Showing posts with label UK-England. Show all posts
Showing posts with label UK-England. Show all posts

Monday, 21 July 2025

East Sussex (7) Winnie-The-Pooh and Standen

This is a new post, though it covers the events of the 26th of February 2025
It will be moved to its appropriate chronological position soon

Ashdown Forest, Home of the Great Bear, and a 19th Century Country House

A Brief Orientation


East Sussex
After yesterday’s visit to Brighton our stay with my sister Erica and husband Peter, who live in Heathfield in East Sussex, continued with a visit to the Ashdown Forest, the home of Winnie-The-Pooh, 8km northwest Crowborough. From there we went to Standen, a National Trust Property west of Forest Row and just within the boundary of East Sussex.

The County of East Sussex
Ashdown is 5km NW of Crowborough (a third of the way to East Grinstead). Standen is west of Forest Row, just inside the county boundary

Ashdown Forest


AA Milne, Winnie-The-Pooh and Christopher Robin


AA Milne in 1922
Photo:Emil Otto Hoppé (Pub Dom)
In 1925, AA Milne was a well-established playwright and author of humorous articles when he bought Cotchford Farm in East Sussex. It was intended as a weekend and holiday cottage for Milne, his wife and their only child, five-year-old Christopher Robin. What he originally planned to write in these rural surroundings is unknown, but the birth of his son had already inspired When we were Very Young, a book of poems for children. In 1926 he published Winnie-The-Pooh, ten stories about his son, his son’s bear and their friends. The tales were set near Cotchford in the 500 Acre Wood, part of the Ashdown Forest, renamed the Hundred Aker Wood in the book. Another book of poems, Now we are Six, marked Christopher Robin reaching that landmark age and finally, in 1928, there were ten more stories collected as The House at Pooh Corner. The final story ends poignantly with Christopher Robin saying 'goodbye' before leaving the wood.

The Hundred Aker Wood

In reality he put away his soft toys and went to boarding school. Sending nine-year-old children away to school is cruel and is far less common now that it was in Milne’s day, but the Milne family, like most of their class, had been doing this for generations. His father's books were well known by his schoolmates, making Milne a target for relentless bullying. He came to resent Christopher Robin and, by extension, his father. They were later reconciled, and he found his place in life as Chris Milne, Dartmouth bookseller.

The Pooh books and the two books of poems rather swallowed AA Milne's career. They were extraordinarily successful and today are his only works still in print – which is, I suppose, four more than most writers of his generation.

I knew nothing of this darker side when the Pooh books were bought for me in 1955. They are first editions - though from the 46th and 35th reprints of the two books, so hardly valuable (at least in a monetary sense.) They are tatty, because they were much loved and they were frequently read to me and then by me and then to and by my sister. They started my relationship with The Great Bear (as I like to think of him) which has lasted 70 years.

Towards an Enchanted Place

Peter drove us to the Ashdown Forest and stopped in the Pooh Car Park. From there an unlikely looking group of volunteers for enchantment made their way down the path.

Up for enchantment? L to R Me, my sister Erica, her husband Peter

The grey February day with passing showers, was not promising but then somebody spotted Piglet’s House.

Piglet's House

We know little of the architecture; the only drawing of the real thing has little detail. There was a sign saying ‘Trespassers Will’, because Piglet’s grandfather had been called Trespassers William, but here that is above the door, Shepard shows as separate and broken. Is this, then the real Piglet’s House? The only information we have comes from the illustrations (he called them decorations) of EH Shephard, who was there at the time – unlike the outrageous fakers of the Disney Corporation.

Piglet's House

Here is another photo of Piglet’s House with my sister for scale. She makes it look ‘deceptively spacious’, to quote every estate agent who has ever lived.

Erica visits piglet

A little further on is Owl’s House…

Owl's House

… which you might like to compare with the original.

Owl's Real House - rather more accessible

I have my doubts, but when you see random pots of Hunny in the trees and know the Great Bear would never be so careless, these doubts begin to crystallise (just like Hunny).

Hunny left in trees

Then, with the rain spattering down, we reached the stream at the bottom of the hill, turned right, and there was the Pooh Sticks bridge.

