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Monday dawned, overcast, with a slight drizzle. Undaunted, we made cups of tea and mulled over the map to decide where to go next. Our decision was to go down the Waveney to Oulton Broad. I went to find a newsagent to get a paper, noting on the way the old buildings on the quayside one of which was a chippy which turned out to sell the most superb fish and chips we had ever tasted when we frequented it on our return visit. After extricating our craft from the quayside which involved quite a bit of manoeuvring of other boats, all done in a very good natured way, we set sail in the direction of Oulton Broad, passing under the two bridges with ease. The good point about the Elysian we found was the air draught, this being in the region of six feet, so we were able to pass under most bridges at fairly high water. I started busying myself preparing breakfast, I suddenly looked up out of the window and to my horror all I could see was water. I rushed over to the other side, the same again, water. I ran on deck shouting “you ------- idiots, you’ve gone the wrong way we’re out at sea!” Hoots of laughter told me of my mistake, we were on Breydon Water, with the overcast and rainy conditions the sides were not visible from down below. It was quite a sight; I postponed the cooking and came up top to take it all in. It is very hard to put into words the effect Breydon has on you the first time you see it, I suppose you could call it an inland sea, but on that first sighting with the rainy, misty and slightly windy conditions it was magnificent. It was full you could not see the mud banks on either side, the waves were banging against the side of the hull making the boat roll a bit, this was the only time we had it flat out so I suppose we were  going against the tide. It certainly did seem a bit like the sea especially with all the seabirds wheeling overhead.

All too soon it was over and we were cruising down the Waveney with jokes about baked beans being bandied about as Waveney was a brand name for some Coop foods at the time. Past Burgh Castle and St. Olaves, noting the piers of the disused railway bridge in the river at Haddiscoe, past the distinctive smock mill at Herringfleet to arrive miraculously at Somerleyton just as the pub was opening. We sauntered up the sunken lane to the Dukes Head which we thought was a marvellous pub. On entering we saw on the bar what, to everybody but me, was a completely new pump. One of the lads asked the landlord what it was, to be told it was Heineken Lager from Holland and this was going to be the future of things. Now I worked for a Brewery Company at the time and realised full well that this was probably what was going to happen and that there would be a turn to continental type lagers rather than the traditional British beers of the past. A trend I myself viewed with trepidation. I find lager bland, fizzy and totally lacking in body, but that is only my opinion. So we ordered up four pints, from the look on the other threes faces after the first gulp I realised they shared my opinion of the stuff. This was compounded by the fact that the price of it was nearly twice the price of the bitter. Needless to say we didn’t have anymore and just had beer which, I think, was maybe Whitbread, as they had just taken over Lacons. In fact I don’t think I have drunk Heineken since.

We wended our way back to the boat, by now the weather had brightened considerably and we had lovely journey to Oulton Broad in fine sunshine and moored up in the Yacht Station about 3 pm. Oulton Broad turned out to be a very nice spot, we spent the rest of the afternoon strolling around the town and shopping, chiefly for food. None of us were married at the time and, living at home with parents to do all that kind of thing, we didn’t realise just how much food you had to buy for three meals a day.

Another thing in those days was that, apart from a visit to the chippy, very few people on holiday ate out. Most pubs survived by just selling drink, a far cry from today where if most of them did not provide food, especially in holiday areas, they would be out of business. We spent the evening in the Lady of the Lake and returned to the boat fairly early, a considerably quieter night was had due to the fact with being moored stern on nobody had to jump over our boat to get to their own.

Tuesday morning was another glorious sunny day, this proved to be the first instance where the boat didn’t move. We spent a leisurely day sunbathing, watching the tooing and froing on the Broad and strolling around, in fact a thoroughly restful time was had by all.In the evening we decided to walk down by the side of Lake Lothing, noticing the commercial shipping on the way to Lowestoft, where I must admit we found little of interest and promptly caught the bus back. Another splendid evening ensued in the Lady of the Lake where there was a stage, entertainment being provided this evening, even some of the boaters doing a turn. I remember one chap, who was in a party of lads from Leeds, doing a hilarious impersonation of Chick Murray who was a Scottish comedian of the day.

