Armchair Travel Group Annual Outing 2006

‘In (late) May the air was so pure that you could get drunk on it. The fields and hedgerows were alive. It was the most beautiful time. And there was a little pub in Burnham Thorpe where...’ (Sebastian Faulkes — Birdsong)
where the Pub was shut for the afternoon!

Pouring Tea

Well, there I was on a hot, cloudless afternoon in May, pouring tea from a massive teapot in the kitchen of a wooden, church-like Memorial Hall, in a tiny Norfolk Village named Burnham Thorpe. Lining up for PG Tips nectar were the Armchair Travel Group, stranded by a coach failure whilst visiting Nelson’s Church.
It had all started when we set off, in holiday style, aboard the Sleafordian, to historic King’s Lynn for the tour of the early town. Our three guides were knowledgeable, entertaining and proud of their lovely, unspoilt town. We gloried in the huge St Margaret’s Church, the beautiful brickwork of the ancient buildings, built when Lynn was rich and the fourth most important port in Britain. Apart from Victorian Puritanical zeal when taking down the fruit and flower ceiling in St Margaret’s, the town escaped further ‘modernisation’ of that period. Now preservation orders cover whole streets, including cobbles laid by immigrant felons. Vast ‘Gentleman’s Residences’ are cherished and lived in, some with delightful quirks such as barley sugar columns of painted mahogany and many-storied lookout towers built to espy the arrival of trading vessels. Hampton Court’s much sought-after apartments were cleverly adapted from a courtyard square of merchants’ buildings; built by the riverside, for centuries these handled the unloading, processing, warehousing and selling of goods to the public, all within a few yards.

After lunch, in glorious sunshine, we headed for Bumham Thorpe, the birthplace of Horatio Nelson and where his father was rector for many years. Mary, the church warden/organist/dogsbody, not only gave us the history of All Saints but played a few psalms on the tiny reconditioned organ with its newly restored and decorated organ pipes. We then made to board the coach. Hormr! The gears had seized! The Sleafordian sat immobile, smirking at our discomfort. While the driver frantically shouted into his mobile we trooped to the little wooden hall with arched windows and bell tower to be met by the resourceful Mary who was armed with milk, tea and biscuits. A second Mary (perhaps Mary Martha?) unlocked cupboards and filled kettles. The U3A then went into kitchen mode and poured, served, cleared and washed up. £40 was collected in aid of the Memorial Hall, and our lives were saved by that cuppa (plus the use of the toilets!)

At 6.15 we finally heard the sound of the ‘Rescue Coach.’ Despite enjoying the beauty of the countryside, Burnham Thorpe’s playing field and the kindness of the two Marys, we tumbled into our new home on wheels with relief. It had been a lovely day out, perhaps enhanced by a longer stay in Nelson’s village, but we were very glad to get home after 12 long hours.