Tales From Mist WorldChapter 3 Salvage and other dirty words
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The Mist Of Time Ch. 02 free porn video
Tina was doing her thing when I got back to the office. She had sent off email enquiries to all the relevant authorities and was now sitting at her desk perusing the land registry plan and comparing it with a large scale map she had brought up on the computer. ‘You know there’s a house on this property, don’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t say a house, I thought it was described as remains.’
‘Yes, that is there, but here.’ She pointed. ‘There is a house, right down at the south east of the land, on the ordnance map it appears to be a separate property but according to the land registry plan it is part of the property.’
‘Interesting. I wonder if that is rented. Brian didn’t say anything about it though.’
‘I’ll get on to the Braintree Council site and check if Council Tax is paid on that house.’ She hesitated and then went on. ‘Mr. Morestead said that some of the land is rented, but his plan does not indicate where that land is.’
That stopped me in my tracks. ‘There must be some note, somewhere.’
Tina shook her head. ‘I have looked, Boss. I can’t find any reference.’
‘Bring everything in. Maps, registry plan and deeds. We’ll go through together.’ We did, scouring through all the documents and charts yet found nothing to indicate what land was rented. The only clue came from one of the maps. It had been drawn up by a local estate agency and I assumed they were the managing agency, collecting rents. Perhaps they could throw light on this apparent anomaly. I made a note to write to them letting them know the change of ownership. I noted the river running through part of the property, it was called the Chet, not to be confused with the River Chet in Norfolk. Presumably the estate took its name from the river.
Usually when I bought property I would go and inspect. Having done this for many properties I knew now what to look for. I hadn’t planned on going to see this land but now I was intrigued. I checked in my diary and scribbled a note for two days next week. I was intrigued by the lack of history of this property. Usually with old property the deeds will give you enough to go on, but as the Ministry of Defence had created replacement deeds there wasn’t any history before nineteen forty-eight. I asked Tina if she could find anything online to fill in the gap. ‘I’ve tried, but all I could get is that the army have owned the land since nineteen-fifteen. Before that it is blank.’ She seemed disappointed for her lack of success, she prided herself on discovering the answer to these little mysteries. She brightened up. ‘When you are there try the library. They often have local histories which don’t get published nationally as they refer just to the local area. You may even find a local historian who will have stuff that hasn’t even been published.’ She smiled cheekily. ‘Perhaps if you don’t have the time, I could come with you and do the research.’
‘Oh! Do I have to book another room?’
‘Yes you do. I couldn’t be bothered with a dirty old man slobbering all over me. Ugh!’ She shuddered.
‘Thanks a lot, Tracey. Actually it’s probably a good idea. You can go and do your research amidst those dusty old tomes and I can go and wander about in the clean fresh air.’
‘You’re a cruel man as well as being a dirty old man with a particularly bad memory. It’s Tina.’
‘Book two rooms at the Holiday Inn, make it for two nights, It may take you longer than you think.’
‘And what will you be doing? May I ask?’
‘After looking over the property, I shall be making a call on the planning department to see if I can get some idea of their forward planning.’
Tina giggled. ‘Presumably carrying brown envelopes stuffed with cash?’
‘No Tracey. I shall just give them your telephone number.’
‘Now the dirty old man is trying to pimp me out. Do your talents ever end?’
‘That, young lady is something you will never discover.’
The drive up to Braintree did not take long. I took the M11 and turned off at Bishops Stortford onto the A120. I wasn’t a fast driver but my Volkswagen Passat ate up the miles effortlessly. Tina asked me why I didn’t have a more luxurious car. My point was that London was so well served with public transport that having any car was superfluous. Buying and keeping a luxury car was pointless for the few trips I made outside of London. We checked in to the Holiday Inn and immediately I drove Tina to the Library so she could start her research. I then drove north to find my property. It wasn’t easy as I had in mind that the property was near Tilbury-juxta-Clare. Actually it was closer to a village called Great Yeldham. I had to ask in Great Yeldham for directions and I was lucky to find a Postal van. I waited until the driver returned to the van and she gave me directions. My road map didn’t show the small lanes clearly enough. She pronounced the name as ‘Chefford’. I assumed that was the local idiom. I followed her instructions.
