Where civilisation ends

 My Girl from the Fens

You may, possibly, not have heard of The Ouse Valley Singles Club, so forgive me if I inform you that their style is often likened to 'George Formby meets the Clash,' and that they have shared stages with Chas and Dave, Pete Doherty, and The Boomtown Rats, and have headlined at the Peterborough Beer Festival, among other festive gatherings such as Bestival, Truckfest and Glastonbudget.....

OK, they are neither Mozart nor Sondheim. Nor are they quite CMAT. Their performances blend 1950s skiffle with the energy of punk and the swing of rock and roll, occasionally infused with a touch of reggae. They layer this with comic folk-like story-telling, often crossing the parameters of what is deemed to be politically correct but keeping it very tongue in cheek.

Anyway the reason I am drawing your attention to them is that I have just survived a visit to the Fens, a part of Britain normally avoided by both invaders and holiday makers, for reasons that we won't go into here.  It is a part of the world where civilisation ends (though where it begins these days is another question).  And one of the OVSC (Ouse Valley Singles Club)'s greatest hits is a song by the name of My Girl from the Fens, a song that has recently ear-wormed itself into my heart.

It's a catchy ditty, summing up the attractions of the folk that live worryingly near my home. It opens thus:

I love a girl

And that is that

She comes from the East

Where the land is flat

And on the surface

She may seem dumb

'Cause her cousin is her uncle

And he's married to her mum

But she's alright she's my Fenland Rose

And it gets worse.....

The second verse, which is not going to panic the Poet Laureate, nor frighten fans of Longfellow, goes like this:

If you meet a girl who comes from Wisbech

You might have trouble understanding her speech

Oh she sounds just like the Tasmanian Devil

And she gets a nosebleed above sea level

On our first date, we got a bit tipsy

She took me to a place

Where a farmer shot a gypsy

And then we went to King's Lynn

To do some shopping

She's the Cambridgeshire champion of carrot-topping

She's my girl from the Fens....

You see, for us that live beyond the reaches of Greater Anglia, these local references strike home and we chuckle (to avoid the shivers).....

But, don't be put off!  There's more to Wisbech than the muddy waters of the river Nene, or the now-closed Bingo Parlour, for example, and there are some (and I use the word carefully) places worth visiting, which include Peckover House and Garden, 

the Wisbech and Fenland Museum, the Octavia Hill (founder of the National Trust and a prominent social reformer) Birthplace House, and Blackfield Creatives' Wisbech Gallery..... 

Though I did come across this in Wisbech:

I find the third verse to be quite endearing, in a curious sort of way:

Well my Fenland girl has got the X-factor

At 6 years old she learned to drive a tractor

And at 8 she plucked turkeys, 9 she kept quails

She was born with the black soil under her nails

From Peterborough where they're a bit posh

To Spalding and Chatteris and the shores of the Wash

I will follow that girl

And my heart I do pledge

We will grow old together

Picking seasonal veg

She's my girl from the Fens

People here are definitely special, in a no-nonsense sense, though it is not all sugar beet and Chinese veg, shady characters dragging wheely-cases along narrow lanes, boarded up pubs and locked warehouses.  King's Lynn, for example, was once the third greatest port in England, with the Great Ouse still accepting shipping from all over the world,

And, scattered throughout the Fens, from Lincolnshire, across Cambridgeshire and Norfolk, there are many buildings of great interest, usually atop solid rises in the marshy surroundings.  Crowland Abbey, originally a Benedictine Abbey founded in memory of St Guthlac in the eighth century, has been much battered by history but is now the Parish Church of Crowland.  

The Church of St Peter, at Walpole St Peter, is, according to Nikolaus Pevsner, one of the most impressive churches of its date (c1350 - c1400) in Norfolk, and is a favourite of a number of royals, including the current King:

And across this watery world rises one of the greatest churches anywhere - Ely Cathedral - which reaches for the sky 66 metres (217 feet) above the town, which is already almost 30 metres above sea level, so the West Tower is one of the best viewpoints across the fens.

Anyway, back to the song.....  the last verse is quite down to earth, I will admit, but having pitched my camp in the area and feeling my feet taking root in the fertile slime of these reed beds, I can certainly relate to it.....

Well she smells of onions

She's got hair like wheat

She's my potato-eyed girl

Sweet like sugar beet

And she keeps all my wishes in a pickling jar

Our love is bigger than a combine harvester

She's my girl from the Fens

She's my girl from the Fens

On her heart I depend

She's my girl from the Fens

She's my girl from the Fens

Where civilisation ends, that's the Fens

She's my girl from the Fens

Now should this drive you to want to spend an evening with the Ouse Valley Singles Club, you could catch them at Doddington Village Hall on November 28th.....

https://theousevalleysinglesclub.com/

And, by coincidence, the late Kit Hesketh-Harvey (of Kit and the Widow), who lived in Stoke Ferry, not far from Doddington, where he owned All Saints' Church, was a big fan of the OVSC, and this was one of his favourite songs....

And if that isn't a recommendation, I'm afraid I cannot say much more.....

