Return to Norfolk

Last year, we spent an enjoyable week in Norfolk. The largely rural county is a haven for birdlife and there are nature reserves dotted around the coastline. There are also several heritage railways to explore and the pace of life is generally slower than is the case in urban southern areas. Indeed, there isn't a single motorway in the region and the only city is Norwich. Norfolk is perfect for a quiet getaway. We decided to repeat the experience during my Easter holidays and booked six nights in Reepham, a bustling small market town in the middle of the county.

We had a 390-mile drive ahead of us and elected to take the M6 before cutting across the Pennines on the A66 to meet the A1 at Scotch Corner - a historic point of divergence for routes into eastern and western Scotland. The A66 partly follows the course of an old Roman road, which explains the long straight undulating sections. A major project to dual the remaining stretches of single carriageway began last year. Let's hope it doesn't run into the same difficulties as the A9 upgrade in the Highlands. An unusual sight by the roadside was a two-humped camel in the field next to Mainsgill Farm Shop. Apparently three desert ships reside there. Not something you often encounter in Cumbria! We pulled into the historic trading town of Brough (bypassed since 1977) to eat our packed lunch by the river. Afterwards it was full steam ahead to Scotch Corner and down the A1 to Newark Junction in Nottinghamshire. We drove across the fens of Lincolnshire and into Norfolk, stopping in the large retail park outside King's Lynn for a bite to eat. From there, we merely had to follow a B-road all the way to Reepham. That was the theory. Scheduled roadworks enforced a detour but we arrived at our cottage around 8pm. The owners lived next door, making check-in an easy process. It was clean and comfortable, perfect for a week's stay. The Georgian market square was just a few minutes walk away and Reepham has a good level of facilities. A butcher's and delicatessen offer quality produce and regular groceries can be picked up at the Spar and Co-op. There is also a pharmacy and post office, along with several other local businesses (including antique shops). Two pubs serve food and dispense real ales. The town is a good base for exploring Norfolk. The county is car-centric but regular buses run from Reepham to Norwich. After a good night's sleep, we began our first full day with a trip to the garden centre in the nearby village of Bawdeswell. The premises are cavernous and have served the region for 40 years. Contained within the building is Bluebell Square, a series of independent shops. Nicole wanted to visit the art-supplies outlet and she stocked up on materials. I managed to locate the real ales and purchased a porter and a ruby style from Moon Gazer Brewery, based along the road near Fakenham. Another beer stop was made back in Reepham at the Panther Brewery on the edge of town.

Based in an industrial unit, Panther has a retail outlet and owner Martin James greeted us at the front door. After years of trying his hand at home brewing, he established Panther in 2010 - the name stemming from rumours of big-cat sightings in the local area. I was already aware of the brewery as I had purchased a couple of their ales last year at the Beers of Europe shop, near King's Lynn. A core range of nine ales is produced, with additional seasonal specials. I loaded up a cardboard carrier with half a dozen bottles, at a cost of just £17. The plan was to savour one Norfolk pint each night for the remainder of the holiday. Martin informed us he was happy to be in the position of living and working in the same town, after years of corporate travel. I'm sure Panther will continue to thrive. We drove north to the charming Georgian town of Holt (population 4000), a place I had passed through last year en route to the North Norfolk Railway - a steam heritage operation that closed to regular traffic in 1964. The fully-restored station lies on the edge of town and today we had the chance to explore the historic interior. We parked up and made our way to the tourist office, where we learned about local parks and green spaces, as well as the Owl Trail - a series of plaques forming a circular tour of the town's historic sights, including Nelson House where the famous naval admiral is said to have spent holidays with relatives as a boy. Holt hosts a weekly market and an annual arts festival featuring music, theatre, literature, cinema and art. The town has many independent businesses and we had lunch in the Owl Tea Room, reckoned to be the oldest such establishment in Norfolk. The crab quiche was delicious. We enjoyed ice creams on a sunny bench afterwards. Our holiday plan was to eat out during the day and cook for ourselves at night. Along with Reepham, Holt is mentioned in the Domesday Book, published in 1086. The settlement survived a devastating fire in 1708 and was rebuilt in the style evident today. Holt is a great destination for a day trip and I would gladly return here to explore further. Our next destination was the Wells & Walsingham Light Railway out on the North Norfolk coast. Billed as Britain's smallest "public railway" (it was constructed following an Act of Parliament in 1982), the narrow-gauge tracks run from Wells-next-the sea to the inland abbey village of Walsingham, a distance of four miles. Services are scheduled from the middle of March to the beginning of November and the line operates a policy of first come, first served. Four trains (hauled by either steam or diesel mini locomotive) run each day and a return trip costs £14. On-site parking adds another £2.50 to the total. We purchased tickets on the platform and browsed the souvenir shop, while awaiting the next service - due to be pulled by steam. I watched the locomotive emerge from the storage shed and we took our seats in a covered carriage with window spaces open to the elements.

