The Surfleet Walk. 8 June 2023 in pictures (with added words)

Picture by Simon Bradford.  Commentary not by Simon Bradford.

For reasons that will not become apparent at this time, I don’t actually live in the districts walked by Peterborough Ramblers, and thus on occasion when the walks are what we geographers call “too far east” I offer my apologies and stay home. Thus I often miss the glorious locations in what might be called the “non-west”.

But now with you, dear readers, I can see exactly what the ensemble got up to, and jolly it looks with creatures upon the water, and lots of stone peering.  An ancient ritual.

It is also a place of dastardly murders including that of Samuel Stockton – but clearly our fellow walkers were interested in smaller creatures who popped out to see what this Rambling business is all about.

Thus as can be seen this is a mixed environment of houses and little beings each in harmony with the other.

And forsooth no sooner is one away from one group of the little white things than lo and behold another gang of them pop up from somewhere else in this case carefully marshalled by the bigger versions. As I have mentioned in passing I am not originally from these parts and so this is a fascinating novelty for me.

And also we have a church.  Surfleet church is dedicated to Saint Laurence and includes a 15th-century font. The church tower leans 6 feet 4+1⁄2 inches (1.9 m) out of where it should be which can be seen here. According to my encyclopedia, this is apparently due to the rotation of the earth which is speeding up due to the melting of Boris Johnson – although that might be wrong as I may have got the walk report mixed up with the evening paper.  But I am sure that is roughly the gist of the matter, and I know you’ll understand what I am saying.

Anyway, it looks a jolly fine church and apparently no one was hurt by it slipping further to the west as our jolly band passed by.  And I’m glad to find that is the case.

So it seems the walkers were now in a green and pleasant land, and all the better for that, and indeed on a lovely sunny day with the proverbial blue sky and country churchyard.  All that was needed at this point was a local poet with notebook and pencil meandering around muttering incoherently, for the picture to be complete, but I suppose you can’t have everything all the time.  Although I can’t see why not.

And thus the jolly troop marched onwards and all seemed to be smiles and joy, and I rather wish I’d been there too, but hopefully next week.

There is a picture herein of what appears to be Jonathan with a pole, but I have no idea why.  But the countryside is beautiful and not at all spoilt by his appearance. And the waterways are being kept navigable, at least for swans.

I must say that it all looks rather lovely and great fun.  Especially as I would really like to know what on earth was going on in the penultimate picture.

Is it really true that the magnetic north pole lies beneath?  I am sure we shall be told eventually but as ever I am anxious for clarification.

I did also take a further look “on line” as we researchers and literary types call it, and it appears that Surfleet has a small primary school named the Surfleet Seas End County Primary School.

Now I wouldn’t normally bother you, dear reader, with such an item especially as it appears that the walk did not take in Station Road whereupon the ancient school is situated.

But I turned up something rather interesting which I thought I might share with you.

The school was built in 1878 (that’s just after a quarter past seven in new money) and is described in the venerable online encyclopedia as having “the appearance of a typical Victorian School.”

At which point another jotter describing itself as an “editor” has added the phrase in blue italic “further explanation needed.”   To which all I can say is that I suspect it looks like a place of education for young people built at some time between 1837 and 1901.

But don’t get me started on editors.   Why I could tell you a thing or two about editors.  That’s why we always call them “it”.  I can remember ….

[Publisher’s note, the author of this piece has been taken somewhere quiet for a bit of a lie down…]