NOTICE: Still on the lookout for a good old Norfolk story

Not so long ago in Norfolk, the ‘high end of the market’ line meant a meeting place for bargain hunters to meet, mingle and wander.

I remember with relish the weekly treats among the stalls and varied paraphernalia that make up market days in Acle, Aylsham, Dereham, Diss¸ Fakenham, Great Yarmouth Swaffham and several others. Norwich, of course, has always set an inviting permanent example.

He remains a vibrant part of local life, just as important for exchanging news and views as it is for buying herrings and slippers. The Norfolk Bush Telegraph owes a lot to these regular gatherings filled with people trying to sort good wheat from coarse straw.

The first few years as a local press reporter taught me to take seriously the topics of “talking about the market” as strong indicators of what many readers wanted to digest, whether in the form of news, articles. opinion or letters to the editor. Malicious gossip and deliberate exaggeration demanded careful combing.

Much friendly agitation surrounded the far-reaching decisions reviewed by councilors and officials at all levels, from parish pomp to town hall. I’ve lost count of how many times my investigative skills have been tested by, “Now you haven’t heard that from me, have you?” “

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This old ally that “some sources seem to suggest” has proven to be very helpful, but straightforward quotes and hard facts must have taken center stage when it comes to contentious planning demands, decisions and decisions. potential implications.

A rapidly widening gap between interpretations of ‘change’ and ‘progress’, as well as growing concerns that Indigenous youth are being denied the opportunity to take root in Norfolk like parents and grandparents. parents before them emerged as key issues that still give rise to problems today.

And that brings me to a more current use of the ‘high end of the market’ versus a ridiculously inflated spike in house prices, leaving more than just young hopefuls striving to climb aboard stranded. any rung of the ladder housing.

We were recently informed of a drastic shortage of mansions and other luxury homes over £ 1million for sale in Norfolk despite strong demand from potential buyers. It seemed to be an embarrassment as realtors wrung their hands in disappointment at missing out on a much needed bargain or two.

Now you haven’t heard that from me, have you? But some sources at the top of the development chain gently hint at a revolutionary planning ploy to get things done in the “high end of the market” as the construction juggernaut continues its exciting charge across Norfolk.

The general idea is to encourage developers, particularly in and around Norwich and Rackheath, to spice up all the important applications by committing to include a number of affordable mansions or similar accommodation to add class, prestige. and an obvious variety to more controversial projects.

As always, local residents will be invited to ‘have their say’ in a ‘full and frank public consultation’. this special fraternity responsible for leading development management policies.

All of this speculation about “chic” homes brings back the powerful smell of Mansion Polish from my childhood where I did my best to avoid all kinds of household chores. Our old cottage, which accompanied father’s work on the neighboring farm, was well cleaned, especially after the Friday evening bath in front of the kitchen fire.

As a longtime honorary crab on the north Norfolk coast, where mansions tend to be turned into nursing homes, I try to keep my nose clear of issues involving the city and the suburbs.

Even so, most of those who live there seem to drive around once a week to Cromer at this time of year to see what the seaside traffic jams look and taste like.

It’s fun comparing ratings with all kinds of visitors who can’t figure out why we always wear masks and observe social distancing in a crowded downtown. I tell them we had a serious surge of appeasement a few years ago during an influenza epidemic that could have resulted in lifelong bans from entering Sheringham.

I continue to support the Cromer open air market next to the tourist information center every Friday. It might not be the top end of local attractions, but still offers enough fresh gossip and memory reminders to remind me of how precious such little outings are as we rehearse for a revival of “normal” life.

Yeah, you heard that from me, right?

Jump apart: It has been a time of deep reflection based in and around my home in the heart of Norfolk.

Valuable ties to Beeston, still nestled between Red Barn Hill and the winding climb of St Mary’s Church, called for re-inspection with the loss of a handful of colorful figures.

Brother Malcolm, known from childhood as Sprat, was number four in the Skipper production line, paving the way for my arrival about two years later. His death at 79 sparked warm memories of an uncompromising personality proud of his local roots.

He clung firmly to his broad Norfolk accent and passion for farming, specializing in dairy duties, while honing his athletic skills on cricket, darts and boules. We got along well celebrating what we had in common and shedding light on the differences in the ways we make a living.

By touching coincidence, Mary Wales, widow of Alec, who ran Primrose Farm in Beeston for many years and counted Sprat as a key member of her team, recently passed away after completing her great century in Norfolk.

More village ties give rise to celebration after the passing of Albert Hudson, a funny figure from my sports album. He played football and cricket for Beeston and went on to command a leading role in pub sessions with singing and whistling performances.

A good friend from more recent times completes this list of mid-Norfolk tributes. Reverend Jonathan Boston served as Vicar of Horsford and St Faiths for over 20 years. He then took over Litcham and six other parishes, including Beeston. He recently passed away at the age of 80.

Son of Canon Noel Boston, who made such a bold mark as Vicar of East Dereham before his death at 55 on a family vacation, Jonathan not only followed his father’s calling, but inherited his passion. for old musical instruments and firearms.

He was a special guest artist at Beeston Church in October 2016, when I completed the last round of the Mardling and Music fundraising nights with my old friend Ian Prettyman.