Around Britain

The 1A bus returned me to Winterton from Lowestoft. The forecast was not good but I wanted to take advantage of summer time while I still could. The Winterton Dunes Nature Reserve was largely grass growing on sand. The sea was to my right but I didn't see it at all until I reached Waxham. A solid line of dunes hid it from view. To my left there was a wind farm apparently with eleven turbines although only ten were shown on the map. As I looked back to the wind farm I realised that the map was correct. One turbine stood alone far from the others but, from the original angle, I was deceived. The terrain inland was flat. I could tell my position from a succession of church towers and the occasional windmill. I only lost sight of the Winterton Church Tower when a wood came between.

The weather came from the south. The sky darkened and was a uniform grey down to the ground. It was raining as the weather forecast had predicted. I became quite wet but at least the rain was not blowing into my face. Eventually I saw a line of brighter sky to the south. This spread and eventually the rain stopped. It turned into a wonderful evening with a fine sunset and then a full moon just over the horizon out to sea.

Beyond Warren Farm no path was marked on the map but I determined to continue near the dunes line in preference to road walking on the B1159. At Warren Farm there was an enclosure crammed with caravans. Nearby there was a field empty except for what seemed like washing and toilet blocks. There were marker posts placed in the field which I thought probably indicated where the caravans were to be parked in season. The path lacked conviction and followed a tortuous route. As I approached Waxham Church the path disappeared altogether and another path took me through the dunes to my first sight of the sea that day. Out at sea were nine artificial reefs built to protect the coast and reduce the flood risk. The dunes were reinforced at the top of the beach by a concrete wall. At the foot of this were three steps. The wall itself was concave and just under three metres high. I soon returned through the dunes into Waxham. This had an Elizabethan thatched barn.

Sea Palling looked in danger of falling into the hands of philistines. There was a amusement arcade from which pop music blared. A notice in the car park told about the floods in the past and described some of the local churches. At least two were Saxon and one had a Saxon tower. I proceeded to an area of shacks. In some cases they might have been sheds. Some of the names were well-chosen – “Pot Luck” and “This'll do”. There was little sign of occupation so I suppose some of them are abandoned in the winter. Eccles-on-Sea had some very modest houses and these looked as if they were used full time. The town seemed to have no facilities whatsoever although wheeled bins for rubbish had been put out.

Before Happisburgh there were signs of coastal erosion. The cliffs above the beach were earthen and there were signs of recent falls leaving the stubble of this year's crop in isolated pockets perched precariously on the cliff top. There was a lighthouse just inland. A notice near the edge announced that the lighthouse was 210 metres away. As I entered Happisburgh a road was barred by a “Road Closed” sign. Immediately beyond the sign the road disappeared over the cliff top.

I reached a built up area starting at Ostend and continuing through Walcott and Bacton. I managed to keep to a little used path immediately above the modest sea wall. As I approached the Bacton Gas Distribution Station I had to turn inland. This is a major installation where natural gas is brought in under the North Sea. At Paston I passed an old barn by the road. There was nothing to indicate whether this had anything to do with the writer of the Paston letters. It was now dusk and I hoped that Mundesley would have a hotel. In fact there were four and I settled on the Manor Hotel on the sea front. I was given a room facing inland for £50. I ate dinner in the attached Bar Victoriana. This was only the second time that I have had to stay out at night on Around Britain. I shall probably have to do this every outing from now on. I'm now as far north as Nottingham and I cannot travel this distance twice in a day.

I was out 5 hours 50 minutes today.

The hotel gave me breakfast at 0730 which was half an hour earlier than normal for them. There was no sugar for my cereal. The young man waiting at table pointed out that both brown and white sugar was already on the table in small paper bags. I hadn't noticed this. Later I wanted to eat my toast but I couldn't find any butter. I called across the room. The young man expressed surprise at this and fetched a cardboard box where small packets of butter and flora were kept. He gave me some and then stocked up the other tables. He was pleasant enough but lacked finesse. I think he would have been more comfortable working in a garage.

It wasn't far to Cromer. I road walked it in 2 hours 20 minutes. On the way I passed through Trimingham where there was a MOD base with a large white globe set in the ground. Was this part of an early warning system? The other villages on the way were Sidestrand and Overstrand. At Cromer I went to the Tourist Information Office to ask about transport. It was next to the Coach Station. I saw the bus to Great Yarmouth was due immediately and there wasn't another for two hours. I dashed out but it was a few minutes late. At Great Yarmouth I picked up the Lowestoft bus within half an hour but my luck ran out at Lowestoft where I had to wait one hour forty minutes for the train.

