Why Stafford? Well, we had never been there, and knew nothing about it, except a vague memory of some Civil War connection (as do many places of course). But we were offered a great deal by Coaching Inn Hotels, one of our chains of choice. And we love a dip into the pot of luck!

To some Stafford, or Staffordshire, might mean terriers or the iconic knot or the hoard of Anglo-Saxon gold and silver. And yes, Staffies were everywhere, a cartoony attempt to rehabilitate the canine reputation, and knots in every conceivable location. Now come to represent heritage, community and the symbolic joining of disparate parts of the county, the knot origin is debated apparently, one theory being it was a devised by a hard-up hangman to hang multiple victims with just one rope… But as for the hoard, well it has decamped to Birmingham Museum, so one for another trip!

So we had no expectations, but the instant impression, stepping out of a pleasant station, safely across the road, into Victoria Park, over the lovely River Sow and straight into the largely pedestrianised town centre was a joy. And the town centre air was breathable even in the (re)building heatwave.

It was soon apparent that the centre was full of interesting buildings, some very remarkable, particularly the area around Greengate Street and Church Lane. Ok, there were also plenty of closed-down shops, vape shops and the like (name a place that isn’t now like that!), but lifting the view above the ground floor proved a journey through time…

Leaving aside the churches for now, the earliest building was the remarkable Ancient High House, built in 1595 as a town house, now the largest timber-framed such house in England. Herein lies a Civil War connection: Charles I stayed there after raising the standard in Nottingham and effectively blowing the starting whistle on the conflict; later on, the town having being taken by Parliamentarians, it was used to house Royalist prisoners.

We felt that inside it was disappointing compared to the exuberant exterior, although perhaps that isn’t so surprising given that it was falling into dereliction in the 1970s, and rescued only after a concerted local campaign involving local boys the Climax Blues Band (a blast from the past for those of a certain age!).

Next in date, and almost next door, the Swan Hotel, built as two houses and a tavern in 1606 but combined into a coaching inn in 1752. Yes, it has wonky floors, but no signs of ghostly activity; being residents we were able to appreciate the original internals at leisure.

Next, Primrose Cottage from 1610, now a funeral parlour, and a lovely set of almshouses, endowed in 1660 by the past MP Sir Martin Noel, from days when some MPs were public-spirited, not seeking to line their own pockets. Guess what is high in the news as I write this!

Moving forward further still we come into the realm of monumental, mostly municipal buildings (many now repurposed), no doubt reflecting the status of Stafford as county town. There is the 1798 Shire Hall, now a ‘business hub’…

… the 1877 Borough Hall, now the Gatehouse Theatre, with a lovely terracotta frieze on the 1888 brick extension…

… the Public Free Library from 1913, funded by the Carnegie Trust, but now seemingly unused…

… and built in the same year, the Picturehouse, now enjoying a second life as a pub with original internal decor.

1937 saw the building of the art deco Stafford College Tenterbanks building, although its first use was as an army hospital …

… and even in the modern era, buildings which to us had their charms, the 1978 borough Civic Centre with splendid clock tower and across the road, the 2010 county council HQ. A real journey through the architectural styles of the centuries, and something we had not expected to become so engaged in.

Then of course in addition to all these there are churches, here the spires of Trinity Church and the Baptist Church with attractive lattice-spire; the latter down by the riverside may have been required perhaps because of the need to keep weight down on sinking soils.

But lording over them all, indeed the whole town centre, was the Collegiate Church of St Mary, cathedralesque in its domination of the skyscape.

Dating from the early 13th century, it is on the site of the Anglo-Saxon church of St Bertelin; the foundations of the latter have been revealed by excavations in the 1980s and feature in the otherwise uninteresting churchyard.

Originally featuring a spire, it collapsed in a storm in 1593, and then by the 1840s the whole building was mouldering. So it was over to George Gilbert Scott to renovate, in a supposed mediaeval style, rebuilding the tower in a striking octagonal form. As for the impressive gargoyles and ornamentation, whether original, faithful copy or flight of fancy, it all adds up to Grade I listing.

