Stepping out of the car park, Margaret and I immediately joined the stream of pedestrian traffic along the busy road fronting Felbrigg Hall. The air was cool and crisp, filled with the constant drone of passing cars and a chaotic soundtrack of excited yips, jangling lead tags, and happy, snuffling pants. It seemed as though every family had brought their companion, creating a lively, shifting mosaic of hundreds of different types and breeds. We saw everything from tiny terriers straining at the leash to massive, lumbering hounds, all sniffing the grass verges with intense dedication. We followed the main road for a long distance before turning onto a pathway that led us past the main entrance of the hall and back towards the ‘Butler’s Pantry’—the National Trust café, evocatively named.
I left Margaret nestled in the welcoming warmth of the café, recovering from her initial walk with a cheese scone and a pot of tea. The air inside was heavy with the comforting aroma of hot tea and savoury cheese scones, while she settled in to read her online book on her mobile phone. With her content, I headed out to complete the rest of my planned circuit.
I started along the winding road towards the far entrance. The light was incredible, illuminating the trees which were ablaze in shades of fiery orange and deep russet. I stopped several times, kneeling to capture the sheer visual brilliance of the autumn leaves, which lay in thick, crunchy drifts underfoot. I continued along the way and several dog walkers passed by, including a couple of Labradors, a Spaniel, and a Cavapoo, to name but three.
The birdlife here was everywhere, a constant presence. Overhead, the raucous crowds of corvids dominated the air; I saw hundreds of wood pigeons and blackbirds darting between the trees and shrubs. Beneath the massive beech trees, where tons of brown and yellow leaves lay shed, the colourful fronds of ferns and bracken lined the roadside verge.
Just opposite the main hall, the shadows were beginning to lengthen as the sun dipped low. The black cows, massive and serene, continued grazing placidly in the deepening twilight, their shapes starting to merge with the darkening grass. High above the pasture, the true activity was beginning: hundreds of rooks were settling into their evening roost in the highest branches. Their collective, loud cawing was less excited now, turning into a rough, rhythmic clamour—a final, conversational argument before the quiet of the night descended upon the grounds.
Finally, I made my way back to the Butler’s Pantry to meet Margaret.
I walked for 2.34 miles in 51 minutes.Google Fit awarded me 20 heart points.
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