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Wisbech

catseye said:
I was watching one of those 'true crime' things on YouTube the other day, about a murder of a disabled lady (who had been dealing drugs) in Wisbech. The detective in charge of the case said that she always dreaded driving a certain road (which was prominently shown, with a ditch along one side and fields on the other, I'm guessing the main road into Wisbech?). She said if she had a case at Wisbech she'd always make sure she had a full tank of petrol because she worried about breaking down on that road as it was so isolated.
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That is the programme I referred to in my opening post, it was a bit of an eye-opener to life in remote Fenland towns, eh?
 
Paul_Exeter said:
That is the programme I referred to in my opening post, it was a bit of an eye-opener to life in remote Fenland towns, eh?
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I'm glad about that because as I read @catseye's post I was thinking, 'I've read this before. I've gone back too many pages.' Then I realised I hadn't and started to freak a bit.

catseye said:
I was watching one of those 'true crime' things on YouTube the other day, about a murder of a disabled lady (who had been dealing drugs) in Wisbech. The detective in charge of the case said that she always dreaded driving a certain road (which was prominently shown, with a ditch along one side and fields on the other, I'm guessing the main road into Wisbech?). She said if she had a case at Wisbech she'd always make sure she had a full tank of petrol because she worried about breaking down on that road as it was so isolated.
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The fens is replete with roads with dykes one side and fields the other, or winding roads with rivers on one side. Many feel remote, but I honestly think they're no more so than lesser roads you'll find anywhere else. Some places give people the creeps when they're alone, and I think that's the case with the fens.
 
XBergMann said:
Plenty of old churches, castle ruins and even a nice Cathedral at Ely.
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I wasn't familiar with more than the name, but the interior views look stunning.

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XBergMann said:
There is a feeling of ancient history and the endless march of time leaving the Fens unchanged over the centuries. Although that is only if you go really rural in an attempt to commune with what's left of Pan.
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Are you familiar with The Nine Tailors by Dorothy L. Sayers?
 
PeteByrdie said:
The fens is replete with roads with dykes one side and fields the other, or winding roads with rivers on one side. Many feel remote, but I honestly think they're no more so than lesser roads you'll find anywhere else. Some places give people the creeps when they're alone, and I think that's the case with the fens.
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For me it's mostly that leaving the road... well, you remember the spirit of dark and deep water info ads?????? :eek: :eek: :eek:

The Ely Lantern is magnificent. Saw it for the first time about 5 years ago and was SO impressed.
 
PeteByrdie said:
The fens is replete with roads with dykes one side and fields the other, or winding roads with rivers on one side. Many feel remote, but I honestly think they're no more so than lesser roads you'll find anywhere else. Some places give people the creeps when they're alone, and I think that's the case with the fens.
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They wrapped their coats about them and turned their faces to the wind and snow. To left of them, the drain ran straight as a rule could make it, black and sullen, with a steep bank shelving down to its slow, unforgiving waters. To their right was the broken line of the sunk hedge, with, here and there, a group of poplars or willows. They tramped on in silence, the snow beating on their eyelids. At the end of a solitary mile the gaunt shape of a windmill loomed up upon the farther bank of the drain, but no bridge led to it, and no light showed.
Source:
https://www.fadedpage.com/books/20140327/html.php
 
For about 20 or 25 years of my career, I was out on the road visiting customers to assess insurance claims. Part of that time was spent in and around the fens. Now, part of my family lives in Boston and I visit regularly.

I looked the fens up in Wikipedia today. The area is larger than I had realised. I mainly think of the fens as the incredibly flat, dull area on the A17 down to Kings Lynn, and the area around Wisbech. (Pronounced "whizz beach" but a lot less interesting than that makes it sound.)

The fens were once wetlands, often with salty or brackish water. The area was largely drained and reclaimed from the sea in the 17th century and after. Dutch engineering skill was utilised. As the water level lowered, the ground dried out and shrank, and the result is that many parts of the fens are lower now than before they were drained. The sea is kept out by earth banks (dykes) and the water is transported to the dykes by artificial rivers (drains) and in some areas has to be pumped out. In other areas, the level is controlled by sluices, letting the water out when the tide is low, keeping the sea out when the tide is high. It is a wonder of engineering, and the area called "the fens" covers about 1,500 square miles, or 3,900 square kilometres, although some of this was naturally above sea level before the reclamation.

The fens had a bad reputation in history. Poor farmland then (now excellent farmland) meant that anyone living there was poor. The fens were "bad lands" where a traveller might be waylaid and robbed or murdered, or might simply become lost and drowned.