Pooh Sticks Bridge

I was, of course, being disingenuous earlier, EH Shepard’s illustrations/decorations do not inform us about Piglet’s house, they define the dwellings of Piglet, Owl and the others. When the reality we see in the trees differs from the art, then it is the reality that is wrong – but they were constructed by people who cared enough to do it, and not for financial gain. They should be applauded.

But Pooh Sticks bridge introduces another form of reality. The bridge we see today is the same bridge that stood here 100 years ago – give or take the repairs and renovations required to keep a wooden bridge over a muddy stream in good condition for a century. Shepard did not need to imagine the bridge but did have to imagine a bear and a rabbit each about to drop a stick into the stream.

Pooh and Rabbit play Pooh Sticks

Getting a couple of pensioners to imitate them is easy. Shepard, I notice, gave more interesting expressions to Pooh and Rabbit with a few strokes of a pen, than we managed with our actual faces.

Less adept players of the game

During Pooh and Rabbit’s game, Looking very calm very dignified, with his legs in the air, came Eeyore from beneath the bridge.

Eeyore emerges from under the Pooh Sticks bridge

“It's Eeyore!” cried Roo, terribly excited.

“Is that so?” said Eeyore, getting caught up by a little eddy and turning slowly round three times. “I wondered.”

I include that snippet of Eeyore being delightfully Eeyore-ish, because when it was read to me in nineteen fiftysomething I learned a new word. Eddy was, I thought, a grand and exciting word and I treasured it. It also allowed me to show my favourite illustration of Eeyore.

While we were at the bridge two young people, a man and a woman in their early 20s, came down the path towards us and politely inquired the way to Pooh’s house. We pointed them in the right direction. It is ridiculous to imagine you know anything about people you have met for no more than a minute, but… they gave the impression of being foreign students cast up on this dank and misty island (not everyday, but certainly this day) in a quest for knowledge. They spoke good English, but it was not their first language. Indeed, they probably did not share a first language, but they had come together to this place to search out the origins of Winnie-The-Pooh. The Great Bear embraces the world.

Pooh’s house is over the bridge and further down the path. We passed the students (or not-students) making the return journey.

Pooh's House

I will forgive the muddiness of the scene; this is February while the Hundred Aker wood enjoyed the sunshine of perpetual summer. I could be picky about some positionings and spellings, but EH Shepard has drawn Pooh sitting outside on a comfy log, implying the door opens inwards, which is somewhat impractical if you live in a tree trunk.

Pooh's House

The Wonder that is Pooh

As the final story in Winnie-The-Pooh (the first of the two books) comes to its end

Pooh and Piglet walked home thoughtfully together in the golden evening, and for a long time they were silent.

“When you wake up in the morning, Pooh,” said Piglet at last, “What's the first thing you say to yourself?”

“What's for breakfast?” said Pooh. “What do you say, Piglet?”

“I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting today?” said Piglet.

Pooh is my sort of bear. Excitement and adventures are all well and good, but first things first.

Milne’s writing is crisp and simple, the words jogging along, one after another. There is plenty humour directed at children, Pooh attacked by bees while dangling from a balloon, or trapped in rabbits burrow by his ever-increasing girth, but even the slapstick is elegantly understated. The characters are fully formed and three-dimensional. When Pooh and Piglet plan their heffalump trap they argue about the best bait for catching heffalumps. Pooh, naturally, says honey, Piglet acorns. As they argue Piglet realises that if he wins, he will have to provide the acorns, and if Pooh wins, he must provide the honey. Piglet quickly switches sides. As he does so Pooh realises the same thing, but too late, he has been caught out. He takes it on the chin, as a gentleman should. The characters have frailties, Piglet’s occasional selfishness, Owl’s permanent self-importance, Eeyore’s moroseness, but malice is unknown in the Hundred Aker Wood.

