“What huge ones, and what a quantity of them!”
“Yes, the marshmen sometimes dry the heads, and rub them up to stuff pillows and cushions with.”
On the north bank is the church of Burgh St. Peter, the tower of which is built in gradually-lessening steps, and presents a very strange, un-English appearance.
The sail up to Beccles is a very pleasant one, and pretty bits continually present themselves. Two miles below Beccles there is a swing railway bridge, which is tolerably easy to get through, as there is not a great rush of tide through it, as under the bridges lower down.
Beccles church had been a prominent object all the way, and when we arrived at Sayer’s Grove, so prettily sylvan a place that we decided to stay there the night, we went in the useful jolly another mile to Beccles bridge, 23 miles from Yarmouth, until lately a narrow arched stone structure, but now replaced by a wider and more convenient bridge. Passing through, we skirted the town of Beccles, until we came below the church, a sight no one should miss who is in the neighbourhood. Viewed from the river, it stands on the brow of a hill, in a commanding position. Landing, we climbed up a series of steps and reached the churchyard, whence a splendid view westward is obtained, the river winding in and out through the green marshes towards Bungay. The south doorway of the church is richly ornamented, but the peculiar feature of the church is that the tower, a very high and massive structure, is separate from it.
Beccles is a quiet, old-fashioned place, with good railway accommodation, as a glance at the map will show. It is a cheap place to live in, as there are no heavy rates, these being defrayed by the letting of valuable marshes belonging to the town. It is a healthy little place, and pretty withal, and would, I think, be a capital place for retired persons with small incomes to settle in.
The river is navigable for wherries and small yachts, for about ten miles further up to Bungay, but the navigation is rather troublesome, and there are two or three locks to be passed through.
It is worth while to row up the river a few miles to Shipmeadow lock. The river all the way is very pretty, with crystal clear water, and the lock itself is quaint and old-fashioned.
After laying in some stores we returned to the yacht, and spent a peaceful evening in the shadow of the wooded hill, beneath which we were moored.