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As I am one of those people who separate their recycling
into a dozen different bags and spend a lot of time banging on about
global warming, I decided it was time to put my money where my mouth is
and spend a carbon-emissionless summer holiday bicycling in Suffolk.
Having enlisted as touring companions my wife and another couple, our
departure was finally fixed for September 17th - by no means risk free
from the weather point of view, but better than postponing it to another
year by which time the inspiration might have left us.
The next problem was bikes. Something rather more professional than the
old wreck sitting in my stables seemed to be called for, and here the
internet came into its own. Feed “bikes Suffolk” into Google and out
comes the answer “ Byways of Darsham”. This turned out to be an
absolute bulls-eye. Darsham for the uninitiated is to be found just east
of the A12 north of Yoxford and at Messrs Byways you can hire bikes and
leave your car in their car park for as long as you are pedalling. Thus
was our itinerary born. When they heard of the excellence of Messrs Byways’
service, our entire team agreed to hire their machines. Their confidence
was well rewarded – the bikes had a 7 gear system second to none made by
Shimano (demons of Japanese engineering) and seemed more or less
indestructible.
Having decided that we should go for a week (6 days – church on the
Sabbath), Hugh of Byways assured me that there would be no problem hiring
bikes as the holidays would be over and business would be slack. He was a
bit doubtful about the provision of panniers as he said that there was no
call for them in Suffolk. However I insisted that the rules of this
particular get-away-from-it-all holiday were that you had to carry all
your possessions with you and that they were therefore essential.
We decided to stay overnight in B&Bs, and with further recourse to
the internet fixed up a circular tour, starting at Darsham and taking in
Minsmere, Southwold, Halesworth, Fressingfield, Eye, Framlingham and
Saxmundham. We would at all times keep off the main roads and expected
that the going would be pretty flat. (It was, though at the time the
exceptions seemed numerous).
The morning of Monday September 17th saw us still grappling with the
debris of a week-end party and we got off to a rather late start. Arrived
at Darsham, we met the admirable Hugh who was somewhat caught out by our
arrival as business had been “unbelievably brisk for the time of year”
and there had been no time to prepare the bikes. However they were rapidly
assembled, fitted with panniers, lights and baskets, the panniers were
stuffed and we were off.
Minsmere & Sizewell Power Station.
Having brought our binoculars, our first objective was Minsmere a
mere(!) 4 or 5 miles away. The reserve is run by the RSPB and impeccably
laid out. The hides are brilliantly disguised from birds and humans alike
and the admirable absence of intrusive signs meant that for some time we
were not sure whether we had arrived or not. Arriving late meant that our
birdwatching had to be cut short, but there was, even so, a gratifying
number of wildfowl to be seen – greylag, widgeon, teal, garganey,
shoveller in good numbers, and a superfluity of Canada geese. All with the
backdrop of the slightly sinister but nevertheless clean-limbed
architecture of Sizewell nuclear power station
Our intention had been to pedal north to Southwold before moving on to
our overnight stop at Frostenden a few miles to the north-west. But since
it was getting late
and there were rumours that there might or might not be a ferry across the
river Blythe, we decided to cut out Southwold and go direct to Frostenden
along the B1125
and then the A145. This turned out to be cause for much regret. We
pedalled endlessly through a surreal pig-scape, bombarded by smells and
squeals and menaced constantly by aggressive traffic. Also we were heading
north, so it was all up-hill. It was not an auspicious beginning and as
route planner I felt a great deal of egg spreading over my face, quite
apart from the smell of 5 million pigs. Fortunately this turned out to be
the low point in our trip; we eventually made a landfall at a magnificent
B&B in Frostenden and awoke the next day to a glorious view of the
round tower of Frostenden church at the end of the lawn.
Frostenden Church & Hall.
Back in the saddle, we rewarded ourselves with a leisurely
ride through lovely, and more or less deserted countryside, to Blyford.
This stretch of country must be a good deal less populated than a century
ago and entirely unspoilt. The blackberries here (and everywhere else)
were prodigiously plentiful and made for a great many stops. The
cross-roads at Blyford with its pub and thatched church gives you that
remote feeling you get from illustrations of fairly tales. We did the
church and then lunched at the pub, notable for its extravagantly Italian
publican.