Soon we were trundling through the countryside and we spotted several hares bounding across the fields. A full-sized abandoned platform alerted me to the fact this route must have once been used by regular train services. The gradient was fairly stiff in places as the course mostly follows the natural undulations of the landscape. A red kite flew overhead and the journey was a pleasant one. Jacket required, but otherwise not chilly in the slightest. We didn't have time to head into Walsingham and instead returned to the starting point after the locomotive had changed ends. This time I sat upon a breezy open carriage, while Nicole remained under cover. A kestrel hovered directly above us and I had a fantastic view of this agile predator. Back at Wells, we were surprised to see a large number of people on the platform (our service had been fairly quiet). All good business for this quirky railway. Naturally, the colourful Michael Portillo has already visited for one of his excellent TV train episodes. The constitution formally designates the railway as a non-profit company and all proceeds are ploughed back into maintaining and improving the infrastructure. The shop and café are housed within a vintage signal box, staffed by volunteers. The tracks occupy a portion of a branch-line that ran south from Wells to the market town of Wymondham, where it met the present Cambridge to Norwich Route. It skirted the edge of Fakenham on the way. The branch closed in stages during the 1960s and all passenger services had ceased by the end of the decade. Freight traffic continued for another 20 years. Wells Station opened in 1857 and closed in 1964. The West Norfolk Junction line (closed 1953) also served Wells. It split off from the West Norfolk coastal route between King's Lynn and Hunstanton, which bit the dust in 1969. The county was absolutely hammered by the Beeching cuts. These rural routes would once have brought many tourists to the coast but they couldn't compete with the rise of the private car. Thankfully Norfolk has several heritage railways today. I guess that means I'll be back! After refuelling Dolly Duster in the town centre, we drove along the coastal road to Cley Marshes - a huge nature reserve owned by the Norfolk Wildlife Trust. We only had time to check out the excellent gift shop and ask for some general advice at the reception. No matter, this place was on our list for the week. But first up was a jaunt to neighbouring Suffolk.

Without wishing to blow too loudly on my own trumpet, I'm rather adept at planning a driving route and committing it to memory. This becomes an insurmountable task in Norfolk and Suffolk. Both counties are covered in a dense patchwork of rural roads and you have to negotiate many junctions. Over to you Siri, King of the SatNav. Our destination was RSPB Minsmere, a reserve which plays a crucial role in the founding myth of our birding obsession. We spent an afternoon here a decade ago, merely for something to do while spending a few days with friends in the general area. I even photographed an avocet without having a clue about its identity. Starlings we did recognise, and they performed a spectacular series of murmurations at dusk. Since then we have vastly increased our knowledge (Nicole much more than I). The time was ripe for a return visit and there was the enticing prospect of possibly seeing a bittern. It was a chilly day but fortunately the conditions remained dry. We had lunch in the café before heading out to the hides. Our membership cards allowed us to avoid the £10 entrance charge. With woodland, reedbeds, grassland, heathland and the wild coast to explore, you can easily spend a whole day at Minsmere. The mixed landscapes are carefully managed to provide suitable habitat for many species of wildlife. In addition to birds, the reserve is a haven for insects and rare plants thrive here. Otters and water voles can also be found, along with adders. Ponies play a vital role in creating appropriate levels of vegetation. The key bird species are marsh harrier, bittern, bearded tit, avocet, nightingale and stone curlew. Little egrets are ten a penny these days, but they were rarely sighted in the UK for much of the 20th century, due to ceaseless persecution for exotic feathers during Victorian times (a widespread practice that led directly to the formation of the RSPB in 1889). The Bittern Hide at Minsmere was opened in 2001 and overlooks reed beds. The elevated structure offers a good chance of seeing this shy member of the heron family. Would this be our lucky day? The trademark boom rang around the reserve and was certainly an encouraging sign. But firstly, the supporting act delivered a display of the highest quality. Marsh harriers are now off the conservation red list and their future prospects look promising. The majestic winged warrior swooped over the reeds and came close to the hide. Perhaps his presence startled other birds in the vicinity, as we were soon treated to a truly astounding sight.