EH Shepard in 1932
Howard Coster (Fair Use)

Milne’s voice contains a smile that is sardonic, yet very gentle; a knowing nod to the adults over the heads of the children. The writing is very British, understated and still feels surprisingly modern, Nothing in the two books seems dated – except the way Christopher Robin dresses, and that looked odd in 1956. In the final story, when Christopher Robin leaves the wood, the animals gather to say goodbye and send him off with ‘a rissolution.’ They all want to express their feelings, as does Christopher Robin but they cannot trust their emotions. One after another, they clear their throats to speak but say nothing, and one by one all, except Pooh, drift away. And I shall drift away there (without deigning to deal with the blasphemies of the Disney Corporation) but I must make a final mention of illustrator Ernest Howard Shepard who unfailingly places the cherry in just the right spot on Milnes artfully baked cake.

Standen House

Leaving Ashdown Forest we headed for Standen House, a National Trust Property some 20 minutes to the west, and like the Forest, situated in the High Weald Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. Lunchtime had arrived so we visited the café in search of a little smackerel, as Pooh would have said.

Philip Webb 1873
Charles Fairfax Murray (Pub Dom)
In 1890, wealthy solicitor James Beale and vis wife Margaret bought a 12-acre estate, consisting of three farms. One of them, Standen farm, gave its name to their new country house. Standen was a weekend retreat for themselves and for (or from?) their seven children. Later it became their retirement home.

The house was designed by Philip Webb, a founder of the Arts and Crafts movement, and built between 1891 and 1893. He integrated the medieval farm building into the vernacular design using local sandstone, local bricks, tile-hanging, pebble-dash and timber all chosen to harmonize with the landscape. My photo shows only one wing - there is more piled on top to the left. Perhaps it is just me, but I am unconvinced the building harmonises with itself, never mind the landscape.


Standen

Margaret Beale took charge of the interior. She commissioned wallpapers, carpets, textiles and furniture mostly from William Morris & Co, all reflecting the ideals of the Arts and Crafts movement.

Original William Morris wallpaper, Standen

Philip Webb built in modern comforts, like central heating and off-grid electricity provided by a Donkey Engine. The house certainly looks more comfortable than most older National Trust properties. Visitors see the house dressed for a weekend stay in 1925 and the parlour looks comfortable enough, in an early 20th century way,

The parlour, Standen

The conservatory looks a little cluttered…

The conservatory, Standen

…but I would like a billiards room like this.

Billiards Room, Standen

The Larkspur bedroom was re-papered in 1937 with William Morris Larkspur wallpaper. It also featured a built-in wardrobe, uncommon for the time, with an external mirror, designed for the Beales’ eldest daughter Amy.

The Larkspur Room

James Beale used to sometimes see clients at Standen. He had an office with a door into the house for himself and another for clients with access only to the outside. He is still there, but only as a sketch by one of his daughters.

James Beale's Office, Standen (and a National Trust Volunteer)

The hillside garden behind the house is, I read, spectacular. William Morris said a ‘house should be clothed by its garden,’ but gardens are not at their best in February, and certainly not on a miserable day like today. We chose not to wander round it in the rain.

Are we having fun yet?

James Beale died in 1912. Margaret remained here until 1936, followed by daughter Margaret (“Maggie”) and youngest daughter Helen. The house remained largely unaltered over decades and Helen Beale, who had been involved in nursing during WWI and later the WRNS, bequeathed Standen to the National Trust in 1972

East Sussex

Part 1:Bodiam and Rye (2020)
Part 2:Bateman's, Firle Beacon and the Long Man of Wilmington (2021)
Part 3: Battle and Hastings (2021)
Part 4: Rottingdean and The Devil's Dyke (2024)
Part 5: Lewes and Charleston (2024) (coming soon)
Part 6: Brighton Pavilion (2025) (coming soon)
Part 7: Winnie-The-Pooh and Standen (2025)

Thursday, 10 April 2025

Norfolk (3) Hunstanton and Around

Hunstanton: A Victorian Seaside Resort

Introduction


Norfolk
Kings Lynn & W Norfolk
Three years ago, Lynne and I visited Kings Lynn. This produced two posts Kings Lynn, the Town and Around Kings Lynn, The Wash and Castle Rising. This year we went 17 miles further north to Hunstanton, almost on the lip of the Wash. We rented the two upper floors of a sturdy Victorian home to accommodate us, our daughter Siân, son-in-law James and their two children, aged seven and fourteen.

Norfolk - and (inset) the county's position within England
The many pins are the work of Tour Norfolk from whom I have borrowed the map

The village of Old Hunstanton is of prehistoric origin and the Le Strange family were the local gentry from the early 12th century until 1949.