She had told me that I would go over the river and the land on the right hand side was the ‘Chefford’ estate. Having crossed the bridge, the lane started to rise gently. On my right there was a hedgerow of Blackthorn, interspersed with an occasional tree. The Blackthorn was overgrown and needed layering. I was looking for the house that the map showed, however the hedgerow blocked the view completely. The lane levelled out and a turning to the right appeared, I turned into this lane and after driving some thirty yards I could see the house. It was obvious that the Blackthorn hedge had been planted deliberately to preserve privacy. There was the remains of a driveway, I could only turn in for a few yards as there was an iron gate blocking the drive. I stopped the car and got out. I could see the house quite clearly from my position. At first sight it didn’t seem to be Victorian. It didn’t have that look of an institution, gloomy and forbidding as most Victorian houses. Instead it could have happily fitted in any town in the American Deep South. The feature that gave it that look was the veranda that extended across the front, broken only by the three steps that led up to the front door, and round the southern side. The veranda was wide with a slated roof and a balustrade. It would have been an excellent place to sit on lazy afternoons or long warm evenings. The windows had been boarded at one time, now remnants hung haphazardly and the frames were missing leaving blank openings in the fabric of the house. The door had also been boarded but that boarding had been ripped away all but a few planks and the door itself was long gone. I imagined that itinerants and tramps had done that as they sought somewhere for shelter. Dressed as I was in suit and black shoes I decided not to investigate now, I was sure that inside the house I would encounter nauseous odours and mess on the floors. That adventure was for another day.
Back in the car I reversed out into the lane and continued further. I had not gone too far before another driveway to the right presented itself. The hedges along the land had grown thick and wildly and the drive was little more than a suggestion that once there had been an entrance here. I stopped and got out. There was a vestige of a path through the hedge and I ventured carefully for a few yards before being brought to a halt by iron gates. I was astonished as this was not just a gate, it was an ornate entrance that announced a great house. The pillars stood tall and were surmounted with globes, the gates were at least six feet tall, containing vertical bars. The tops were folded rails highest at the hinge edge sloping down to a small curlicue where the gates met. It declared that passing through these gates took you from the ordinary to the extra-ordinary. The gates were slightly open although when I pushed the left hand gate it would not move, presumably welded by rust to stand slightly agape until time and weather eventually crumbled it to iron oxide. I had no intention of exploring on this trip, I me
rely wanted to find the place and get a feel of the land.
I returned to the car and consulted the land registry plan. I noticed that my property extended beyond the stream for a hundred or so yards. I backed up and turned and drove down to the hump-back bridge again. I parked in a gravelled area just before the stream and walked up to the crown of the bridge. The stream didn’t appear to be deep, just a matter of twelve inches or so, although from the vegetation on either side I thought it could become quite deep in periods of heavy rain. The map didn’t give it a name, although I did think it may be the Chet, lending its name to the estate. I knew not where it rose but I imagined that at some point to the east it would flow into the River Colne. The land to the north of the stream rose to a crest and another hedgerow running along that crest. By comparing with the land registry plan I assumed that was the boundary. I was disheartened as there was no development at all, nor had I seen any signs after leaving Great Yeldham to indicate that development was a possibility. I slumped back into the car and thought. Brian must have known that there was little chance of re-zoning. I smiled a bitter smile. He hadn’t actually said the land was ripe for development, I had believed far more than he inferred. I made a mental note to look into who was renting land and under what terms. Maybe there was enough there to pay the costs of the capital. I retraced my steps to Great Yeldham where I had seen a road sign for Braintree.
In Braintree I found the Council offices and then sought out the planning department. They thoughtfully had put up a map of the area with designated development areas shaded in red for commercial, blue for residential and green for where development was not allowed. There was no sign of red or blue anywhere around Great Yeldham it was all green. I asked if I could see the planning officer. It was always a good idea to cultivate this officer. Often building consent can be granted if the developer was prepared to take on some civil engineering as well, like straightening a road, or making improvements to a road junction. I was wasting my time. There were no plans for any development in the area around the Chetford Estate. I mentioned to him the house on the estate. I wondered if I could do anything like pulling it down and building two or three high-class properties on that land. He looked shocked at the suggestion. That would set a precedent for the area and the Council would not grant planning permission for that. Of course if I were to restore the property, that would be fine, as long as I didn’t increase the footprint of the property.