Only a mile or two from Blyford is the village of
Wenhaston (pronounced Weneston or something like that) and there you will
find Woottens, the finest perennial nursery in East Anglia and possibly
the world. Woottens specialise in Pelargoniums, Iris and Auriculas and
their handbook which is an inch thick is one of the most irresistible
publications known to man.
Our next port of call was Halesworth and an eccentric but
rather charming B&B; much of the décor provided by redundant signs
from the London Underground. We would have got there early but for an
unfortunate communication failure which resulted in the two halves of our
team losing each other for half an hour in the outskirts of Halesworth.
The following day we had intended lodging in Fressingfield
in order to make the most of dining at its celebrated pub, the Fox and
Goose. Unfortunately the proprietors of the place where we had intended to
stay had, somewhat uncharitably, taken themselves off to Australia. Plan B
involved staying at Eye, inviting relations to dinner in exchange for a
lift and facing a very much longer ride than usual to get to Eye in the
first place.
Walpole Old Chapel.
We started early, and at 10 a.m. had reached Walpole,
where, having rung up in advance, we were shewn round Walpole Old Chapel,
one of the wonders of this part of Suffolk. From the outside the chapel
looks like a straightforward 16th century farm house (with a few
grave-stones in the garden) and one gets no indication of the marvels
within. In the 17th century, however, the Puritans converted it into a
meeting house. The width of the house was doubled, a ship’s mast
installed to carry the increased weight of the roof and a gallery
installed which doubled the potential size of the congregation. The chapel
is now in the care of the Historic Chapels Trust, it is still consecrated
and the occasional service is held there. The building has been
beautifully done up and gives an extraordinary feeling of space. From the
pulpit the preacher could see every seat in the building – a great
disincentive to sleep.
Walpole Old Chapel Interior.
From Walpole, the road to Laxfield runs for at least a
mile and a half overlooking the lake in front of Heveningham Hall. The
Palladian house, designed by Sir Robert Taylor about 1778, is the grandest
in Suffolk and stands on the high ground a few hundred yards beyond the
lake. The ride along the road on a glorious sunny morning was
breath-taking and must look just as Capability Brown visualised it when he
was laying out the grounds. The whole estate is kept in wonderfully
manicured order and the view deserves three stars.
Rather than take the more populous road through Laxfield
we kept to the lanes and approached Stradbroke from the north passing on
the way two farms where new field drains were being installed, something
that I have scarcely seen for 30 years. The Lord be praised for the
doubling of the wheat price!
In Stradbroke we parked our machines behind the newly
painted White Hart where constant hot food was advertised. It turned out
to be closed and empty of all furnishings and so we took our custom to the
Queens Head where we restricted ourselves to a toasted sandwich. Reading
the newspaper was a battle, as only half the light-bulbs were working. It
struck me as taking energy saving too far. And so on to Eye, battling
against the west wind, but cheerfully, as the next day we were due to turn
south.
Visitors to Eye are drawn inevitably to the church. “The
west tower of Eye church”, writes Pevsner, “is one of the wonders of
Suffolk, 101 ft tall and panelled in flushwork from foot to parapet”.
All bicyclists should also go inside if only to see the rood screen and
loft which has been fully restored and is the only complete one in
Suffolk. There are some rather charming naive paintings at the base of the
screen done circa 1500. “All bad” says Pevsner.
Having located our B&B and rested awhile we duly got
our lift to the Fox and Goose at Fressingfield, which was packed and lived
up to its reputation. Both food and service were quite excellent and we
found we were on terms of easy familiarity with our waitress, who had been
drafted in from the pub at Stradbroke, where she had given us our
lunch-time sandwich.
Kippers for breakfast the next morning and a lengthy
farewell from our hospitable landlady followed by another beautiful ride,
this time along the valley of the Dove to Thorndon. Our objective there
was the Hen House Garden Company, manufacturer of gorgeous, brightly
painted, romantic hen houses. A Must Have for any hen keeper, or if one
has no hens one might consider living in one oneself! We inspected not
only the hen houses but the endless variety of hens that might live in
them. A thoroughly entertaining morning (for hen lovers anyway), and we
then repaired to the pub and ate mussels.
Romantic hen house from
The Hen House Garden Company.
Having battled against the west wind all morning it was a
relief at last to turn east and with the wind in our backs we made good
time to our next lodging at Monk Soham – a fantastic place in the middle
of nowhere. No sooner were we under cover than the heavens opened for the
only time during the week. We felt smug.