A trio of bitterns flew up in the air. Yes, you read that correctly! Sometimes birding can be a bit like waiting for a bus. Nothing happens for ages, then three arrive at once! We had excellent views through the binoculars but the light was a little too dim for reliable photography and we captured only blurry images. Not that it mattered a jot. The real joy was finally seeing this highly elusive legend. There was much excitement among the watchers and moments like this are a precious experience. The British bittern population jumped by 20% last year - the biggest increase since monitoring began in 1990. Habitat loss and hunting almost drove them to extinction by the end of the 19th century but they have finally clawed their way back. Bitterns are dependent on reedbeds and the RSPB outlined a mission to create and restore these wetland habitats. Thereby providing the conditions the birds need to feed and breed successfully. It was a stunning conclusion to the afternoon and the mood was buoyant as we drove back towards Norfolk. We passed through the pleasant market town of Beccles, a place I had never previously heard of. A stretch of dual carriageway allowed us to bypass Norwich and we were soon back in Reepham, recounting the day's success. The sun returned on Thursday and we drove up to Cley Marshes, intending to spend the best part of a day at the North Norfolk Reserve. Spoonbills are commonly sighted here and we hoped to register another spectacular spot. The visitor is built into a hillside and offers panoramic views of the coastline. You can take in the vista from the café and roof terrace. Admission charges applied as we aren't members of the Norfolk Wildlife Trust. The organisation was founded in 1926 and manages over 60 reserves and other protected sites across the county. We made our way along the wooden boardwalk to the cluster of hides. A first for me, as I'd been away riding steam trains when Nicole came up to Cley last year, although I met up with her in the visitor centre later in the day. As expected, there were many avocets in the wading pools. The return of this black and white bird to the UK has been a real success story. Absent as a breeding species for 100 years, they appeared in 1947 at Minsmere and have now spread across much of England, even making the odd foray north of the border. Also splashing about in the wetland areas were godwit, lapwing and moorhen. Nicole spotted a ruff and we also watched the shoveler ducks swimming gracefully. A good selection, but no sign of the spoonbill, although we did hear it had been sighted on the reserve fringes.

The freshwater marsh at Cley is fed by chalk springs underlying the local landscape. A network of pipes and drains aids this process. The water emerges from the bedrock source and the flow is steady and clear. Yesterday we had stopped by an attractive chalk stream in the village of Stiffkey, watching pheasants in the adjacent field as we sat on a rustic bench by an ancient brick bridge. Narcissus would surely have given the thumbs up to the water quality. The cool and mineral-rich nature of these river systems creates a unique ecosystem that supports an abundance of aquatic life. The NWT territory at Cley is carefully managed to provide differing heights of vegetation and water levels in order to attract numerous species. Saltmarsh is also present beyond the scrapes in front of the hides. The terrain was first altered for agricultural purposes back in the 16th century. These changes then became part of the local environment and and the trust has not sought to completely reverse this development , even if it were possible. It's a case of making the best out of what you have at your disposal. Suddenly a stoat scampered across the grassy strip directly before below the hide windows and this was the first time we had seen this elongated mustelid in the wild. They are capable of taking prey far larger than themselves and rabbits are a frequent target, killed by a sharp bite to the base of the skull. Stoats also feed on small rodents, birds and eggs. They are active at all times and are distributed throughout the UK. An unexpected bonus to see one. Hunger was calling and we wandered up to the café for lunch. I ordered a marshman's platter, which consisted of ham, cheese, bread, coleslaw, pickle and salad. Broadly similar to a ploughman's. We gazed towards the sea as we ate. Nicole saw a flyer for a folk concert in a couple of day's time and we bought tickets online. It would give us an excuse to return to this magical reserve. After another look around the shop, I decided to check out another hide while Nicole sat outside on the terrace. Still no sign of the spoonbill but the beauty of birdwatching is that things don't just appear on tap. We drove a couple of miles to Cley village and found a public car-park. A smokehouse on the main drag had dressed Cromer crabs for sale and we purchased a couple to eat back in the car. They are known locally for their tender and flavourful meat, with a good ratio of white to brown. We walked along to the windmill - a listed structure that currently functions as luxury bed & breakfast accommodation. First mentioned in print around 1820, the five-storey mill was worked until 1921, when it was converted to a holiday home. In 1979, the property was inherited by Colonel Charles Blount, father of the successful singer and songwriter James Blunt. Young James spent many holidays in the windmill and embarked upon a military career before becoming a full-time musician. His debut album shifted 12 million copies worldwide and was the best-selling UK release in the 2000s. The record also peaked at number two in the US charts. The windmill is now owned by another family.

