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So sorry for the delay this morning. School run, blah blah. Much to say about this place, but anything said would immediately give it away. Nevertheless, I think it's one of the most hauntingly spectacular places in England. That's it really.
My father first waved a copy of H.V.Morton's In Search of England at me in the sixties. With virtually no knowledge of the things Morton talked about I suppose I found it quaint; somewhat dated without knowing what it was outdated from. I re-read it a couple of times, but hadn't picked it up again until very recently. What a difference forty years makes. I now find it stands up with the very best of English topographical literature, mainly because Morton is such a good travelling companion. In those early editions the sepia photograph of the Peddars Way in Norfolk always struck a lost chord, and so these pictures are my homage to him and his work. The Peddars Way runs down from Holme next the Sea to, well, nobody really knows. The Romans utilised it as a route to Colchester, pilgrims sang along it to get nearer to Walsingham. These days the trackway (and very occasionally metalled road) appears to run out at a place called Gasthorpe, but I walked a section of it recently up in North Norfolk near Great Massingham. Morton wrote: "I am conscious that this is a ghostly spot. Every time a leaf falls, every time there is a sudden rustle in the undergrowth I look up, half-expecting to see a figure not of this age coming towards me along the dead road". Believe me, I now know what he means.
This is all that's left of the Dainite Mills in Market Harborough. There were two of these High Victorian buildings due to be conserved, but the other was obviously in the way of the multi-billion pound re-generation project, so 'accidentally' found itself on the hard end of the ball and chain. The Harborough Rubber Company was once one of the biggest employers in the town, producing soles and heels under the Dainite brand, and latterly waterproof covers for computer key pads. In the dim and distant we also thought they made condoms, and so thought it childishly side-splitting to ring them up and ask if they wanted experienced testers. Progress on giving Market Harborough the eagerly-awaited manifestation of Dev the Developer's vision appears to be very slow, so we are still rewarded with the somewhat ironic site boards depicting the ghosts of the soles and heelers busy at work. The first boards got blown down in a previous 3,000mph gale, the second lot are now peeling and covered in those stringy bits of tack that come out of party poppers. At first I thought these monochrome photographs were a welcome change from the usual overly-optimistic architect's impressions; now I find them incredibly sad and just wish Dev would get on with it.
So sorry for the delay this morning. School run, blah blah. Much to say about this place, but anything said would immediately give it away. Nevertheless, I think it's one of the most hauntingly spectacular places in England. That's it really.
My father first waved a copy of H.V.Morton's In Search of England at me in the sixties. With virtually no knowledge of the things Morton talked about I suppose I found it quaint; somewhat dated without knowing what it was outdated from. I re-read it a couple of times, but hadn't picked it up again until very recently. What a difference forty years makes. I now find it stands up with the very best of English topographical literature, mainly because Morton is such a good travelling companion. In those early editions the sepia photograph of the Peddars Way in Norfolk always struck a lost chord, and so these pictures are my homage to him and his work. The Peddars Way runs down from Holme next the Sea to, well, nobody really knows. The Romans utilised it as a route to Colchester, pilgrims sang along it to get nearer to Walsingham. These days the trackway (and very occasionally metalled road) appears to run out at a place called Gasthorpe, but I walked a section of it recently up in North Norfolk near Great Massingham. Morton wrote: "I am conscious that this is a ghostly spot. Every time a leaf falls, every time there is a sudden rustle in the undergrowth I look up, half-expecting to see a figure not of this age coming towards me along the dead road". Believe me, I now know what he means.
This is all that's left of the Dainite Mills in Market Harborough. There were two of these High Victorian buildings due to be conserved, but the other was obviously in the way of the multi-billion pound re-generation project, so 'accidentally' found itself on the hard end of the ball and chain. The Harborough Rubber Company was once one of the biggest employers in the town, producing soles and heels under the Dainite brand, and latterly waterproof covers for computer key pads. In the dim and distant we also thought they made condoms, and so thought it childishly side-splitting to ring them up and ask if they wanted experienced testers. Progress on giving Market Harborough the eagerly-awaited manifestation of Dev the Developer's vision appears to be very slow, so we are still rewarded with the somewhat ironic site boards depicting the ghosts of the soles and heelers busy at work. The first boards got blown down in a previous 3,000mph gale, the second lot are now peeling and covered in those stringy bits of tack that come out of party poppers. At first I thought these monochrome photographs were a welcome change from the usual overly-optimistic architect's impressions; now I find them incredibly sad and just wish Dev would get on with it. 
