Since then, free time has become a bit scarce and particularly trying to get more than a few days when there's nothing else already booked. With the end of the 60 at 60 year getting uncomfortably close - just over 3 months to go, jeepers! - I decided to look at the list of the 18 cities again, to review the other options. Chelmsford had the advantage of being the nearest and also the most recently created city in England, having been granted city status in 2012. At a pinch, I thought, it might be possible to squeeze it all in in a day, with an early start and a late return home. That would open up the possibility of doing the Tate and the Lowry in 2 day trips, which would make the logistics much simpler.
Decision made, I started doing some research on what there was to see there, resigning myself to limiting it to "must see" options. Turning to Wikipedia, I found the Places of Interest section was remarkably brief. The best on offer seemed to be a small cathedral, a railway viaduct, the eighteenth century Hylands House (only open on Sundays and Mondays, and I was going on a Saturday) and a museum. Maybe the official tourism website for Essex would have richer pickings? Nope. The most it could offer was that a visit to Chelmsford would "leave you entertained for hours". Not very promising.
Widening my search to places nearby, I came across Ingatestone Hall, a smallish Tudor stately home with two priest holes and a Summer Parlour providing light lunches. It is normally open only on Sunday and Wednesday afternoons, but fortunately it would be open to "casual visitors" for self-guided tours on Saturday 19 August, as a historical reenactment event would be taking place in the grounds. That sounded like a plan.
Peter and I set off reasonably early, in rather heavy traffic, and arrived at the Hall at 12 noon. The event was described on its website as "A re-creation of everyday life in the years following the Restoration of the Monarchy in 1667, staged with impressive attention to detail by The Essex Militia, a well-known historical re-enactment society, with Musket, Cannon Fire and Archery Displays. Mingle with the gentry, soldiers, tradesmen and country folk as they go about their business". We were told that the Militia would be starting with a march at 12.30 pm in the main courtyard, so we decided to have a look around the outside of the Hall in the meantime:
The motto of the family Sans Dieu Rien (Without God There Is Nothing) appears on the attractive tower over the entrance gate:
In the grounds we found a few men and women in historical dress, but time was getting on and not a lot was happening. Apparently they had "lost the king" and couldn't start without him, so we retired to the Summer Parlour for coffee and a slice of delicious carrot cake. Eventually we heard a drum roll and wandered out to the courtyard to watch the action:
Charles II - the tall one at the back - had been found and was bringing Nell Gwynn to visit Lord Petre and his wife, the owners of the Hall. The militia were a bit thin on the ground but the three musket-men (one of whom was an elderly woman, who struggled with her hat, musket and sense of direction, accidentally bumping into the king at one point) did their best. Lord Petre welcomed his guests with a drink, the king made a speech and we toddled back to the Parlour for toasted sandwiches, feeling how eccentrically English it all was:
A few of the female members of the militia had reappeared inside, demonstrating various occupations of the period, including spinning, wig making and carving gilded gingerbread:
They were all very knowledgeable about their craft and happy to talk about its significance. Although I was aware that spices were precious in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, I hadn't realised that a small wooden chest containing mace, nutmeg, cloves, star anise, cinnamon and black pepper - about the size of a large tupperware box - would cost the equivalent then of a decent house in London. To offer spiced and gilded gingerbread to a guest was to make a statement about your wealth and establish your status.
The wig making was less fragrant but equally interesting. Two main techniques were employed, both of which were demonstrated: creating a kind of crocheted lattice-work from the (real) hair, forming a fine base from which the hair then hangs, or using a piece of mesh through which the hairs were pulled and knotted. Peter was given the opportunity to try on a splendid Restoration wig, made of artificial hair, long and full of curls. He rather fancied the effect, noting that it automatically made you throw back your head and look haughty. He does haughty rather well, although it isn't in character. Unfortunately no photographs were allowed, otherwise that would have been Christmas cards sorted.
The two priest holes were reasonably spacious inside, although not for prolonged periods. Surprisingly one wasn't discovered until the Victorian period and the other far more recently. The priests must have been brave men - and the family too, retaining their Catholic faith for hundreds of years, despite the penalties for doing so.
Finally it was time to move on to Chelmsford. In the car park there we faced a dilemma, having to choose how many hours to pay for. Two might not be enough, especially if we wanted a cup of tea, so we plumped for three. We started with the cathedral, which was originally built - as St Mary the Virgin - about 800 years ago and rebuilt in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries:
The nave partially collapsed in 1800 and had to be rebuilt, and the interior was extensively refurbished in 1983:
One of the stained glass windows, in memory of a wife and mother who died in 1905, was particularly attractive with rich and vivid colours:
There was a curious and unexplained use of Byzantine imagery, which was especially striking in the "icons" high on the chancel wall, near the ceiling:
Two other interesting features included the modern painting of the Tree of Life, shaped to fill the tracery of a former window which had been discovered fairly recently when the organ had been moved to allow for the extension of the vestry:
There was also the Mildmay Monument and tomb, dating from 1566:
Thomas Mildmay and his eight sons are shown on the bottom right, and his wife Avice and her seven daughters on the bottom left. The rather moving Latin inscription at the top translates as:
Almost everything else in the cathedral is modern and dull, so we moved on to explore the rest of the city. Well, that didn't take long. Charles Dickens, on a brief stop there, wrote to a friend: "If anyone were to ask me what in my opinion was the dullest and most stupid spot on the face of the Earth, I should decidedly say Chelmsford". There didn't appear to be any buildings that were interesting, old or attractive, the shops were the standard fare in two characterless malls, and the high spot in our search was a bridge dating from 1785:
I wondered why Chelmsford had been given the honour of becoming a city five years ago. It seems there was general bemusement at the decision, and even the locals such as Simon Heffer couldn't understand it, remarking in an article that "only a mother could really love Chelmsford". The BBC News noted at the time that "the Cabinet Office would not say how it reached its decision about how to award City Status". We found it completely charmless and returned to the car after less than an hour. I think Chester would have been rather different....
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