*    *    *    * 

For CeeJay

A Bunch of Flowers

For Aunt Dahlia.....

I am, temporarily, with Dahlia Travers at Brinkley Court, outside Market Snodsbury in Worcestershire..... Dahlia's nephew, the redoubtable Bertie Wooster, offered to whisk me up to the noble pile to taste Anatole's signature dish, and who were I to refuse?

And the bees have it - I mean it's the bees' knees.  Dahlias (and certainly not Agathas) abound.....

So beautifully formed.  I mean, unnecessary really, but organic forms, not geometric - or am I mistook?  

Why?  Why expend all that energy in developing such marvellous extensions of what can perhaps be described as natural sexuality?

Does a bee - or a wasp, or a fly -  think, "Whoa, that's a really beautiful flower......  I must suck that nectar?"  [Pace Shakespeare and sons]

Or, do these passionate florets compete?  Does one preen itself by night and look in the mirror in the morning and proclaim it to be the fairest of them all?  [No mirrors, Ed.]

And does Agatha grate her teeth and say, "Dahlia!  That's a Nuff!  Contain your inhibitions.  Daisy yourself, and be a little more modest!"

I suspect not.  This is a war.  Every One is in it for One's Elf!  There are no holes, bard....  Yellow, orange, pink, mauve, crimson, scarlet.....  True colours....

True colours are shining through

I see your true colours

And that's why I love you

So don't be afraid to let them show

Your true colours

True colours

Are beautiful like a rainbow

[Thank you Cyndi, Ed]

So what do we have?  Une bunchette de fleurs?  Fiori, a Priori?  

It really isn't surprising that we say it with flowers, is it?  These extraordinary delights are natural gifts for the ones we love and respect. From christenings to funerals, weddings to expressions of love, we take from nature to give to our friends, relatives and lovers.  What could be more beautiful?  From the mathematics of fractals to the Fibonacci sequence.

Apart from the colours, the multiple forms vary from orchid to mignon  single, from laciniated to pompom, from collarette to incurved cactus, and beyond.  Varied in so many ways, yet uniform in dimension and character, all striving for acceptance and in an unconscious way wishing to be loved.

Look at me!  Wonder at my pattern, at my hue.  Caress me and let me offer you my pollen.

What a world!  What a wonderful world!  

Who designed these marvels?  What blind watchmaker was behind the genetics?  My late allotment partner, John, bred dahlias, and died, without explaining quite what it was to create a new flower.....  Would it be glorious mischief?  An element of devilment?  Or is/was it the joy of creation?  The kick that comes from loving what you do/can do?

I will confess.  I wasn't at Brinkley Court.  I don't have an Aunt called Dahlia.  I never met Bertie W.  

I was actually in the walled garden at Houghton Hall, in Norfolk, guest of a generous friend, and all I want to say is thank you for taking me to see these marvellous flowers.....

So there we have it....

Flower-gathering

I left you in the morning,

And in the morning glow,

You walked a way beside me

To make me sad to go.

Do you know me in the gloaming,

Gaunt and dusty grey with roaming?

Are you dumb because you know me not,

Or dumb because you know?

All for me? And not a question

For the faded flowers gay

That could take me from beside you

For the ages of a day?

They are yours, and be the measure

Of their worth for you to treasure,

The measure of the little while

That I’ve been long away.

Robert Frost

Life's a beach....

In the sweet by-and-by.....

We've been spoiled.  Who needs sun-burnt mirth?  Who needs a beaker full of the warm south? When we, here on the north Norfolk coast, have our own Helios, our very own Phoebus-Apollo, born at the foot of Mount Cynthus on the island of Delos, but happily driving his chariot across our skies.....

Yes we may have clouds, and breezes, but this summer has been exceptional, and the coast from the Wash to Wells-next-the-Sea has equalled, if not surpassed, many popular holiday destinations that have been fringed by forest fires, or at the least burnt by the baking sun.  We have been swimming for a couple of months now.  The water may be cool, but along the north coast, it is clean and refreshing, and vast stretches of sandy beaches are free for you to spread your wings and breathe the untainted air.

The land here is designated by Natural England as National Character Area 76, and the name ‘Good Sands’, often applied to the eastern half of this area, derives from the fertility of the versatile light soils which distinguish the area from the low-fertility sands of Breckland to the south. Many of the villages are centred on greens or ponds and built from local vernacular materials – carstone and chalk in the west with flint becoming characteristic further east, reflecting the underlying geology [from the Natural England website].

