Author: melitat

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Update on (lack of) progress

Contrary to what you may have thought, I haven’t been drowned off the coast of Lincolnshire.  However, I have had to put my walking plans on hold as I have been superbusy setting up a new website.

You may have noticed from my posts that I am interested in history, so, working with a colleague, we have set up a new history website at:

www.tudortimes.co.ukscreenshot pic

It’s a website devoted to Tudor and Stewart history 1485 – 1603.  Pop over and have a look, if you are interested in history.

As you can imagine, this has taken a lot of work.  However, I plan to get the walking boots back on in February – looking at the weekend of 6/7 to crack on – will post an update when confirmed.

Merry Christmas!

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Day 56 – Gibraltar Point to Skegness

I had an appointment in North Lincolnshire, so I grabbed the opportunity to come down to Skegness and finish the walk from the Bank Holiday weekend. My friend, Graham, who has heard a good deal about the walk, but so far has not taken part was, conveniently, free to come over from Nottingham, so he joined me here last night.

So, Skegness. Well, what can I say? And Skegness on a Saturday night, too! I wish I could say that we rode the roller-coaster and partied in the tasty night-clubs till dawn, but, sadly, not. We went for a very sedate drink and snack in the same hotel Rachel and I stayed in last time, but did not have the opportunity to admire the BollywoIMG_8175od antics.

This morning, I drove down to Gibraltar Point to pick up the path opposite the frustrating locked foot-bridge. For the first time since turning inland south of Hunstanton, I could actually catch a glimpse of the open sea. Not for long however, as the salt marsh has built up here into a huge nature reserve. It took the best part of an hour to reach the Clock Tower in Skegness where I had arranged to meet Graham – he declined to get up early and join me at Gibraltar Point, as, he informs me that he likes a leisurely breakfast.IMG_8187

Skegness was rather quieter in the day than it had been the night before. We walked down to the sea front, and at last I could see the ocean. The beach was golden and smooth, absolutely glorious. The weather was kind, too as we walked along the South Bracing, and then the North Bracing – I am sure the names are usually reflective of reality, but today they were not.

We divided our walking between the promenade and the sand close to the sea. The prom is hard under foot, but conducive to swift progress. The sand is slower and ruinous to boots, but pleasanter under foot when just above the water line.IMG_8206

We did not see much of any remark on our trip – there were lots of people around, children determinedly bucket-and-spading on the last day of the summer holidays. We marvelled at the terrifying rides at the funfair we passed. The roller coaster was shockingly high and steep, and I started to feel sick just watching people hanging upside down.P1060145

Sadly, many of the cafes and buildings along the front for the whole stretch to Mablethorpe are rather unattractive – concrete and corrugated iron with neon lights, garish colours and EXTREMELY LOUD MUSIC. Still, I suppose tastes differ and everything cannot be a twee tea-shop.

Sutton-on-Sea has set its face against modern development, but was not outstandingly attractive – some unusual beach huts – the roofs look rather pagoda-like in shape.P1060151

After an easy day, we arrived in Mablethorpe around 4.45pm, having done some 18 ½ miles. We were in time for fish and chips before catching the bus back to Skegness.

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Day 55 – Friskney to nowhere in particular in Lincolnshire

Today did not turn out quite as expected. We had already decided that Sutton-on-Sea was too ambitious, but Chapel St Leonards seemed a reasonable target. We took a taxi back to where we finished yesterday – actually, a little further down the road so that we could get back onto the sea wall. The scenery did not vary from yesterday with mile upon mile of marsh and, just toward the horizon, the mudflats.IMG_7974

The landscape is strangely sinister. I don’t mind walking alone, but it was good to have someone with me as, despite not seeing a soul, it felt as though we were being watched. There were no bovine incidents today and we meandered on. We came to the end of the marsh, opposite Gibraltar Point, a noted wildlife reserve. According to the map, all we needed to do was cross the dyke, now wide and deep enough for various small craft. The map showed a slipway, but it was covered in thick, deep mud for at least six feet on either side of the water way.IMG_7979

We regarded it with disfavour and consulted the map for an alternative. No problem – a few hundred yards upstream was a footbridge. We approached it in due course, a rather rickety looking metal affair. We read the signing, warning of trip dangers and proceeded down the steps to the bridge. Unfortunately, the gate on the far side was firmly padlocked. The gate itself was a good 7 feet high. Clearly previous walkers had clambered over it as the evil-looking spikes on top had been bent over.IMG_7981

“Do you think you could get over that?” asked Rachel.

“Not sure, what about you?”