The village is officially named Cley next the Sea, but this title is now somewhat misleading due to land reclamation. The quayside in the Glaven estuary received commercial shipping until the 1880s, when the silting up of the channel and the coming of the railway to Holt killed off sea-going trade. In recent years, the historic harbour has been rescued from dereliction and is now home to leisure craft. I decided to investigate a different sort of transport heritage upon our return to Reepham. The town was once bounded by two railway lines passing to the north and south. Within the space of a few years in the early 1880s, Reepham was transformed from a rural backwater into a well-connected place. Huge quantities of sugar beet were transported, along with coal, livestock, animal feed and fertiliser. The iron roads are long gone but both station buildings are still intact and functioning. The top line ran to Aylsham (with onward connections) and closed to passengers in 1952. The station continued handling goods until 1981, which probably explains its existence today. The tracks remained in place for another four years, used mainly for concrete cargo. Whitwell & Reepham Station is situated just over a mile from the town centre and services to Norwich called here. Passenger traffic ceased in 1959 and the station remained open for freight until 1964. This line was also used to convey materials to and from the concrete factory at nearby Lenwade and the two Reepham routes were linked in 1960 by the ferociously tight Themelthorpe curve. Opened in 1960 to shorten the paths of goods trains, it was the final section of British Rail track to be laid in Norfolk and was the most unforgiving bend on the entire UK network. One can only imagine the piercing squeals! The curve is now part of Marriott's Way, a 26-mile footpath, bridleway and cycle route from Aylsham to Norwich. Named after a former railway area manager who held his position for 40 years, the pathway features mixed surfaces. I would love to come back and walk the entire length one day. Reepham Station (pictured below) is now a café and the building also contains a barber shop. You can sit at a table on the platform and watch the walkers and cyclists pass by. It will be a welcome refreshment stop for those traversing Marriott's Way. Back at the cottage we played our daily post-dinner game of Yahtzee and settled in for the night. A nature trip to Hickling Broad was scheduled for the following day. Owned by the Norfolk Wildlife Trust and situated on the other side of Norwich, the reserve is home to Britain's largest butterfly, the swallowtail. Regular bird species include bittern, crane, marsh harrier and great crested grebe. Traditional reed cutting is still carried out, both as a commercial harvest and for conservation purposes. Upon checking in at the reserve, we realised the catering extended to just drinks, crisps and ice creams. Requiring something more substantial, we popped along to the nearest convenience store a few miles distant in Potter Heigham.

It was a warm day and we had lunch outdoors in the picnic area back at Hickling Broad - a lovely green space behind the visitor centre. The Norfolk Broads is a wetland area of (mostly) navigable lakes and rivers. National Park status was awarded in 2015 and the reserve offered guided wildlife trips in 12-seater electric boats. We opted instead to explore the various paths and set out on a circular walk. We checked out a couple of hides but nothing major was happening. As we resumed our walks, we head the persistent call of a bird that Nicole identified as a Cetti's warbler. They are UK residents and first arrived from southern Europe in the 1960s. The population has been boosted over the last couple of decades by our increasingly milder winters. Cetti's warblers are said to be one of the most frustrating songbirds. The loud and distinctive melody gives away their location, but the birds stubbornly refuse to reveal themselves, even if only a few metres away. We had no luck on the occasion. The path took us to a viewpoint looking over the open lake. The water is slightly brackish due to the broad's proximity to the sea. Little egrets could be spotted and I learned the locality contained the largest reed bed in England. A hide on stilts looked out across an expanse of reeds but we didn't see any wildlife of note. Nothing to write home about so far, but that situation would soon change. No, the spoonbill didn't put in an appearance but we scored brand new spot at a large pool on the way back to the visitor centre. Various ducks were swimming around and among them were two garganey, male and female. These scarce and secretive summer visitors have a striking head pattern and the UK breeding population of this dabbling species is estimated to number around 100 pairs. I hadn't brought my camera with me, which was a shame as the garganey was at times no more than 20 yards away from me. On the flipside, I was able to concentrate solely on observation. We chatted with an experienced birder (half German with a thick Yorkshire accent) who offered a tip for seeing Cetti's warblers. Apparently the flit around a small circuit and you can predict their moves by standing still and listening to the sources of the sound. This information was duly filed away.

