Kings Lynn to Wisbech to Watlington 5/7/18
This new way of getting to bellringing practices is habit forming. Need to be in Wisbech? Sure, a mere hop skip and jump, at 15 miles from Kings Lynn, or 13 miles from Watlington. Why not.
I had thought to leave at something past one, get to Kings Lynn at something past two, get to Wisbech by 4:30, see the Rose Fair, attend the evensong and see the ringers started on their quarter peal and then make my way back to Watlington in a leisurely and decorous fashion. It was not so, but it was more fun, because Alan came along.
For starters, he suggested a tour of the Elgood Brewery, which meant getting to Kings Lynn for 2:00. Which meant the 10:35 train, which eventually shambled along, late, as all trains are at the moment. We then sniffed our way through Kings Lynn to the old part of the town, and the ferry, just in time to see the ferry slipping across the river - twenty minutes to wait for the next ferry.
While paused for the ferry, it is worth giving a plug for the old town, the Tuesday Market area. We had been there before during our Great Ouse walk. It's lovely, an old, unhurried feel, definitely a community, not like the rather run down commercial end that one sees from the train station.
It was Modestine's first ferry ride. I do wish pedals didn't have sharp teeth. Carrying her is a sure way of acquiring greasy bruises. The ferryman gave the bikes a doubtful look. "We don't charge for them, but keep them away from the seats." Like dogs I guess. "A bit of a muggy day for that work?"
Yes, you could say that. The weather hadn't changed for three weeks: unbroken sun. On this morning, a high cloud had given a brief respite, but a humidity had come with the cloud, and heated up quickly when the sun came through. Again, thick tarry patches oozed and seeped.
The road between Clenchwarton and Terrington St. Clements was not at all as quiet as I could have wished. It was a relief to leave the road and head south to Walpole St. Andrews. Crossing the A47 was scary but no actual trauma. Idyllic cycling really, no competition on the road, blue sky, a steady 20k per hour generates a cooling breeze.
And then a road block, serious utility work going on, a complicated chicane laid out in ditches across the road. Not a welcome sight; retracing steps and finding alternative routes would be quite a detour. Happily we are bikes, not cars and can push our way around the obstructions. The contractors are happy for us to do this but seem very agitated, rushing to get into their trucks and move them, in an almost panicky spirit. Why? Because a fire engine is heading our way, travelling fast.
I hope being pursued by a fire engine on a country lane is not something that I will experience twice. The contractors had told us it was on its way, and while the driver of the fire engine did siren its warning, it did so only when it came around a bend and saw us, which left not a lot of time for the instant major panic to give way to creative use of the brakes. Alan couldn't brake as fast, nearly toppled into me, I nearly fell off trying to get off the road. (More greasy bruises.) Glad to see the back of it.
At West Walton a formidable free standing tower marks a turn south in the road, and signals the arrival of Wisbech. The town grows slowly, the generous plots on the outskirts only gradually reducing in size on the way in to the city centre. One humongous roundabout, and into the old, and rather lovely city, along the south bank of the Nene, to Elgood's Brewery. Just (only just) in time to get a sandwich before the tour.
When one is really thirsty, beer is not the thing to drink, even having put down a foundation layer of juice and fizzy water. We were offered taster vouchers to go with the tour. Nice beer, but it produced a deep desire to sleep, which made it very difficult to pay attention to the slow paced speech of our guide. I'm sure it was very interesting. Nonetheless, after the tour, we enjoyed elderflower cordial with our cake, leaving the remaining four taster vouchers untasted.
The gardens at Elgood's deserve a mention. One doesn't imaging a brewery as a place to enjoy a victorian garden, but it is a splendid garden, and they are justly proud of their trees. I have a warm feeling towards a brewery which boasts of its gardens and its trees.
The Rose Fair at Wisbech started half a century ago when the church organised a day selling roses to raise money for church repairs. It has grown to a proper festival, featuring music, a festival evensong, and featuring floral decorations and arrangements throughout the church. We ring for the occasion.
I like the vicar of Wisbech. His central mission is to encourage his town to be proud of itself - as indeed they should be. Nonetheless, it is an uphill battle, fighting the "agricultural" reputation. One of Hayakawa's irregular adjectives: I live in a bucolic setting, you live in a rural setting, he lives in an agricultural setting. Phrases like "normal for Norfolk". Agricultural workers, illegal immigrant agricultural workers, slaves, and the grey borders between those categories have given the area a bad reputation. But also, a community that absorbs all, and decorates its church with roses.
The sun sank lower as the quarter peal progressed, and my anxiety rose. There would not be times for wrong turns or roadblocks. The quarter ended, I chaffed, fretted, and eventually dragged Alan out. After all, he is the one without the lights on his bike.
