Description of Walton-on-the-Naze from 1891

I found this interesting description of Walton-on-the-Naze from 1891 while searching the archives at Newspapers.com. It's presented as being a letter written to the unnamed writer's cousin, singing the praises of this "hitherto neglected" part of Essex. Yet I suspect it may have actually been a disguised piece of tourism promotion. 

I've edited it down, as the original article was nearly 2000 words long, and gets a bit waffley in places. There are some great phrases though, my personal favourites being the "Dutch-like confusion of land and water", and the Waltonians "highly marine situation" (which I think would make a cool band name). 

I've also included a couple of old postcards from my small collection. 

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WALTON-ON-THE-NAZE AS DESCRIBED BY A VISITOR

The Essex Standard, West Suffolk Gazette, and Eastern Counties Advertiser

Saturday, 15th August, 1891

 

In the first place we are every bit as much “out of the world” as you can be... we could see that we were making our way into a land whose quiet beauty and picturesqueness utterly disposed of the absurd libel that Essex scenery is dull and uninteresting. From Colchester to Walton you pass by a constant succession of old-world villages, shady woods, and broad stretches of smiling pasture-land, as rich, as fertile, and as beautifully green as any to be met with in England; while here and there, as at Wyvenhoe – does not the name recall to you the horrible earthquake of seven years ago? – you come upon that curious Dutch-like confusion of land and water, of red-roofed houses, towering masts, and great white and brown sails, that almost causes you to rub your eyes and wonder whether you are really within only threescore miles of London... 

And when the last of the pretty villages and shady woods have been passed, you find yourself suddenly riding at the very verge of a splendid expanse of sea, into which the train appears every moment to be desperately and recklessly determining to plunge its freight of expectant passengers. Nearer and nearer you get to the edge, until you cannot see how it is possible to go a dozen yards further without hearing the hiss of the engine-fire in process of extinction by the waves...

This is the very first thing that strikes you about Walton-on-the-Naze – this way in which it seems to be built absolutely into the waters of the German Ocean. There is no waste of time, here, I can tell you, standing at a railway station and taking-in panoramic views of a town that lies a mile or two distant. As you leave the doors of Walton station you could literally throw a stone into the sea – always provided that it did not hit someone in transit. 

The Waltonians, I find, have reason to regard this highly marine situation of theirs, so delightful to a visitor, with rather mixed feelings; for the sea on this part of the coast obstinately refuses to “know its place,” and consequently, instead of being a good servant, threatens to become a very bad master to the dwellers in the quaint little town. Nearer and nearer have the water encroached each year; steadily and remorselessly have the waters eaten away cliffs and beaten great yawning gaps in the esplanade, until at length the townspeople, aided by the railway company, who have done so much to earn the popularity which the place deservedly enjoys, have set to work to build a strong sea wall to resist the further encroachments of the oceanic tyrant. 

As early as the beginning of the century, they tell us, the sea swallowed up their old parish Church, and a good half of the original village, and ever since it has been creeping up and creeping up, until the very existence of the present town has been threatened and the new defensive works now being completed have become imperatively necessary, unless Walton-on-the-Naze is to change its title in the immediate future to "Walton-Under-the-Sea"

But this is a calamity that must never be allowed to happen, for so charming a little watering place could not on any account be spared by the dwellers in the great city. If the efficacy of air is to be judged by the resulting appetite – no bad test, I admit – I am “free to maintain” that the Waltonian atmosphere can hold its own with that of any resort on this or any other coast. Of this statement, Jack – who says he can quite sympathise with the tendency of the sea in these parts to swallow up all it can get – is prepared to offer full confirmation. As to the town, it is just as old-fashioned and un-“seasidy” as the sternest opponent of stiffness and stucco could desire. The streets are winding and leafy, the shops rural-looking and unpretentious, and I know you would be specially delighted with the primitive little post office which is simply a pretty country cottage that has some how found its way into the heart of a town, and has been pressed into the service of her Majesty’s Postmaster-General...

 

WALTON-ON-NAZE CHURCH

The Waltonians having, as I say, had one Church swallowed up by the sea, seem to have been resolved that the marine monster should not have any opportunity of repeating its performance. For this reason, no doubt, they have placed their present Church at the very back of the town, and have refrained from providing it with a spire, in order that it may attract as little attention as possible... 

SCENERY

By-the-way, you must not imagine, ma chére cousine, that we have no “scenery” here at Walton. As I have already told you, we have no hills, at least none in the immediate neighbourhood; but, to begin with, this walk along the cliffs from Walton to Frinton, through fields of rustling corn and barley, is as pretty as anything of its kind I know; while our inland canters have revealed to us some of the most delightful of “sweet Auburns” among the fair pasturelands of hitherto neglected Essex, which is at last beginning to be known and appreciated. If you were here, I could show you hedges aglow with wildflowers and picturesque old farmhouses nestling in leafy hollows, with walls thick with jasmine, honeysuckle, and roses, that would convince you at once that the beauties of East Anglia are at any rate well distributed. And here, in Walton itself, Jack and I can promise you, if ever you may come, that you will find comfortable quarters, picturesque surroundings, the best of bathing, the pleasantest of sands, and, above and beyond all, the glorious air that only blows in from the great North Sea.