Seaside postcard: Canvey Island Who'd have thought Canvey was worth two days of blogging? I didn't, until I went. Even more surprising, I think I want to go back some day. Some warm day when the tide's out, the museums are open and the Labworth's serving pie and chips. All topped off with a long stroll round the remote reaches of the western marshes. But just the once.
Holehaven: As names go, it's perfect. What else would you call a muddy creek on the border between Thurrock and Essex blighted by oil refineries and giant tankers? It's a hole alright. But oddly alluring all the same. You reach the river's edge by turning right at the King Canute pub in Canvey Village and heading shoreward for three quarters of a mile. The road passes slowly from suburban estates to industrial emptiness, with 100 giant petroleum tanks looming large behind secure metal fencing. Ugly as hell... unless you capture the light right, which I think I did [photo]. Continue to the end of the road and you reach the LobsterSmack, a 17th century inn in the middle of nowhere, now squashedup against Canvey's mighty sea wall [photo]. Notorious as a haunt of smugglers and bare knuckle fighters, it was also immortalised by Dickens in Great Expectations. The pub's far less scary these days, and I have yet to read a bad review of the place.
Only by climbing up past the lounge bar to the top of the concrete wall do you get a true sense of the pub's estuarine location. It's big out there, and very flat, and very grey. Most striking are the metal piers snaking out into the Thames, one of thema mile long - the longest jetty in Europe. The Occidental Jetty was built in the 1970s to download crude for aviation fuel, but the money ran out before its pipeline could be connected and it continues to rot in the middle of Holehaven Creek. Beyond lies the vast Corytonoil refinery, its massive fuel tanks rising from the shoreline as a mere hint of the industrial maelstrom beyond. Closer to shore is a blue hut on wooden stilts, from which Port of London staff keep tabs on passing tankers [photo]. I got the best view by walking down a wooden jetty used by lesser maritime folk, and stood mid-Thames soaking in the post-Dickensian landscape [photo]. It's only 30 miles upriver to urban Embankment-side Westminster, but it feels like a million.
Museums: It may surprise you to hear that there are three different museums on Canvey Island. It won't surprise you to hear that they're all free to enter, because nobody would bother coming otherwise. It didn't surprise me to discover that, being midwinter, they were all closed. 1) Dutch Cottage Museum: Being experts in sub-sea-level drainage, it was the Dutch who tamed and drained Canvey from the sea. Two of their 17th century octagonal cottages remain - one still a private residence and the other now a museum [photo]. They're most unusual looking residences, like thatched pepperpots from a fairy tale, and perfect jigsaw-puzzle fodder. What I didn't see: "A variety of exhibits that illustrate the history of Canvey Island, including models of sailing craft and a fine collection of corn dollies." Opening times: From Spring Bank Holiday to September on Wednesday afternoons, Sunday afternoons and Bank Holidays. 2) Canvey Heritage Centre: Formerly St Katherines church in Canvey Village, but deconsecrated, whitewashed and turned into a splendidly amateur museum. What I didn't see: "Art, Hobbies, Militaria and Photographic Exhibitions. There is a Lifeboat Week as well as the Museum Week, Slide shows and Tabletop Sales." Desperately vague opening times: "Most weekends during the summer months" 3) Castle Point Transport Museum: Right at the far end of the island, in deepest Leigh Beck, is the former Canvey & District bus depot. This is where people who like buses, transport and especially buses hang out, and they occasionally open their doors to allow fellow enthusiasts inside. What I didn't see: "Over thirty old and rare buses and coaches alongside vintage commercials, military and emergency vehicles." "A wide selection of ticket machines, tickets, poster, photographs and uniforms providing plenty for the visitors to enjoy." Opening times: 1st and 3rd Sundays from April to October, culminating in a big annual OpenDay (Oct 11th).