Pleased with our afternoon's work, we traipsed back towards the entrance and took a seat in the garden area. I fetched a couple of ice creams and we sat in the sun. It was announced an adder display was about to commence and we trotted over to see what was going on. Two wardens were in the process of measuring a captured adder for scientific research. They also gave a short talk on the reptile's lifestyle before releasing it back into the wild. Our only venomous snake (the bite is rarely fatal) is facing a fight for its survival. Habitat loss and fragmentation is a major reason for the decline but - perhaps surprisingly - introduced game birds are also in the frame. Pheasants kill reptiles, including adders, on sight. They peck at adults and swallow young snakes whole. It is a one-sided encounter as the birds are fully protected by their thick feathers. Tens of millions of pheasants and partridges are released into the British countryside each year (for shooting purposes) and the adder's future appears grim, with some experts reckoning it could be gone completely by the early 2030s. What a tragedy it would be, if that came to pass. Back in Reepham, I wandered up to the Crown pub later in the evening. The large premises covered several bases. Outdoor seating was available while big screens showed football within. The patrons were equally spilt between drinkers and diners. As a local bar should be. I ordered a pint of Tribute (a Cornish ale) and watched some of the Norwich City versus Burnley game. The £5.20 cost was broadly in line with what you'd pay in an independent real-ale pub back home. We had a full programme for our last whole day in Norfolk and I drove down early doors to have a look at Reepham's other former railway station, around a mile outside town. Since 2009, the site has hosted a heritage diesel and steam operation. A quarter mile of track has been laid within the confines of the old goods yard and the restored station building is now a museum. An adjacent bar/café - The Sidings - is open daily and serves real ale. Diesel trains run every weekend and steam locomotives are in action on the first Sunday of each month, as well as Sundays immediately prior to bank holidays. Special events (with steam) are held periodically over the year and I was about to stumble unexpectedly into one of these. As I approached the outskirts of Reepham, a sign instructed railway patrons to use the High School car-park and take the shuttle bus down to the site. As I pulled in, I saw my carriage waiting. A vintage London Transport single-decker from the 1930s. A couple of dozen people were on board and the driver/owner (in period uniform) gave a short description of the vehicle and its history. He was in town to raise money for cancer research and indicated the donation box at the front. Off we set. This was starting to get interesting.

The theme of today's event was Britain in 1940. Many volunteers were dressed in wartime outfits and the regular car-park hosted a variety of displays, including classic cars, military vehicles and army equipment. General admission was free but train rides cost a fiver. The indoor areas had stalls offering period memorabilia and the bar was already doing a roaring trade. There were additional food vans outside and ample seating had been provided. I had a coffee in the sun while watching the steam shunter chug up and down the tracks. Unfortunately the first passenger service of the day at 1100 had been cancelled for technical reasons and the next wasn't due until 1230. I had to be back at the cottage by then, so I decided to fully explore the site instead. The station museum (pictured above) contained photographs, showing how the building had deteriorated over the years, followed by its restoration. There were also images of freight trains passing through the disused station, flanked by weed-covered platforms. After a proposal to dismantle the red-brick facility and erect it as a heritage structure at Holt on the North Norfolk Railway fell through, then-owners Norfolk County Council offered the dilapidated station for sale in 2006. Railway enthusiast Mike Urry purchased the entire site and formed the Whitwell & Reepham Railway Preservation Society. Running operations commenced 50 years after the original withdrawal of passenger services and the current fleet has three diesel and three steam locomotives in service. A vintage poster on the station wall offered cheap afternoon trips to Norwich for football fixtures. The small print said normal fares applied if the match was postponed for any reason. I had a look around the shop and strolled over to the platforms, where a wartime police officer (with bike) kept an eye on the proceedings. The original signal box was demolished in the 1960s and the replacement was donated by an enthusiast from Suffolk, who uprooted the structure from his garden. A few walkers passed along the Marriott Way, which opened in 1993. I walked a short stretch, looking across the railway tracks to a campsite, also owned by the heritage organisation. Tents, caravans and motorhomes are welcome. You can also book a stay in the luxury shepherd's hut, residential rail carriage, or in one of the static caravans. Mike Urry has incorporated quite a bit of diversification into his railway empire. Weddings and other significant milestones are are catered for. Naturally, a train ride is part of the experience. The function hall is used by outside parties for workshops and classes. If there's one thing a heritage railway needs to keep going in the 21st century, it's funds!

