We were woken this Sunday morning not by rain, wind or
industrious farmers but by the cooing of the pigeons in the ruins of the church
tower next door and the quarter hourly chiming of the clock on the tower of the
facing church. I could not remember when I had last woken through the night to
count the chimes of a clock to ascertain the time; certainly it was more than
fifty years ago.
We had a full day planned so rose promptly, breakfasted and
set off from our formal garden setting. The Park & Ride a little to the
north-west was soon reached; we found it busy, not with would be travellers in
to the city centre but with car-boot retailers and their many customers. After
ten minutes of consultation with the locals, and subsequent reading of signs,
always a good back up, we learned that the buses do not run on Sunday. We
headed into the city, and found a park in a street less than a kilometre from
the Castle, avoiding the Pay & Display by parking in the street where
parking fees only apply on the other six days of the week. There were few about
but then it was only about 9 am; we headed up to Norwich Castle, a structure
dating from the twelfth century, but since modified. It was first turned into a
prison and operated for six hundred and fifty years as such. In 1834, it was
refaced in Bath stone, and has served as a museum ever since. By all accounts
it is well worth the entry fee, but one would have to sit around until well
after lunch to enjoy the exhibits. In fact the city, from the entry and from our
view as we circled the walls, was still asleep and we could see that our
exciting schedule for the day was already collapsing about our feet.
We did spot the cathedral from the battlements, the Norwich
Cathedral, a magnificent building
founded in 1096. Additions were added between 1297 and 1450, and by all
accounts this is also worth the effort of travelling into Norwich. We agreed
that we should give up our Norwich pilgrimage and head out into the country. I
do not use the word “pilgrimage” loosely, I had checked the addresses, church
names and dates of my paternal ancestral line this morning after breakfast and
had a to-do list, but this was proving all too hard. The secret is obviously to
come to Norwich on any day but Sunday, Park & Ride where the parking is
free but obviously the ride into the town is not, and enjoy the special nature
of this city soaking in the ambiance and history, both public and personal.
Norwich, today with a population in excess of 130,000,
small by British standards, was once one of the five largest cities in Norman
England. In medieval times it served a
vast hinterland of East Anglian cloth producers, whose work was brought here by
river and then exported to the Continent.
The city’s isolated position beyond
the Fens, meant that it enjoyed closer links with the Low Countries of Europe rather than with the rest of England; it was after all quicker to cross the
North Sea than go cross country to London. The local textile industry, based of
worsted cloth was further enhanced by an influx of Flemish and Huguenot
weavers, who made up a third of the population in Tudor times. By 1700, Norwich
was the second richest city in the country after London.
However the Industrial Revolution put paid to that, the city
losing ground to the northern manufacturing towns. For many years it was
something of a backwater, however our tourist guide literature assures us that
today it is not; the university and development of high tech industries have
given the city a new boost. Today, I would not have picked it.
And so we returned to the camper and found our way out of
the town, not an easy task given that so many of the streets were blocked off
for road works to occur later in the day after everyone had stuffed themselves
full of Easter Eggs.
The Norfolk Broads are well known, and were also on our
to-do list, although time was running short and we had thought we might have
had to do a quick drive about the next day. As it happened, aside from that
being unnecessary, the Broads should not, and cannot, be seen in a “quick drive
around”. In fact the best way to see this interesting area is to go by boat, or
perhaps hire a helicopter, neither an option for us.
These shallow lakes and waterways south and east of Norwich,
joined by six rivers; the Bure, Thurne, Ant, Yare, Waveny and Chet, once
thought to have been naturally formed, are in fact the result of medieval peat
diggings which flooded when the water levels rose in the 13th
century.
By medieval times, timber had become scarce, as much of the
woodland covering the area was cleared to make room for farming and grazing. The
lack of trees meant local people needed something else to burn, so they busied themselves
extracting the plentiful peat. Over a period of three or four hundred years,
from around 900 to 1300 AD, an era when Norwich was growing in size and
importance, the diggings expanded into large flat-bottomed hollows. By around
1350 the peat was getting harder and more expensive to extract and the workings
began to be abandoned to rising waters.
