Peterborough

CC site @ Ferry Meadows

28^th February - 4^th March

Horrifying journey from Cambridge. To begin with, had trouble escaping from the City. There are no road-signs to the world outside until you have nearly reached it. The first sign to the M11 or the A14 or “The North” I saw was about a mile from the M11. Then all the roads were jammed and the rain was heavy. It wasn't until I got on the A1 that things calmed down. Then, just as last time, I got completely lost in Peterborough, driving around for 30 minutes, during which time I saw just one sign to “Nene Park”, where I wanted to be. Eventually found it by accident, just as last time. It's a bit like Washington, Tyne and Wear, except with lots of woods. Everywhere seems to be called “Orton Something or Other”. I swear I saw 15 different Ortons before I found the one I wanted. Ah, perhaps Orton is named after Joe Orton; he was as queer as a clockwork orange, just like the road layout here.

Since found a map at the site and have made some sense of the place. I think missing Junction 1 on the A1139 was crucial. Must try harder.

Saturday beautiful, sunny and bracing. Pleasant cycle ride into the city, about 7 miles there and back, all the way on a dedicated cycle track, following the Nene Valley Railway and the River Nene and between them. (I can remember seeing sign s to the Nene Valley Railway from the A1 when we travelled to and fro Gainford, more than 35 years ago.

Peterborough centre rather fine, pedestrianised and paved with stone, wide streets and a big square with the parish church at its centre. The usual shops, though, totally bog-standard, and a lot of poor-looking mostly white shoppers. Not quite the atmosphere of Cambridge!

Now, here's one to consider. The dogs in Cambridge are West Highland Whites, while the dogs in Peterborough are bull terriers. Is the dog population an indicator of the local demographic?

                                               

            Peterborough Cathedral                                                              Wansford Station (1845)
                 

The cathedral, though, which I saw described as “a hidden jewel”, was just that, absolutely magnificent. Went inside and the organist was practising (although he didn't sound as if he needed any practice). Must learn the terminology of ecclesiastical architecture so I can describe these cathedrals adequately.

I forgot that In Cambridge I saw a middle-aged, well-dressed man sitting outside a coffee shop with his dog on his lap. The dog was upside down on its back with its legs in the air and the man was tickling its belly. Made me laugh!

On Sunday went for a ride on the Nene Valley Railway from Peterborough to Wansford, just by the A1. (Skip this bit if you don't like railways). Amazingly, in the land of the LNER, it was a line laid by the London and Birmingham Railway from Northampton to Peterborough in 1845, becoming part of the LNWR in 1846 and the LMS in 1923. Pleasant trip but not very exciting scenery, not a patch on the Severn Valley. The station at Wansford, though, is superb, like a minor stately home. The railways must have been the banks or energy companies of the 19^th Century, with almost unlimited resources and profits.
 

                   * * *   End of Railway Mania passage * * *

Having heard Nigel Farage the other day complaining about not hearing English spoken until his train reached Hither Green from Charing Cross, I was listening to what I thought was someone talking foreign about football on Radio Five Live when I realised it was Ian Wright.

Just outside Peterborough is the birthplace and resting place of the “Peasant Poet” John Clare (1793-1864) who, after initial phenomenal success and subsequent total obscurity, is now regarded as being in the very top rank of British poets. He mourned the destruction of an ancient agricultural way of life by the enclosures and his horror of the depredations of greedy landowners and farmers contributed to his eventual insanity. I really must try not to get too angry about the politicans and bankers in Ireland and here in Britain; I don't want to end up writing poetry. George Monbiot, writing in the Guardian in 2012, suggested celebrating Clare's birthday (July 13^th) annually. Why not do it?