Time to go home.
I am awake before dawn breaks, and so listen to those working over at the Royal Mail distribution depot over the road, and of the trains arriving and departing from the station. I turn the radio on, listen to the news, then begin packing, having a shower, and waiting for when the smell of bacon frying creeps under my door meaning it is time for breakfast.
By ten past eight, I am ready to go, and I think I might try to sneak onto an earlier train. I walk to the station and down the slope to the entrance, show my ticket and make my way onto the platform to find there is no train. Just lots of passengers. Oddly, there is one on the next platform, but that is not for us, we have to wait for the one from London so we can travel on that. It arrives late, so late there is no time to allocate the reserved seating, which means I am fine to travel on this one, if I can find a seat. Once the rush has died down, there are many empties, and so I sink into one at the end of the quiet coach, and close my eyes and await the lurch that signals we would be on our way.
The guard announces that there are no reservations, the tannoy does not work (but how can we hear him?) and there is no hot water for tea or coffee. The guard walks down the train once un the trip down, and makes no eye contact. At each station we have to explain to the new arrivals that there are no reservations, and we know we are in your seats. By the time we leave Colchester, it is standing room only, and there are lots of angry people grumble as they have to stand. Being half term, there are many parents, now stressed, with their children having to stand all the way into London.
As we pull into Liverpool Street, the rain that was promised by the BBC that morning arrives, and it is a grey and miserable day. We file slowly down the platform, through the barriers, and I quickly make my way up to Bishopsgate where the first church lies. Or at least along and then turn left, and then straight ahead. Other people off the train just stand and stare at the mass of humanity passing before them, and try to work out which way they have to go. I am off to All Hallows on the Wall. Its on the wall you know!
I am off up the stairs and out into the drizzle, past the beggars outside, down Bishopsgate and then left and along to London Wall, a street named after, er, the Roman London Wall, which can still be seen in places. I come to a dark brick building, with high windows, I am sure this is the place, and indeed it is. I climb the few steps and enter, and am met by two volunteers who see if I need a leaflet, information or anything else. They are very kind, but I am keen just to get on and explore and take my shots. But in fact there is not too much to see, as it is the smallest City church I have visited, and it seems now set up to be a concert venure, with chairs laid out found a small stage against the south wall.
I take the shots, and then study the map to see my next port of call, St Sepulchre Without Newgate. It is quite a walk, some 15 minutes, and in the increasingly heavy rain. But I walk quick enough and soon am on Holborn and I see the Old Baily on the other side of the road, and I know the church is very near. And so it is, almost opposite the Law Courts, and where the condemned would make their peace with God before being taken to the gallows at Newgate, also nearby. Inside the church is the bell that would ring out the peals of doom, that signalled the end of some poor soul's life.
The church is magnificent, and so full of interesting and fascinating things, that it is quite overwhelming. But I go round, with two more volunteers making sure I had all the information I needed. They tried to make the lights brighter, but only managed to turn more off. Such is the way, but by that point I had the shots I wanted.
I was going to give St Dunstan in the West a miss and make straight for St Magnus, but I got my directions mixed up and found myself in Fleet Street anyway, with St Dunstan in front of me, just the thousand or so other pedestrians to get by. The church was dark and gloomy, but wonderful, and so full of life as it is shared with a Romanian church, so there is icons everywhere. It is wonderful, and octagonal too, which is so unusual. It is so dark, however, many of my shots don't come out clear and are blurred, so a return is required. No great shakes.
Back outside, it is raining harder, and I flag a taxi down to take me to St Magnus the Martyr, which should be open by now. It was, but also wasn't, as at half twelve, in a minute, would be closed for a service. I could wait an hour or go home. I decide to get a taxi to the station and get the quarter past one train back.
The train is waiting, I get one of my preferred seats and wait for departure time, gliding out and into the long tunnel beneath east London, getting closer to home each minute.
Jools is waiting for me to take me home, its raining here as well, and she has to go back to work to complete her final day (again) at the factory as she has two days holiday to take before she starts work on Monday. Once inside, I make a cuppa and review my shots, and begin editing, inbetween tending to the cats' every desire. It is good to be home.
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