18.04.09

Pakenham, a perfect day!

Leaving East Grinstead I was sad to goodbye to my dear friend who so kindly put me up and made me so welcome in her home. We arrived at the station a half hour early and she asked if I had my ticket! “yes, yes”, I replied and when the time came sank into the cushioned seats in the carriage up front. As I was sitting there sorting through my tickets, my heart stopped when I realised that yes I did have a train ticket but it was for the 2nd leg of my journey. I grabbed my bags and suitcase and ran helter-skelter along the platform to the ticket office with only 3 minutes to spare to buy my ticket and board the train. To my utter dismay there was a gentleman at the counter and he and the ticket man were in deep discussion. There was no way I would get my ticket in time to get back on board, so chipping in I desperately asked if I could please buy my ticket asap. The gent at the back said, “Get it on the train”. Well ok then, and lickety split I ran and jumped back on board, regaining my original seat I gasped like a fish without air, heart racing and nerves wrangled I hoped the conductor would not come by and ask for a ticket. Which thankfully he did not and I bought it when I got to Victoria. Then it was off to Kings Cross to meet with another dear friend who is due to return to SA for a brief stint on her own journey. We plan to meet up in Abu Dahbi when she gets a job at ‘The Palace’ hotel.

I eventually arrived in Pakenham last night, deep in the Suffolk countryside, for a 2week night duty stint. Although I groaned at the thought of another night duty I have been very lucky in that the lady is lovely and the setting very tranquil. We chatted and she retired at 23:30, which I believe is the norm. My duties include helping her to get up during the night and clearing up after her evening meal. Wow, how busy will I be then!

The bungalow is set right at the very edge of the village amidst rolling green fields and narrow country roads lined with towering hedges. The view from the kitchen window is fabulous and would encourage me to stand there all day and wash dishes

Overlooking a neat wee garden with a wonderful cherry tree in full blossom, the kitchen has a view across rolling green fields with an uninterrupted massive sky. Early this morning I walked outdoors whilst having my tea and enjoyed the birds flittering and swooping as they fed from the various trays and balls of fat and seeds.

The garden is flowing with brightly coloured flowers in different hues and shades, a kaleidoscope of yellow, purple, lilac, bright orange, white and pink. The cherry tree is in full bloom and host to numerous bees all zooming about from blossom to blossom gathering pollen as they go, the breeze tosses the branches shaking blossoms loose falling in swathes to create a carpet of pink confetti on the lawn. The pheasants kak-kak-kak as they strut about scrumaging for food on the grass, and in the hedgerows, with a multitude of bird life flitting about, chirruping, tweeting and whistling as they go. The peace is overwhelming in its tranquillity and a tractor can be heard chugging away in the distance, challenged only by the occasional car zooming past on the road beyond, heard yet unseen.

I left the house at about 8.30 for a wander down to the village and returned 2 hours later having nearly walked to the next village 2miles away. Early morning sunlight splashed across the lawns, the air still and crisp, a perfect spring morning. The village is a cluster of quaint old thatched roofed houses, painted in bright pastel colours of pink and orange, blue and some white. Dormer windows lean out from cheerful lofts topped by twisted chimneys and dense thatch. Quaint names: Laundry Cottage, Nut Cottage, Nether Hall, Fen Cottage, Fen House, Jubilee Grange, Osier House, Bridge House, Brookside Cottage, Telegraph Cottage, The Shutters, New Cottage, Old Cottage, The Cottage, The Timbers, Nutwood, Farthing Cottage, Apple Cottage.
The gardens a flood of gaily bobbing flowering heads of bright orange tulips, yellow daffodils, clusters of purple and posies of primrose. Old fashioned farming equipment adorn the odd corner and an old fashioned tub is filled with a splash of brightly coloured blooms. Off the road are wooded glades of tranquil green, dappled sunlight dancing through the leaves and branches casting shadows that flit and dance in the breeze. Ancient towering walls, sprouting ferns and grasses hide mysterious houses, and the Manor house stands resplendent amongst tall firs surrounded by wide green manicured lawns.

