Sadly it was a bit of a return to winter for our March short break in St Ives (the Cambridgeshire one!), staying at the very comfortable and warm coaching inn, the Golden Lion. Very comfortably priced as well: taking advantage of a Black Friday deal last November, we got two nights’ for the two of us B&B for the princely sum of just £107.50! We do like the Coaching Inn group of hotels, and especially when you can get deals like that…

The wind may have been spearing like darts of ice across the Fens, but the trip got off to a good start with our first experience of the Cambridge Guided Busway. Yes it’s a bus, which means it is free for us, but it runs to time on dedicated routes, including a former railway line that runs through the wetland complex of Fen Drayton Lakes.

A pretty small settlement, St Ives felt very different to what we had expected, more affluent than the insular caricature of so many places in the Fens. Flowing round the town is the Great Ouse, a river we last saw at King’s Lynn, some 80km downstream, in December 2025. And the similarities between the two towns were marked, in terms of the riverfront architecture influenced by that of the near-continent. Although now above the tidal limit, St Ives was also an important port in historic times.

A centrepiece feature is the ancient stone bridge, dating to about 1420, with a chapel incorporated mid-span. The chapel now seems a bit bare and forlorn, especially given some of its other former uses as a private dwelling and a hostelry.

The bridge and the adjacent wharfside are made of lovely honey-coloured oolitic limestone, just about as local a building stone as is possible here in the Fens: it was quarried from Barnack, just north of Peterborough, about 40km away and presumably transported overland as the Middle Level Navigation that links the Nene and Great Ouse had not then been created.

The bridge was partially destroyed for defensive reasons during the Civil War by Parliamentary forces under Cromwell (someone who will feature throughout this blog), the two southern arches replaced by drawbridges. When repaired several decades later, bridge-building techniques had evolved such the the new arches were round, rather than the gently pointed original Gothic ones. Nowadays, the bridge is traffic-free and a delight to potter over, and on to the 19th century causeway on a viaduct with 55 low arches across the water meadows.

One house next to the bridge is particularly fine and caught our attention, Jacobean in style with a Dutch gable, and polychrome brick and ‘diapering’ (I have learned something!), decorative brickwork with repeated geometric patterns. But its listing makes no reference to any use than as a domestic dwelling: perhaps it  was built by a brickmaker (there were many in these parts, given the lack of local building stone) as a permanent advertising hoarding?

As soon as we disembarked the bus at the bus station, my eyes alit on interesting plants, Rue-leaved Saxifrage and Common Whitlow-grass in the paving cracks. Although common enough nationally, I was surprised to see them given what I assumed would be a marshland town.

But as we walked around we came across examples of genuine old stonework, where one would expect to find such plants, particularly around the remains of the Priory founded in 1017 when the settlement was known as Slepe. These walls are made of the same limestone as the bridge, but rubble rather than dressed blocks.

Then an amble around the rest of the old town proved that St Ives has much to offer, including a statue commemorating Oliver Cromwell:

Next day we turned our attention to Huntingdon, birthplace of Cromwell, but surprisingly seeming to lack the statuary of St Ives. It does have an interesting little museum that focuses upon his life and times, its exhibits including the recently acquired Cromwell’s watch.

When I asked the question ‘Cromwell – hero or villain?’ the helpful museum attendant said very appositely ‘It depends whether or not you are Irish!’. Cromwell is clearly a Marmite-man, hence the fact that Huntingdon it seems didn’t want a celebratory statue, so St Ives stepped into the breach. Our monarchy has provided many reasons to justify its abolition – in more recent times one just has to consider the Royals’ flirting with fascism in the ’30s and young girls in the noughties – but only Oliver Cromwell achieved it, in response to the attempted power-grab of Charles 1, seeking a return to absolute monarchy.

But history judges those in power by their failures, not successes: just ask Tony Blair… And Cromwell’s way of dealing with the ‘Irish problem’ was nothing short of Puritanical genocide: his purported religious tolerance extended only to the tolerance of other forms of Protestantism!

