I’m off-air while Liam and I are perking our pansies on pretty Paxos. While we’re away, here’s a selection of photos that ended up on the cutting room floor, blog-wise. It’s an eclectic mix of random snaps – local and London – plus a really ancient polaroid of me back in the eighties on godfather duty. The babe in arms is now in his forties and his own babes in arms have reached school age. Yes, I feel really old.
We first heard about one of Norwich’s secrets in the local rag and decided to give it a whirl courtesy of The Shoebox Experiences. It just so happens that under their community hub on Norwich’s Castle Meadow lies a tantalising fragment of a bygone street dating back to the 15th century. What lies beneath is Castle Ditches, once a narrow warren of medieval lanes and alleys skirting Norwich Castle mound, a place where jobbing weavers and their broods were born, lived, worked and died – with their looms and their livestock.
As we descended to the old street level, our charming guide, Ollie, took us back through time with his captivating and comical tales of yesteryear. In the medieval era, the rag trade made Norwich rich, and the area boomed. But by the time of the steam age, traditional weaving had been killed off by the industrial mills of the North and the city had reinvented itself with a brand-new trade – making money, lots of it. Castle Ditches became a pig-stinking slum where no respectable Victorian lady would venture; so the fine and upstanding burghers of the city decided to cover it over with a new road – out of sight and out of mind, so to speak. Castle Meadow was born, turning Castle Ditches on its head – top floors became ground floors, ground floors became cellars.
That wasn’t quite the end. The Ditches lived on for a while longer as the city’s crime-riddled red-light district – think Nancy turning tricks for the drunks after closing and the Artful Dodger picking a pocket or two.
All but one of these images of the sunken street are courtesy of The Shoebox Experiences. My own photographic attempts were a little bit rubbish.
Coincidentally, as I was writing about our time down under, this old painting of Castle Ditches popped up on Faceache. It was found in a shop in Norwich. Amazing!
The Shoebox Experiences run a number of city tours. All profits go to their social enterprise which has a mission to create supportive environments for people to connect. Their Tipsy Tavern Tour sounds right up our alley.
In the summer of 2012, we parachuted into Norwich on a wing and a prayer. We hadn’t the slightest inkling whether this golden-oldie city of medieval steeples would suit us or not. It was a difficult ask: somewhere we could replant our off-peak life but avoid the workhouse and somewhere within a bearable commute of London so we could keep tabs on our folks.
When we first paddled up the Wensum, we somehow ended up living in a Grade II listed Seventeenth Century brick and flint weaver’s cottage. The place had been through the wars and oozed history. By the Nineteenth Century, weaving had gone the way of the dodo and the cottage was reincarnated as a public house. In the Thirties, the Great Depression depressed ale sales along with everything else and time was called on the Devil’s brew. After that, the building gradually fell into miserable dereliction, boarded up and unloved. The final insult came when the building was gutted by fire; demolition seemed likely. Cue the city elders who stepped in with their compulsory purchase powers, repaired the structure, modernised the fabric and flogged it off. In 1986 the Weaver’s Cottage was reborn as two comfortable maisonettes with all mod-cons. The partially charred beams above our marital bed are the one remaining sign of that near-death experience.
A year and a bit on, those itchy feet are back but this time we’re moving across town, not continents. We’re rather taken with Norwich and have decided to put down roots by buying a small piece of it (while we can still afford to). So it’s goodbye to our pretty weaver’s cottage with its olde worlde beams, toffee-coloured fireplace and drafty halls and hello to our handsome warehouse conversion just beyond the old city walls with big picture windows, views across the burbs and proper insulation. We’re expecting our bills to plummet. Otherwise, that workhouse beckons.
Perking the Pansies 