A veritable chorus of birds swoop and flit about the treetops, twittering and calling, with the occasional courr-courr of a dove heard above the din. The roads twist and wind enticing you to walk just that wee bit further to see what’s around the next corner. At a cross-roads a sign post directing you to hitherto unseen places: Ixworth 1mile; Badwell Ash 3miles; Stowlangtoft 1.5miles; Gt. Barton 3miles; Bury St Edmunds 7miles and Pakenham Mills 2miles.

The village describes itself as the “Village of Two Mills” as it has a water mill that claims to be the only working example in the county as well as a working windmill.

Wandering along an off road pathway the trees a guard of honour, arching over forming a green tunnel of dense shadows, softly soughing in the brisk breeze that lifts the hair and wafts scents of horse and cows from across the fields. I stumbled across a fabulous old barn, the roof sweeping almost to the ground, adorned with thickly growing moss, the weathered boards green with age, a wooden door rotting at the hinges, a reminder of ages past when bales of hay were expertly lofted high on pitchforks to be stored in the cool shaded lofts. ‘Woodlands’ a name from ages past.

Along the path, trees and wild undergrowth form a dense forest mysterious and dank with rotting logs and leaves, piled year upon year sinking deeper and deeper. Stinging nettles guard wooden fences, and a careless brush against my wrist left a bright red patch, that still burns 3hours later. Flat green paddocks fenced and wired keep horses at bay as they graze and lift curious heads to spy on strangers walking by. The air is crisp and cold, icy on my hands while the sun beats hot against my back.

The Fox, a quintessential pub, focal point of the village set in rolling green lawns, a bubbling brook babbles and rolls along beneath sweeping fronds of weeping willows, a family of pheasants lorded over by a brightly coloured male, he herds his harem of 3 as they scurry about heads bobbing, pecking at the ground.
On the rise a magnificent Tudor church rises stately and commanding above the village, surrounded by ancient gravestones green with algae, names long forgotten obscured by time. An ancient cherry tree aplomb with blossoms shades a cold granite cross marking the resting place of a family long gone, a carpet of blue forget-me-nots brightens the scene. The towering walls inset with multi-coloured stained-glass windows, a stately tower nestles in a corner harbouring a mysterious wooden door, adorned with brass handle and curved hinges, flanked by iron railings of Bonny Prince Charlies’ feathers A nearby yew, hundreds of years old guards an array of graves, the bright red roofs of the village nestled in the hollow, glimpsed through ivy-covered trees. Behind the yew, a hidden exit, an old kissing gate the ground worn down by the tramp of feet over the aeons.

A red-bricked house stands nearby, the mantle adorned with an inset flagged stone dated 1845. Along the main street, pretty gardens line the sidewalk, a splash of colour in the bright sunshine, a produce stand advertises flowers and rhubarb for sale, while across the way the Post Office vies for attention, in competition with a post-box inset in the wall just yards away. A grassy verge inset with 3 steps leads to a hidden gate, intricate metalwork, ram-shackled and rusty with age announces the cottage beyond: Elmwood.

The bright blue sky open and streaked with tufts of white cloud that flit and fade, unable to compete with the heat baking down, a perfect spring day. And so to bed. Being as how I had been up the whole night bar a snooze or two, it was time for me to sleep. So earplugs in and eye shield on, I snuggled in and marvelled at how lucky I am to have the opportunity to visit another marvellous old village. The bed a soft and comfy vast queen size mattress hugs me close and off to lala land I go. J

When I awoke in the late afternoon it was to my dismay that I discovered I had only slept for 4 hours!!!! Not enough my brain screamed as I climbed bleary eyed out from beneath the covers. Ah well, time to get up. A hot shower and a brisk walk soon cheered me up and then I watched a splendid sunset, the sun a globe of molten red sank slowly down beyond the fields the sky a splash or gold and pink fading to dusky lilac. White clouds painted a bright pink then red as the sun disappeared from view.
Night soon folded in and all is still and quiet, not even a mouse could be heard.