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…

l

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!

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

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!

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 in 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!

The sun always shines on us. Or at least that’s the impression given by the photos in the blogs of our monthly short breaks over the past couple of years. The first trip of our third year of travelling was rather different to the norm: it was a return visit, to Cromer, following March last year. And being January, the weather was less than pleasant, cool and breezy, with barely a glimmer of sunlight, although such rain as there was happened on our train journeys and overnight!

But of course that is only to be expected at this time of year. At least we know and love the hotel (the Cliftonville) and indeed the very room (number 39) we asked specially for, top floor with uninterrupted sea views, impervious to the weather…

And we do like seaside towns out of season, so after an excellent lunch at the hotel (best chips ever, triple cooked to perfection, and my bacon and black pudding salad was just sublime) we headed out into the bracing Norfolk air for a walk through the town and along the promenade and pier.

Oozing out of the wooden hoardings outside the hotel was a remarkable crop of Jew’s-ear fungus, while springing green on the cliff edge, only a few weeks from flowering, Alexanders was already bearing the galls of rust fungus Puccinia smyrnii, along with peppercorn seeds retained from last summer.

Under leaden skies, we enjoyed the sights – flints, waves and gulls – as well as the sounds of a town being repaired and prepared for the summer season to come.

The day was rounded off very well with a meal at the Red Lion Hotel, as excellent as ever. Next day too, despite the cloud, with a great breakfast at the Cliftonville, including a side-order of fly-past Peregrine (presumably one of those that nests on Cromer Church) and worm-wrangling, Irish-dancing Herring Gulls on the Pitch & Putt course!

Then it was off westwards on the Coasthopper bus, through that familiar litany of placenames: East Runton, West Runton, Beeston Regis, Sheringham, Weybourne, Kelling, Salthouse, Cley, Blakeney, Morston, Stiffkey and finally Wells. A very familiar journey from behind a wheel, never quite enjoying the sense of place, the lanes narrow and not knowing who is coming round the next bend. The elevated podium of the bus allowed the freedom to rove our eyes over the flint walls, across marshes and reedbeds, churches and windmills, passing grazing flocks of Wigeons and Brent Geese, overhead skeins of Pinkfeet, and several, solitary, hunting Marsh Harriers and Red Kites.

Being low tide, Wells-next-the-Sea was Wells-next-the-Mud, but very scenic nonetheless…

Dabchicks dived in the creeks, never surfacing long enough for cold fingers to take a photo, while Oystercatchers probed, Herring Gulls demolished anything vaguely edible and a nearby flint wall sprouted Maidenhair Spleenwort, a rather patchily distributed plant in these parts.

And we ended up by the historic Buttlands for a drink in the Globe Inn, a pause to hatch a plot for future trip to the area, perhaps based right there, to take advantage when we both have bus-passes!

Another very cold evening so we wandered down for hearty, warming fish and chips at No 1 Cromer,  beautifully fresh plaice but with a dauntingly huge pile of chips, before standing outside, listening with exhilaration to the crashing waves below. And still the rain held off, at least until the sharp showers we could see outside as we rounded off a very full day in our hotel bar!

Another day, more grey. But with our return rail journey fast approaching (absolutely remarkable value at under £12 for the two of us!), there was just time again to stand and stare, high tide on the rolling sea, the sound of the breakers echoing through the resonant beach flints, and the looping Fulmars already settling in to their cliffy nesting niches. Sights and sounds to remain with us, until we return…

Another of our monthly short breaks inspired by a railway TV programme, not this time Michael Portillo’s journeys, but Tim Dunn and his series on railway architecture. It was in the first episode of the series that we saw the Bennerley Viaduct, the ‘Iron Giant’. One of only two remaining wrought iron viaducts left in Britain, we learned of its rescue from dereliction  and opening to pedestrians, and so on a lovely sunny Sunday morning, we were heading there.

First to London (via a stop at the newly opened Beaulieu Park Station), to St Pancras with its wonderful, vast single-span glass roof – although it has to be said the refurbishment 15 years ago was a missed opportunity to capture solar energy, like we saw a month ago in the even more impressive Rotterdam Centraal Station.

