Nashoba, Base Green, Suffolk

      

Thursday was seen as possibly the last opportunity to get out and about from our camp here in Suffolk before serious family commitments and further travel plans stymied all of that. We packed up our lunch and set off soon after breakfast, toward the Thetford Forest, in the general direction of our initial plan. We kept off the main highway, tracing our way through the smaller charming Suffolk villages of Tostock, Thurston, Great Barton and West Stow, where we decided to check out King’s Forest which is part of the Thetford Forest, although not physically connected to it. 

The Forest was named to commemorate the Silver Jubilee of King George V and Queen Mary, and includes acres of trees, sweeping heathland and the wide open East Anglian skies. Here walkers, cyclists, horse riders and dog walkers have a network of trails to follow, the latter who have clearly frequented the area; uncollected dog faeces are everywhere, and for those who have made the effort to bag their beloved’s fouling, there are far too many who have cast the tied-off bags into the vegetation along the way. We were not impressed although when we rose above our frustrations regarding this typically English custom, did enjoy our forty minute walk. The birds were wonderful although we were spared any sighting of mammals, either of the two or four legged variety. We were discouraged from one section of the forest where it was evident that timber harvesting in progress, however this was of no great consequence to us.

Back behind the wheel, we continued on to the West Stow Country Park, 125 acres of countryside containing a remodelled quarry, the Anglo Saxon Village, trails, heath and woodland walks, along with an excellent children’s adventure playground and café.

In fact the ground covered by this park has had many different lives. Not least the 19^th century sewerage works built to serve Bury St Edmunds. Underground pipes carried the sewerage from the town to the site where it was distributed across the land to the pumping station. When the sewerage farm came off line in the 1950s, sand and gravel was excavated from part of the site and the resulting quarry was then used as a municipal rubbish tip. It was during these operations that the evidence of an Anglo-Saxon settlement was uncovered.

On arrival we set off around the park to explore the natural wonders of the place, firstly down to the River Lark, that which flows through Bury St Edmunds and eventually runs into the River Great Ouse, then around the lake, which turned out to be one of several. The lakes are actually former gravel pits, which were allowed to flood once the minerals had been extracted in the late 1970s. The twelve acre lake we walked around, has become a well-established and environment supporting a wide variety of wildlife; Canada geese, ducks, swans, the glorious and abundant Common Blue Damselflies, eels, tench, pike, bream and  carp, this latter sometimes growing to five feet long.

We walked up through the forest of silver birches, Scots pines and oaks, so many of the latter young and thriving, and learned much about our surroundings on interpretative panels. We learned that traditionally parts of birch have been used to heal many illnesses, such as urinary infections, arthritis and rheumatism, as well as being widely known for its detoxifying diuretic, cleansing and purifying properties.  Birch sap and the bark were used for tanning leather; the sap is still used today for its medicinal and cosmetic qualities. I could not help but think I should be taking birch sap capsules every day to maintain my good health.

Part of the park is a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI), protected under the 1981 Wildlife & Countryside Act. The seventy acres of West Stow Heath is a small remnant of the cast open sandy area known as Breckland, which once covered 400 square miles of Norfolk and Suffolk. It supports a unique range of plants and animals which have evolved to withstand the harsh conditions of the region; however I have touched on this before when we were in the Thetford area last year.
 

Better known and visited by tourists is the Anglo-Saxon Village which I visited with Margie and her since deceased husband, Dave, about ten years ago.

The village area was excavated, explored and studied before Dr Stanley West set to work in the summers from 1965 to 1972 and with his team discovered sixty nine sunken featured buildings and several “post built” structures. All the buldings were of wood and had left few traces when they rotted away. Luckily for the excavators, two houses had been burned in Anglo-Saxon times, so that timber was preserved and could be identified from the charcoal remains. The archeological site had been protected under a great mound of blown sand deposited here by the wind during the medieval period. The nature of the soil preserved many pieces of evidence not normally found, including thousands of animal bones, bronze objects and even seeds.

In 1973 reconstruction of the Anglo-Saxon village began and fifteen years later, the first visitor centre was opened. Eleven years later the current centre opened, this offering an excellent museum and an introductory DVD theatre, along with the obligatory shop and café, where they hope to reap the greatest profits.

