Chapter 6. Dedham, East Bergholt.

John Constable.

Dedham 12 - 10 - 88.

The artist John Constable has long been a favourite of mine. I was introduced to his work by daughter Gaye who was studying art at school, and have had the painting' Dedham Lock and Mill' on my wall for many years.

Constable was born in East Bergholt near Dedham in 1776 and had a deep love for the landscape of the Stour Valley especially the small area about 6 miles in length and 2 miles wide.

A Constable painting of the leafy Suffolk lane.

I remember reading an article in the Reader's Digest long ago which began....

A schoolboy sauntered down the leafy Suffolk lane beside the cornfield and crossed the foot bridge over the river Stour. He watched the children fishing on the banks, the ponderous haywain fording the water near his father's mill, the barge horse leaping a barrier on the towpath, frightening the moorhen from her nest.

He cherished it all and stored it up forever- the white flowered elder bush, the red roofed cottage by the water, the towering cumulus clouds, sunlight shimmering on the water meadows. He associated his careless boyhood with all that he saw on the banks of the Stour.

The footbridge over the Stour.

Years later he was to write "These scenes made me a painter and I am grateful..... I had thought of pictures of them long before I ever touched a pencil."

These images stirred a desire in me to see these scenes with my own eyes. I read all I could find about this man and the countryside that inspired him and dreamed of the day when I too could stroll along the banks of the Stour.

The River Stour.

On arrival at the huge Victoria Station I believed all I had to do was present my pass and purchase a ticket to Dedham. Not so. The ticket seller looked at me rather stupidly (I thought) and inquired, 'Where's that?' I replied equally studidly, 'I don't know but it's where John Constable did his painting, 'Who?' - that's when I realised I was in trouble.

After pooling our huge expanse of brain power we decided I should go to the nearest bookseller and buy a 'Let's Go' the traveller's bible. Luckily W H Smith had a shop on the station.

Back at the ticket office my new friend and I put our heads together, studied the map supplied courtesy of Let's Go, and found that not only was I on the wrong line but Dedham was nowhere near a train station. 'Strange,' I thought, 'England looks so tiny on the world map I should be able to walk to my destination!'

I was directed to Liverpool St. Station to catch a train to Ipswich and I may hopefully find a bus to Dedham.

After bidding him a cheery goodbye and pretending not to hear his heartfelt sigh of relief at getting rid of me I was on my way.

On arriving at Ipswich I searched for the bus station, caught the bus by the skin of my teeth only to be told by the driver that he didn't go into Dedham but would drop me at the crossroads and I could walk the two miles into the village.

Watching the bus disappear I hitched up my backpack and started down the lonely deserted road. This is a little country town surely someone will stop and offer me a lift. No such luck. I was almost scuttled several times as it was just a country road with hedgerows either side leaving little room for pedestrians.

The pretty village of Dedham.

I reached Dedham unscathed and made for the nearest telephone box to ring a B and B again courtesy of Let's Go. Receiving rather vague directions to proceed one and a half miles, turn right into a laneway, I headed off.

Up the lane a mansion came into view, complete with swimming pool, tennis court and a gardener pottering in the distance. Up to the enormous oak door goes I, rat-a-tat with the highly polished door knocker to be confronted by the Lord of the Manor himself. "Oh no dear, you have made a mistake. You turned up a private lane, you are looking for Burn Cottage half a mile further on."

Feeling and looking an absolute fool I slunk back down the driveway. I was not too embarrassed to see the funny side and went away with a smile on my face. I've said it before and I'll say it again...no one knows me on this side of the world!

Well it COULD have been a B and B!

By this time my poor little legs and feet were feeling the effects of all those miles and miles of walking.

I finally arrived at the real Burn Cottage, much to my relief as it was now almost evening, and was shown to a comfortable room where my legs and I were more than happy to stay put for the night.

Studying my Let's Go I found that the nearby village of East Bergholt was only one mile from Flatford Mill - the heart of Constable Country through the Dedham Valley.

The Dedham Valley. Dedham Church in the distance.

Next morning feeling refreshed especially after a yummy English breakfast, my landlady informed me that that the quickest way to Flatford was along the river about a mile. Constable used this route when attending school in Dedham. So off I set , no back pack to weigh me down.

Into Dedham to the famous Stour river only to find the banks abounding with cows, cows and more cows. When I had dreamed of strolling along the beautiful banks I certainly had never envisaged sharing the delights with cows and most probably BULLS! Any four legged animal over six inches terrifies me, add to that a set of horns and I'm out of there!

Back to Dedham to the information centre to be told, no bus route and the only way was by taxi along the motor way then into East Bergholt a rather long and expensive trip.

"Surely dear you are not THAT frightened of cows?" Oh no? Bring on that cab.

The huge man-eating cows of the Valley.

At last I was here. Flatford Mill where Constable did so much of his work.There before me was his father's mill.

Golding Constable's Mill.

The footbridge, the red roofed cottage by the water which we now know as Willy Lott's Cottage, the elder bush, even the cumulus clouds above the shimmering water.

I had to pinch myself.... I was really here. To stand on the very spot where he painted the Haywain was very special. The breathtaking beauty of this scene will always be with me as I can look at his paintings and be transported back to Flatford whenever I choose.

The custodians of this significent site do a great job. Nothing has changed, trees are removed each year so that the aspect remains the same. No new buildings are allowed, nothing to alter that feeling of stepping back in time.

The Haywain. The Painting.1821

The same aspect centuries later.

Willy Lott's Cottage.

Constable included Willy Lott's cottage in many of his paintings. To him it was a symbol of permanence of man and nature in serene accord. Willy Lott had spent only four nights away from his cottage in eighty eight years. He is buried in the East Bergholt churchyard where I came across his grave.

Willy Lotts Headstone.

While in the churchyard I noticed an unusual building. The Bell cage which stands at the side of the church and was built in 1531 to house the bells originally intended for the church tower. It is unique that the bells, one of which is dated 1450 are rung by swinging the wooden headstocks.

The Bell Cage.

The bells were never set in the church tower and are still rung this way.

After spending a glorious day wandering, soaking up the sights, I thought it time to return 'home' to Burn Cottage. Deciding to conquer my fear and more importantly save money I asked directions from the car park attendant. Proceed half a mile down the lane until I came to a white stile and a path that would lead me down through the Dedham Valley to the river. I reckon I walked ten miles but saw no white stile. Re tracing my steps to the attendant I found him talking to a lady who seemed rather excited to hear my accent. "An Australian!" she exclaimed. Introducing me to her friend Bernard and herself as Pat she offered to show me the elusive stile.

"There's the stile," she says. Now I ask you!

While walking (from Suffolk to Essex ) she explained that her son had met and married an Australian girl and was now living in Bisbane where I hailed from. We walked all the way into Dedham and had tea in a picturesque tea room called the Essex Rose, where I was surprised and a little disappointed to find my tea made with a tea bag!

The Essex Rose Tea Room.

I said goodbye to my new found friend Pat each promising to keep in touch and wended my way wearily but happily to my B and B . A good night's sleep then up to catch the 8am bus to Colchester, back to London and off to my next stop York.

I'm pleased to say Pat and I did stay in touch and I have been back twice to stay with her and renewed my love for that beautiful part of England.

Pat's bungalow in East Bergholt.

Pat and her bicycle immortalised on a post card.

Her Irish Blessing for me.

Pat also visits me when she comes to Australia to see her family so a lovely friendship has grown from that chance meeting deep in the heart of Constable Country.

NEXT STOP......YORK.