“I think I could.” I will add at this point that Rachel is very much taller than me with exceptionally long legs. She could probably have stridden over it in one step.

I looked again.  “I expect I could get over it if a bull were after me, but at the moment I am not too keen.”

We consulted the map again. It wasn’t raining, but it was pretty miserable and the ground was wet underfoot, soaking Rachel’s lightweight shoes.

According to the map, there was a further crossing point some 800 yards further. We trudged along, beginning to feel grumpy. This would add at least 3 extra miles to the day. On we went, towards the farm buildings that the marked crossing led to. Of course, the route was blocked with a barbed wire fence.

Now what?

We decided that were three options: we could trespass, not appealing; go back and try climbing the gate or wade across thick mud of unknown depth. We thought that if we were sure about the existence of the crossing place that we might risk trespassing, although we didn’t fancy it, but the reliability of the map at this point had been less than a hundred per cent. As we hummed and hawed we saw a figure approaching through the field ahead.

“Great, now we are going to be shot at by an irate farmer,” we thought.

We approached the fence and explained our predicament to the farmer. Fortunately, he did not have a shot gun and was willing to let us walk through his yard if we could get over the fence. I whipped out the map and folded it over the barbs, hopping over into a field which contained a good half dozen ponies.  Up came the farmer’s wife (or sister..?) who was very friendly and told us all about the horses – gipsy cobs, apparently. She was a mine of information about the care of the sturdy little beasts. Mrs Farmer was keen to talk – she probably doesn’t see many people out in the Fens.   She was a local girl – apparently Lincolnshire folk are “yellow-bellies”. The commercialisation of Skegness obviously upset her – she was adamant that it is Skegness, not “Skeg” and definitely not “Skeggy.” The renaming of the High Street as Chip-pan Alley was clearly a sore point.

We lingered for a while to chat, then asked advice on the best way back to the sea wall. The map showed a track called New Road, which we thought might be a route leading back to Skegness, but Mrs Farmer told us it went through private land and that the owner was distinctly unfriendly. More map reviewing…. Our only option was either to walk at least 5 miles along the busy A52 or to go to Havenhouse station and get the train into Skegness. We opted for the latter…unfortunately, on Bank Holidays there are no trains so another taxi was IMG_7983required.

By now it was pouring with rain so we decided to abandon the walk and console ourselves with the best fish and chips in Skegness.

We fetched our bags from the hotel and are now on the Skegness to Grantham train which is chock full of enormous suitcases and screaming children. A fairly low level 10 miles today but a fun weekend overall – the only disappointment being that the sea has not been visible at any point.

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Day 54 – Boston to near Wrangle 24 August 2014

We have just returned from dinner, laughing so much we could barely eat. Our hotel, which is very pleasant and economical, despite its proximity to the seafront, has an Indian restaurant. All through the meal, 1970s Bollywood pop videos were being played against the wall. I was absolutely mesmerised, staring over Rachel’s shoulder and barely able to make conversation. In the end she turned round too and we were practically rolling on the floor as the Indian equivalent of a cross between Elvis, Roger Moore and Mr Darcy pranced and prinked around various sets, including, bizarrely, scenes set in the Austrian alps with all of the women dressed in dirndls.

It was a fitting end to a very pleasant day.IMG_7930 We still haven’t seen the sea, but it has been good all the same. We left Boston at 9.30 and walked down country lanes to get back to the sea front at Freiston Shore. We passed the small village of Freiston and saw there was a flower festival in the church to celebrate its 900th anniversary. IMG_7935We went in and were delighted with the sight of banks of sunflowers in the porch.IMG_7947 Inside were various beautiful arrangements denoting momentous events- weddings; Christenings; Silver, Ruby, Golden and Diamond weddings; the birth of a girl; a boy or twins. Even more delightfully the ladies, who could all have come from a Miss Marple set, were serving coffee and cake.

Another mile or so between enormous fields filled with brassicas of all descriptions took us back to the sea wall. After that, all was similar to yesterday, although the landscape was even more open, with enormous skies and marvellous cloud formations. IMG_7966We were told to look out for peregrines, which apparently have nested in the area and are now feeding their young. Although we didn’t see them, we did see egrets, starlings beginning to gather for the autumn exodus, skylarks, and heron, as well as more butterflies, a rather nice lurcher and the Red Arrows.

The weather was kind, but the bovines were far too prevalent and unnecessarily curious. I was not reassured by signs saying “Bull in Field.” At one point we had to pass a group that contained some youngish calves. We skirted around carefully, and I was pleased to find a dismembered fence post on the ground which I clutched defensively.IMG_7961

The last couple of miles were less pleasant as we were walking alongside a drainage ditch with almost stagnant water which was mozzie heaven.

