Two days at home, two presentations given and now we have also spent a couple of days in South Devon, primarily to attend a Fisherman’s Friends concert. This was an adventure in itself as it marked our first venture indoors with a crowd of people. We had been warned by the venue that we would need vaccination certificates, or evidence of recent negative lateral flow tests to be let in, which was reassuring. I did wonder if we really would have to produce these but yes, long queues were already amassing outside the theatre thirty minutes before the concert started. Everyone’s status was checked and people were being turned away or provided with tests. I wish there was more of this sort of thing. As a bonus we got inside before the rain started. I was planning on wearing a mask throughout but I just couldn’t see. As we were in the front row, we weren’t too hemmed in so I decided to go without, along with 95% of the audience.
While we were down south we took the opportunity to visit Stover Country Park. We managed to dodge the showers and do some more experimenting with the new camera. We also went to Compton Castle but were less lucky with the weather here. It is a small but fascinating National Trust property. The Medieval house was the property of the Compton family. It was transferred to the Gilberts through marriage in 1329 and the house was enlarged in the 1450s and fortified in 1520. This is the family of Sir Humphrey Gilbert the explorer who sailed to Newfoundland in 1583, two years before his half-brother Walter Raleigh attempted to set up a colony on Roanoke. The Gilberts also helped to establish a settlement in Maine. The family had moved to Bodmin by 1800 and Compton was sold. Its extensive acreage was farmed but the building fell into ruin, with only the chapel retaining its roof. By a twist of fate, the house was reacquired by the Gilberts in 1931 and fully restored. It is still lived in today. There was plenty of heraldry on display and costumed interpreters in the rooms. We also spotted some Harry Juniper pottery form Bideford. Now a full on couple of weeks of presenting before our final trip of the year.
The next outing was to Gressenhall Workhouse and Farm. The workhouse opened in 1777 and catered for the poor of the hundreds of Mitford and Launditch; previously, each parish had provided for its own paupers. This pre-dated the Gilbert Act, which advocated parishes combining to provide for the poor. Known as the Mitford and Launditch Incorporation House of Industry it was described as a ‘pauper’s palace’. Subsequent masters of the workhouse, particularly after the Poor Law Amendment Act of 1834, took a rather different view and implemented the principle that life inside the workhouse should not be preferable to life outside. The workhouse was converted to an old people’s home in 1948 and closed as an institution in 1975.
I was particularly impressed with the telling of the stories of real people associated with the workhouse. There was a compelling sampler on view, stitched by an inmate, Lorina Bulmer. The ‘stream of consciousness’ words give some indication of her mental state. A reconstructed 1950s home brought back memories.
There is also an extensive rural heritage museum, with many farming artefacts on display. Across the road, we walked round the farm that was once worked by inmates. We got out feet wet walking through the long grass to say hello to the Suffolk Punch heavy horses.
The next day and we set off to Thetford, to look at the priory, founded by Roger Bigod in the early years of the twelfth century. It was a Cluniac foundation until the dissolution, eventually falling into disrepair. It is also the burial place of Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, who was a commander at the Battle of Flodden. We spotted a muntjac deer, unfortunately too far away for the Zoomless camera to photograph. Next our pre-booked session at the Ancient House Museum in Thetford, or, as it turned out, not. After a bit of banging on the door marked ‘closed’ it turned out that they were unable to open due to staff shortages. We couldn’t rearrange as our holiday was almost at an end so we returned to the site and walked through the forest instead. I have to say that the museum was very swift about refunding our entrance fee.
So to home and being thankful that the delays on the M5 were less serious in our direction than they appeared to be for those leaving the West Country. Fortunately, we managed to get the fuel needed to get us home in Bristol as, by the time we reached Barnstaple and Bideford, garages were either closed or had ridiculous queues as people unnecessarily began panic buying fuel.
Update on the injuries/damage. I now have a fully working camera, body not so much. One hand is healing nicely, the other is still a bit grim, one knee has an impressive bruise and my ribs are ‘interesting’. Still, I now have thirteen talks to give in eighteen days, which will take my mind off it!