A weekly biker meet is held on Fridays, which explained the unusually high number of motorcycles I'd seen riding through the town the previous evening. The Whitwell & Reepham Railway is an economic asset to the area and a true Norfolk hidden gem. It was time to head back up the road and I boarded the shuttle bus, only for the starter motor to pack in! The driver had been standing outside chatting and the bus refused to get going again. Not a problem for me personally, as I could easily walk back up the hill to the High School, but a potential issue for less-able visitors and also the fact the whole shuttle bus concept was raising money for a worth cause. The driver remained hopeful that he could commandeer the railway's own mini bus and indeed this vehicle passed me just as I reached the school grounds. Problem solved. I met up with Nicole and we bought some goodies for lunch from the delicatessen and butcher's shop on the market square. Our destination for the afternoon was Felbrigg Hall - a country pile near Cromer, owned by the National Trust. The 17th-century house is Grade-1 listed and was built in the 1600s. The extensive grounds also include a large walled garden, orchards, parkland, formal lawns and woodland. The estate was bequeathed to the National Trust in 1969 upon the death of the last squire, Robert Wyndham Ketton-Cremer. Our Scottish membership allowed us free entry and we proceeded into the walled garden. The interior is vast and you could easily while away a couple of hours in here. The original purpose of walled gardens was to supply the estate kitchen with fruit and vegetables, including exotic items. Things became more ornamental as we progressed through the Victorian period and produce could be reliably delivered by rail. At Felbrigg, an octagonal dovecote is built into the centre of the northern boundary and this would have been a valuable source of fresh meat. Meanwhile, the bird droppings came in handy as a fertiliser. Today the garden also has an artistic feel, with several galvanised steel sculptures dotted around the place. I was able to stick my head inside the still-inhabited dovecote and experience its unique whiff. Huge flocks of pigeons were kept in the past to provide an alternative to salted beef. Eggs would also be eaten by the estate dwellers. After a relaxing wander among the plants, we walked along to the mansion.

The first room we entered contained a grand piano and a man was tinkling away on the ivories. He played a selection of classical pieces from memory and a group of people gathered to listen and applaud. Afterwards, the gentleman explained he performed a couple of times each month. We were certainly fortunate to catch him in action. A ring binder on a desk in the corner supplied information about previous lairds. The final incumbent Robert Wyndham Ketton-Cremer made significant repairs and improvements to the house and estate after decades of decline. Despite frequently joking about leaving it all to a cat's home, the squire had meticulously arranged the handover to the National Trust. Ketton-Cremer was a published historian and served as a local Justice of the Peace, as well as chairing several organisations. A real pillar of the community who left no heir. The tour took us through the dining room, great hall, drawing room and library. The usual opulent features adorned the living space and guides were on hand to answer questions. Nicole wondered whether the residents actually read through any of the literature collection, or were the rows of leather-bound volumes merely a status symbol? A quirky exhibit out in the corridor was Felbrigg's very own fire engine. The wooden cart could be pushed along on four iron-framed wheels, but only forwards or backwards. A change of direction required a manual lift via rods inserted into brackets. The vehicle was commissioned after a workshop explosion in 1755. Long pumping handles were employed to force water from the tank. Another interesting tale concerned the playful photographic talents of the three Ketton sisters who occupied the property over the latter part of the 19th century. This popular Victorian trend (known as spirit photograph) involved the use of double exposures and other camera tricks to create eerie images, often with a supernatural sheen. The images showed the women interacting with a ghostly figures and - even today - they convey a spooky nature. Bizarrely, all three sisters died in their 40s within a few years of each other, thus adding an unsettling twist to the family legacy. The Victorians had a deep fascination with the dead, probably stemming from high mortality rates from disease and war, coupled with the continuing emergence of new technologies. Maintaining grand country houses is a permanent drain on finances and it appears climate change is now adding to the headache. A 1756 hopper on the Felbrigg roof is currently undergoing repair. Designed to channel rainwater away from the masonry, the system is now regularly overwhelmed by increased bouts of bad weather. Birds came into the picture as we passed through a room with colourful wallpaper depicting our feathered friends. This was just as teaser for what was to follow. A taxidermy collection - assembled by the grandfather of the last squire - awaited us around the corner. It was like stepping into a natural history gallery and we managed to identify all the specimens (I think). Soon we were back outside in the sunshine and it was time to move on.