On our last day we even got inside, to hear a sublime alto and lute recital.

Chance to explore more deeply, with interesting features including a bizarre Norman font, (accidentally) beheaded effigies, some beautifully understated stations of the cross, as befits an Anglo-Catholic Church, and wall paintings attributed possibly to Gilbert Scott, showing a real Art Nouveau flair.

There is also a modern stained glass window depicting one of the trades upon which the town was founded, shoemaking, and a memorial to Isaak Walton, local lad, ‘piscator’ and author of the 1653 fisherman’s bible The Compleat Angler. But all may not be what it purports to be. Walton was highly devout, and the book is seen by some as a veiled manifesto for Anglicanism (‘The Compleat Anglican’), written at a time when openly worshipping the wrong god or the wrong form of the same god could be terminal…. plus ça change!

But St Chad’s knocked that into a cocked hat for us. Sitting across from our hotel, it looked ornate, enticingly so, but mocked us by being firmly closed at all times. Until just after the St Mary’s recital and a few hours before our train home when it was open for a craft fair.

To walk into the interior was like walking into a menagerie of figures and faces, ornately and crisply carved into the stone: we have never seen anything like it, and the overall effect felt almost like an abstract celebration of the pagan. But then if you are a new religion on the block, why fix things that ain’t broken?

Any religious symbology seemed superfluous, although the early 20th century altar piece, almost Orthodox in appearance, was quite beautiful, as were the modern west windows.

The church itself is the oldest extant building in town, dating from the 11th century. But its fortunes waned, especially after the building of the more imposing St Mary’s, and from the 17th century it fell into severe disrepair, so much so that the interior Norman decoration was plastered up to strengthen the whole structure. Enter once again George Gilbert Scott in the 1870s and his restoration zeal, although here it was restricted to some structural stabilisation and crucially uncovering those wonderful decorative motifs. Even his florid imagination could not improve on what he found!

So what of the wildlife?  Herring and Lesser Black-backed Gulls all over the rooftops brought a whiff of the seaside to this most landlocked of locations, their cries occasionally rising to a frenzy as one of the local Peregrines flew through.

Old walls of course have their own unique plants communities, especially around a steady dribble of water…

… and even their modern counterpart, green roofs on bus stops, add biodiversity, while the pedestrianised streets provided secure basking for a few Painted Ladies. Their early summer invasion has clearly penetrated this far.

And as always pocket-sized brownfields added nature into the townscape. Spear Thistles at full anthesis showed well what the Patchwork Leaf-cutter bees were burying themselves deep into their white counterparts for…

…while a patch of Black Nightshade in a forgotten corner turned up Green Shieldbug nymphs and a remarkable red form of Common Froghopper, both sap-suckers oblivious to the plant’s toxins.

Flowing through the heart of the town, the delightful River Sow, a tributary of the Trent, brings Yellow Water-lilies and Banded Demoiselles into everyone’s lives, whether they know it or not.

Plants of the margins and shallows included Purple Loosestrife, Water Forget-me-not, Great Yellow-cress and both of the tricky-to-separate pair, Lesser Water-parsnip and Fool’s Watercress.

Running through Victoria Park it is a little more tamed but no less beautiful:

Other features of the park include a lovely, free hot greenhouse full of tropical plants, a well-kept aviary filling the air with the plaintive coo of Diamond Doves; the old machinery of the historic Town Mill…

… plus ornamental trees, including Silver Maple with the distinctive bladder galls, new to Britain in 2002, of the mite Vasates quadripedes, Izaak Walton again, and a bowling green: the last hour of our visit was spent in the sun, having lunch and watching the strategies play out on the crown green. Genuinely fascinating. We know how to have fun!

Beyond the park, the river passes the long-disused Broad Eye Windmill, tallest mill in the Midlands and now home to a radio station and a fish and chip shop.

Continuing on, under busy roads, we plunged into the wilder side of the Sow. As might be expected here, Himalayan Balsam seems to run amok unchecked except, interestingly perhaps, by infestations of what seemed to be the Asian Balsam Aphid Impatientinum asiaticum.

