"Dewey defeats Trum ..."

It seems that there is another quarrel in a far away country, between people of whom we know nothing. Folk out there are in a tizzy over whether to paint the ends of their eggs blue or to paint them red. Quite why this should interest the Mainstream Manipulators in this country so much I cannot imagine since our paintbrushes don't reach that far, indeed those guys have stolen our paint (and our eggs). But nevertheless there is a morbid fascination in seeing which dead or dying horse will pass the line first; my money, for what it's worth, is on the red though the prize seems increasingly small.

The picture was taken by Margot K Juby and then ruined by me.

In the beginning was nonsense...

Atlas must have been a pretty dull fellow, sent off, as he was, by Zeus, to the end of the world to keep the Heavens aloft forever. Did it not occur to him to ask how did the Heavens manage before he came along? I wonder if, after a few eternities, he thought: "What happens if I take one hand off, or both, ...hey up the sky's not falling, D'oh ... Oi Zeus you bastard!" ... but by then Zeus was dead, like all the gods, probably died laughing thinking of poor old Atlas Telamon. Eternal Atlas is now reduced to being a hotel sign holding not the celestial bodies but a battered globe on a windy corner of a small Norfolk town.

I've posted this little Titan before but the myths are always worth revisiting, as this delight is worth a new coat of paint and some tlc and maybe a tea break.

But who is stronger than death?

They bury you when you go and die

It ain't that in their hearts they're bad
They can comfort you, some even try
They nurse you when you're ill of health
They bury you when you go and die

*

In mid-November 1875 a fleet of fishing boats was heading from Lowestoft back home to Fife at the end of the herring season when they were caught in storm and five boats were lost. Thirty two men were drowned and of them only eight were found, washed up on the Norfolk shore. Here they lie with this unique memorial, paid for by public subscription, among the kind folk of King's Lynn and surroundings... It stands as a memorial to the close links between the fishing communities of Scotland and Norfolk.

This is in Hardwick Road cemetery, a place that could have a whole blog to itself never mind a single post . Later perhaps. The cold details of this fine memorial are here.

 

It ain't that in their hearts they're bad
They'd stick by you if they could
But that's just bullshit baby
People just ain't no good

                                                Nick Cave

The theme for City Daily Photo ... (I know, I was told there would be no more theme days, we were all told a lot of things this year that weren't necessarily so) ... is kindness. It's reckoned we could all do with more of it, I know some who could do with a lot less.

Both photos by Margot K Juby who is always kind.

The Devil's Hill

 Quosdam daemones quos dusios Galli Nuncipant

                                                                          St Austin

I've shown Pilot Street before, it runs alongside St Nicholas Chapel until it is abruptly terminated by some of that modern housing I mentioned the other day. Clearly it has been abridged at some point and the new John Kennedy Road cut through and taken it over  but it used to run as far as the junction with Loke Road. I found the following on a Facebook group showing almost the same view as above from I'm guessing late 1950s very early 1960s, all the right hand side buildings are gone as is the chapel on the left with the road sign. What now looks picturesque and tree filled was once very domestic and gritty. But we are not here to gawp at pretty things ...

 

The street is ancient, at least 14^th century possibly much, much older and back then had a different name, Dowshill Street. In those days the sea was practically knocking on Lynn's door and just to the north of the borough was a wild and "dreary, unfrequented spot", most likely there were sand dunes, the History of the Borough of  King's Lynn refers to "the sands of Lenn at Dusehill". The same source gives evidence of a belief in malicious spirits, that the region to the north of the borough was "the abode of hobgoblins, sprites, and other indescribable monsters" (quite possibly still is) and that even the Loke was named after the supreme evil one of the Norsemen, Loke or Loki. The name Dowshill, it is thereby claimed, comes from the ancient northern European word duus or dusiens  or  deuce or as we say these days, the Devil.

So what I can tell you about what is known of Dowshill and its street. Old maps and records show a bridge over a fleet at the north end (now called the Fisher Fleet but then known as Dowshill Fleet). It is thought that there was a saltern at this point, where brine was boiled to make salt, no doubt adding to its devilish aura. The Corporation built canals off the fleet so that ships could moor at merchants' houses. It became so popular that local ship owners complained they could not moor their own boats due to the presence of large foreign vessels in the creek. An ordinance was issued saying the creek was for local ships.

The bridge had a gate on it for defense and gate keepers were appointed every year. So, for example, we find in 1403 John Groute was appointed keeper of Douz Hill Yard.

By the mid 18th century, however, the fleet had fallen into disrepair and the Corporation was sued by a merchant named Turner for not cleansing the creek. The judge , one Lord Mansfield, using quite bizarre logic, affirmed that as the Corporation's charter did not include a prescription to carry out the cleansing no such duty existed (even though they had done so for centuries) and further that what had been used as a public right of way (the creek) was in fact private property (it was never stated who it belonged to). This, I'm told,  was a unique judgement in English Law, the absence of a claim it was public was enough to make it private ...

18^th and 19^th century engineering gradually eased the river bank westwards and marshes to the north were drained, the sea retreated a couple of miles to the north, the Enlightenment reached even wildest Norfolk and the Devil's Hill lost its fears, until in 1809, King's Lynn renamed a lot of streets and Dowshill Street became Pilot Street complete with a Pilot's House. 

Let the sunshine in

 On Ferry Street this garage cum car park is best described as a little al fresco.

Something completely different

 I always keep all three of them turning, you can't be too careful.

 

The weekend in black and white is turning heads here.