Day 2: Thompson to Sporle

Weather: Cloudy and cooler

Distance covered today:24.5 km (15.2 mi)

Last night's B&B: College Farm

% Complete: Cumulative distance: 26.9%: 43.3 km

GPS satellite track of today's route: Day 2 (click!)

Coincidence seems to pervade these trips!

I had planned to deviate from the trail today to buy myself a sandwich to take along for lunch, and so it was that I came upon the rather depressed little town of Watton. Coincidentally, I had overheard at breakfast my fellow boarder, Rod, a travelling salesman from the Midlands, discussing with my hostess, Caroline, his plans for the day. These included a visit to a hardware store called Myhills where he would be flogging his wares and wishing happy birthday to Myrtle, who runs the place. He proudly announced that he had bought her a box of chocolates.

He didn’t mention the town, but to my surprise, as I wandered down the road in Watton from the local sandwich supplying Co-op, I came across a hardware store called Myhills!!  Surely not??!  Before I knew it, I marched into the shop and demanded in a loud voice to be introduced to Myrtle. She appeared from the gloom, and with a flourish I wished her happy birthday. The rest of the clientele broke out in applause! I asked her whether she had enjoyed her chocolates and I could have knocked her over with a feather! She was delighted!  I explained the coincidence, took her picture, and left her to the tender mercies of her local customers who were all over her!!

Emboldened by my good deed (I hope it was a good deed! Perhaps 56 year-old Myrtle had been concealing her birthday from the locals for years!!), I decided to reward myself with a cup of tea. I chanced on a lovely little place where I thoroughly enjoyed the ceremony, so much so that I asked the “front of house” staff if I could take their picture, to much communal mirth. Turned out that one of their number hails from Lithuania (unsurprisingly, given last night’s rant!).  She seemed only too happy to talk, and she told me that she was a qualified journalist with a higher degree, but that she would be earning far less back home as a professional than she was as a waitress in Watton.  It was nevertheless her ambition to find a job in journalism in the UK, but she acknowledged that language was the problem. I suspect that the ravages of the internet and the peculiar nastiness of the UK tabloid press may also be a problem, but I chose not to explore those issues. Instead, we discussed Russia and she shared with me the concern of her family about Russian intentions towards her homeland. I saw a spark of real terror in her eyes, and I concluded that wild horses would not extract her from the UK.

Ultimately chastened by my experience with the modern world, I returned to the ancient Peddars Way, and was, uncharacteristically, given the length of today’s walk, persuaded to visit a chapel on a hill, or more specifically, St Mary’s Church at Houghton-on-the-Hill, a significant deviation from the Way. There I met David. He was all on his own in this tiny church, in the middle of nowhere, waiting for someone to talk to! He looked hugely surprised as I scraped open the door and quickly informed me that the fellow who regularly performed this task, Mr Davey, was in hospital having his hip replaced. He was just standing in, but he often did so.  He knew his subject! He took a deep breath and by means of a rather alarming laser pen, started to explain the wonders on the walls of the church. And wonders they are!

Apparently, Mr Davey singlehandedly restored the church in the 1990s. Decaying plaster was removed from the walls revealing wonderful Romanesque paintings of biblical scenes. When I asked David whether he agreed the art was Romanesque, he denigrated my suggestion, telling me that the art was produced in the 11^th Century! (Unfortunately, David doesn’t understand the meaning of the word Romanesque, thinking it was something left by the Romans. His love for the art transcends his education, but I think no less of him for that).

He launched into a fascinating description of the history of the church, telling me that the paintings had been plastered over on the orders of Sir Thomas Cranmer, who survived Henry VIII and acted for the young Edward VI. If the church had not fallen to wrack and ruin, these wonderful paintings would not have been uncovered.

By now David was in his pomp! My only strategy was to ask a question every time he drew breath, until he got my drift. I made a contribution to church funds and pleaded Peddars Way urgency.  He couldn’t believe I was doing the whole thing, and I suspect that given his pedantry, it would indeed be beyond his comprehension!

That said, as I wandered further along my trail, he grew in my affection.  I will often think of him, sitting there alone in his lonely and isolated church, waiting with his laser pen for someone, anyone, interested enough in the miraculous preservation of ancient art in the Norwich countryside, to visit him and his treasure.  

Last night's B&B, the elegant College Farm

Trees disappearing into morning mist

Another ubiquitous English pastime: searching for antiquities (and hidden treasure!)

A house in the main road of Watton. They have a point!

Myrtle and her birthday! (She's looking great for 56!)

The staff of the tearoom. The girl on the left is from Lithuania. The fellow in the background insisted on coming out of the kitchen for the photo-shoot!

Given the local air pollution problems, one is left to wonder whether Watton is twinned with a state of mind or a town!

At last! Hills in Norfolk! Not big, mind you...

So many trees here seem to be covered in creepers

St Mary's Church on Houghton-on-the-Hill

A Romanesque painting in the church. It depicts the Angel Gabriel blowing his trumpet at the Apocalypse. On the left, we see the dead getting out of their coffins and answering the call

A flower pot at the entrance to the village

These turbines are built on an RAF airfield. It was formerly the site of an American airfield in WW2. It lasted only 3 months, during which they flew 64 missions and lost 540 men and 50 B24 Liberators.  My mother could never understand or justify those raids

Yet another disused railway line on the path

The first rapeseed of the spring