Designed & maintained by Carol Gingell

©  C.Gingell 2006-2026  All photographs, personal stories and written articles on this site are copyright and should not be reproduced anywhere else without the permission of the copyright owner and Broadland Memories.

© Broadland Memories 2006-2026

Transcribed from an original article published in The Badminton Magazine in 1907

THE “SILVER SPRAY”

My bark did skim

The bright blue waters with a fanning wind.

“People who like this sort of thing will find this the sort of thing they like,” as a famous man is reported to have written in the flyleaf of a mawkishly sentimental book lent him by a friend who wanted his opinion on the work.  So it is with the form of holiday I am about to describe.

     Ideas on the subject (i.e.  a holiday) vary so enormously -anything from a rest cure, where one  lies perdu in bed for six weeks cut off from letters, relations, and newspapers, and lives the life of an oyster (a loan with one’s destiny), to its opposite extreme, i.e.  a mad scamper, attempting to “do” every picture gallery, cathedral, mountain-top, and important town in Europe in the space of about three month a la American damsel.  “We spent such a long time at Lucerne, we were there a whole day,” as I heard one of remark at Zermatt.  She had only come there for one night in order to do the Gornergrat.

     It is a cause for wonder that this up-to-date nation happy about 67 different forms of indigestion and about 267 remedies for the same?  The importance of definitely making up one’s mind as to what one’s idea of pleasure really is before embarking on any holiday enterprise cannot be over estimated.

     It is to those who would “reap the harvest of a quiet eye,” who can understand the rest that there is in being for a short week or two an irresponsible atom, absolutely unknown and unheeded, freed to come and go, not merely without control, but without comment or observation -a straw on the current, a mote in the air -that I would breathed the words “Norfolk Broads.”

Hoist now the sale and cast all moorings free,

Shake out your canvas to the favouring gale

THE SKIPPER AND THE BOY.

As everyone knows, the Broads are a series of wild reed-surrounded lakes, lying a little distance inland, and connected by some 200 miles of navigable waterway, including three main Rivers which, with their tributaries, form the means of intercommunication.

     There is a picturesque Dutch look about the scenery

Where thro’ the reedy banks

Th’ insinuating waters filter’d stray

In a many a winding maze.

and a pleasing quaintness in the way in which the tall masts with white and brown sales grow as it were out of the flat fields of surrounding pasture, the trackless fields which

Beneath the concave of unclouded skies

Spread like a sea in boundless solitude

     Perhaps in “diary” former would be the simplest and best way to tell of the roughs and smooths of a holiday on the Norfolk Broads. So let us plunge in medias res (“us” being at my friend whom we will call A and myself).

August 4 – Caught 3.24 from Liverpool Street, arriving Lowestoft of her patents about 7.40 in pouring rain.  Cabbed down to K---‘s Yard, Oulton Broad, and found the Silver Spray lying alongside.  Called on Mrs. K---for the box of grub that had been ordered from the stores.  She appeared with a shawl round her face -old age having broken out on her neck in the shape of a boil -at least she thought it was “old age.” We were soon aboard with the box of provender, inspecting a future home, which consisted of a fore cabin with two berths, lobby and companion, and an after cabin filled with cupboards and crockery.  

THE START FROM BECCLES

In the foc’sle were the skipper’s quarters and cooking apparatus.  No skipper, however, had turned up and nothing was ready; it was pouring with rain and very dark; we will wet and hungry – altogether not a very promising start.  We philosophically remembered that it was “all in the day’s work,” as the man said when being eaten by a tiger, and soon had things under way.  We carried the sheets and blankets up to Mrs. K--- to dry, and then sallied forth into the village, where we laid in a stock of bread, bacon, chops, fruit, butter, etc.  The inner man having been refreshed, we turned in under a beautiful star-lit heaven:

With the sky above and the bilge below

And ne’er a sense of the Ho-heave-ho

August 5 – Woke about 4 a.m.  and inspected the morn and the rising sun.  Then back to the arms of Morpheus until eight, when we arose, drew a bucket of water from out of the vasty deep, and having performed our ablutions therein were soon busy preparing the usual English breakfast of bacon and eggs, on which we rung that the changes during the voyage as follows;

Monday … … … …

Tuesday .. … … …   

Wednesday   … …   

Thursday …   … …    

Friday  … …   … …    

Saturday .. … … …     

Eggs and bacon

Bacon and eggs

Eggs without bacon

Bacon without eggs

Eggs

Bacon

 (This is the French recipe, by the way.)

POTTER HEIGHAM REGATTA

During the washing up, which was invariably nelloyage á sec (for greasy plates mother earth and a duster are much better than boiling water, soda, and a cloth), our tardy skipper Joe put in a shame-faced appearance, and made a variety of excuses for being so late for parade.  As he still seemed rather seedy, we chartered a youth, Sydney by name, to give him a hand in the cooking line.

    It was not long before we got under way and sailed out through Oulton Broad and up the Waveney River.  About one o’clock we came in sight of Burgh St. Peter’s Church with its curious telescopic tower built of stone and brick alternately.

    We pulled up alongside the rush-grown bank, had lunch, and went ashore to inspect it.  We then continued our course and tacked up to the Beccles, which was reached about six o’clock.  Joe and Sydney proceeded to make the boat snug for the night and prepared the evening meal while we strolled into the village.