After an unhurried breakfast we set off on the Wednesday, on another fine, morning, for Beccles. I must say, so far the weather had been extremely kind to us with only day of drizzle on the Monday; we turned off Oulton Dyke onto the Waveney in glorious sunshine. The Southern Waters were proving to be far less busy than the hectic Northern ones around Horning, Wroxham and the area near the Thurne Mouth which were literally teeming with boats. The Waveney here was very quiet, the only thing disturbing the tranquillity being our transistor radio. I can still remember the most popular ones played by the local radio station. Hey Jude had just been released, this was constantly being aired, others included I Say A Little Prayer by Aretha Franklin, Dream A Little Dream Of Me by Mama Cass and a one hit wonder called Little Arrows by Leapy Lee. It always brings a smile to my face when ever I hear them played now. The journey to Beccles was a delight; all of us were just enthralled by ever changing scene along the banks, just so peaceful. I think that the quietness, more than anything else, is what has left is mark forty years on, just so relaxing.

We arrived at the Yacht Station, a quick tea and out into the town, Beccles proved to be what we thought was a very sleepy place until at about 8 pm we entered a pub in front of a very impressive church. We were just taking the tops off our first pint when the pristine silence was shattered, to say the pub shook was an understatement, the sound of the loudest bell I had ever heard reverberated through the room. “What the Bloody Hell was that”, we asked the Barman, “Bell ringing practice”, he announced reaching for the cotton wool, “that’s why there’s only you idiots in here, nobody else locally can stand it”. We put up with it for about fifteen minutes, the sound itself was lovely it was just the loudness, it really was deafening. On walking further away to a pub nearer the moorings it became a pleasure to listen to. On getting our hearing back when the buzzing stopped we laughed and joked about this for some time, saying it was an awful long way to come to get deafened.

I think the Thursday morning was quite dull, but it certainly wasn’t raining when we cast off for Yarmouth again, my only regret looking back on all these years was that we hadn’t heard of the Locks Inn at Geldeston as we would have certainly paid that a visit, but Yarmouth it was. Back up the Waveney. Over Breydon, low tide and a flat calm and into Yarmouth. No dramatics this time, in fact compared to the previous visit the moorings were virtually deserted, although I suppose it was midweek. A quiet evening was spent playing darts in the Crystal topped off with some excellent Fish and Chips from the chippy opposite the box girder bridge. An excellent nights sleep followed, no bumps and bangs on the cabin roof, a lot to be said for mooring midweek if you wanted peace and quiet.

It was Friday already, time flies when you are enjoying yourself and we all agreed that we certainly were. Todays’ destination was to be some where on the Bure, just cruise and see where we got to was the plan. In the end we got as far as the Thurne, which we turned up and got to Potter Heigham, but we couldn’t get through the bridge, even with our small boat. We moored up, went to the now demolished Bridge Inn for a pint and a chat where to go next. Back down the river to Thurne Dyke was the decision; Hickling Broad would have to wait for another day (IN FACT NINETEEN YEARS). So back down the river, five minutes out of Potter Heigham the Heavens opened, we had hardly seen any rain at all but we certainly got it now. It came down like stair rods, for you people old enough to remember what they were, I remember the panic to get the canopy up cups plates and everything else being knocked over in the sheer rush to stop the interior of the boat becoming awash. We were used to rain, well we did all come from Manchester, but this was something else, we couldn’t try to moor up because we couldn’t see the bank and no brave soul was going to go outside and have a look. Creeping down the river at about two feet an hour we were just hoping we did not run aground or run into another boat, then as suddenly as it had started it stopped and in two minutes the sun was out, veritably cracking the flags.

