Around Britain

The 73 bus took me from the Turban Centre in Woodbridge all the way to Bawdsey Quay but the journey was by no means direct. After Melton it pursued a course which visited all the villages of the Bawdsey peninsula. I was not alone on the bus. Taking advantage of this infrequent service were about a dozen people some carrying shopping bags containing their Woodbridge purchases. It looked as if the peninsula had just two shops – the Hollesley Shopper and the post office at Alderton. After Sutton and Shottisham we drove to Hollesley where we followed a circular route past the Young Offenders Institution. Then we proceeded south through Alderton and Bawdsey. At Bawdsey Quay I alighted leaving just one person on the bus. She had boarded at Bawdsey with the view of taking the bus out of the peninsula.

From the Quay I took the Suffolk Coast and Heath round the tip of the peninsula. Bawdsey Manor towered above me. Steel girders had been driven into the gravelly shore to provide a barrier against the sea. Breakwaters closely set together no doubt aided the resistance but I wondered how long it would be before that notable edifice tumbled into the waves. Maybe never as it does seem to be built on rock and the defences are formidable. Certainly the sea, even at high tide, seemed no threat today.

It was difficult to make speedy progress over the pebbles but, as I rounded the headland, the fence around the Manor came to an end. I was able to scramble up a steep earthy bank to higher ground and walk along the top. At first it was hard going. Few people can have come this way. There was no clear path and I had to crawl under overhanging branches to squeeze my way between a fence and the drop down to the pebbly shore. There had been considerable erosion here and one section of path had fallen away. After a while I came to some steps ascending from below and the path on the top improved. I emerged from the shrubby trees onto open land with the shore now far below. For some while now I had been walking alongside Ministry of Defence land indicated by the usual insurmountable barbed wire barriers and unfriendly notices. This was the place where radar had been developed. Now it looked to be entirely abandoned.

The path dropped gradually towards a Martello Tower. A warning notice directed me on a time wasting detour inland to avoid an area of coastal erosion. This was totally unnecessary. A warning to be careful would have sufficed. This is an age when risk is to be avoided and fools will fall over cliffs and become rich on compensation. I kept to the original path and saw where the sea had made inroads. It looked as if a couple of second world war pill boxes had been dislodged from the cliff. They had rolled over into the surf and now were stranded upside down. One of them was half submerged so that the windows were invisible. Just beyond the Martello Tower was the house where our friends, John and Lizzie, had that party. We had gone expecting to celebrate Lizzie's fiftieth only to find that we were celebrating their wedding earlier that day. Only a narrow strip of earth separated the house from the shore. Apparently the sea's progress towards the house was relentless.

Hereabouts large boulders had been thrown into the sea to strengthen the defences. It is a big issue right now whether substantial funds should be allocated to reinforcing the sea wall. Is it not just delaying the inevitable? Once the wall is breached a large area of farmland will become salt marsh. Does it matter? It does to the farmers. Apparently some farmers have come up with a scheme. In return for planning permission to build houses on part of their land, they will fund or contribute towards the expense of reinforcement. It sounds sensible but I don't know the detail.

I explored some fortifications of second world war vintage. These were on the sea wall at the point where the road from Bawdsey reaches the sea front. There were steps leading down to a tunnel littered with rubbish lying in shallow water. I could see that this tunnel led to a similar construction nearby but I decided not to walk through. I could now see the houses of Shingle Street in the distance and three more Martello Towers quite close together. Attempts were being made to renovate these towers. One had a skip outside. I have no idea what the layout is like inside but the lack of natural light might be a problem. Doubtless the towers are listed buildings and it would be very hard to modify them.

Shingle Street consists of a few cottages on the very edge of a pebbly beach served by a dead end road leading from Hollesley. The beach is wide at this point so the cottages are not under threat from the sea. I walked along a rough path between the cottages and the beach. Some were unoccupied. All seemed to be in an untidy state. The best building was a terrace of two storied houses. The last one was the Coastguard's House. There was a notice board outside giving details of incidents over the last year. These included a cow pulled out of the mud and a number of vessels running aground. Many of these had declined assistance and re-floated on the rising tide. An 86 year old man had been lost on the Deben and found dead after a long search.

