Destination Tin Town Part 1

The dull metallic clang of two cars colliding on the Thorpe Sainsbury’s roundabout marked the beginning of “Destination Tin Town”, or the repositioning of Sara’s sawn off yacht PERFECT LADY 2 and the marsh punt CUCKOO to our temporary summer moorings in Thorpe on part of the old J Hobrough, May Gurney site, now in private ownership, thanks for having us there Peter. We had been leaving a spare motor car at our new moorings when the collision took place in front of us as we drove home, having to skirt around the debris.

There are many reasons why the Thorpe area has relevance to our family and all this will be explained as we get going but in the meantime I will just remark that during the 1950’s when our boatyard was run from the buildings behind the Ferry public house on King Street Norwich the hire cruisers were occasionally moved during the winter season away from the bustling port area where they could quite easily get damaged by the coasters, lighters and barges. The boats were either moored up Trowse eye at a friendly watermans cottage or stored safely until they were wanted up one of the May Gurney’s dykes.

Sunday 9am, having loaded all our gear and the dogs aboard, and repaired a slight leak that CUCKOO had picked up with thick grease, we departed home. In bright sunshine we chugged down river, it didn’t seem particularly busy and in any case we were not in any rush as our tide across Breydon wasn’t until one thirty.  I will not bore you with an endless description of the river as I am sure you will have passed that way many times before.

We had thought that Horning might be quite crowded as there was a boat show on but the show was either on the previous day only or was not apparent from the river. In any case there were moorings on Percy’s Island opposite to the Swan, at the New Inn, the Ferry and at the yard with the big silver Harnser sculpture, so in fact apart from the village staithe a mooring could certainly have been got here.  Beyond St Benets Abbey there were surprisingly not many yachts about, we were pleased because as you may know we “Cant abear them owd yots a’ tacking about the show!”

In any case with an ebbing tide we slid swiftly onwards passing a yacht run hard up onto the rond bank at Upton and under Acle bridge and into the flat marshland beyond. Along the riverbanks from Horning there was hardly a section on one side or the other on which reed had not been cut and stacked for thatching and we could not remember ever seeing mile upon mile of this before, but where as at one time the motor wherries collected the reed from the riverbanks and transported it to a convenient staithe, it all appears to travel by road now.  At 12.20 we pulled into moor at Stracey Arms to await the tide and let the dogs ashore as they had begun crossing their legs sometime back.

There was a fair amount of traffic passing through with the big gin palaces causing the most wash, one of the drivers peered down at us from his steering position way up on high and said as if apologising, “ Its the tide pushing us.” No, it’s because youv’e got your throttles fully open on a totally unsuitable broads boat, like all those type, at speed they simply dig there arses down and cause a terrific nuisance to every one with their tremendous wash.

Having departed Stracey we amble toward Yarmouth behind a motor cruiser that swings into moor at the yacht station leaving us to pass under the road bridge and the tram bridge sheathed in cladding and out onto Breydon around the Knowle.  Lee Barbers has been flattened although the wildfowler’s houseboat and punt remains still lay upon the beach. Under the lift bridge emerges Punt Palmer on our ROYALL STUART, we are the only two motor boats on Breydons vast sparkling expanse and we have timed it perfectly. Graham is named after a rather flamboyantly dressed gentleman gunner mentioned in Arthur Patterson’s books. We all salute each other and Wilf (the dog) and Ros wave as they disappear up the North End and we pass under the bridge.

Two yachts are split arsing about, one hoists its gear and slowly overhauls us in the brisk breeze, but not until near the Narrows at the Burgh Castle end. Mostly the mud banks are awash and May is not the best time for bird watching on Breydon, although godwit day takes place soon but we do see a lot of shelducks, avocets and maybe a few shovelers.

The Norwich river is quiet, the flood pushes us onwards and we look longingly at the Polky’s mill moorings but we want to get a little further upriver.  Soon Reedham up on its wooded ridge can be seen with the church tower silhouetted against the bright cloudless sky. Great grandfather Chris Royall used occasionally to moor his trading wherry on Reedham quay, maybe he wanted a pint in the Nelson, but he also had his eye on the landlords daughter, Alice, engaged to a railway man. On the day of Alice’s eighteenth birthday, her father who was also a wheel wright and general all rounder was up the church tower repairing the clock when he slipped and fell to the bottom of the tower stairs or ladder where he was mortally hurt. In his pocket was found his present for Alice, a gold sovereign. After this, Alice’s mother ran the Nelson, and Alice married Chris, despite the railway man. Chris was working for the Loddon company of Wood Sadd and Moore up the nearby river Chet, and that is where we are heading once we have paused to allow the Reedham chain ferry to cross the river.

