Village Signs

   There has always been a tradition in the fens of adorning their villages with ornate signs which depict something of the village's past, be it fact or legend and often reflect traditional trades or historical events. This custom as spread over many parts of the country in the last few decades.

   These signs can often be found on the village green, or at the entrance of the village, they are also found in the centre of the village be it a busy high street or a quiet leafy lane. They come in all different shapes and sizes, some carved in oak, some painted in bright fresh colours and others left showing only the natural timber. The designs can be simple others very elaborate, some being very old while some were erected more recently commemorating jubilees or the millennium. Most village signs are made from timber though I have been lucky enough to have found one wonderful example made from beautifully crafted steel. Above is the sign of Coveney showing Aethelswyth daughter of the Noble Saxon Oswl, who went to Coveney with her maidens to work on her embroidery and weaving in the early 11th century.

Above is the beautifully crafted steel village sign of Walpole Saint Andrew, the only one I have found made in this way and what a stunning piece it is too. It depicts the parish church and a steam tractor, much used in the late Victorian and Edwardian periods. Below are a few more examples that I have discovered in the lovely fen villages that my cycling takes me through.
Welney sign features the village tradition of skating upon the frozen washes.

Marshland St James and Tilney All Saints village signs both depict the legend of Tom Hickathrift the marshland giant and his battle against the ogre.

Wimbotsham village sign shows the parish church and a WW2 Sterling bomber which is a reference to the RAF station at Bexwell.

Manea village sign depicts the big heavy horses who were used to plough the dark rich soil of the fens.

Emneth village sign shows a wonderful picture of village life, note the apples depicting the huge fruit orchards that once surrounded the village and the strawberries that depict the many acres of soft fruit that were grown in and around Emneth. Also we see the windmill in the background a feature found in or near most fen villages.

Tom Hickathrift The Marshland Giant

   I have to be honest right from the start of this post, I came across the tales of Tom Hickathrift, the "Marshland Giant" totally by accident. It was on my very first cycle to the village of Tilney All Saints that I saw the gravestone of Tom in their Parish Church, later that evening while editing the photographs I had taken I noticed the small notice upon the grave cover explaining it was from the grave of Tom Hickathrift, the marshland giant. Of course, this lead to me researching him and his story and here I'd like to share what I found out with you all.

   There are two versions of the tale of Tom Hickathrift, the first is as follows; Tom may well have been a real person, possibly one who lived before the Norman invasions when locals were arguing with new lords of the manors who were riding roughshod over the rights of the people to use the common land. During the fight, Tom Hickifric who was outlandishly and unusually tall, took a cartwheel as a shield and an axle for a sword to help fight off the overlords, in the words of John Weever, who recounted the tale in 1631 "perceiving that his neighbours were faint-hearted and ready to take flight, he shook the axle-tree from the cart, which he used instead of a sword and took one of the cartwheels which he held as a buckler. With these weapons, he set upon the adversaries of the common, encouraged his neighbours to go forward and fight valiantly in defence of their liberties".
   Over time the story embroidered; Tom became a giant and the invaders became an ogre who lived in the dangerous boggy marshland of Smeeth, the area of land between Wisbech and Kings Lynn which historically belonged to the seven towns of the Marshland, Clenchwarton, Emneth, Terrington, Tilney, Walpole, Walsoken and West Walton.
   The Ogre tale goes as follows; Tom would drive his brewer's cart between Kings Lynn and Wisbech but, because of a fierce and man-eating ogre that lived in the Marshland, had to make a long detour. Tired of elongating his journey, Tom decided to risk the shorter route and thus incurred the ire of the ogre, who raced to block his path, bellowing; "Do you not see how many heads hang upon yonder tree, those that have offended my law? But thy head shall hang higher than the rest for an example. Tom gave the ogre a rude answer which sent him running to his lair to find his club, upon which Tom fought the 12 foot beast with the axle and wheel-shield, finally triumphing and slicing off his head, becoming a hero and eventually being knighted for his bravery.
   As you can see below the village sign of Tilney All Saints shows Tom with axle and wheel ready to battle the ogre.

