The Suffolk Coast: Heathland, Waterways And A Vanishing City

Reaching the end of September means that we are now precisely four months away from starting our trips of a lifetime; retirement is coming soon, the first trip starts at the end of January. Over the next few weeks we’ll be taking in some of our favourite corners of our home country of England before we leave our shores long term.

So this weekend sees us visit a picturesque part of the Suffolk coast, both dodging the showers and catching the sun as the early autumn throws a mix of weather at the country. 

Day 1 is a walk around heathland clad in heather and bracken, small traces of the purple heather bloom still visible and ripening blackberries clinging to the bramble bushes. The heather carpet is dense, most of the colour gone now, the yellow of the gorse and the reds of the berries now providing the brightest colours.

This walk is centred around the village of Dunwich, famous, or perhaps infamous, for the fact that the village is disappearing into the sea. The North Sea here has steadily eroded the coast, and this now tiny village was, in the thirteenth century, an international port city similar in size to London. The entire ancient city and harbour have long since been consumed by the sea; even in recent years properties on the cliff edge have been similarly engulfed. All that remains now is a tiny but pretty village, a quality pub, and inquisitive visitors. 

Day 2 presents a bigger challenge with the weather, the dark clouds are heavier, and so are the showers, when they hit. So it’s a shorter walk today around Southwold, along Blackshore and over to Walberswick. It’s an area of outstanding natural beauty, creeks, rivers and marshland punctuate the landscape, huge flocks of geese mingle with grazing cows in the lowlands. The River Blyth swells and retreats with the tide, boats moored along the ancient harbour cling tightly as the waters rush to the sea, anglers sit patiently awaiting the catch. 

There are two river crossings for walkers; the first a narrow bridge above the swirling waters; the other, a quaint rowing boat ferry scuttling back and forth throughout the day. Walberswick itself, on the south side of the Blyth, oozes both charm and wealthy second homers. Another delightful pub, the Bell Inn, sits within the village. 

Back at Blackshore, the Southwold harbour is home to fish restaurants and chandlers, the old buildings nestling along the track between the Blyth and the marshes. All around, markers show the height of the water in the disastrous floods of 1953.

As we sip a pint of ale in Pakefield, the biggest squall of the day rolls in across the sea, cloudbursting as it makes landfall. We are now the cold side of the autumn equinox; the days are shortening, the winds changing.

Winter is coming. And so, of course, is our trip of a lifetime.