We round the bend by Norton mill and creep up the delightful river Chet with its cattle grazing marshes and farms, wildfowl swinging above us as we pass Hardley flood and then Chedgrave Common.

One of the footbridges above an entrance dyke to the flood is under repair with a works platform floating alongside. On the opposite bank lays old Blucher Thains steel motor wherry JUNIOR loaded with flints and listing slightly. She was built for Bob Thain to replace the ex sailing wooden motor wherry FIR but the situation altered and it wasn’t until both Bob and JUNIOR began work for May Gurney later that they were united.

The moorings are fairly busy and barbeques out in smoky force, so we turn the fleet using the quant pole and chug back toward a newly dredged area of river at the bottom end of the flood. Here we plant two quant poles upright in the mud to keep PERFECT LADY from going aground and chuck the boarding plank ashore over which the dogs daintily trot for a quick walk along the riverbank up to the old concrete staithe where sugar beet was loaded into the motor wherries for transhipment to nearby Cantley, the afore mentioned FIR being one of them and it is not unlikely that JUNIOR might have done a freight or two from here also.

 

A spectacular sunset brings the day to a close. Shelduck in unheard of numbers swim and fly about the flood as trips of wild duck zoom in with lowered paddles to splash down. The pizzas are ready for tea and then we will shut up shop to keep the gnats out and turn in as it is very tiring on the river - Good night.

Kessingland Slog or Sore Paws

A bright cloudless morning sees us desist in our preparations to get PERFECT LADY ready for her trip south and head off for the Suffolk coast, an area that we have not walked very often.  Raven is ecstatic that we are visiting Adnams country, whose real ale stronghold spreads outwards from their Southwold brewery and he has packed his quart tankard in his rucksack.  How unfortunate it is that we must drive through Beccles on our way to Kessingland and it proves imperative to stop off at Twyfords to purchase picnic fodder.

It is a short walk to the front from Kessingland’s free village car park, but it has yet to wind up to summer speed, the pub looks half shut and the cafe sleepy. From here the gravel foreshore stretches some distance down to the sea, interspersed with small winch huts and longshore boats drawn nearly up to the road.

A fairly brisk breeze faces us as we walk along the dunes with the sea to one side and cattle marshes stretching away to the other.

Tillie and Raven roar about at top lick little realising the enormous distance yet to travel. There are quite a few dogs about the dunes but as we move further along the coast the number of people and dogs thins considerably.

Beyond the pumping station where the Hundred river exits to the sea we circuit round a small reservoir and along a deep dry drainage dyke through some gorse struggling into flower.

Above the dead bracken peeps a wartime pill box and on closer inspection the whole coast line is literally peppered with these solid looking concrete constructions.

Down on the shoreline the whole beach is covered in gravel and Sara and Tillie don’t like it one little bit, we climb up around another pill box and along the cliff edge but the path soon peters out to nothing where the cliff has eroded over the winter storm period.

We have to retrace our steps with much muttering from certain members of the squad. The low cliff appears quite sandy, and closer inspection reveals a row of tiny holes along the top into which are disappearing swift like birds, sand martins we presume. At moments there is quite a queue waiting to scuttle into the little circular entrances but as soon as we get ready to photograph the birds they naturally disappear.

It is difficult to explain but the crashing sea and low cliffs look somehow prehistoric but in any case we stumble along the harder surf edge occasionally getting wet feet when we don’t jump quickly enough.

Another elderly couple are steadfastly trooping through the stones and we overtake them or drop back as we halt to have a look at something of interest.

Suddenly the cliffs slope down to the narrow gravely beach and you would not believe it but there is a vast reed and tree bordered broad here called Benacre, just literally a stones throw from the sea. There are one or two ducks and a goose sitting on the dividing shingle bank with flocks of sea gulls resting over toward the Bay of Biscay.

A path now truly does depart from the beach and we rest and water the dogs amongst the trees in the Long Covert. Beyond the woods the path openly follows along the cliff edge with distant murky views of Southwold, where upon Raven licks his lips in anticipation.

First though I photograph a mother pig and piglets and you cannot imagine the noise the screaming gulls are making whilst attempting to steal the poor piggies food. Inland a vast church’s ruins stand against the blue sky, and soon we find ourselves turning out of the wind and entering the tiny village of Covehithe.