Another day of ancestral church visiting, this time in the vicinity of Great Yarmouth. Having driven through a torrential storm, we arrived at our first church, Stokesby, in the sunshine. This is a thatched church pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Next stop Filby. The inhabitants of Filby are obviously gunning for a Britain in Bloom title and boy do they deserve it. I think that every begonia in the country must now be in Filby in a very impressive display.
As we weren’t far away, we decided to call in to Caistor. In some inexplicable manner, I managed to leave a fair amount of skin on a sand-covered concrete walkway by the beach. No idea how or why I left the vertical but it was a spectacular five point landing, two palms, one forearm, one knee and my ribs. This sounds impossible to achieve but achieve it I did. I even managed to escape with just a small scratch on the casing of the new camera (see below). Ouch was a rough translation of what I said. As I was now dripping blood fairly dramatically, we returned to the car and I attempted to wash my wounds in some handy toilets. Not actually in the toilet, that would not be hygienic, although urine is of course a steriliser. In this case it may have been more effective as the taps required me to press down with my palm, which was injured, in order for a meagre trickle of water to appear. Never fear, there will be a first-aid kit in the car. Indeed there is a first-aid kit in more than one car in our possession, just not this car. I wonder if facemasks, of which I have several in my bag, might be adapted for the purpose of staunching wounds. In the end large, cleanish handkerchiefs managed to stop me dripping gore over the car for the journey home. Glad I have never taken to tissues.
We abandoned the idea of going into Great Yarmouth itself and a final church on the itinerary was elusive due to a diversion that basically had us going round in circles. The journey home was also hampered by a twenty minute delay due to roadworks.
Having washed half a beach out of my hands, we went for a short walk in the forest, following the ‘Desert Rat Trail’, with interpretation boards telling the story of the Desert Rats who were stationed here in World War Two. An evening meeting, the sixth in the eight days that I have been away, reminds me that I really should look up the definition of ‘holiday’.
With my left hand still oozing interestingly and a distinct pain in my side, suggesting that all may not be hunky dory in the rib department, we nonetheless set off for Pensthorpe Natural Park. This is a great place to photograph birds. It was also where I realised that the damage to the new camera was a little more extensive that I hoped. The Zoom function no longer works and the camera automatically shuts down with a ‘lens error’. So the bird photography left a little to be desired but we still had a lovely day wandering round the site at a pace that my ribs would allow. There was a good array of woodland birds on display, as well as the wildfowl. Pensthorpe have a breeding programme for red squirrels, which are then released in the wild on Anglesey, where competition from grey squirrels is not a problem.
Back in the van, I unsuccessfully try a few self-help suggestions for rectifying lens errors, refraining from the more invasive, which basically seem to come down to hitting it. Just to add to the not going brilliantly theme, we receive an email to say that our October caravan holiday has been cancelled due to work on the site. We manage to come up with a more expensive and less convenient alternative. Still worse things happen at sea, as they say. Not sure who ‘they’ are and it is a pretty stupid expression but I am well aware that many people are worse off than I am. Onwards and Upwards!
More walking in the footsteps of ancestors as we head off to visit parishes on the outskirts of Norwich. One of these turned out to be right in the centre of the city, involving us in getting to grips with a multi-storey carpark, where, randomly, you had to go to the top floor to pay for you ticket before departure. We didn’t stay any longer than was necessary as our dislike of spending time in cities was confirmed.
In the afternoon, we went for a walk in Brandon Country Park, much more our sort of thing. This, like our caravan site, is part of the ‘Brecks’, or Brecklands, characterised by heathland. In the Country Park a large area of forest has been cleared to reinstate a heathland landscape. When Brandon Park Estate was purchased by Edward Bliss in 1820 it was devoid of trees and he set about introducing a wide variety of native and non-native species, planting eight million trees in just six months. His wealth came from the manufacture of gunflint, which was in high demand during the Napoleonic Wars, although the industry declined rapidly in peacetime. Bliss was able to use unemployed gunflint workers to plant his trees. His mausoleum is situated in the park but the remains of Bliss and his wife were moved to the local churchyard when the estate changed hands. I managed to spot a mandarin duck amongst the mallards hiding in the reeds.