Thence to Derby, stopping amongst other places at Market Harborough (the destination for our forthcoming July trip) and East Midlands Parkway, one of the high points of last November’s exploration of the Trent Valley, those iconic cooling towers, a memorial to a hopefully receding age of fossil fuels…

Into Derby just after lunchtime, our first stop of course was for a drink, in Waterfall, imposing but sadly lacking atmosphere, in the 1892 Midland Railway Institute, one feature of a remarkable triangle of railway buildings. Built as a cultural and social centre for Derby’s rail workers, it once housed a large library and a ballroom with a stage and seating for 500 people.

The railway cottages themselves date back half a century previously to the arrival of the railway network into Derby, and are considered to be the first and one of the finest examples of such a purpose-built development to house the workers. Threatened with demolition in the 1960s, the estate is now restored and listed. On one of the other angles of the triangle is the Brunswick Inn which formed a neat bookend to our trip.

All the buildings are brick, from presumably local clay, a lovely rich red in colour, matching perfectly the colours of autumn strewn across the pavements:

From there, we followed the green corridor along the River Derwent among the autumn leafscapes and groundscapes, with a few fungi and galls, especially on Lime.

And before we expected (we hadn’t appreciated just how compact the city is), we were at our hotel, on the edge of the city centre. Holiday Inn – Derby Riverlights may be very modern but it is a rather striking design, with good views of the city, very comfortable and good value. The food was good as well, including breakfast (overcooked eggs aside) at which the presence of paper carrier bags made one feel very comfortable taking things from the breakfast buffet for consumption later in the day!

Neither had we realised just how many impressive historic buildings there are. The mid-19th century Market Hall, reopened after refurbishment only six months ago, is one such, both inside and out although the inside seems not yet to have attracted sufficient traders to drive out the feeling of it being a cold, empty void.

But the Cathedral was a much more welcoming presence, except for the annoyingly over-repeated recorded bell peals (which later on in our stay started to emanate from a completely different church!)…

Although rather modest from the outside, it was lovely and airy inside, flooded with light from the largely clear glass windows, the walls and ceilings relatively free of intrusive ornamentation; some organ practice was a delightful added bonus.

This made for much easier appreciation of the artistic features of the church – effigies (including Bess of Hardwick), two stunning modern stained glass windows and decorative wrought ironwork everywhere…

… and then the Derby Plank, a lovely painted bit of wood whose symbolism and function is shrouded in history and mystery, but probably dates from around 1600, give or take a decade or two.

Around the city centre, there were many other historic buildings, some of which we saved for our last day. The Standing Order Wetherspoons pub, a repurposed bank, was worth a visit for its secular interior décor, and then there was the rather strange structure in the market square. Memorial or urinal, you decide?! In fact it seems once to have been a piece of public art with water flowing over the top in a pleasing waterfall, but the costs of maintenance fell foul of local authority cash constraints in 2016 and since then simply gathers pigeon poo.

A look at the weather forecast next morning showed us a clear slot of some three hours up to lunchtime before cloud and rain that was coming in for the rest of our stay. So we mobilised quickly and headed out by bus for Ilkeston and the Bennerley Viaduct, the main reason for our visit: oh, the joys of a proper, modern, comprehensive bus station. Colchester could usefully take note!!

We could not have timed the break in the weather better. Calm, sunny, glorious autumnal weather for our walk along the Erewash Canal was perfect, the distant lock gates reminding Jude of giant dragonflies at rest, and the ambience ruined only by the ugly spraypaint handiwork of local ‘patriots’…

And before long the viaduct appeared, almost twenty metres in the sky, spanning the valley, over the railway line, the county boundary and River Erewash, a name that seems to spring straight from the realms of Tolkein’s Middle Earth.

The wrought iron structure was a bespoke solution when it was built in 1876 arising from the need to keep the weight of the viaduct down, given that the underlying ground is riddled with poorly mapped coal-mines. The line was closed to rail traffic in 1968, and much of the railway infrastructure removed, but fortunately the viaduct remained intact, a beacon of Victorian ingenuity.

But only just. Time has taken its toll, and there have been several plans to demolish it, though its wrought iron construction meant that it would have to have been demolished bit-by-bit, the reverse of its original construction, which always proved prohibitively expensive. And so the resources were found to make it safe, and open it to pedestrian and cycle traffic in 2022, although as yet the eastern access ramp is not finished.

No matter, walking there and back across the 400 metre span without the risk of being mown down was simply delightful, with lofty views southwards over the green valley towards the high ground of Ilkeston and the Trent Valley beyond.