And a lovely selection of other green wedge wildlife to keep the naturalist in us happy!: Cinnabar caterpillars, Small Skippers and Ringlets, Batman Hoverfly, 2-spotted Ladybird, mating Polydrusus formosus weevils, and the bugs Plagionothus arbustorum (photobombing Poplar Rust), Orthotylus marginalis and tiny Birch Catkin-bug nymphs – only when looking at the photos later did we realise there were even teenier ones, presumably first instar, in shot.

So far, so near, all on foot. But one evening we decided to head to Stafford Castle, walkable but an easy bus-ride away. The knoll on which the castle stands is now shrouded in Beech woodland, rather lovely in low light and full of Nuthatches…

… but from the top the vista is largely obscured by the growth of a past couple of hundred years, masking the strategic prominence of the site whose purpose is to see and be seen. It was all very different in its heyday!

The motte and a timber fortress were in place by about 1100, the stone added around 150 years later, a red sandstone from local sources.

The castle may now be in a ruinous state but it is undoubtedly impressive, and we were well placed to appreciate it, after the castle closed but the paths still open, the fading sun flickering on the red stone, set against blue skies. With nobody there but us! And sadly the interminable drone of the M6…

And of course lichens!

Our one significant diversion away from Stafford was up to the Potteries. We headed there by bus, giving us flexibility to leap on and off. Which on seeing a scary-looking church as we approached Newcastle-under-Lyme bus station, we did. And yes, it was scary, a deeply forbidding monstrosity built of sombre brick, with few positive features outside and seemingly fewer inside, although we didn’t venture in as a funeral was under way.

But just a few metres away a roundabout like no other, a sunken garden connected to the outside world by underpasses, full of subtropical planting that evidently thrives in the sheltered microenvironment, its sunken location also insulating visitors from noise on the busy roundabout. And virtually no litter, or evidence of antisocial activities. Other public authorities could and should learn from this: Colchester may have the magnificent Albert Roundabout, planted by the Beth Chatto team and universally loved it seems, but what of the miserable, abused sunken roundabout at the eastern end of Southway. All they can think to do is fell the trees, making bad worse, then filling it in, bringing pedestrians back into traffic, with risk, pollution and delays all round. Perhaps all that is needed is a bit of imagination?

Then on to the Potteries Museum at Hanley, a bit of a disappointment really as it is mostly closed for refurbishment, and only the Spitfire Gallery and café were open.

But all was forgiven when we realised there was one of the iconic bottle-kilns we could get up close to just down the road …

… and on the museum steps, perhaps the most beautiful rove-beetle we had ever thought of seeing, Platydracus stercorarius. Apparently not uncommon in Britain, especially in the Midlands, it seems to like open mosaic habitats and brownfields, so museum steps can fit that category!

So it was another very successful short break, even if impacted a little by illness. Stafford especially was impressive historically, but its fortunes have fluctuated over the past decades. There are signs of at least a couple of waves of town centre investment over the past half century, but it currently feels to be in decline again, the improvements of the past now fading from memory. But we have to say, everyone we spoke to or who approached us was extremely friendly, and we did get an excellent meal one night in the Swan. My smoked duck caesar salad was amazing! And even on big match night (World Cup), the streets, while buzzing, didn’t feel at all intimidating.

June is always a peak month for seeing the delights of a botanic garden, so last week for me it was three in three days, dodging the rain. The chance for some ‘extreme botany’, taking photos of plants from all over the world, including usefully some rare British plants without the need for long treks into the wilds!

