With its distinctive blue veins, Stilton has a long heritage as a cheese of quality, although its origins remain unknown
A large, drum-shaped cheese sits proudly on a table. With its crumble-cream texture, soft, butter-yellow crust and distinctive blue veins, this is Stilton.
Today, Stilton enjoys Protected Designation of Origin (PDO) status. This dictates that it can only be produced in the counties of Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire and Leicestershire, to a legally-binding recipe. Each batch must pass strict quality controls. If one fails, it can only be sold as unnamed ‘blue cheese’. Just six dairies are licensed to create this sumptuous, tangy cheese, while a seventh makes only white Stilton. None of them are in, or even near, the village of Stilton in Cambridgeshire from which its name comes.
For many years, it was claimed that Stilton cheese did not originate in the eponymous village. Recent research, however, has fetched up a recipe dated 1722. This implies that a cheese called Stilton was made in the village in the early 18th century. As a white, pressed, cream cheese, it bore little resemblance to the product known today.
No one knows for certain, but it is believed the distinctive blue veining may have happened by accident. As it aged, the cheeses produced natural cracks into which mould spores would develop. Far from being repulsed, early connoisseurs were delighted by this. The cheese’s flora and fauna are at their most active in and around the rind, ensuring flavour at its most complex. Daniel Defoe, writing in 1724, said he had “pass’d Stilton, a town famous for cheese, which is call’d our English Parmesan, and is brought to table with the mites, or maggots round it, so thick, that they bring a spoon with them for you to eat the mites with, as you do the cheese.”
It is unknown what made the cheese mites so tasty to 18th century travellers. While Stilton today is made to methods that remain traditional, modern hygiene standards ensure the rind remains maggot-free.
Stilton cheese’s fame spread. This may have been because it was made with whole milk and extra cream, unlike many cheaper cheeses where part-skimmed milk was used. Geography also played a large role. Sitting on the Great North Road, Stilton was only 70 miles from London. This made it a convenient stopping point for coaches travelling north to York or further. At its height, Stilton was heaving with humanity and horses. A minimum of 300 horses were held at The Bell Inn, with 300 more at The Angel. These would be changed with the tired horses of coaches travelling through. There were a further 14 hostelries in the village, all with accommodation.
Visitors would be aware of Stilton’s large cheese market, held every Wednesday. In 1743, Cooper Thornhill, landlord of The Bell, had an idea. He began working with Frances Pawlett, a cheesemaker from Wymondham, Leicestershire, to make something truly special on a more commercial scale. It is claimed Pawlett came up with a novel way to avoid having to press the whey from her cheeses. She moulded them in ceramic pipes, fired with holes, from which the fluid could drain. It also gave the product the classic drum-shape it retains till this day. Pawlett set out high standards for her ‘Stilton’ cheese, giving it an early reputation for quality.
At first, Cooper Thornhill served it to guests, then sold it to passing travellers. Finally, as news of its superior quality spread, he began supplying Stilton to fashionable cheesemongers in London.
Traditionally, the cheese was made in the summer months, when the local pasture and, therefore, milk was at its richest. The rounds didn’t mature until December, but this made them perfect for Christmas. Stilton’s rich creaminess is still associated with the season’s feast.
The arrival of steam railways killed the coaching trade and Stilton’s hotel business. The cheese industry, though, flourished thanks to improved distribution. However, all six of today’s Stilton dairies remain within a few miles of each other in the crook of three counties.
In the 1790s, the cheese sold at half a crown a pound, twice a day’s wages for an average farm worker. Top quality ingredients and an intense hands-on
process mean it continues to be the luxury product it
has always been.
Making Stilton Cheese
Approximately 16 gallons (72 litres) of milk are needed to make a prime 16lb 8oz (7.5kg) whole cheese. Everything, from the breed of the cow to its health and what it eats, will affect both flavour and texture. To meet the requirements of the Protected Designation of Origin, cattle must be grazed within a certain area.
When Leicestershire cheesemaker Frances Pawlett created Stilton in the 18th century, her milk would have been raw, direct from the cow. Modern Stilton uses pasteurised milk. This is cooled in giant vats, before it is introduced to a live starter culture of friendly bacteria, along with penicillium roqueforti. These are the mould spores that will eventually develop the blue veins. Traditionally, Stilton’s clotting agent has been animal rennet, but in recent years a vegetarian alternative has also been made.