In 1846, Henry L'Estrange Styleman Le Strange (great name!) decided to develop the area south of the village as one of those a new-fangled bathing resorts. Development started, then stalled, but in 1861 he formed a group of investors to build a railway line from King's Lynn. Completed in 1862 the line allowed rapid expansion of the new Hunstanton. Unfortunately, Henry died the same year, leaving his son Hamon (another good name) to reap the rewards of his efforts.

Today Henry stands, rather besmirched with guano, outside the old town hall, now an art gallery and event venue.

Henry Le Strange, Hunstanton

Hunstanton Beaches

07-Apr-2025

North Beach

Having unpacked, we made the short walk to the south end of the north beach. After long drives, legs needed stretching.

It is not a classic lazing and bathing beach, but the striped cliff is unusual. At the base is a dark red layer of Carrstone mostly hidden by the rockfalls, an unusual red limestone occupies the middle with white limestone at the top.

North Beach, Hunstanton

It also has unusual rough, rounded rocks for jumping on and off.

North Beach, Hunstanton

08-Apr-2025

North Beach Again

The next morning at low tide we left our vehicles in the north end car park. Here the white limestone band appears thicker and cliff-fall rubble is all around.

Hunstanton North Beach

Leaving the others looking for fossils I set out across the rocks and the sand beyond. There were waders in the shallow water and I wanted Merlin to identify them (Merlin is a free app from Cornell University which does just that, I recommend it). Unfortunately, I had underestimated the stream flowing across the beach. The people with wellies, walking on my right simply splashed through, but I was underequipped.

Hunstanton north beach

I returned to the others who had found several devil's toenails (an extinct oyster) and belemnites by the dozen. These were a small variation on squid with a bullet-shaped internal skeleton which became fossilised wholesale. They were tiny, several being described as 'underwhelming'.

Further on, geography brought us nearer the waders. Herring and black-headed gulls are ubiquitous, and oystercatchers common but I also recorded whimbrels and curlews and, perhaps surprisingly, an osprey. Birdsongs can be similar, and picking individual birds from the avian babble is difficult. Despite its name Merlin is not a magician, and inevitably throws up the occasional false positive, but it insisted there was at least one osprey out there.

We soon reached the wreck of the Sheraton. Shipwrecks are often stories of disaster, lost lives, and heroics, but not this one.

The wreck of the Sheraton

Constructed in 1907 in Beverley as a trawler, the Sheraton was requisitioned by the Royal Navy 1915-18 and again in 1939 when she was armed with a gun and patrolled the coast. Post-war she was painted bright yellow as a Royal Air Force target ship. By 1947 they had still not hit the target but she broke free of her moorings in an April gale and ran aground here. Re-floatation attempts failed, her superstructure was salvaged and the rest left to rot.

After pausing for a thermos of coffee and a snack, James, Lynne and the youngsters headed back to the cars while Siân and I continued towards the southern access we used yesterday. We were closer than we thought, but were delayed by a large bird standing on a rock. We approached carefully along the sandy channels in the grid-like rock formation, repeatedly creeping then photographing until we crept too close and he flew off.

Great cormorant, Hunstanton beach (with an oystercatcher down to his right)

The final photo will not win prizes, but is sufficient to identify the bird as a great cormorant. Ordinary cormorants are common, but this was our first great cormorant.

Grid-like rock formations, Hunstanton north beach

The rock formations are best seen from steps at the southern access. The pattern is caused by jointing in the bedrock, the lines of weakness being expanded by the sea..

South Beach

After lunch we strolled through the small town centre and across the sloping green below the statue of Henry Le Strange to the south beach.

Mr Le Strange's slopping sward, Hunstanton

This is a sandy beach with bathing opportunities, but not so much in April, the sun shone but with little warmth. Following the younger members of the party we headed for the amusement arcade - Pier Family Amusements according to the sign, though there is no pier.

Pier Family Amusements, Hunstanton

It is a long time since I have visited such a place and I could rant at length, but suffice it to say:-

I was distressed by the penny falls. The elegant simplicity of shuffling shelves and falling coins has been replace by a festoon of dolls and fake flowers, which conspire to keep the coins in place.

