A Three-Thousand Horse Town

In England it's often difficult to decide whether a site should be classified as of historic importance, scientific interest, recreational value or natural beauty. In such a small country things tend to get mixed up - and in this particular case you can also throw a couple of works of art and one of the country's top sporting venues into the mix.

As you approach the small Suffolk town of Newmarket (human population 15,000) this mighty statue literally rears up ahead of you. It's called the Newmarket Stallion and it stands right in the middle of the road on a traffic island and announces to everyone that this is the horse-racing capital of the UK.

We're about to walk right through the middle of the racetrack, or more exactly we're walking between the July Course and the Rowley Mile Course. Yes, there's more than one course here at racing HQ. In fact the whole town is surrounded by everything to do with the Sport of Kings. There was no actual racing today but we saw one or two horses being exercised as we began our walk and we'll have a look for some more later this morning.

Our walk is along the top of this raised bank, giving us views out over the race courses and the surrounding countryside. This embankment looks like the kind of thing that might have once carried a railway; it's on that sort of scale - though in fact it's much, much older. There's a deep trench along the west side and the whole thing's called Devil's Dyke.

It's around seven miles (11.3 Km) in length and about 30 feet (10 metres) from the bottom of the ditch to the top of the bank. But as you walk along it becomes clear that neither figures nor photos can express the enormous effort of building such a thing. It was probably dug around the fifth or sixth century AD by Anglo-Saxons, though it's not clear whether it was to prevent an invasion, to control trade along the ancient Icknield Way or perhaps even for reasons of prestige. There's an old legend of course....

A big wedding was being held in Reach, at the northern end of the Dyke. The Devil was not invited, but decided to go anyway. He was refused entry and left for home, at high speed and in high dudgeon. His fiery tail left a deep scorch-mark across the fields, which was ever after known as Devil's Dyke. Maybe there's a grain of truth in this tale.....did two tribes unite, perhaps through marriage?...perhaps another tribe felt threatened by this new alliance and dug this defensive ditch as protection...perhaps, perhaps. One thing is clear though: the Devil, rather than dwelling in the depths of hell, once resided in the sleepy Suffolk village of Wood Ditton - that's where the Dyke ends!

The chalky, sun-facing slopes form a rich haven for wildlife, notably chalk-loving plants and the insects associated with them. Marbled White butterflies were everywhere (though the two photos here were taken elsewhere, in much trickier conditions, the day before and, having gone to so much trouble, I'm not going to waste them!).

Butterflies seem to come into this world with a not-very-clear idea of what they can feed on and they dither about from flower to flower, like some absent-minded shopper, until by chance they stumble upon the right one. You want to grab them by the antennae and say "This is what you're looking for!", but all you can do is stand by, patiently or impatiently, camera in hand, and wait.

But at least we knew what we were looking for.

It's called a Lizard Orchid because it's said that the individual flowers resemble small lizards. You can, sort of, see the head and the tail and maybe some little short legs.

Or can you? Whatever you might think about their likeness to lizards, they are certainly some very strange flowers. And they smell of goats.

And here they stand, right beside the race track. They are quite common plants in parts of mainland Europe, but here they are confined to a few places with chalky soils. 

Having found our orchids there was time to quickly visit the training gallops alongside the Moulton road to see some of the thoroughbreds being put through their paces. They gallop up one way...

...then dawdle back towards the town of Newmarket, something which we're about to do ourselves. 

These days the Sport of Kings could easily be re-named the Sport of Sheiks, as huge amounts of Arab oil-wealth have been poured into horse racing. Even so, the Queen has always been a keen race-goer and horse-owner so it's hardly surprising that the town should want a statue of Her Majesty...

Of course, this is Newmarket, so even the Queen has to share the plinth with a racehorse and its foal.

Take care.

,

A Very English Village

Every real landscape has an imaginary equivalent that exists only in our minds, a perfect example that is seldom encountered outside of dreams. But every so often the material and the intangible meet up and sing together in unison. When an absent-minded cyclist wobbles unexpectedly into such a scene all he can do is dismount and lean his bike against a tree.

The place is Barrington, a village just a few miles from my home. The time is a fine, sunny Saturday afternoon at the end of May.

Many villages in this part of the world have "greens", as sung about by the Kinks, you know, "We are the Village Green Preservation Society". Historically they were places where the livestock could be kept safe overnight, later they became the venues for outdoor sports and dancing too. But nobody knows why the village of Barrington needed such a huge green; it's 1,100 yds (1 Km) long and nearly two hundred yards (or metres) across at its widest point. And, believe it or not, it used to be even bigger till some parts were built upon.

Around the perimeter of this large green space is a mixture of old houses and thatched cottages, many of which are picture-perfect - a vision of the idealised Olde England of fantasy.

Of course, you'll need a few pounds if you want to buy one of these properties. There's one on the market at the moment (not this one) that's open to offers over £675,000. It's rather more luxurious inside than the original inhabitants enjoyed, but you still have to walk through one bedroom to get to another.

During the summer months there's entertainment on the green in the form of cricket, yesterday it was the village's Second XI on show.