Calm restored we motored on down to Thurne Dyke to moor for the night. Mooring up on the left hand bank, I don’t think you had to pay then, in fact the only places you had to pay were Yacht Stations and Salhouse Broad.We had noticed on the way into the dyke a sign for the Lion Inn advertising showers, these would be very welcome as nobody had had one all week, we had just made do washing using the small basins on the boat. The showers were excellent, we had arrived at a quiet time and so there was no queue. A strange thing about these showers was that going ahead forty years on my visit to Thurne Dyke this year, when in the Lion for a drink I popped my head in to have a look. Lo and behold it was like entering a time warp, they were exactly the same, even down to the coin meter on the wall. I don’t think it took sixpences though. An enjoyable evening was spent in the Lion which was packed due to it being a Friday, the same applies today, and most boaters if they are on the Northern Waters tend to call in. The same thing with the showers applies to the pub itself which, apart from the window seats in the bar being ripped out, has hardly changed in the past forty years. Back on the boat we reflected we had been here seven days already. The weather had been excellent apart from today’s rain, everybody had thoroughly enjoyed themselves and there had hardly been one cross word between us, and we still had another week left.  (David Campbell 2008)

My First Broads Holiday - 1968

By David Campbell

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The second Saturday arrived, another beautiful morning. Where should we go to today? As so far we had had a relatively quiet time regarding entertainment, being happy enough just to sit in the local pubs enjoying the atmosphere, we decided to have a late night out in Yarmouth. Back down the Bure, I cannot remember where we stopped off at, but, we must have done as we did not arrive in Yarmouth until mid afternoon. Again no dramatics this time, in fact all the mooring up I watched that day was exemplary, really disappointing after all the fireworks the previous week. Most of the crew decided to go to the beach, this not really being my style I went to look round the town. Heading towards the seafront I stumbled across what I immediately recognised as a former railway station, being an avid railway enthusiast I suppose it was not a difficult assumption to make. It was being used as a coach station; even some of the platforms and canopies were still intact although devoid of rails. I realised this was Yarmouth Beach former terminus of the Midland and Great Northern Railway, which had closed in 1959, I wondered how many holiday makers from the past had alighted here from the Midlands and the North eager to enjoy what Yarmouth had to offer. Now though busy with road transport, it did not present the same aura that must have pervaded the place in the past with all the comings and goings of the holiday trains, steam and smoke oozing atmosphere everywhere. The buildings were demolished in 1986, a sad loss to Yarmouth in my humble opinion.

Not particularly wanting to go to the seafront, I made my way back towards the market area and had a walk around the impressive St Nicholas Church and its grounds, which I found out years later is the largest Parish Church in England, although I believe Holy Trinity in Hull also claims to be. The market was extremely busy and I spent a pleasant hour just wandering around looking at all the stalls. It never ceases to amaze me what little snippets of really useless information remains locked up in ones sub conscious just waiting for some incident to bring it back to life. Just so whilst writing this one little memory came flooding back to me, that I went into a shop and bought several Vesta Paellas .These were freeze dried you just had to add water and boil and simmer for twenty minutes, ideal really when on a boat, they did beef and chicken curry varieties too. In all the intervening years I had never once recalled this until now.

After cooking a meal, we set out on our jaunt into Great Yarmouth. Being a Saturday it was extremely busy. We headed for an establishment, which I believe was called the Long Beach, which somebody had overheard being spoken about. This place was supposedly quite lively; it certainly was it was heaving. I can’t remember exactly how it happened, but during the course of the evening I got separated from the others, no mobile phones then so there was no way of getting in touch, unless we ended up running into each other in the course of the evening. How things have changed, if somebody had said in a few years time you would be able to pull a tiny box out of your pocket and instantly speak to anybody you wanted you would have thought them insane. I was not particularly bothered as I was used to going places on my own. I had an interesting evening and early morning going round pubs & discos on the front, being a Saturday it was extremely busy, with everybody intent on enjoying themselves. After getting something to eat I decided to make my way back to the boat. Back up Regent Rd, through the Market, I was beginning to know this route like the back of my hand. On arrival at the North Quay there was nobody on the boat, or so I thought, the down side of having only one set of keys I reflected. Still it was a nice morning not too cold, so I sat on the top of the boat watching the water. A few people passed, strange how everybody exchanges greetings in the early hours of the morning when later on in the day nobody says a word.

