to take Foulness and several other isles from the mainland. A short section of the path is composed of sheets of heavy amour plate, gouged and punctured by test fire. A circle of moss grows where a shell once punched through a couple of inches of tempered steel.

Havengore bridge

Approaching Havengore bridge, a short, rusting gangway reaches out to a concrete sluice. The gangway is marked ‘ferry’ although I’m pretty sure no ferry ever served this spot. However, there is a 1903 reference to a coastguard ship moored half-mile within the Creek. The coastguard’s main duty was to watch the creeks for smugglers, but they were also equipped for life-saving duties.

The bridge itself is the only road access to Foulness Island and is guarded to prevent unwanted visitors. Public access is occasionally permitted, for visitors to the Foulness Heritage Centre. The centre remained closed in 2021 due to the pandemic, but will hopefully reopen soon.

The landscape is one of saltmarsh and fields, with little protection from winter’s wind or summer sunshine. Approaching Wakering Boatyard, I spotted what I can only describe as a tide-dial: the rise & fall of the tides marked in Essex mud by the keel of a tethered boat, turning with the changing flow around its mooring point.

Wakering boatyard

A series of large, assorted houseboats are moored at Mill Head, their designs spanning a hundred years or more. Beyond, the boatyard is a chaotic assemblage of vessels. Shiny new pleasure boats mix with rusting trawlers, lined with age. Wood smoke and epoxy fumes tinge the air. There was once a small brickworks here, typical of estuarine industry, using clay dug from the once plentiful saltmarsh.

Potton Island

Moving on, we passed another no-go MOD road bridge, this one crossing the creek to Potton Island. Needing lunch, we stopped where an old causeway fords Potton Creek. The metal flood gate promised shelter from the wind, but someone had also chosen this remote spot for a wilderness poo. Thankfully, the nearby causeway provided a flat and relatively sheltered picnic spot, away from the scat.

Maps show a private ferry operating here from at least 1873, serving the small community which farmed the island. More recently, in the 1980s, Potton Island was considered as a potential site for long-term storage of high-level nuclear waste. Thankfully, that plan was abandoned following the sweeping defeat of the Conservative government in 1997.

The path continues to the confluence of Potton and Barlinghall Creeks, where the route curves west. Across the creek, Barling Marsh was once quarried for sands and gravels and then used for domestic and industrial landfill. Once a mecca for hungry gulls, the landfill site is now nearing closure. On our side of the creek, flocks of brent geese were grazing the wet, inland pasture.

Barlinghall Creek

As Barlinghall Creek turns to the south a small flotilla of boats huddle around the old wharf at Barling Hall. A grounded, disused barge now serves the fleet as a quayside.

As we approached the head of the creek, the falling tide had revealed expanses of silvery mud, reflecting the low sun and wintery sky. Here we broke away from the creek, to follow the footpath past Halfway House Farm and back towards our starting place.

A rough, pitted farm track leads through arable fields to a narrow country road. Distant shouts of encouragement suggested that Great Wakering Rovers were playing at home, their floodlights twinkling beyond bare fields and a darkening treeline.

On the edge of Great Wakering, we left the road by taking an eastwards path through Wakering Common. This path leads to Stairs Road, where a public footpath parallels the fenced MOD road back to Victoria Drive, our starting point.

My thanks to Aisling, Kate and Liza for joining me for this one, which we walked on New Year’s Day 2022. Our route covered about eight miles, or 13km.

Buses 4A and 14 from Southend-on-Sea stop at the top of Victoria Drive.

Also see Walking the Broomway, Britain’s deadliest footpath.

More information on MOD Shoeburyness including visitor information.

MOD Shoeburyness and the Wakering creeks on the map

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Exploring Milton Creek, from Sittingbourne to the Swale

Ian Tokelove — Wed, 01 Dec 2021 14:14:12 +0000

Milton Creek winds from the small, industrial town of Sittingbourne towards the Swale and the Thames Estuary. Once busy with barges, the creek is now a forgotten backwater, a saltmarsh landscape with, in places, an industrial backdrop.

The truncated head of Milton Creek can be glimpsed from The Mill Skatepark in Sittingbourne, but access is poor. This was once a remote, rural landscape, dominated by corn mills. Now the air is tainted by junk food and exhaust fumes. Passing a Domino’s and Topps Tiles, the raised line of a shabby, low viaduct leads the way on slanting legs of re-enforced concrete.

