Essex Poison

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‘Well, just remember Mr Klein’s offer, Sefton,’ he said to me. ‘Give it some thought, won’t you?’

‘I certainly will, Willy,’ I said.

‘He certainly won’t, Willy,’ said Miriam.

I was glad to get out of Becontree.

CHAPTER 8 (#ulink_42e99b8e-49fb-5c79-9b5c-8ea264bac558)

THE DAGENHAM GIRL PIPERS (#ulink_42e99b8e-49fb-5c79-9b5c-8ea264bac558)

I CAN ONLY DESCRIBE THE SCENE that we eventually came upon in Colchester as ‘strange’. (Morley, I should say, did not like the word ‘strange’. He regarded it as lacking in specificity, ‘a terrible failing in a word’ – see Morley’s Vocabulary Builder: Words to Use and Words to Avoid (1932) – as if it were somehow its own fault.)

Morley’s ambitious itinerary for our trip up through Essex suggested that after Becontree we were supposed to visit Epping Forest (‘Poor John Clare!’ read his scribbled notes. ‘Mad as a hatter!’), Romford’s famous brewery, Tiptree for the jam, the villages around Saffron Walden (‘Cromwell’s headquarters – the heart of Radical Essex!’), the Marconi works in Chelmsford (‘Inventive Essex!’), before finally heading to Colchester for the Oyster Feast. But after our tour with Willy Mann of the jerry-built houses of Becontree we were forced to cut short our peregrinations and to press on directly to Colchester to make it in time for the Oyster Feast. Miriam, needless to say, drove like a maniac. I shan’t even attempt to describe the Essex countryside: it all looked perfectly pleasantly blurred.