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tamaranthYesterday I went to look at Shive Tor, "a certain lonely castle that stands off the Isle of Grain, in view of the open sea, and that may be reached directly from the Continent without interference by Her Majesty’s Customs agents." (Neal Stephenson, The System of the World).
I love the light in that part of the world -- north or south of the estuary, there's a cool violet glow reflected from the shallow North Sea (formerly Doggerland) and it's especially glorious at dusk. And it was my first solo just-for-the-fun-of-it drive. Why the Isle of Grain? Well, why not? And anyway I wanted to see Shive Tor. And to test out my new car stereo on long, flat roads through marshland. Beethoven 7 & 8 suited the landscape very well.
The Isle of Grain (site of the last known epidemic of malaria in the UK, in 1918) is not a prepossessing place. The primary structure is a huge power station which I could see it from my bedroom window at home, growing up in rural Essex.
The beach was overrun* with people arguing or just ranting -- I didn't get close enough to be certain -- which rather spoilt the atmosphere. But from the north-east end of the beach, I could see a farm of wind turbines (elegant and remote and pale in the dusk), and the sea forts out in the estuary, and huge container ships waiting for the tide to turn and carry them up-river.
Grain Tower (a.k.a. Shive Tor)
"At high tide, Shive Tor might make, if not a pretty picture, then at least a striking Gothick spectacle, jutting out of sparkling water off the shore of the Isle of Grain, brooding over the traffic of ships through England’s front gate. But at this moment it stood alone in the middle of an expanse of drained muck the size of London." (The System of the World)
Shive Tor, if it ever existed, exists no longer. (And not just because it was burnt down by Jack the Coiner.) Instead, a mile seaward from the high-tide line, there's Grain Tower, built in 1855 and abandoned in 1955. You can walk out to it, but I chose not to, being uncertain of the state of the tide. On the north side of the estuary, it comes in faster than walking pace.
It's deliciously bleak, and quiet: looking west, the winter sky was pink and gold with contrails, and as Southend fell into the twilight and the lights began to twinkle it was easy to forget the port, the mud, the cranes and ships and breakwaters.
OMG it's for sale!
*more than three other people. New Zealand spoilt me.
I love the light in that part of the world -- north or south of the estuary, there's a cool violet glow reflected from the shallow North Sea (formerly Doggerland) and it's especially glorious at dusk. And it was my first solo just-for-the-fun-of-it drive. Why the Isle of Grain? Well, why not? And anyway I wanted to see Shive Tor. And to test out my new car stereo on long, flat roads through marshland. Beethoven 7 & 8 suited the landscape very well.
The Isle of Grain (site of the last known epidemic of malaria in the UK, in 1918) is not a prepossessing place. The primary structure is a huge power station which I could see it from my bedroom window at home, growing up in rural Essex.
The beach was overrun* with people arguing or just ranting -- I didn't get close enough to be certain -- which rather spoilt the atmosphere. But from the north-east end of the beach, I could see a farm of wind turbines (elegant and remote and pale in the dusk), and the sea forts out in the estuary, and huge container ships waiting for the tide to turn and carry them up-river.
Grain Tower (a.k.a. Shive Tor)
"At high tide, Shive Tor might make, if not a pretty picture, then at least a striking Gothick spectacle, jutting out of sparkling water off the shore of the Isle of Grain, brooding over the traffic of ships through England’s front gate. But at this moment it stood alone in the middle of an expanse of drained muck the size of London." (The System of the World)
Shive Tor, if it ever existed, exists no longer. (And not just because it was burnt down by Jack the Coiner.) Instead, a mile seaward from the high-tide line, there's Grain Tower, built in 1855 and abandoned in 1955. You can walk out to it, but I chose not to, being uncertain of the state of the tide. On the north side of the estuary, it comes in faster than walking pace.
It's deliciously bleak, and quiet: looking west, the winter sky was pink and gold with contrails, and as Southend fell into the twilight and the lights began to twinkle it was easy to forget the port, the mud, the cranes and ships and breakwaters.
OMG it's for sale!
*more than three other people. New Zealand spoilt me.