And looking north a completely different picture, a developing nature area based on a brownfield site, with Silver Birch and Aspen trees turning golden in the low sunlight.

The autumn colours complemented perfectly the rusting structure in mutual recognition of the passage of time…

It was a great vantage point for birdwatching, with more Redpolls than I have seen in a long time, plus Goldfinches, Fieldfares and Ravens. Feral Pigeons have adopted the structure as if it were a cliff, and the south-facing brick and stone piers at either end proved attractive to basking insects and other invertebrates: the micromoth Blastobasis adustella, Stable Fly Stomoxys calcitrans, the woodlouse Porcellio scaber and the spider Platnickina tincta.

Back on terra firma we walked through a section of developing woodland between canal and railway line, finding a few fungi including Jelly-ear, luxurious aerial mosses, the micromoth leaf-mines of Stigmella microtheriella in Hazel and a dew-dropped Hawthorn Shieldbug.

Particularly under Wild Cherry trees, the groundscapes were spectacular, as were the raindrops hanging below Alder cones, the colour of black tea, presumably stained by tannins leached out from the woody cones.

As we walked back into Ilkeston, the weather closed in and the forecast rain started to fall heavily. But what a lovely little town, with a real high street, a market square, Art Deco commercial buildings, and an historic cinema dating back to 1913…

And a hole. Look on the Web for tourist attractions in Ilkeston and it isn’t long before you find the ‘Nat West Hole’, apparently created to reassure uses of the ATM ‘hole in the wall’ that the wall isn’t hiding ne’er-do-wells. As impressive in the rain as at any other time I guess, and it did get me photographing analogous structures, for example in the back of the Costa chairs!

And that’s not all. A walk through town took us past the General Havelock pub. Right time, right place: it was raining! Also very welcoming: being ‘Muffin Monday’ we were treated to a free, huge, delicious blueberry muffin with our drinks.

Ilkeston seems to do ‘big’: the Iron Giant, the giant muffin and at our final stop, the Ilkeston Giant. Just down the road was Stanton Road Cemetery, the last resting place of Samuel Taylor who died aged 59 in 1875; at 7 feet 4 inches (224 cm) tall, he became a local celebrity and earned a good living performing in travelling fairs and freak shows.

By now the rain had really set in so it was back on the Ilkeston Flyer to the comfort of our hotel room, before venturing out later to sample very well prepared food from all four corners of the culinary world at Cosmo World Buffet, making good use of a retired cinema.

Our third and final day dawned dull and cool, though the promised rain never materialised. Not that it would have mattered too much: we had planned a museums and pubs sort of day. First it was Derby Museum & Art Gallery, with collections of local porcelain, art of Joseph Wright, natural history and much more. But for us, the highlights were the visiting exhibition Human Natures, exploring our place in the natural world and presenting strong messages, and the remarkable surrealist art of Marion Adnams.

Then we were down to the Museum of Making in the former Derby Silk Mill that forms the downstream end of the 25 km-long Derwent Valley Mills World Heritage Site that runs all the way to Matlock Bath. The site encompasses a series of 18th- and 19th-century cotton and silk mills, considered to be of high historical and technological interest as being the place where the modern factory system was developed and established. It was in effect the birthplace of the industrial revolution, which like it or not cannot overestimated in respect of its importance of it in shaping the world we now know. And reading about it made us think we should visit the whole site on another occasion, as all are conveniently linked by rail – one perhaps for 2027?

Opened just last year, the museum is housed partly in the restored silk mill, itself a rebuild from the early 20th century, on the site of the original. At the entrance are the Grade 1-listed Bakewell Gates, designed by master ironmaker Robert Bakewell, which have graced the front of the silk mill in Derby since 1725.

There is lots more too, including the temporary exhibition EarthBound, the Story of Connected Life through Rock, Earth and Community, including outstanding photography of close-up nature and black-and-white people portraits. And the utterly bewitching complexity of the dissected Rolls Royce jet engine. Again for good or bad, the ingenuity of designing and building something like that which can keep an airliner aloft is simply staggering.

Just next door, the Old Silk Mill pub provided an excellent lunch, before our walk back by the Derwent, reinforcing again the compact nature of Derby’s delights. Back among the railway cottages, there was just time for a farewell drink in the very traditional surroundings of the Brunswick Inn, the whole building adapted to fit into the sharp end of the triangle of streets before heading across the road to the station just before dark. And home four hours later!