Inside the ruined nave is another tiny church St Andrews, thrown together it appears with various old bits of rubble and odds and ends. The big ruins were funded by some wealthy locals in the fourteen or fifteen hundreds but the local population did not warrant so large an edifice and once old Cromwell had knocked it about a bit and defaced the font it was decided in any case to let the major part decay into the picturesque ruins that they certainly now are.

The old couple tell Sara that they are walking to Southwold from their digs in Kessingland where their landlady informed them that it was only a four mile walk. Raven chuckles as Sara tells them that so far we have done just under four miles already but she does not let on to them that there is at least that amount to go again, in fact a sign post beyond the church states Southwold 5 miles, for sure, they are nearly done in now!

It is warm heading inland past Keepers Cottage tucked on a slope amongst the sheltering trees and a bit further along we pass along the edge of Holly Grove, which is strongly fenced against deer incursion.

Once more out in the open both we and the dogs are getting rather hot and hungry but we continue past Hall Farm finding a nice lunch stop near the village of Benacre alongside the path leading directly back to the coast.  Rather blandly now, we head out of the estate area and into a more open and less wooded landscape. The road passes the church with its rather, and possibly purposely, neglected church yard.

Carefully we cross the busy A12 Ipswich road winding along a country lane toward Henstead. There are some very nice Suffolk cottages and houses tucked away around here as a footpath passes through a farm alongside and toward the head of the Hundred river at Rushmere, however, before arriving at the Grange both Tillie and Raven drink thirstily from a muddy stream in a horses paddock but as Raven is heard to remark, stream water is no substitute for Adnams beer.

Across the Rushmere sluice bridge the lane rises slowly to where we have another drink stop beyond Tunns Cottages in some shade by the Hollies farm, the house owners along this lane fiercely protect their verge edges with all sorts of Vietnamese style punji stakes and other deterrents and soon we press wearily onwards.

Primrose Lane sounds pretty, but the landscape is almost barren here seeming to lack any trees or woods as it passes over a slight hill and down toward Kessingland.  A lady walking her dog advises us not to try to cross the dual carriaged A12 but to use the underpass which is distinctly less picturesque but a lot safer.  A long walk through the rather bland village takes us down toward the car park once again and it is true that this old fishing area has more character even if the industry itself is just about extinct.

Bearing in mind that we diverted a little from our intended route we are still surprised to find that we have walked in total just under 13 miles so what we would have done is anyones guess.  We were of course all completely worn out and foot and paw sore, in fact so tired was Raven that he immediately fell asleep in the back of the car and never even noticed that we drove straight home instead of visiting Southwold for his well deserved Adnams, when you see him next for goodness sake please don’t remind him.

Easter Turnround

Saturday 6th April - 7am. Under a cloudless chilly blue sky a carpet of white frost spreads across the roof tops, boats and quay headings. For a time all is quiet, doors are unlocked, gas meters checked, and eventually a puff or two of grey smoke emiting from central heating exhausts from some of the boat hulls announces that their crews are awake and attempting to thaw out.

As the Wright family begin to load heavy cases into their motor car and rising temperatures solidify the water hoses into hard snake like coils the DIAMOND, OAK and VELVET II return home to be stabled in their allotted spots and to be refuelled.

Do you remember seeing small sea going coasters tucked up the Bure just off Breydon? They were visiting the animal feed merchants Lee Barbers which after several buy outs unfortunately closed down. Well Mr Brown, VELVET II’s skipper last week used to be the chap who managed the coasters visits.

After a while the boys and girls who clean the interiors and exteriors of the boats arrive and mingle with the departing boat crews as yet another busy Saturday morning begins. Look, here is Mr “Coot Club”, VELVET III’s skipper who left the yard with his family a while ago, returning to retrieve a forgotten article. The boys have washed the boat tops with soapy water causing the frost to froth alarmingly, only to be hosed down with the by now thawed out water hoses.

The morning progresses, the boats, having had one side cleaned and polished are turned for the other to receive attention before a mass exodus to MacDonalds announces elevens’s. So far Sara has remained relatively calm, that was until she found that as well as hosing down the outside of COMMANDER, the boys had helpfully squirted water inside as well.

The pace quickens during the second half of the morning and at a quarter to one the yard is apparently in a high state of chaos but miraculously all is tidied up on the hour and only a couple of trailing hoses filling the last of the water tanks remain.

