A miserable night in the tent; with nobody else camping in the field, and nobody (seemingly) about, I'm troubled by my isolation and my dreams transport me to an East London nightmare underworld inhabited by every absurd and outlandish phantom of the undead. In waking moments between dreams of zombies and banshees, I make in my mind muddled plans to abandon my walk in the morning, the thought of staying here another night is so intolerable. These plans are in equal measure confused and detailed, involving travel routes, train tickets, ordering online, maps, and the prospect (real enough, according to the weather forecasts I follow on my mobile when I can) of bad weather approaching.
But this morning, now sitting eating porridge in the sun on a bench by the recreation ground by the village hall, my outlook is entirely transformed. All thoughts of abandoning the walk are dissolved, and I am positive about continuing, hopefully to the end of the Suffolk Coast Path at Felixstowe Ferry.
I am going to Orford today - Di comes by and I ask the best way, and she says it’s an hour and a half walk, down the little road to Chillesford that I chose not to go down when getting here yesterday, and then on via footpaths that turn off to the right past the pub. The little single track road (also a designated cycle route) is so much nicer than the main road. In 45 minutes only one car comes either way. On my left as I walk along are hedges, the odd house and little fields of pasture and a few horses.On the right, towards the sea, fields of waving yellow barley curve across gentle hillsides, with white/grey clouds above floating across a blue canvas. With no heavy pack to carry with me today (most things left with my tent in Butley) I can walk with a spring in my step. I pass some elderberries growing in the hedge, and I’m reminded that my planned “Operation Elderberry” is to begin in earnest when I return to london. Last year I had my first bash at making elderberry wine with perfectly drinkable results, so this year, with all the equipment and a reasonable modicum of experience I plan to harvest a freezer full of elderberries (which grow in fair abundance in various overgrown spots near me in Stratford and Leyton) to keep a small production line of country wine going into the middle of 2012.
But this morning, now sitting eating porridge in the sun on a bench by the recreation ground by the village hall, my outlook is entirely transformed. All thoughts of abandoning the walk are dissolved, and I am positive about continuing, hopefully to the end of the Suffolk Coast Path at Felixstowe Ferry.
I am going to Orford today - Di comes by and I ask the best way, and she says it’s an hour and a half walk, down the little road to Chillesford that I chose not to go down when getting here yesterday, and then on via footpaths that turn off to the right past the pub. The little single track road (also a designated cycle route) is so much nicer than the main road. In 45 minutes only one car comes either way. On my left as I walk along are hedges, the odd house and little fields of pasture and a few horses.On the right, towards the sea, fields of waving yellow barley curve across gentle hillsides, with white/grey clouds above floating across a blue canvas. With no heavy pack to carry with me today (most things left with my tent in Butley) I can walk with a spring in my step. I pass some elderberries growing in the hedge, and I’m reminded that my planned “Operation Elderberry” is to begin in earnest when I return to london. Last year I had my first bash at making elderberry wine with perfectly drinkable results, so this year, with all the equipment and a reasonable modicum of experience I plan to harvest a freezer full of elderberries (which grow in fair abundance in various overgrown spots near me in Stratford and Leyton) to keep a small production line of country wine going into the middle of 2012.
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| Barley in Butley |
The road passes by Butley sluice on the right, and Butley Mills on the left, a building of similar character to those seen yesterday at the Snape Maltings, but smaller, which is now a self catering holiday centre with communal facilities. After the pub at Chillesford, I find the right hand path that goes towards Orford. It’s a very pleasant walk through pasture and arable fields (barley, potatoes), ferns and woody cut throughs. At one point the path goes right across the middle of a recently ploughed and harvested potato field. The V- shaped trenches, more than a foot deep, are neat and sharply defined. I bend down and run the soil through my fingers; it is remarkably sandy - a little yellower and you could put it in the corner of your garden and pass it off as a sandpit for children to play in. It is amazing (to me) that such sandysoil can support the variety of crops that grow here, but I know it to be highly fertile. In with the soil are pieces of cockle and other shells, indicating the earth’s briny history.