I’d planned a visit to West Stow Anglo-Saxon Village, together with some of my descendants, before I knew it was going to be mentioned in my new course. The course itself is continuing professional development; does this mean the entrance fee is tax-deductible? We had a lovely day involving performing feats of daring on the adventure playground, well for some of us at least. We investigated the reconstructed Anglo-Saxon houses, uncovered archaeological finds and looked at an astounding array of locally excavated artefacts. It was a shame there were no Anglo-Saxon historical interpreters to add to the experience but it was well worth a visit nonetheless.
There were some Napoleonic re-enactors in the shape of the 95th rifles on site, which did seem rather out of period but gave some of our party the opportunity to compare musket firing experiences. We followed the Beowulf and Grendel trail; coincidentally one of the younger members of our party had been learning about the story in school. We also walked round the lake but this was a bit underwhelming, as it is geared up for angling rather than enjoying lakeside views, which were intermittent at best. There was a group clearing reeds from the river and examining the river quality. The had caught some non-native crayfish, which were a cause for concern.
All in all it was an excellent day and the lovely weather was a bonus.
In a change to the planned itinerary, we called in at Grime’s Graves. We’ve been passing the brown sign to it on our travels and having looked it up, it sounded worth a visit, especially as it was only four miles away. This is the site of an early C20th rubbish tip but also a Neolithic flint mine. So it seemed like a good idea to continue our early history theme from yesterday. The mine was in operation from 2600-2300 BCE, about the time that Stonehenge was being constructed. As bronze and iron began to replace flint for tools, the mines which are between six and twelve metres deep, were used for burials. The miners used antler picks and scapulas as shovels. The flint axe heads, arrow heads and knives were ceremonial and symbolic as well as functional. The name ‘Grimes’ comes from the Anglo Saxon god Grim, another name for Woden. In Anglo Saxon times, the site was important as an administrative meeting point but its Medieval use was as a rabbit warren.
We started by looking at the explanatory interpretation boards. Michael Rosen had written some powerful poetry about the site. Then it was time to descend the mine. We were equipped with token hard hats but as there was no under chin fastening, I am not sure what good they would have done if we’d fallen down the mine. I have no idea what part of me decided that it was a good idea for someone who really doesn’t like heights and isn’t too keen on enclosed spaces to descend twelve metres (it felt like about two hundred) down an almost vertical metal ladder but descend we did. Even my companion isn’t super keen on being underground. I ensured there was photographic evidence and then returned to the surface pretty swiftly.
Then back to the itinerary and a drive to the coast at Blakeney. We managed to avoid following the sat-nav to Blakeney in Gloucestershire. It was convinced it must be that one we wanted as we’d been there earlier in the year. Blakeney is noted for its bird life. Despite a calf-killing walk across shingle for a mile or so, all we saw were a few seagulls.
On to look at Sheringham, where I visited as a child. There seemed to be some kind of 1940s fiesta going on, with plenty of people in period costume, including an impressive scout troop, complete with appropriate uniforms. We also saw the heritage steam train pass by. Another drive through Cromer, this time in the sun and then it was time to turn for home. The forecast rain began to materialise but we managed to stop off at a church to look for a tomb for one of my students. Sadly, although the family were well represented, the one we sought was elusive.
We drove northwards, passing a large field full of pig arcs and hundreds of pigs. We also passed Sandringham estate but decided not to call in. It was interesting to see several sunflower fields. As we travelled along roads in the middle of nowhere much, I was reminded how much I enjoy following along on an OS map. We began our series of stops along the north Norfolk coast at Shepherd’s Port, near Snettisham. Here we found an RSPB reserve that had been created from a former gravel pit. Accessing the obligatory parking ticket was a challenge. Parking was free for RSPB members. I pressed the appropriate button, expecting to have to input my membership number or perhaps scan my card. I was hoping it wouldn’t be the latter as I have a ten year old life membership card, which doesn’t have any kind of scanability function. After much button pressing and card waving, it turned out that it was sufficient just to say you were a member; there was no necessity to prove it. I wonder how many people abuse that system?
