20
CROSSING THE SANDS:
AN ESSEX CLERGYMAN'S RETURN FROM A RURIDECANAL MEETING
IN 1899.
[The following private letters, written without the least idea of publication,
having come to our notice, seem to present an opportunity too good to lose, of
enlightening residents in hum-drum inland Essex, concerning the excitements,
dangers, and hardihood accidental to a dweller on one of its outlying islands.
The rector of Foulness has been good enough to allow us to print the narrative
exactly as it stands, and we think our readers will agree it reads like a record
from a far-away country and clime, in spite of its matter-of-fact allusions to
evening schools, admission books and prayer desks—Eds., E.R.]
Foulness Island Rectory, October 5th, 1899.
Dear Mr. Nicholas,
I have only just received your letter, having been away for
two days at a clerical meeting in London, getting in a winter
store of everything for Evening School, Sunday School, etc.
Thank you very much for your kind letter. It would give us
the greatest pleasure to see you at the rectory any Monday or
Thursday. It would be absolutely impossible to get back either
by Shoeburyness or Burnham the same night, unless you like to
risk such a journey as I had last night.
Leaving Shoeburyness at about 5.30 p.m., I walked in a
drenching rain to Wakering Stairs, reaching that spot about 6.30,
almost completely wet through. Here I took off my boots for a
four mile walk across the sands, all under water. As I turned my
trousers up over my knees, the rain poured out of them down
my legs like a wringing machine.
It was raining hard, and the sands were nearly dark, but I
thought if I could reach the first broom, I could find my way
across. Brooms are placed about every 30 yards, and there are
366 of them (perhaps you have a son who will calculate how far
this means). I floundered through the mud more than ankle
deep, till I reached safely the first broom. I was wet through
with fresh water downwards, pouring down from hat and coat
sleeves, and salt water upwards, my boots slung over my neck,
and in my hands two heavy bags of books which I could not put
down in the sea even to turn up my trousers again when the
rain had forced them down.
However, I trotted along very happily for a couple of miles.
I had crossed one creek and reached the second when suddenly
the rain changed to a sort of Scotch mist, and I could not see