I came up to the mouth of the River Ore. This runs parallel to the sea for at least three miles, separated from the sea by a long sand bank called Orford Beach. As I approached the Young Offenders Institution I had to make a detour inland to get round a muddy creek. A deer lay dead at the edge of the mud, badly damaged around the throat. I returned to the embankment at the water's edge and reached Simpson's Saltings. This was a stretch of land bought by a philanthropist (Simpson) and donated as a nature reserve. I surprised a creature sitting under the embankment. It fled at great speed. It was fawn coloured with a white mark and I don't think it was a deer. It ran more like a large dog, strongly but without grace. It stopped once to look back and carried on running as fast as before. Later I saw large footprints some way off the path on a muddy patch of salt marsh.

I turned inland on a path to Boyton. A few peals of thunder were followed by a hail storm. Clouds with dark precipitation had threatened for some time. The hail stones stung my neck and drummed on my hat. They started to pile up in the road. If they had got any bigger I would have sought shelter. I met Polly at Capel St Andrew and she drove me home. I was out for 3 and a half hours on the route until Polly met me.

Alex (Polly's daughter) was taking her boyfriend Sanu and his mother, Rauni, to see Aldeburgh. She made a detour to drop me just south of Boyton. I walked down to the embankment and turned north east. I soon reached Flybury Point. Boyton Marshes were to my left. The embankment was grassy and the top had been mown. Just after I came level with the southernmost part of Havergate Island, I turned north up the Butley River. I came up to a couple of elderly female bird watchers. One asked whether I had seen any Avocets. I hadn't.

I was now approaching the ferry. Paul, who works in our garden, had said that he would give me the ferryman's telephone number as one had to book him in advance. He hadn't got round to this yet. If I could cross the river I would be within easy reach of Orford. If not, it was a long way round. Faded lettering on a stile announced the ferry. There was no one there and no indication of how one might contact the ferryman. There were a few small boats hauled up on the riverside and a narrow jetty stretched out into the water. The stream was mud coloured. The wind had raised wavelets which headed downstream. The river was tidal and looked to be as much a creek as a river since it shrunk abruptly to a small stream near Butley Mills.

From the ferry I walked away from the river along the Suffolk Coast and Heaths Path to Butley High Corner. The map said I was near the remains of a Priory at Butley but I could see nothing from the road. I passed Butley Church where I had attended the baptism of Iris, daughter of Tim and Sue Rae who were, for many years, tenants of the flat in Polly's house in Woodbridge. Soon I was at the Oyster Inn where I had arranged to meet the others on their way back from Aldeburgh. I sat on one of the benches outside the Inn but I only had to wait for about five minutes.

I was out about 1 hour 50 minutes today.

Polly gave me a lift to the Oyster Inn at Butley. From there I took the minor road which runs parallel to the B1084 past Neutral Farm. A dilapidated brick building at Butley Mills had a planning notice pinned to the door. This announced that application had been made for conversion of the building to five holiday units. I suspect the local planning authority is generally against residential development of these rural areas but will accept holiday use. Briefly I rejoined the B1084 at Chillesford but I turned off it again at the Froize Public House. A path took me through three belts of trees to the Hall in Sudbourne Park. This looked very grand. Nearby there was a cricket field with a pavilion. The nearest village is Sudbourne so perhaps it's their ground. Soon after I reached Orford.

In the main square there were a couple of buses one of which was headed for Ipswich via Woodbridge. I was tempted to board it but it was a fine day so I decided to continue. Orford has a fine castle built by Henry 11 in the 12th century. Suffolk noblemen were being troublesome at the time. Orford was of strategic importance as it rivalled Ipswich as a port until later when the River Ore silted up. The two rooms for distinguished guests looked small and uncomfortable but they would have been thought luxurious then. Also the stone walls would have been hung with tapestries and warmed by the fire. There were no fireplaces in either room but each was next to the chimney leading up from the fireplace in the hall. The Constable would have been in charge of the castle. In his room a metal gulley had been inserted in the wall to enable him to urinate without having to descend the stairs to reach the lavatory. The guard house and the bakery were on the flat roof. The guards could have seen for miles in good conditions but would have suffered in bad weather.

I went to the quayside hoping to have a snack at a café near there but it had closed down so I missed out on lunch. I set off on an embankment with Sudbourne Marshes to my left. On the strip of land dividing the River Ore from the sea there was a large apparently windowless building described on the map as a Radio Station. There were eleven masts close by. It looked remote and inaccessible and I wondered whether it was operational now and who worked there. When I was about level with the Radio Station the River Ore became the River Alde. It was curious that the river should change its name just before reaching the sea. Perhaps at one time the Alde had flowed into the sea near Aldeburgh before the strip of land called Sudbourne Beach had blocked its path.

