Watching the ‘hooked nose seapigs’ (translation from the Greek) flumping across freezing Norfolk sands, it might seem a stretch of the imagination to identify them with the mythical selkies – those beautiful, adoring, skin shedding creatures who are both prey and predator. These gentle shape shifters will come to you if you stand heartbroken, letting fall seven tears into the high tide of ocean waves, yearning release from a loveless marriage and see from those waves the gentle alluring selkie who may come forth shedding his seal skin to take you for his own. Or happen on Midsummers eve, to chance upon bare beauties, their discarded seal skins laying close by. Steal the skin of one of those enchanting creatures if you wish to keep one as a wife of your own.
Taken from over 10m away with zoom
North Norfolk is famed for seals who seem to love our coastline as much as we take pleasure in seeing them- whether that be as we swim in their sea and with a gasp! chance upon the deep dark well of eyes popping up just a few feet away or whether it is taking delight from a distance, watching the winter wonder of seal pups and mating rituals. Their numbers are rising dramatically and with no natural predators, we must ensure we mirror this trust and not ourselves become their predator, coming too close with our clumsy careless curiosity and our obsessive vanity of reflected glory for the perfect picture, trampling down the dunes and scaring them to their death.
Contact Norfolk Wildlife Trust for where to see when.
Moving to North Norfolk, I agonised over purchasing a property inside the coastal erosion zone, fighting the romanticism of being on the edge, near enough to hear the sea’s roar whilst lying safe and snug in my bed. Only briefly was I a victim of nostalgia, having explored the North Norfolk coastline and witnessed the vulnerability of life on the raw edge of time. Finally commonsense prevailed -the thought of selling a property with a sea view as I myself begin to crumble into a ruin, was the decider. Seems I was wise. If you’re on the wrong side of the road further up the coast from Cromer, mortgages are sometimes hard to get and smart large detached Victorian properties teeter on the brink -the ‘For Sale’ sign pasted over with ‘For Let’.
Cromer
Coastal erosion is of course nothing new and my own ‘brief candle’ of existence is put into perspective when you take the long view of this changing coastline over time. Back in the day, Cromer used to be inland but now only one medieval property remains in the town -itself hidden behind layers of facades from later centuries. The remains of Shipden, the medieval village that used to face outwards across the North sea, is now home to the crabs and the lobsters 40ft beneath the crest of the waves.
Night storm
The thawing of the ice floes is said to have been been the cause of the rising sea levels back in the 1300s, subsequently having a dramatic effect on the east coast. Standing even now, on the cliff up above the promenade within reach of the buffeting seagulls, you feel the sublime power of the elements. Getting soaked by spray whilst huge waves dodge your camera shots and your hands freeze and shake as you watch awestruck the power of the waves. I have seen them reach up and beyond, licking the rooftops of the tall Victorian B&Bs on the cliff above the promenade. They currently stand straight-backed and steadfast, nobly accepting their certain fate. (Although, having said that, much scaffolding appeared this spring with repairs to buildings on the front and strengthening of the pier with giant steel girders, whilst bits of sea wall were propelled onto the promenade adding to the mix of sea rocks and sand). One can’t help but wonder how long Cromer will stand before it joins the fate of medieval Shipden -with Felbrigg perhaps becoming the new village by the sea.
The lost village of Shipden lies beyond the pier. Some remains have been seen at very low tide
‘On Lough Neagh’s bank, as the fisherman strays, When the clear cold eve’s declining, He sees the round towers of other days, In the wave beneath him shining ! ” Moore
After the sea took the lost village Shipden, desperate men were said to have slept on the sea shore waiting for low tide to dive and pillage- intent on clawing back what was once theirs. The church tower, nick-named ‘Church Rock’ remained standing 5.5 meters high above the sea bed, defying the depths -a taunting reminder of what once was, yet still standing- a defiant faith remaining in the face of merciless mother nature. If lucky, you may see at very low tides, just under the sand, long ridges of what were once walls and maybe a mass of flint which is what remains of the ‘Church Rock’ .(They blew it up eventually due to wrecking of ships on its tower).
I have stood on the shaking pier, storm watching and have been chilled by more than the crackling storm; the booms of thunder joining the thunderous boom of the waves as they rocket and slap into the shore. I have heard moans howl through that inky black and visualise the frozen village paths far below littered with pieces of wrecks but the warning church bells of the drowned Shipden church so far remains for me at any rate, in the realms of folklore or the ears of the long dead.
Since hallows eve and dark hours lengthen with days of grey mist, a feeling I can’t quite define, seems to whistle and wend its way through the dark narrow streets where the tall houses stare at each other, casting a shadow -filled pathway below.
Jetty Street
But I know beneath my feet run smuggler’s tunnels and I know -because I have been told (and I have watched enough Scooby Doo episodes) – that in fact the stories of ghosts were inventions to keep uninvited interest away from the smuggled goods. I know these things rationally- but try telling my body not to shiver or to hold back my subconscious fears which chase me up the darkened clifftops away from the roar of the sea, towards my home.
‘We have our own ghosts’ I tell my bi-annual visitors blown in from smart city lives to access the lung of the Norfolk coastline. I know how odd I appear and join in the jests- the isolated Norfolk life I now lead immersed in the landscape, detaching me from reality – but we do. Have ghosts I mean. The screaming terror of the kids has died down and ‘a live and let live/die?’ attitude prevails. Husband nonchalantly reports the child ghost singing on the landing and scampering up the stairs and son is becalmed by my explanation that the ghost he saw looking at him over his bed is his guardian angel/spirit guide – pity the cat isn’t so easily reassured- she trembles and quakes when in that room. The orbs caught on camera also explain the cats’ weird staring at ‘nothing’ behaviours.
It seems there are indeed a few reported sightings of child ghosts in Cromer, (or Crowmere or Shipden or Shipden-juxta-Felbrigg -the names apparently Danish in origin). These reported sightings are unsurprising I suppose, as Cromer’s past superimposes itself on the present not least through the same recurring events. Over time the sea devours the coastline choosing Cromer to eat up lighthouses, grand houses, even whole villages. The church itself has existed 3 times – the first Shipden Church as recorded the Doomsday book, was washed away by the middle of the 14thC into the sea and the third is built on the remains of the second church.
Cromer church
A ghost child is said to have appeared to a caretaker clearing away the rubble from the damage done to the church by a Luftwaffe attack. The girl child rose high above him trailing white robes, the poor petrified man’s ears filled with her eerie sighing and moaning as she slit her throat- red blood gushing and running down into her white clothing. The townspeople were glad when that particular path across the graveyard was closed for good. And so with many tales left yet to tell of this raw brutal and unforgiving landscape, it is little wonder that people of past times thought of piers and horizons as ‘gateways’ to other worlds.
January – new beginnings. Fireworks bring thousand of visitors to Cromer. Something about being by the sea to welcome the new year in. Setting the stage for the next twelve months, a time for reflection renewal and raucous parties! Started in 2000, the firework event has grown over the years. So after your New Year’s eve revelries – whether they may be drinking wassail; eating 12 grapes or kissing at midnight – wake up early if you seek a peaceful moment along the shore before the crowds surge. Torch light procession begins at 4.30 from the church.
Cromer cannot fail to bring out the inner artist in you – the pure light lifts the spirits and your soul begs you to process the beauty of the skies and sublime power of the sea. Art galleries are easy to find and many coffee shops also display work of local artists. But if your inner artist is musical take a visit to Mighty Music in Cromer – mainly guitars amps ukes but also unique quality t-shirts and art of icons of pop and rock.
Cromer Sea & Sound 