First, Chelsea Physic Garden. Only our second visit there, the warm sun was interspersed with a couple of sharp showers, but it was lovely, the blue sky adorned with lenticular clouds:

Lots of interesting plants here, of course, many with a medicinal bent, although not exclusively:

And not just showy flowers: seeds, leaves, stems and fronds were all interesting and photogenic too:

And in the hot, sunny interludes the insects and other invertebrates performed for us, surprisingly abundant given the position of the garden almost surrounded by the metropolis. These included Zebra Jumping-spider, and Mullein and Knot Grass caterpillars, hopefully indicating the garden is managed without recourse to poisons…

… diverse bees, including Colletes daviesanus agg, Osmia leaiana agg, Gwynne’s Mining-bee, Wool Carder-bee and Honeybee….

… Batman Hoverfly and Ferruginous Bee-grabbers (‘Gargoyle Flies’ to us!) mating….

… 10-spot and 2-spot Ladybirds (the latter seems to be resurgent this year)…

…Cinnamon Bug, Hairy Shieldbug and the eggs and nymph of Green Shieldbug…

… and lots of Azure Damselflies busy making more Azure Damselflies.

Perhaps the most interesting finds, none of which are shown from London on the NBN maps were the cloud-winged hoverfly Pipiza lugubris (with recorded sites no closer than Cobham and Grays) and the banded metallic longhorn moth Nemophora fasciella, a scarce East Anglian species that the map shows reaching only as far south and west as Dartford, an apparently significant range extension.

Then it was over to Oxford Botanic Garden, again my second visit.

Here is a treasure trove of botanical riches, with some important conservation collections of endangered endemic plants from places like the Canary Islands and other Atlantic islands gathered in Britain’s oldest botanic garden.

And much more, including in the glasshouses, providing welcome shelter from the repeated torrential and thunder downpours as well as lots of interest.

The gardens are well laid out, with themed sections. Sadly the parasitic plant bed, of particular interest to me, was well past its best. A May visit might be better some time.

But the Mediterranean rock planting was wonderful, bringing back the memories, sights and smells of many past visits, and without the incessant nibbling pressures of goats disfiguring the plants! This included a section on the specialities of Crete, one of my regular haunts in the past and a place where the endemics often have to be really searched for, and then sometimes in inaccessible spots:

Insects were few and far between because of the rain, but included a Painted Lady and a Footballer hoverfly.

Finally was the Harris Garden at Reading University. This was my first visit, but sadly restricted by a much more organised band of heavy rain which washed out the morning plans.

It had passed through when I reached the Harris Garden at Reading University. But…  was it the gloom, or was it that this was clearly one of the lesser British botanic gardens? More a flowery park with some interesting trees, it made little attempt to engage people in the wonderful world of plants. The labelling was sporadic (and not always accurate) and there seemed to be little effort at interpretation. I was disappointed, although the value of any urban greenspace that is not mown within an inch of its life cannot be overstated, and a school party bug hunting in the meadows was noisily joyous.

While its website suggests it is a valuable teaching and research resource for the University, I felt it was rather limited, especially in comparison with Oxford, and others like Cambridge I know well. Perhaps this is the result of the closure of the Plant Science department, followed by transfer to the responsibility of the Estates Department. I just hope that this apparent dumbing down has not also been reflected in the internationally significant herbarium of preserved specimens.

So, what flowers there were were dripping with recent raindrops, attractive maybe but of little use as an identification resource.

And the only other wildlife a solitary Cucumber Spider waiting in vain for dinner!

Three botanic gardens in three days, not all successful but overall very enjoyable, each a cheap or free day out (for Chelsea, remember to check for ‘2 for 1 by train’ offers) and, for me, the chance to immerse myself fully in plants and what they attract, always a joy, whatever the weather!

Half term, and as often try to do, it was away with Eleanor for a few nights. Little did we realise just how hot it was going to be, a fierce late spring heatwave that certainly restricted some of our planned activities (except ice-cream eating!). We last visited Tunbridge Wells a couple of years ago, and at the time thought she might like it there, especially the Wealden Sandstone outcrops for climbing.

The town itself was a challenge, at least for we lowlives, with hills in every direction, quite an obstacle in the heat. But the tree-lined  streets were model of sanity that all towns should aspire to be like in the global greenhouse…

Straight away it was into Calverley Park, for the first ice-cream and lunch, followed by an hour in the play park. Chance for us to sit in the shade, to keep Eleanor hydrated and take in the gardens, with plants wild and cultivated. Too warm for many insects though apart from a single Closterotomus trivialis bug and a few bumblebees.

