Tale of an off-season Sunday (Cromer)

Member Name: ermintrude

Product:	Cromer
Date:	09/12/00 (170 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: pleasant; pretty; excellent seafood

Disadvantages: not that much to do

Sunday morning, late November. It's supposed to be a Photo Society trip to Cromer, but apathy prevails, and the group consists of me (the society president) and two of my housemates (who are both members). A shame really, as the day is bright and clear, although a bit cold, and it's the right place in the term for a bit of sea breeze to blow away the cobwebs. Still, their loss.

We take the little train from Norwich (Anglia Railways, 01603 764776) - just £3.50 return, less with a railcard - and it only takes an hour or so, passing through the open countryside of North Norfolk, the fields either stubbled or bare beneath a crystal blue sky. Suddenly, there's the sea, a smudge of darker blue between two hills, and the train begins to round the long curve to Cromer.

It's not the most exciting or imposing station - a dead-end halt beside Safeway. The train reverses here and carries on to Sheringham, but we head up the road towards the sea front. The neatly kept promenade gardens are empty (something to do with the howling wind, maybe?) overlooked only by the illuminations. Acknowledging Cromer's heritage, they take the form of seafood, including fish, crabs, lobsters and shrimp. There's one green and red garland in a nod to the Christmas spirit, but all else is marine life.

We take the steps to the beach (Cromer has some fairly serious cliffs), joining the wellied dog walkers and bescarved families tramping across the stones. The flints make a satisfying tinkly crunch as you walk over them, but it's hard going. However, the tide is out, so we head for the flat, firm sand, which just begs to be written on (housemate Simon writes "Raaaa!" - don't ask). The wind is gusting along the coast, but it's exhilarating, and whips up the waves to a salty mist in the air. A few hardy (or crazy) surfers bob in the waves like seals, but I doubt they'll catch anything today except the train home.

On to
the pier - I haven't ever been when the tide's been so far out, and we mooch around underneath the pier's seaweed-entangled legs, taking photos of the Victorian engineering and the lonely beach and sea beyond. It's tempting to go up on the pier itself, but the crab boats further along the beach look interesting, so we wander up there. The much-painted boats, knotted rope and ancient, salt-rusted tractors provide rich pickings for us photography types as they sit on the slipway in front of the old lifeboat house. It now forms the Henry Blogg museum (01263 512503) - he was perhaps Cromer's most famous son, and won three RNLI gold medals for bravery between 1902 and 1947.

Further along there's nothing but beach and cliffs, and we're getting cold, so an executive decision is taken and we head to the Red Lion Hotel (01263 514964). Its bar has a sea view, and is lovely and warm, although they charge a pound for a small cup of tea. We check out the seasonal menus on the table, and are actually pleasantly surprised - some seriously posh food (woodpigeon salad; various things "nestling on a bed" of other things, with coulis of this and jus of that), but the price comes in at £15 or less for three courses and coffee, and the top price is for dinner on New Year's Eve. The catch is that once out here, and having drunk a bit, you'd probably have to stay at the hotel as well.

Suitably refreshed, we head through the town's narrow streets to a favourite haunt of mine - the secondhand bookshop Bookworms of Cromer (01263 515078). All manner of books, new and old, on every topic, packed into a tiny shop, with classical music playing softly in the background... I'm a happy browser here. Eventually I pick up a couple of books for £1 each (despite being tempted by many more!), and we decide it's time for lunch. We head for the chip shop, determined to sample the fish here of all places.

Fresh from the
fryer at Mary Jane's (01263 511208), my haddock tastes like nothing I've ever had inland - sweet and juicy, the flesh melts away in flakes of pure white, and the batter is golden and crunchy. Even the chips are fresh and very hot, and just as they should be - golden outside, fluffy white inside. Eschewing the attached restaurant, we head down to the pier to eat them and sit in one of the shelters that face out over the sea, shooing off the scavenging seagulls which hover in the wind and wait for scraps. Sated at last, we notice that the grease has congealed on the paper - confirming that the crispiness of the batter and chips is due to them being cooked in lard. Ah well. We make (false) promises to eat healthily that evening in penance.

Time to move on, but we can't go without strolling to the end of the pier. Past the Pavilion Theatre (01263 512395), home of the last traditional "Seaside Special" in the country (a traditional variety performance, no less), around past the sea anglers and their tubs of writhing bait, there's the lifeboat house, the replacement for the old house on the slipway. Open for viewing, and free, we take a look, marvelling at the sleek, beautiful power of the boat, and almost hoping for a launch just to see her surge down the slipway. Painted boards tell of every launch, and the lives saved, since the first lifeboat here, and suitably awed by the work of these brave volunteers, we drop a donation in the box.

It's getting late, so we head along the seafront towards the station. A crumbling, dilapidated hotel (the Melbourne) looms over us from the top of the cliff, a pointer to Cromer's seedier side, the one seen by locals (and described in other opinions here). Further along, as we turn to climb the steps, an amusement arcade jangles out its discordant theme, tempting in the bored teenagers and younger kids alike, for whom Cromer's blue-flagged sands and Victorian charms hold nothing. r>
Cromer's station is cold and unfriendly to the waiting traveller, a dark, dank and graffitied shelter the only building, so we spend as much time as possible in Safeway's coffee shop before electing to sit out in the gathering gloom on the platform. The last train of the day pulls in to trundle us home at just after 4pm, right on time.

I'd never go to Cromer itself for longer than a day, as its charms are easily exhausted. But for the odd Sunday, when I need a break and some fresh sea air, it's a perfect trip. Easily accessible, familiar yet never exactly the same... even the slightly forlorn feeling you get at the seaside out of season just adds to it for me. Maybe this is the photographer in me talking, but I'll always go back to Cromer.