I left the Council offices in a bad mood. I certainly seemed to have bought a pig in a poke. I couldn’t blame anyone else, it was my fault entirely. My bad mood persisted as I drove back to the Holiday Inn. I found Tina in the bar. She was far more upbeat than I. Even after telling her of my disappointments of the day she remained upbeat. I would have thought at the least she would be dismayed as I was. But no, she wasn’t. ‘I have found out quite a lot. I had to go to Chelmsford to the Records office. I took a taxi and I have the receipts.’
I looked up. ‘A taxi? You could have gone by train!’
‘Taxi was much faster, and you will want to know what I have discovered.’
‘It had better be good.’ I grumbled.
‘The Estate was owned by the same family for some four hundred years. The last owner was killed in nineteen fifteen in France. He had no descendants and there was a lot of money owing, so the estate was taken by the Inland Revenue in lieu of taxes. That’s how the land fell into the hands of the Army. The house was burnt down in the same year and was never re-built. The army used the land as a training ground for the Kitchener volunteers. During the Twenties and thirties it became a training area for the Garrison at Colchester and during the Second World War was used by the parachute regiment and the American Airborne as a drop zone.’ Tina paused and looked as if she knew a secret and was bursting to tell. ‘The thing is, Mr. Chandler.’ She emphasized my name. ‘The thing is that the name of the family that owned the Chetford Estate was Chandler!’ She sat back awaiting my reaction. I think she believed that this fact would excite me, but I remained calm. Tina shot me a look of exasperation. ‘Don’t you find that odd?’
I shook my head. ‘No Tina. Chandler is not an uncommon name. If you went through the telephone directory you would doubtless find quite a few. Possibly some of them would be related, but having a surname in common doesn’t automatically mean that you are related.’
‘Oh, you are impossible.’ She declared. ‘Any way I am going back to the records office tomorrow. There’s someone I need to meet. He seems to be the unofficial historian of Essex. Perhaps you should be there as well, it will save me the trouble of making lots of notes and telling you later.’
‘I may as well. From what I have discovered today there is little chance of any kind of development on that land.’
Tina grinned. ‘Losing our touch, are we?’
I shook my head. ‘Just remind me in future not to do favours for property speculators up shit creek.’
I then changed the topic. ‘What’s the name of that Pole we use for renovation? I may have a job for him.’
‘Aleksy. It’s the Polish name for Alexander.’ I perked up. Tina had come back so quickly I wondered if there was something going on. Tina noticed my expression so she continued. ‘It’s none of your business but I have been going out with Aleksy for nearly a year now. He’s talking about our getting married.’
‘And you keep teasing me with your short skirts and plunging necklines.’
Tina grinned. ‘Well I have to keep you interested to keep my job. I have always hoped that the more I flash the more you will pay me.’
‘I pay you too much as it is.’
‘Huh! You are a miserly employer.’
‘And you are an impudent employee.’
‘Yeh. But you love me really.’ Tina smiled sweetly and fluttered her eyelashes. ‘What job do you have for Aleksy?’
‘The uninhabited house. If that was thoroughly renovated, I believe I could get quite a lot for it.’
‘Ok. I’ll get him to go and have a look.’
‘Well, while you are organising everything, just keep in mind that I need to be informed. In fact I think I will come up when he goes to do the inspection.’
‘Spoilsport!’
I drove us down to Chelmsford the next day. I had no other reason to stay in Braintree. Tina guided me to the library. You couldn’t actually go to the records office, but with the right accreditation could access their data from the library. However according to Tina we were going to meet someone who had seemingly total access to the records. She also informed me that this guy was an amateur historian who had published quite a few books on the history of Essex. Mr. Prescott, the historian was waiting for us as we went through the doors to the library. He greeted Tina cheerily, who wouldn’t? Then transferring his lap-top to his left hand shook my hand. ‘Mr. Chandler. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
‘Mr. Prescott. Thank you for sparing us some time.’