The clocks have been turned back which shortens daylight walking time. Nevertheless, on a fine morning, I decided to make some progress. The forecast for Thursday was bad but I could always come home if conditions were too unpleasant. I took a bus to Ipswich and proceeded by train to Norwich where I changed to the Sheringham train. I was at Cromer by 1230. I considered calling in at the Information Centre to enquire about accommodation but decided to take a chance on where I stayed that night. That had the advantage of giving me maximum flexibility.

I walked through East Runton on the A149 but mostly I kept to the coastal path. Notices announced that the coastal path no longer existed as a result of erosion. But new paths form when old ones die. I could see from shattered remnants of fencing at the cliff bottom that the earthen cliff was on the retreat. The sea had taken great bites out of it. How long had this process been going on? Did old maps show great chunks of land now lost to the sea? If so, why did coastal towns and villages remain just that? Surely they should be submerged by now? At Sheringham, an old town by the look of it, great concrete ramparts on the front held the sea back. It was at this town that my mother's family took their summer holidays for some years. My grandfather, a solicitor, would spend part of the time in his London office. When at Sheringham he would ring the office late in the afternoon to make sure his staff were still working. As a sole practitioner, he had no partner to keep control in his absence. Those distant holidays were shared with the Burford family, also from Wimbledon. One of the Burford boys himself had a son who later married my sister.

Sheringham marks the start of the Peddars Way and Norfolk Coast Path, my companion for the rest of this outing. Just beyond Sheringham there was a Coast Watch Lookout Station. This used to be manned by the Coast Guard. When they stopped doing it, a volunteer organisation took on the job. There was someone inside looking through a telescope but there wasn't much to hold his attention apart from a few golfers on the adjacent course. It would have been interesting to see some record of what they had spotted, to know whether lives had been saved or disasters averted by their vigilance.

I met very few people out despite the fine, mild weather. Most greeted me (and were greeted) in a perfunctory way. “Hello” can be uttered so as to kill the possibility of conversation. Even so it is preferable to the rudeness of silence and averted eyes. At its best “Hello” can be warm and friendly despite the lack of any attempt at further conversation. I approached one couple and the man said “It's a long way to Dorset”. I loved that. We talked briefly. They told me there was no shortage of accommodation at Cley next the Sea.

As the afternoon drew towards dusk, I was walking on a high gravel embankment. This started at Kelling Hard just after Weybourne. Clearly the gravel on its own would not have maintained this shape. Later I saw debris in the form of broken concrete slabs, where the sea had attacked the embankment causing its partial collapse. Inland, protected by the embankment, were flat areas up to the A149. These were partially covered by water. As I approached Cley Eye in gathering darkness, flashing lights and vehicle movements on the marsh revealed a development site half way between Cley next the Sea and the coast. I had no idea what was being built in such an unlikely spot.

It was dark when I entered Cley. There were no street lights but some houses had their own lights over the front door. There was a B&B and the George Hotel. The George looked pricey and I didn't want to knock on the door of the B&B in the dark without having booked. Staying in a B&B is too much like staying in a private house. I prefer to pay a bit more to be in a hotel where it's less personal. It was only just after 5pm so I decided to press on to Blakeney. On the way I crossed the River Glaven which turns left just before the coast and doesn't reach the sea until well past Morston. At Blakeney I turned off the A149 towards Blakeney Quay. There were three hotels. The Blakeney Hotel was three star but it looked like a palace. The White Hart in the High Street was open and lit up but entirely deserted. There was no one on reception and no one behind the bar. I entered and read a number of press cuttings about the chef and the awards he had won. All I wanted was a straightforward place which provided the basics adequately. The Kings Arms turned out ideal. I was the only person staying but the bar was full and several people were eating. The specials were listed on a blackboard. I had soup and pasta with a pint of John Smiths and very pleasant it was too. B&B fair enough at £45.

I had to negotiate an early breakfast last night. Normally it was served from 0830 but the management persuaded an unenthusiastic girl, no doubt relishing the prospect of a lie in, to come in early for an 8 o'clock breakfast. I'd wanted 0730 but readily agreed a compromise. A woman came into the breakfast room to clean. She asked whether this disturbed me. I asked whether she had a bus time table. I was contemplating an immediate return home as it was raining. The woman gave me details of a service called the Coast Hopper running between Kings Lynn and Sheringham. She was well spoken. I thought she might be the owner but she didn't live in the hotel and was probably just the cleaner. Later I had a chat with her as I went to settle the bill. There was no one else about so she took the payment although clearly she was not familiar with the process. She said the hotel had bookings every weekend through the winter. It was sometimes empty during the week. The hotel was often unable to take bookings for a week as the weekends were taken already.