Lunch was cheese straws for me and cherry scone for Rachel – I love having the excuse of walking to eat an appalling diet.

We covered some 25.9 km, ending at a little pub between Wrangle and Wainfleet. We will start there again tomorrow. I think Sutton-on-Sea is too ambitious, so we will set our sights on Chapel St Leonard’s.

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Day 53 – Fosdyke Bridge to Boston – 23rd August 2014

Today was equally uneventful. We ordered the taxi to collect us from the hotel around 10.30. This was a very late start but Rachel needed to go to Boots for a heel lift as her achilles’ tendon was playing up. Unfortunately, we were led astray by some beautiful scarves in the local dept store. These were of gorgeous emerald green liIMG_7881nen nothing like the dreadful woolly snoods I wear walking to keep my ears warm! We decided that walking need no equate to dowdiness and purchased one each.

During our drive back to Fosdyke, we couldn’t decide whether our taxi driver is a fully paid up member of UKIP or not. On the one hand, we heard about how Boston has changed out of all recognition in the last 10 or 15 years (although he didn’t look much older than 30). The change being due to the locals being driven off the land by huge influxes of foreigners Latvians, Lithuanians, Bulgarians and so forth, many of whom are lodged in caravan parks and brought over by unscrupulous land owners to undercut local wages. A gentle enquiry about the minimum wage led to a suggestion that there is a huge scam in place, whereby the local landowner employs the men through contracts in their home countries and pays them there. If that is true, it is indeed a very disturbing situation. We also had some sympathy with his concerns about planning consent being given for a 1,000 unit caravan park to house the workers. It sounds like a recipe for disaster to have 1,000 young men, of whatever nationality, cooped up in a caravan park, not integrating with the local community.

On the other hand, the taxi driver was sure that there is really plenty of work for locals who bother to seek it out – there are just families just haven’t bothered for a couple of generations. We confined our responses to meaningless murmurs.

We walked away from the Ship Inn, up the western bank of the river Welland.  The path was pretty similar to yesterday’s, but the weather was a little warmer and there were quite a few butterflies in evidence, small tortoiseshells mainly, but also the odd red admiral and small blue. The path meandered on, along the top of the bank, a good mile of marsh between us and the sea. Because we have a second night in Boston, we didn’t need to carry rucksacks, so we bounced along very speedily.IMG_7896

In due course we came to the nature reserve. Birds spotted through the day include a heron, egrets, kestrels a grebe and cormorants. We also saw a very large bird of prey, but I have no idea what it was. Apparently there are marsh harriers, the odd hen harrier and sparrow hawks in the area but I would be unable to distinguish them.

We stopped to munch a light snack and enjoy the sunlight. Our healthy choices were a bag of cashew nuts, some 70% chocolate and a flapjack – all distinctly better than yesterday’s dismal sandwich.

Around 1pm a very sharp shower came up from an inky black sky. My splendid waterproof trousers ate beginning to struggle now, so I got a bit damp and really felt the rain on my back with no rucksack on. However it only lasted ten or fifteen minutes.

We could see the Boston Stump all day – properly named the tower of St Botolph’s church. It is an enormous structure the widest and the tallest parish church in England, begun in 1309. (The largest overall in floor area, is apparently St MaryIMG_7915’s Hull.) More information can be found here. http://www.bostontown.co.uk/index.php/boston-stump  John Taverner, the Tudor organist and composer was organist in the first quarter of the 16th century.  This impressive church was built on the proceeds of the wool trade, Boston being one of the Staple Towns in the mediaeval period.

The path turned up the river into Boston. It is not an especially attractive river, run down industrial buildings and a horrible stench of dead things. We were surprised at how high all of the pylons are. At least twice the height of normal pylons, but I have no idea why.IMG_7906

We walked into the town centre around 3.45, having walked a light eleven miles. Boston has some lovely eighteenth century buildings and is a bustling place.  It has quite a radical history. It was the birth place of John Foxe, the Elizabethan author of Foxe’s Book of Martyrs. With either a very overdeveloped sense of irony (or none at all), just below the blue plaque on the pub commemorating his birth place was a rather explicit advertisement for pole dancing. IMG_7924Poor fellow must be spinning in his grave.  Boston was also the jumping off point for many of the Pilgrims who left for the IMG_7914Netherlands and then joined the Mayflower,  before it departed for Plymouth. In the churchyard are commemorative stones for a second wave of Pilgrims and their leader the Rev John Cotton, who took his congregation to the New World in 1633 and contributed to the founding of Boston, Massachuessets.  Later in the 17th century Boston was strong for Parliament.

