COVID related restrictions have continued in force since last October. Games in the football season – along with other sporting events – have largely taken place behind closed doors. Restrictions on travel and mixing of households meant that Christmas was effectively cancelled, and a limited relaxation of rules relating to pubs, restaurants and hotels only came into effect a week ago. So resumption of the walk has only been possible (or practicable) during the last few days.
As on the final walk of last year, John has driven with Helen to see his father in Essex over the weekend. We therefore have a car available not only to carry our overnight luggage again, but also to be called upon in the event that one or both of the two ferries which we are planning to use today isn’t running. This had been a distinct possibility due to recent high winds, but the weather is now more promising. Certainly, a lot calmer – and also drier. Almost constant rain during the last couple of weeks resulted in the prediction that this would prove to be the wettest May since records began. But the forecast for the coming days is for only a few scattered showers.
It is indeed dry when Ben and Gary arrive at Ipswich station shortly after 10 o’clock (25 minutes later than scheduled due to points failure at Liverpool Street) and meet up with John and Helen, and Mike who has not encountered any delays on his journey from Newark. Helen drives us to Butley and leaves us at the end of a track which leads to a grass embankment by the ferry landing on the west side of the river from which we resume our walk around 11:15. We follow the embankment in a south easterly direction and then, at the confluence of the Butley and Ore rivers, turn south alongside the Ore. Just beyond the mouth of the Ore, with the southern tip of Orford Ness to our left, we encounter a short, sharp shower which, fortunately, proves to be the only one of the day. It is, however, sufficiently sharp that we get out our wet weather gear, albeit sufficiently short that it stops only a few minutes after we’ve struggled into the gear. We go through the hamlet of Shingle Street (very aptly named) and continue along the coast past a series of Martello Towers, constructed at a time (early 19th century) when Britain was concerned about a possible invasion by Napoleon. Around Bawdsey, we move slightly inland to a road leading to our first ferry of the day across the River Deben to Felixstowe. We’re almost certain that it will be operating, but we don’t want to be waiting for too long in case it puts us behind schedule for our second ferry over the Orwell and Stour to Harwich, so John phones the ferry office to check departure times. It transpires that there’s no timetable and that, if the ferry is on the Felixstowe side of the Deben when we arrive, we simply wave a paddle to summon it over to Bawdsey. That, indeed, is what proves to be necessary, and the short time which elapses between paddle waving and disembarking just outside Felixstowe (just under 10 minutes) alleviates any concerns about catching the ferry to Harwich. Despite this, and the fact that we’ve arranged a “private crossing” for 5:30 (an hour later than the last scheduled crossing of the day) we phone that ferry office as well to say that we’re on our way and should arrive by 5 o’clock. We’re told that the ferry will be there at 4:30 and will return for us immediately after the last crossing or wait for us if there are no customers.
All we really know about Felixstowe is that it’s the largest container port in the UK. Therefore, to see how attractive the northern approaches to the town are, comes as something of a surprise. Felixstowe Ferry golf club looks very well tended, as do the sea front gardens overlooking a beach with a series of stone groynes which appear to be of practically uniform construction. The container terminal only comes into view as we round the headland to the south of the town to reach the point where our ferry is waiting. There is no landing stage and it takes the ferryman three attempts to get to a point sufficiently close to the shore that the gangway from the boat will reach the shingle where we’re standing. However eventually we get aboard and cross over to Essex , arriving in Harwich shortly after 5. We immediately repair to the bar of the Pier Hotel on the quayside. Helen has already checked in at our overnight stop, the Fryatt in Parkeston which is a couple of miles away. She’s kindly agreed to collect us from the ferry so we phone to let her know of our arrival – and also to take her drinks order. A couple of beers later, we set off for the Fryatt, but not before Helen has expressed one or two doubts about whether we should have our supper there. Those doubts are shared by the rest of us when we check in. The rooms are comfortable and clean, and the showers are very efficient, but the menu is limited – to put it mildly – and there’s no evidence of any staff other than a young guy behind the bar. We therefore make a reservation back in Harwich at the Samuel Pepys pub and, after freshening up, leave the Fryatt at 7:30 which gives Ben the time to squeeze in a pint of Guinness.
It's a pretty good supper (just a main course) and three things in particular bear noting. First, the surprising difficulty encountered by John, Helen, Mike and Gary in responding to Ben’s request to name the men who have captained the England RU team during the 21st century. Secondly, the equally surprising difficulty encountered by Ben in paying for the meal (three attempts with his debit card which all fail). And finally the surprising apparent ease with which John resists drinking any wine with the meal, having decided to take over the driving duties from Helen for the return journey to the Fryatt. However, stickies in the bar when we get back provide some measure of compensation.
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