The cheesemaker’s skill
A fine Stilton takes between 10 and 12 weeks from the moment the milk is pasteurised. Most processes are still done by hand. These include mixing the milk in the vats and cutting the curds to ladling, milling or grinding the curds into soft crumbs, and salting. Giant hoops are filled by hand to create the characteristic, cylindrical Stilton shape. There are no machines that can accurately check curds for setting point, or the developing cheeses for quality. This means the skills of individual cheesemakers are tested on
a daily basis.
The cheeses are stored in the ‘hastening’ room in hoops very similar to the moulds Frances Pawlett developed more than 200 years ago. Over four to six days the whey slowly drains away, ensuring the cheeses will not collapse when they are de-hooped. The next process is
to smooth them. The master cheesemaker strokes each cheese round to create a smooth crust. This prevents oxygen activating the blue spores too early.
The rounds are stored in a maturing room to develop the creamy, leathery crust essential for all Stilton cheeses. Variables such as temperature and humidity decide exactly how long each batch will take.
For five weeks they are turned regularly to allow the air to reach each round evenly. Then they are individually pierced with steel needles to introduce air. This activates the mould spores for the blue veins. The blue does not develop in the pierced holes, but in tiny cracks and fissures within the cheese’s loose, crumbly body. The cheese rounds see out their maturation in the blueing store, for between four and six weeks. Here again, they are regularly turned and graded with a long coring tool, or iron, to ensure quality.
Some strange misconceptions have grown up around how Stilton should be served. It is best cut simply, in wedge-shaped slices. The general advice is to ‘cut high, cut low, cut level’. This involves cutting a small wedge in the top, about ½in (1cm) deep. Cutting is continued around it like a shallow cake, slicing it off horizontally to ensure the least amount of air reaches the main body. Scooping exposes more surface area to the air. This dries out the cheese, killing both flavour and texture. It is not recommended if the cheese is not to be eaten at one sitting. Nosing the cheese, that is removing the soft, creamy inner ‘nose’ leaving fellow diners with the hard crust, is not acceptable.
Stilton village’s guide to eating this most tricky of cheeses claims the high cream content not only renders butter unnecessary, it detracts from the experience, making it over-rich.
Words: Sandra Lawrence
Once a safe place for newborn, orphaned lambs, a lovingly restored shepherd's hut now provides cherished sanctuary for one man and his dog
Tucked within a quiet Norfolk garden, the curved iron roof and silver-grey weathered wooden walls of
a traditional shepherd’s hut contrast gently with the greenery of spring. Chickens and ducks shelter beneath it, while homemade preserves are stored inside it.
Today, it is a quiet, peaceful place for owner Ian McDonald and his wife, Carol. In its heyday in the late 19th century, however, it would have provided much needed shelter for a working shepherd. Towed out to the fields in early spring by horses, the hut was the solitary shepherd’s home throughout
the lambing season.
There were few home comforts. Measuring 9ft high, by 7ft 6in wide and 12ft 6in long (2.75 x 2.3 x 3.8m) it was big enough to house its single occupant and one or two lambs. There would have been a rudimentary wooden bed but no mattress, a stove, storage box for medicine and food, and possibly a cage for orphan lambs. This was often placed under the bed, allowing
the shepherd and lambs to share body warmth on cold nights.
Ian and his family have owned the hut since 2003. It was in a derelict state when he and Carol first saw it at School Farm in their village of Barford, Norfolk. Rotting away, trees were growing out of the roof. The hut’s neglected state and obvious need for care instantly attracted them. “I just saw the hut and thought it was interesting,” says Carol.
History in the making
Using a forklift truck and a trailer, they transported the hut back to their house on the other side of the village. “Unfortunately the front axle fell off when we lifted it up as the wood was so rotten,” says Ian. Undeterred, he set about a thorough restoration. At the same time he started research to find out more about shepherd’s huts and their history.
Several months were spent carefully taking the crumbling structure apart, recording every detail. “I measured and drew everything.” This was done so he would know exactly how to
put it back together correctly. He also visited the Gressenhall Farm and Workhouse rural history museum in nearby
Dereham. They had two huts, and also gave him the number
of a woman who had researched the subject. She put him in touch with former shepherd and shepherd’s hut enthusiast, Gerald Beavis, from Cambridgeshire. All provided useful information for his restoration work.