‘Mount Ephraim’ may be a bit of hyperbole, but believe me it felt like a full-blown mountain as we slogged up there to find our hotel, a bit of a disappointment this time after an outstanding stay previously. Perhaps a lesson there: don’t look back!

But at least perched on the heights there was a modicum of breeze, and of course panoramic views over the town:

The Common is a lovely area of greenspace, trees full of Long-tailed Tit family parties, calling Nuthatches and singing Blackbirds and Song Thrushes, with Swifts screaming overhead, all set among grassland coming into peak pollen season! And of course the rocks….

It was Wellington Rocks we were headed for, and they provided plenty of opportunity for ‘hard play’ (no safety nets here!) on both afternoons of our stay.

Geologically, the rocks are gently spectacular, water-worn, showing strata of pebbles indicating different depositional environments around 100 million years ago when what is now the High Weald was a warm river delta.

In the cracks and crevasses where moisture can gather, especially on north-facing walls, there were ferns, mosses and liverworts, despite the pounding they have had from the activities of generations of youngsters:

On our second morning, we took the bus out to Eridge Rocks, a lovely nature reserve, the only downside being the complete lack of any provision for pedestrians to cross the very busy road safely on alighting at the bus stop. Seems car is king in East Sussex, as sadly in so many places.

But on reaching the reserve, the modern world is forgotten. Dense woodland around a ravine of those Wealden rocks make for a magical place, abounding in half-imagined wood sprites and goblins:

Some faces, eroded by wind into honeycomb structures, were like we have seen before only in the cliffs of West Bay (Dorset) and north-eastern Menorca…

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And where the cliffs turn to face north, a rich covering of lower plants and lichens, albeit looking less spectacular than on our previous visits probably because of the near-absence of rainfall for the two months preceding.

Then on our final morning, the temperature ameliorating a little, it was out by train to Hastings. Being a sunny Saturday in half term, the crowds were out in force, but it provided the requisite ice creams and funicular to the heights, among begging gulls and screaming Swifts, and views over the town and a by-now-hazy Channel.

Rock-A-Nore beach, as far east at you can get along the prom, provides excellent views of the spectacular cliffs, the rocks looking similar to those on the High Weald but actually about 40 million years older…

Nesting Fulmars kept up their guttural bickering despite the heat of midday, and along the lower cliff slopes, Hottentot Fig, Buck’s-horn Plantain and Tree Mallow provided the botanical interest.

All that was left then was the chance of a wonderful, and reasonably priced, smoked fish platter at Webbe’s fish restaurant, while Jude’s holiday was topped off in fine fashion at the sight of one of Hastings’ notorious residents, the ‘naked cyclist’ speeding home. Must have been getting a bit hot!

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And finally, as is now traditional, the blog ends with a chance to display some of Eleanor’s phone photos, ones that I would have been proud to take. Flowers, wild and cultivated, always seem to stir her creative juices…

… together with those flowers attracting insect visitors …

… and not forgetting the plants that can look interesting after flowering.

And just a final couple: a perfect set-piece of found objects in nature…

… and a flower-head she promptly titled, without prompting, ‘Little Lands’. A fascinating insight into the eyes and mind of an eight-year-old! #ProudPapa, as always!

Our early May short break by public transport (May is too good a month to miss, so we generally have more than one that month!) was an opportunity to visit hitherto little-known parts of East Anglia, and to use our bus-passes to the full…we are getting rather evangelical about them!

So we headed to Norwich by train, but it was then by bus all the way until our return a couple of days later from Diss. Two nights in Beccles gave us a great opportunity to explore, the usual mix of wildlife, wild spaces, architecture and historical townscapes, although sadly not quite in the way we anticipated. Our hotel, Swan House, on booking.com claimed to have its rooms in the disused church tower, a good part of our reason for selecting it, but we arrived to find the tower actually across the road. Yes, we could see it, but not quite the same, and a complaint is in progress!

