Catholic Cathedral of St John the Baptist

Norwich is riddled with old tunnels. Chalk and flint was mined for centuries, and many of the oldest mines run close to the centre of the city. Chalk was used for liming and mortar, and flint was used as a building material. You see flint everywhere – in what’s left of the old city walls, in the medieval Guildhall and in the 17^th century weaver’s cottage we rented when we first paddled up the Wensum five years back.

Who knows what snakes beneath our feet? Many of the older shafts are uncharted, and sink holes appear without warning. Such was the case recently when a hole opened up close to the entrance to the Plantation Garden, Norwich’s sunken Eden, itself created from an old chalk pit. Babes in buggies and picnicking pensioners dropping into the abyss wouldn’t be good for business so the gardens were closed to the public while council surveyors did what council surveyors do. The hi-vis boys poked about a bit with their equipment and declared the area safe(ish). The gardens have now reopened and, once again, we can all look forward to a balmy summer of cream buns and string quartets.

A more famous example of that sinking feeling happened in 1988 when the ground collapsed beneath a bus along the Earlham Road, close to the gardens. Shaken but not stirred, neither the bus driver nor his startled charges were hurt. Pictures of the scene were beamed around the world; sleepy Norfolk gained international notoriety not seen since 61AD when Boudicca gave the Romans a bloody nose and razed Londinium to the ground in the first great fire of London. The whole area around the gardens is a death trap. The papal faithful at the nearby Catholic cathedral best get down on their knees to prevent the congregation going down like the Titanic.

Not to miss a trick, confectioner Cadbury, used the incident to promote one of their products with the line…

Nothing fills a hole like a double-decker.

I couldn’t agree more.

Close to the heart of Norwich, adjacent to the Catholic Cathedral, lies a hidden garden tumbling into a former chalk quarry. The Plantation Garden was a labour of love for one Henry Trevor, a prosperous Victorian cabinet maker. For forty years, eccentric Henry lavished time, effort and considerable money on his enchanted folly. But by the Second World War, it had been abandoned and almost forgotten. That was until a dedicated group of volunteers rolled up their sleeves, hacked away the weeds and restored the garden to its former ornamental glory. Today, the lush shrubbery plays host to jazz picnics, open air film screenings and vintage fairs. But most days, it’s a tranquil haven from the city that surrounds it. Henry may have been bonkers but his legacy is rather magical.