And in a classic demonstration of the fact that ‘Power Corrupts’ (nothing changes!), Cromwell’s end came about in no small part from a rebellion in his own ranks, the Levellers’ concerns that the democracy they had been promised was not coming. It is a sad indictment of the hold that those who ‘have’ on society that the rebels’ demands in 1646 were pretty similar to the demands of those massacred at Peterloo in 1819, the Chartists around 1850 and those of the Suffragettes at the start of the 20th century.

But I digress! Museums should make you think (as we found at Manchester [Peterloo] and Newport [Chartists] respectively), and this one certainly did. But it also provided us with welcome shelter as the day was turning into one of very sharp showers, including some heavy hailstorms:

With the weather changing rapidly throughout the day as the showers sped over, it was clearly one of those days to stay within easy reach of places of shelter: museums, churches and pubs! The two churches were St Mary’s, closed, but with Rue-leaved Saxifrage on the older graves…

… and All Saints’, very much open to all and providing a vital town centre community function for those in need. Both churches were low-rise, at least compared with the numerous besteepled ones we saw elsewhere, but why? It may come from a residual puritanical streak, or something as prosaic as the underlying ground conditions being insufficiently stable to support a tall steeple.

And so onto the pubs, again two in particular. We do like a galleried coaching inn (see the George in London and the New Inn in Gloucester from our previous trips), and the George in Huntingdon was in similarly pretty good condition, albeit not with an atmosphere that encouraged us to stay…

The pub we did decide to stay and enjoy was Sandford House, a fine Wetherspoons conversion of a former chapel, post office and private residence of Charles Sandford Windover, a major Victorian carriage-builder in the area. Given that Huntingdon lies on the old Great North Road, midway between York and London, it seems a very appropriate place to have both carriage builders’ and coaching inns.

And in Sandford House, Jude was thrilled to find the luxurious opulence of the ladies’ loos!

Other historic buildings abounded in the heart of the town….

… but one in particular attracted our attention, while we were waiting at a bus stop. Thanks to the magic of Google Lens, it was identified as the home of William Cowper, which sent us down another investigative rabbit-hole over a glass or two the following evening!

William Cowper was a troubled and, ultimately, tragic poet, hymn writer and Abolitionist in the 18th century, who was repeatedly institutionalised for ‘insanity’ through his life. Being what some might mockingly refer to as a ‘confirmed bachelor’, his rejection of both heteronormative and homonormative traits clearly created (or maybe derived from?) internal emotional tension. And his most famous legacy, the words ‘God moves in mysterious ways’ assume a tragic role as his attempt to rationalise these conflicts.

Huntingdon also has a fine stone bridge over the River Great Ouse, this one dating back to 1332, a century or so older than that at St Ives, reflecting the convergence of several historic roads and trading routes on this stretch of river.

Down by the river, the sun came out warmly, illuminating some early-flowering Greater Celandine, and banks of White Comfrey, the latter being visited by an avidly feeding female Hairy-footed Flower-bee being closely attended by a couple of hopeful suitors.

Unfortunately this bridge is not car-free, but it is bypassed by a footbridge. So across we went and found ourselves in Godmanchester (apparently still ‘Gumster’ to some older residents); on that side of the bridge lies an impressive (converted) mill building, and a small group of listed cottages around Bridge Place.

We took a bus into the town centre but walked back, accompanied by Red Kites overhead, when we realised how close the two towns are! Another church, St Mary the Virgin, this one with a spire, albeit one that is hollow and letting light through, no doubt to keep weight down. And lacking almost any trace of interior ornament, although the exterior gargoyles are fearsome!

The riverside was a timeless view of middle England, complete with ‘Chinese Bridge’…

… and an eel-pass to provide Eels with a chance to surmount human obstacles in the tamed river on their return from the Sargasso Sea. The lock walls formed a natural damp garden with both Hemlock Water-dropwort and Hart’s-tongue Fern.

Our third and final day dawned with another about-face weatherwise. Crystal blue skies, and the wind while still with a northern chill had dropped to a gentle breeze, such that inl the slightest shelter the burgeoning spring warmth made for a very pleasant day. Even Oliver seemed very pleased with himself, as the Free Church spire speared into the blue:

First we walked upriver, along the Waits, another former wharfage. The Norris Museum was well worth a look, and just across the road there was a very handsome building, the Methodist Hall. In sunlight, the ferruginous rocks from which it is built were particularly beautiful. These are carrstone, another fairly local stone, quarried from the King’s Lynn area; these very rocks reputedly constitute the last bargeload of rock brought to this wharf at the very start of the 20th century.

