May 31, 2012: Harpley to Ringstead
Wildflowers on the road from Harpley back to the Peddars Way
It seemed bright enough as we made our way down to breakfast at 8:00 on the next-to-last day of our walk. Our lunches were waiting for us and I was discussing with Mrs. Case my plans for returning to the Peddars Way when that lady took agitated exception to my plans. I had assumed that the quickest way back to our route would be to reverse our entry into Harpley – but, when we reached the top of that steep hill we had climbed yesterday, we would continue forward on our track until we had reached the highway – turning left here for the short distance needed to find a minor road leading west at Limekiln Plantation.
Mrs. Case felt that any progress along the A148 was fraught with peril, however. She recommended a more leisurely return to our route – one that would use infrequently travelled local roadways in order to join the Peddars Way a short distance to the south of Anmer Minque. This we agreed to try and, relieved, she opened her front door at our departure, announcing ruefully, “It’s raining!”
Yes, there was a very light drizzle at play as we made our way through the electronic gates and turned north on Back Street. After passing only two houses we stopped to put on our raingear (well our jackets at least) and, though the rain stopped almost immediately, I kept mine on just for the warmth – it was again cool today.
We continued in a northerly direction, soon reaching the dreaded A148 itself. We only had to cross it – easily accomplished – and here we were faced by a V-junction. Our route would head off in a northwesterly direction from this point and it soon proved to be just the delightful passage predicted by our landlady. Indeed, there was very little traffic as we passed a number of farmsteads in a rolling green countryside, dotted with distant plantations. After passing Morgan’s Field Barn we reached an unpaved section of our route – but no change in direction.
Wildflowers continued to decorate the verges and, indeed, we found whole fields resplendent in magenta and purple. As we neared (another) Bunker’s Hill we were surprised to be overtaken by a huge tour bus – which we soon found parked next to the nearby woodland. It had disgorged an army of primary school kids, whose chattering voices we could hear as they ran around on their nature studies deep inside the woods.
Some tumuli rose on our left and we at last left the woodland behind us. I had tucked the OS map (number 250: Norfolk Coast West) into my map case and, particularly on a morning like this, I was happy to be able to follow our progress on it rather than rely on the narrower confines of the guidebook. But at last, after three miles or so, we reached the Peddars Way and turned right with Alfred Hitchcock. At the next road crossing we paused for a little rest. “I think it’s beginning to rain again.” Tosh said – and she was right.
Approaching Pentonville Plantation
We had moisture for the rest of our walk, some six and a half miles or so in the wet. Walking was still relatively easy, a straightforward plod, sometimes on dirt, sometimes on tarmac – with a number of hills to conquer in a lovely countryside with fields of grain and rape alternating with the occasional patch of woodland. But I am never wholly happy to walk in rain. It’s not just a question of encroaching dampness (though my feet were still dry enough) or restricted views – but I always regret the loss of photo opportunities. Indeed, at one point I remained behind to bury my camera in my pack and to don my rain pants. This was a very difficult manoeuver for me – since, even though the zippers on the pant legs were generously long, I still had nowhere to sit or to lean against and I had great difficulty in lifting my leg high enough to slip it through the gap.
After several miles Tosh began to fret about the need for a lunch stop but, in the rain, we could not just sit down anywhere. Off on our right was the community of Fring, with its Church Farm and steeple and ahead of us, at a hilltop containing Hill Plantation. I could see that the track was embraced by trees. This, I suggested, might provide the right kind of cover and so, after we had climbed the hill (encountering two approaching walkers and their Lab) we found a gentle bank on which we could sit down in relative comfort.
Lunch included the usual sandwiches and even a little pork pie. I drank a bottle of Peartizer – but this was not a patch on the apple version of this fizzy drink.