‘Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Miss Barker’s questions pointed me to another facet of this fascinating county. I have set up in one of the research rooms, shall we go?’
We followed him along the side gangway, passing the racks of books, thousands of them and all dedicated to history. As we walked Tina muttered to me out of the side of her mouth. ‘See. He already remembers my name. I have worked for you for three years and you can’t.’
‘He’s obviously impressed by you.’
‘He obviously looks further than the size of my boobs.’
‘He doesn’t know you as well as I do.’
We stopped and Mr. Prescott opened a door, asking us to come in. It was quite a small room dominated by a desk with a computer terminal and a Microfilm viewer. He in
vited us to sit down and ignoring the terminal and the microfilm viewer, he opened his laptop.’Your query has led me into a story with a little bit of mystery. The Chetford estate was held for many years by a family called Dechienne. Sometime after sixteen forty-eight during the Civil war they left for France. It would appear that they were supporters of Charles the First, but not so supportive as to stay and face the parliamentary forces. As with many such estates it was confiscated by Parliament and sold to the family Chandler. They would have been supporters of Cromwell else they would not have been able to buy the estate. After the restoration of the Monarchy they were able to hang on to the estate. Charles the Second had promised not to seek revenge on the people who had benefitted from confiscated estates, but he did get payback in many subtle ways. I would imagine that Charles extracted quite a lot of money from people like the Chandlers with subtle suggestions of preferment. Charles was always short of money and he created many Baronets and Lords. I am not sure what the going rate for a Baronetcy would have been, but I am very certain that the Chandlers came up with the right amount as Charles ennobled the current Chandler.
I cleared my throat. ‘This is very interesting, but can you throw light on how the estate came into the possession of the military?’
He nodded. ‘Yes I can, but the reason for that started in the middle eighteen hundreds. The Baronet of that time.’ He consulted his computer. ‘Ah! Sir Dennison Chandler.’ He paused. ‘I have been struck by the family’s quirk of using quite unusual names for their first born son, and their insistence that that name began with a ‘D’. Well it appears that Sir Dennison was a bit of a rakehell. He gambled, drank, and from contemporary reports amused himself with ladies of the night. It was also suggested that he sired more than a few illegitimate children. His legitimate son, Sir Dashwood followed in his father’s footsteps. He spent a huge amount of money on building another house on the estate. It was called the Dower House, but it seemed from contemporary reports that it was used mostly for parties with his cronies and ladies who, how shall I put it? Were very convivial. The grandson of Dennison, Sir Danbury had a completely different character. He inherited the estate, the house which was in a very dilapidated condition, and a mountain of debt. He inherited in nineteen oh six at the age of twenty-four and set about getting the estate back to profit and trying to pay off the debts. Unfortunately the First World War intervened and Danbury, having joined up was killed at Ypres in nineteen fifteen. He wasn’t married so there wasn’t an heir, although one of the local papers suggested that he was intending to marry a girl called Arabella Swinson. The estate was claimed in lieu of taxes by the Exchequer and the Army took it over. Shortly after the big house caught fire and was later demolished as it was unsafe. The Baronetcy lapsed as there was no heir.’
I was impressed that Mr. Prescott had been able to gather so much material in such a small time frame. I said something to that extent. He demurred. ‘Most of this was already available in the records, it was just a matter of getting to the right data. The record office came into possession of the archives of a weekly called the Colchester Gazette, which was founded in eighteen seventy-seven. The staff of the records office have been transferring such archives into computer files. Such information that isn’t on computer we can get from the microfilm. Newspapers have been storing their back issues for quite a few years on microfilm. For historians such as I, this has been a tremendous boon.’
‘You talk about an estate. I bought approximately one hundred and ninety acres. That isn’t an estate, more of a large farm.’ I suggested.
‘In the early eighteen hundreds the holding was some seven hundred acres.’ Mr. Prescott replied. ‘When the Dechienne family departed the estate was some fifteen hundred acres. The Chandlers however bought an estate of seven hundred acres, Parliament at that time had many supporters to reward so splitting the estate rewarded two families. I imagine that some of that acreage was sold to fund the dissolute lifestyle of Dennison and Dashwood. I am surprised though that so little was left.’
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