Inland: Enough of the coast, because the real Canvey's to be found inland amidst tightly packed residential streets. This could be any Essex town (except one of the pretty ones). You can get a fairly good idea of the mix of island residents by walking alongside the Long Road traffic jam and peering through the car windscreens. Hassled mum with kids, middle-aged blond wife with beer-bloated husband, shaggy mates on the look out, that sort of thing. Check out the numberplates for additional personal info - there's GAV, that's PAT, and this is R88CE. On a Saturday afternoon the place to be is Canvey's main shopping centre on FurtherwickRoad. There's a semi-decent selection of shops running north-south from "Deckcraft 'N Wools Too" to the Bingo Hall (including a large defunct Woolies and lots of charity shops). I was sorely tempted by cheap delicacies from Grout's, the island bakery, which is presumably responsible for ballooning several thousand residents up a waist size or two. The Knightswick Shopping Mall proved just as downbeat as its drab exterior suggested, but perfectly safe so long as I kept away from the boisterous larking hoodies. Don't get completely the wrong idea. There are some charming spots just a short walk away, including the unexpected mile-long curve of CanveyLake. Formerly a Roman salt-pan, it's now a waterfowl-filled nature reserve and fishing lake [photo]. Estates hem this reedy oasis on either side, with the most fortunate houses directly fronting the waterfront. If this were a London suburb, the lakeside aspect would add at least £100K to the price of your property. As things stand, however, three bouquets of wilted flowers tucked into a nearby fence hint that Canvey's rather more affordable than that.
Seaside postcard: Canvey Island There can be few less attractive midwinter tourist destinations in South East England than Canvey Island. A flat muddy estuarine island in the lower Thames, most of it below sea level, packed with housing estates, creeks, caravans and gas tanks. So I went for a visit at the weekend, so that you don't have to. And you know, it wasn't that bad.
Flooding: It's not immediately obvious why anyone would choose to live in the middle of the Thames, below the water line, hemmed in behind a concrete sea wall. But almost 40000 people think otherwise and have made Canvey Island their home. Their confidence is occasionally misplaced. One hour into February 1953, a cataclysmic North Seastormsurge broke through the sea wall and innundated by much of the island. Those living in bungalows and caravans were particularly imperilled, and by morning 58 lives had been lost.
Many lessons have been learned since that grim day, and the sea wall has been rebuilt bigger, thicker and stronger to try to keep the next innundation out. The wall's a great place for a bracing walk, all the way around the seaward side of the island if you so choose. Every so often there are steps up and over the barrier, through a locktight floodgate [photo], and at these spots you can climb up top to compare the difference in elevation on either side [photo]. It was high tide during my visit and, yes, sea level was very definitely higher than the front gardens and ground floor rooms of the Canvey houses in the depression below. Several three storey homes have been built with their living rooms at the top in an attempt to see over the wall, but most residents live out of sight of any clue that the seaside is only a few yards away. One of Canvey's suburbs is even called Sunken Marsh, which doesn't exactly engender confidence. I'm not sure I could ever live around here and sleep soundly in my bed at night.
Seafront: Strange as it may seem, in the first half of the 20th century Canvey Island grew to become one of Britain's most popular seaside resorts. Proximity to London can be the only explanation, making this a popular destination for time-starved East Enders, at least until 1970s package holidays lured them away to somewhere considerably warmer. In midwinter 2009 those golden summer days seemed impossibly far distant. Various ramshackle shoresidebooths were shuttered, the lacklustre crazy golf was securely locked and nobody was even thinking of sitting outside The Monico mega-pub. Cheeky Monkey's Outdoor World [photo] claimed to be open "every day of the year", but when I stepped inside this sparsely-fitted children's funfair I found nothing but mothballed rides. It was hard to imagine anyone spending a day entertained around here, let alone a full week.