Cricket's a game that puts on display the character of the participants. Some players wield their bats like cavalier swordsmen with extrovert thrusts and flourishes. Others use theirs like a farmer holding a heavy board in front of a runaway pig to block its progress.

Just across the road you can buy an ice cream (or flowers, fruit, lottery tickets, groceries, bread, milk, firewood, postage stamps.....), then you can watch a bit more of the cricket.

An elderly gentleman tells me that the cricketers are not as good as they were in his day. I don't disbelieve him; it's one of those games where indifferent players can continue gain reputations of greatness years after they finish playing! A woman remarks that the sudden summer weather has taken us all by surprise. An astute ten-year-old sees my camera and asks if I take photos that make things look cool. Well, yes, I suppose I try.

I'd better take another wander around to see what I can do! Quite a bit of the green remains unmown this year - good for the wildlife.

Whenever I come here I always try not to photograph these chocolate-boxy cottages - and mostly I fail; it's just all too addictive.

I'm making my way up to the northern end of the green where the church and the village primary school stand.

For absolute perfection there ought to be a wedding taking place, or at least bell-ringing practice, but the grand old building seems to be deserted on this fine Saturday.

Down at the other end of the green the Royal Oak pub is having more success attracting customers! Village pubs are not doing too badly as we come out of lockdown as they have plenty of space for outdoor seating, and now we are having suitable weather for sitting outside, pint in hand, and watching the world go by.

Now I'd better go and find my bike and pedal off homewards.

Take care.

Battle Of The Barrels

It's that time of year again. The normally sane and respectable citizens of Grantchester and the surrounding villages take to the streets, full of Christmas pudding and good cheer, to roll huge wooden barrels in chaotic frenzied races, just for the fun of it.

Even more remarkably hundreds of their otherwise staid and reliable neighbours come to stand around in the cold to watch them. 

Various teams either volunteer or are hastily press-ganged and assembled by the organisers to contest a number of back-and-forth relay races along the Coton Road.

Besides watching the races, I also hoped to see many of my old friends from the village. That was how, having arrived early to get the perfect spot for photography, I wandered away just as the races began, to chat to various people.

As a result most of the photos shown here were shot over the heads of other onlookers. Long arms and a tilting viewfinder screen come in useful sometimes.

It was great to see so many young people competing this year. Things have changed since the old days when the race was the exclusive preserve of men who drank in the four village pubs.

Lots of fun was had by competitors and spectators, and money was collected for charities as well.

It's not usual to see the barrels airborne as the one in the photo above seems to be. Youth and enthusiasm can do strange things to the law of gravity.

After three-quarters of an hour or so of mayhem the races came to an end and my brother Les and I headed for The Crown at Eaton Socon for a roast dinner.

A few years ago I concentrated on the races long enough to shoot a video which, if you haven't seen it before, can be viewed here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZsfeYl7If3E

Take care.

Men Of Royston

In contrast to the grace, elegance and beauty of the swans in my last post, I came upon something a little more rugged and violent as I walked across Royston Heath on Saturday.

  

A Rugby Union game was taking place between Royston's 1st XV and Saracens Amateurs. Not teams of the highest calibre it's true, but nevertheless a fast, exciting, physical game for those few of us who were willing to stand out on "the blasted heath" on a cold December afternoon.

Royston, in the black and white hooped shirts, soon began to overwhelm their opponents by both speed and power.

There were some very large men involved and in Rugby the biggest and strongest often come out on top. Royston's powerful scrum dominated the play.

One smaller person was definitely in charge however. 

I'm not about to explain the rules (yes, there are rules!) to those from lands deprived of the beauties of Rugby Union Football; we'd be here all day and you wouldn't be much the wiser. Lets just say there's a lot of pushing and shoving, grunting and groaning, and pulling and pushing.

But there's also a lot of exciting running moves....

....and skillful passing.

...till things are brought to a sudden, crunching conclusion.

Royston ended the game victorious by 39 points to 7, according to the results published online, though to tell the truth I'd lost count towards the end of the game. 

I was also beginning to lose the feeling in my fingers towards the end of the afternoon as there was a bitterly cold wind blowing across the heath.

Take care.

A Bumpy Ride

The Cambridge University students were out on the river this week doing what they've been doing for over 120 years, racing against one another in the Lent Bumps. We had a post about this a couple of years ago which baffled many of you. So here's another attempt to explain what's going on.

The river at Cambridge is too narrow to allow boats to race side by side or overtake safely, so a different kind of race had to be devised.

The boats race in groups of seventeen and start at various points along the river with one-and-a-half boat lengths between each boat. The fastest crew from the previous race starts at the front with the second fastest behind them and so on down the line.

The idea then is to try to catch up with and bump the boat ahead. Once a bump is achieved the crews involved pull over to the side of the river to let the following crews past. As you will see in the video later, this does not always go as smoothly as it might!

Sometimes bumps occur within a few hundred yards of the start, while others chase the whole length of the course to no avail. For the next race the crews involved in a bump change places in the start order. 

Successful crews decorate themselves with ivy - there being a lack of laurel leaves along the river bank.

So here's a video which I hope captures some of the excitement, exuberance and exertion of the event. There are four races featured - two Women's races and two Men's. Hold tight!

A quiet afternoon on the river - not.


Take care.