To most visitors, Southend-on-Sea is flurry of activity around the pierhead and maybe a walk along the seafront. But England's newest city is actually an amalgamation of several suburbs packed into a dense linear strip approximately eight miles long and two miles wide. So for my drizzly visit this week I decided to walk from one end of the city to the other without ever passing through the well known bits in the centre, mostly inland, starting in Shoeburyness and ending in Leigh-on-Sea. Join me on what turned out to be a twelve mile trek through the Southend only its residents normally see.
Shoeburyness
Southend's east end is somewhat of a backwater as befits the very last stop on the line. It also has the city's best beach with an actual strip of decent sand before the mud starts, plus a BBQ-friendly swathe of grass behind. It's the only beach I know with a triangular sign at the entrance with the joint warnings 'Kite surfing area" and "Caution boats"... but then warnings are very much part of the Shoeburyness experience. "Danger - Firing Range" is the most important because the Ministry of Defence own most of the land around here, indeed the next three miles of coast to the north is all theirs, not to mention the whole of Foulness Island beyond. Only if a yellow diamond's been raised on the yardarm are you allowed on the beach, but under no circumstances can you cross to the sands beyond the wire fence or pass north of the mile-long defensiveboom. I contented myself with staring out at shipping in the North Sea and, when lifting mist permitted, spotting Kent.
Even on a drear day a handful of hardy men were out doing maintenance on their beached boats, which had fancy names like Lacy Lady, Lady Alice and Liberty Belle. Because it was low tide a few dogs were being walked on the mud by owners with appropriate footwear. The offshore bathing pool looked full but seasonally inhospitable. Kitesurfers were not in evidence but I did stop to read the long list of rules outlining what they can't do and in particular where they can't go. I especially liked the fake sound mirror by the car park emblazoned with the single word Hello, installed in the spring as part of the Estuary Festival by artist Katrina Palmer. She intended it as "a sculptural message of welcome that faces out towards Europe", not that anyone in Belgium can see it, nor is a beach sandwiched between two MOD danger areas the most welcoming place to arrive.
Shoebury Ness
Follow the waterfront south through Gunners Park and you'll eventually reach Shoebury Ness, which is the name of the brief bulge where the mouth of the Thames estuary opens out into the North Sea. A military garrison was established here during the Crimean War, more for artillery practice than coastal lookout, and has subsequently been transformed into a) mostly nature reserve b) partly housing estate. Birds get most of the coastal strip, a lot of which is still fenced off in case of undiscovered ordnance, and the wealthiest residents get to live in the former commandant's house. The sea wall remains accessible throughout, but with red signs at regular intervals warning that under no circumstances should you clamber over onto the beach and foreshore. Trespassers may be prosecuted, assuming they haven't exploded first.
Once past the battery and the gun emplacement, keep an eye out for the abandoned bargepier. It's over 100 years old, marks the exact location of Shoebury Ness and is of course securely locked off. Having turned the corner we're now finally looking upstream, the mud and murk offshore technically more estuarine than maritime. On a good day it's easy to spot the Isles of Grain and Sheppey and the tip of Southend pier, whereas in low visibility you're lucky if you can see the coastguard tower and the beached wreck offshore. It's easy to see why most daytrippers head to the bright lights instead.
Thorpe Bay
Here's where the MOD finally loose their grip and the beach huts start. My award for the best name goes to 'The Old Crabzut', the most contrived to 'Avinarest' and the least imaginative I'd say was a tie between 'Our Hut' and 'By The Sea'. Lurking behind this ill-painted row is Uncle Tom's Cabin, a locally-iconic refreshment kiosk which has been here for yonks selling Mr Whippy, slush and sausage rolls. It is for some reason octagonal, and for obvious reasons currently shuttered. And that's quite enough of Southend seafront, even the unfamiliar bits, because it's time to head inland and see where people live rather than play.
Thorpe Bay was the last slice of Southend's coastline to be developed, transformed from the 1920s onwards into a genteel grid of streets. The later half is mostly bungalows with decent sized gardens, built very much with the retirement market in mind. The older half is characterfully family-sized with a Metroland vibe, and bang in the centre (on its own grassy island) is the very bricky St Augustine's Church. Priorities were very different in those days so a substantial chunk of the garden suburb is taken up by an 18-hole golf course, so exclusive that it's surrounded by a thick cypress rim ensuring non-members can't see in. And the really quiet roads seem to attract learner drivers in large numbers, by the looks of things for very early lessons when expertise and confidence are very low, and that's how exciting Thorpe Bay is.
Southchurch
How confusing is it that the suburb immediately adjacent to Southend is called Southchurch? What's more Southchurch was here first by about a millennium, but past performance is no guarantee of future results. Today its station goes by the unhelpful name of Southend East, because everywhere in this city merges into its neighbours, and the housing stock is mostly interwar with Edwardian flourishes. A lot of houses are blessed with balustraded balconies, although there's generally no chance of a sea view. The local park lurks one block back from the beach and is mostly sports pitches, bar a supposedly ornamental lake and a savagely pruned rose garden. Top marks to the hair salon on Woodgrange Road which calls itself Blonde Dye Bleach.
The jewel in Southchurch's crown is Southchurch Hall, a timbered building dating back to the 14th century and probably built on the site of a Saxon hall. It's been in council hands since the 1930s when it was substantially restored, and is normally free to wander round except during the winter (and during times of global pandemic). Instead you can explore the intimate landscaped grounds, both inside the moat and without, perhaps bumping into grandmothers nattering, workmen devouring sandwiches and schoolkids holding court during their lunchbreak. I like how the suburban grid just suddenly breaks to spare this medieval throwback, then plunges back into dense streets of bay-windowed terraces on the other side.
And that's just half of my walk, covering the neighbourhoods to the east of Southend city centre. Tomorrow I'll head north and west, and if you'd like to see some of those photos fuller size try here.