But whatever the shortcomings, Beccles as a town didn’t fail to impress. As we approached by bus, the view of the hulk of St Michael’s Church looming over the town atop the only high ground in the vicinity was already impressive, indicative of the wool and trade wealth of the town in former times. Up close it was just as impressive, notwithstanding its lack of an integral high point…

And the aforementioned tower, detached as a campanile because of the structural risks of building such a structure on the edge of the former cliff-line above what used to be the port, and impressive by night as well as by day.

Inside, the awe subsides. Much of it was rather plain, and even the stone heads seem unimpressed. Could this be a result of the great fire of 1586 which destroyed the interior of the church as it was, along with a sizeable part of the town?

From the churchyard the views were lovely, over the Broads National Park, the River Waveney in the foreground, its reed-fringed margins crackling with the songs of Reed Warblers.

The feel of the town was somewhat akin to both Kings Lynn, wearing proudly its trading influences with the Low Countries, and Rye, with its commanding position in an otherwise flat landscape.

And as with both those towns, Beccles was full of historic buildings. The list of 149 of them seemed remarkable, although not out of keeping with the other towns we visited as we subsequently discovered, and includes churches, shops, houses and many others, some timbered, others with decorative brick- and flint-work.

The delightful little museum of local interest is in one such building, Leman House, built around 1570 and restored a couple of centuries later, adding brick and flint facades to the timber frame. For much of its history it served as a free school, the layout of which is partly retained inside.

The rear garden, overlooking the river, contains some wonderful wooden seats, richly clothed in lichens and with many Virgin Bagworms, silken bags clothed with bits of grit and algae from their surroundings which contain either larvae or wingless females: there are no males, so these odd moths spend all their life inside their bags.

Even the modern Tesco store celebrates the history of the town, well known in the past for its printing industry. Established by William Clowes in 1803, the printing works merged with Caxton Press in 1873, and became a major employer, specialising in printing directories and reference books. ‘Caxton’ is of course a significant name in British printing history, William Caxton having introduced the first printing press to England in 1476, going on to publish many significant works, including Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. But the Beccles Caxton Press seems to be unrelated to the original, a fortuitous (or opportunistic?) branding perhaps?

We searched hedges and greenspace for insects in the lovely sunshine of our first afternoon, finding a nymph Toad Bug and lots of Pinalitus cervinus, a variable mirid bug, mostly on Ivy leaves…

… along with basking flies such as the hoverfly Epistrophe eligans, a Helina sp. and and anthomyiid in a buttercup flower (demonstrating well how bees are not the only pollinators in town!), together with Red Mason Bees, Holly Blues and Painted Ladies, part of the recent influx to our shores.

All around the town there were gulls, Herring and Lesser Black-backed, waiting opportunistically on the rooftops, but largely dissuaded from breeding by the widespread deployment of anti-bird spikes. So the Nationwide deserve a big pat on the back for accommodating a nesting Woodpigeon with grace!

All in all, Beccles was a lovely surprise to us. That is apart from the disappointment of our room not being in the bell tower, and the Waveney House Hotel losing our food and drink trade when we turned up, and nobody came to serve us after ten minutes’ wait. The Hotel’s loss was Wetherspoon’s gain, and saved us a pretty packet…

Next day the weather changed, dawning grey, damp and cool with a biting easterly wind. Not perhaps the best of days to head by bus on a white-knuckle double-decker ride, careering along tiny roads to Southwold on the coast, especially with dire forecasts of rain. But remarkably we survived and the serious clouds skirted us, producing no more than a couple of drops all day.

A walk to Gun Hill gave us views of the cold seascape, the decorative beach huts and over the dunes south to Sizewell, as well as a very welcome hot coffee at the kiosk café.

The cliffline along the prom was covered in flowers, including Sand Sedge, Buck’s-horn Plantain and Wild Clary, in places supplemented with showy maritime garden escapes including cultivars of Thrift and Seaside Daisy.