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| Sandy Soil, nr Orford |
Further on there is a grand house, surrounded by extensive lawns, a grand drive lined with trees with those circular wooden fences round them to stop deer damage. What was once a grand single residence is now divided into apartments. Thus property developers maximise the value of large properties these days, which otherwise become millstones for all but the super- super rich. I sit for a while on a bench on the edge of a cricket field within the grounds - a fine wooden pavilion overlooks it, raised up on a grassy bank. Approaching Orford- the castle and church coming into view, I pick cherries and plums from the trees along the path.
Di’s prediction that the walk from Butley is 1 ½ hours long is proven accurate as I walk into the small town of Orford at 12.30 in the afternoon. I pass by attractive terraces of cottages, many lovingly maintained gardens, with fine hollyhocks particularly impressive. It’s a lovely day and the place is quite busy with visitors. At the smart “village store” cum café, I buy a bit of food to take with me to the quay, going past smart gift shops and antiques emporia, restaurants and a tea room, and a couple of attractive Adnams pubs.
Across a narrow expanse of water from Orford Quay is Orford Ness, ten miles and 2,250 acres of vegetated shingle spit, a rare, remote and slowly shifting terrain consisting of tidal rivers, mud flats, sand flats, and lagoons, grassland, salt marsh and, of course, good old shingle. Almost an island, it is connected to the mainland by a thin strip of land at Slaughden, just south of Aldeburgh. From here it extends south for ten miles, gradually widening, and separated from the mainland by the tidal stretch of the River Alde, which, nearer Orford, changes its name for some reason to the River Ore. In addition to its singular status as a rare and fragile habitat supporting scarce communities of plants, birds and insects, Orford Ness is a former Minstry of Defence testing site, and a number of large, strange concrete buildings remain standing there, relics of a base for the Atomic Weapons Research Establishment that was built in the 50s. Before all this, in the years before WW11, Orford Ness was the site where Robert Watson-Watt completed the first successful experiments in the Radar defences system that saved the nation’s bacon during the Battle of Britain.
Access to and ownership of the the island is now in the hands of the National Trust. The somewhat unreliable map I had purchased in Sizewell tells me that visits to the Ness are by prior arrangement only. This proves not to be true; there is a National Trust office on the quay, and they lay on a small ferry boat service every 20 minutes between 10 am and 2 pm, places bookable on the day, which means that up to 150 people can visit Orford Ness daily. I get to the quay, still in fine weather, the Ore stretching out in both directions, sailboats drifting by, sea birds swirling round, the Orford Ness lighthouse and weapons testing buildings hazily visible, and beyond them, the sea. It is a lovely scene, but one that is not appreciated by a very disgruntled couple, who are remonstrating with a lady from the National Trust who has just explained to them that there are no more places on the ferry to the island today. “We’ve driven two hours to get here” complains the man with some bitterness. Sod off then, I think; it’s such a beautiful, fascinating spot, even if you can’t get a boat across. How blinkered people can be.
Though I would have taken the £7.50 trip across if I could, I am not enormously disappointed that I can’t. Sebald’s account of his visit to this “extraterrestrial” space, describes a fearful place, abandoned and forgotten, the weird shaped concrete bunkers and pagoda like “the remains of our own civilisation after its extinction in some future catastrophe”. 30 years later, I suspect that the island’s dreadful atmosphere might be diminished somewhat as 150 sightseers traipse around it daily. Thanks to the place's strange story being recounted programmes like Coast on TV, and the abundance of information about everything on the internet generally, Orford Ness is less forgotten than it once was, and is a key stopping point for anyone exploring the Suffolk Coast and Heaths Area Of Natural Beauty. I chat to the National Trust lady, who is upset by her recent confrontation; she lacks the people skills and thick skin required to shrug off the complaints of daytrippers deprived of their right to travel across and view the pagodas up close. She says she wishes more people could go, but “they” (the NT managers presumably) don’t want it. I’d be content if they allowed fewer, and I’m happy to walk along the mainland path going south along the Ore, and gaze across instead.
