20 May 2016 Grange Farm, The Green, Woolpit, Suffolk

We woke to fine weather on our last morning in Norwich. Chris ventured out into the chill to wash the Sorrento and caravan before breakfast. Despite the extra chores, we were still away and on the A140 south from Norwich before 10 am. Our trip was relatively uneventful aside from attempting to delay our arrival at our next camp; courtesy, and sometimes rules, suggest that one should not arrive before midday.

Our first stop was a layby very close to the roadside, so close in fact that the van rocked outrageously every time a truck went by. Chris was soon fed up with this, so after coffee making paraphernalia was stowed away once more, we continued on south, turning off onto the A143 toward Ixworth, then south east on the A1088 toward Elmswell, all places familiar and part of the old Clarke stamping ground. We pulled to the side of this last lesser road, just as close as the first, but less busy and had an early lunch. I suggested we needed to change our habit of striking camp before 10 am, but old habits are hard to change, especially after so long of having been on the road in one spot or another around the world. It seems that instead, we will have to become more tolerant to the negatives of parking up on the side of English highways.

Our rural CL site was easily found, off a minor road on the edge of Woolpit, an area passed through most days when we were camped up at Onehouse, and very close to Elmswell, Stowmarket and Bury St Edmunds.

Our hostess was most welcoming, happy to emerge from her beautiful farmhouse which is currently undergoing repair as most three hundred year old houses require from time to time, to show us around. It seems that this is a well frequented camp, the maximum five parties in most days. It is a most charming spot, and there is a lovely view through the hawthorne, nettle and blackberry hedge across to Woolpit proper and the spire of the very old church. There is a path down through the fields across to the village, so we could, in theory, set off in the morning for the newspaper, however I suspect our schedule will not allow such indulgence.

After setting up, a rather poor performance as we again messed about with the remote mover, we headed into Stowmarket to Lidl and Asda, two of our favourite supermarkets (or superstores) to stock up large, although it is hardly as if we are ever too far from provisioning centres.

After doing so, we called upon Chris’s sister, Margie, caught up on the family gossip since our last visit, and left with a cottage pie ready for the oven; dinner sorted. 

As the evening falls, the crows have settled into the big trees all about, and the ducks settled down on the edge of the pond, which, by arrangement and a fee paid per dangled rod, adds to the most delightful ambiance of this camp. For this privilege we are paying £12 a night, a fair price as far as English camps go.