   From the early 17th century the story of Tom Hickathrift was passed down through generations via chapbooks, little paper pamphlets sold by travelling peddlers for a penny. Tom's grave is situated in the churchyard of Tilney All Saints parish church. There is also a carving on the parish church of Walpole St Peter and the village sign of Marshland St James also depicts Tom with his cart and the Ogre standing in his path with his club.

My Little Friends

   Most people who know me or follow me on Facebook will know how much I enjoy seeking out those wonderful grotesque carving that hide among the parish churches of the fens, these carved figures both human and animal have always appealed to me rather like those stunning old gargoyles that sit upon the roof edges of many great churches and cathedrals.

   Let us just talk about the difference between Carved figures that I seek out and those fantastic large gargoyles that we see on some of the best houses of god. Gargoyles are basically waterspouts, carvings that project out from a wall, the purpose of which is to drain rainwater away from the walls. They generally have a pipe projecting through the carving itself stopping rainwater from running down the walls of the building and eating away at the foundations.

   What I look for are the carved figures or grotesque carvings that you will often find sitting upon widow arches, stone pillars or door arches, in some cases very small but they never fail to interest me and I often wonder what the stone mason looked like who sat carving them hundreds of years earlier.
I think of the hours that were spent working on these small additions to the buildings, how some are given a rather comic appearance while others are, to be honest, downright ugly, but each one very unique.

   Most who know me understand that tho I'm not a religious person I do enjoy looking at these stunning medieval stone houses of god, the workmanship carried out by those who were often regarded as peasants is bloody amazing when you take a close look. With most of the workforce being paid next to nothing by those in the church and local landowners I feel the least we can do is to admire their skill and painstaking work they produced.

   So for me, I'll continue to seek out these interesting little friends and study the detail that went into their making and I hope you too notice them next time you visit or pass your local parish church.

Fen Pill Boxes

    One common sight while cycling around the fens is that of the many World War II pillboxes, these solid fortifications were built as concrete and brick dug-in guard posts to help protect against any German invasion, normally equipped with loopholes through which to fire weapons. About 28,000 pillboxes were built in England in 1940 and they say around 6,500 still survive today.

   We have several local to us and over the last couple of years I have been lucky enough to explore inside a few. The feeling you get when you enter these quiet concrete tombs is strange to describe, your mind goes back to those armed soldiers who sat inside most days taking shifts, many of them "Home Guard" members dreading the thought of being attacked by invading German forces.
   Next time you're passing a military pillbox just remember those who were willing to defend our country from inside these tiny bunkers, sitting for hours both night and day hoping each time that their shift would pass without problems.

Fen Oddities

   While many who cycle the fens are seen flying along drove roads head down, legs pumping and bright cycle fashion shouting out to the world, some of us are enjoying the natural and unnatural pleasures that the great land of marsh and fen offer us. I fully understand those who wish to race around breaking personal best times and I guess if I had the perfect body I may also enjoy wearing labels that the so-called elite in cycling seem to relish, but for me, cycling means far more than that.

   Firstly cycling is the best way for me to head towards a healthier life, a way of reducing my weight and feeling better about myself. Secondly, it's a way for me to explore the amazing fenlands and head down legs pumping would not make this possible, it would only turn each journey into a chore rather than a pleasure. Because of this, I seem to find some amazing little gems, from a little reading room long since used, old farm implements, beautiful derelict churches and the forgotten buildings that were homes and shelters for lost generations of fen tigers. Also, I often uncover some small man-made curiosities in hedgerows and front gardens like the amazing glass garden pod or the beautiful handcrafted wrought iron weathervanes. Below is a special little lovers mark I found in the bark of a tree just outside the tiny fen village of Wiggenhall St Mary, made from tiny nails many many years ago. by Rick and Lisa.

   The many churches, of course, bring with them lots of oddities as well as some stunning architecture but often it's the old deserted farmyards and buildings that produce some stunning gems of past fen life. Old tools and farm implements among them and sometimes I cycle through villages that I have passed through by car a hundred times and there sits some wonderful old piece of lost village life staring me straight in the eye, how much do we miss in our motor cars, our world seems so busy and rushed.