Carrstone is the basal layer of the cliffs at Hunstanton, an iron-rich sandstone dating from just before the Cretaceous chalk seas, and particularly suited for building given that its surface hardens considerably on weathering.

In the river at this point lies Holt Island nature reserve, although we were unable to access it due to flooding. But the song of a myriad Chiffchaffs drifted across the Backwater, over the heads of Mallards, Coots and Moorhens all in various stages of friskiness, and a melanic Grey Squirrel fed unconcernedly on the boardwalk.

On the riverbank, All Saints Church with its imposing steeple made for very attractive views:

But the best sighting of our trip came from looking down into the still waters: a shoal of fishes like no other, thousands upon thousands of Roach, up to about 15cm long, weaving around like a forest of waterweed. And then erupting in huge murmurations, spooked by a couple of Mallards swimming harmlessly over, creating an audible swish and stirring up a protective shroud of bottom-silt.

Finally it was back to see the old bridge in good light. Walking over, there were lots of swans and ducks…

… but then walking back twenty minutes later the Sand Martins had arrived. Half-a-dozen or more, presumably just in from Africa, and within another ten minutes they were busy investigating the drainage pipes coming out of the bridge as potential nest sites.

The wind had dropped, the sun was hot, and all was well with Spring!

Early March saw us heading to London for a gig in Docklands, but as always we tried to maximise our fun by building a short break around it. So when we arrived at Stratford it was a right turn, out by bus to Hackney and London Fields, inspired and intrigued by a recent London Inheritance blog.

The walk from the bus stop took us past some impressive buildings, including 5 King Edward’s Road, a 1920s clothing factory now converted to residential in a very pleasing style. And just across the road, the first of many welcome places of refreshment, this a coffee stop in the Mare Street Market.

The day (indeed the whole of our trip) was unremittingly dull, but the Flower Sellers sculpture/installation in London Fields certainly cheered things up. Joyful, with allusions to the former use of the area as a ‘staging post’ for livestock heading for their final destination of Smithfield Market, that dates back only to the 1980s, but now feels as timeless as the large Plane trees in the Fields themselves.

The London Planes harboured numerous Rose-ringed Parakeets (of course!), some trunks surrounded by a halo of flowering Sweet Violets, and throngs of happy people revelling in the Spring, even in the grey gloom of the day.

The larger trees showed clearly the unreliability of bark as an identification feature, that on the primary trunk being grey and deeply fissured, here with a spider’s nest, but on the younger stems, the more expected flaking mosaic of colour.

And those trees that had reached the end of their life were being recycled naturally by fungi of several sorts, interspersed with the orange tufts of a terrestrial alga, Trentepohlia.

Approaching lunchtime with darkening skies, a pub was in order. The Pub on the Park was functional, albeit rather soulless while delivering the necessary refreshment. But close by, the Cat & Mutton was altogether more welcoming, a genuinely historic hostelry (established 1729) which made us want to linger, especially as the skies had by now opened! Good surroundings, good beer, and very good food. We even discovered the reason for its apparently odd name: originally the ‘Cattle and Shoulder of Mutton’ it clearly had a function serving the meat market traders.

By the time lunch was over, it was really quite unpleasant weatherwise, so we headed by bus to Docklands, and our hotel, a very pleasant (and extremely reasonably priced) high-rise Travelodge right next to Bow Creek. Up we went to floor 13, and we were thrilled to see the view over Poplar to the City, with the beautiful Brutalist edifice of Balfron Tower, one of the Goldfinger-prints on the London landscape, taking centre stage!

From there it was an easy ride into Canary Wharf by DLR, for our evening’s entertainment on the Theatreship (Trappist Afterland, The Gentle Good and Henry Parker).

Next morning, it was at least dry although no less gloomy than previously. Down at the Bow Creek nature reserve, a Grey Heron and several Shelducks were feeding happily in the shadow of looming hi-rise, as the song of Cetti’s Warblers echoed around the concrete canyons.