    After dinner the rain came down in torrents and poured all night, while we laid in our bunks, lulled to sleep by the lap-lap of the water against the vessel’s side and the pit-a-pat of the rain on the skylight.

August 6 – An early breakfast at 7.30 preceded by a swim.  “Oh, the joy of the morning bath and the cold water trickling down the surprised back!” as Whitman would say.

IN HICKLING BROAD

We then set sail for Oulton Broad again, and having replenished our larder are in the village, turned our faces northwards through the New Cut towards Reedham in half a Gale of wind and torrents of rain.  The weather became so bad that we made the boat fast near the swing bridge.  During the night the winter increased to a veritable Euroclydon, and we had some fears that our moorings would give.  However, when day dawned we were still hugging the shore.

August 7 – It was blowing hard when we woke, but we decided to move on to Yarmouth under jib only.  How our gallant craft hummed along between the line of stakes that marks the deep channel!  Putting up by the iron railway bridge we strolled into the town and paid visits to the church, the almshouses “For decayed fishermen” (writ large over the portal), the market-place and the sea front, which was one a seething mass of trippers.

     After lunch we “quanted” (the local term for punting with a poll) up under the bridge and laid low till four o’clock, surrounded by a host of other craft all waiting for the wind to subside.  Finally we prevailed on our skipper to make a start, and we sailed away under a moderate breeze which soon died down altogether, to be followed by a most beautiful evening of surpassing charm and peacefulness.  By the aid of some “quanting” we manage to reach Acle Bridge where we put up for the night.

SOUTH WALSHAM BROAD

Where no disturbance comes to intrude

Upon the pensive solitude

August 8 – It rained hard all night, and was drizzling when we woke and performed our somewhat chilly ablutions in the stern. But Joe, however, did not seem to think so, for I heard him swearing in heart-felt tones in the foc’sle.

It ain’t no good to murmur or complain;

It’s jest as cheap and easy to rejoice.

When God sorts out the weather and sends rain,

W’y rain’s my choice.

Was rudely awakened out of a post-prandial siesta by a violent collision between the Silver Spray and Acle Bridge.  The latter, however, was fortunately not damaged.

     It turned out a beautiful sunny afternoon, and we sat in the stern watching the changing landscape.  Beating up the Thurne we came in sight of Potter Heigham, our next resting-place.  There was hardly a breath of wind; the water was a seed of reflections and a solitary windmill silhouetted against the setting sun a poem.  We made fast just below the bridge amid a swarm of other yachts which had come up for the regatta.  An afternoon spent in replenishing the larder was followed by a perfect moonlight night, of which the silence was broken, not by the usual splash of fish or cry of fowl, but by the more prosaic tinkle of banjo and sound of gramophone.

Slow glides the sail along th’ illumined shore

August 9 – Morning brought a fine drizzling rain, at which we swore softly.  Spent forenoon watching the regatta.  After an early lunch we started off in the dinghy and sailed through Potter Heigham Sounds into Hickling Broad, which was full of intense solitude, making us feel like explorers in an unknown country.

August 10 – More drizzle.  What a moist time we Are having!  After lunch it cleared, and a fresh breeze having a reason, A and I started in the dinghy, leaving Joe and Sydney to follow in the yacht.  The wind being contrary, we laid up for the night at the mouth of the Ant; a wild, desolate spot, with not a sign of a living thing for miles around.

     Cruised up towards Barton Broad after tea, and leaving the dinghy at the bridge strolled into the sleepy little village of Ludham, where we purchased milk, butter, and groceries.  It is wonderful, on a cruise like this, what a high and important place butter and milk take in the scheme of things.

A bark far come

With sunset glow upon her slackening sails.

August 11 – A magnificent day at last, with corresponding elation of spirits.  After breakfast, and a swim, we set out in the dinghy to explore South Walsham Broad, which was looking very quiet and peaceful.  An artist ensconced on the bank, and an eel Fisher rowing off to attend to his pots, were the only signs of life.

     Purchased some milk at a cottage where a golden-haired little kid and her brother were busily engaged digging for “wums.” The latter must have been of very superior quality, for they enabled us to catch twenty-eight fish in half an hour on our return to the yacht.  Visited Ranworth Broad in the afternoon, then on to Horning Ferry, where the Silver Spray had already been made fast for the night alongside a bank heaped with picturesque stacks of rushes.  Laid out a night line for eels.

August 12 – Sailed up to Wroxham Broad, and on afterwards to Wroxham itself, which it were more appropriate perhaps to call “civilisation.” There we came face to face with people, yachts, tin pots, noise, paper, eggshells, and all the abominations included in the word “tourist,” which like charity covers a multitude of sins.  It was a painful moment!  Went for a last sail in the dinghy, not returning till late.

August 13 – Leaving yacht in the Company’s charge, we returned to town.  So ended our Broading.

And the rest of the acts that we did, the sights we saw, the books we read, the fish we caught, the things we discussed, and the good times that we had, are not their recollections stored in the memories of the three men in the boat, not to mention the boy?  Full information and all particulars as to yachts and prices – which vary from £3 3s. a week (£4 4s. with man) for small cruisers sleeping four to 16 guineas a week for wherries sleeping eight to ten – can be obtained from the Norfolk Broads Yachting Co., Queen Street, Norwich.