Among the many things that make the Broads so special, are
it’s sheer variety of inhabitants. As well as the open water of the flooded
medieval peat pits the area also contains a complex system of surrounding fens,
grazing marshes and wet woodlands. These in turn support a great array of
plants, insects and birds.
The heart of this living landscape, the five rivers which
meander through the East Norfolk flatlands, became an important means of
transporting goods between Norwich and the port of Great Yarmouth. From the 17th
to the 20th century, the wherry,
a solid, shallow bottomed sailing boat, was the craft of choice. During the
late 19th century, the Broads began to gain popularity as a tourist
destination, fuelled by the growth of the railways. Over the following decades
pleasure boats replaced the working wherries,
and that is what we saw today, by the hundreds and thousands.
I was interested to learn that during the Second World War,
Norfolk was at the forefront of possible German invasion plans. The coastlines
were well defended against landing of course, in part by the likes of Dad’s Army, but another area on high
alert was the Broads. Its large open water had been identified as ideal locations
for the Luftwaffe to land seaplanes. To prevent any such occurrence, a number
of wherries and barges were sunk
around the Broad, to make landing a near impossibility. One unexpected upside
of the leftover debris for the wildlife happened soon after the end of the war;
in 1949, land through the Broads was gifted to the Norfolk Wildlife Trust, and
common terns began to nest on the wrecks.
In short, our abandonment of Plan A turned out well, we
spent the rest of the day driving around the Broads, and then only a small
corner of this fascinating area. Our first port of call was Wroxham, where we
parked near the narrow stretch of the Bure bridged across to Hoveton and spent
some time wondering about admiring the many boats, not unlike the narrow boats
of the canals, but these a little wider, if not higher because the many bridges
are still somewhat a hazard.
Wroxham is often referred to as the “Capital of the Broads”,
it is the most popular and colourful boating centre with boatyards and moorings
all along the river. The Norfolk Broads Yacht Club is based here and regattas
are held throughout the season on the mile long Wroxham Broad.
Across the river at Hoveton we wandered about the village,
monopolised by Roys,” the largest village store in the world”. The MacDonald’s housed in one of Roy’s
buildings was open, as was the service station back up on the Wroxham side
where the price of diesel was almost 20 pence a litre less that we had seen it
at one of the motorway service centres yesterday. Needless to say, we filled
up.
The delightful volunteer at the Information Centre had
several suggestions for folk such as ourselves; those trying to “see” the
Broads in one day. At his suggestion we set off for Ranworth, first to see St
Helen’s Church and then to check out the NWT Ranworth Broad, both proving to be
brilliant.
St Helen’s Church is recorded in our guides as having a well
preserved 14th century painted illuminated manuscript and a tower
that offers spectacular views over the entire area. We found the church
surrounded in scaffolding, and further scaffolding inside. Signs all about
apologised for the inconvenience, and other signs explained the work that was
being done to conserve the painted screens. My first reaction was concern that
we would be precluded from entry or at least enjoying the attractions that had
drawn us here, but I was panicking unnecessarily.
We set off up the tower which stands thirty metres high. A
sign at the base warned that the public climbed the eight nine uneven steps,
two ladders and one trapdoor at their own risk. My desire to see the views from
the top was greater than my fear of heights, initially at least. As we
progressed up the dark interior, the steps steep and narrow, I was overcome
with claustrophobia. Chris stayed close behind me and I insisted we not count
the steps; knowing that I was only one third or halfway up would have been too
terrible. Eventually we climbed up on to the roof and our efforts were duly
rewarded. Although the sun had yet to make an appearance, the day was clear
enough to offer wonderful scenes below us.
The descent was easier although my legs remained jelly-like
for the next couple of hours. We wandered about the church, admiring the wooden
screen and marvelling at the ancient wooden pews and doors, reading the commentary
on the restoration work currently being undertaken.