Eventually Allan, Glenn & Pete arrived. I was asked what are you doing out here? I haven’t got the keys I replied. Glenn said I gave them to my brother, we had a bit of an argument and I told him to go back to the boat, he should be back by now. Well I haven’t seen him I replied, just then one of the window curtains moved ever so slightly. He’s in there shouted Glenn, open this door you so & so. The scenario now develops into pure farce. Repeated banging’s on the cabin door and roof, all to no avail, led to a muffled voice emanating from the interior of the boat, which  literally translated said, no way am I coming out there you’ll kill me. All this kerfuffle had naturally woken up quite a few people in the nearby boats who, quite understandably, were none too pleased about being disturbed in the early hours of a Sunday morning. Eventually young Alan was persuaded to open the hatch on top of the cabin. Don’t let my brother in through that, he wailed, there was not really much chance of that, Glenn was of quite ample proportions to put it succinctly. Being at the other end of the weight spectrum myself, you couldn’t see me if I turned sidewise, I crawled in. It took five minutes at least to persuade Alan that Glenn would not throw him in to the River Bure before he would let me open the door and we all got in. It was decided at this late hour not to say anything else as I think any more noise would have really incensed the rest of the moored boats.

I was up early the next morning, grabbed hold of Alan and said come on we’re going swimming. On being asked why, I said to let this lot calm down, pointing to the rest of our crew and the nearby boats whose occupants were seemingly less than pleased about the previous nights events, there were quite a few mutterings and fingers being pointed. After a nice dip in the baths at Yarmouth we returned to the boat, the atmosphere had improved considerably, the sun was shining, kettles were whistling, pots rattling and the sound of laugher was filling the air. I hate to think what would have happened had it been pouring with rain. The previous nights’ incident proved to be the only note of discord in the whole fortnight and with this forgotten we “set sail” for the River Yare. Breydon Water was a flat calm and we were soon over and cruising past Berney Arms. It was about 11 O’ clock and in those days of restricted opening hours the pub was shut, Sunday lunch being 12 till 2. Every time we had passed Berney on the holiday it was outside opening hours, we considered this a real pity as we had been informed it was well worth a visit. In the next few days we were up and down the Yare like fiddlers’ elbows and we never did get in the place.

Uncannily enough we arrived at Reedham at 12 O’clock on the dot and prepared to enter the Lord Nelson, in this we were thwarted as the doors did not open. I have a very fuzzy black and white photo of three of us pretending to break the door down. After fifteen minutes we gave up and carried on to Reedham Ferry. Another beautiful riverside hostelry, thankfully not much changed today, I vividly remember the stone flags in the bar. As it was a sunny day we sat on the lawn in front of the pub watching the chain ferry going back and forth across the river. Nobody had ever seen one of these before, although there are four or five in other places in England, the King Harry Ferry in Cornwall springs to mind. We wondered why it was so busy but a quick look at the map showed us of its importance, it is a long way round otherwise. In glorious sunshine, the weather had been really kind to us so far which we considered a real bonus, after all, anybody taking holidays in the U.K. expected it to rain at least half the time, we motored on past the sugar factory and the Red House as it was called then at Cantley, to arrive mid afternoon at Brundall.

We found a wonderful, secluded dyke to moor up in, virtually in the garden of the Yare Hotel. You could not do it today; it has been swallowed up by the Marina at Brooms where all the multi million pound vessels are berthed. I believe the tongue in cheek term used today by some members of the boating fraternity is “Gin Palaces”. However in 1968 it was a very tranquil scene, it seemed very popular with the local ducks, we spent an entertaining half hour trying to trap some between the boat and the bank with the half hearted intention of catching one and having it for dinner, needless to say we didn’t get any. After a meal we sauntered up the road, past the Railway Station, alas no steam trains any longer, steam had finished on British Railways in August 1968 although it had been eliminated in East Anglia quite a while before this.

We crossed the main road and entered into the White Horse. This was not a pub we particularly liked, although I cannot remember the reason. I must say though, I would dearly like to go in it today, unfortunately it was demolished in the early 2000’s and when I passed the site this year it had been replaced by modern housing, a fate that has befallen a lot of pubs just lately. After twenty minutes or so in the White Horse we strolled back down the lane to the Yare Hotel, which we found much more to our liking, it having a very relaxed atmosphere, the regulars in the vault making us extremely welcome.