When I emerged from the Kings Arms the rain had lessened. It soon stopped and I was able to enjoy another fine day, remarkably mild for November. I joined the Peddars Way down at one end of the Quay only a few yards from the hotel. To my right were Morston Salt Marshes. Beyond lay the Blakeney Point Nature Reserve. The sea was some way off and quite invisible. I passed Morston and Stiffkey. An outburst of firing inland was explained by a woman walking her dog. A farmer ran a shoot on his land. When level with Stiffkey, I caught sight of Wells next the Sea in the distance just over three miles ahead. There was a large area of salt marsh on the way to Wells. After Stiffkey Salt Marshes there followed Warham Salt Marshes and then Wells Salt Marshes. At Wells I again toyed with the idea of catching the Coast Hopper. Despite a large breakfast, I thought I should eat whilst I had the chance. I carried nothing with me except for a packet of biscuits provided by the hotel. There were the usual burger bars and fish and chip shops. Then I saw Wells Deli run by a young woman without assistance. I waited at the back of a queue of three. Those ahead took time over their purchases as was proper in such a place. An elderly woman was invited to taste a goat's cheese. Two extra bits were cut so all those in the queue could try it. It was very mild. A local woman kept 12 goats and was an intermittent source of supply for the shop. The cheese was only 2 weeks old. When I bought my lunch, the woman told me that she had opened the shop in September 2004. I had pumpkin soup with chilli and a tuna mayo roll with red onion. Delicious. I strode on restored.

I was now on the route of the dunes run of 1999. A group of us, entered for the Marathon des Sables for that year, wanted to include in our preparations a dunes outing. My limited researches identified the beach near Wells as the best dunes site in the south. We stayed at a hotel in Hunstanton and hired a bus to take us to Wells. About twenty five of us ran back over the dunes and along the Peddars Way. It was the only race I have ever won. Perhaps that was partly because I was the only person who looked on it as a race. I had the advantage of having reconnoitred the route when I was planning the trip. Six runners ahead of me early on continued to a point where their path was blocked by a creek. I avoided this by turning south to Burnham Overy Staithe. I ran as fast as I could for a while and lost sight of the field. For the rest of the day I expected younger and superior runners to overtake me at any moment. This never happened and I reached the hotel ten minutes ahead of the next man. There was some surprise that a 55 year old had prevailed in such company. There was probably a suspicion that I had taken a lift or a short cut but no one gave voice to that.

So I was retracing old ground. The Peddars Way kept to the landward side of a belt of woods called, puzzlingly, Holkham Meals. Near Holkham Gap the path passed through the wood to emerge on the beach. There it was difficult to follow the true path, if there was one, as a multitude of paths offered alternative routes. Above the beach, dunes had, in the course of time, become covered with Marram grass and then other plants. Where the path had worn through covering vegetation the sand revealed itself. I came to Burnham Overy Staithe where Nelson, born nearby at Burnham Thorpe, probably had his first sail. This had been a port for a while. At this point I left the Peddars Way which took a circuitous route round Norton and Deepdale marshes. The light was beginning to fade and I wanted to advance as far as possible before settling in a hotel. After Burnhan Norton, I kept to the A149, that being the easiest and most direct route towards Hunstanton. At first there was no pavement on what was a narrow and fast road. Vehicles approaching me were forced to stop if another vehicle approached from the opposite direction. A car driving in my direction pulled up and the driver put his head out of the window. He kindly told me that there was a footpath on the other side of the hedge and that some cars drove too fast on this stretch of road. I thanked him for this information. No path was marked on the map but the farmer had left a wide band of grass between the ploughed field and the hedge. I followed this until Burnham Deepdale.

