Ely - Cambridge - London - England, England [and a little bit of Wales]

August 24, 2007

Ely - Cambridge - London

Where a Morning is passed at Ease. Evidence of a Disaster is observed. Mistress Poole counts the Tongues. Victuals are taken at a Seat of Learning.

Our mornings on these trips are rarely suffused with urgency, today even less so. We paid for a guided tour of the Cathedral, £5 each as I remember. We were with a group of about 10 people and were shown round by a local schoolmistress. She was both entertaining and informative, well worth the cash. We learned of the martyrdom of St. Edmond and that the ceiling was painted in the 19th century, by Henry the Strange. A young choirboy rehearsed a piece and was mildly admonished by his teacher for missing a high G, while we amateurs applauded.

Ely Cathedral, Barbara admires the work of Henry the Strange.

Ely cathedral, early representation of the martyrdom of St. Edmond. [that's the St. Edmond from Bury St. Edmunds.] Viking invaders chopped him up into little pieces.

The last time we visited Ely cathedral was about seven years ago We had spent the night at my brother's house and were driving back home the long way round. First up, we took a look at the Denver Sluice, just south of Kings Lynn, a series of sluice gates which ameliorate the risk of flooding by controlling the flow of water from the tidal Ouse. It was just after Christmas, a north-easterly wind was blowing and it was very cold. The sky was a bright, brittle blue. After perusing the waterworks, which were less spectacular than I had hoped, we turned south for Ely. Barbara was not too impressed by the wintry wetland in front of her. She was saving herself for later. Both my son and I found it fascinating. By the time we arrived, the sun was on its way down. In that stark wintry light, the cathedral looked fantastic, both inside and out. It made a deep impression, on Barbara in particular.

Ely cathedral, evidence of reformation vandalism

On this second visit the interior aspect was spoiled somewhat by the demands of a film crew. The cathedral was being used as a location shot for the film, The Other Boleyn Girl. The windows on the south side were blacked out to ensure an even quality of light for filming.

The strong wind, which had been plaguing us, was gone. A day too late, if we'd had today's weather yesterday we would have continued northwards. We decided to continue riding down to Cambridge and take the train home from there. We had no intention of following the busy A10 road, so we thought we might ask for details of any local cycle routes at Ely TIC. The TIC is housed in a former residence of Oliver Cromwell. His wife and he stand at the door in case of trouble. The woman at the desk, who was Dutch [home from home?] printed out a route to Cambridge for us. We walked back to the hotel, picked up the bikes and baggage and set out down the hill to cross the river. Yes, another hill. Surrounded by all this flat land is the Isle of Ely, so called, because before the land was drained for farming, the Isle of Ely, the higher ground, did not flood.

Oliver Cromwell's former home. That's Oliver and wife Elizabeth on the door.

We bought food at a supermarket near the station, crossed the bridge and turned onto the cycle path that follows the river.A little further ahead we passed the site of the works to rebuild the railway bridge over the Ouse which, earlier in the year, was damaged beyond repair when a freight train came off the rails. Here's what happened: http://iandelgado.fotopic.net/p47325261.html

Leaving Ely, railway station across the river.

A little further again at the confluence of the Ouse and the Soham Lode the path followed the new waterway. The path passes near, but does not go to Soham, much to the relief of Barbara, whose only previous knowledge of the town was of the murder of two little girls by the community-school caretaker in 2002. Barbara is a kindergarten teacher and takes news of dead kids particularly badly.

Pumping station on the river Ouse at confluence with the Soham Lode.

A more uplifting event, though another railway accident, was the saving of the town, in June 1944, by the alert driver of a train carrying bombs, newly shipped from the USA, to an airfield in Essex. Approaching Soham station, he spotted a fire in the wagon closest to the engine, instructed his fireman to uncouple it from the rest of the train, then attempted to drive the engine and the burning wagon out of town. He didn't quite make it. The station was flattened. The town suffered comparatively minor damage. The rest of the train with its load of nearly 400 tons of high explosive was untouched. The fireman and the local signalman, who had tried to help put out the fire, died. Strangely, the driver survived until 1976. According to a local report of the incident, he was found badly injured, but on his feet, inquiring after the health of his fireman, 200 yards away from the blast. At the time, he weighed 18stones, or 252 lbs, or 112kg. The engine, one of a class specially built for wartime duties, was put back into service, with a new tender.

Vegetable packing/processing plant near Soham.

Where the workers in above plant must not go. In which languages? Answers below.*

Beyond the edge of Soham,we passed a vegetable packing/processing plant. A sign beyond, on private land, prohibited access to residents of the workers hostel, in eight languages. British agriculture relies heavily on temporary immigrant labour for fruit and vegetable picking. Some people, evidently, don't appreciate their presence. In the village of Wicken, we were directed across the Wicken Fen nature reserve. Here in England, there isn't a square inch of the countryside, that hasn't been touched by the hand of man, so we have to make do with what we've got. Wicken Fen, although I must confess, I didn't check this out, is probably big on newts and dragonflies. There was also a breeding group of 'semi-wild', grey-coloured Konik ponies. Back on the roads again, after two days, we were now out of the Fens. We were still following the bike route. It took some bizarre twists and turns. There were small hills and picturesque, evidently prosperous villages, until we reached the main Newmarket-Cambridge road, where we rode on a designated cycle path parallel to the road, as far as Cambridge Airport. Getting into Cambridge city centre, by bike route from there, was not at all straightforward. It seemed to take much longer than it should. There'd be less problem as a commuter, because after Day One you'd know what to do. For us though, it was Day One. It would be a nice ride to work, through riverside meadows for part of the way and obviously popular.

Bike path this way, outskirts of Cambridge

Inter-college rivalry turns to graffiti.

Cambridge, city centre street from the park.

We ate the bread, cheese, tomatoes and fruit we bought in Ely, on a park bench overlooking the Cam. The sun came out, mottled sunlight filtered through the willows. It was warmer and the air was still. Ducks were quacking, swans were gracefully gliding across the water to feed from tourists. People were inexpertly poling punts. Where had we been these last few days?

*1.Weird English 2. Polish 3. Lithuanian 4. Ukrainian 5. Romanian 6. Bulgarian 7. Portuguese 8. Russian

Today's ride: 63 km (39 miles)
Total: 539 km (335 miles)

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