This stop was the opportunity for a pleasant walk but not a great deal of wildlife. There were definite signs of autumn. Not only are the leaves and bracken tinged with rust but rosehips, elderberries and blackberries dot the hedgerows. We worked our way through Heacham, Hunstanton and Holme to Brancaster. Not on foot I hasten to add; our days of longer distance walking are over. On the way we passed a sign to another RSPB reserve, complete with car park full notices. Having turned round at Brancaster we decided to ignore the car park full signs and see if this was indeed so. It wasn’t. We availed ourselves of one of several free parking spaces and set off to explore Titchwell Marshes. Here we found birds a-plenty and an opportunity to try the 50x Zoom on my new camera. I discovered just how many photographs of a far distant, swimming avocet with his head underwater it is possible to take before getting one with his beak showing. The answer is a lot. My camera does have a rapid-fire function somewhere, which might have helped, I just need time to read the 186 page manual.
The next day it was off to another RSPB reserve, this time at Lakenheath. After taking the ‘pretty route’ – ok we got slightly lost – we set off to explore. A lovely four or five mile walk round the reserve was worth every step when we found a kingfisher posing so I could photography it. Less success seeing bitterns, cranes and otters, all of which frequent the reserve but I’ll settle for the kingfisher and a quick fly past by the bearded tits.
We returned to the van early so I could attend the first lecture of my experimental archaeology course, now I am really excited, definitely worth missing half a day of the holiday! More of that in its own post.
Some more recent travel adventures for you, this time to Norfolk. We left home slightly later than we might have, as I began the day by chatting to the lovely Helen Tovey of Family Tree Magazine, making a recording that will be available on their website. Then the inevitable lengthy, cross-country drive. We arrived at our caravan site in Thetford Forest about 5pm and had time for a quick walk in the forest.
A holiday isn’t a holiday without some family history so, the following day, we set off westwards across the county to Aylsham, the birthplace of my great great grandmother. The landscape was what you would expect from Norfolk, flat, large fields and the vernacular brick and flint cottages; there seem to be plenty of new housing developments on the edge of settlements. Having parked somewhere that probably wasn’t a parking space we looked at Aylsham church, then investigated the marketplace, where my ancestor had a grocer’s and draper’s shop in the 1830s.
Next to Felbrigg Hall, a National Trust property, built in the 1620s by John Wyndham, on the site of an earlier house. It was subsequently added to by later generations. The house passed to a step-son, who changed his name to Windham but the estate was lost by the profligate William Frederick Windham, who married a woman of dubious reputation and then lavished thousands of pounds worth of jewellery on her. His uncle’s attempt to have him declared a lunatic failed. The property was sold, complete with contents, in 1863 and coincidentally found its way back to a Wyndham descendant through marriage.
Our first port of call was the church, to try to identify John’s memorial trees that were planted nearly thirty years ago. At the time, it was easy to spot them, as they were the only young oaks in the vicinity. Now it is a little more tricky. Just how large should a thirty year old oak tree be?
We walked round the extensive walled garden. I thought it was a shame that there were so many more recently introduced non-native plants on show but it was impressive. In order to sit down, we forced ourselves to eat cake (me) and a bacon butty (my comrade in arms). There was a handy undercover outside space for this purpose. It had been drizzling all day and it seemed that everyone wanted to be undercover, so there were large queues, both for the café and the house itself. Although we had avoided indoor public spaces up until now, we decided we would go round the house, especially as almost everyone was wearing masks. As a glasses wearer, this does actually mean I can’t see where I am going, as despite purchasing masks described as ‘anti-fog’, I still steam up. I did discover that I could alleviate this by walking round holding my nose. Holding my breath also works but clearly this is not sustainable for more than a few seconds. Holding my nose not only makes me looks slightly ridiculous but comes with its own issues. I am contemplating purchasing one of those nose clips, as worn by synchronised swimmers.
The highlights of the house for me were, of course, the library, with thousands of volumes, including many travel books, brought back by a Windham after an extended Grand Tour. I did wonder how many had ever been read. The ‘enlightened’ family provided a library of twenty five books for their servants. This did seem a bit underwhelming, given the size of their own library. The eighteenth century Chinese wallpaper was also interesting. Apparently it was peeled off the walls and sent to Cambridge for cleaning, before being reapplied. There was also some floor-covering on a bathroom, that had what appeared to be a nursery rhyme theme. As usual, the servants’ quarters had their appeal. A quick look round the second-hand book shop led to the obligatory purchases, including a book by a friend of mine.
