31/07/2022
East Anglia has an insidious veil of magic that envelopes you like a day dream on a warm summer’s day. While it has long been the butt of jokes about in-breeding, the very fact that it is tucked away behind a closed door to the rest of the country has created the fuel for its own magic – a magic quite different from any other county. Generations live and die, work and toil, live off the land of their ancestors, bury their family in the soil of the landscape that their families have worked on for centuries. It is this that creates a quiet energy – a peaceful one at that – which creeps up on you whether you like it or not. East Anglia is almost its own world.
Though at a glance the landscape seems flat and featureless, you should look closer. You will see the windswept coastline undulating with the scent of gorse, moving inland through pastures heady with rapeseed, before you are carried onto fens, boggy and mysterious. It is a world of its own, circling birth, work, plants, harvests, eating, growing and dying within its walls. There is nowhere else like it.