Rachel’s achilles heel is still bothering her, so we made an emergency trip for comfy shoes for tomorrow.

We are now waiting for dinner in the White Hart hotel. I am writing and Rachel is reading about the Bastard of Arran, having finished with the Wolf of Baddenoch – I must say, Scottish history is very lurid!

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Day 52 – Sutton Bridge to Fosdyke Bridge 22nd August 2014

Today was a very easy, pleasant day. Following my bovine escapade last time, I drafted in Rachel for protection, but there was no real need. We met a few “coos” as she calls them in her lovely Scots accent, but they were supine in the sun.IMG_7873

We took a bus from King’s Lynn to Sutton Bridge, where I finished, bad temperedly, back in July. The sun was shining but there was also plenty of cloud cover.IMG_7856

After stopping to talk to a beautiful smokey grey cat, we walked back to the Nene and followed the road running to the east of the water. Eventually, the road became a track, and the track, a path. This is the Nene Valley Way. Towards the end of the Nene channel were a delightful pair of lighthouses. The one on the farther bank had clearly been done up into a very pleasing residence, and we both had a pang of house envy.IMG_7862 But on the whole, I wouldn’t really want to be on such flat terrain. As we turned west along the Wash, we could see, far out to our right the line of the sea, but, to be honest, the marsh is so wide here; it is hard to believe I am actually on a coast walk.IMG_7868

The harvest is now mostly in – we saw a few combines diligently moving up and down the fields, but mainly the view inland was of cut corn fields or hay meadows with bales stacked high. The corn was interspersed with the odd field of potatoes or beans, and there was one big expanse where ploughing for, I suppose, winter wheat was beginning.

We saw few people all day – occasional dog walkers, one with a very nice retired greyhound that we were tempted to take with us. About half way round we came to an army shooting range. There were minatory signs around stressing the illegality of tampering with the unexplored bombs that apparently littered the area, I am convinced it is just cordoned off while the army searches for King John’s Crown Jewels, of which I have still seen no sign.IMG_7869

The sky, wide and open with 180degree views changed colour constantly with white clouds turning almost black and an interesting pink light over the Wash.

After some 15 miles we could see a tall tower in the distance. I decided it must be the Boston Stump, of which I have heard so much, and so it later proved.

Another 2.5 miles, took us to Fosdyke Birdge, a small settlement on the Welland Cchannel with a few boats moored, and, more importantly, an excellent pub! (See review.)

We took a taxi for the 8 miles into Boston and have booked him to fetch us in the morning to go back to Fosdyke. It seems there are no buses along the A47 going into Boston, the nearest being some 3 miles up the main road, which is a-thunder with lorries.

Boston looks nice, the Stump is indeed imposing. We may have a bit of time inthe morning to have a closer look, as tomorrow is an easy day. Hopefully, tonight will be more peaceful than last night – around midnight our peace was rudely broken by a young woman screaming and screaming at her boyfriend to f**** off and let her have five minutes by herself. She yelled and yelled as he tried to placate her. In the end, earplugs had to be employed!

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Day 51 – King’s Lynn to Sutton Bridge 1st July 2014

Sitting in the Pizza Express in King’s Lynn, trying to recover from a severe sense of humour failure. The day started well enough, and should have been very straightforward – 12.5 miles along a clearly marked public footpath along the edge of the Wash. Unfortunately, things didn’t turn out like that. I left my pub at 8am, in search of breakfast and found a greasy spoon – although I am now longing for some fruit, rather than eggs and bacon for breakfast.IMG_7253

I then made a detour to look inside the Minster, and very impressive it is. Some beautiful stonework as well as brasses from 14th century.

The day began overcast but looked as though it would clear up, which it did. I walked back down to the river bank and debated whether to turn south for the road bridge – a good mile each way to the bridge and back or to head for the ferry. Not having looked up the running times, I wasn’t sure if it would have started.

I opted for the ferry and was pleased to find it was already operating, although I missed one by a few minutes. However the ferryman is pretty brisk, and although the vehicle itself looks pretty clapped out, it does the job swiftly enough.IMG_7281

I landed at West Lynn in a few minutes, and had a look at the little exhibition about the draining of the fens before starting out on the Peter Scott Way. IMG_7282I had never heard of this path before which runs from the ferry at West Lynn to Sutton Bridge, along the edge of the Wash.   The sun was shining by now, with very little wind, and I was already glad of my hat. I sauntered on, making good time, and at around eleven decided to stop for 10 minutes to eat some chocolate and admire the view.