Being low tide, muddy margins were exposed and were frequented by Oystercatchers, while Teals dabbled in the shallows.

Heading up the tidal River Lee/Lea, our first destination was Cody Dock, a redevelopment of a disused dock space, with sustainability at its heart. We felt very much at home, especially with the very fine coffee and breakfast inside us, in one of the vital edgelands of the river.

One of the features of the site is the Rolling Bridge, a novel, unique design that will ultimately allow the water access once again to and from the Dock. Cleverly counterweighted, it runs on a wavy track and can easily be operated single-handedly (apparently)!

Approaching the entrance, Elaeagnus x submacrophylla was in full fruit, while some of its leaves were galled and distorted, probably attacked by the Elaeagnus Sucker psyllid Cacopsylla fulguralis, originally from Japan but now spreading widely in the south of England.

The vegetation in the planters harboured several different-looking, but ultimately unidentifiable flies…

… along with Sage Planthoppers, and a couple of interesting  snails, Kentish Snail and Girdled Snail, both native in more southerly parts of Europe and now spreading here, especially in urban habitats.

As we continued upriver, we saw or heard a couple of fly-by Kingfishers, together with more non-native, spreading molluscs: the terrestrial Wrinkled Snail and huge numbers of Asiatic Clams deposited on the path presumably by gulls trying the break open the shells. This species arrived as recently as 1997; it is now well-established in the Thames, the Norfolk Broads and the Great Ouse system, and still spreading.

Planted Hazel bushes alongside the path were in flower, but noticeable mainly by the abundance of Big Bud galls, caused by a microscopic mite.

As we approached Stratford, there were some interesting sculptures forming The Line public art trail, including a double-helix of shopping trolleys, and several trees with abundant lichens on their trunks, including Flavoparmelia caperata and (rather green) Sunburst Lichen, together with orange patches of the parasitic lichenicolous fungus Erythricium aurantiacum.

Looking back downstream, the Balfron Tower loomed large in the landscape, while in the other direction appeared the equally remarkable sculptural skeletons of the old gasometers of the Bromley-by-Bow Gas Works:

From this point the river becomes more braided and corralled into locks and mill pools of Three Mills Island, a beautifully preserved series of 18th century tide-mills, with Cormorants roosting atop the turrets.

And across the sewage works, tantalising glimpses of the ornate Byzantine-styled tower of Abbey Mills Pumping Station, a key part of Bazalgette’s mid-19th century grand plan to clean up the River Thames.

And so onto the Greenway, a raised walkway on the embankment formed by the Northern Outfall Sewer. Here there was Green Alkanet in good flower, its blooming brought forward no doubt by the urban heat-island effect, fruiting Old Man’s Beard, the Pumping Station from a different angle (we really must try and visit on one of its open days!), and the remarkable row of listed cottages built for the workforce in 1865.

All that was left was to wander into Stratford, for food and drink in the Abbey Tap, our final pub of the trip, as we waited for our train home!

Some welcome blue sky and sunshine peeping through broken cloud illuminated our two-and-a-half-hour rail trip from Euston to Morecambe, as we sped past numerous familiar sights from Camden Roundhouse and Wembley Stadium, to the Chilterns and Red Kites, canals and flooding, the Peak District and Forest of Bowland.

And so with a change at Lancaster we rolled into Morecambe just after lunchtime. And straight off the train we found ourselves immersed in birdiness, from sculptures to pavement poetry …

… as we walked the short distance to our hotel, the Midland, the whole reason we planned this short break. It all goes back to our visit to Dulwich Picture Gallery last May to see the Tirzah Garwood exhibition. A few days later Jude was reading a book on Seaside Architecture, where she came across this hotel and the fact that shortly after it was built in the 1930s, Tirzah and her husband Eric Ravilious had painted a mural therein. Unfortunately, the mural soon fell off the wall, and indeed the hotel fell into disrepair in the post-war period. Fortunately the building was rescued, revived and reopened in 2008, and a mural inspired by the original recreated for the filming of an episode of Agatha Christie’s Poirot: we just knew we had to visit, and we were not disappointed!

