10 September 2009 – A Rural Ride

William Cobbett, that vigorous scourge of injustice and man of the soil, in mature years set out on his rural rides to see the state of pre-Reform Laws England. So my friend Dave and I thought we would institute the same custom by bicycle. In the age of the great recession (out of which we are coming it is so reassuring to read), economic tectonic shifts and the growing acknowledgement of climate change, it is a appropriate time to spy out the land. We took the train to Ely in the Fens and headed out into the flat onion-scented fertile deserted fenland wastes having first marvelled at the magnificent standing up greatness of Ely Cathedral.

Huge John Deere tractors tilled the fenland peat which is gradually oxidising away. Their vast power can equally power-cultivate the heavy Norfolk “marl” into powdered submission, ready to be washed out by storms, or thrash the Breckland sands for potatoes until it blows in “Oklahoma” dust storms. It seems to me a neat example of the short termism of market economics. Competition, especially driven by the super markets, pushes farming to biological limits, whether treatment of chickens and dairy cows or the management of the soil where the next crop matters to the bank more than the long term productivity of a farm. In an age of hunger, which climate change may yet bring to Europe, it would be sensible to farm (and intelligently shop) for long term sustainability. Our highly geared banking industry couldn't cope with economic turbulence. Nor will farming; Cobbett will be ranting in his grave at our folly!

Back to the Rural Ride, which might equally be called a rural pilgrimage. There is something wonderfully refreshing and “readjusting” about setting off around Norfolk on a bike with nothing but a good friend, £10 a day, five local maps and what you can carry on the back of your bike. The call of the open road is strong, something about the hunter gatherer in us. We chose the most minor back lanes we could find, cycled companionably side by side having agricultural and forestry conversation, and now and again stopped by a goodly Norfolk oak to brew up the Kelly kettle for some strong tea. We had the full orchestra of East Anglian weather, from head-winds and a vicious storm of rain to the much enjoyed wind at our backs and September sun golden and brilliant on our faces.

We enjoyed many of what we called “grace moments”. The pilgrim is especially attuned to his Creator and heavenly companion along the way; we prayed and rejoiced and had eyes wide open for the fields and woods, the little villages and the people we met, the isolated churches and occasional grand houses. Grace is an undeserved, usually unexpected gift, something God just blesses us with because he loves us. The agnostic may be offended by this Medieval world view, but to the eyes of faith the world is full of such gifts and rejoicings, especially for those whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.

Deep in a dry ditch with a good fire sheltered from the wind we became aware of a falcon keening. But it didn't sound quite familiar, and so it turned out. A pair of hobbies were feeding a pair of juveniles on the next oak, flying scimitar winged over the stubbles to catch insects and returning to much noise and acrobatics from the young. They were still there when the mugs where packed away and the fire died down. Soon they too will be off on their travels south. When you feel it is about time to stop on the wayside and have something for lunch what better find than a church flower festival. The little church above the hamlet of Shouldham was all ready to serve us with sandwiches and cake at a table in the graveyard looking out over Norfolk's late summer goldness. Another memorable moment was down in the Norfolk Broads where we were studying the map having been told that the ferry over the river was closed. This would mean an unwelcome trek to the main road bridge on the edge of Norwich. Suddenly the ice cream-licking teenager on the next bench piped up “Oh we've got a ferry at the yard; I'll show you!” And sure enough, thanks to this unidentified angel, who plans to be a doctor, we were taken to a boatman with “Slough grammar” accent, a very sunburnt face and braids in his grey locks, who ferried us and our laden bikes over the broad waters to a little lane in the willow fringed levels.

“Wild camping” shouldn't be popularized since it is a little bit anti-social, but there is nothing like it for that feeling of illicit pleasure and of course convenience. But it is best to avoid pheasant pens, hard to do in Norfolk it seems. Just climbing out of the tent having escaped detection the night before, the keeper drove around the corner in his landrover. All I could do was smile stupidly and mumble assurances that we would soon be out of his field. Having clearly met lunatics before he merely smiled kindly and drove on to his waiting breakfast. The next keeper incident was not so smooth. After a very stormy night with a blazing fire warming up our spirits and the bacon in our tummies, the keeper and his wife bore down on us in high dudgeon. “Leave this to me” said Dave fearing that I might get into a discussion on the Enclosures, Thomas Paine (local man) and the right to roam. “And what do you think you are doing?!” she asked indignantly. Surely the surprise of finding a couple of Senior Railcard holders might have given us a bit of an edge, but Dave ventured confidently “I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid we got benighted!” Not an instantly convincing response but I have to give it to him; by the time he had waffled about the state of farming and the survival of pheasants she was actually smiling and the keeper was blaming the young and gypsies and dogs for the woes of game keeping.

Strange things can be found in the woods. Hiding out like brigands in flat sandy pine treed Thetford Forest, mindful of deer stalkers, we were terrified by the sound of rushing wheels and pounding feet. “Mush mush!” she cried, or something like that, and a team of ten huskies came charging past! More grace moments. The earth is the Lord's and everything in it!