It seems that the screens are suffering fungal attack and
damage from bat faeces, and that roughly one in five of those surveyed have
shown signs of death-watch beetle. The East Anglian painted screens are the
largest surviving collection of medieval painting. I guess we can consider ourselves privileged
to view these in situ.
From
the church, we walked, or rather, I kicked my feet out like a spastic,
along the road to the village, another mooring spot for the many boats on the
Broads, the Ranworth Staithe. We chatted for some time with a woman in the NWT
shop and booking office, ascertaining the “vole” seen at our camp at Preston
was most likely a rat, then headed off along the 450 metre long boardwalk back
along the road. This led us through woodland and reed beds to the floating
visitor centre where numerous interpretative panels explain the wonders of the
area, more numerous souvenirs can be purchased ostensibly to fund the NWT
Ramworth Board and the wildlife can be viewed through excellent binoculars from
the mezzanine floor. I was particularly pleased to see a couple of Great
Crested Grebes out on the water.
The mature oak woodland just inside the reserve entry is
home to many kinds of birds including wrens, robins, warblers, tawny owls and
woodpeckers which I would have loved to spot. The softer wetter ground under
the boardwalk is home to water tolerant trees such as alder and sallow. Clumps
of tussock sedge provide support for the trees and strings of wild hops and
honeysuckle cling to their branches. This tangled shady woodland is known as
“carr” and is home to the rare royal fern. There are in fact over two hundred
and fifty different kinds of plant growing here throughout this wet fen.
Near the water’s edge are areas of reed fen, some of which
has been cut to demonstrate the harvest of this for thatching. Here can be
found the Swallowtail Butterfly, Britain’s largest butterfly unique to this
area but normally only seen between May and July. Its survival relies on
finding and laying its eggs on milk parsley, a rare fen plant, found only in
East Anglia.
We learned too that the Norfolk Wildlife Trust is the UK’s
oldest Wildlife Trust, founded in 1926 when 400 acres of marshland on the north
Norfolk coast was purchased to be held “in perpetuity as a bird breeding
sanctuary”. The Trust now has over 35,000 members.
From Ranworth we found our way back onto the more major of
the narrow network of roads about the Broads, and headed up the eastern side of
our planned circuit, now on the A1064, the B1152 and the A149 to Potter Heigham
Staithe, a place that had caught our intention as being listed as a spot where
the bridges are too low to allow most of the craft that sail about these
waters.
“Staithe” comes from the Anglo-Saxon word meaning landing
place. Occasionally working boats still use the staithe, along with many small
pleasure craft. The whole area is governed by the restrictions and conditions
imposed by the 1806 Enclosures Act and more recent bylaws.
The village name has two origins, dating back to medieval
times: “Potter”, unsurprisingly, comes from the village pottery and “Heigham”
from Godric of Heacham, who held the village when the Domesday Book was
written.
The stone bridge, problematic to boaties, is also medieval,
believed to date from 1385, with additions made in the 17
th and 18
th
century. The bridge is famous for being the most difficult to negotiate in the
Broads, but in the summer there is a pilot service to guide holiday craft
through.
We
easily found a spot here to park, the large wholesaler who operates here has an expansive carpark and today with his business closed, was not also in the business
of policing parking time limits. Here too Herbert Woods, boat dealer, hirer and builder
extraordaire operates, and we wandered about the docks marveling at the number
of craft lined up for sale or hire, and the many stacked up in the workshop awaiting repair or
renovation. Had this been a work day, we may have had to simply drive on past
as so oft we do travelling about this country.
The
afternoon was getting on, and although some patches of blue sky had appeared,
the temperatures were falling and it already felt as if evening was closing in.
We headed back to our camp to find
ourselves alone for yet another night.
The
evening has been spent dining on the last of the meat and vegetables, drinking
the last bottle of wine and in general enjoying the last night we will have
alone in our motorhome. Although we do not have to return the camper to the
hirer for another three days, our days will revolve around family again as we
prepare for our return to New Zealand. We hope to see some more of East Anglia
in the intevening days, but time will tell.