From the outside it is a classic Art Deco building, designed by Oliver Hill, whose work we are familiar with from the seafront at Frinton. And from the outset the artistic touches are apparent, including two seahorse sculptures over the entrance by Eric Gill.

And the delights continue inside, both public spaces and rooms adding to the feeling of luxury.

Art included a frieze by Eric Gill and THAT reimagined mural:

And the view from the room was an ever-changing montage of light and tide over Morecambe Bay, looking over to the hills of the Lake District.

The views from the rear were no less enticing, with the old railway station, now a pub (well, we had to..!) and the distinctive stepped outline of Ingleborough showing how close to my home county we were…

We could easily have spent the whole afternoon sipping wine in the Rotunda, but it was sunny and the prom and stone jetty were just out there. So out we went, for wonderful views of the hotel, and as the tide was in, just a few birds including Great Crested Grebes fishing and Redshanks and Turnstones roosting on the beach.

But the bird and marine life art theme continued all around us, with sculptures …

… to plaques in the pavements, along with natural adornments like Sunburst Lichens:

The sun was sinking so it was back to our very comfortable, spacious, stylish room to watch the natural light show. And as daylight slipped away, the art show continued with the shadows and light on our ceiling.

Thence to food. My venison fettuccine was simply lovely! Then breakfast, again overlooking the Bay, this time with a fast-receding tide and grey skies, as flocks of Eiders and Curlews flew along the shore. It may have been a bit more expensive than our usual hotels, but it really was worth it for the experience.

As we left the hotel, yelping overhead alerted us to a skein of Pink-footed Geese heading south, in a formation that was reflected in the flocks on the promenade fence:

Along the prom again, there were yet more bird artefacts, together with once-impressive but fading seaside buildings:

And before we departed we had of course to pay homage to Eric, proudly wearing his binoculars on the edge of one of the most important sites for wetland birds in the country. Sadly, he didn’t manage to bring us any sunshine for the rest of our trip…

It’s getting to that time of life when I am increasingly excited at getting my bus pass (just a month to go!). So taking a bus ride seemed a good way to get into the mood. We headed a little way down to the village of Heysham, to seek out an appealing looking ruin, St Patrick’s Chapel, happily screened from the ferryport and nuclear power stations.

A short walk past walls dripping in spleenworts brought us first to St Peter’s Church, its churchyard filled with flowering crocuses and running down to the cliff slopes.

The church was almost crypt-like in proportions, no doubt keeping a low profile from the teeth of salt-laden winds.

Inside, it felt very serene, and laced with intriguing history, including a Viking hog’s-back and a stone cross from a century earlier, both intricately carved. It really felt like it justified its Grade 1 listing, but given it is believed to be one of the earliest sites of Christian worship in Western Europe, with parts dating back possibly to the 6th century, the fact we were there alone was remarkable. And delightful! There is something so magnetic about carved rock, and we were happily transported back to two previous places of wonderful carvings, the Govan Stones near Glasgow and the church at Llantwit Major.

Then perched on the rocky knoll above the church was St Patrick’s Chapel, now ruined. From the 8th century, it postdates the founding of the church but predates the bulk of the present church building. Despite their exposed location, battered by wind, water and salt, the rocks and walls are still encrusted with lichens and wreathed in ferns.

And around the ruins, there were the rock-hewn coffins, dating from the 11th century, brought to wide notice on the cover of an album by Black Sabbath.

Such a swirl of intertwined history, and it came as no surprise to read when we returned home that the site was actually occupied some 12,000 years ago as the last Ice Age retreated into the depths of memory. Places separated by the centuries but connected through the very rock on which they stand, the recall of the ages. Very special indeed, bearing a windswept serenity, redolent of Lindisfarne or Iona or St Davids without the hordes….

As we headed on to our second location, again by bus, cloud turned to drizzle, and eventually to rain which stayed with us for the whole of our time in Lancaster. Such is the West Coast!  And so after a short walk along the banks of the Lune, we felt fully justified in taking refuge in the Three Mariners for a drink, fortification for the steep slog up the hill to the Priory. But even the rain didn’t send the Sage Leafhoppers scurrying for cover!

