Most Sundays I’ll start the day by accidentally reading about a niche subject. Last weekend I launched myself into an article about the ‘Iya’ of Benin, a system of moats built in Benin from approximately 800 AD, with walls up to 20 metres tall enclosing approximately 6,500 square kilometres (2,500 sq mi) of land. This week was a blog post on the East Norfolk terrain, as that afternoon I was planning to take a walk with my beloved. I took a look at the map and I could see that there was a lake nearby called Pedham Lake, which is connected to a series of waterway networks. I read further around the lake and the area in which it resides, and I came across a blog post titled ‘From Heath to Fen to Broad’ written by Crispina Kemp. She writes about a 10 mile walk she took from Norwich to the Broads.
What caught my attention was her investigation into the Bluebell patch on Blofield Heath. Bluebells act as a gravestone for where a woodland once stood, which raises the question ‘how could there have been woods standing in Blofield Heath, when heathland is open and vast?’. Or at least, there doesn’t seem to be any woodland in that particular area today. With further investigation by looking at old maps of the land and the etymology of the name of the area, we begin to see how the enclosure proclamations, allegedly beginning in the 14th Century (the beginning date is debated by many), catalysed the recession of woodland, with continued efforts of commercial farming and urbanisation, which have changed the landscape significantly. The woods of Mousehold would have reached as far as Blofield, but today it is mostly open stretches of land continuing for as far as the eye can see. With more woodland spanning more Eastward from Pedham to South Walsham and beyond.
The blog post deduces that the lake that sits in Pedham, a small village, once would have sat at the bottom of Mousehold. The etymology of the name Mousehold has a number of suggestions— one being the Anglo-Saxon moch-holt meaning ‘thick wood’. And the second being moss-wold which means marshy wood. It’s speculated that Pedham lake could have been a drainage basin for Mousehold.
Mousehold played a role in two major rebellions that took place in Norfolk, including the ‘Peasants Rebellion’ (1381) and ‘Kett’s Rebellion’ (1549). The Peasants Rebellion was an uprising that spanned across large parts of England in response to the socio-economic and political tensions generated by the Black Death in the 1340s, the high taxes resulting from the conflict with France during the Hundred Years' War, and instability within the local leadership of London. They demanded a reduction in taxation, an end to serfdom (the condition where a farmer is bound to a plot of land and to the will of a landlord, a condition of debt bondage and servitude), and the removal of King Richard II’s senior officials and law courts. Kett’s Rebellion, a revolt beginning in Wymondham by a group of rebels, led by Yeoman Robert Kett. The rebels destroyed fences erected by wealthy landowners, with one of the targets being Robert Kett who owned land at the time. Instead of resisting the rebels, Kett and his forces joined by recruits from Norwich and the surrounding area took the lead of the rebellion. 16,000 set up camp on Mousehold Heath to the north-east of the city. They stormed Norwich on 29 July and the city was administered by the rebels in short time.
By this point in my research, conducted in bed, my beloved had woken up and I couldn’t wait to tell him that we were going on an exploration of the land, walking along the same trails trodden by commoner rebels centuries beforehand.
We began by walking to Pedham Lake. The area where the lake sits on the map is engulfed by woodland, and is surrounded by houses and is mostly fenced off. We were determined to find a way in. When following a public footpath alongside the houses, we were shortly after met by a dog. The dog led its owner to us, and we were politely told that the public footpath continues through the field, away from the lake, and when I asked if there is public access to the lake, she replied no. Nabil pointed out the very cruel irony and poetry of the fact that in 2024 we are being denied entry to a lake sitting between land which would have been subject to the enclosure movement centuries beforehand, causing widespread unrest across the county. A historic body of water with much significance to the ecology of the area, is being intercepted by landowners and their guard-dogs at the gates. It is indeed ironic, frustrating, but also sad. Especially as the lake is large in size, with dwellings only on one side of it, meaning we wouldn’t have been a disturbance, and being denied access was more of an enforcement of futile rules driven by greed of those that feel inclined to commodify nature. So why should ordinary people not be able to simply enjoy that?
Onwards— we ascended through Pedham eastwards along the road. There is a small waterfall in Pedham that is surrounded by gorgeous overgrowth. There was really very little difference to waterfalls I’ve seen in places like Nicaragua and Brazil, because of how lush the greenery was, unsurprising from the intense rain and sun we’ve had this summer.
There were spots of pink dotted amidst the green. The flower resembled an orchid, and it’s called Himalayan Balsam. They are native to the Himalayas, hence their name, and are considered an ‘invasive species’. It was introduced by human intervention, and now present across much of the Northern Hemisphere. They are an extremely smart plant, being able to exist in low-lit areas, and each stem can produce up to 800 seeds. The seeds sit in pods that explode open once ripe, and can travel up to 7 meters away from the stem. Because of their exploding tendencies, they remind me of the ‘Exploding Cucumber’ or Ecballium Elaterium which I’ve seen grow in the dessert in Andalusia, Southern Spain. The plants have yellow flowers, and small pods that look like cucumbers. When you poke the pods once fully ripe they erupt and a liquid is dispersed which contains the seed. When out dog walking with my mum when we lived there, I would find a large stick and stand as far as I could before poking the cucumbers, because the seeds travel at such a speed that when they hit your bare skin they sting. But it’s still very entertaining nonetheless. Just some examples of how plants have evolved to develop really cool regermination mechanisms, which is why they grow extremely rapidly in comparison to other plants.
The waterfall trickled down and ran under the road, connecting to a small stream the other side. We were covered by a tree canopy above. It’s magical.