Seemingly derelict and disused, this stilted railway ran between the lost Sittingbourne Paper Mill and Ridham Dock on the Swale. The line is surprisingly still in use, maintained by the volunteer run Sittingbourne & Kemsley Light Railway.

Milton Creek, the head and the mouth

A public footpath leads off Gas Road towards the creek, passing industrial units and a lorry park. The path meets the creek at an old wharf, where creative signage points towards the head and the mouth of the creek.

The route circumnavigates a large lake, a tenuous track between the creek and the flooded remnants of what was perhaps a brick field or quarry. Across the channel, the snarl and buzz of Go-Carts drifts over the riverwall and the carcass of an old barge.

Our waterways have long been a dumping ground for our liquid wastes, which is why sewage treatment works dot our coastline and rivers. Alongside Milton Creek, one such works sits close to the river. Gulls float in slow, clockwise circles on the circulating waters of the settling tanks. There’s a bit of a whiff, but nothing unbearable.

Marsh and landfill

An extensive area of saltmarsh leads to the Swale Way road bridge. Burrowing rabbits reveal the dumped landfill used to reclaim what was once Church Marshes. Bottles, clinker and crockery spill towards the creek, a forgotten history of trash below the path.

Just beyond the bridge, a renovated yet empty wharf once served the nearby Burley Brickworks, and later the Bowater Paper Mill (now Kemsley Paper Mill). Nothing remains except for a blackened hulk which lies in the mud, hidden with every high tide. Red-billed oystercatcher patrol the mudbanks, occasionally expressing themselves with shrill, piping calls.

The path carries on past wild saltmarsh and below towering pylons, towards distant, gleaming industrial chimneys. On a high tide this is a flooded landscape, with salt-tolerant plants emerging from the brine.

Industrial rubble and kingfishers

Passing the paper works, a circular cut in the concrete wharf reveals what is probably the footprint of a derrick which once stood here, unloading Thames barges. A little further on, a large rusting pipe plunges into the creek, an exhausted outflow for the old paper works. Here I saw a kingfisher, an emerald flash of light fleeing my intrusion.

This is an area of heavy landfill. Kemsley Marshes have mostly been lost to the expanding paper mill or dumped upon. Broken concrete tumbles into the creek, and in places walking can be tricky. Beyond the paper mill, the Kemsley combined heat and power facility burns waste to produce energy and power. The massive bulk of the building squats low behind landscaped landfill.

At the mouth of Milton Creek, where the channel joins the Swale, the remains of the paper mill’s small pumphouse and jetty sit offshore. Cut adrift from the mainland, the barren concrete structure now provides temporary respite for roosting gulls.

Grinders and gypsum

Around the corner a modern industrial conveyor arches across the path and out to a jetty. The way is almost blocked by what appear to be WW2 anti-tank blocks. These are actually huge rollers from the paper mill, once used to crush and grind logs to produce wood pulp. The jetty isn’t used by the paper mill but by Knauf, to deliver Spanish gypsum to their nearby factory, which produces building materials such as plasterboard.

Another sewage treatment works discharges into the creek here. At high tide the piped, turbulent flow agitates and stirs the creek waters. Thankfully the outflow was odourless, the water apparently clean, returning to the environment from which it came.

Grovehurst Dock

The sewage treatment plant stands roughly where a large, basic dock once cut into Kemsley Marshes. Grovehurst Dock was excavated in the 1860’s to serve the inland Grovehurst Brick and Tile Works. The dock later served Kemsley Paper Mill, as an import dock for wood pulp. The dock is visible on maps until 1947, but was probably lost during river wall refortification, following the disastrous North Sea flood of 1953. A deep treatment pool now occupies part of the former dock.

The Isle of Sheppey lies across the Swale, the shoreline bordering the fantastic Elmley Nature Reserve. You may make out the remains of a simple dock on the far shore, one of the last traces of the lost Elmley village and its small cement and brick works. I could make out an excavator by the dock, and a barge moored offshore.

I visited the following week and found the owners are dredging and repairing the lock, the spoil a glutinous pile of mud, brick and old timber, perhaps a former barge. One barge remains, an unnamed hulk at the head of the dock, the broken body now weighted under a cargo of mud and bound by cord-grass.

