Start of the two day road trip.
I was awake before five with my allergies giving me hell. It was so bad I thought I had a cold, but it went off during the day, allergies is the best fit, but as I was feeling better later, it don't really matter. Anyway, we have breakfast, I load the car having packed the night before, and I drive Jools to the factory. And It's just me and the open road. Well, apart from all other drivers in south east England who were driving too. In fact I got caught in a train of cars heading to Folkestone behind a Dutch camper van travelling at 25mph.
However, onto the motorway and into the rush hour traffic of Ashford and then Maidstone before the fun that is the M25 heading into Dartford. It is odd that the most important part of the motorway is the corssing and we have to pay to use it, even if it has already been paid for and it causes god-almighty traffic jams. It's not that the money is reinvested back in the road system, as you will see later when I moan about the East Anglain road system with its myriad of bottlenecks and planning disasters.
I get through the queues, pay my two quid to find the southbound traffic the other side of the tunnel is at least three times as worse. And then there is the hjoy of the A12 through Essex. How can it be that a simple road causes so much pain? Is it the mad driving, the racing to get to the next junction, the pointless jams at Chelmsford. I mean who would want to go to Chelsmford? But once into the quiet county of Suffolk, I was able to turn off and head into the Dedham Vale. Or would have if the road signs would have made sense! Does it sound like I'm complaining all the time? I don't like traffic, queues or Essex. So, maybe driving through Essex in the rush hour was planning for trouble.
I switched on the sat nav, programmed the first port of call, Stoke by Nayland, and set off. I was lucky that my friend, Simon, had provided me with a list of fine churches to visit. All of the churches I would visit this morning would be splendid. I saw a sign for the village of Boxted, and realise that is on my list, so I head there, driving towards Church Hill, which my spidy senses tell me I might find the church. I park on the small high street through the village, with the church on my left. I leave the sat nav in the car switched on, I thought there would be no thieves in such a wonderful spot.
And I was right.
St Peter was quite spectacular, to me, inside, it was like a theatre, with a gallery containing seats and the organ, with the later being the centre of the stage. It was a delight, and is quite possibly my favourite church of all. Some doing, but I loved the church. But, I had to move on. But I tell the folks clearing bushes for the church wall how much I loved it. She had only been in once, at Christmas, but though the acoustics were good.
It was only a five minute drive to Soke by Nayland, I found the church and parked on the main street of the village and walked up to the churchyard noting the worker's vans parked near the porch. This could be trouble I thought.
Simon feels that Stoke by Nayland is the finest church in England, as I do not now that much about churches I am not going to argue, but it is not mine. It has fine glass, memorials and tiles, but I did have a run in with one of the workers. I wanted to photograph the windows, and asked if I could get by. NO. I was told. We're busy. But you're just talking. No, we're busy, and we might hot you on the head, said the stage erector. I siad I would be careful, and he retorted that he would not be held responsible if I had an accident. All in all it put a damper on the church, so I got my shots and left. I mean I can always go back.
I stopped at the small book shop at the cross roads and by a Sherlock Holmes novel to read if I got bored that evening, and head off for the next church.
It is a short drive to Polstead, the next on the list. Now, I did not plan this and I am getting the feeling that I am retracing my tracks already, in fact I was to pass through Stoke by Nayland some four times during the day. Oh well, its no real hardship.
Polstead lies in a shallow valley, with the village scattered up one side. I assume that the church will be on the highest point. As there are only four roads in and out of the village, it shouldn't be hard to find. I drive past the attractive cillage pond, more like a lake and head up through the village, past many wonderful looking ancient houses, but find no church. Back down into the centre of the village and out another road, and still no church. This just leaves the road I came in on, and so head back down through the village, past the pond onto the main road, or what counts as the main road, and a few yards further along is a small white sign pointing up the other side of the valley into some woods.
A new road has been laid, and there is a good sized car park, so I abandon the car, grab the cameras and walk into the church year. From outside St Mary looks something like a typical small Suffolk church, others might feel differently about that, but nothing too spectacular. But once inside on is met with brick-topped arches and it filled with the most wonderful light. I am awestruck, and glad that I do not research these churches beforehand so my breath can be taken away by the beauty of these churches.
After getting my shots I go back outside, taking a tray of quinces that are on offer and deposit a couple of quid in the box as a donation.
I program in Wissington into the sat nav and set off. Soon I see we are to go through Nayland, so I decide if I can find a parking space I will stop here first and snap the church. Nayland is a stunning looking large village, but, it knows it. I wanted to warm to the village, but seems to be more Aldborough that traditional working village, I could be wrong, but judging by the quantity of high powered sports cars parked in the village square, I get the feeling I am right.
I find a place to park, and see the church framed down Church Mews making a fine shot. So I snap that and enter the churchyard, walking round t the main entrance through the porch. Inside it is another fine church, built on a grand scale. I really warm to the church and am happy to snap it.
