Chapter 2: Ancient Paths to The Land of the North Folk

Sat 10th June 2023

Day 8: Somewhere outside Knettishal Heath to Great Cressingham
(Approx 15 miles – Camping at The Windmill Inn

Another hot one

So some of you who are good at maths might have noticed that I was 20 miles over the stated distance for the Icknield Way. Even the odd wrong turn wouldn’t account for this.

I have had this issue before; OS maps underestimate. And my handheld Garmin eTrex overestimates… or does it? It uses GLONASS satellites, so it should be accurate. What do National Trails use to measure the miles? Someone solve this mystery for me.

Anyhow, I shall change my recorded mileage to reflect this. 105 plus 5 for errors. Over 6  days, I walked an average of 18 miles p/day

Leaving the Icknield Way behind at Knettishal Heath last night. I continued along a little of the Peddars. Formerly a Bronze Age trading route and then a Roman Road, it begins, still in Suffolk, before crossing into Norfolk.

After dunking my feet by the footbridge in the little Ouse last evening. The trail passed large buzzing electric fences. I don’t know what they were keeping in/out, but there were tree cameras everywhere.

I kept walking and found myself a nice hidden spot as the sun went down. I chose well and was undisturbed all night. I heard a gunshot in the night, shooting rabbits, maybe; but I drifted off to sleep.

I awoke to a little tent buddy, a green caterpillar slowly making his way across my fly sheet. Leaving no trace, I decamped by 5am, as the sun came up. Along a short woodland trail, decorated with Ermin Moth silk. Then across a road and onto a metalled track. It was nice to be out of the dust.

Then, in complete contrast to yesterday. The trail continued on boardwalks through reed beds over the River Thet. Apparently, it completely floods in winter

Spider threads brushed my face. I paused to identify the birds, a surprising mix and some odd calls from the Red-legged Partridge

Peddars Way then meanders through tranquil forest plantations and Heath. It was good to be in the shade; it was already hot by 8 am. It was quite soothing after yesterday’s heat and dust.

I stopped for breakfast, a sausage roll from the Saxon Village Cafe

Squirrels playfully dashing up trees, the occasional bark from a Muntjac. The air smelt wonderful and green

A noisy Rookery just before a pig farm made quite a cacophony as they flew off to feeding grounds. Cookoos could be heard everywhere

It’s so odd that the pig farms are in open fields.  Out in the baking sun, with tin huts for shelter. Is this how bacon is made? I wondered why they weren’t grazed in the woodland.

Byways to Stonebridge, where a voice from behind shouted hello. Tony, perhaps in his 70s, was walking/jogging to get fit for a challenge event, one of the 50s. He was just getting over cancer. You meet extraordinary people on the trail

For the best part of the morning, the woods provided shelter from a fierce sun. Even so, I stopped to rest often, in the shade of the tree canopy. Giant oaks stood with huge girths. They must be hundreds of years old, the history they have seen, the stories they could tell

By late morning, I had eaten all my rations, and I was running low on water

The trail runs alongside the Stanford Military Training Zone – Keep Out. It reminded me of the Ranges across Salisbury, but in woodland instead.

The first of the ‘Song Line’ stones appeared on my right.

The route continues through an area known as ‘Pingo Ponds‘ on Thompson Common. Pingo is the Eskimo word for hill. Formed at the end of the ice age by retreating ice. They are a rare type of pond, and there are dozens in the Brecks in Norfolk.

A little siesta was in order at Thompson Water. Quite a substantial artificial lake. The water was alive with tadpoles, the air filled with damselflies and dragonflies.

The water looked a bit green to be sticking my feet in there. Plus, tadpole soup. So I lay in the grass for a little snooze. Drifting in and out to the sounds of wild fowl on the water

The village of Thompson is thought to have Danish origin and is mentioned in the Domesday Book as Tomesteda.

After Sparrow Hill, it was the last of the shade, as the trail continued on exposed byways and road to Little Cressingham. The heat was punishing and right on the back of my neck.

Easily hotter than yesterday, my hands swelled, and my feet complained. The strong wind that has been ever-present was a lifesaver

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Just before Little Cressingham, I stopped at a handy bench to set my poor feet free. Three former military guys promptly joined me, also walking the Peddars. They must have been behind me on the trail. More boots came off, blisters attended, banter ensued.

We walked together as far as a crossroads, where I stepped off for Great Cressingham, my stop for today. I think they are walking it in two days

Two more miles by hot asphalt. It was so hot that I started to dream of long, cool drinks and showers. I thought of my van. Was she cooking in the car park with no shelter? Flies were my constant companion. I must have sweated my body weight today.

Arriving at the Old Windmill Inn, I must have looked a sight. The first thing Ben, the host, did was fill a pint glass with ice and water and hand it to me.

He showed me the shower and laundry; I could have kissed him. He walked me across the road to where I would be camping. On what looked to be the village green. He assured me he owned it

First things first, lunch, then shower. I was getting undressed when I felt something crawling on my neck. It was a huge yellow-and-black beetle thing with long antennae. Had he been hiding in my hair all day?

But after two hot days on the trail, it was the best shower in the world. All washed and laundered, time for a nap, then back to the pub for an evening meal. Apart from the heat, it was a lovely day today

It’s my last night camping and my last night on the trail tomorrow. A short day to the pub and hostel at Castle Acre. I’m really looking forward to it. It’s reported to be a pretty village, and it has a Priory

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