Ridham Dock

The main path now cuts around Ridham Dock towards the Sheppey Crossing. However, another dead-end path heads north, to the mouth of the dock. Astride this seawall, the extent of the dock and associated works is apparent, covering a large chunk of Ridham Marsh. A wide belt of saltmarsh still thrives along the edge of the Swale, punctuated near the tip by an old slipway and lines of wooden posts.

Ridham Dock was opened in 1919 as a deep water dock, allowing larger ships and cargoes to serve the paper mill at Sittingbourne, and saving the need for barges to navigate Milton Creek’s tidal waters. Goods were carried by tramway, with the dock expanding to meet the demand of the later Kemsley Paper Mill, which it still serves today.

The path to the mouth of the dock is blocked by a large concrete block, but local anglers have stamped out a rough route towards the deeper water and better fishing. A battered sign leads to a final narrow stretch of dock wall, with a long drop into the dark water below. In the distance, the Sheppey Crossing and Kingsferry Bridge frame the horizon.

For me, this was as far as I got. I turned and retraced my steps, into an ever-darkening winter night. As the tide crept in across the mudflats and the light fell, winter waders came closer to the path. An occasional bulky curlew stood out among flocks of black-trailed godwit and redshank. Their soothing calls fading as the darkness grew.

For a shorter one-way walk, continue to Swale railway station, situated where the bridges cross the Swale. Sittingbourne is just a ten minute train ride away from this single line station. At time of writing, trains are hourly at weekends, half-hourly during the week.

Walk undertaken in November 2021

The Medway Swale Estuary Partnership is a not-for profit organisation which works to conserve and promote the estuary’s natural and cultural heritage.

Milton Creek on the map

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Walking the Broomway, Britain’s deadliest footpath

Ian Tokelove — Mon, 27 Sep 2021 17:28:02 +0000

The Broomway is an ancient bridleway in Essex, an offshore path which is swallowed each day by Thames Estuary tides. The path serves Foulness Island and for many hundreds of years was the only way to reach the island. The sea around here is shallow, retreating up to 5km offshore, before sweeping back across the Maplin Sands.

The Broomway tracks across an almost featureless landscape, an offshore path some 400m from the nearest land. Between the path and the island, the Black Grounds wait patiently. Their soft, dark mud ready to embrace and hold another victim.

It is estimated that more than 100 have drowned out here, caught by the rising tide. Some will have been snared by the mud, others confused by falling darkness or thick fog, floundering in the rising water. The Foulness Burial Register records 66 bodies recovered from the sands since 1600.

Foulness and the Ministry of Defence

The Broomway is a public right-of-way, but access to the path, and the entire island, is guarded by QinetiQ, a private defence contractor working for the Ministry of Defence (MOD). Foulness Island is owned by the MOD and supports a population of about 150, but is largely used for secretive testing and research. QinetiQ don’t like unannounced visitors.

We walked the Broomway with a local guide, Tom Bennett, who had arranged to meet us at Wakering Stairs, where the path heads out into the estuary. The road to Wakering Stairs is barred and guarded by QinetiQ’s entry control point, where I’ve had mixed experiences. On this occasion, my request for access was simply met with a slightly contemptuous stare, the guard unwilling to even vocalise a response. I drove to the barrier and the gate lifted, either automatically or because a button was pushed.

Fortunately, Tom is much friendlier, keen and enthusiastic. Having explained the dangers and a few dos-and-don’ts, he escorted us out and into our intertidal adventure.

Water, mud and bombs

Tom reminded us that the tides and mud aren’t the only dangers awaiting the unwary explorer. The Maplin Sands are part of an active firing range, in use since at least the First World War. As well as unexploded ordnance there are hidden shell craters,.

Guns once fired on the Sands from a firing point on the Isle of Grain, on the other side of the estuary. This battery tested artillery pieces, manufactured upriver at the Royal Arsenal in Woolwich, lobbing long-range shells into the Sands.

We set off, walking almost directly away from the land, splashing through shallow saltwater pools and puddles. The sand beneath our feet was reassuringly firm, occasionally giving way to darker mud below.

Small, scattered mounds of wave-washed cordgrass have dug their roots deep into the mud, and at one of these we gathered, then turned to the north east.

The Broomway and the Maypole

Our goal was a distant wooden pole, a navigational marker for Havengore Creek. Boards of wood have been nailed across this marker pole, creating a primitive, shamanic-like ladder, known as the Maypole.