After a nice rest we continued our northerly plod, passing Sedgeford Plantation, crossing the Fring Road and nearing Dovehill Wood – and encountering two rare instances: a westerly diversion and some real footpath. To confirm that this was right I had to turn the pages of my guidebook and this did admit some moisture to the map case, unfortunately. The footpath dumped us out on the B1454 at Littleport, where we turned briefly to the right in order to find our continuation at the next left turn.
We passed Magazine Farm and the line of a disused railway and even had a second dogleg to the left before beginning a slow ascent of the hill on which the Sedgeford Belt woodland dominated. Soon thereafter we walked off the new page as well, but I was pretty sure that on the downhill stretch our track was headed straight for Ringstead, our terminus today, and that the Docking Road was about to join us on the right.
We were soon back in civilization and I decided I needed to change pages after all. We had been instructed to phone for a cab at the Gin Trap pub and I could now see that we had to turn west, round a corner and head north again in order to reach this spot. Marge and I lost Tosh at this point; she was chatting behind us with a local who told her that (1) the pub would be closed but that (2) there was a shop that would sell us a cup of tea.
The latter, which we discovered soon after passing the Gin Trap on our right, was the General Store, on our left. This large emporium specialized in antiques, but they also made hot drinks and they did sell newspapers. There was no place to sit down, however, so (with our paper cups in our hands) we returned to the pub – where Tosh and I sat on a wooden bench and Marge hunkered down under a tree. It was 3:15.
In raingear, I reach Ringstead.
Tosh used her phone to dial a number I had in my pocket as she called Ben’s Taxis in Hunstanton. They promised to come in fifteen minutes and so we sat in the lightest of drizzles while waiting. By reaching Ringstead we were now only five miles from the end of our walk and, indeed, Celtic Trails had originally had us walk to the end now. But I knew that my ladies would object mightily to a fifteen-mile day and so I had proposed that we content ourselves with a mere ten and a half miles today (we had saved a mile on Mrs. Case’s alternative) and finish off tomorrow before heading back to London.
Our driver soon arrived. “Are you Ben?” Tosh wanted to know – “No, just one of his disciples,” was the reply. While we made the short drive to Hunstanton I completed additional arrangements, one that I had discussed with Tosh earlier in the day. She wanted to get back to London as early as possible so she could buy tickets, on sale tomorrow, for the transmission of Metropolitan Opera broadcasts in Notting Hill – so I was pretty certain she would object to waiting around for a slow bus and would agree to take a cab the fifteen miles to King’s Lynn. She would – and would pay for it as well.
We arrived at The Bays Guest House on Avenue Road shortly before 4:00. Our boots had to come off at the front door of this superior b&b run by Anna and Jane and we were soon on a tour of accommodation possibilities. There had been a cancellation and we received an upgrade in our own quarters. I had a very large room at the front of the house, a giant bed and a nice bathroom with shower.
I laid all of my wet things on top of the radiator, including the guidebook, and fell asleep listening to my IPod. At 6:00 we ventured out, after getting a rundown on dining possibilities, and headed for the coast, where the sun was now resplendent in the blue of late afternoon skies. Tosh and Margie wanted to have a drink while overlooking the Wash and at the Golden Lion Hotel a kindly receptionist showed us a little side room where we could do this. I had another gin and tonic and we ate some peanuts.
Then we tromped about a bit looking at menus in windows before taking the easy option of the Old Marine Bar, a working class joint full of holiday-makers and golfers. The latter had invented a drinking game that involved tossing a matchbox and seeing if you could get it to land on its edge. Margie had her usual chicken and Tosh and I both had scampi and chips. I now drank a pint of lager as well. The food was quite satisfactory but very pedestrian and we all agreed that we should have dined with the ladies back at the Bays Guest House instead.
To this spot we repaired as the light faded. I felt quite satisfied to have reached this point in our progress – and only a sore spot between my legs offered any discomfiture. I disdained the massive task of covering all of my windows with curtains, feeling I was too tired to be bothered by the extra light, and at an early hour I went to bed.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: