It was our tenth wedding anniversary, a perfect excuse for an extra short break. And where better than Brentwood, travelling by bus, staying in the Premier Inn: we know how to celebrate!

This was our first attempt at longer-distance (free) bus pass travel. Wivenhoe to Brentwood involved changes in Colchester and Chelmsford, and took the best part of a morning. But time is one thing we do have, and the bus took us through places we have never or rarely seen before, some like Kelvedon and Ingatestone that would repay a closer look at some time.

The increasingly wooded nature as we approached Brentwood brought life to its original name ‘Burnt Wood’, the town created within a clearing of the great wood of Essex. It was also surprisingly hilly, being towards the southwestern splay of the Essex Alps we know so well from home.

So first into the town, for a welcome drink in the Dairyman. The High Street felt pretty vibrant, but the main interest lay in the religious buildings and the surrounding greenspace. Our first stop, the Catholic cathedral of St Mary and St Helen was a lovely surprise, the larger part of it little more than thirty years old, with a sparse, calming atmosphere.

The oldest part of the cathedral is a Gothic Revival church from the mid-19th century, designed by Gilbert Blount, who started his career working for Brunel on the Rotherhithe Tunnel before moving into churches, inspired by Pugin.

This church became the diocesan centre from its creation in 1917, then the modern ‘Neoclassical with a twist of Wren’ extension by Quinlan Terry (responsible for many monumental buildings in Britain and abroad in similar style) was completed in 1991.

The internal décor is almost austere, with only subtle ornamentation, including the terracotta roundels marking the Stations of the Cross, designed by Raphael Maklouf, he of the Queen’s head (coins not the pub!). And then tucked away in a corner, the organ that we later learned had come from St Mary on the Walls, now familiar to us as Colchester Arts Centre.

Then just round the corner, another church, St Thomas of Canterbury. Outside it is a stylish mix of flints and limestone blocks…

… but nothing prepared us for the visual assault inside. As we went in we were greeted by a lay preacher who said ‘welcome to the most Catholic church in Brentwood, and it is Anglican!’ This church has all the visual detail one would associate with a ‘traditional’ Catholic church, with Stations of the Cross on the walls, priests called Father and the like. All very confusing to a mere atheist, highlighting for me the folly of sectarianism. Indeed, it seems the church comes under the banner of Anglo-Catholicism, rooted in the 19th-century Oxford Movement that emphasizes the church’s Catholic heritage, sacramental theology, and liturgical traditions…

Although dating only from 1881, there has been a church nearby dedicated to St Thomas since the 13th century, the ruins of an early incarnation still to be found just off the High Street.

Seeking some fresh county air (albeit with the aural hallmark of the nearby M25) we headed into the nearest greenspace, St Faiths Country Park, a nice mix of grass and woodland, with tantalising views over to central London. Giant Horsetail is always good to see, typical of springlines on the slopes, and Common Carder-bees were busy on the clovers despite the chilly wind.

Other bits and pieces included the micromoth Cochylis atricapitana and the gall of the gall-midge Iteomyia capreae, on Sallow.

Sadly the cemetery next door was as sterile as they come, one disappointment alongside the litter strewn all through the Country Park. Jude did her bit to clear it up, but why should she have to? What is wrong with having pride in the green heart of a town? All a bit incongruous really, especially as we found local people on the street almost universally to be smiley and friendly…

And so we headed to the hotel. Very functional, as Premier Inns are, and extremely well priced, it had nine floors, and although we were only on floor four we had a panoramic view of the London landscape by day….

… and by night, the horizon lit up like a distant firework display.

And nearby, a very good Indian restaurant, The Raj, made for a great evening.  Overnight, the rain came. Very heavy at times, we managed to adjust our morning plans, and left the hotel to catch a bus to Warley just as the rain stopped.

I have blogged about Warley Place before, once the home of the eminent plantswoman Miss Ellen Willmott, now an Essex Wildlife Trust reserve, amid the mouldering ruins of her horticultural vision.

My previous visit a year ago was alone, but I just knew that Jude would feel at home in this place where nature and history merge so seamlessly. She bounded around like a child entering a Secret Garden! It really is very special, a nature reserve that doesn’t try to erase past human influences, a reserve that celebrates its non-naturalness, and a place of renewal and hope that nature will outlast us all.

The breeze had turned southerly, the air heavy with humidity from the night’s rain, but the warmth had brought few people out. We had the reserve to ourselves, always a privilege, aside from a young family who were thrilled with the roosting Pale Tussocks Jude found in one of the hides, and just one other lone figure. Who turned out to be Jenny, a former colleague and friend and holiday client of mine, who lives in Newcastle and who I last saw at least 20 years ago….  it’s a small world!

In the intermittent sun patches, a tattered Painted Lady bearing the scars of her spring wanderings appeared, together with diaphanous throngs of dancing Gold-barred Longhorn moths.

And back among the sawflies, as I seem to have been all month, the ferns were being visited by the Common Fern Sawfly Aneugmenus padi. Although reportedly not as rare as the other fern sawfly I found (possibly new to Essex) at Beth Chatto’s a few days ago, looking at the NBN map seems to suggest that today’s treasure may not previously have been found in the county. Of course, probably due to the lack of people looking rather than genuine absence!

A few other insects included a dramatic Wasp Beetle, a few Hawthorn Leaf-beetles and a larval micromoth, probably Archips xylosteana…

… along with a couple of woodlice species and a few fungi among the enveloping mosses…

… and several interesting plants, at least some of which may date back to the times of the garden’s former illustrious owner: Coral Spurge, Coralroot Bittercress and Yellow Figwort, together with Yews, a Ginkgo tree and many blooming Rhododendrons.

Even before Miss Willmott’s time, the estate had horticultural connections, being owned by John Evelyn, the 17th century gardener and diarist. Although he may never have lived there, he could have planted or influenced the planting of the oldest garden inhabitants, the magnificent row of Sweet Chestnuts, at least the oldest of which may be his contemporary. The history is all around in Warley Place!

And so into the Thatcher’s Arms for an excellent celebratory lunch, the only downside being the incessant roar of traffic outside, although at least to head home we didn’t have to take our lives in our hands and cross the crazy road on a blind bend to reach the bus stop…

It was back in Brentwood that we experienced our only travel hiccup when the Chelmsford bus failed to arrived, and then promptly disappeared off the board, without explanation. So we took the alternative (paying) option of train (we were right next to station) and got home couple of hours earlier than planned, ahead of the rain: mildly annoying, as we wanted to prove to ourselves we could do this trip all by bus, but a blessing in disguise really!