That 10 minutes cost me hours! I sat looking across the Wash back towards Snettisham where I had been yesterday, before my Sandringham jaunt. I contemplated the day ahead – easy walking, an unmistakeable route and no farm animals. I couldn’t have been more wrong!IMG_7296

Ten minutes later I approached a building that I had been able to see for some mile or so. I had thought it was an electricity substation, but as I got closer I saw it was a barn. I had no sooner registered this fact than a herd, or I might say a horde, of at least forty head of cattle poured out of the barn and stampeded up the bank. They were young male beef cattle, and presumably normally run down the other side of the bank to pasture on the grassy marsh edge.

To my utter dismay, they caught sight of me, not 50 yards away and the leaders stopped dead on the bank. Most of the rest followed them and I was faced with a herd of cattle and no way round. Now, I am not wild about passing cattle at the best of times but generally, if they are grazing quietly, I can slip through without drawing attention to myself.  There was no hope of that – they were curious, very curious, and whilst aggressive might be strong, they certainly weren’t friendly.

I yelled out in the hope that the farmer was there and had just let them out – he could have chased them off for me.   But there was no-one there. Presumably they just go in and out of the barn at their leisure.

I contemplated my options. There was no way I could go through them. I could go to the right down the bank and into the marsh but I didn’t know how tricky that would be. Besides, I would have had to cross their normal path. I considered going left between them and their barn. That didn’t seem too appealing either as there were still some left in the barn and I didn’t want them rushing out.   The third option was to go behind the barn and wait until they had lost interest. I slithered down the bank to the left and hopped over the five barred gate. It is amazing how swiftly I can move in these situations. I thought that if I hid for a bit, they would move off the bank, but no. Not a bit of it. I waited for a good fifteen minutes, but every time I emerged into view they would start to bellow.

Behind the barn was a large wheat field. I thought of walking along the edge of it, at the foot of the ridge, but the cows were still way too close for comfort.   I looked at the map and decided I should walk the half mile down the farm track, at right angles to the ridge, then run parallel with it and either cut back to it, or follow a ridge further inland that had been the 1910 water front.   So, off I went. Every time I looked back, the cows were still clustered on the ridge.

I got to the beginning of the next field – wide, open, East Anglian fields at least quarter of mile in length and width. I could see that there was a gate across the ridge footpath, so I thought I would cut back up, and climb back onto the path with the gate between me and the cattle.  First mistake.IMG_7305

The crops are pretty high now, and reached above my head. I kept close to the field which was not sown, but it was very tall grass, and cleevers everywhere, entangling themselves in my boots. I startled a few pheasants, but pushed on. I could see, as I approached the ridge that there was a wire fence, but I was pretty sure I could make short work of that. Imagine my horror when I found, not just a fence but a very wide drainage ditch, running parallel to the path which I couldn’t possibly cross. I looked at the map – sure enough, it was marked, but I had not checked carefully enough. Cursing, I decided to walk along the top of the field, which looked a bit less overgrown and down the other side to reach the 1910 ridge, rather than fight my way back down the way I had come. Second mistake – the field became even more overgrown. It must have taken the best part of an hour to get round the field and then, when I finally got to the 1910 ridge, that was so overgrown I couldn’t possibly walk on it.

The net result was that I had to walk all the way to Sutton Bridge on the road, with no sight of the sea. My socks and boots were full of burrs and cleevers and every step was prickly. Eventually, I bethought me of yesterday’s socks, dug into my rucksack and put those on – not that pleasant, but better than burrs.  The road was at least four extra miles as well.

My only piece of luck all day was coming into Sutton Bridge, and reaching the bus stop just as the bus was trundling up the road.

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Day 50 – Hunstanton to King’s Lynn – 30th June 2014

I am very lucky to be sitting in a delightful, if somewhat expensive, bistro in King’s Lynn, overlooking the Great Ouse, rather than clapped up in the Tower of London.

I spent several hours today trespassing through the Sandringham estate. I didn’t set out to trIMG_7175espass of course, but I am not sure how I could have avoided it.

I left my B & B at Hunstanton, this time after a decent sized breakfast, around 8.45. The morning couldn’t have been lovelier. The sky was a clear blue and there was no wind at all. I walked down to the front and admired the Wash. Sunny Hunny was certainly living up to its name. High tide had just passed and the water was still lapping up to the sea wall. Yesterday’s wind meant the sea was still fairly choppy. Far to the north I could still see the enormous wind farm that was very noticeable from Holme- next-the-sea.