I really enjoyed the visit to Felbrigg and the grounds thronged with people of all ages. In an age where every scrap of agricultural land is intensively farmed, a National Trust estate provides a welcome oasis of tranquillity and a haven for wildlife. A lambing open day was in progress on the estate farm. For an admission fee of £10 (cash only), visitors could witness the hive of activity at the height of the season. Seeing a birth wasn't guaranteed but there was obviously a good chance of that happening. We passed up this opportunity and drove along to Cley Marshes for the folk concert. I was about to say we killed time in one of the hides but of course, there's always something worthwhile to see here. Shovelers were swimming close to the viewing windows and a moorhen picked its way along the edge of the pond. There was also the curious sight of a long slender fish wriggling around half in, half out of the water. An eel perhaps? It found its way to a deeper level eventually. After an alfresco dinner at a picnic table, we went into the visitor centre, where pre-show drinks and snacks were available in the café. Pleasingly, half a dozen Panther ales were on sale and I opted for a best bitter. The souvenir shop was open for business and many people were browsing. The gig was due to take place in a conference room and we filed through. Around a hundred chairs had been set out and the place was near enough full. Iona Lane performs solo with an acoustic guitar and tonight's set drew heavily from her new album, Swilkie. Resident in the remote Scottish peninsula of Knoydart, Yorkshirewoman Lane plays up and down the UK and - as I type - is in the middle of a German tour. Clearly a lass who gets around. Her material echoes themes of ecology, conservation and the sea. Lead single Torus takes inspiration from our relationship with the basking shark throughout history. The picture below was sourced from Ioana's Facebook page, not tonight's show. She delivered a superb set and her soaring voice is angelic. I noticed a few people purchasing Swilkie on vinyl during the interval. Priced £30. The rejuvenation of this retro medium undoubtedly helps touring artists bring in extra revenue. A successful evening all round, and now we faced a drive in the darkness back to Reepham.

We bid farewell to Norfolk the following morning, but we weren't homeward bound just yet. Three nights near Scarborough on the Yorkshire coast would form the final leg of our holiday. On the way, we stopped at RSPB Frampton Marsh - a Lincolnshire reserve on the fringes of The Wash, England's largest bay. A series of freshwater habitats support an abundance of birdlife and we came here twice last year. On those particular occasions, the place was something of a twitchers paradise with sightings of lesser yellowlegs, Bonaparte's gull and red breasted goose. Dozens of visitors (mainly men) descended with their enormous camera lenses and other specialist equipment. Many were dressed in military camouflage clothing as they scoured the landscape for the aforementioned species. Curiously, the main viewing hide overlooking the pools was relatively quiet. Quiet, contemplative birdwatching is not part of the hardcore twitcher's remit. Today's visit was a more sedate affair, although the presence of several yellow wagtails aroused a minor level of excitement. These small birds are summer visitors to the UK and they often breed on arable farmland. Indeed, they were hanging around the cattle today, probably because the hooves churn up the ground, releasing beetles and other invertebrates. The yellow wagtail spends much of its life on the ground and is unfortunately on the conservation red list. Reports filtered through of the spoonbill being sighted in the far corner of the reserve. We had a suspect in mind but it was beyond the scope's limit for the weather and lighting conditions, appearing as an indistinguishable white blob. Long-range viewing is difficult on breezy days as the distortion produced by the resultant shaking is magnified many times over. The "360 hide" is the highlight of Frampton Marsh, offering a panoramic view of the wetland area. Nothing unusual was happening here today but it's therapeutic to watch the birds in their natural environment. Our only gripe of the day was the downgrading of the café. Cooked meals are no longer available and instead pre-packed food is available from the fridge. Or you can have a pasty / sausage roll heated up in the microwave. None of this is cheap either. A similar situation has occurred at Loch Leven, our local RSPB patch in Kinross-shire. A shame, as we had been looking forward to a nice hot lunch before driving up to Scarborough (where our cooking facilities would be minimal). We took the A15 straight up through Lincolnshire, heading for the Humber Bridge, where a £1.50 toll would be levied. Opened in 1981, the 1.4-mile single-span suspended structure crosses the Humber Estuary between Lincolnshire and Yorkshire. It replaced a long-standing ferry route. Before venturing across the water, we pulled off the dual carriageway to check out Far Ings Nature Reserve, situated along the south bank.