There is the story of King John's treasure being lost near Sutton Bridge in 1216. They unwisely tried to use a causeway that was only useable at low tide, and they did not employ a local guide. I have crossed the modern Sutton Bridge many times and it is difficult to describe the tidal river there without using the expression "bloody horrible." It is now dredged and deep enough for ships but I imagine in 1216 it was wide, shallow and dangerously silty.

When I used to visit customers, the 2 weirdest customers I ever visited were in fenland.

One was a local woman who claimed to be French and spoke with an exaggerated "Allo Allo" accent. She was delusional and "at war" with her neighbours, who were also quite mad. The neighbours became threatening and I had to make a very quick get away. When I spoke to the police because I thought she was at risk of violence, it came to light that the woman was well known to the police for, er... entertaining the local lads, who apparently queued at her door at the weekend.

The other was a lovely chap, but so much a product of rural inbreeding that he looked like a cartoon drawn by Spike Milligan. He lived alone in a cottage, miles from anywhere, and every room was absolutely packed with bags of newspapers and piles of firewood, with only narrow walkways (I had to turn sideways) between the doors and his favourite chair.
 
Mikefule said:
The fens had a bad reputation in history. Poor farmland then (now excellent farmland) meant that anyone living there was poor. The fens were "bad lands" where a traveller might be waylaid and robbed or murdered, or might simply become lost and drowned.
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They were also, like other low-lying wet places, full of malaria, back in the day.
 
XBergMann said:
I haven't, no, but based on your recommendation I will see if that nice Mr Bezos can sell me a copy.
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It's quite an involved book for the genre, but the setting looms large enough to be comparable to a participating character in places.
 
Ely Cathedral is the last resting place of the notorious John Tipton, 1st Earl of Worcester, known as 'the Butcher of England'.

EDIT: Meant to add that it'd be surprising if his ghost wasn't hanging around the Cathedral.
 
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Steven said:
Ely Cathedral is the last resting place of the notorious John Tipton, 1st Earl of Worcester, known as 'the Butcher of England'.

EDIT: Meant to add that it'd be surprising if his ghost wasn't hanging around the Cathedral.
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I've been to the cathedral, which is impressive. It is meant to be haunted, but I can't remember by who. Just down the road is Oliver Cromwell's House, also supposed to be haunted.
 
Frideswide said:
For me it's mostly that leaving the road... well, you remember the spirit of dark and deep water info ads?????? :eek: :eek: :eek:
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Yeah, I think that spirit is a permanent resident in the fens. It seems the kind of place he'd hang. I've been fishing out in these places and it can get spooky. But it's not marshland or anything. I think it's pretty safe.
 
PeteByrdie said:
The fens is replete with roads with dykes one side and fields the other, or winding roads with rivers on one side. Many feel remote, but I honestly think they're no more so than lesser roads you'll find anywhere else. Some places give people the creeps when they're alone, and I think that's the case with the fens.
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I think there is something unique about the fen roads.

There are roads with local names like "the ten mile straight." The actual length is usually somewhat less. It is common for a road to be dead straight for miles and then have a right angled bend. Meanwhile, "straight on" takes you along a farmer's track, or into a field, or, occasionally, into a drain (artificial watercourse).

Many of these roads are on artificial embankments, with deep drains at each side. Very often, subsidence has made the road surface extremely uneven. If you hit an unexpected patch of subsidence you have a moment where you think you might end up in the water. Most years, somewhere in the fens, a car goes into the water and the news is either of a tragic death or an heroic rescue.

The land is low lying and when it is foggy, it is very foggy indeed. However, many of the locals drive with the gay abandon of the confident but unimaginative. I have had cars "right up my backside" in fog while I have been driving as fast as I dared (I'm a confident driver who used to do 35,000 mainly non-motorway miles a year) and when they have overtaken me, I have been unable to keep up with their tail lights.

Thick fog can be disorientating and if you combine this with driving more slowly than you would on a clear day, you can easily lose track of where you are. Everywhere in the fens looks quite similar (same topography, same types of roads, local styles of houses, few fences or trees) and you can end up lost.

On a clear summer's day, you can sometimes find yourself driving past miles of cabbages, and the smell hangs in the air. There is a lot of poverty in the area, and when you pass an occasional house, it is often in a state of semi-disrepair. An old Land Rover covered in lichen, maybe a boat half covered with a rotten tarp, rusted farm equipment, and a general air of neglect.