The pier looks historic but, after the slings and arrows (wind, waves and wars) of the 20th century, was substantially rebuilt between 1999 and 2001. It still has the traditional arcades and ice creams one would expect, and yes, even with the cool wind, we indulged ourselves in the first ice cream of the summer!

The pier also provided coastal views, including back to the town, marine-life-themed furniture and a tribute to George Orwell, whose family home was in the town for 9 years of his all-too-short life.

The two most prominent features of the town’s skyline are the lighthouse and church. Set back from the coast, the lighthouse still functions, an essential marker for avoiding the shifting shoals offshore.

Presumably the church tower also serves as a prominent seamark by day. Dedicated to St Edmund, the church is clearly proud of the refuge for nature provided by its churchyard, branded an ‘Eco-church’.

Not overmown, there were a few insects around, including a Small Copper feeding on Mouse-eared Hawkweed flowers, and fresh green Beech leaves in sheltered nooks supported lots of life, here Gooden’s Nomad-bee, a Hawthorn Shieldbug and flittering flocks of Green Longhorn moths, trying hard not to get blown away.

The gravestones and churchyard walls too kept us happily occupied looking at Grimmia pulvinata, mating Fever-flies, hunting Zebra Jumping-spiders…

… and a kaleidoscope of lichens, including sulphur Psilolechia lucida, black Melanalixia fulignosa and pale grey Phlyctis argena.

If Beccles’ church disappointed internally, the opposite was true of Southwold’s: ornate woodwork everywhere, including the beautiful main door, some charming decorative paintwork…

..plus stained glass depicting among many other things the martyrdom of St Edmund, killed by invading Vikings in 869. And then there is the array of saints, their faces erased by iconoclastic fervour, Medieval cancel culture.

Once again, all around the town there was historical and architectural interest, indeed with only five fewer listed buildings than Beccles,

.. including, of course, hostelries. The Swan looked good, but it’s ‘fancy high teas’ vibe wasn’t to our taste, so we had lunch in the Crown. Good choice! What a lunch: for Jude, lovely fish and chips (as traditional as the ice cream) and for me the best (and reasonably priced) fish platter I have had in years.

It is impossible to avoid Adnams in Southwold, so to round off our walk, we had to sample their produce, this time in the Lord Nelson. Given that, by now, grey had given way to blue, we headed into the sheltered garden. There to accompany Southwold’s best, a Turtle Bug Podops inunctus sharing our table, rather a strange choice of habitat for what is normally a ground-hugging insect. And of course gulls, their raucous cries and beady eyes, laced with the sight and sound of tinkling Goldfinches from the rooftops. A lovely end to the day.

Our final day, and the weather changed again. Sun pretty much all the way, although yesterday’s cold easterly airflow persisted. We decided to round off our Beccles experience with breakfast at Twyfords Café, recommended to us by a passing local the day previously. Not our best decision: the porridge was cold, with mushy frozen strawberries, the breakfast bap hard to get through and served with a salad full of peppers (whoever heard of such a thing at 9am?), and all highly overpriced. We live and learn.

So back on the bus we headed to Bungay, the neighbouring town up the Waveney valley. Here we were treated once again to a feast of historical interest and listed buildings, this time 190 of them, although some in the town centre were in a sad state of disrepair.

One semi-derelict hulk drew us to it, having all the appearance of a former workhouse, although we have not been able to find any reference to such online. The old brickwork did however have a couple of ferns, Maidenhair Spleenwort and Wall Rue, not a common feature in the dry heart of East Anglia, and Danish Scurvy-grass formed a band at the base of the wall, looking very different to the squat, salt-sprayed plants on our major road-verges.

Situated on high ground within a large meander of the river, almost every road heads downhill. With plenty of trees on the slopes and low-lying pastoral marshes it would be idyllic, if not for the curse of the infernal combustion engine. Cars everywhere, and few provisions for pedestrians to cross the roads; at least the vast majority of political signs (it was election day) were for the Green Party, so perhaps there is potential for change…

Three churches form a flock in the middle of town, and in each of those, the green message seems to be getting through: no holy mowers eradicating every scrap of life from God’s (three) Acres! Some of the invertebrates taking advantage were a soldier-beetle Cantharis rustica, harvestman Phalangium opilio and spider Philodromus sp.