Ahead I could see Aldeburgh and the white dome of Sizewell Nuclear Power Station some way further on up the coast. I took a metalled road which led to some farm buildings and then reached Ferry Farm. There was a bus at Snape Maltings at 1651 and I would be hard pressed to catch it. I took to jogging some sections particularly the downhills. I passed the road to Iken Church. This was a very early Christian outpost established by St Botolph who sent out missionaries from there to set up churches elsewhere in England. Shortly afterwards I went by the Hall and turned off the road onto the Suffolk Coast and Heath Path. This took me to the Maltings where I caught the bus with five minutes to spare. I was out 4 and a half hours today.

I took the 65 bus from Woodbridge to Snape Maltings. I crossed the bridge over the Alde and followed Suffolk Coast and Heaths Path alongside the river with the Maltings on the far side. Polly and I have attended many concerts there and the standard is high. The most recent was Uchida playing the last three Beethoven Piano Sonatas. Apart from that there is a pub with an excellent restaurant, a café and several shops. Some of the buildings have not yet been developed.

Unusually I encountered people out walking. I exchanged greetings with two couples, two women walking together, a single woman and a single man in between the Maltings and Aldeburgh. Much of the path was through Black Heath Wood. Occasionally I caught glimpses of the river through the trees. I came out on the A1094 and headed for Aldeburgh. The path veered off towards Thorpeness just as I entered the built up area. I decided to continue into Aldeburgh as there is a very good fish and chip shop in the main street. I had plaice and chips with a couple of gherkins and a pot of tea.

After lunch I walked north out of the town on a path next to a pebbly beach. The higher reaches of the beach were not often disturbed by the sea so a variety of wild flowers had established themselves in the dry conditions. This was despite the lack of soil to retain water and provide nourishment to the plants. I passed a new (2003) statue on the beach called “Scallop” by Maggie Hambling. From a distance I could not tell what it was. I speculated that it was either a washed up tree, a piece of wreckage from a sunken ship or part of a crashed aeroplane. Ahead lay Thorpeness with the white dome of the nuclear reactor behind it. Thorpeness has a curiosity in the form of a house, otherwise conventional, on top of a column. Access could only be via a staircase within the column or by a ladder on the outside. It was unclear whether anyone used it as a house.

As I reached the end of Thorpeness, a footpath signpost directed me into an apparent dead end. I was confronted by a high black wooden fence. The signpost had been so clear and was only just behind me that I carried on towards the fence to find there was an unlocked door with a latch. On the other side of it was a footpath running between houses atop the cliff and the sea shore. The path quickly deteriorated. Obviously the cliff was eroding despite the efforts to stem this process by holding sections of the cliff in place with strong wire. I climbed wooden steps up the cliff only to find they served a private house. Other stairs did the same. The path disappeared so I walked along the beach until the cliff receded inland and the path reappeared. Soon it climbed to the top of the cliff as it approached Ness House. I now had a fine view down to the beach and far out to sea. Just before Sizewell the path went through a short tunnel next to a largish house. Rusted iron gates in the tunnel prevented access to subterranean passages in the direction of this house. On the opposite side there was a large chamber which appeared to have been constructed from concrete. Were these wartime fortifications? It wasn't clear.

Sizewell is the site of a nuclear power station. It's a large complex and provides employment for the depressed town of Leiston to which I now walked to catch the 1545 bus back to Woodbridge. I had about 15 minutes to spare so I sat on a wall near the bus stop. Boys and girls were walking home from school. A care-worn woman with two dogs sat down on the same wall a few yards away. After a while her ten year old son in school uniform came up and started whining for money to buy a football which was on a special offer. The woman said she only had enough money to buy a paper and a card for Dad. The boy wouldn't accept this. They were joined by his slightly older sister also in school uniform. The boy took off his satchel and tried to hang it round his mother's neck. She protested feebly that he was trying to strangle her. The boy presumably thought his mother should carry his satchel as she had thwarted him on the football. This unhappy group then walked away. Even the two dogs hung their heads in despair.

The bus came and I had a wonderful cross country ride lasting an hour and a quarter all for £1.50. The bus took such minor roads that nothing coming in the opposite direction could possibly have passed. Amazingly we met no oncoming traffic. The route was very indirect as the bus called at remote villages. We passed through Saxmundham, passed Benhall Church and then took Silver Lace Lane. I saw a notice “Offshore not Onshore” presumably referring to the controversial issue of whether or not there should be a Wind Farm at Great Glemham. We passed through Marlesford, Wickham Market, Ufford and Melton. There were other places too but I did not spot the names. At one point the young driver pulled into a lay by and stayed there for about ten minutes. I'm not sure why. Perhaps he was required to have a rest or had got ahead of his schedule.