I always have the feeling that if you are somewhere in the fens, the fens are something you have to pass through to "get back to civilisation". There is this atmosphere of isolation, melancholy, and decay. It wouldn't take much to spook me if I broke down on a fen road on a foggy night.

No offence to any forum users who live in the fens. I am sure there are also many cosy homes, and well manicured gardens. My mother lived there and my stepfather still does, as do my brother and sister in law, although they are all in or very near to Boston. They are not locals, but the gradient of land and house prices means that once your life has slid eastwards into the fens, climbing back up the slippery slope is very difficult.
 
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Mikefule said:
I think there is something unique about the fen roads.

There are roads with local names like "the ten mile straight." The actual length is usually somewhat less. It is common for a road to be dead straight for miles and then have a right angled bend. Meanwhile, "straight on" takes you along a farmer's track, or into a field, or, occasionally, into a drain (artificial watercourse).

Many of these roads are on artificial embankments, with deep drains at each side. Very often, subsidence has made the road surface extremely uneven. If you hit an unexpected patch of subsidence you have a moment where you think you might end up in the water. Most years, somewhere in the fens, a car goes into the water and the news is either of a tragic death or an heroic rescue.

The land is low lying and when it is foggy, it is very foggy indeed. However, many of the locals drive with the gay abandon of the confident but unimaginative. I have had cars "right up my backside" in fog while I have been driving as fast as I dared (I'm a confident driver who used to do 35,000 mainly non-motorway miles a year) and when they have overtaken me, I have been unable to keep up with their tail lights.

Thick fog can be disorientating and if you combine this with driving more slowly than you would on a clear day, you can easily lose track of where you are. Everywhere in the fens looks quite similar (same topography, same types of roads, local styles of houses, few fences or trees) and you can end up lost.

On a clear summer's day, you can sometimes find yourself driving past miles of cabbages, and the smell hangs in the air. There is a lot of poverty in the area, and when you pass an occasional house, it is often in a state of semi-disrepair. An old Land Rover covered in lichen, maybe a boat half covered with a rotten tarp, rusted farm equipment, and a general air of neglect.

I always have the feeling that if you are somewhere in the fens, the fens are something you have to pass through to "get back to civilisation". There is this atmosphere of isolation, melancholy, and decay. It wouldn't take much to spook me if I broke down on a fen road on a foggy night.

No offence to any forum users who live in the fens. I am sure there are also many cosy homes, and well manicured gardens. My mother lived there and my stepfather still does, as do my brother and sister in law, although they are all in or very near to Boston. They are not locals, but the gradient of land and house prices means that once your life has slid eastwards into the fens, climbing back up the slippery slope is very difficult.
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I've never visited Fenland, but several parts of your description remind me of Romney Marsh.
 
Many decades ago, pre sat nav, etc. a friend and I used to visit a cactus nursery, sadly long gone, at Whaplode St Catherine. We went three times and each time approached it from a different direction. The greenhouses were visible from quite a way off.

On our first visit, lost, we asked a policeman directing traffic (it was that long ago) for directions. His response. "Whaplode St Catherine? Why don't you go to Whaplode, it's easier?"
 
Mikefule said:
I think there is something unique about the fen roads.

There are roads with local names like "the ten mile straight." The actual length is usually somewhat less. It is common for a road to be dead straight for miles and then have a right angled bend. Meanwhile, "straight on" takes you along a farmer's track, or into a field, or, occasionally, into a drain (artificial watercourse).

Many of these roads are on artificial embankments, with deep drains at each side. Very often, subsidence has made the road surface extremely uneven. If you hit an unexpected patch of subsidence you have a moment where you think you might end up in the water. Most years, somewhere in the fens, a car goes into the water and the news is either of a tragic death or an heroic rescue.

The land is low lying and when it is foggy, it is very foggy indeed. However, many of the locals drive with the gay abandon of the confident but unimaginative. I have had cars "right up my backside" in fog while I have been driving as fast as I dared (I'm a confident driver who used to do 35,000 mainly non-motorway miles a year) and when they have overtaken me, I have been unable to keep up with their tail lights.

Thick fog can be disorientating and if you combine this with driving more slowly than you would on a clear day, you can easily lose track of where you are. Everywhere in the fens looks quite similar (same topography, same types of roads, local styles of houses, few fences or trees) and you can end up lost.

On a clear summer's day, you can sometimes find yourself driving past miles of cabbages, and the smell hangs in the air. There is a lot of poverty in the area, and when you pass an occasional house, it is often in a state of semi-disrepair. An old Land Rover covered in lichen, maybe a boat half covered with a rotten tarp, rusted farm equipment, and a general air of neglect.