But there is one extra-special leftover from Canvey's holiday heyday, and that's the LabworthCafe. It's a bold modernist structure made of reinforced concrete, with central rotunda and two symmetrical wings, said to resemble the bridge of the Queen Mary. It was designed in the early 1930s by Ove Arup (not the company but the Danish architect himself who would later go on to found the internationally renowned construction company). The cafe was once an integral part of the seafront complex but has since been isolated behind the sea wall and is only properly appreciated from thebeach. Unfortunately I arrived at high tide so my attempts to capture the Labworth's fine frontage were somewhat compromised [photo][photo]. Inside the place seemed busy enough, with chatting friends and smiling families enjoying the home-cooked food and hot beverages. I was mighty tempted by the menu, and by the chalkboard of daily specials visible through the window, but foolishly resisted going inside. Maybe it's a good thing the Labworth's not located somewhere more fashionable or easily accessible, so this Art Deco treat can remain a special secret a little longer.
Canvey Point: Follow the sea wall to the far easternmost point of the island and you reach one of Essex's less exclusive sailing clubs. Their car park looked like a dead end to me, until a single wooden signpost suggested otherwise. And yes, there between the squat brick clubhouse and a flotilla of laid-up yachts was an unassuming public footpath leading shoreward. It had to be worth following, even though it looked especially muddy. A few yards along there was a warning notice advising that the path ahead was sometimes submerged at high tide. but that just made venturing forward even more tempting. The path soon threaded beside a brackish creek to a primitive wooden stile (more mud), then dropped down to a broad expanse of squelchy salt marsh. My OS map insisted that the footpath continued for another half mile to the tip of the island, but I could see no discernible right of way across this barren estuarine landscape. I negotiated the first few steps safely enough, before stopping to scrutinise a curve of spiky weed-coated timbers [photo] (which I later discovered were the chalky remains of Canvey's first 17th century sea wall). It was at this point I noticed how much mud had attached itself to my walking boots. Taking everything into consideration (lack of path, being all alone in the middle of nowhere, high tide approaching) it seemed unwise to try to proceed any further. I managed to scrape some of the Thames off my boots on the walk back to civilisation, but there are still dried chunks of Canvey littering my doormat.
Only by climbing up past the lounge bar to the top of the concrete wall do you get a true sense of the pub's estuarine location. It's big out there, and very flat, and very grey. Most striking are the metal piers snaking out into the Thames, one of them a mile long - the longest jetty in Europe. The Occidental Jetty was built in the 1970s to download crude for aviation fuel, but the money ran out before its pipeline could be connected and it continues to rot in the middle of Holehaven Creek. Beyond lies the vast Coryton oil refinery, its massive fuel tanks rising from the shoreline as a mere hint of the industrial maelstrom beyond. Closer to shore is a blue hut on wooden stilts, from which Port of London staff keep tabs on passing tankers [photo]. I got the best view by walking down a wooden jetty used by lesser maritime folk, and stood mid-Thames soaking in the post-Dickensian landscape [photo]. It's only 30 miles upriver to urban Embankment-side Westminster, but it feels like a million.
1) Dutch Cottage Museum: Being experts in sub-sea-level drainage, it was the Dutch who tamed and drained Canvey from the sea. Two of their 17th century octagonal cottages remain - one still a private residence and the other now a museum [photo]. They're most unusual looking residences, like thatched pepperpots from a fairy tale, and perfect jigsaw-puzzle fodder.