The church at Monk Soham has no particular pretensions and
doesn’t make it into the 1000 Best Churches, but I thought it stunning.
The huge east window fills the entire east end and floods the church with
light, there is also a seven sacrament font and a hammer beam roof. In
medieval times Monk Soham was used as a retreat for monks from the abbey
at Bury, (some say as a place of correction for those who had stepped out
of line). As one leaves the churchyard to the right of the gate, there is
a large modern memorial to a certain Ronald Creasey. The inscription is
worth reading – it lists Mr Creasey’s modest achievements as a
councillor, prospective parliamentary candidate etc and goes on to say
something of his beliefs. He was apparantly a pantheist, so it is curious
that he should be buried in a C of E churchyard. What the memorial does
not say is that Mr Creasey is chiefly remembered for being a prominent
member of the British Union of Fascists!
Monk Soham Church – The Seven Sacrament Font.
Having set off next morning in the direction of
Framlingham we reached Saxstead Green at about 11.30 and hung around till
midday for the keeper to open the post mill. Not only is the entire mill
open to the public, but you can go up the immensely steep outside
staircase to the second storey and if the wind changes then the fantail
attached to the staircase causes both staircase and mill to rotate. How
unusual in these dreary times to find something exciting and dangerous
that Health and Safety haven’t yet put a stop to. The sails were
rotating slowly, creaking the while and causing quite a bit of movement in
the upper half of the mill. We were left alone to explore – thrilling.
Saxtead Green Post Mill.
It is only about two miles from Saxstead to Framlingham
and having arrived, we tethered our bikes to a hitching post and had lunch
in the vast old-fashioned pub overlooking the square. Afterwards we went
up to the castle which consists almost entirely of curtain wall with a
nice grassy space inside and a good view of the lake below with the rather
fine red brick of Framlingham College beyond that. There was no one at the
receipt of custom so we wandered around free of charge, but in truth there
is not much to see.
This was to be our last night on the road, so we set our
compass for our final B&B at Sweffling, and rode along the Alde valley
in bright sunshine through beautifully kept countryside and with a
complete absence of traffic. Having arrived at Sweffling we turned down a
lovely side valley and ended up at an enormously attractive and upmarket
house whose proprietors, we realised with alarm, clearly had no need to
earn a few extra pennies from B&B. Luckily they weren’t there, so
our blushes were spared and we retreated in good order. Since we had
followed our instructions to the letter, we were now very obviously lost
and had no alternative but to ride off in all directions. This was not a
particularly successful strategy and having regrouped once again, I found
to my embarrassment that our destination was in fact marked on the map. It
turned out to be a typical long Suffolk farmhouse at the end of a rather
impressive drive. Inside was a scene of considerable chaos. Our host, who
had given us our directions back to front and to whom I had spoken several
times on the phone, was expecting only two of us and proposed turning out
of his own bedroom to accommodate the others. As several other travellers
and a visiting dog were also resident, it was necessary to do things in
relays. In the background were 15,000 hens and a very considerable
quantity of flies. Having failed to book a taxi to take us to supper at
the time we wanted, our host generously agreed to give us a lift to the
Crown at Glemham, a journey which seemed likely to be our last as we
careered wildly along the verges of an exceedingly
narrow road. However the dinner was good and we found alternative means of
getting back home. The next morning we left, by our standards, very early.
With plenty of time in hand we decided to go to Dunwich
and see if it really had fallen into the sea. We stopped enroute for
coffee at the pub at Middleton but were too early as it was not yet
opening time. Instead we went into the church which turned out to be a
good move. Southdown sheep grazed the churchyard, causing us to wonder why
more churches don’t do the same and save the mowing. The church roof
used to be thatched, but when the spire, (which is very small and made of
lead), was being repaired in 1955 the roof caught fire and most of the
church was burnt. The parishioners rushed in and saved the bulk of the
contents so surprisingly little damage was done.
Once in Dunwich, we had lunch at the Ship, the only place
during our tour where we saw any tourists. But of the fifty or so
churches, convents and monasteries said to have adorned Dunwich in the
14th century, there was no trace. Further to a good pint of Adnams, I fell
off my bike on leaving the pub and, as I sprawled in the gutter, a couple
of pitying eighty-year-olds enquired if I was all right. This seemed a
suitable moment to return to Messrs Byways and we never did see the sea.
JEREMY HILL |