The Broomway’s path was once marked with sticks and branches, bare twigs raised above the mud like inverted witches’ brooms. Now, only occasional clues remain. Our next mark was another navigational pole, tall but distant, little more than a shimmer on the horizon.

Tom pointed the way, but even in fine weather the Broomway is a disorientating place, with distances impossible to judge. Other poles and beacons can be seen further out, at least one guarding a wreck, but few mark the Broomway.

Far out in the estuary, two groups of stilted Maunsell Forts can be seen. These are Red Sands and Shivering Sands army forts, onetime guardians of the wartime estuary. Container ships seem to float above a distant horizon, echoed by their own reflections. Offshore wind turbines catch the sun, and lines of white gulls stripe the remote water’s edge.

Asplins Head

Reaching the next marker pole, we hit light mud and a crumbling ankle-breaker of a causeway, leading in to Asplins Head. This was apparently built to enable the mainland doctor to access the island. Next to the causeway, a low and wide, semi-circular structure resembles a shallow reservoir. This was reputably once filled with fuel, which was then burnt in experiments. Growing environmental awareness seems to have put a stop to such activities in the 1970s.

Following the causeway in, we stopped for a snack on the sea wall. Access further inland is forbidden, although a public footpath follows the sea wall. On this group walk, this was as far as we got. The Broomway continues along the coastline for another 4km, ending at Fisherman’s Head, where another causeway allows safe passage to the island.

The return

Carefully returning to our path across the mud, Tom explained how to find the Maypole, the marker to guide us home. By looking for three gas silos in the far distance, across the estuary on the Isle of Grain, we could just make out the Maypole to the right. It was a tiny dark sliver, hardly visible. With even a little rain or fog, such remote landmarks would vanish.

On this summer day there was little birdlife out on the sandy flats, other than the distant gulls, but these are important feeding grounds for winter waders and wildfowl. The mud is rippled by the tide, dotted with worm-cast coils and punctured by the holes of razor clams. Small green crabs scurry from pool to pool. The only other movement seems to be water rippling in the breeze and the track of clouds across the sky; it’s almost like another planet.

Tom Bennet’s Broomway walks can be booked on his website.

Walking the Broomway without a guide is not recommended. The tides are unpredictable, and the route is not always accessible for the amount of time that the tide tables suggest. The intertidal time can be shortened by an onshore wind and/or the tide height.

My thanks to Liza, Christine, Carolyn and Matthew for joining me on this walk, in June 2021.

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Walking from Allhallows towards the Isle of Grain, exploring the Thames Estuary edges

Ian Tokelove — Tue, 30 Jun 2020 14:32:55 +0000

The holiday park at Allhallows looks across the Thames towards the distant, cluttered shoreline of Southend-on-Sea. A narrow beach of family-friendly sand and shell leads to an expanse of thick, dark mud, swept regularly by powerful tides.

In June 2020, with camping sites still under coronavirus lockdown, the beach is almost deserted. The holiday homes stand empty and quiet.

A public footpath leads from Allhallows into the holiday park, passing the gated security post, and down to the shoreline. I headed east, away from the land and towards the sea. The path follows the ridge of the river embankment, thickly lined with cranesbill and nodding florets of wild carrot.

Yantlet Creek

At Yantlet Creek, the path turns inland, following the waterway. Across the narrow channel lies a disused naval firing range, off-limits to the public. This used to be a testing ground for large weapons, lobbing long-range shells out to sea, to be swallowed by the Maplin Sands.

A weathered monument stands where Yantlet Creek meets the Thames. These sad stones once held two bronze plaques, commemorating a life lost here, and a partner’s death a few years later. Both plaques are now gone, presumably stolen and melted down for scrap. Memories rendered, very nearly lost and forgotten.

Geoffrey John Hammond, drowned at Yantlet Creek

Photographer John Shepherd captured the plaques back in 2008, shortly before they were stolen. His photograph from Flickr reveals an epitaph to Geoffrey John Hammond, who drowned here. The words are cast into metal and weathered by salt wind; each handcrafted letter accentuated by a blue patina.

The main plaque reads:

Geoffrey John Hammond, artist, teacher, naturalist, conservationist drowned on March 2^nd 1975 at the age of 37 years in these waters, visiting Yantlet Creek and its beach, beloved by him …. Deepest love and respect from the Dickens Country Protection Society of which he was a committee member, his wife, his family and his many friends.

