Letter from the Editor

SOUTHWOLD, U.K. — The sounds of sea gulls and doves awakened sleepy Sunday morning guests at The Swan Hotel in Southwold. Earlier, the red morning sky lit up our room which overlooked townhomes between the city and beach.
After breakfast, we attended mass at Sacred Heart Catholic Church. The deacon showed us where to park our bicycles so that they wouldn’t be bothered.
The English seem to have a special reverence for cyclists. They are patient on the road and wave as they pass you. We’ve cycled about 120 miles so far and have yet to get as much as a gruff word or a three-fingered salute. Hotels have special places to park the cycles.
Motorists are also quick to help you navigate the map. First rule: Nothing is very far from anything else. Several times, we’ve cycled past turnoffs thinking they were miles away. Villages are rarely more than three miles apart. Most of them have an old church that can be spotted to give you direction.
Leaving Southwold, we had to cross the Blyth River by footbridge. The ferry was nearby but we didn’t want to wait. Our first stop was to Blythburgh Church on the edge of the town’s estuary. The tower was constructed around 1330 and predates the church by about 200 years.
Legends has it during a strange and terrible tempest in August 1577 the spire crashed through the roof killing three members of the congregation. Claw marks were found on the door and attributed to the “Black Shuck.” The band, “The Darkness” set the story to music with “Black Shuck,” the song. Here I thought my church politics was dramatic.
After Blythburgh, we had a navigational malfunction and headed north when we should have headed south. We regrouped at Blyford and got back on mission to Dunwich, one time capital of East Anglia. It had eight churches at one time but now all but one have fallen into the sea.
We sampled the fish and chips and Guinness beer at The Ships Inn on St. James Street before heading south to Thorpeness. It’s an odd vacation village renamed in 1920. Many families were boating and relaxing at the man-made lake. Nearby, a windmill pumped water into the 85-foot water tower on stilts disguised as a very tall house.
The White Lion Hotel in Aldeburgh will be our host tonight. After a quick nap and shower we headed out to explore what’s left of this seaside town. About half of it was also washed into the sea.

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