I was amazed when Siân beat her son at air-hockey and proudly announced her highest ever score. That a woman with her intellect and responsibilities keeps a corner of her brain labelled ‘air-hockey scores’ baffles me.

I smiled sadly as our grand-daughter amassed over 70 tickets spinning coins across a moving surface to hit targets. She proudly took her tickets to the booth and swapped them for a miniscule lollipop. She could have bought one four times the size for half the money she sent spinning.

Of course, I thought all this but said nothing. It is one thing being a miserable old git, but entirely another to announce it.

James kindly bought everyone a sugary doughnut, warm from the fryer. We ate them sitting on the prom and then continued, sticky-fingered, in the direction of the funfair. Passing the mini-golf the youngest member of the party loudly informed us she wanted to play mini-golf, so we did.

Watching James for tips

It was a great success…but…years ago I played golf regularly. I was not good, but with the ball on the green and I could manage a clean contact between ball and putter - because any fool could. Not anymore. I toe-ended, I shanked and I hit the ground so the club bounced and clipped the top of the ball. Age has brought me to this!

09-Apr-2025

Felbrigg Hall

Many years ago, we acquired a National Trust matching game. Half the cards depicted   NT properties, the other half the ghosts that haunted them. The young Siân liked this game and read the cards assiduously. As Felbrigg Hall in Norfolk was one of those properties, a visit was inevitable.

The Hall is less than 40 miles from Hunstanton, but we let the satnav chose the scenic route and it took some 90 minutes rambling through the lanes of north Norfolk to get there. The grounds around the hall are vast and landscaped, but the hall itself is relatively modest.

Felbrigg Hall

Felbrigg was the home of landed gentry, not aristocrats. Though owning the hall for over 400 years the Wyndham family held no titles, though one of them was knighted, and two were admirals.

The original medieval building had been much modified before it passed by marriage from the Felbrigg family to John Wyndham in 1450.

From then until to 1866 the hall was owned by 11 Wyndhams (or Windhams) 6 Williams, 2 Johns, 2 Thomases and an Ashe. It mostly passed from father to son, but there were the occasional hiccups that occur in every dynasty.

Sir John Windham, the second John, was responsible for the Jacobean core of the building around 1620. The current building is still largely Jacobean, thought with many later modifications. The interior is decorated in more 19th century style.

Morning room, Felbrigg Hall

William Windham I (d. 1689) commissioned architect William Samwell to extend the Jacobean house in 1674.

Great Hall, Felbrigg Hall

His son Ashe Windham, owned Felbrigg for 60 years until his death in 1749. He built the orangery and a service courtyard.

Dining room, Felbrigg Hall

His son, William Windham II hired architect James Paine to remodel the Hall and the formal landscape. There is a portrait of him in the uniform of a Hungarian Hussar, probably from his Grand Tour.

William Windham II as a Hungarian Hussar

William Windham III (1750-1810) was a bibliophile and collector and is largely responsible for the library. While staying at his London home he noticed a friend’s house was on fire and dashed in to save valuable manuscripts. He fell during the rescue and later died from his injuries. He is Felbrigg’s best known apparition, allegedly appearing in the library whenever his favourite books are laid out.

Library, Felbrigg Hall

Felbrigg Hall’s last Windham, was William Frederick (1840–1866) whose father died when he was young. He was sent to Eton but left at 16 and had failed careers in law and the military before inheriting the hall and an annual income of £3,100 (c£250,000 today) on his 21st birthday. He then announced his desire to marry Anne Agnes Willoughby. She may have been the innocent daughter of a vicar, and thus slightly below the Windham’s social standing, or a high-class courtesan, or something in between, different sources tell very different stories. Whatever the truth, his scandalised uncle went to court to have William declared a ‘lunatic.’ The long and dramatic case was followed closely by the press before eventually the judge opined that William was eccentric, but nor mad. Almost ruined by legal expense, he now set about dissipating the remainder of his inheritance and by 1863, the hall was sold and William was destitute.

He allegedly eked out an existence driving coaches, but died in 1866 aged 26. A ghostly coachman is sometimes seen diving furiously through the estate. It may be William.