I was walking for 3 hours 50 minutes today not including my 30 minute break for lunch.

Sanu and Alex offered to drop me off at Sizewell on their way to Walberswick and then bring me back from Walberswick later in the day. I drank two mugs of sugary tea at the Sizewell café and ate a piece of fruit cake. I changed in the toilet block next to the café and then set off at 1 pm alternately jogging and walking. I was due to meet up with the others at 3.30 pm so, if I just walked it, I'd be too slow.

There are two nuclear power stations at Sizewell, A and B. One is a rectangular block and the other has a white dome. The most modern one, presumably B, is likely to be the last to be decommissioned of all the nuclear power stations in the UK.

The Suffolk Coast and Heath Path followed a course near the beach. It was mostly grassy but there were stretches of soft sand to slow my progress. I passed Minsmere to my left. This is a large nature reserve with an RSPB Centre on the far side where all things relating to birds can be bought. There are several wooden hides around the marshy area where we have watched birds. I saw an Avocet there on one visit. There were a number of Minsmere visitors on or near my path. They had walked across the Reserve and stood looking out to sea or back over the Reserve.

All the way from Sizewell, a row of white cottages had been in view. They were on raised ground. I walked across the car park near these cottages, one of which, I believe, is a shop. I now walked on a track beside a road across Dunwich Heath owned by the National Trust. Just before Dunwich I passed the Friary as I emerged from Greyfriars Wood. It was a ruin with only four arched windows remaining at first floor level. The building stood in a large field partly surrounded by a stone wall. It is the only relic of medieval Dunwich as the rest has been taken by the ever-encroaching sea. In a short terrace, part of modern Dunwich, there was The Ship (serving lunches) and the Dunwich museum. I had no time to stop but I shall come back to visit the museum.

The path now led me into Dingle Marshes. It was partly gravelled and used by vehicles to obtain access to scattered houses along the way. After entering Corporation Marshes I followed a wide drainage channel and passed the ruin of a windmill. This area was the site of an EU project for the preservation of Bitterns. A notice described how rare they were and that more ditches had been dug to provide them with a more extensive habitat. I listened for the Bitterns boom but heard nothing. I cannot remember ever having heard it. Walberswick now hove into view. I came to a beach where there were a few holidaymakers. A solitary woman stood in the sea. Figures lay under umbrellas. Some children were trying to change their clothes whilst wrapped in towels.

I came to a jetty where the River Blyth came out into the sea. I walked inland and soon came to the ferry which operated morning and afternoon with a break for lunch. Sanu and Alex, to whom I had spoken by phone, now cycled up. I said that I wanted to get to the bridge over the Blyth and I would then return to Walberswick via the church. The car was parked in the main street of Walberswick near the village store. This section took me 3 hours 10 minutes.

On the way home we looked in on Blythburgh Church. This has angels on the ceiling and the seven deadly sins carved on the ends of the pews. The list of vicars included one Nathaniel whose name was followed by the word “(intruder)”. What did that mean? He was installed in 1652. Maybe he was imposed upon an unwilling parish by Parliamentary Puritans. We climbed a cramped spiral staircase to the priest's room in the tower. This was a special place as we all agreed. One window looked out on the River Blyth in the direction of Halesworth. A hand-written poem had been left on the altar table called “This is the Life.” It had been read out at a funeral in October last year. I discovered a Greetings Card on a window cill addressed to a friend who had died.

I caught the 1319 train from Woodbridge to Halesworth. This connected up with the 521 bus which took me to Southwold. I had to walk south beside a golf course to the bridge over the Blyth near Walberswick, that being the point I had reached last time. I then turned round and walked by a slightly more westerly route past sewage works to the A1095, the main road into Southwold. The road went over Buss Creek and then entered Reydon where I rejoined the Suffolk Coast and Heaths Path. I emerged on the north side of Reydon and soon passed through Smear Farm which looked almost derelict. The land was still farmed so perhaps it was just that the main farm buildings had fallen into disuse.