Overseen by the Lincolnshire Wildlife Trust, Far Ings is an important corridor for migrating birds. The pits and reedbeds on the reserve are a legacy of the tile and cement industries, which flourished between 1850 and 1959. Thanks to pioneering management, the reserve is now rich in variety and is a British stronghold for bittern. The visitor centre was closed by the time we arrived but we had a wander around and enjoyed the views of the bridge. Quite a few people were making use of the waterside path. Nicole heard the chirp of the Cetti's warbler and this time was able to confirm a sighting, a new bird for her life list. We could faintly hear the booming bittern and we jumped back into Dolly Duster to drive a mile along to the reedbeds. A hide on stilts allowed us to survey the area but there was to be no glorious second coming and we had to content ourselves with watching warring coots while experiencing the bittern in audio format. Light was starting to fade and we crossed the Humber Bridge into Yorkshire, pulling in at McDonald's for a quick bite before pushing northwards. Our accommodation was located in a large village called Seamer, just over three miles from the centre of Scarborough. The house had an extension, containing our bedroom and ensuite bathroom. We had our own entrance and the garden summer house - containing a fridge, kettle, microwave and television - was available to use. Running around were a handful of domestic bunnies, who were friendly and inquisitive. The following day, we jumped on a train to Scarborough, travelling just one stop on the line. After getting our bearings in the town centre, we made a beeline for Wetherspoons and ordered a full breakfast with a refill tea/coffee deal. Scarborough is a large Victorian seaside resort and the shopping district is perched above the shore. Nicole wanted to visit Anne Bronte's grave and this involved a sweep around the upper levels of the town. I embarked upon a side mission to locate Mrs Lofthouse's Emporium - an independent bookstore that has been trading for over 40 years. A glance at the business's objectives on its website instantly compelled me to visit. Statements such as "to provide affordable and accessible books for all readers, regardless of their income, background, or preferences" and "to foster a sense of community and dialogue, by hosting events, workshops, and book clubs that encourage discussion and exchange of ideas". The shop is a real treasure trove and you could spend hours exploring the vast stock, a healthy mixture of old and new across many genres. I poked around a few of the various nooks and crannies, picking up a music biography for three quid. There was no way I could have left empty handed!

I hurried along to the (well signposted) graveyard and found Nicole sitting on a bench by the final resting place of a literary giant. Anne Brontë was born in 1820, her mother Mary (née Branwell) passing away the following year. Anne spent her childhood in Haworth, Yorkshire, where her father Patrick worked as a minister. The eldest two siblings - Maria and Elizabeth - died from tuberculosis before reaching their teens. The surviving children grew up to be talented writers, although sole son Branwell unfortunately traded the pen for the whisky bottle, with predictably dire consequences. Anne, Emily and Charlotte were all successful as published authors and the works of the three sisters have been adapted many times for film and television. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne is often considered one of the first feminist novels. Sadly the family was not destined for a long-term career. All three sisters died from TB within a timeframe of less than a decade, while still young women. Branwell succumbed to the same disease, meaning Patrick Brontë outlived all six of his children. We observed a steady stream of visitors paying their respects at the graveside, suggesting Brontë tourism is important to the local economy. And then a dog appeared. Some background information is required here. A tabloid story appeared several years ago, relating the tale of a pooping pooch soiling the hallowed resting place of Anne Brontë. Surely it wasn't going to happen again, right in front of our eyes? The dog had a good sniff of the gravestone but thankfully moved on. Phew! The sort of sight that could drive one to drink! You don't have to be a fan of classic literature to appreciate a visit to the cemetery. The view across the bay is spectacular and gives a good perspective of the split-level nature of Scarborough. Grand town buildings on the upper slopes and the bustling seaside resort down below. Behind us towered the ruins of Scarborough Castle. Now in the care of English Heritage, the fortification occupies a grassy headland (itself a large wildflower meadow the size of 12 football pitches) and an entrance fee is payable. The structure has viewing platforms offering commanding views of the surrounding area. We decided instead to head downhill towards the promenade, which involved shuffling down steep residential streets. We reached beach level, passing a traditional joke and magic shop that has been in business since 1996. On the promenade, we enjoyed ice creams and a cold drink before talking a walk along the expansive seafront. We took a ride on the giant Ferris wheel, getting three slow spins for our money. As expected, the bird's eye view was immense. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been on such a device. Down on the beach, the tide was quiet far out and we were able to stroll on the firm sand with ease. The multi-storey Grand Hotel and the Pier Lighthouse formed to spectacular local landmarks.