The promenade continues for several miles and although it is hard underfoot, makes for fairly brisk progress.IMG_7178 Eventually, the prom comes to an end and the nearest public foot path runs inland along the top of a bank, with a field to the seaward side and marsh inland. I continued along this for some time, kicking myself for having forgotten to bring my hat. I am very prone to sunstroke and the sun was blazing down relentlessly. I slapped Factor 50 all over myself but feared a bout of headache and nausea.

In due course I arrived at the delightfully named Snettisham Scalp: a little outpost on the coast, of the village of Snettisham. Even more pleasing was a cafe and beach shop where I was able to buy a straw hat for the princely sum of £1.99. I sat and had a coffee and relaxed for half an hour before heading onto the shore again. It is relatively easy to walk along the beach here, some shingle, but also hard packed sand. The tide had gone out a long way by this point and I lived in hope of finding King John’s Crown Jewels, lost in the Wash in 1216.  Sadly, no sign of them, but I will keep my eyes peeled tomorrow.IMG_7196

There are huge numbers of seabirds of all sorts, and also, sadly, lots of jellyfish exposed to the beating sun. Signs warned walkers about walking too close to plover nests. I did not see any although I am sure I wouldn’t recognise them anyway. But I did see a lot of oystercatchers. The whole area seems to be managed by the RSPB. On the inland side is a lagoon, with a steep bank between the lagoon and the beach along which is the foot path.

The map showed that at the south end of the lagoon, all of the tracks converge to cross a canal where there is a sewerage outflow but the lie of the land and the direction of tracks has changed since my map was published, mainly, I suppose, because of last December’s storm surge. In consequence I found myself on the wrong side of a barbed wire fence and gate, and had to exercise some ingenuity to get back onto the right track.. After some wriggling around, I reached a gate near the crossing point.

My map showed a series of paths apparently running along the tops of banks between marsh and fields, so I turned south along a bank near the sewage works. A track was running to the side, but I stayed high. I turned back towards the sea, but after about half a mile I came to a gate. I went through but the track was so over grown, I couldn’t continue. I decided to return to the point where the track split and take the track. Turning round, I saw a sign on the gate saying “Sandringham Estate, no public access.” However, I had no choice. I couldn’t continue as the path was so overgrown, and it would have been foolish to walk into the marsh.  I did refrain from taking photos on the Estate.

I had not fancied the track earlier, because of the sound of gunshot, but it was that or all the way back to Snettisham and round by the road. I didn’t think it was shooting season, being only the 30th June, but I not really up in these things. There was a van parked, with some dead duck under it, but no sign of life. As I walked along the track, I heard more gunfire but I didn’t see anyone.

I walked on and on, following the tracks, never seeing the sea, but sure it was there some half mile west of me. The Sandringham estate is clearly run for wildlife and shooting. There were many, many butterflies and other insects, and frequent sightings of pheasant and grouse.

A couple of hours brought me to a point where I could turn inland to follow a road and various other paths into King’s Lynn, which would have totalled at least four miles extra, or continue through the estate. Emboldened by the fact that I hadn’t seen a soul, I decided to press on, turning down a metalled road which did say ”Crown Estate: Private Road”, but not very noticeably, and anyway, there are lots of private roads that can be walked down, I argued to myself.  I checked the map and saw that the track led, eventually, to a little hamlet called South Outmarsh, where I could pick up the track next to the Great Ouse into kings Lynn. I decided to risk it. As I walked along a large farm vehicle went past – I held my breath lest the driver stop and challenge me, but he sailed on by. I carried on, then tuned left, in the same direction as the vehicle. Unfortunately, he hadn’t gone far but was in a yard, cleaning the vehicle. I effected an air of nonchalance as I walked through the yard.

“Excuse me, can I help you?,” a young man in mirrored shades, combat trousers and a tattoo overcoat asked me.

I feigned ignorance. “No, I am fine thank you.”

“It’s just that you are on private land.”

“Oh?”  I didn’t actually lie or say I didn’t know, merely fumbled with my map and said that I was trying to get to South Oumarsh.

“As soon as you took the road up here you were on private land.”

“Oh dear.” I tried to look confused and as much like a harmless middle-aged lady as I could, unfurling my map and saying, “There seems to be a track here.”

I smiled and took my sun glasses off. He recoiled, horrified by the windswept , red eyed apparition in front of him. His immediate thought was how to get rid of me as soon as possible.

“Look,” he took my map, “I am not sure where we are. I’ve lost my bearings.”

I pointed to the shed where we were standing, and to the village.

“Right,”   he said, “you go up there, and climb up to the rise, where there is a sluice. Cross the sluice and you will be alright. I am not giving you permission , mind, you are on private land.”