As I walked I switched my radio on, listened for a while then turned it off. England were playing Australia in the second test at Edgbaston, having been badly beaten in the first test. England had to win to keep the Ashes series alive. Yesterday England had scored 407 runs at a frenetic pace and the innings had included ten sixes. Australia were accumulating runs at a slightly more measured pace and the advantage ebbed back and forth between the two sides. Every time an Australian partnership became settled I switched off for a while hoping that, when I eventually listened again, at least one wicket would have fallen. In the end Australia scored 308 and England had to bat for a short while before stumps.

The road passed over a reed bed at Potter's Bridge and I then turned off the road into Benacre Nature Reserve. Soon I was walking on boards held together with wire forming a path over the ground. On either side the high reeds prevented me from seeing much. At three places the boards sunk beneath the water level. I went in up to my calves at one point. I left the marsh and entered an area of farmland with occasional views of the sea. When I reached a road I could see Covehithe Church to my right. This was another one of those churches which seems misplaced as there is no obvious population that it might have served. The nearest place is Wrentham about two miles away. It is next to Church Farm with hardly any other buildings nearby. Perhaps there was a medieval village which has long since disappeared. I did not go to the church as I decided to take a shorter route even though it was not marked as a right of way. I was beginning to be concerned about catching the 1843 train at Lowestoft. If I missed it I had to wait until 2100.

Eventually I reached the coast south of Kessingland. North of Kessingland I lost the path and with it all hope of catching the train. I found the A12 and walked along that into Lowestoft. It was bigger than I expected. I didn't have the next sheet of the OS map with me so I didn't know how far the station was beyond the limit of the map I was carrying. It turned out to be much further so I missed the train by over half an hour. That was just as well as it reduced my waiting time. As it was time dragged. I had dreamt of a pint of bitter in a pleasant harbour side pub. If it existed, I didn't find it. The pubs seemed to have been converted into restaurants. The only one I found was called Bank Store. There was a rough notice nearby indicating that this was a bar where drinks could be bought. It had no proper pub sign. I looked inside the open door and it looked unappealing. I drank my water and shivered on the station until the train arrived.

I was out four and a half hours today.

I took the 9.19 train from Woodbridge to Lowestoft. Today my destination was Great Yarmouth. Maybe it's the last time that I can do a section of Around Britain on a day trip.

The main shopping street was pedestrianised. It led me to the “Historic High Street”. Here the buildings were all individual. The shops were modest and were occupied by small businesses rather than chain stores. The ground fell away on the eastern side of the High Street down towards the sea. At intervals there were narrow passages leading down called “Scores”. They were cobbled and had central iron railings. I remember Malster's Score, Crown Score, Wilde's Score and Rant's Score but there were two or three more than that. These were the ways into the town for the seamen. On the flat land beside the sea there would have been smoking sheds, yards for the repair of sails and nets and all things connected with the seafaring life. At the top there would be the taverns and shops looking to take the seaman's wages. Notices indicated past happenings around the Scores. George II's ship had landed on the beach to escape rough weather. The King had come up one of the Scores and was received in a private house in the town before travelling on to London. Cromwell had taken captive here a dozen Royalist Nobility plus the Vicar.

I walked along the B1385 towards Corton. When trees offered me cover, I changed into my gear and alternately jogged and walked for the next hour and a half. At Hopton-on-Sea the ruined church of St Margaret was surrounded by a high wire fence. A fire spreading from an oven had destroyed it in 1865. Later that year the new Hopton Church was built on the far side of the town and is now next to the A12. A notice forbade entry to the ruin as it was dangerous. As if assuming that it would be ignored, the notice went on to forbid anyone from climbing on the ruin or taking away materials from it. The church tower was clutched in the embrace of ivy.

To the north of Hopton a holiday entrepreneur had blotted the landscape. If you bought a holiday home here then the cost of your holiday would be refunded. The homes started at over £16,000. The estate included a miniature funfair and tawdry shops. Arrows directed me to the owner's office. Doubtless many a transaction negotiated there would have been regretted later at home.

A short walk across a golf course took me into Gorleston-on-Sea, a town separated from Great Yarmouth by the River Yare. I walked on the western side of the river looking across to Nelson's monument on the peninsula sandwiched between the river and the sea. The river was a deep, wide, straight channel with berths for ships on either side. Some ships were moored at berths and it looked fairly busy. However, it was a long channel and some areas set aside for commercial use were empty and the weeds had grown up between the cracks in the concrete. Some “To Let” signs were worn by the passage of time.