The reconstruction has been more about experimental archaeology, its aim to explore the techniques of building and woodworking techniques thought to have been used by the Anglo-Saxons.  Some folk had imagined that the Anglo-Saxons lived in a hole in the ground with a simple roof over it, but that did not match the evidence from West Stow. A number of different types of buildings have been experimentally reconstructed to test how they performed. As a result, the village is a bit of a mishmash of likely and unlikely buildings; the commentaries are honest enough to acknowledge the likely errors.

The village includes a hall, a workshop, a weaving house, a living house the “oldest house”, a farmer’s house and the misdirected “sunken” house, all of which are open to the visiting public. And all of it is most interesting.

It has been ascertained that the period of occupation of the West Stow site lasted for over two hundred years from 420 to 650 AD. Around this time, over a period of perhaps twenty five years, the village moved about a mile to the east perhaps around the new church. West Stow today is centred on this new site. The original site was gradually deserted.

But excavation has found that the site had been occupied for way before the Ango-Saxions arrived. The hill was occupied by an Iron Age settlement, consisting of a number of circular huts, storage or rubbish pits and ditched enclosures for stock and small field plots. This settlement, which lasted from the 3^rd Century BC to 60 AD, probably represents the growth of a successful farmstead rather than a community.

When I came here with Margie and her husband all those years ago, it was a “live” day and the crowds were typical of such exhibitions, milling about for the hot dogs and icecreams rather than an indepth education, so I did not have the opportunity to understand the site then as I did now, I was now very glad we had both the time and the space to do so, although we did have to share the museum with a class of primary school children from Cambridge.

By the time we emerged it was too late to undertake any further significant touring, so we made our way home through another loop of Suffolk villages and along lanes from where we were able to see that Suffolk has more than its fair share of piggeries here in East Anglia.

The next day was to have been one of organisation and preparation, but was mostly spent hanging about waiting for things to happen and people turn up. By the time dinnertime arrived, we were still a distance from home and the prospect of cooking did not appeal; instead we had dinner at a pub in Stowmarket and embraced the positives of the day. We had the key to Margie’s new house and The Decorator, this many faceted husband of mine, was mostly aware of the walls and ceiling for his attention, most of the paint was now in our car and we had collected most of the tools from John’s workshop-garage in Bury St Edmunds with which to undertake the work. Now he just lacked work clothes to wear under a pair of John’s overalls, some work shoes, the wallpaper, the wallpapering equipment and some of the paint. He was keen to start work the next day but could foresee holdups even as we tried to be positive over our Friday Fish’n Chips special. 

When we did arrive home, the camp had already filled with May’s second Bank Holiday Weekend campers; at least three tenting parties and the rest, campervans and motorhomes.

The next morning Chris headed off with lunch packed in the eski, a pair of slippers to act as work shoes and a headful of shop names and opening times to acquire the missing items. He hoped his sister and niece would turn up with those left as their responsibility.

Against all these odds, The Decorator started work on Saturday and amazed his sister with his progress, even though he arrived home lamenting  the sluggish reality of the project. Apparently the paint Margie had purchased was not really appropriate for the job, nor was it enough. That and other frustrations were soon forgotten with a bottle of red and a substantial dinner I had slaved over the stove all afternoon to prepare. Actually that is not true; Margie had turned up halfway through the afternoon to offer company, so much of it was spent supping cups of tea. 

The next day was a rest day, a day for a family get-together up on the coast. John’s partner has a static caravan up near Lowestoft and we, siblings and in-law, had been invited up to share a pub lunch, an opportunity that could not possibly be ignored. Margie refused to be subjected to our third travel mate, our faithful Tomtom, so we travelled up in her car, passengers enjoying the landscape whizzing by and her companionable chatter.

We drove up on the A12, most of the road travelled a couple of years ago, but no less a delight on Sunday. Lush pastureland supporting the odd flock of sheep or herd of cattle, inland tidal lakes a haven for water birds and of course the charming Suffolk cottages, halls and pubs all along the way.

A delightful day was passed en famille, lunching at a pub in Carlton Colville then wandering about the caravan park, a very different scene from what one would find in New Zealand, or even Australia. Here the caravan owners are unable to use their little dwellings during the winter months, so they make the most of the weekends from spring through to autumn. John and Mary brave the hour and a bit trip up most weekends unless they have other commitments. 

We did poke our noses a little up the pathway that follows the coastline to Lowestoft, but turned back fearing we would be caught in the threatening storm.

