It may seem like it often, but there aren't many untrodden ways left in the country now. It felt like it this morning, though, as I set off for a walk. I'd been up since 6.45, an ungodly hour which I rarely see, but a text message telling me my new dishwasher would be delivered between 7 and 11am meant I had to leave my warm bed long before I wanted to. Amazingly it arrived early, and I had bathed, breakfasted and read the news headlines online by 9am. Sid came and did what he had to do, and we remarked on the loveliness of the day, cold though it was. When he'd gone, sadly wishing me a happy Christmas, I set off down Bannocks Lane, but instead of turning off into one or other field and making a wide loop I continued down to Bruisyard in the Alde Valley. I meant to turn back at this point, but the devil took me and I decided to make it a grand tour.
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Wilby front and (top) back |
Oh Suffolk, how beautiful are your houses! Timber-framed old properties still stand after 400 years, some in a mild or serious state of disrepair, many renovated and immaculate in their sprawling landscaped gardens. All have an air of timelessness, of history, that I find utterly beguiling. There are so many, thatched or tiled depending on when modernisation took place - once English Heritage introduced their Listings system the roofing had to stay put. Luckily for aesthetics there's still plenty of thatch. I was retracing the drive I did at the end of summer when I searched for eggs for my lunch. My jaw literally hung loose then with incredulity at yet another source of hidden jewels, pearls strung out along this unfamiliar lane, and today, moving at a much slower pace, I was able to linger outside each one, staring, devouring with my eyes, trying to imagine them as they were centuries ago. I lived in and loved such a house until a year ago, its antiquity a constant thrill. I've gone Victorian now, but I'll never forget the privilege of inhabiting a space in constant use since the last few years of Elizabeth I.
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