John Ketton bought the hall in 1863. In 1969 his great-grandson Robert Wyndham Ketton-Cremer died unmarried and without an heir, bequeathing Felbrigg Hall to the National Trust.

Robert Wyndham Ketton-Cremer by Allan Gwynne-Jones, Felbrigg Hall

Finally, we descended to the servant’s realm. I love these huge old kitchens…

Kitchen, Felbrigg Hall

...but I am grateful it is not my job to make the copper gleam.

Copper pots, Felbrigg Hall kitchen

Outside it was exceedingly cold. After a week or two of pleasant sunshine, the clouds had reasserted themselves and with them the famously biting east wind. However, we had to spend some time exploring the grounds as the youngest member of the family had to complete the easter egg challenge.

That done, she insisted on visiting the walled garden. It is large as walled gardens go, but not at its best in early April.

Walled garden, Felbrigg Hall

As is traditional, espaliered fruit trees lined the walls, many of them varieties that have all but disappeared. This is an apple called D’Arcy Spice.

D'Arcy Spice apple tree, Felbrigg Hall

We then left and took the quicker ‘recommended route’ back to Hunstanton

The Food we Ate

Inevitably...  here is a section on the culinary delights and specialities that can be found almost everywhere by a diligent traveller. Happily I was surrounded by diligent travellers on this trip - and two more whose palates will mature soon enough.

Curating the Cheeseboard

Curating the cheeseboard is Siân’s self-imposed task. Nobody else, as far as I know, ‘curates’ a cheeseboard, but she takes it seriously, knows what she is doing and her cheeseboard expects the best.

A place for a curation

And this is how it looks when a curation has occurred. Three of these cheeses are from Norfolk, the fourth, at my request, is Baron Bigod, made just over the border in Suffolk.

A beautiful curation

Clockwise from 6 o’clock, the temporary residents are:-

Fen Fossey

Fen Fossey is made by Norfolk and Better, who are based in a farm in Thetford.  A small tomme-style cheese classed by the makers as semi-hard, though I would call it ‘hard.’ Smooth and herby with fruity and blue notes it offers a rich and complex flavour that develops on the palate.

Norfolk White Lady

Norfolk white lady was first produced in 1999 by Jane Murray at Whitewood Dairy, near Norwich, using the milk of her own flock of Friesland ewes. She was the first women in modern times to produce artisan cheeses in Norfolk and her Brie-style recipe produces a soft bloomy rind as snowy white as the ewes, hence the name. Jane Murray retired and Becky Enefer now makes White Lady at Wilton Farm, Hockwold.

It is not a strong cheese, but enjoyably subtle, buttery and sheep-y. With longer maturation, I read, it becomes richer and oozier.

Jiffler Blue

Blue Jiffler is a new cheese this year from Norfolk and Better. It is a semi-hard cheese, brined and aged to develop a natural rind and enhanced with a blue vein. It is mild and creamy with subtle hints of salt and herbs, but for me the 'blue' flavour is not strong enough. To ‘Jiffle’ is Norfolk dialect for ‘to fiddle or mess around,’ a reference to the constant movement of the cheese during maturation.

And finally, the sublime

Baron Bigod

Made at Fen Farm near Bungay, in Suffolk, Baron Bigod might be the best soft cheese in the world (see Eating Aldeburgh). This example was fully ripe, almost flowing and with a beguiling tang of the farmyard. Loved it.

Cromer Crab

The brown crab, Cancer pagurus is widely fished around the UK and Irish coasts. Those from the nutrient-rich waters of the chalk reef stretching along the Norfolk coast either side of Cromer (see map) are sold as Cromer crabs and are particularly sweet, delicate, and flavourful.

We bought ours from Gurney’s Fish Shop in Thornham, just outside Hunstanton. As we learned in Aldeburgh last year, the more derelict the shack, the better (and more expensive) their fish. (Siân’s view: artfully distressed, not derelict).

Gurney's Fish Shop, Thornham

We bought two dressed Cromer crabs, smoked prawns and some tiny brown shrimps. This, along with salad and crackers, and followed by the excellent cheeseboard provided the four adults with a first-class dinner without needing to cook. The grandchildren picked a bit, but unsurprisingly preferred more familiar offerings.