Eventually, Ian was ready to begin the task of rebuilding his hut. An electrical engineer by profession, he was helped by what he learnt during a four-year coach-building apprenticeship in his youth. This provided him with the woodwork, metalwork and welding skills needed for much of the work. The restoration took approximately two years. “I thoroughly enjoyed it,” he says.
“It was a way of coming back from work and unwinding.”
A hut with heart
Today, the hut is warm and cosy. On a bright spring day, it is full of sunshine, with a gentle woody smell. Birdsong is heard through the open door. The interior is lined with pine and the floor is made from pitch pine salvaged from a chapel in Suffolk. There are two comfortable wicker chairs and a set of shelves.
“I love coming here,” says Ian. “When you step inside, you could be anywhere. It is so peaceful. As a child, I always wanted a den, somewhere to go and hide, and to keep my treasures. Even as an adult, it is great to have a hideaway.”
Over the years, the hut has been used to hold parish council meetings and children’s sleepovers. Carol uses it as an art studio, her paint box and jars of brushes sitting on a small folding table. Underneath is a large wooden box. “It is a genuine shepherd’s chest and was given to us by a shepherd,” says Ian. Hanging by the door is
a selection of old tools accumulated over time, including sheep shears and a crook. In one corner is a small Victorian coal-burning stove.
“We have tried to keep it as authentic as possible,” he says.
A varied past
As part of his research, Ian traced his own hut’s story back to 1945 when it was bought to house a German prisoner of war, Hans Lenzen. He had been sent to work for Eddie Simmonds, of School Farm. Towed 15 miles by tractor from Hall Farm, Rackheath, it cost £7.
Hans appears to have lived in the hut until he was declared free of his PoW status in 1947. He married a local woman and remained in East Anglia. Ian managed to contact him, but Hans’ age prevented the pair meeting. Instead, his son Robin visited and gave Ian copies of his father’s papers. These included his PoW documentation and discharge form from the Luftwaffe. He recalled his father describing the hut as a basic, cold place where he struggled to dry his clothes in winter.
For the following 20 years, the hut was used as a farm store and dog house. Rodney Brown, the owner of the haulage company that moved the hut for Ian, recalled choosing a puppy from a litter born in it in the 1960s. “He helped me move the hut for free as he had fond memories of it,” says Ian.
The hut’s past uses are an important part of its attraction for Ian. “The history really gets me,” he says. “I love the fact it has evolved from a shepherd’s hut to a home for a PoW to a farm store and a dog house, and now we have prolonged its life. It makes it something special and gives it an atmosphere.
“I am fascinated by the history of how and why these huts were used, as well as the huts themselves. Sometimes there were notes written in the huts themselves, as the shepherds recorded information they might need onto the wooden walls.” Unfortunately, this was not the case with Ian’s hut as the original lining was tarred sackcloth.
Saving farming heritage
Ian is keen to share his knowledge to encourage others to rescue these huts. To this end, he has set up a website with links to the specialists who helped him. The site also records historic hut manufacturers and has a section on their history as well as practical tips.
“I want people to save these pieces of our industrial heritage while they are still out there,” he says. “I love the skill and craftsmanship and attention to detail that went into building the huts in the first place, but it’s their history that makes them so special.”
A labour of love
Ian restored his hut in sections, starting with the ironwork. Most of this was reusable, apart from the bolts, which had been corroded by the tannin from the wet oak. The four cast iron wheels and the axle swivel plate were sandblasted to remove rust. Next they were sprayed with hot zinc to protect them from future damage. Replacements for the bolts were commissioned from a company in Sheffield to old Imperial standards. “I wanted the hut to be built how it was originally. Where that wasn’t possible, I used new parts made to old specifications,” explains Ian.
The original wooden axles had to be replaced. Plywood patterns were cut, then new ones were made from solid oak at a nearby sawmill. These were bolted to the chassis with specially made 16in (41cm) bolts. Wrought iron pieces came from the Sheffield ironworks.
“The chassis sat on wet ground for at least 40 years as the wheels and axles sunk into soft soil. A screwdriver could be pushed through the 4in thick timber,” says Ian. Four new side panels were made from oak and pine. A new curved corrugated iron roof was sourced from a specialist who makes pig arks. The door was made of larch and the window frames of oak. He then assembled the hut with the help of some friends.
