Another day another bank holiday.
And another bank holiday means another virtual day trip.
Normally I'd have been in northeast Norfolk on Easter Monday, staying with my brother, so I thought I'd take a real-time tour of the area instead.
07:45 Brundall
I've asked my brother to drop me off at this quiet villagestation just east of Norwich, just off the A47. He mumbled something about waking up ridiculously early on a bank holiday just to drive me a few miles, but I think I got away with it. I'll see him and the car again later. Here's my train.
It may surprise you - it surprised me - but Berney Arms is still getting a regular train service. Four trains a day continue to serve this ridiculously remote outpost, two towards Great Yarmouth and two back towards Norwich, despite the fact that no keyworkers work here and tourists are actively discouraged. That said it remains a request stop, so trains won't be stopping unless imaginary daytrippers have a word with the guard and ask to be dropped off. That's what I've just done, emerging onto the stunted platform through the front door of the first carriage. I would have got funny looks had there been any other passengers aboard. [photos 2010]
In minutes I am all alone on the Reedham Marshes, surrounded only by fields of sheep and cattle, with no further trains due for the next four hours. My only option therefore is to walk back to civilisation. I aim first for the windmill to the south, sadly "closed for essential maintenance work until further notice", although it wouldn't have been open at this ungodly hour anyway. The only other building hereabouts is the pub, although that closed in 2015 so the chances of refreshment are nil, indeed this whole location is so godforsaken that shutting the railway line for eighteen months recently inconvenienced almost nobody. A five mile trek along the estuary of the rivers Yare and Waveney awaits.
09:53 GreatYarmouth
That was an amazing but bleak walk. Yesterday the temperature in Norfolk hit twenty degrees, but today it won't even reach ten with a biting northeasterly making it the most miserable day of the bank holiday weekend, so early morning up an estuary hasn't been a comfortable place to be. The path along the earth dyke has passed broad water, reedy banks, endless pasture, milling cattle, stumpy fences and a sailless mill, plus no other human beings whatsoever, all the time edging ever closer to the rooftops of Great Yarmouth. It's quite the bank holiday destination.
Last time I was here it was a Saturday, which meant the Nelson Museum, Elizabethan House Museum and Row Houses were all closed. Today they're all closed because everywhere is, but I'm sad to see the trustees of the Nelson Museum threw in the towel at the end of last year and will not reopen. Instead I'm going to walk down to the seafront (past the equally moribund House of Wax), wave at the donkeys, see if Romany Petulengro has opened her cabin on Britannia Pier and then try and find my brother parked up on the promenade.
11:05 Horsey
We've driven north through Caister and Hemsby and stopped off at the windpump beside Horsey Mere, long-term drainer of the surrounding marshland, now proudly owned by the National Trust. They closed Horsey Windpump for extensive restoration in 2015 and it had only reopened for one summer before the latest crisis hit. Normally it opens at ten and you can hike up ladders to the outside platform beneath the fantail for a rare Broadland view, but times are not normal so we can only stand in the car park and admire the patent sails.
Instead we're going to walk down to the dunes at Horsey Gap to see the grey seals. Horsey's colony is renowned, with over 2000 pups born on the beach last year, which is quite the spectacle so long as you keep your distance. I'm not sure April is the best month to be here, I suspect November to January is peak sealwatching season, but we hope to see several flopped out on the shoreline from our vantage point amid the marram.
12:18 Happisburgh
It's pronounced 'Haysboro', in case you ever want to avoid sounding stupid in front of a local. It also boasts Britain's only independently-operated lighthouse, built in 1790 and rescued from closure 200 years later (when Challenge Anneka turned up to repaint the three red rings). It's quite the icon and most definitely tea-towel-worthy. Today Happisburgh Lighthouse opens to the public "on occasional Sundays and Bank Holidays throughout the summer", and I was very much looking forward to climbing the 112 steps to the lantern but alas this weekend's Open Days have been cancelled. I've put a note in my diary to come back on International Lighthouse Heritage Weekend in August.
We've driven on along the coast road, enjoying scenic views of Bacton gas terminal and diverting briefly to the seaside backwater where my parents inexplicably came for their honeymoon. Mundesley is a joyfully mundane village turned seaside resort, popular since Victorian times, now a bolthole for chalet and caravan clientele. Its former coastguard lookout contains Mundesley Maritime Museum, one of England's tiniest, but which doesn't open for the season until June so its displays of fishing equipment and mammoth fossils will have to wait. Instead we might grab a crabbing bucket and walk down the steep ramp to the sandy beach, which is lined by colourful beach huts, then buy an ice cream from Coasta Coffee on the way back up.
What's needed now is a proper walk. Not all of Norfolk is properly flat, and the coastal strip between Mundesley and Sheringham has proper (crumbling) cliffs. It was made famous by a Daily Telegraph journalist called Clement Scott sent to Cromer in 1883, sidetracked from his original story by the rural charms of 'Poppyland', after which Victorian pleasure-seekers flocked in. Full story here. We're going to walk the clifftops to the west of Overstrand, past the golf links where Arthur Conan Doyle liked to play, intrusions of coastal erosion notwithstanding. It being Easter, no poppy sightings are anticipated. Tide's going out. The temperature remains eight degrees (feels like four).
Cromer is the largest town on the North Norfolk coast, traditionally fishing-based with crabs a speciality. Its pier is classically Victorian and one of only five left in the UK supporting a working theatre. Admittedly it's not working now, but they hope to launch the famous annual summer variety show in June. We may check out the lifeboat station at the tip of the pier, or walk the prom, or scout the chippies in the heart of the town. Then we thought we'd enjoy a round on the amazing CromerPutting Green, high on Runton Road with panoramic views across the heart of the town. My brother thrashed me the last time we played its 18 holes so I'm hoping for revenge, but expect the reality to be crushingly different.
16:27 Wroxham
To end the day we've headed back inland, hopefully beating the bank holiday traffic, aiming for the Broads' commercial heart. Officially it's Hoveton on one side of the river Bure and Wroxham on the other, but everyone knows it as the latter. Chief focus is the waterfront, rife with holidaymakers messing about in pleasurecraft and longstanding boatowners trying to make the most of the first cruising weekend of the year. Everyone's trying ever so hard to avoid bumping into each other and/or the swans.
Meanwhile the majority of landlubbers swarm around Roy's of Wroxham, the legendary department store spread out across several buildings in the heart of... er... Hoveton. The store has the common touch, reeling in punters seeking cheap gifts, clothing, toys and other unbranded bargains, or a nice sit down over a cuppa and a pastry. We've decided to skip their cafe in favour of a substandard portion of fish and chips from one of the minor eateries by the bridge, and maybe a dodgy soft drink, before taking the Northern Distributor Road home. It's been a grand day out, and all for virtually nothing.
