A last post about walking in the Fens for now. Your sense of disappointment is palpable.
We must stay indoors, bar essential shopping or an hours exercise. Waterbeach had been busier than I’d ever seen it on Tuesday, full of dog walkers along the Cam.
It seemed there was nothing to stop you finding somewhere a bit quieter, so I popped up the A10 to Ely and the deserted village of Sutton.
In the summer of 1977 my Dad drove my Sis and me to Sutton to meet Starsky and Hutch, at the height of David Soul mania.
We parked at the church, just as I did now, 43 years later.
David, and the other one, never showed up.
Turns out there were two Suttons.
The Fenland village (pop.3,952) whose team had kept mighty Leeds to 6 nil in the cup in 1970, and a scary bit of
London Surrey London which I now know to be a pubby gem. Sis had to be placated with a curly wurly bigger than her head.
The church of St Andrews is stunning, perched on a hilltop from which you can see the, er, delights of the lower Fens.
Known only for a giant auction of farm equipment and community spirit, it’s a place I’d only ever been to a couple of times for a wedding and a pint.
I enjoyed the walk, you rarely get gradients like these in Cambs. Very bungalow and Union Jack Fens, just with a view. Everyone said “hello” as they crossed the road to avoid me.
The America was bit of a disappointment, to be honest. Simon & Garfunkel may have been able to write about Widnes, but Sutton would beat the most creative mind.
At home that night, I saw this;
Makes sense, I guess, less risk of traffic accidents. So there you go, only walks from the front door, back within an hour.
Back to the archives, then.