Finally the outside cladding, made of green or unseasoned larch planks, was attached. Butted together vertically, a much narrower larch plank or joining strip was placed over the gap between each plank. This allows for movement in the wood. In the summer the planks shrink, opening up a gap between them. The joining strip ensures the walls remain sealed. The wood has room to expand with the winter wet without buckling. The woodwork is now treated annually with preservative.
Huts on wheels
The earliest known mention of shepherd’s huts dates back to 1596. English writer Leonard Mascall mentioned a ‘cabbine upon a wheel’ used
by shepherds in a work on rural life. Their popularity peaked in the 19th century, with some continuing in use until after
the First World War.
Thomas Hardy gives a detailed description of Gabriel Oak’s shepherd’s hut in Far From the Madding Crowd. “The inside of the hut was cosy and alluring... In the corner stood the sheep-crook, and along a shelf at one side were ranged bottles and canisters of simple preparations pertaining to ovine surgery and physic... On a triangular shelf across the corner stood bread, bacon, cheese and a cup for ale or cider which was supplied from a flagon beneath... The house was ventilated by two round holes like the lights of a ship’s cabin, with wood slides.”
Out of lambing season, the huts were used to supervise sheep folding at the end of the year. This was the practice of using sheep to fertilise fields. A small area would be fenced off and the animals left to graze on root crops. Once these were consumed, the flock would be moved onto the next section. The land would then be ploughed and the nutrients in the sheep droppings returned to the soil. The ammonium nitrate fertilisers developed after the First World War rendered this process obsolete.
As changing agricultural practices saw shepherd’s huts fall out of use, many slid into disrepair, gently rotting away where they stood. Some were even broken up and burned. A resurgence of interest at the end of the 20th century has seen many surviving huts rescued and renovated for use once more.
Words: Diana Woolf Photography: Richard Faulks
A RIVERSIDE STROLL TAKES IN THE GLOUCESTERSHIRE MARKET TOWN OF LECHLADE
Nestled among the gentle hills and green fields of southern Gloucestershire, streets of mellow stone buildings glow in the sun. The golden tones are interrupted by occasional splashes of red or blue plaster. Crooked chimney pots perch atop steeply sloping roofs in the Cotswold market town of Lechlade.
For centuries, this small settlement was an important inland port, the highest navigable point of the Thames for goods-laden barges. Today, the river still draws visitors, travelling languidly downstream in barges and boats. Pleasure, not commerce, inspires these journeys though.
This 3½-mile walk starts in the town’s marketplace, below the soaring spire of St Lawrence Church, before taking a route along the winding River Thames. The furthest point is a tiny church with over 1,000 years of history written on its walls.
With a current population of 2,800, Lechlade owes its growth to its position on roads and river. The main roads into the town converge at the small marketplace. In 1210, King John granted the town a charter allowing a weekly market and an annual three-day summer fair to be held. The market probably stretched down what is now the high street. Traders from Lechlade and nearby villages sold fruit and vegetables grown in the surrounding fields. The good pastureland meant cheeses were a speciality.
Dominating the marketplace is St Lawrence Church, its spire climbing 140ft (42.5m) into the sky. It is believed that a church has stood on this site since Saxon times, but the present building was completed in 1476. Constructed of local Taynton limestone, the church was financed by local merchants, who had grown rich on the town’s thriving wool trade. Because of this, it was known as a wool church. Like other Cotswold churches similarly paid for, it was originally richly decorated, with beautiful woodwork screens that have now gone, and a fine oak panelled roof.
The church was initially dedicated to St Mary. Then in 1501, the manor was given to Katherine of Aragon, who had come to England to marry Prince Arthur Tudor. She changed the church’s name for that of a saint from her native Spain. Prince Arthur died soon after their marriage, and eight years later Katherine married his brother, the recently crowned King Henry VIII. Tudor roses are cut into the stonework, and a pomegranate, Katherine’s emblem, is among the carvings on the vestry door.
A summer’s inspiration
To the left of St Lawrence Church, a small path makes its way through the graveyard. This is Shelley’s Walk, named in commemoration of the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley’s visit to the town in the summer of 1815. Shelley, his novelist wife Mary and two friends rowed up the Thames from Windsor, hoping to find the source of the river. They only got as far as Lechlade, however, as their boat became entangled in thick weeds. They stayed for two nights, reputedly at the New Inn, in the marketplace.