We did not leave until near on six thirty, by which time the heavy rainstorm had arrived and moved on,  clearing the road of day trippers. Further east the country did not get away as lightly as we had. At Stansted airport, lightning strikes grounded flights when they damaged aircraft fuelling systems, stranding hundreds of passengers. There were apparently 62,000 lightning strikes, a few of which we witnessed on the north Suffolk coast. Flash flooding across the West Midlands caused one drowning and general chaos; it is amazing how much havoc just one hour of heavy rain can do.

This morning The Decorator headed off, first to meet up with his sister for a quick trip into Bury St Edmunds for more supplies, although I do wonder how “quick” the trip was. No doubt I will learn how his day went when he arrives home this evening. In the meantime  the weekend camping crowd have moved on and are braving the Bank Holiday traffic as they head home, and another batch have arrived to take their place, these folk with their children and dogs, making the most of what looks like a sunny mid-term week long break.

Nashoba, Base Green, Suffolk

    

Yesterday was spent revisiting Constable country, on the border between Suffolk and Essex, Denham Vale through which flows the River Stour. When we called at Flatford Mill three years ago, everything was closed and we wandered about reading the few interpretative panels and along part of the river path toward Manningtree. When we travelled by train on that horrible day just less than two weeks ago, I could not help but be impressed by the views of Manningtree as we passed through, despite my turmoil of emotions, and so it was all of this that drove me to plan today’s outing, a day of sunshine and a need to escape the confines of the caravan.

We set off down the A14 toward Ipswich, soon joining the A12 heading for Colchester, or London beyond, but soon pulled off south to Manningtree which sits at the mouth of the River Stour. I had searched information on the town in our dated Towns of Great Britain bible to no avail, which is probably explained by an entry in Wikipedia which states that “Manningtree has traditionally claimed to be the smallest town in England…. later it was proposed that Manningtree should merge with Mistley and Lawford to form a single parish, losing its separate identity as a town…..  As of 2018 such a merger has not occurred and the town council presently claims to be the smallest by area.”

Entry to the town, albeit barely that, is through a rather uninspiring industrial area, and the High Street where one can find easy parking, seems to have little in the way of retail excitement, however like so many villages and towns in England, the shops and services are cunningly camouflaged amongst residential buildings without the hullabaloo of signage we have grown up with DownUnder.

Manningtree grew up as a market town in the Middle Ages and has been one ever since, these days with twice weekly markets, on Fridays and Saturdays. Many of the local Georgian facades disguise much older timber-framed buildings behind, and during the 1600s Matthew Hopkins, “Witchfinder General”, lived here and carried out his infamous practices, and in neighbouring Mistley.

We wandered along The Walls, the route that take one along the riverbank to Mistley, a working port on the River Stour since Roman times, still operating today, and from where one has lovely views across the Stour Estuary, a bird watchers paradise, especially those with an interest in Mistley Swans.

The River Stour was important to this area for centuries, being the collection and distributing area for both imports up the river of coal, timber and London horse manure, and exports out to sea of grain, bricks, flour and hay for London horses. The estuary was the alive with spit sail barges until he late 19^th century when rail transport spelled the death knell to this shipping trade.

Large numbers of Mute Swans have lived at Mistley since the 17^th century, the Mistley herd one of the largest in the United Kingdom. They once fed on washings from the maltings at Mistley, but now with this food source all gone, the herd has reduced from its peak of seven hundred birds to those we were able to see from The Wall.

The land stretching along the river, from Manningtree to Mistley Towers, is common land and the saltings and mudflats provide a vital wildlife habitat while the dry land is a magnet for walkers and cyclists. 

We had already spotted an English Heritage attraction on our map at Mistley, this the Mistley Towers. In the first instance we had dismissed this as not worth seeking out, however our walk along the riverside brought us here without effort so we were able to tick this off our EH index after all.

The Towers are the remains of an unconventional church originally built in 1735, remodelled by pre-eminent Georgian architect Robert Adam in 1776. The towers were retained as a navigational aid when the church was demolished in 1870 and a new church was built on another site.

