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.

Customs House, King's Lynn

Sometimes I think places try too hard to get the people in; take this light show on the Customs House for example. Is it really necessary? Does it add anything to the place? I'm not convinced. Oh it's an entertaining five minutes or so and, yes, I took far too many pictures but I feel it somehow trivializes the architecture. Simple lighting would satisfy me. There's four of these shows on in the town apparently but when we were there this was the only one actually working. Does a 900 hundred year church like St Margaret's need decorating by projected illuminations to please tourists? Maybe it does these days I don't know.

Weekend Reflections are here.

Yellow

The Great Ouse looking south towards the magnificent sugar beet factory paper mill.

Bank House, King's Lynn

Here's a thing you don't see that often: a statue of King Charles I, he who picked a quarrel with Parliament and lost not just the quarrel but his head as well . Here he stands on top of Bank House on King's Staithe Square (a nasty symbol of royalist oppression and tyranny). The building was once a bank (hence the name, clever eh?) and is now a restaurant. Charles is dressed in armour and looking a bit of a pillock. Couple this with the statue of Charles fils (proud symbol of the blessed restoration) on the nearby Customs House with his louche gowns and a wig that could house a small family and King's Lynn has a right pair of proper Charleys to be proud of.

The building dates from early 1780's and was the home of Gurney's Bank which went on by stages to become Barclay's Bank which you might have heard of. I'm guessing it's a listed building of some sort but sloth prevent me checking...

St Nicholas Chapel, King's Lynn

While in Lynn this was the view that greeted me each day on my way to get the newspapers in Norfolk Street. Bit different from the usual streetscene.

The weekend in black and white is here.

The Public Library, King's Lynn

One thing I have learned in all my years is that when you come across a library dating from the turn of the last century looking overly ornate, beyond the reach of any ordinary town council's budget, then it's a good bet that Andrew Carnegie's vast wealth lies behind it somewhere. Here, on London Road, is a fine thing opened in 1905 by the very man himself (see below). It's still the library of this town though I've read that modernity in the form of WiFi and digital computery things are available as well as old-style books.

The library is reputed to be haunted by a monk no doubt wandering in from the old Greyfriars monastery just behind.

Somewhere in that impressive crowd stands Mr Carnegie so I'm told. There's a tale, little more than scuttlebutt, that he built this particular library to get a knighthood as it's close to Sandringham and the then king's winter retreat. Firstly I wouldn't like to walk all the way from Sandringham to take out a book and second I can't see Mr C being impressed by mere baubles. (This picture courtesy of the generosity of the internet)

There's a Carnegie library in Hull, here, that also opened in 1905 a busy year for Mr C as he tried to give away all the wealth he had accrued. Now I come to think abut it there was a Carnegie library in my old home town, Hartlepool.