When I parked the car I saw some fashionably dressed ladies sipping coffees outside a shop, so I go in search of a cup for myself, to find it an arts shop which held classes for children to pain ceramics, with a coffee bar as a side line. Having just two tables, and a queue of several people, I assume I won't get a table and hope I can find a place somewhere else. I walk back to the car, load up and drive off towards Wissington.
Entering the village, I see a sign pointing to Wisset church, not the one I was looking for, but a church, so I drive down the narrow lane to the parking spot. The church is on a private estate, and they don't want cars parking near the church. Or something. But it is only a five minute walk, and it is a wonderful autumn day with lots of golden sunshine, its no chore to walk.
Wisset or Wissington? Is the question posed inside the church, so they are one and the same, more mangling of the mother tongue by East Anglians, then.
I am greeted with the sight of the wooden tower showing over a modern barn, it looks wonderful. First thing I notice is the bowed end, which reminds me of Loddon. Entry is my a grand glazed porch, but inside the walls are covered by the remains of ancient paintings, and right in front, over a door, is a dragon. Not what I was expecting. It is a delightful small church, made all the more special by the paintings, some more complete than others. And once again I have the church to myself. I am tempted to stay here longer, but it is already getting near lunchtime, and time is getting away from me.
I program the next church into the sat nav and drive off; 6 miles. I get stuck behind a slow moving delivery truck, and we trundle along narrow winding lanes, eventually coming to Bures. I see the church and also a car park, so I decide to stop here, and in the end, decide this to be the last church of the day. St Mary is on a bend in the main road, and is another on a huge scale when compared to the modern village. It also has a fine brick built chapel and doorway on the east side, which I see when I leave and make a circuit of the building to get the church in the full sunlight.
I program in my friends place into the sat nav, and it directs me back the way I had came, but heading north towards Norfolk. Or so I hoped. Twenty past twelve and I am hungry and thirsty. It was now past opening time, and I think I should stop at the first pub I see for some scran. And a pint.
I find a pub called The Shoulder of Mutton in (searches Google) Assington looks welcoming enough. I find a parking space outside, and once inside order a pint of Adnams and a bowl of chilli and settle down to take in the details of the pub and people watch. Soon a party of ramblers comes in, fussing over where to sit, what to drink and the such. Tey are all of a certain age, early 70s I guess, but have enjoyed the morning, but I am glad i have already ordered as I feel the kitchen will be very busy for a while. The chilli arrives and is passable, it leaves a gentle burn on the tongue and throat, and my hunger is satisfied. THe pub is filled with the hum of over a dozen people, I want peace and quiet so return to the car and my journey north.
My destination is to see my friend Rob in Mendlesham. I am told it will take 45 minutes. Back to the A12, and then the blast up to Ipswich I know so well, but turn west onto the A14 instead of east to join the A140 north to Norwich and home ground. A few miles north I turn off and into the village of Mendlesham, once a prosperous village, but now traffic passes by a few miles east on the main road, and it is quiet again. I knock on the door waking Rob up, but he answers the door in time and after entering we spend a fine three hours chatting and drinking tea. As you do.
At five twenty I realise I have to get going. Now we are nearing the end of September, darkness begins to fall before seven, and I have to find a farm deep in the Norfolk countryside. I bid my farewell and return to the car and to the main road. Now, I say main road, but the road linking the county towns of both Norfolk and Suffolk should be better than the one we have now. I make good time passing through Diss and heading north. But at Long Stratton there is a cross roads with traffic lights, and these cause tailbacks of several miles in both directions. The road is single carriageway for most of its length, and where it is dualled, the speed limit is just 50mph. I am delayed fifteen or 20 minutes; the queues heading south are much worse. Anyway, I am soon driving west of the southern by pass, still with half an hour to go, and I sensed the evening coming even before half six.
I turn up a country lane, and pass through villages I have not heard of before. It was now gloomy and the horizon was lost in the dusk. It was nearly dark when I came into the village of Hindolveston, I had a post code for it, and little else. Thankfully the owner had called me on Wednesday telling me their drive was opposite the village hall. Just to find the village hall........
After driving to one end of the village, and back again, I find the village hall, and the sign for the farm. I drive down a gravel drive and park outside my accomodation for the night. The owner comes out and shows me where everything is. Sadly there is no pub now in the village, and I don't feel like driving to Melton Constable for a takeaway. But she says she will make me a sandwich and a pot of tea, if I wanted. Perfect I said. And ten minutes later I am presented with a tray on which is a ham roll, a bag of crisps, a bag of mini cheddars, a pot of tea and two slices of tiffin. Heaven.
I am shattered and fit for nothing other than reviewing my shots and watching some TV before bed. One of them good days I feel.
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