We picked up a packet of jam donuts at the Tesco Express which seemed to be the best Manningtree had to offer its residents by way of “supermarkets”; I believe my husband is intent on fattening us both up before we are driven to embark on a drastic diet. He suggested we consume these parked in the High Street, however I suggested we look for a more appropriate picnic site, a more often than not impossible task here in the UK. Serendipitously, we came upon a small spot just out of town, the Cattawade Picnic Site on the edge of the Stour Estuary which serves as an ideal bird watching spot and as the junction of two picturesque and historic long distance trails, the forty three mile Stour & Orwell Walk and the sixty mile Stour Valley Path, this second exploring Constable Country, landscape familiar and much depicted by the very famous local artist, John Constable some two hundred years ago.

In those days and before, the River Stour became one of the first “improved” waterways in the country. Dredging to make it deeper and building locks made the river navigable for boats between Manningtree and Sudbury, an important boost to the local economy. Cargo carrying barges, “Stour Lighters”, were used on the river from 1705 until the early 20^th century. These days that stretch of water plays host to the annual “Sudbury to the Sea” two day boating event, held each September. Participants have to provide their own transport, personal safety gear, food and drink, and accommodation, although there is a campsite at the mid-way stage offered along with some food and drink for those who have come a little less prepared. The River Stour Trust provides help and advice along the route, and a safety boat follows along to pull the incompetent out of the water. We thought the trip would be more pleasantly done without the crowds, perhaps in kayaks, however organising transport each end may well be problematic.

The main event of the day was to return to the National Trust treasure, Flatford Mill, not very far upriver from these locations. We waved our Trust membership cards and spent several hours exploring all there is to offer on this wonderful historical and picturesque site: the John Constable exhibition which explains his life and work, wandering about the spots he so loved and immortalised such as Bridge Cottage, Flatford Mill, the Lock, the Dry Dock, Willy Lott’s cottage and the Granary. We retrieved our lunch from the car and set off upriver to Dedham, a three quarter hour meander through the countryside, past herds of docile steers and along the waterway being enjoyed by dozens of dinghy rowers. Arriving at Dedham, we lunched in the graveyard of St Mary’s Church then checked out one of the few religious paintings Constable tried his hand at, hanging inside the church. “The Ascension” was painted in 1821 for a church in Manningtree  and there was a lot of a kerfuffle regarding payment, and the lower half of the painting  reflects the lack of enthusiasm for the commission. I much prefer Constable’s landscapes; in fact am not really a fan of religious or fantasy style compositions.

The Parish Church of St Mary the Virgin, with a tower of almost forty metres high, dates back to 1492, although there has been a church on the same site since at least 1322. 

The history of Dedham stretches back many hundreds of years to at least the Doomsday Book and possibly the Bronze Age. It grew prosperous from the medieval woollen industry and then remained so because wealthy people lived in the village and sent their sons to Dedham Grammar School, which was granted a Royal Charter by Elizabeth I in 1575. Dedham celebrates its connections to three artists: John Constable, Sir Alfred Munnings whose work we discovered in the Norwich Castle Museum last year, or the previous, and whose dedicated art museum is here in Denham,  and the infamous art forger and art restorer, Tom Keating, who reputedly forged over 2,000 works of more than one hundred artists. This last fine celebrity lies buried in the churchyard where we lunched.

 Chris reminded me that we had visited Denham three years ago but it was not until we walked on back to the river to return on the Suffolk bank that I remembered. Today the sun was bright and hot, and the scene was very different to that of my reluctant memory.

After returning to Flatford, we drove up to East Bergolt where John Constable was born in 1776 and spent his childhood, later returning over and over again when he chose to paint away from his London studio. This Suffolk village is absolutely charming, full of very beautiful dwellings and several public buildings worthy of note.

The rather odd looking St Mary the Virgin church here in East Bergolt dates from about 1350 and is late perpendicular in style. The tower, begun in 1525, was never finished. Instead the bells were housed in a bell cage, a separate structure alongside the church, built in 1531. The five bells are considered to be the heaviest still rung in England and are rung pushed by hand, rather than pulled by rope.

We wandered about this delightful village eating ice-creams, as if the morning donuts had not been enough, before returning to the car and heading home, an easy route back up the dual carriageway.

Today has been a rest day if a day chasing chores can be considered so. The alarm went off at 6 am, an absolute horror to the retired freelance traveller; we had an appointment in Bury St Edmunds with a garage to check out the air-conditioning unit in the Sorrento and to have the tow-ball lowered. This latter task had been attempted by both Clarke brothers but without hydraulic tools; the bolts are stubborn and while the professionals managed stage one this morning, they were unable to successfully complete the task. The gases injected into the air-conditioning system a year ago were still there; it seems the compressor has died and the cost of replacement is exorbitant. We have decided that we will be better off opening the windows if weather conditions demand.

We called into our preferred laundry in Bury St Edmunds and were greeted by the very polite Turkish proprietor with whom we are now familiar; his manners are delightfully old fashioned. Today the weather forecast suggested we were best served by nature than his commercial driers, so returned to Nashoba to complete this very domestic task.

Later we drove to Stowupland  to visit Chris’s sister, who received us in her normal hospitable manner, surrounded by stacks of cardboard boxes and shelves of knickknacks still to be packed. We discussed her decoration needs and look forward to finalising the arrangement in two days’ time. We may well get away from Suffolk before the end of next week, hence we have started to discuss possible routes and forward camping sites.

Nashoba, Base Green, Suffolk

   

Today marks a fortnight here in the UK and I have still not charted our travel itinerary beyond our camp here in Base Green. However we are well and enjoying our sojourn within coo-ee of Stowmarket, a pleasant town to serve our needs and this delightful spot in rural Suffolk. The weekend passed well, with a continuation of good weather; the mornings a bit brisk calling for wrapping up well and the afternoons warm enough to expose our legs to the elements, ours a little less luminous white than those of the locals.

Saturday saw the country in Royal Wedding hysteria and alas our household did little to rise above it. Chris was keen to watch the whole affair, and then to watch the English Soccer Final which was unfortunately scheduled for the same day. It was to be a day in front of The Box and not even a shower passing by to justify Goggle Box watching.

We did pop out in the morning; Chris had said he would mow his sister’s lawn which he duly did with her electric mower, a machine he is not altogether familiar with. The grass had grown so long, the result looked more like a freshly mown hay paddock, not the manicured result he would normally aspire to. While he was pushing his way through the grass crop, I sat with Margie watching the celebrities arrive at Windsor Castle and picked holes in their appearance, as you do, admired the floral arrangements and was generally sucked into a cult that is otherwise foreign to me.

Back “home” we lunched over the ceremony, eating sandwiches and apples while talented musicians  and passionate preachers entertained those dressed to the nines in St George’s Chapel.

I took the opportunity to cook up a batch of bolognaise sauce, although at one point was asked to cease grating carrots; the noise was interfering with the cello performance.

Once the sauce was cooked, I donned my walking boots and headed out into the cropped fields, walking along hedgerows and ditches full of hawthorn, blackberry, carrot weed and a wealth of other wild flowering plants, past rape and corn crops, startling rabbits, blackbirds and raucous crows, crossing the railway branch line, finally arriving after over half an hour in the cemetery at Haughley, whereupon I turned and retraced my steps back to our camp. There I found Chris watching the build up to the big game so I was trapped again into watching a sports game of which I understand little. Here lies one of the minor frustrations of sharing a confined living space, albeit with someone who shares 90% of one’s interests. 

Sunday promised different entertainment; the Goddard family reunion, this being my husband’s mother’s family who are from the area half an hour north of here, around the villages of Hopton, Barningham,  Stanton and many others. The gathering took place in the Hepworth Village Hall, a plain building tucked away without signage in a very attractive village not too far from Diss and the county of Norfolk.

What a charming and friendly group these oldies are, few younger than me and almost all of them older than my husband!  What a spread was laid out to fill our already over fed paunches; sandwiches, savouries, cakes and more cakes! Musical entertainment was provided by a piano accordion playing grandson of one of Chris’s cousins,  and his choice of melodies was so well suited for the age group, albeit rather too loud for our aging aural deficit. Apart from the chatter and stories, we were also kept involved with musical quizzes and a couple of games of Hoy Bingo, all of which sounds a bit naff, but was in fact a lot of fun.

We left after nearly three hours vowing to meet up again next year, although the reality may well be different; some may well expire in the meantime and some may have other travel plans, but in the moment, the sentiments were well meant.

There was a small moment of natural delight on this trip offering more social and familial rewards, when we passed through the village of Wyverstone Street and caught sight of a baby squirrel walking tightrope on a telegraph wire across a crossroads.

Today has been spent in a more sedentary manner however we are a little further on than we were yesterday. Margie is to pick up her key on Friday which means that she and Chris will be able to sort out colours and materials for the redecoration and work should start over the next weekend. Obviously we will have to stay here for another week, but we do have the intervening days free for excursions and the weather looks promising.