THROUGHOUT its history, Maldon has had close commercial and social links with Burnham.

This is amply illustrated by entries in the Victorian (1848) edition of White’s Directory of the County of Essex.

Under the heading “Conveyances” in the Maldon section it states that the “Coach and Mail Cart (goes) to Burnham via Southminster every morning” and that “carriers” (for the transport of goods and the poorer class of passenger) departed from the Swan Inn, in High Street, for “Tillingham and Burnham on Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays” (operated by William Pond and J Richardson) and “daily to Southminster and Burnham” by John Worraker’s van (a horse-drawn cart).

Although things have moved on a lot since then, nowadays we can still make that 13 miles or so journey by bus.

The 31X from Chelmsford picks up in Maldon and, just like Worraker’s van, follows a route to Burnham, via Southminster.

In common with Maldon, Burnham has a lot to offer those interested in history and architecture.

So armed with my trusty copy of Pevsner’s Essex,(I decided to go in search.

I joined the bus outside Pound Stretcher and Prezzo – a stop that is still today designated ‘the Swan Hotel’.

Having passed through Mundon, Latchingdon and Althorne, sure enough the bus still goes via Southminster – as did John Worraker all those years ago.

After 40 minutes or so on the 31X, we duly arrived in Burnham High Street.

I noticed the old Star pub, described as “a 17th Century coaching inn”, but actually alighted at the stop designated the ‘Clock Tower’.

This refers to Burnham High Street’s most distinctive feature. Although it wouldn’t have been there when the Directory came out, it is a good place for us to start.

Pevsner didn’t think it was “a lovable piece”, but I must say I have to disagree with him.

Built of red brick with distinctive black quoins and diapering, it was erected by public subscription in 1877 and originally attached to St Mary’s school.

The quirky three-arched, four-storied construction, topped off with open cupola and ogee roof, is in memory of a famous local son, the oysterman/philanthropist Laban Sweeting (1793-1876) and the clocks on the east and west sides still act as convenient timepieces for both locals and visitors like me.

Burnham High Street runs parallel with the river and widens into a kind of market square, which would have been the commercial heart during Worraker’s day.

That rich, historic economy is reflected in the surviving architecture.

Of the current 49 listed buildings (or groups of buildings) in Burnham, no fewer than 16 of them are in High Street.

Apart from numbers 56-60 (which is recorded as 16th century) the majority are late-18th to early-19th and an interesting mix of either red brick or timber-framing with attached weatherboarding.

Despite this characterful combination, again Pevsner, rather surprisingly, says that “there are no houses of special value”.

With a more open mind I continued from the clock tower, walking east on the same side of the street.

Among the older buildings, I particularly liked white weather-boarded ‘Creel Cottage’ at number 83, the red-brick pair at 93a (Ringrone Cottage) and 95 (Rose Cottage), and the side-on, weather-boarded 97 and 99.

Crossing over the road, I noticed 74 and 76 bearing the date 1738, and then, most striking of all, the grand edifice that is number 70.

This substantial, mid-19th century house (actually, believe it or not, built in 1848) is of grey gault brick with an impressive columned entrance.

It would doubtless have been the talk of the town the year the directory was published.

Continuing west, next came the groups 64-68, 56-60 and then, at 52, the Ship. This building is included in the 1848 directory with Alexander Cranmer as the landlord.

Although I was tempted to call in, the directory took me to another pub – the one that I noticed as I arrived, the Star, at numbers 29-31.

At its west end there is a surviving arched carriage way and it was from here (in 1848) that at 8.30 every morning you could catch the return Maldon Coach.

I thought it would be rude not to try a Burnham pint, so in I went to what was at the time Sarah Potton’s tavern.

When the pub historian Glyn Morgan visited it many years later, in 1963, he thought that time had stood still and said that mixing with the clientele you realised that “beyond the shore-line there exists another world but dimly realised by the landsman”.

The talk was, of course, of the sea – “tales of fair weather (and) of storms”.

In that respect not much had changed since 1848 when those at the bar included oyster merchants like the later to be immortalised Laban Sweeting.

Then there were the numerous vessel owners – including John Abbott, Abraham Clay, Betsy and Joseph Garood and Isaiah and Samuel Richmond.

I fancied I heard the faint echoes of their nautical chatter, but did as Glyn Morgan suggested and “washed the salt from my lips with a tankard of the best”.

Then the 21st century suddenly kicked in – my bus!

I drank-up, ran down the High Street, looked up at the clock tower and realised I had just minutes to spare.

Sure enough the 31X arrived and it was time to head home, still imagining that I was sitting alongside John Worraker, but grateful that the return journey would be somewhat more comfortable and take far less time.