The carnival is far from over

I've just been watching the floats go by here in Burwell. We missed the first carnival when we moved here and then again last year because our eldest son was graduating from The Royal Ballet School on the same day.

Our daughter goes to Burwell Guides, who this year celebrated the Suffragette movement as part of the overal theme of 'Ages in History.' It's good to witness such innocent fun in the Cambridgeshire sunshine especially when you remember those dark before female emancipation.

No more hens

We were heading home down Isaacson Road in Burwell over the weekend when our daughter suddenly became aware of a moorhen (sometimes called marsh hens apparently), ducking and diving in and out of the hedge next to the path. What she hadn't spotted were about a dozen or so moorhen chicks, gamely trying to keep up with their mother and representing a ragged formation more likely to come from Red Bull than the Red Arrows.

At one key point, mum decided they should all cross the road and head into the fields beyond. Unfortunately that message was only partially communicated and not all team members received or understood it. The result was that about ten chicks safely made it - albeit in two stages - but at least two didn't. They were run over by motorists who almost certainly hadn't seen their tiny forms and may not have stopped if they had.

Our daughter was really upset about it, even though she knows it happens all the time (yesterday we also saw a dead badger on the road to Swaffham Prior). She was most upset that, though this particular social network was based on family strength and solidarity, the message still hadn't got through to every member.

Midsommer in Midsummer

Living in a chocolate box village like Burwell in Cambridgeshire, we often think about the TV programme Midsommer Murders where unexpected murders pile up from the most unlikely sources - all in beautiful, quintessentially English villages like ours.
We thought about this again this afternoon when we went to the vicarage for the annual church summer fete.
The garden was populated with the usual plant sellers, book and cake stalls and games for the children - all washed down with copious amounts of strong, sweet tea. The raffle was drawn by a large but befuddled gentleman who consistently messed things up and applauded loudly by knitted ladies in twin sets and men of a certain age with bulging stomachs over bulging legs, exposed below bulging shorts.
All in all a collection of suspicious characters that could have appeared in Agatha Christie's 'Murder at the Vicarage' all those years ago. In fact not much has really changed since then and I love Burwell all the more for it.

Swine flu in Burwell

It's official: three cases of swine flu have been diagnosed in Burwell and the local primary school has been closed.

I've just walked down to the bank and noticed some children playing on the village green but, as this news article indicates, noticed a lot of the locals looking at them incredulously as though all children in the village should currently be unseen and unheard.

In a curious way it reminded me of the story of Eyam in Derbyshire - near to where my sister and parents now live - when Plague hit the village between 1665-6. One thing we don't share with the Peak District in the Fens are of course the peaks, though some would say outbreaks like this are the very troughs of our existence?

Reach out

After a day of gardening and generally rushing around yesterday we had a relaxing day in our Burwell garden this morning. We devoured the Sunday newspaper, coffee and cheese and cucumber sandwiches, all to the backdrop of Michael Ball's radio programme and in glorious sunshine.

This afternoon I went for a walk with my eldest son over Devil's Dyke and and round a series of leafy footpaths to Reach and then back again for an evening barbecue. It's all been there for us this weekend and was just a case of reaching out to touch it

What matters most is each of us

I was walking down Newmarket Road towards the medical centre in Burwell this afternoon when I heard a siren behind me. Away in the distance an ambulance with flashing lights was racing towards and eventually past me, heading towards the centre of the village. My first thought was to pray for the poor person or person(s) it had been called out for and my second was 'thank goodness it wasn't for me.'

I then thought how great a thing it is that potentially one person's need can lead to the emergency services being called out to attend, potentially causing many other road journeys to be delayed. I've also had this fault when a train has been delayed or held in the station while a passenger has been attended to. Yes, it can cause timetable chaos and yes we often raise our eyes and curse inwardly that this has happened on our journeys, but in our increasingly sophisticated and networked global village, I think it's great that an individual's needs can still have such an impact.

The church at Quy

I wrote a poem a couple of days ago about the church at Quy. I pass it on my journey from Burwell to Cambridge whenever I'm commuting to London and admit that I say a cheery hello to it each evening when I'm on my way home again. In a funny way its clock face always conjures up the Rupert Brooke poem: The Old Vicarage, Grantchester.

Purely water

A water main burst in our area yesterday, meaning that the supply was cut off in Burwell and Newmarket for about four hours in the afternoon. Michelle and I wrote Post-it notes and stuck them on taps and toilets around the house so as to remind the children not to use any water (apart from one flush each in the upstairs toilets) in case we drained the central heating system and damaged the boiler. I spent every 30 minutes or so dialing Anglian Water for updates (they were very good and kept telling me they knew there was a problem, as did I). Eventually the water came on and the children and I breathed sighs of relief and turned taps on and used the toilets as if under the insane illusion that it could go off again at any minute.

In the evening we watched the Comic Relief programmes on TV and witnessed children in Africa suffering and dying through malaria bites - often through being too close to stagnant water swamps where mosquitoes bred - or through water-borne cholera epidemics. There was no proper water supply to begin with and most likely won't be in the lifetimes of those who survive the very real dangers of childhood. There was nobody to 'phone for updates or help and no sense that there would be pure water today, tomorrow or ever.

Purely water but it won't ever cleanse the impurities in our minds - apart from perhaps once or twice a year when we 'phone help in on their behalf's.

Wash your hands

we had a beautiful, sunny morning here in Burwell today and my wife and I went for a walk through the village. It's lovely to be able to call on all of the local traders and reminds us what a traditional village Burwell still is.