While not having the same aura as the morning’s church, the Priory did feature historic artefacts, some fine modern stained glass (with yet more birds) and a warm welcome from the vicar without any expectation of religious observance.

Down the hill, past the Castle and more banks of flowering bulbs, we headed into town, dodging the worst of the rain in a café and charity shops.

The monumental stone buildings really didn’t look their best in the gloom, so as soon as we could we headed right through the city to our second hotel, the Toll House Inn.

Right next to the canal, before it got dark, a towpath walk was in order, to our next pub, the delightful Waterwitch.

After a good dinner and comfortable night at the Toll House, our third and final day dawned (just). Grey gloom and heavy rain almost all day kept us from venturing far, so a day of outstanding food and drink was in order, starting with the Toll House breakfast which I can say with certainty provided one of the very best full English breakfasts I have had during our two years of monthly short breaks. The local sausages and black pudding were just wonderful!

A super start to the day, giving us strength to face the rain and the frankly appalling busy roads just outside with no provision for pedestrian crossing. But safely back to the canal, we headed towards the Cathedral, welcome shelter among neo-gothic opulence.

And then next door, another excellent pub, the White Cross for a couple of drinks …

… before returning to the Waterwitch for the most wonderful late lunch, in fact, for me at least, some of the best food I have ever had. I opted for two starters – the creamiest seafood chowder followed by a medley of black puddings. Fantastic food in canalside surroundings, watching the rain, and contemplating the train ride home. Unfortunately, various delays en route meant our return home was an hour later than timetabled, but it did at least mean that our five hour train ride was free!

For the first of our February short breaks it was away to London with Eleanor for a couple of days. This month has been dreary and very wet, so it was good to be out in at least dry weather, albeit rather cloudy and cold. The WWT London Wetland Centre at Barnes was our first destination, hoping to show her the waterfowl getting spring-frisky, something we have wanted to do since our last visit there in January 2024.

Sadly, while there was some weak sunlight, it was probably not warm enough for full-on display, although the Goldeneyes and White-headed Ducks were at least trying to perform.

And it seemed to us there were rather fewer ducks and geese on show, perhaps explained by the bird flu precautions at all of the entrances. Still, there were still plenty of ornamentals to see…

… along with a good scattering of wild birds.

And the Asian Short-clawed Otters were as reliable as ever at feeding time, along with Bob, the opportunistic Grey Heron:

Aside from birds there were Snowdrops and Winter Aconites in fading flower, Daffodils at their best, and Cherry-plum, Cornelian-cherry, Alder catkins and sprouting Butterburs in a sure sign that winter is coming to an end. At last!

From there it was to Richmond by bus, and thence to our hotel, the Rose of York. With a lovely situation just outside Richmond Park and overlooking the Thames, we were pleased to find this as a reasonably priced option and comfortable for future visits to this area. And the roaring fire in the bar was most welcome as daylight faded!

Next morning, the forecast rain hadn’t appeared so we walked to the riverbank across the somewhat splodgy Petersham Meadows…water meadows as they should be! One feature of the meadows was the number of freshwater mussel shells, presumably dropped on land by birds. They seem to be Swollen River Mussels, known from the Thames upstream of Putney, and indicative of the now good water quality of that stretch of the river.

Breakfast in the lovely Hollyhock Vegetarian Fairtrade Café in the Terrace Gardens, with an accompaniment of a singing Blackcap (among the numerous Rose-ringed Parakeets!)…

… and then it was along the riverside path up to the historic Richmond Bridge, an 18th century Portland stone bridge, and the oldest remaining Thames crossing in London.

Amid the shopportunities in the town, St Mary Magdalene Church provided a peaceful refuge from the bustle and traffic of the streets…

… and a couple of significant Art Deco buildings – the Odeon Cinema and the Rail Station – pointed towards the fact that we should think about returning before long.

On these blogs of trips with Eleanor we traditionally include some of her photos. This time they were so good that they take their rightful place in the above: daffodils, snowdrops and roaring fire. But we also wanted to show that our time away is also filled with the sort of things an eight-year-old loves to do!