St Lawrence’s inspired Shelley’s haunting poem ‘A Summer Evening Churchyard’. “Here could I hope, like some enquiring child Sporting on graves, that death did hide from human sight, Sweet secrets,” he wrote. His words seem to linger among the lichen-encrusted tombs and trailing ivy.
Shelley’s Walk opens onto a small lane, and the route now crosses through the gate opposite. The path travels down the side of an open field, scattered trees breaking the skyline. After passing through another gate, it is raised above flood meadows. The trees lining each side intertwine to form a tangled archway. This route follows in the footsteps of medieval monks, who travelled the pathway between the church and the Priory of St John the Baptist which once lay ahead. Slightly less than half a mile on, the path ends at a main road.
At the road, a right turn is taken towards St John’s Bridge and the Trout Inn. The inn was once part of the priory, which was sited behind the present day building. Established in 1220, the Augustinian priory superseded a nunnery on the same site. Its monks were charged with looking after the sick and poor. The Trout was likely to have been the original Priory guesthouse. A steady flow of travellers visiting the Priory boosted Lechlade’s already flourishing economy.
It is near The Trout that the River Leach joins the Thames, before the enlarged river flows under St John’s Bridge. From this meeting comes the derivation of the name Lechlade. A lade is a muddy confluence of rivers. From 1234 a fair was held every year in a nearby field called The Lade. It is not known why the town took its name from the River Leach rather than the Thames on which it stands.
The monks’ bridge
Erected in 1229, St John’s Bridge became the first Thames bridge outside London to be built in stone. It replaced a wooden bridge swept away in a flood. Responsibility for keeping the new crossing in good condition fell to the priory monks. In return they were allowed to charge a toll on people and goods going over or under it. Chief among these were packhorses loaded with salt travelling the ancient Salt Way from Droitwich in Worcestershire. Cattle driven from Wales and the West Country along drovers’ roads also crossed the bridge. Some were sold at Lechlade, while others were put on boats to London.
The monks, however, did not always honour their part of the bargain. Several times the Crown had to pay for repairs to the bridge. This was not the only area where the monks were involved in irregularities. Reports from 1300 show that some monks were accepting money in exchange for saying masses. In 1472 the priory was finally dissolved, with stone from the buildings being used in the construction of St Lawrence Church.
The current road bridge dates to 1886. With no footpath, it is crossed with care. Over the bridge, there is an immediate right turn, down the steps and through a gate to St John’s Lock.
At 234ft (71m) above sea level, this is the highest lock on the Thames. It is also the first of 45 on the way to London.
The lock opened in 1789, to coincide with the opening of the Thames and Severn Canal further upstream near Inglesham. Before this, Thames locks were ‘flash’ locks, dams with sections that could be raised to let a boat through. Usually effective, there was a risk that the ‘flash’ of water that escaped might actually sink the boat. The flash locks were replaced with the new pound locks, still familiar today, which have a chamber with a gate at either end.
The new lock was capable of accommodating the big Thames barges. These giants of the river were 12ft 2in (3.7m) wide and up to 90ft (27.5m) long. Able to handle 85 tons of cargo, they constantly ferried goods up- and downstream.
Boats were supposed to pay a toll to pass through St John’s Lock but this was often evaded by the rough and ready bargemen. Until 1830 the lock-keeper had traditionally been the landlord of the Trout Inn. Believing it would lead to improved efficiency and better revenue collection, the Thames Commissioners who ran the lock decided he should instead live on site in a purpose-built house. However, the first landlord to be offered the house, Benjamin Hodges, refused to move. In 1831 care of the lock was put out to tender.
Today the Thames barges have gone, but St John’s remains a favourite stop-off for boaters. Brightly coloured narrowboats and river cruisers line the basin.
On the way to the gate at the far end of the lock there is a statue of Father Thames, by Rafaelle Monti. This was sculpted in 1854 and exhibited at the Crystal Palace. Surviving the fire that destroyed the Palace in 1936, it was bought by one of the Thames Commissioners. It was placed at the source of the river at Thames Head Springs, before being moved to the lock in 1974.
A working river
The route now follows the Thames as it winds its way through expansive water meadows. Swans glide down the river as the breeze ripples the water, kingfishers a flit of blue as they search for food. Above it all rises the spire of St Lawrence’s, visible over the open fields for miles around, a beacon to the traveller of old.