The path goes along a sea wall, inland are low lying fields and marshes, and the town rising on a hill beyond, with the Norman keep of Orford Castle towering above, Union Jack fluttering briskly. On my left as I walk out along the path the grey concrete barrows and pagodas come into closer view, across the widening expanse of the River Ore, as it comes out to the sea. I stop on the corner at a place marked on my map as Chantry Point where the sea wall path turns away to the right (south, roughly) and away from the buildings on Orford Ness. From the muddy edges of the shore below, I pick a few handfuls of samphire to eat tonight, then I settle on the grass for a while, and with the help of my binoculars examine the concrete buildings in detail and make clumsy scetches of them in my notebook, in an attempt to better perceive and grasp their various structures. Some are quite low lying; one is a concrete trapezium with a single dark rectangular entrance. Does this lead to some huge underground laboratory? Indeed do all the structures sit above unseen levels underground? In front of one of the pagodas stands a single story building which resembles a late 50s school classroom, with it’s brick construction, low rectangular shape and metal window frames along the entire long side. Over time, the movement of the sun in the sky and the presence and absence of cloud reveals each structure in subtle variations of light and shadow, showing different aspects and shapes. I try to take photographs as they move between sillhouette to sharp bright detail. My zoom lens isn’t powerful enough to take very good pictures, but some pictures are steady enough to capture them in hazy detail. The distance perhaps preserving some of the mystery of these monuments to cold war boffinry.
Di’s prediction that the walk from Butley is 1 ½ hours long is proven accurate as I walk into the small town of Orford at 12.30 in the afternoon. I pass by attractive terraces of cottages, many lovingly maintained gardens, with fine hollyhocks particularly impressive. It’s a lovely day and the place is quite busy with visitors. At the smart “village store” cum café, I buy a bit of food to take with me to the quay, going past smart gift shops and antiques emporia, restaurants and a tea room, and a couple of attractive Adnams pubs.
Across a narrow expanse of water from Orford Quay is Orford Ness, ten miles and 2,250 acres of vegetated shingle spit, a rare, remote and slowly shifting terrain consisting of tidal rivers, mud flats, sand flats, and lagoons, grassland, salt marsh and, of course, good old shingle. Almost an island, it is connected to the mainland by a thin strip of land at Slaughden, just south of Aldeburgh. From here it extends south for ten miles, gradually widening, and separated from the mainland by the tidal stretch of the River Alde, which, nearer Orford, changes its name for some reason to the River Ore. In addition to its singular status as a rare and fragile habitat supporting scarce communities of plants, birds and insects, Orford Ness is a former Minstry of Defence testing site, and a number of large, strange concrete buildings remain standing there, relics of a base for the Atomic Weapons Research Establishment that was built in the 50s. Before all this, in the years before WW11, Orford Ness was the site where Robert Watson-Watt completed the first successful experiments in the Radar defences system that saved the nation’s bacon during the Battle of Britain.
Access to and ownership of the the island is now in the hands of the National Trust. The somewhat unreliable map I had purchased in Sizewell tells me that visits to the Ness are by prior arrangement only. This proves not to be true; there is a National Trust office on the quay, and they lay on a small ferry boat service every 20 minutes between 10 am and 2 pm, places bookable on the day, which means that up to 150 people can visit Orford Ness daily. I get to the quay, still in fine weather, the Ore stretching out in both directions, sailboats drifting by, sea birds swirling round, the Orford Ness lighthouse and weapons testing buildings hazily visible, and beyond them, the sea. It is a lovely scene, but one that is not appreciated by a very disgruntled couple, who are remonstrating with a lady from the National Trust who has just explained to them that there are no more places on the ferry to the island today. “We’ve driven two hours to get here” complains the man with some bitterness. Sod off then, I think; it’s such a beautiful, fascinating spot, even if you can’t get a boat across. How blinkered people can be.
Though I would have taken the £7.50 trip across if I could, I am not enormously disappointed that I can’t. Sebald’s account of his visit to this “extraterrestrial” space, describes a fearful place, abandoned and forgotten, the weird shaped concrete bunkers and pagoda like “the remains of our own civilisation after its extinction in some future catastrophe”. 30 years later, I suspect that the island’s dreadful atmosphere might be diminished somewhat as 150 sightseers traipse around it daily. Thanks to the place's strange story being recounted programmes like Coast on TV, and the abundance of information about everything on the internet generally, Orford Ness is less forgotten than it once was, and is a key stopping point for anyone exploring the Suffolk Coast and Heaths Area Of Natural Beauty. I chat to the National Trust lady, who is upset by her recent confrontation; she lacks the people skills and thick skin required to shrug off the complaints of daytrippers deprived of their right to travel across and view the pagodas up close. She says she wishes more people could go, but “they” (the NT managers presumably) don’t want it. I’d be content if they allowed fewer, and I’m happy to walk along the mainland path going south along the Ore, and gaze across instead.