I smiled again. “Thank you SO much. I’ll be as quick as I can.” I scurried off, wondering what I would have done if I had been forced to go back. I expect I could IMG_7222have cried. However, that was unnecessary as he was very kind and polite and II was very glad not to have to make a detour of several miles.

Once over the sluice I stopped to have a celebratory piece of chocolate. Unfortunately, it had melted in the most disgusting fashion all over the inside of the rucksack. In the way of chocolate it promptly ran amok all over my face, hands and trousers. I must have looked a terrible sight.

I eventually reached the track beside the Ouse, visualising bars and boats and already savouring a crisp white wine. I was sadly disappointed. The stench of the dead and rotting fish was so appalling I almost gagged. No self- respecting wine bar would go anywhere near it.

The walk into King’s Lynn was a trudge, and I was very disappointed, initially, with the town which looked dirty and grim. I arrived at my pub at around 4.45 – the oldest continuously inhabited pub in King’s Lynn.

When I reached the heart of the town, I could see it was absolutely delightful – the huge Minster dedicated to St Margaret of Antioch, Mary Magdalene and All the Virgin Saints dominates the square flanked by Georgian facades with the mediaeval houses of the Hanseatic League behind. It is absolutely gorgeous – a real gem of a traditional English provincial town.IMG_7231IMG_7230 Down by the staithe, I finally found the bistro and bar with the glass of white wine I had been fantasising about. See review.

A modest 28 km today – 17.5 miles. I am glad to say the painful knee has resolved into a lightly pulled muscle rather than any joint problem. It is a nuisance and mildly painful, but can be walked through in about fifteen minutes and is not beyond the reach of paracetamol.

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Day 49 – Wells-next-the-sea to Hunstanton

Another lovely day, although it did not start out very promising. After a rather low grade breakfast, Bridget and I stepped out into heavy rain to meet Chris and Rita at 9.30 back down on the front at Wells. Foolishly, I did not have my waterproof trousers on, and by the time I had gone 300 yards, my lower half was soaked. I found a covered area and struggled into them, just as the rain turned torrential. Bridget and I hovered under shelter for a few minutes, then, as it eased off, went on to meet the others. The weather was so appalling that I told them all I was quite happy to go on alone, and that I wouldn’t feel at all abandoned should they decide to do something more appealing than walk for 20 miles in a downpour, although I was sure that the sun would come out shortly.IMG_7096

Bridget and Rita elected to meet us later, but Chris valiantly stuck to Plan A. I promised it would be dry by 10am and sunny by 11am. He looked doubtful, but pretended to believe me. We walked along the old railway route directly north out of Wells for the best part of a mile. There is a little cafe at the end, and, since the rain had stopped, just as I promised, we went in to dry off and have an excellent coffee.

The Norfolk Coast path here runs though the Holkham estate, one of the biggest private estates in the country. Around 150 years ago, pine forests were planted by the estate as sea defences, and the path meanders through the woods, with the sea some quarter mile further out beyond the dunes. IMG_7101The weather improved, and, as I had predicted, at ten to eleven the sun broke through and the sky became blue and clear, although there was still a brisk wind. Once through Holkham woods, the path winds inland to a small village called Burnham Overy Staithe. Staithe is a northern or eastern word for a landing stage, and many of the small villages have them. Burnham Overy’s claim to fame is as the place where Lord Nelson first learnt to row and sail, before joining the Royal Navy as a Midshipman, aged twelve.

We walked on towards Brancaster Staithe. The countryside changed completely again – a raised ridge with marsh all around. IMG_7123There was another great feast of seabirds. I am practically becoming a twitcher! I have seen so many egrets now that I am becoming quite blasé about them. There were also lots of oyster catchers and something else that we could not identify for certain. A similar build to a swan, but fawn in colour. We though it might be a grebe (or rather several as we saw more than one) but we could not be certain  as we were too far away to see if they had crests.

All the while we walked along the ridge we could hear the wind rustling the miles of Norfolk reed beds, used for thatching since ancient times.IMG_7133IMG_7136

In Roman times, Brancaster was on the sea front, and an important fort on the Saxon Shore, the line of defences built, according to a common (although disputed) theory, to keep the Saxons from invading Britain. The sea is now a good mile further out.