After leaving the canopy, the road was now open and exposed with harvested fields either side. My favourite time of year in Norfolk, as the dominating colours are a biscuity golden brown, I guess almost pastry-like (the shiny gold achieved after egg-washing). And pastel blue. Sometimes with brushes of white, like marble. I recommend anyone visiting the Norfolk countryside to go when summer straddles autumn. The air is toasty from the harvested hay, sitting in the fields in barrel form. It smells slightly dusty too— perhaps I enjoy this because it induces nostalgia. My brother and our friends used to climb on the hay bails. They’re itchy and sharp. And when running through the fields the stems left after harvest are like blades, catching your ankles and sticking in your socks. I look down at my shins and ankles as I write this and I am covered in small bites and scratches and grazes. I’m aware I’m no longer selling it, but the marks remind me of fun summers running around through the fields. It’s an irresponsible childlike ignorance that I miss so much it hurts. And it unlocked something being able to do this again at 25. Albeit we weren’t climbing on the bails, I regret to admit I’ve become so responsible now that trespassing and climbing on farmers bails is a step too far at this age. And I’m aware that less patience would be awarded to a 25 year old grown adult on their land, than one would to 13 year olds running about the place.
Off the road, there was a public footpath leading us into an overgrown field. Our legs and arms were caught with bramble branches and stinging nettles. Again a sting that I don’t mind and that I got used to, but I was unaware that my city-boy boyfriend had never experienced such torment. I looked back a few times, as I led the way. We followed the plants which were indicators to where water could be, first being the Willow, then we saw some Bamboo growing here and there, and then some water Mint. Further along we noticed three grey boxes standing on the left-side of the path. Nabil said they are beehives. We admired them for about 10 seconds, as I’d never seen them before, and turned back to take the other way. Sloes covered the bushes— we tried one which was slightly soft. They are sour and dry in taste and texture, and should be left to harvest after the first frost. But our curiosity got the better of us. I’m hoping I find bushes that large back home, to make jam or gin. The bush I have outside my flat is only small, and I’d rather leave the fruits for the birds and squirrels that we live alongside here.
We tasted some of the Damsel Plums which tasted so much better than I remembered. Perfect balance of sweet and tart. And the flesh is like yummy jelly.
We reached South Walsham and Nabil kept mentioning the old architecture. Most buildings are leaning in that part of the world. And stabilised by anchor plates, the small metal discs, or sometimes crosses, you see on the side of really old houses. They are connected to a tie rod, and help a building to stay standing. We saw houses dating back as far as the 18th Century. One house had 8 plates on one wall. And we looked down the length of a wall of an old barn, just to laugh at how uneven and wonky it was.
Many churches in Norfolk are Anglo-Saxon architecture. And we noticed they incorporate a lot of flint. We stopped at the Parish of St Mary’s in South Walsham. The entrance has a porch, which is lined on the ceiling with a beautiful carved wood pattern. It dates to the 13th Century. We ate our picnic in the gardens. We reflected on our trip whilst shelling garden peas and sharing a jam tart. He asked me what it’s like to come to a home that was once mine, miles away, in distance and nature, to the city I now reside. I responded at length, probably, cause I’ve been told I can talk for England.
We ascended through the village, past the small pond in the centre, and followed the map towards the water. We finally reached the marshlands, and then the fendlands, and then the broads. The marshlands are breathtaking. The different colours you see in marshlands comes from the variety of plant species that reside there, as they are naturally occurring. Marshlands are ‘unproductive’ or ‘useless’ to a degree as you can’t farm or build on it. Unproductive for capitalisms standards, but beautiful because of the variety that is able to exist with very little human intervention. You could just see cows grazing. In growing older, I’ve a new found appreciation for marshlands because of these reasons. Wildlife is able to just be. And it felt special that we were looking on to land which most likely looks similar to how it would’ve looked for Robert Kett and his rebels, all that time ago.
The continuation of nature, irrespective of anything, makes me feel lucky and blessed. It is relentless, in a benevolent kind of way. It being a constant brings me comfort. On our walk home, I breathed deeply, making the most of breathing that air, as I know I won’t be able to return for some time. But to know it’s there for when I’m ready to return brings me solace. Like a kind parent. Nature is sympathetic and holds me when nothing else can. My fear of time has been getting the better of me lately— and I shared my fears that the seasons for harvesting Blackberries is slipping away. And I haven’t found time to pick some for jam. But Nabil assured me that the time will come again, and there’s a humble defiance that it is not within my control whether it is getting to the end of the blackberry season or not. And further commented that he thinks that’s beautiful. And is a reminder we as humans do not have the control that we think we do. A reminder that I am only human. And there’ll be Blackberries next summer.
Nabil, also in all his wisdom, said we can’t just abolish enclosure acts. So where do we go from here, in terms of land sovereignty? It isn’t in human nature to give up the riches that they’ve reaped. People will continue to accumulate wealth, and with it land. And vice versa, so what will we have left at the end of it? We, as in the common-folk that are wondering if we will even own land for a house one day. It starts with sacrificial giving. Luke records in Acts 4:36–37 that Saint Barnabas sold land and gave the proceeds to apostles, which is one of the earliest acts of sacrificial giving demonstrated in Christianity. Barnabas sold his land in Cyprus amongst many other things to support the poor, while others were liquidating their possessions to get by. His act of generosity stood out even in those times. Barnabas lived a life of generosity, forgiveness and friendship. In a time of competition and greed, how do we get closer to this being common practise? Especially amongst those that have the most to give. Very little is done these days without reward. We’ve reached a point in this individualist, capitalist incubus where they will try to take from you even when you have nothing, and at your most vulnerable. How do we get free? When will we turn back, on this long stretch, which is headed for ruin, to being closer to what it means to be human again?