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Sunrise-Land 1894

The following extract is taken from Annie Berlyn's "Sunrise-Land: Rambles in Eastern England" published in 1894. It paints a descriptive picture of the boom in tourism at the time and how this affected Cromer and Poppy-land.

ROUND CROMER

FASCINATING as Cromer sands and Cromer cliffs may be, they are not by any means the sole resort of the Cromer visitor. There are always some excellent but indolent folk, of course, who deem it the greatest delight of the holiday-maker to burrow for hours in the deep sand, slowly browning in the sun, and "ever falling asleep in a half-dream" to the soothing murmur of the sea, and who, like the lotus-eaters, cry "we will no further roam."

At Cromer and the picturesque fishing hamlets that lie below it on the coast, there are miles of exquisitely firm, white sands, along which at times even the ubiquitous cyclist may spin, and of such wide extent that when the tide is out, the riders come gaily cantering, without even disturbing the children as they paddle and dig and play. But there is a still wider range of delights round Cromer, and though the sands are full and lively enough in the morning, in the afternoon they are practically deserted. It is then that the beauties of this most charming district are sought by those who, having once tasted its strong, sweet air, and joyed in its peace, come again and again to revel in its dreamful ease, its wealth of colour, the glories of its sunrises and sunsets and its opalescent sea.

Cromer itself is a place of infinite possibilities. It is vain to hope that here all things will be as they have been. The time is close at hand when its borders, already fast increasing, will be greatly widened, when it will be even with other seaside resorts not more popular perhaps, but more populous and more pushing, when its narrow cobbled streets will be broadened into fashionable thoroughfares, and a pier and esplanade, and all the other "attractions" of a favourite watering-place will be" laid on."

Rumours are heard from time to time of a coming pier, but so far Lord Cromer is the only one the town has produced, and surely the only kind that is needed. With a long jetty, a band-stand at its end and troups of noisy excursionists making the glorious nights hideous with their noise, Cromer would indeed be given over into the hands of the spoiler. Even now, as the peace-loving frequenters of slumberous Poppyland stroll along the firm white sands or their beautiful cliffs to watch the sun die gloriously behind Cromer church, the quiet of the scene is sometimes sadly broken by the faint echo of the music from the primitive but inoffensive little wooden jetty, and the raucous strains of the nigger who happily never invades these beautiful little villages on the cliffs. It can, certainly, never have anything grander, or more interesting than its magnificent parish church, one of the finest in Norfolk.

This church dominates not only the town but the whole district, for its tower, one hundred and fifty-nine feet high, may be seen for miles both at sea and on land. Tradition says that Cromwell, who certainly did play havoc in East Auglia with all ecclesiastical structures, is responsible for the destruction of this grand building, which has only lately been restored to its former shape, the chancel and north porch having both undergone extensive repair. Its "Galilee" porch is in fairly good condition, Cromer Church. and keeps local as well as stray artists in perpetual work. Probably the church has been painted almost as many times as the " Garden of Sleep " has been sung in Cromer, for it makes a most effective picture from any point of view. Pictures of Cromer from the hills, Cromer from the north, east, south, or west, Cromer town, or Cromer from afar, principally consist of this huge Perpendicular church. If a sketch is made from a distance, the tower alone stands out conspicuously; if the town itself makes up the picture is not this huge, many-windowed and lofty-towered building, round which dead and gone mariners and humble Cromerites take their rest, the most prominent object ?

Despite the terraces of handsome houses it already possesses, its imposing hotels, the smart villas that are over-flowing into the roads that lead to neighbouring villages, Cromer is less able, as each season comes round, to provide for the thousands of holiday-makers who pour in from its two railway stations. Fine shops are springing up perpetually, and still there is a cry for more; and as yet, though it would perhaps be surprising, if they were counted, to learn how many vehicles of different kinds there are in the town, there are but half as many horses and traps as are needed for the bright August days, when everybody is panting for the lanes and woods and interesting sights without Cromer town. There are those who grumble that Cromer built up and extended will be Cromer spoiled. Others there are who delight, as they come year after year, to find it hurrying along towards the inevitable end. It must come now. Such charms could not for ever be kept secret; their fame is spreading rapidly, and Cromer must provide for those who seek them. But without, in the villages near at hand, and yet untouched by the rush and bustle of life, there will always be peace, there will always be the same calm delights, and hither the Cromer visitors wander in the long summer afternoons.

It is here, after all, where those joys are really found that make Cromer to be so highly esteemed. Where along the coast is there anything more charming than Overstrand with its ruined church, that happy little village between the sea and the hills, the now famous "Poppyland," the Othestranda of the Doomsday Book? In the yellow cornfields that stretch away to sleepy Sidestrand, glow the poppies that ruddle the cliffsides and incarnadine hedges that overflow, too, with dog roses and honey-suckle, hare-bells, and ox-eyed daisies. You may follow the same scarlet track along the roadways where quaint rambling farmhouses, set back among clumps of silver birches and elms and old oaks, are sheltered from the fierce winds that blow across the wide waters from the North Pole itself, by massive stone walls, overgrown with ivy and moss.

Overstrand, by the way, threatened awhile since to become "a place." But the extension of Lord Battersea's cliffside domain has fortunately nipped its young ambition in the bud. Two or three harmless rows of picturesque red cottages have sprung up; its pristine simplicity has been marred by a shop or two; but there is, happily, no more building-land to be had for love or money and there an end.

Disclaimer: The content of this extract, reproduced exactly as printed, may offend. This is not the intended purpose of the inclusion of this extract, which is reproduced for historical reference only.