Inland: Enough of the coast, because the real Canvey's to be found inland amidst tightly packed residential streets. This could be any Essex town (except one of the pretty ones). You can get a fairly good idea of the mix of island residents by walking alongside the Long Road traffic jam and peering through the car windscreens. Hassled mum with kids, middle-aged blond wife with beer-bloated husband, shaggy mates on the look out, that sort of thing. Check out the numberplates for additional personal info - there's GAV, that's PAT, and this is R88CE. On a Saturday afternoon the place to be is Canvey's main shopping centre on Furtherwick Road. There's a semi-decent selection of shops running north-south from "Deckcraft 'N Wools Too" to the Bingo Hall (including a large defunct Woolies and lots of charity shops). I was sorely tempted by cheap delicacies from Grout's, the island bakery, which is presumably responsible for ballooning several thousand residents up a waist size or two. The Knightswick Shopping Mall proved just as downbeat as its drab exterior suggested, but perfectly safe so long as I kept away from the boisterous larking hoodies. Don't get completely the wrong idea. There are some charming spots just a short walk away, including the unexpected mile-long curve of Canvey Lake. Formerly a Roman salt-pan, it's now a waterfowl-filled nature reserve and fishing lake [photo]. Estates hem this reedy oasis on either side, with the most fortunate houses directly fronting the waterfront. If this were a London suburb, the lakeside aspect would add at least £100K to the price of your property. As things stand, however, three bouquets of wilted flowers tucked into a nearby fence hint that Canvey's rather more affordable than that.
Many lessons have been learned since that grim day, and the sea wall has been rebuilt bigger, thicker and stronger to try to keep the next innundation out. The wall's a great place for a bracing walk, all the way around the seaward side of the island if you so choose. Every so often there are steps up and over the barrier, through a locktight floodgate [photo], and at these spots you can climb up top to compare the difference in elevation on either side [photo]. It was high tide during my visit and, yes, sea level was very definitely higher than the front gardens and ground floor rooms of the Canvey houses in the depression below. Several three storey homes have been built with their living rooms at the top in an attempt to see over the wall, but most residents live out of sight of any clue that the seaside is only a few yards away. One of Canvey's suburbs is even called Sunken Marsh, which doesn't exactly engender confidence. I'm not sure I could ever live around here and sleep soundly in my bed at night.
But there is one extra-special leftover from Canvey's holiday heyday, and that's the Labworth Cafe. It's a bold modernist structure made of reinforced concrete, with central rotunda and two symmetrical wings, said to resemble the bridge of the Queen Mary. It was designed in the early 1930s by Ove Arup (not the company but the Danish architect himself who would later go on to found the internationally renowned construction company). The cafe was once an integral part of the seafront complex but has since been isolated behind the sea wall and is only properly appreciated from the beach. Unfortunately I arrived at high tide so my attempts to capture the Labworth's fine frontage were somewhat compromised [photo] [photo]. Inside the place seemed busy enough, with chatting friends and smiling families enjoying the home-cooked food and hot beverages. I was mighty tempted by the menu, and by the chalkboard of daily specials visible through the window, but foolishly resisted going inside. Maybe it's a good thing the Labworth's not located somewhere more fashionable or easily accessible, so this Art Deco treat can remain a special secret a little longer.
Canvey Point: Follow the sea wall to the far easternmost point of the island and you reach one of Essex's less exclusive sailing clubs. Their car park looked like a dead end to me, until a single wooden signpost suggested otherwise. And yes, there between the squat brick clubhouse and a flotilla of laid-up yachts was an unassuming public footpath leading shoreward. It had to be worth following, even though it looked especially muddy. A few yards along there was a warning notice advising that the path ahead was sometimes submerged at high tide. but that just made venturing forward even more tempting. The path soon threaded beside a brackish creek to a primitive wooden stile (more mud), then dropped down to a broad expanse of squelchy salt marsh. My OS map insisted that the footpath continued for another half mile to the tip of the island, but I could see no discernible right of way across this barren estuarine landscape. I negotiated the first few steps safely enough, before stopping to scrutinise a curve of spiky weed-coated timbers [photo] (which I later discovered were the chalky remains of Canvey's first 17th century sea wall). It was at this point I noticed how much mud had attached itself to my walking boots. Taking everything into consideration (lack of path, being all alone in the middle of nowhere, high tide approaching) it seemed unwise to try to proceed any further. I managed to scrape some of the Thames off my boots on the walk back to civilisation, but there are still dried chunks of Canvey littering my doormat.