So we did not linger on the way home, and did not make any wrong turns either, nor did we stop. I had learnt the order of the villages correctly, the signposts did not lie, there was no need to stop and verify the route. Arrival at Watlington with half an hour of good daylight left, and (nominally) half an hour until the train, which turned into 45 minutes, but small matter. Another fine day.
I had thought to leave at something past one, get to Kings Lynn at something past two, get to Wisbech by 4:30, see the Rose Fair, attend the evensong and see the ringers started on their quarter peal and then make my way back to Watlington in a leisurely and decorous fashion. It was not so, but it was more fun, because Alan came along.
For starters, he suggested a tour of the Elgood Brewery, which meant getting to Kings Lynn for 2:00. Which meant the 10:35 train, which eventually shambled along, late, as all trains are at the moment. We then sniffed our way through Kings Lynn to the old part of the town, and the ferry, just in time to see the ferry slipping across the river - twenty minutes to wait for the next ferry.
While paused for the ferry, it is worth giving a plug for the old town, the Tuesday Market area. We had been there before during our Great Ouse walk. It's lovely, an old, unhurried feel, definitely a community, not like the rather run down commercial end that one sees from the train station.
It was Modestine's first ferry ride. I do wish pedals didn't have sharp teeth. Carrying her is a sure way of acquiring greasy bruises. The ferryman gave the bikes a doubtful look. "We don't charge for them, but keep them away from the seats." Like dogs I guess. "A bit of a muggy day for that work?"
The road between Clenchwarton and Terrington St. Clements was not at all as quiet as I could have wished. It was a relief to leave the road and head south to Walpole St. Andrews. Crossing the A47 was scary but no actual trauma. Idyllic cycling really, no competition on the road, blue sky, a steady 20k per hour generates a cooling breeze.
And then a road block, serious utility work going on, a complicated chicane laid out in ditches across the road. Not a welcome sight; retracing steps and finding alternative routes would be quite a detour. Happily we are bikes, not cars and can push our way around the obstructions. The contractors are happy for us to do this but seem very agitated, rushing to get into their trucks and move them, in an almost panicky spirit. Why? Because a fire engine is heading our way, travelling fast.
I hope being pursued by a fire engine on a country lane is not something that I will experience twice. The contractors had told us it was on its way, and while the driver of the fire engine did siren its warning, it did so only when it came around a bend and saw us, which left not a lot of time for the instant major panic to give way to creative use of the brakes. Alan couldn't brake as fast, nearly toppled into me, I nearly fell off trying to get off the road. (More greasy bruises.) Glad to see the back of it.
At West Walton a formidable free standing tower marks a turn south in the road, and signals the arrival of Wisbech. The town grows slowly, the generous plots on the outskirts only gradually reducing in size on the way in to the city centre. One humongous roundabout, and into the old, and rather lovely city, along the south bank of the Nene, to Elgood's Brewery. Just (only just) in time to get a sandwich before the tour.
When one is really thirsty, beer is not the thing to drink, even having put down a foundation layer of juice and fizzy water. We were offered taster vouchers to go with the tour. Nice beer, but it produced a deep desire to sleep, which made it very difficult to pay attention to the slow paced speech of our guide. I'm sure it was very interesting. Nonetheless, after the tour, we enjoyed elderflower cordial with our cake, leaving the remaining four taster vouchers untasted.
The gardens at Elgood's deserve a mention. One doesn't imaging a brewery as a place to enjoy a victorian garden, but it is a splendid garden, and they are justly proud of their trees. I have a warm feeling towards a brewery which boasts of its gardens and its trees.
The Rose Fair at Wisbech started half a century ago when the church organised a day selling roses to raise money for church repairs. It has grown to a proper festival, featuring music, a festival evensong, and featuring floral decorations and arrangements throughout the church. We ring for the occasion.
I like the vicar of Wisbech. His central mission is to encourage his town to be proud of itself - as indeed they should be. Nonetheless, it is an uphill battle, fighting the "agricultural" reputation. One of Hayakawa's irregular adjectives: I live in a bucolic setting, you live in a rural setting, he lives in an agricultural setting. Phrases like "normal for Norfolk". Agricultural workers, illegal immigrant agricultural workers, slaves, and the grey borders between those categories have given the area a bad reputation. But also, a community that absorbs all, and decorates its church with roses.
The sun sank lower as the quarter peal progressed, and my anxiety rose. There would not be times for wrong turns or roadblocks. The quarter ended, I chaffed, fretted, and eventually dragged Alan out. After all, he is the one without the lights on his bike.
So we did not linger on the way home, and did not make any wrong turns either, nor did we stop. I had learnt the order of the villages correctly, the signposts did not lie, there was no need to stop and verify the route. Arrival at Watlington with half an hour of good daylight left, and (nominally) half an hour until the train, which turned into 45 minutes, but small matter. Another fine day.
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