I reached the A1243 and crossed the bridge over the Yare into the heart of the town. On the far side of the bridge, I was faced by a cliff of high buildings including the Star Hotel and a number of leading banks. I searched for the bus station but strayed into the tourist area. There was a pedestrianised street leading towards the pier. Holidaymakers thronged. The shops offered Yarmouth rock, cheap CDs, souvenirs, funny hats, soft toys, all you could want. Seating in the street was liberal and mostly occupied. Tattooed, obese people competed with each other to be the ugliest. Food disappeared down a thousand throats in the restaurants. The street itself had become a huge, outside dining area where those sitting and walking dug fists into giant crisp packets and absent-mindedly munched confectionery. The largest pies were pushed into the faces of the most gargantuan.

I was surprised at the number of people with only one leg and, in some cases, no legs at all. Mostly these unfortunates were in wheel chairs. One smartly dressed elderly man walked with crutches beside his wife. The empty trouser leg had been neatly folded beneath the stump and attached to the belt at the back. Was there a convention of limbless people or perhaps a rehabilitation centre for the limbless in Great Yarmouth?

I passed the marina and then asked at a Tourist Information Office where the bus station was. I was well off route. After a Mocha and a ham roll, I caught the 3.15 bus back to Lowestoft. It was a crowded bus which partly retraced my steps in the morning.

I was on route for 4 hours including my lost time in Great Yarmouth.

I caught the 0919 train from Woodbridge to Lowestoft and then the 1A bus to Great Yarmouth. Last time I tried this I found Lowestoft Bus Station deserted apart from a picket line. The bus strike lasted for about a week. I enquired about a cab and the two quotes I got were £19 and £20. I decided against it as I might have needed to take a bus further along the route. Without buses I could have been stranded.

I had my small pack with a change of clothes and a sponge bag. Tonight I planned to spend in a B&B as I couldn't make it all the way to Cromer in one hit. At Cromer there was a station so I could return from there via Norwich. I started out from Great Yarmouth Bus Station at about 1210. I passed a section of ancient town wall by the public lavatory and a very large open area used for the market. At a large church with a tower, I turned into a minor road heading north. This soon joined the A149. Between this and the sea there was a race course. On the other side of the road inland there was a greyhound stadium. Races were held three times a week. I soon left the main road to enter Caister-on-Sea.

For some time I had in my view a wind farm out towards the sea. It seemed big but I couldn't see it clearly because of trees in the way. In Caister I turned towards the sea and discovered that the wind farm (Scroby Sands) was actually out at sea some way off shore. There were 30 wind turbines each 60 metres high. The farm was owned by Powergen who had built it over a period of less than two years in 2003/04. It produced enough energy to supply 41,000 homes. The cost of building it was £75 million and it saves 75,000 tons of carbon emissions every year. It looked fine and made no sound that I could hear.

I found a path running alongside the beach so I saw little of Caister which is a fair sized town. What I did see was an enormous mobile home park. At one stage I got trapped inside it as it was surrounded by a high metal fence. I had to turn back to find an exit. There was little sign of life as it's beginning to be out of season now. A few people were walking about. Lots of the homes had notices up advertising. Small groups had the same ad so I assumed these were owned by the same investor. Other ads directed one to the park office where one could buy a home for “as little as £199 a month”. Another home had an ad saying that rental income of £6,220 a year was guaranteed. I thought the snag would be the occasional rogue holidaymaker causing so much damage that the home was rendered unusable until repaired. What would one then do about subsequent bookings that could no longer be accommodated?

There was a short gap between Caister and California which merged into Scratby and then Hemsby. I was walking along a metalled road occasionally covered with sand. The dunes which hid the sea for miles were partly grassed over. The area was dotted with small shacks which I presume must have been holiday dwellings. Every so often there was an enclosure by the side of the road for rubbish. I wondered what these shacks had in the way of services. After a while I reached a centre which included a pub, a café, a car park and Stonehenge Giant Mini Golf. Replicas of the famous stones painted orange towered over a putting course. A notice said that, if you left your car in the car park after 10 pm, you had to pay £100 to reclaim it.

I now entered a nature reserve (Winterton Dunes). Soon after I reached Winterton itself. It was 1515 and I had several miles to go before Sea Palling. This had a couple of pubs but I couldn't be sure they had accommodation. A bus would call at Winterton at 1634 and go all the way to Lowestoft. I decided to take it rather than take the risk of being stranded with nowhere to stay. I'll have to get a B&B list so that I can book accommodation ahead.