Dressed Cromer crab
The claw meat, white meat and dark meat have been extracted, chopped, artfully mixed and returned to the cleaned shell.

Fish and Chips

Inland fish and chips is almost entirely takeaway food, but the seaside is different. Restaurants attached to fish fryers have tidied themselves up in recent years, expanded their menus (a little) and some even have drinks licences.

Fish and Chip restaurant, Hunstanton

Expanded menu or not, Lynne and I chose traditional cod, chips and mushy peas. The cod was very fresh, the batter crisp and there were more chips than I could eat. Perfect.

Crisps

Having descended from the heights of artisan cheeses and Cromer crab, lets hit rock bottom with crisps. Siân has long collected (not curated!) unlikely crisp flavours. Four years ago in Ludlow she found three game flavours. This year the Grouse and Whinberry was back, joined by Spanish made Cretan Herb flavour and a French Confit d’Ognion avec Vinaigre Balsamique. We opened the Cretan Herbs. The best part of it was the drawing of a bull playing a balalaika on the packet.

Weird crisps

11-Apr-2025

Watatunga Safari

On Thursday we were up and packed early and drove 20 miles south, past Kings Lynn, towards the village of Watlington. Near the village, tucked round the back of an unsightly quarry, is Watatunga wildlife reserve.

Opened in 2020, Watatunga is 170 acres of diverse habitats, including woodland, grassland, wetlands, and lakes. Siân had hired a 6-seater electric buggy for a tour, allowing us to see as many of the birds and their 24 species of deer and antelopes as chose to show themselves.

We were a tad early, so had a look at the duckpond outside reception. Among others they have white-faced whistling-ducks, red-crested pochards and mandarin ducks,

A hiding mandarin duck, Watatunga

A 10 o’clock sharp we were seated in our buggy (James kindly volunteered to take the wheel) setting off in a small convoy behind a cheerful young woman with a walkie-talkie and a mission to explain.

She was keen to tell us about the reserve’s conservation work with both ungulates and birds. The first animals we saw (too distant to photograph) were hog deer, a small deer with an alleged pig-like gate when alarmed. Once they roamed northern India, Bangladesh, Myanmar and further south but are now endangered.

The water buffalo were closer. Numerous, they are domesticated throughout south Asia.

Water Buffalo, Watatunga

Next up was a wildebeest, again hardly rare and a herd animal, so one wildebeest is a sad sight.

Black Wildebeest, Watatunga

I am posting pictures of almost every animal we saw well enough to photograph - some stayed too far away while others we never saw (they are free to roam). Birds present the snapper with more problems than ungulates, but the green peafowl were very co-operative.

Green peafowl, Watatuga

Indian peafowl have settled in many countries and are common in India. The peacocks carry their enormous tail feathers which become tatty out of the breeding season and look a burden, presumably making life easy for predators. The Green peacock’s tail conveniently moults after mating but even so, it is green peafowl, who once ranged from Myanmar to Java who are endangered, not the Indian species.

Silver pheasants resemble ordinary pheasants iearing a long white coat. Originally from south east Asia, they have been introduced elsewhere and are plentiful.

Silver pheasant, Watatunga

Then we met Dave. Dave is a Great Bustard, sent here from Salisbury Plain where efforts are being made to re-establish a British population. Apparently believing he is an electric buggy, he regularly performs his courtship display to the convoy leader. Once rejected he walks down the rest of the line….

Dave the Great Bustard looks wistfully at an unresponsive buggy, Watatunga

…looking for a better offer. I wonder why he was surplus to requirements in Salisbury?

Undaunted he carries on down the line

A little further on were a couple of newly arrived Bongos, spectacularly striped antelopes from central Africa.

The mountain bongo, Waratunga

That ended our ‘safari.’ It had been an enjoyable 90 minutes, with some interesting animals and an informative and amusing guide. I wish them all the best with their conservation work.

And finally the name. Watatunga, they told us, is a portmanteau word, ‘Wat’ from the nearby village,’atunga’ from sitatunga, a close relative of the Bongo – and I thought Watatunga was a lake in New Zealand!

Then we said our goodbyes and made our different ways home.