The boys and girls disappear leaving a queue of eager visitors outside the office waiting to be shown to their boats. We have a fair smattering of crews new to the Broads today and so Greg our trainee trial runner is to be thrown in at the deep end and will carry out his first solo.

As soon as the boat crews have stowed away their belongings we begin, a reasonably constant stream of departing boats telling Sara in the office that we are getting them away, often though not quick enough for her and “the ready list” but a few acid comments soon speeds us up a bit leaving poor old “Dynamo” Dave looking somewhat worried.  Finally VELVET II departs for her skipper to carry out his practice circuits with Dave and Greg on board and after a very long day they trudge back to the yard to gather their gear together and depart homewards.

The next day is also sunny and having walked Tillie and Raven up alongside the Bure Valley Railway, Sara plans a morning of jobs for me but having put in the first pane of replacement green house glass my mobile phone rings,

“DIAMOND here, we’ve just left Coltishall common and were rounding the Anchor quay when there was a terrific bang and a scream from the engine and we lost all control.”

Bugger! “Paul and I will be with you soon.”

We find DIAMOND latent, moored by the riverside houses built on the old Allens wherry yard site. In fact she lays right across what was the open spot between the repair and paint sheds where Uncle Billy’s big high stern sheet wherry SPRAY was hauled out for her biyearly spruce up. She was the biggest trading wherry that the yard handled, too big in fact to go under cover. Billy’s grand daughter travelled to Coltishall from his King Street, Norwich house for the launching, being placed in the open hold as she slid down the greasy ways and across to the opposite side of the river where her swift progress was halted by her unencumbered stern post digging into the rhond bank . I am not sure when SPRAY’s last visit took place but it would be I imagine round about 1920.

SOLACE also used to winter here in the dyke until Allens closed down in the mid 1970’s however, following the war she went elsewhere to be hauled out, either to Richards or Priors of Lowestoft.

Stop day dreaming....... DIAMOND’s crew recline in the sun as we investigate the engine, it is catastrophic, we think the propeller has walloped into some underwater snag putting an overdue pressure on the drive plate which has exploded.  Drive plates always seem to disintegrate on a Sunday and are about the worst riverside repair to have to carry out as the engine must be dismantled and unbolted from its beds to be prised upward. Two hours later we had the offending metal lump removed, marvelling that the inner splines had been stipped clean, although luckily the gear box was undamaged.

We returned to the yard where Paul prepared the replacement engine parts whilst I carried out, the newly wedded Mr and Mrs Junior Haddock’s honeymoon trial run, for which I received a box of delicious home made wedding cake and as yet untouched marmalade. We were sorry to hear that the senior Haddocks will be unable to holiday with us this year.

We returned to DIAMOND and some time later Paul fired the old girl up and following a bit of a kafuffle involving some extremely shallow water and a boat hook he carried out successful sea trials.

Right, home to collect Sara, Tillie, and Raven and then onwards to SOLITAIRE moored on Ranworth staithe with my toilet unblocking bucket full of various decorous items including an indispensible coat hanger. The offending article is soon hooked out of the bowl and following the all clear we walk along the marsh track away from the moorings.  A pair of teal spring upward from a drainage dyke jinking into the cover of an expanse of freshly cut reed beds, trimmed neatly right down to water level. The reed bunches are piled picturesquely in an old cart shed alongside the track with further stacks in a nearby meadow.

As dusk falls I finish replacing the greenhouse glass left over from this morning.

Tuesday 9th April. Today the weather has been much better and we have been preparing SOLACE to come out of her winter shed. There is a vast amount of gear to be passed down from the loft and each item must be placed in its own particular home.

Carpets laid, mattresses placed on bunks and curtains hung.  Dynamo has already scrubbed the deck heads and bulkheads and slowly SOLACE’s interior begins to once again take on a lived in appearance. Uptop the wire and chain martingales and spans that suspend the gaff are slid into position and the loops tucked tight against the wooden wedges, next, the sail is stretched alongside and then lashed to the gaff in readiness for a harbour stow.

The heavy wire forestay, as thick as your thumb is looped over the mast head and the heavy wooden blocks that haul the mast tightly upright are rigged. We must now reeve (thread) the main halyard through the various rigging blocks and masthead but it is not until we raise the mast later that we shall find out if we have got this right or not.

The gold leaf on SOLACE’s vane has been touched in and a bright new red seven foot lag stitched to the frame work in readiness for a summer moored on Wroxham broad, glinting in the sun.