About a mile out of Brancaster Staithe we were met by Bridget and Rita, who had found a good pub where we returned for lunch. Chris and I left at around 3.30 and carried on through to the main village, along a raised boardwalk through the reed beds.   We then continued along the road for a bit -the Norfolk coast path goes inland here, but we kept a bit closer to the sea, although it is far out beyond the salt marsh at this point. The sky looked very ominous, but, fortunately, it did not rain again.IMG_7168

I was beginning to tire – my left knee has been a bit temperamental today, following walking on shingle yesterday – not helped by stepping into a hole and jarring it. The salt-marsh and reeds receded and we back down by the beach, walking over sand dunes and rough marram grass. Fairly hard going, but lots of it has been boarded, so not too much of a struggle. Just after Holme-next-the sea, we met Bridget who had parked at Hunstanton and walked to meet us – another half hour along the dunes, and then the welcome site of Bridget’s car in the car park at the edge of the town. I am going to confess to a little cheating here as I begged a lift for the last mile to my B and B. I have now completed the whole Norfolk Coast path – 45 miles from Hunstanton to Cromer, taking 2.25 days. Today’s total was 31.4 km – 19.6 miles.

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Day 48 – Sheringham to Wells-next-the-sea 28th June 2014

Just got into bed feeling completely exhausted. Last night, I hardly slept at all, behaving elected to stay at the Youth Hostel in Sheringham with Chris and Rita who walked with IMG_7023me today.

Unfortunately, I was in a shared dorm with two perfectly lovely women, who unhappily both snored like drunken sailors.   Now generally, one person snoring is just about bearable if it not too loud but both of them were appalling in both frequency and volume. I was reminded of the Ancient Mariner – they cracked and growled and roars and howled all night without ceasing, First in counterpoint, then in harmony, and finally in some devilish syncopation that kept me awake all night. Even the chickens at five am couldn’t bother me as I was ready wide awake.

Other than the noise the YH was good – excellent meal last night, though breakfast was indifferent.

Rita, Chris and I set out around 8.45 along the front at Sheringham. The forecast had been for torrential rain at 9am, but it did not materialise. We walked along for a half mile or so. Then, after going a little too far, and having to turn back, climbed up onto the low cliffs at the golf course.

The loveliest part of the morning was being surrounded by sky larks. I have never seen so many – not just in the air but on the ground too, and seemingly, unafraid of humans.   It really is the sound of a British summer. We walIMG_7044ked for about four miles on the cliff path. As well as the sky larks, we saw plenty of butterflies and also seven spotted burnet moths.

Our favourite sight of the day was a group of “fishermen.”  Well, their fishing rods were propped up, working away, but the chaps themselves were lolling on a large, inflatable sofa, with a cooler full of beer.  We thought they were probably watching the match on their phones at the same time.  No doubt they will return to their wives with stories of all the fish that got away.IMG_7061

Eventually we came down to the shingly beach at Weybourne, then turned inland to Salthouse where we stopped for a coffee. Rita left us there and Chris and I continued to Cley-next-the-sea (apparently pronounced cleye to rhyme with eye.) A number of these towns named “next-the-sea” really need to be renamed “used-to-be-next-the-sea-in-the-early-middle-ages,” often being a mile or so inland.

As we walked towards Cley we were delighted by the sight of a very elderly man, he must have been 90 plus, walking towards the sea with a collar and tie and tweed jacket and cap, long staff in his hand. We decided he had walked to the sea every day of his life since his was a nipper. He was very gentlemanly, and touched his cap to us as we passed.

Going through Cley, the path runs inland along the main road to cross a river.   Carelessly, Chris and I were so carried away by the delights of home-made Norfolk ice cream (I chose Norfolk Apple Crumble flavour – mmm!) that we missed the turning back towards the shore and took an accidental 2.5 mile detour, only discovered when Chris wondered why the sea was behind us instead of to the right. Grrr.

The Norfolk coast path is uneventful. It is hard going on the shingle areas, and the beaches today were all shingle, not like the beautiful sounds further east.  There are numerous churches along the way, all unfeasibly large, remnants no doubt of the days when East Anglia we the most prosperous, and populous area of the country after London.

We walked steadily though Blakeney, Morton and Stiffkey – no idea how that is pronounced, although we have heard that it is Stukey. We did come up with some interesting variants.  Well, I say we walked steadily. But the signage is poor and we often had to double back to find the track as it meanders through the wetlands. Despite predictions of violent storms and heavy rain, we encountered no more than a few drops. About a mile out of Wells, we met Sally and Trevor and, with the addition of Bridget, who will walk tomorrow, adjourned to the Albatross, a splendid floating pub in a converted Dutch Barge.

I am unusually tired tonight, both as a result of last night’s sleeplessness, and the detour that gave us an extra couple of miles, to make just over 20 rather than the planned 17.5. Also, I have been quite poorly for the last few weeks, and this is my first real outing. I hope I will be able to cover the distances planned.