Driving Home to the Lights in Fenland Town of March in England.

March looked Great on our Return Home

I went to see my Dad today. He lives in the eastern suburbs of London. The county of Essex to be precise, but many call it East London with flowers. Hornchurch is a great place and I came of age here from 11 to 28. I have fond memories of this place and swoon with nostalgic memories when I go to see my Dad.

He lives in my Grandparents house and it is the first place I stayed on the first night of my life when born in February of 1961. It is where the old Hornchurch airfield use to be during WWII. It was full of Spitfires and Hurricanes in the day.

My sister arrived too and we all went down to his club for a drink and my Dad saw his friends. He has been having treatment for an illness of late but seems better. He has finished his course of visits to the local hospital and is now getting back to his normal social routine.

Carole and I left early but got caught by the darkness along the M11 motorway. We turned off at Huntingdon, Cambridgeshire and drove the country lane in total darkness. (No street lamps in the country fields.) We, of course, had car head lights that we turned to full beam and then down for approaching traffic. This was rare as we approached the Fenland by night. 

We had Beth Orton again on the CD player and Carole and I chatted about the day in general. We have done a great deal of driving over the weekend. Saturday to her Dad's little town of Burnham-on-Crouch and Sunday to my Dads, district town of Hornchurch. 

We are always pleased when we get through the Fen to our little isolated town of March. Suddenly there were the Christmas lights in the town centre and everything was lit up. Just in the little town's high street, but that was enough for us. We were home to our Fenland town again and back to the bungalow over the little railway crossing. 

March town lights sparkle

Towards March Bridge over the River Nene