With a months’ rainfall forecast for the late afternoon, we decided walking round Cromer might be best left for another day. We did drive in to see where the sea would have been if it wasn’t masked by heavy cloud. Cromer was gridlocked with those who had taken to their cars to escape the rain, so we resolved to return later in the week if we have time. The evening saw the first of a series of planned, how easy is it to Zoom using pretty ropey caravan site wifi? experiments. Possible it seems, as long as you don’t want to say anything or be seen.
Following on from my previous account, for once it seemed that my passport photo passed muster, so that was one hoop successfully negotiated. Then, last week, the excitement of registering for my modules. Randomly I do seem to be registered for something entirely different as well but that is a bridge to be crossed, probably if I seem to be expected to pay for it. I am sure that a graduate certificate in world heritage conservation is all very interesting but ……..
Yesterday I conquered, at the third attempt, applying for Commonwealth Games tickets. I thought I was all prepared for this, having registered as soon as it was possible about two years ago. It seems I failed then to click on the ‘confirm your registration’ link in an email I never received and certainly don’t have now, so I am not registered at all and my application kept stalling as I was told that I needed to verify my account. Never fear, thinks I, I’ll just reregister with one of my many other email addresses – there are advantages to having several. But no, it seems, as you have to give your name, address, date of birth and probably your inside leg measurement, so they think I am already in the system. I reapply as a fisherman of my acquaintance, hoping that my using my own card details but his address won’t mess things up. He will only attend under sufferance; I can hardly expect him to pay. At regular intervals throughout the whole debacle, I was exhorted to ‘click on the (ridiculously blurred) images with traffic lights/stairs etc.’, to ensure that I am not a robot. Maybe a robot could make a better fist of navigating the system.
Anyway, after all that, I’d had my fill of technological challenges for one week but embarking on an online university course comes with a whole set of challenges all of its own, before you even get to the actual studying. Yesterday I clicked on various links I’d been sent and discovered that course material was available. With a holiday in the offing, I gleefully began looking at this, thinking that I might be able to get ahead. There is in any case a debate about whether the course started yesterday, next Monday or next Tuesday – take your pick from advertised dates. It was a tad confusing, as this material seemed to refer to a similar, in-person course that ran last year. Despite the excitement, I was reluctant to go too far down this route in case I was spending time on the wrong course. Today I seem to have got the correct material, so that is a relief and also slightly scary, well, okay, very scary.
I filled in my student profile, choosing to upload my Mistress Agnes picture for this. They might as well know from the outset that I am weird. I added some biographical information as requested, confirming my weirdness status. This involved changing my Facebook username to something that actually was my name, before sharing the link, tick in that box. What the heck is my Google URL? Nope, no idea – I tried several likely combinations but all just lead back to a Google advert. I decided to leave that box blank.
I read the module handbook and ordered two very expensive books. One even might arrive before I go away if the mighty Amazon do as they claim. Other suggested books can be downloaded. I much prefer actual books to reading online but in the interests of economy, I downloaded some more. One helpfully tells me that it will take me 594 minutes to read. That seems awfully precise; if I had nothing better to do I’d time myself. I am quite thankful that I am a speed reader. I am also increasingly aware that I haven’t done any proper taught courses since the mid 1990s. I don’t count the PhD where you basically make it up as you go alone and devise your own questions.
There are weekly Zoom tutorials. Thankfully, only one of these clashes with a pre-existing engagement but I am concerned that I will be in the middle of a field with questionable wifi for the first ones. The first assignment is due in six weeks. I am starting to wonder if Ireland has a different calendar to us as in one place a least, the due date is a day/date combination that don’t exist. I am a submit early person, so hopefully this won’t matter anyway.
So I am off to read for 594 minutes, or maybe 593 if I am lucky.
It is difficult to find illustrations for these blog posts, so you will have to put up with a gratuitous ‘practicing with the new camera’ picture – so far the most significant challenge with that has been trying to thread the strap through a teeny tiny slit.
The History Interpreter - Janet Few 