Of the churches, the most externally ornate was St Edmunds, most visually pleasing was Holy Trinity, with its distinctive flint, brick and stone round tower…

… while largest and most interesting was St Mary’s, with the priory ruins tucked behind. When the church was struck by lightning in 1577, there appeared a ‘black Hell Hound’ which has led to Bungay becoming associated with the legend of Black Shuck, tales of whom haunt the whole coastline of East Anglia.

Bigod Castle, a tumbledown Norman edifice, forms the other centrepiece of the town, although currently under repair it is both closed to the public and clad in scaffolding, making it rather difficult to photograph attractively.

The greenspace around the twin towers is partly enclosed by what is left of the castle wall, and it was here in warming sunlight that we saw the most insects of our entire trip, including Tree Bumblebee, Painted Lady, Snout Hoverfly and Brown-tail Moth caterpillars, the latter apparently feeding upon Plane leaves.

But what was most remarkable was the sheer number of aquatic insects, here on the highest, driest part of town. Banded Demoiselles and Large Red Damselflies are, like many of their group, prone to wandering to feed but much more surprising were the shimmering clouds of Ephemera vulgata mayflies bouncing up and down over the mown grass. These don’t feed as adults, and given they live in that stage for only a day or so, it all seems very risky to move so far from the waters in which they breed.

All that was left to do was sip a welcome pint in The Fleece; their menu looked very enticing, but we ran out of time, before it was back onto the bus, this time to our rail interchange at Diss. Just a couple of hours to see our fourth town, and that was quite probably enough, notwithstanding it apparently being John Betjeman’s favourite Norfolk town…

We started at Diss Mere, a natural glacial ice-melt lake. Some 3ha in extent, and reportedly 6m deep, with a further 20m of mud below that (pretty much ‘bottomless’ as per its reputation through history), it is a significant landscape feature although at least on our visit supporting only a few motley Mallards and gulls.

Part flanked by the old part of Diss, the remainder is an extensive recreational park, unimaginatively close-mown. And given the number of kids in the playback, and that we needed the loo, we felt that the firmly closed toilet block, with no information on where there might be facilities, was a big fail by Diss Town Council.

So after al fresco relief, we walked the Heritage Triangle, a town centre regeneration initiative based around its historic commercial heart, and many of the town’s 157 listed buildings.

We could see the potential, but for busy through roads, incomplete pedestrianisation and the proliferation of vape shops and the like… it all just felt a bit unloved. But there remains an undercurrent of history, with St Mary’s Church perched impressively above the Market Place, once again rather simple inside, although the 18th century Decalogue Board on the west wall was impressive.

A hint of urban green was provided by the churchyard and other wayside corners, including another Philodromus spider inhibiting the Yews, again the unfamiliar statuesque variety of Danish Scurvy-grass, and what may be the rarely recorded parasitic wasp Otoblastus luteomarginatus. ‘Rarely recorded’ rather than ‘rare’ because there are few people recording them so the grand total of 13 records in the UK on the National Biodiversity Network map is very likely an under-representation.

In fact a couple of hours was more than enough time for our needs to explore Diss, and the final half hour was relaxing, looking over the Mere from the garden of the Waterfront Inn, with one final stop on our trek to the station being at the town sign, featuring the 1213 (alleged) murder of Matilda, daughter of the Lord of the Manor and reputedly the inspiration for the character Maid Marian, by a messenger from King John bearing a bad egg. And all because the big bad king’s advances to her were spurned.

And so ended our three-day break that felt more like a week. We certainly walked the miles, taking in the sights of each place, and everywhere finding wildlife to accompany the history, food and drink. And every bus was on time – we love our bus-passes even more, and they are sure to feature more in our trips from now on!