The Cockley Cley marathon

Since the first time I came to England I've been lured by tiny signposts pointing off the pavement into fields and wooded tree tunnels. These narrow footpaths crisscross the countryside and on this trip I finally had the chance to heed their beckoning call. These "Public footpaths" surround Swaffham, and nearly every town in England. Our first day here we walked Kodi (an enormous and goofy golden (white haired)retriever) along narrow paths between fields and on converted railroad beds now overgrown with brambles, nettle, beech trees and pines. The brambles are especially nice, loaded with blackberries that Kodi and I hogged down as we walked. On my second walk I ate fewer and by my third day I didn't even want to look at the damn berries.


For some reason Bob was inspired to complete a pub-to-pub walk along these paths, so he planned a lunch with the family at a pub in the neighboring (neighbouring) town of Cockley Cley. All five of us crammed in Larry and Val's tiny rental car and drove three miles to the Twenty Church Wardens pub in Cockley Cley. The eponymous Twenty Church Wardens are, according to Bob, smoking pipes which are on display in the pub. No photo, sorry. I thought he was joking.

Bob orders beverages at the bar (Strongbow cider for me).

I ordered a vegetable omelet but the cook glared at me and said, "order from the menu". That was my cue this pub didn't cater to special orders. "Mushroom," I told her quickly.

Check out the "jacket and veg" served with the omelet. Jacket is especially good. I looked on the British Potato Variety Database to determine the variety of this particular jacket. That proved too complicated, so I asked Win instead. Her seed catalog produced photos and we decided by random guess this jacket potato is an "Estima". Smooth, buttery, sweet, rich. At the end of the meal, not a speck of food remained in sight.

Lunch and drinks for five people came to 40 pounds (about $65). Worth every penny, especially since I didn't have to pay. Rain was threatening so we donned raincoats and set off on the footpath with an excellent map scaled two inches to the mile.

Sadly, non of the footpaths followed a route directly to Swaffham, and we zigged and zagged for about an hour before we stopped for a snack at the local sugar beet pile.

At mile five, the windmills of Swaffham helped guide us home. Trusty Guide Bob used dead reckoing to second-guess the obvious. In this photo above, on the right is a recently harvested potato field. The green field on the left is parsnips! A drought has stunted the crops this year and these parsnips barely had roots forming. I predict rising prices in the parsnip market this Christmas.



Around the corner from the parsnips we caught a potato crop headed for market.


Fields here are loaded with flint. Houses and churches are built with it. You can't throw a stone without smacking a hunk of flint. This photo shows a field littered with flint (must be tough on the harvesting machinery) with my artistic arrangement of flint. The arrangement was Bob's idea. Don't ask me why, but we'd been walking for two hours at this point and we may have been weak with hunger and thirst.

I'm learning a great deal here. Sadly I have forgotten nearly all of it. One random tidbit worth mentioning, thanks to Win, is that wattle and daub describes an old way of plastering the interior of houses. The wattle are thin sticks and branches that are covered with plaster made of clay, mud and maybe some animal dung. Betcha didn't know that!

Stay tuned for my next lesson.

More Adventures in England

Swaffham is an historic market town with an active weekenl outdoor market. The Peddars Way sign designates the 2,000 yer old Roman Road, a footpath connecting area towns which travelers and peddlers used. Now it is part of the National Trail System network for horses, walkers and cyclists. A town-to-town walk on these footpaths is in our plans. As Bob described it, a pub-to-pub walk sounds more accurate (and attractive).

Perhaps the most interesting bit of history relates to my family. The man depicted in the Swaffham sign (photo above) is named John Chapman. He was a local business man who supposedly found buried treasure in his garden and used the money to build part of the town church in the 1500s. My grandfather was named Clyde Chapman, a descendant of the John Chapman who was Johnny Appleseed in the US. I wonder how close the connection is between the Chapman families?


Swaffham has a terrific little gym, which we hope survives the onslaught of Bob. It is in an old converted barn. When I say old, I mean a few hundred years. Check out the ceiling beams.

The low ceiling beams are generously wrapped in foam and provide a home for displaced primates. Bob feels right at home here. He bought a month's membership immediately.

We had lunch at The George Hotel and Pub and watched a car pull up at the the light. Do you recognize (recognise) the contraption on the roof of the car (above)? I didn't either, until Bob noticed the Google sticker on the car. We surmised this is how Google Maps gets their "street view" shots on Google Maps online. Did you know a photo of your house might be online on Google Maps Streetview? Be careful about nude gardening.


After lunch we walked over to visit Win's older sister, Rene. She's a young 83 and her husband, Jack is 84. Rene apologized for her garden being "completely gone". As the photo above shows, she has a different set of standards. I'd say it has a bit of life left in it.

The next day I attended my first professional soccer game. Luton (Bob's home team) vs Tamworth (a small town south of Luton). In brief, Luton had been in the premier league until this year, but atrocious losses resulting in their relegation to the next lower league, much to the shame of Lutonites.
Happily the team won today in spite of poor playing. It was a bittersweet victory to Bob since they have fallen so low. I enjoyed trying to decipher what the fans were singing. They sang well, loudly and cleverly. I only caught ever tenth word, which sounds the same in every language.

Before the game I was so hungry I didn't have time to photograph my curried vegetable lunch at the Rising Sun pub south of Luton. It was perfectly spicy and disappeared way too fast.

See the tap on the left? That was a good half pint of Wells Bombardier I had with lunch.

I've seen a lot of these signs outside pubs fo Greene King, a brewery in this region. This sign is on the outside Three Tuns pub in Ashwell. Of course, Bob knew what a "tun" is. Do you?

Bob has educated me about how to select a good pub. Evidently many of the pubs have been purchased by big companies such as Pubmaster. A Pubmaster sign means that pub is right out. Not acceptable. Another unacceptable indicator is a listing of foreign beers such as Stella Artois. I'm learning. Slowly.

This thatched roof is in Ashwell. Thatched roofs are more common in Devon, where I visited last trip to England. The roof seems unfinished because one end of ridgecap looks as though it needs thatching. It also needs to be covered in netting to keep birds from nesting and to keep the thatch in place.

The Three Tuns in Ashwell.

A terrific dinner of a baked potato, baked beans and veg (the locals don't say "vegetables". It cost 4.95 (British Pounds), What a deal! Paired with cider AND a half pint of ale, much to the horror of the bar maid and Bob. Faux pas number one. My next post will have an even greater faux pas.