The path goes along a sea wall, inland are low lying fields and marshes, and the town rising on a hill beyond, with the Norman keep of Orford Castle towering above, Union Jack fluttering briskly. On my left as I walk out along the path the grey concrete barrows and pagodas come into closer view, across the widening expanse of the River Ore, as it comes out to the sea. I stop on the corner at a place marked on my map as Chantry Point where the sea wall path turns away to the right (south, roughly) and away from the buildings on Orford Ness. From the muddy edges of the shore below, I pick a few handfuls of samphire to eat tonight, then I settle on the grass for a while, and with the help of my binoculars examine the concrete buildings in detail and make clumsy scetches of them in my notebook, in an attempt to better perceive and grasp their various structures. Some are quite low lying; one is a concrete trapezium with a single dark rectangular entrance. Does this lead to some huge underground laboratory? Indeed do all the structures sit above unseen levels underground? In front of one of the pagodas stands a single story building which resembles a late 50s school classroom, with it’s brick construction, low rectangular shape and metal window frames along the entire long side. Over time, the movement of the sun in the sky and the presence and absence of cloud reveals each structure in subtle variations of light and shadow, showing different aspects and shapes. I try to take photographs as they move between sillhouette to sharp bright detail. My zoom lens isn’t powerful enough to take very good pictures, but some pictures are steady enough to capture them in hazy detail. The distance perhaps preserving some of the mystery of these monuments to cold war boffinry.
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| Orford Ness |
A tourist boat trip comes by; “on the left you will see two buildings with raised roofs. These buildings are called Pagodas…” announces the knowledgeable tour guide over the boat’s loudspeaker, “no nuclear material… was used…” he goes on, more and more inaudibly. I look down and see my legs, camera, bag, crawling with red and black spotted ladybirds. A tern with long orange beak flies by, and with my binoculars I catch it in my sights as it swoops and dives for fish before flying off down towards the quay. For a moment I get up to walk on, but I find myself unable to turn my back on this enchanting spot, with the view across to the island so vivid and clear now in the sun, and I sit back down among the ladybirds and stay longer and longer.
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| Orford Ness |
I wonder about the weapons testing buildings; who had been the last scientists to leave this place? Who had been the last to look back for the last time, never to return? Did they look back and think that what they had been doing was worthwhile? Had it been a job well done? Had they achieved something? Had they destroyed something?
My orange beaked tern comes back. I train my binoculars on him and he hovers above the water in the spot he had been before, wings flapping gracefully, eyes and beak arched downwards in its concentrated search for the glisten of fish on the surface of the water. It hovers... hovers... starts to dive, then stops before reaching the water. It hovers again, dives again, stops its dive, hovers, hovers longer, then dives down, “plosh”, into the water, but comes up with no fish. Another tern with different colouring, a young one I think, joins the sport for a while. They fly off, but return again several times to fish the stretch, repeating their spectacular performance for me, hovering, plunging down, diving, and up again… oblivious to the bunkers and pagodas beyond, to them probably empty and meaningless shapes, if not invisible.
My orange beaked tern comes back. I train my binoculars on him and he hovers above the water in the spot he had been before, wings flapping gracefully, eyes and beak arched downwards in its concentrated search for the glisten of fish on the surface of the water. It hovers... hovers... starts to dive, then stops before reaching the water. It hovers again, dives again, stops its dive, hovers, hovers longer, then dives down, “plosh”, into the water, but comes up with no fish. Another tern with different colouring, a young one I think, joins the sport for a while. They fly off, but return again several times to fish the stretch, repeating their spectacular performance for me, hovering, plunging down, diving, and up again… oblivious to the bunkers and pagodas beyond, to them probably empty and meaningless shapes, if not invisible.
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| Orford Ness |
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