On the far bank of the river is a squat concrete structure with thin slits for windows. This is a Second World War pillbox, one of a string built along the Thames in 1940. Designated GHQ Line Red, it was part of a strategy to stop a possible German invasion from reaching the Midlands.
In the distance, draped in willow, can be seen the honey-coloured tones of Halfpenny Bridge. The route passes through the small archway on the left to emerge at Riverside Park. On the opposite bank is the Riverside Pub, a former goods warehouse, standing on Parkend Wharf. This was one of several wharves built in Lechlade from the early 1600s onwards to replace the medieval ones originally at St John’s Bridge. Goods brought here could be transported on to London and the Continent. The wharves handled everything from livestock to coal, timber and stone.
The route continues along the river, passing over walkways and through gates towards Inglesham, which lies over the border in Wiltshire. After approximately half a mile, two buildings emerge on the horizon. The one to the right is the Roundhouse, where the Thames and Severn Canal once joined the Thames. Now part of a privately owned property, this was originally a lengthsman’s cottage. The occupant maintained a designated stretch of canal and operated the nearby lock. The ground floor was used as a stable, with living quarters on the two floors above. Inglesham is one of five roundhouses built along the canal in 1790, the year after it opened. It is one of only three with an innovative inverted cone roof which channelled rainwater to an underground storage tank.
The opening of the canal, linking the Rivers Thames and Severn, meant that goods could be transported between London and Bristol. Lechlade was an important link in the chain. Within a century, however, the canal had been superseded by the railways and fell into decline. It was little used after 1911, finally closing in 1933.
The walk now cuts across the meadows towards the building on the left, the church of St John the Baptist. It is reached by passing through the gate at the far edge of the field and turning right. This church is beautiful in its simplicity. Its essential medieval fabric is almost untouched, thanks to the efforts of William Morris. One of the leaders of the 19th century Arts and Crafts Movement, he lived five miles away at Kelmscott Manor. From there he supervised the 1888 renovation of the church. His intervention successfully safeguarded the church’s medieval identity from any plans to restore or alter the interior.
Although the core of the building is Saxon, most of the present structure dates from 1205. Today the interior looks much as it would have done to worshippers in the mid 1600s, with the then-new box pews that allowed families to sit together during services, 15th century screens and font, and original timber-board roof.
What make this church so special are the paintings that adorn almost every wall. Ranging from the 13th to the 19th centuries, they are several layers thick in places, with parts of earlier paintings visible among later ones. This, and their worn condition, makes them difficult to decipher. Even so, they give a sense of how this church would have looked to centuries of worshippers.
Several of the original consecration crosses survive, painted red. These mark the places where the church was anointed with holy water or oil as part of the sanctification ritual. It is also possible to see how the chancel would have looked when the church first opened its doors. It would have been decorated with imitation stonework, delicate foliage and flowers, and a pattern of red and white stripes, possibly mimicking a textile hanging. Fragments of 14th century paintings of St Catherine holding her wheel and figures from a Doom, a depiction of the Last Judgement, remain. There is also a vivid Tree of the Seven Deadly Sins emerging from under a picture of St Christopher. On the north aisle is a depiction of The Weighing of the Souls. This painting shows a golden-winged St Michael holding his scales as Mary shelters souls in her cloak.
The walls are also inscribed with texts, ranging from the late 16th to the 19th centuries. Some are framed with vividly coloured scrollwork and flowers. Later ones are more classical in style, bordered with simple lines. They include biblical verses, the Ten Commandments and the Lord’s Prayer.
St John’s Church and nearby Church Farm are all that remain of what was once a much larger village. Ridges and furrows still visible in the surrounding fields mark the medieval settlement. This was abandoned with the passing of the wool trade over the centuries.
The route is now retraced back to Halfpenny Bridge, going up the steps at Riverside Park on to the bridge, to turn left down Thames Street.
Halfpenny Bridge was built in 1792 to replace the old ferry crossing. As the name suggests, a halfpenny, or ha’penny, toll was charged to pedestrians using the bridge. The tiny tollhouse, topped with a pyramidal roof, stands on the north side of the bridge. Public pressure led to the toll being scrapped in 1839.
At the end of Thames Street, a right turn is taken at the T-junction. Ahead lies the marketplace, the spire of St Lawrence’s, and journey’s end.
Words: Diane Wardle Photography: Alamy