We always have to queue at the butcher's on Saturday mornings and it gives us the chance to observe and listen to the local news and stories, often from older people. However, Peter, the butcher, told us today that he'd just had a young boy in his shop, entrusted with buying some sausages for his mother. Apparently he had a really bad cold and, when asked how he caught it, he replied in a serious voice: "because I didn't wash my hands after going to the toilet!"

Come in Number 10

your time is up.

Unfortunately we're not talking about Gordon Brown's residency here but the number 10 and 10A bus service from Cambridge to Newmarket. Cambridgeshire County Council, in their limited wisdom, are planning to axe this bus service after 6.30pm on weekdays and all day on Sundays and Bank Holidays.

Our son, Nathan, has just started using this service as he has started at Hills Road in Cambridge, using a subsidised bus pass. It seems the pass is not to be so subsidised in real terms after all.

The Councillors are saying that only an average of five people use this bus at these times. Quite clearly they haven't done any original research because my son reports it is usually far fuller than that and I have often followed it home from Cambridge much later in the evening and villagers in Lode, the Swaffhams and Burwell seem to use it throughout the evening.

I imagine this is all down to fuel costs and nothing whatsoever with usage. Serve the people? Self-service more like.

Villagers to the east of Cambridge and most affected by this madness are advised to contact the Council on passenger.transport@cambridgeshire.gov.uk assuming our leaders haven't all climbed joyfully into their gas guzzling cars and driven off into the sunset, which is in the opposite direction to where ordinary people live.

Landwade

I had a day off today and, though overcast, Nathan and I decided to go on a short walk. There is a disused railway line which used to run from Cambridge to Mildenhall. I wrote about it in a previous post.

We decided to explore and headed across the Suffolk border just to the south east of Burwell. Following a track adjacent to the old route we eventually became intrigued by footpaths running alongside vast cornfields which eventually led us to the wooded area of Landwade. In a clearing we came across the mid fifteenth century church and plan to revisit it one evening this week. Landwade was once effectively an 'island' of Suffolk within Cambridgeshire but is now fully within the Suffolk county. Because of it's disputed border, writers from Cambridgeshire and Suffolk have written about it.

I'll take some photos and post them after our next visit but, we eventually walked for about two miles through some lovely woods before crossing the Newmarket to Ely railway line and joining up with the tail end of the disused railway line we had originally intended to explore.

Bat and ball

Our son, Sam, used to like nothing better than to play in the garden with a bat and a ball. It didn't matter whether it was baseball, rounders or football, providing he had a ball to play with. When we lived at the he had a big garden to play in but here in Burwell he has relied on the local parks which he frequents with an increasing number of friends.

He has recently joined Burwell Cricket Club and played in their Under-13 side for the first time on Thursday of this week. He didn't get to bat (it was a 15-overs a side cup tie) but fielded well and bowled his first ever over. The over conceded only a single run so a pretty good start. When I first saw him in his full cricket whites, I thought of those days in the garden and felt both happy and proud.

Burwell Railway Station

We're lucky to be living in such a pretty and active village as Burwell in Cambridgeshire. That may sound odd when I tell you that this afternoon I visited the unveiling of a plaque signifying the entrance to the former Burwell Railway Station on Reach road. The railway line was built in the 1880's from Cambridge to Fordham originally and then extended to Mildenhall. It was mainly used for freight - expecially the transport of coal and animal feedstuffs, but the general public also used it - the US airmen at the Mildenhall Air Force base in particular. The line closed to passengers in 1962 and to freight in 1965. There is nothing left of it now but, examining some old photographs of the scene, I can picture it much more clearly and the course of the original line. I also wasn't aware of a road bridge over the tracks - which has completely disappeared. When I commute in to Cambridge tomorrow morning at 6.00, via car rather than train, I'll remember the railway and the links it brought to this part of Cambridgeshire. Maybe I'll wish I could do my whole commute to London via rail?

Devil's Dyke

Very near to Burwell is a giant, ancient rampart called Devil's Dyke or Devil's Ditch. It stretches from the village of Burwell, just to the north-west of us and then down for seven and a half miles, beyond Newmarket to Ditton Green to the south. There is a really good information site: Devil's Dyke Restoration Project.

As to its name, one historical legend suggests it comes from the belief that landforms like this must be of supernatural origin. 'One local legend is that the Devil came uninvited to a wedding perhaps at Reach church and was chased away by the guests. In anger the devil ran away and formed the groove of the Dyke with his fiery tail.'

I've been on the stretch of Dyke towards Reach before, but never to the south so I went for a walk up there this afternoon. At one point I was at the top of 'Gallow's Hill' which is thirty four feet above the dyke floor - it's highest point. It seems strange to be elevated anywhere in Cambridgeshire, especially givent The Fens nearby, but you really can see for miles. I took a couple of quick shots and have loaded them up in my Fen Creative photoblog.

Skylarks accompanied me throughout my walk and I'm looking forward to seeing the wild orchids that populate the area when they come into bloom in June.

Early to rise

I'm not sure why it makes such a difference when the first mornings of the new year begin to draw out - but it does. I can never remember when the dark skies allow light to filter through from the east. This morning I was rewarded for getting up at 5.30 because by the time I was leaving Burwell, the fields away towards Wicken and Reach could be seen as a frosted green rather than just another black mass. Early March: I'll try and remember that next year in order to look forward to it.

Frost

There was a quite severe frost in Burwell this morning. It was the first time I had seen frosty white roads in the surrounding countryside since we moved here in the lighter, brighter days of summer.

And yet, I spotted several children heading towards their school buses in just jumpers or even t-shirts. I was wrapped up in sweatshirt and coat and still felt quite cold. I realise that wearing the right clothing may not necessarily be the coolest clothins but surely better that than being cold rather than cool?