The coastline, however, is designated National Character Area 77, the North Norfolk Coast, and almost the whole area is a Special Area of Conservation under the Habitats Directive, a Special Protection Area under the Birds Directive and a Ramsar site, and there are eight Sites of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI). Much of the coastline is owned or managed by conservation organisations, with the majority of sites being National Nature Reserves..... The exceptional beauty, tranquillity and wildness of the coast are reflected in its designation as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty and definition as a Heritage Coast. [Natural England website]

Summer is only a part of the story.  As I look out today it is grey and windy and swimming is not on the agenda, for me at least, and I wonder if the sun will shine again..... so I think about the seasons and the variety of attractions we have here. Many people come here for the bird life.  At Snettisham RSPB you can see amazing flocks of waders, mainly knot, but others get whirled up in the melee - dunlin, oystercatchers, plovers, sanderlings, godwits et al:

Tens of thousands of birds take off from the mudflats of the Wash as the tide rises, their wingbeats uniting in reverberations as they hurry overhead to roost on the islands in the lagoons created by the shingle extractions for the airfield runways in Lincolnshire in WWII.

https://www.rspb.org.uk/days-out/reserves/snettisham

At Snettisham, in the winter, you can also see straggling skeins of pink-footed geese heading inland at dawn or back to roost on the Wash at dusk.  Their winking calls alert you to them even in the dark or cloudy skies, as tens of thousands of them fly high overhead:

And sometimes, at the end of the day, there are spectacular sunsets over the Wash.  It is the only place in Eastern England where you can see the sun going down over the sea, and it can take your breath away as you wait for the green flash.....

Even at low tide, or under grey skies, this coastline is beautiful, the unpolluted light a gentle setting for the aerial wildlife:

While grounded creatures may leave their tracks in the - admittedly quite rare - snow:

At Hunstanton, under the chalk and carstone cliffs, at low tide you can find the remains of the SS Sheraton which drifted ashore in a storm in 1947.

And then the cliffs decline beyond the old lighthouse towards the sands of Old Hunstanton Beach which lead on towards Holme-next-the-Sea:

And along the coast concrete remains of military buildings from wartime sit empty amongst the grasses:

Near swathes of sea thrift, one of the many beautiful plants that thrive here:

While out at sea the windmills of the wind farm off Skegness wave at the Don Quixote in me:

The sea is alive here, and after rough weather sometimes there are masses of razor clam shells on the beach.  

At other times it may be baby clams or crabs or starfish, and sometimes, as just recently, a Sowerby's beaked whale, or a dolphin, or a grey seal, as these breed along this part of the coast:

I love the variety here.  Swallows in late spring and summer:

Sea Buckthorn in the early autumn:

Snow bunting over-winter here:

And there's always a sense of space.  Brent geese here skim the deserted beach at Brancaster, near the Royal West Norfolk Golf Club:

Which looks even more isolated at sunset:

Also at Brancaster Staithe (a word of Scandinavian origin, in Norfolk usually used for a wharf, often associated with coal shipments) there are a few fishing boats (though there are many more recreational craft):

And at Thornham Staithe there is the old Coal Barn, here awash at a spring tide, where coals from the north were off-loaded for distribution to the villages:

And also submerged here are the ancient stakes of a grain wharf:

Just offshore here lies the jewel in this coast's crown - Scolt Head Island.  Jon Brown will take you across on the high tide from Brancaster Staithe. With a life time's experience of the water and wildlife here he is an excellent guide and a cruise on the Laura May with him is a brilliant way to learn just how wonderful this part of the world can be:

https://www.brantacruises.co.uk/

You can also reach the island from Burnham Overy Staithe, on the Island Ferry in summer or the Welcome Ferry all year round.

The Branta Cruises website is a good place to find out something about the island, but Baz Scampion's website is another mine of information:  

https://www.scoltheadisland.co.uk/index.html

Although Scolt Head Island is as old as time, it once belonged to the Holkham Estate but it was sold to the National Trust and designated a Nature Reserve in 1923, and it is now a National Nature Reserve leased and managed by Natural England.  It is a beautiful, unspoiled, dynamic island, continually evolving as longshore drift piles sand and shingle up in curls on the western end, and salt marshes and creeks fill with natural vegetation.  

There are two buildings on the island, one being the warden's hut, the other a Grade 2 listed 1920's hut which is used as a base for scientists and naturalists who come to study the habitats and wildlife here.  Apart from that the island is uninhabited.  

The island is a sensitive place, and visitors must be respectful.  

It is a wonderful oasis of natural beauty where peace and reflection are the ideals. Leave worries behind, and meditate on how balance and harmony are good for the soul...

Sometimes the sea is high, and you can appreciate its force looking east across Burnham Harbour to Gun Hill and beyond.

Further east along the coast there is Holkham National Nature Reserve and Beach. Backed by an extensive stand of pines, the bay is vast, and while it can seem like Goa (without the palm trees) at other times the wind whips the sand around your ankles, flash floods of grains scouring the surface.....

Then, a mile or two further on there is Wells beach, a holiday destination par excellence in the splashy summer warmth:

Although it is blissfully quiet in winter:

Wells-next-the-Sea itself is busy town, with an active harbour, Life Boat and Coast Watch stations.  A small fishing fleet operates from the port and many leisure boats make use of the dredged approach.

All in all this part of the English Coast, traversed by the Norfolk Coast Path, which carries on through Wells as far as Hopton-on-Sea, beyond Yarmouth, is a rich area of outstanding natural beauty.  Whether swimming on a sunny day, or walking into the bitter winds of winter, it is a wonderful place to be.  

So, perhaps, 

In the sweet by-and-by

We shall meet on that beautiful shore.

Ira D Sankey

1840 - 1908