Nelson Street and Devil's Alley, King's Lynn

I guess all towns have their stories to keep the visitor wondering if his hosts are quite as sane as they appear. So it should not come as a surprise to hear that the Devil himself once came ashore here, at the back of Nelson Street, to collect souls or whatever a devil collects (maybe toilet paper and hand sanitizer, who knows?). Anyhow being as well known as he was (he face was in  every church and chapel, in those days) he was spotted by a priest and told to get himself gone and given a shower of holy water for his pains. Such an unfriendly reception displeased the old devil and he stamped his cloven foot leaving a mark which you can see to this day ... or so it is said.

Devil's Alley, which leads down to the river, is where all this happened and the tale must be true as a familiar of the devil still haunts old Nelson Street to this day.

 

Bandstand, Hunstanton

I've said it before that no place with any sort of get up and go can afford to be without a bandstand. So what if it sits (or is that stands?) there empty for 99.9% of its miserable existence; it is a testament to where a town wants to be ... a bandstanded kind of place. And so what if when it is actually being used for it is intended (and not as trysting place for malfeasance)  no-one stops to listen; they just think a band playing on the prom by the seaside on that one warm day in July (Tiddely-om-pom-pom!) is just so right and fitting that they float on by in a nostalgic revery.

The weekend in black and white is here.

Groyne Strain

Now there can few pleasures as great as a stroll on a beach on a chilly, cloudy day in late February, especially when the wind is blowing at a steady 30 mph and gusting fit to lift you off the ground and dump you in another county. Such delights are best taken in short measures and so I didn't overindulge my stay on Hunstanton's famous beach. It's a funny old beach for a seaside resort; you might imagine miles of golden sand but this is split into short stretches by numerous groynes and the sand is well peppered by vast numbers of large pebbles in various sized and colours, red, white and creamy, having come from the cliff whereon sits the lighthouse. (I didn't have the opportunity to see the cliff from the beach but I saw it many, many years ago and can confirm that it is indeed two toned; red and white). Generations of youngsters and oldsters have enjoyed the beach over the years so it can't be all that bad.

Don't ask what the poles with odd attachments at the end of each groyne are for because I haven't a clue.

Alios delectare iuvat

Something I noticed during our short stay in Norfolk are the delightful, decorative signs that adorn villages and towns in these parts, usually depicting a motto and a scene from the history of the place or some local landmark. Hunstanton's features the famous sun setting over the sea, that I (and everybody else) mentioned, and old Edmund and his wolf. The motto, as you no doubt know, means "It is our pleasure to please others". Sunny Hunny certainly pleases.

You can see a collection of these signs here.

This, for comparison , is what we have across the road for Cottingham. A bit small and dull.

The Lighthouse

A sign on the gate says there's been a lighthouse here on the cliff top over Old Hunstanton since 1665 though some suggest that a hermit, one Thomas Cooke, was paid by the local bigwigs, the L'Estranges (We met a L'Estrange a few days ago), back in 1530's to keep a light from the chapel that I posted yesterday; lighthouses being more helpful than churches as someone once said.

Trinity House took over the running of all UK lighthouses in 1836 and this building went up in 1840. This is the Trinity House coat of arms.

It's always nice to have some claim to fame even if this is disputed ...

The lighthouse as you can see is no longer functioning and is in fact a holiday cottage. You'll want to a look around inside, no doubt; well you're in luck as there's a video that I'll post just for completeness and the catchy (mindless) tune.

A shaggy dog story

To cut a long and very unlikely story short: a king, Edmund by name, king of the east Angles was captured by, or surrendered to, the Danes (or Vikings if you must be crude) who then used him as target practice for their archers (think St Sebastian only worse) then chopped off his head (as was the style in those days and those days were the mid 850s, crazy times ...) and threw it away after playing a game of football with it, of course. Edmund's lot found the body but not the head. Later they heard a wolf calling to them; wolfy had the head between his paws ... hence this howling wolf on Hunstanton cliff top. Why Hunstanton? because Edmond, as young boy, is supposed to have landed here or was shipwrecked here or ... any way Edmund woz here OK! And he built this chapel that is now a repaired ruin ... or at the very least this chapel was named after him, St Edmund's-on-the-cliff. Anyway this Edmund is known as King Edmund the Martyr and is interred in Bury St Edmunds though Bury there means burgh not inter ... and not at all to be confused with King Edmund the First who never met a Dane he didn't like.

Howl, howl, howl, howl!

Some shaggy dogs came to pose.

The neatly repaired chapel doorway has provided a frame for generations of photographers; folk were queuing up behind me to take their snaps. I'll post the lighthouse tomorrow.

I got this off the net I think it dates to 1895 but don't quote me on that.

Henry L'Estrange Styleman Le Strange

We took ourselves out on a trip to the coast on a road we had not traveled on for thirty five years. The road had been straightened and did not pass through Onion Corner or down Cat's Bottom; places which put the fear of an early demise on the unwary driver. Still the road passes rich sounding places such as Snettisham, Heacham, Wolferton and (my favourite) Ingoldisthorpe; we could have dropped in on Queenie at Sandringham but thought better. Our destination for the afternoon was the delightful seaside resort of Hunstanton; yes, we were going to sunny Hunny. I'll say it now because everyone always says this about Hunstanton: it is the only resort on the east coast where you can watch the sun go down over the sea; there that's that out of the way and we can move on. Hunstanton is on the Wash, that bit of the coast where the North Sea has taken a fifteen mile wide bite out of the land, you can see Lincolnshire on the horizon should you want.

Hunstanton had been a small fishing village until our hero, Henry L'Estrange Styleman Le Strange (we'll call him Henry shall we?), Henry had the idea of building a seaside town, New Hunstanton, connected to the world by a railway to King's Lynn. It was an immense success, the railway being the most profitable in the country. Henry fancied himself as an artist and drew up designs for lots of buildings including the Town Hall which you see above. There's a hotel next door which I somehow did not photograph in similar honey coloured stone so you'll have to take my word for how nice it looks.

The statue in front of the town hall was unveiled in 2017, cost a mere £40,000 and is, no doubt, the pride of the town, there's more here (I'm not that bothered).

There's more to Hunstanton than just this man and his town hall but as today's theme for the first of the month is "municipal buildings" this will do for now. 

Thanks are owed to Olly and her friend, Smut (or Ann), for transport and pleasant company on this trip.