“How still it is! I hear no more the busy beat of time, no, nor my struggling pulse ….. this silence pours a solitariness into the very essence of my soul, and the deep rest, so soothing and so sweet, hath something too of sternness and of pain.” (The dream of Gerontias)

Julie, 1977 and forever

Julie, Geoffrey’s wife, died a few years later, aged only 44. She was a sculptor. Perhaps she chose these stones, and cast the first plaque. The plaque in her honour simply read:

Julie Hammond
(Julie van Duren, Sculptor)
1937-1981
Wife of Geoffrey

Nearby, another monument leans at an angle, commemorating the construction of the Thames Flood Defence system. In the distance, beyond a navigational marker in the creek, the London Stone stands tall, to the north of the firing range.

The London Stone

The London Stone was erected in 1856 to mark the eastern boundary of the City of London’s jurisdiction over the River Thames. The Stone is one of several which asserted the City’s ownership of the Thames and the river’s valuable fisheries and tolls. The stone’s purpose was short-lived, with the City losing control to the Crown in 1857 under The Thames Conservancy Act.

The London Stone is twinned with another boundary marker on the other side of the estuary, the Crow Stone at Leigh-on-Sea in Essex. The London Stone can be reached at low tide if you’re prepared to risk mud, water and trespass.

The lost coastguard station

An eroding layer of yellow brick, topped with pitch, marks the remains of a small coastguard station, landing stage and lane which once stood here. Yantlet Creek was once a navigable waterway, a tidal watercourse which joined with Colemouth Creek, a tributary of the Medway.

Regular dredging allowed boats to take the creek shortcut between the Medway and Thames estuaries. In the 19th century, the Isle of Grain really was an island.

This remote location was ideal for smuggling, which led to the establishment of the coastguard station. At first, the station was probably based in a moored hulk on the riverside. The station was swept away in 1897 and a new station established in Allhallows.

The path follows the creek inland. This is remote land, the wildlife cautious of movement. I flushed a mixed flock of little egret and herons, pure white and charcoal grey against the clouded, windy sky.

Across the creek, the Isle of Grain oil terminal once boasted a huge refinery and around 100 oil tanks, but most have now been removed. The huge storage tanks which now dominate the horizon contain Liquefied Natural Gas (LNG).

With the wind blowing hard across the marshes, I ducked down from the embankment path and into the edges of the fen. Others were also seeking shelter here; small, bright dragonflies clinging to the swaying sedge. I think these are red-veined darters, the mature males a deep red, while the females and younger males are ochre-yellow.

Decoy fires and WW2 bombing raids

At the heart of the Allhallows Marshes, on the edge of a few farmed fields and the path to Binney Farm, a curious concrete structure draws the eye. This is a Second World War ‘night shelter’, a reinforced unit of two rooms and part of an ‘Oil QF’ decoy site.

In order to protect the oil terminal on the Isle of Grain, burning rings and crescents of fuel could be ignited here. The fires would give the impression of burning oil drums & storage tanks, luring enemy night bombers away from their real targets.

About 25m from the night-shelter, a series of concrete supports once held a large oil tank, fuel for the decoy fires. Similar structures still stand on the Fobbing Marshes across the Thames, built as a decoy for the oil refinery at Shell Haven.

The path that cuts east here, away from the farm and back towards Yantlet Creek, passes the shadow of a decoy tank, still visible amid the wild grassland.

If the burning decoys did their job and attracted enemy bombing, the marshes show little trace, but this crater suggests at least one bomb fell here during WW2.

The path home

I took the embankment path back to Allhallows. A young family had set up a crooked tent and were exploring the foreshore, slipping and sliding as they turned rocks and seaweed in search of crabs. Rather than head back to the holiday park I took another short path, leading from the Thames to The British Pilot pub on the edge of the village.

A herd of young steers quit their grazing to regard me with curiosity. Starlings rose and fell around them, catching insects drawn by their dung and disturbed by their hooves. I left the marsh and followed the quiet lane back to my car, and the fast road to London.

More information

Naturegirl blog, a walk to Yantlet Creek

Historic England, Oil Depot Bombing Decoy, Allhallows, Isle of Grain

This page updated April 2022 to include more information on the memorial to Geoffrey John Hammond.

The post Walking from Allhallows towards the Isle of Grain, exploring the Thames Estuary edges appeared first on Remote London.