I always have the feeling that if you are somewhere in the fens, the fens are something you have to pass through to "get back to civilisation". There is this atmosphere of isolation, melancholy, and decay. It wouldn't take much to spook me if I broke down on a fen road on a foggy night.

No offence to any forum users who live in the fens. I am sure there are also many cosy homes, and well manicured gardens. My mother lived there and my stepfather still does, as do my brother and sister in law, although they are all in or very near to Boston. They are not locals, but the gradient of land and house prices means that once your life has slid eastwards into the fens, climbing back up the slippery slope is very difficult.
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I'm not sure whether to applaud you or curse you!

Fen driving did tend to be rather manic because you can see for miles. The old King Street that runs behind Baston towards Market Deeping was a favourite of the local young drivers because it wasn't a main road and there were less police around, but you could belt up there at 70 plus quite confidently - just don't plunge into the dyke next to you (we tended to refer to the drains as dykes). A schoolmate of mine damaged himself quite badly coming off a motorbike into the dyke, and he was lucky that somebody saw him do it because he could have been pinned down there under his bike for a LONG time. Small cars have vanished into some of the bigger dykes.

I recognise the straight road suddenly right-angling without much warning. One of the regular routes used by the driving instructors between Bourne and Spalding had one of those, and I can remember a driving lesson where the instructor said "Brake...brake...brake!" in increasingly panicked tones as I approached the turn. You also didn't carry out hill starts when doing a driving test in Spalding as there were no slopes to use!

The A15 these days is heavily regulated for speed and I don't live there any more, so I cannot comment on the current state of driving. I guess it's just what you're used to; another school friend who came on holiday to Devon complained to me about the high-hedged roads, said he had to concentrate so hard on not crashing into them that he couldn't appreciate the scenery.
 
Kondoru said:

Quite by co incidence
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Thank you for posting that. Very interesting. The Lamb and Flag at Welney is still open. I must pop in some time. Of course it is very different now, but some parts seem to be almost as they were.

I was grinding my teeth at the narrator's constant reference to the fenman's "simple life" without the "pressures" of living in the city.

His life is so simple that he has to have effectively 10 jobs, and must make or maintain, and operate, much of his specialised equipment (fish traps, nets, punt gun, boats) and so lacking in pressure that sometimes he is unable to hunt for 70 days because of thick ice on the rivers. In reality, it was a complex, highly technical way of life, and a hard life too, especially in the winter.

For most of my career, I have made a decent and reliable living simply by speaking to people on the phone, and sending letters or emails. I know whose job is simpler and more stress free, and I'm very lucky. I also know whose work life was more fulfilling, though, and he was very lucky in that respect.

It is also rather simplistic to describe the fenman's life as "primitive" and to suggest that he would be able to survive in the same environment in medieval times. You can see in the video he is wearing glasses, wears clothes made from contemporary materials, wears a pocket watch, rides a bike, and so on. He may have some skills that could be transferred to a medieval setting, but he is in his own way dependent on the 20th century infrastructure for his survival.

In another part of Lincolnshire, near the east coast, I once stopped at a pub for lunch. I was the only customer and fell into conversation with the landlord, who was not born locally. This would have been in the 1990s. He told me that he had a regular customer who came in at the same time on the same day every week, sat on the same stool, and who was in his 80s (or thereabouts) and had never been out of the village he was born in. There are probably few if any such people around in Lincolnshire now. I have an uncle from Norfolk who is a bit that way, but has at least travelled to nearby towns.

The Ouse washes are the home of a Molly dance team, Ouse Washes Molly. I have no connection with them other than that I am a Morris dancer. Molly dancing is an East Anglian tradition and a lot less is known about it than the Cotswold traditions because it was considered less interesting by the Late Victorian and Edwardian folk dance collectors. This comparative paucity of information about the old dances has made Molly dancing a fertile area for innovation and imagination.

The Ouse washes are also the site of an RSPB reserve, and probably worth a visit.
 
Some very valid points.

Once had a book on living (ie moving to) the countryside. Apparently country dwellers live by growing their own food, and simple handicrafts.
Not once in this books do they mention kids (the target audience are child free, or have kids in boarding school, or sold them off as slaves, or simply ate them).

Nor integrating in the local community. (Some of the assumptions were of people who would not fit...)

On another matter, A friend was involved in a city charity raising funds to take kids on trips to the countryside. He mentioned that there are several charities in this country with this laudable aim, but none for taking country kids to see the city.
 
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