From Burnham Deepdale onwards there was a pavement for me to walk on. This was just as well as darkness descended quickly. After Brancaster Staithe, I entered Brancaster, site of the Roman fort of Branodonum. Opposite the church there was an inn. It was shut until later in the evening but I loitered, tempted to ring the bell. I decided to continue as it was still only 5 pm and I needed to make more progress if I was to contemplate Kings Lynn tomorrow. Also, there were other hotels and inns further up the road marked on my map. Two of these were at the next village of Titchwell. One was much too smart and, no doubt, expensive. The other looked closed but I didn't test this as there was still time to go on. The pavement threatened to expire but there was a narrow strip of overgrown asphalt just discernible in the dark. The headlamps of passing cars lit the way ahead when approaching from behind or blinded me when coming towards me. I entered Thornham. A pizza restaurant offered accommodation but the door was locked. I phoned the number displayed and was told I had to contact the Life Boat Inn. Apparently the two establishments were in joint ownership and the inn provided the administration. Soon after I came to the Orange Tree. A notice at the entrance declared the place closed on account of The Red Cross having a dinner there that night. However, it was open for overnight guests at the price of £45. Again I believe I was the only person staying. Again I negotiated an “early” breakfast at 8 am, half an hour before the stipulated time. A girl showed me to an annexe where the accommodation was adequate. I returned to the pizza restaurant for my meal. I was out 8 and a half hours today.

The water was cold but I decided not to make a fuss as I didn't really mind. However, once I had paid my bill, I did report it to the pleasant South African girl who served my breakfast.

In daylight I decided to leave the A149 and return to Peddars Way. I passed Life Boat Inn which looked as if it had been expensively renovated. The well-heeled have plenty of choice round here but what about the rest. I suppose one has to resort to B&Bs. The cheap hotels have disappeared.

It was a blustery day. My cap was blown off repeatedly so I had to tuck it into my jacket. I passed close to Holme next the Sea. There was no sign of the wood henge discovered nearby a few years ago. Perhaps it's been re-buried in order to protect it. I was surprised that no notice had been put up giving details. I reached Old Hunstanton by means of a stretch of path that was sandwiched between a stream and a golf course. It being the 11th day of the 11th month, there were two minutes silence at 11 am. I was on a playing field on the edge of Hunstanton. I stood and looked out to sea. The odd few people I saw didn't appear to observe it and I don't believe the traffic on the A149 stopped.

I walked along a wide expanse of mown grass between blocks of flats and the beach. I had to struggle to make way against the head wind. To my astonishment there were windsurfers out on the bay. They got up to great speeds but how did they get their craft back upright after spills. Perhaps they just sat on their boards and paddled ashore. I didn't watch for long enough to find out. At the town centre the Information Centre told me about buses to Kings Lynn (every two hours) and where I could buy a paper. I drank a cup of hot chocolate whilst waiting.

The journey back home took me most of the rest of the day. I had been walking for two hours ten minutes. The bus took me to the coach station in Kings Lynn. I changed trains at Ely where I had a long enough wait to see the outside of Ely Cathedral. At Ipswich I caught a bus to Tesco's Martlesham and then walked home in darkness.

After a trip to New Zealand late last year, I now resume Around Britain.

The train from London King's Cross took me to King's Lynn. I walked to the nearby bus station and caught the bus for Hunstanton. It was over 10 minutes late starting but the driver didn't consider it necessary to apologise or give us some reason for the delay. No one seemed to mind. In fact, when it became clear the bus was late, some in the queue starting smiling and talking to their neighbours as if this problem had forged a bond between all us unfortunates.

At Hunstanton the weather was grim. Wind was gusting off the sea and a cold rain looked set. I retreated into a café for tea and cake. It was no better when I came out so I returned to the bus stop and sheltered there. If a bus had come then I would have boarded it. In fact the sky lightened and cleared quite quickly so I was able to start running. The most direct route was along the A149 (about 16 miles) but the pavement was intermittent. Accordingly I often left the main road to follow a route passing through villages on either side. These were Heacham, Snettisham, Ingoldisthorpe, Dersingham, Castle Rising and South Wootton. After Dersingham I came to Sandringham. I couldn't see the main house as I passed the gates but I came close to Park House near Sandringham Church. There was no village that I could see, just a royal residence and park. One or two cars went by. I imagined one stopping and the Queen winding down the window to ask me in for tea. “Not if it's any trouble” was the best reply I could think up. I wondered whether the Queen had ever made a cup of tea even for herself.

I crossed over the A149 again onto a footpath/cycleway running alongside the road. It soon turned off to Castle Rising with its ruined castle on a hillock beside the village.

I missed the train by ten minutes but there was another after half an hour. I changed out of my damp clothes and bought a cocoa and sandwich. With luck I wouldn't miss too much of Arsenal's Champions' League fixture against Real Madrid on the TV when I got back to London.

Except at Hunstanton I saw nothing of the sea today. Most of the coastal path seemed to be on top of an embankment and it might have been impossible to run on. I'd like to use Around Britain for training runs wherever possible as I get bored with my usual running routes. This section took me 3 hours 38 minutes and I kept running more or less until I reached South Wootton on the outskirts of King's Lynn.