Essex harbours many secrets

Instead, there were monster car ferries, thousands of tonnes of steel and more cranes than I have ever seen in my life.

From our hotel room, we listened to what sounded like a huge anchor being dragged along a concrete road. And, later it seemed like someone with a massive hammer was trying to knock a dent out of the side of a ship.

This was Harwich, the UK’s second busiest ferry port, hidden in a far corner of Essex, overlooking the busy Stour and Orwell estuaries, and almost an arm’s reach away from the huge Felixstowe docks, which thronged in the distance.

A two-and-a-half-hour hop around the M25 from Oxford, it was the destination for my weekend jaunt, exploring the holiday opportunities in a county better known for its white stilettos than white beaches.

I wondered whether this little-known and apparently unremarkable town, which is on the way to nowhere, apart from Holland, had been unfairly overlooked by the nation’s tourists. After all, it’s steeped in maritime history, (it was the home of Christopher Jones, ‘Master of the Mayflower’, the vessel which sailed the Pilgrim Fathers to the New World).

A short walk through the town centre on Saturday afternoon, confirmed my suspicions it had not. Yet amid the rust, seagulls and empty shops, we discovered Harwich was home to a charming Victorian hotel, The Pier, which just about persuaded us to weigh anchor and stay. Nestled on The Quay in the old town, notable for its narrow, cobbled streets and historic buildings, (the Redoubt Fort, High and Low Lighthouses, and not forgetting the Electric Palace, the country’s oldest picture house, still in fine working order), this 14-room harbour-side retreat felt like a beacon of warmth and cheer. With its bright Victorian-style blue and white façade, plush white sheets, immaculate rooms and hotel reviews adorning the walls of almost every corridor, it was clear 145 years in business had not gone unnoticed.

And luckily, downstairs was the Harbourside restaurant, which overlooks Ha’Penny Pier, (formerly Corporation Pier before being renamed after a fire in 1927).

Renowned for its seafood, much of which is landed at the harbour opposite, locals pointed to it as the best place to eat in town.

I took their word for it and it didn’t disappoint.

The food was beautifully presented without being fussy, although the risotto wasn’t great.

With its polished pewter bar and crisp linen tablecloths, it’s worth it if you want to splash out. And, you get to watch the mighty Stena ferries pound past the window. (This can be a bit alarming as they seem to be heading straight for the front door of the hotel, but you get used to it after a while.) Day two of Essex mini-break (I’m sure Bridget Jones missed a trick here) and giving up on visions of seaside splendour, we drove to Clacton, the capital of the Essex Sunshine Coast.

(For the more discerning tourist, Frinton-on-Sea, up the road, is more exclusive, with a vast, secluded stretch of sand and hundreds of brightly coloured beach huts – although it did appear to be popular with the region’s grandmas.) Jostling with the wind, we reached the end of the ‘fun-packed’ Clacton Pier, but not before some geezer tried to flog me a caravan.

I’m sure this town, with its tree-lined streets and fairground rides, blossoms in summer, but we wanted to escape the throngs and white plastic chairs and feel the pull of, what the tourist board called, ‘Undiscovered Essex’.

And sure enough, quiet, chocolate-box Britain was but a stone’s throw away. Back in the car we wended our way for miles along narrow, country lanes with daffodil-lined verges, past duck ponds, cottages adorned with hanging baskets, quaint village pubs and then back out to vast stretches of undulating farmland as far as the eye could see.

I almost burst into a rendition of Jerusalem. Of course, there’s no finer way to round off an afternoon soaking up the delights of rural Britain than packing in a few calories with a gigantic cream tea.

The Tiptree tea room, home to Essex’s most famous brand Wilkin and Sons, and their unique Little Scarlet jam, does just the job.

Back in the car (we had a strict itinerary, no timewasters please) and off to Maldon, an ancient hilltop town, port and sailing centre. Not only the site of a famous Viking versus Anglo-Saxon battle (we lost) the great-great-grandfather of first US President George Washington is also buried here. Just down the road is Layer Marney Tower, Britain’s tallest Tudor gatehouse. Fit only for a king, apparently, the infamous monarch Henry VIII himself stayed here. It has been owned by the (very hospitable) Charrington family since the 1950s, who are lucky enough to call the magnificent palace their home, and they are more than happy to fill you in on everything from the terracotta render to their new Dyson hand dryers in the loos. This 80ft architectural masterpiece was built in the 1520s by Henry Marney, Lord Privy Seal to the King.

His ambition was to surpass Hampton Court in size and grandeur, but unfortunately for Essex’s tourists, he never got round to finishing it. If you can make it up the tower, the view is spectacular.

I’m sure Henry, a man who seemed to take to the finer things in life, would have enjoyed a night at the nearby Five Lakes Hotel Golf and Country Club. With its marble floors and revolving doors, it’s perfect for golfers, spa-lovers and corporate bonding. The rooms are fairly charmless, but do the job. We drank wine on the balcony and watched the sunset.

Don’t bother with the evening buffet though, unless you really liked the taste of school dinners.

But this county’s best-kept secret was surely Mersea Island. Britain’s most easterly inhabited island about nine miles south-east of Colchester, (which is Britain’s oldest recorded town).

It’s only accessible by crossing The Strood, a causeway which at high tide floods, making the island separate from the mainland.

With its shingle beach, oyster beds, salt marshes and the quiet, tinkering of yachts, this place had a distinctly laid-back feel to it.

I feel compelled to mention at this point The Company Shed, which unfortunately we didn’t have time to visit, but I’m assured by many offers the best seafood platters in the land.

We ate at the Victory in Coast Road, good for traditional pub grub with a great view. It claimed to be a ‘great place to sink a few.’ It was.

Received wisdom has it that this county is blighted by its chav-strongholds, but this ancient, Saxon county with its 350 miles of coastline has more to it than meets the eye.

Perhaps we’ve been giving it a wide birth for too long, drawn to holiday staples Devon and Cornwall or happy to endure a whole day on the motorway to get to the Lake District.

Don’t get me wrong, don’t swap two weeks in the Maldives for a weekend in Essex, but you could do worse than spend a couple of days here.

Essex, take a bow.