With thanks to Sergio Leone
(If the link doesn't work, just pretend you can hear a rusty wind turbine squeaking)
The wind blows northerly. The wind turbine is squeaking - painfully, rustily, squeaking as it turns. I am in the far west of Norfolk, wearing a duster. A fly bothers me. Water drips on my hat. I crack my knuckles. The wind pump squeaks as it turns, a plaintiff, scary sound, haunting me. I think I am waiting for a train.....
But I am mistaken - it isn't a train station:
There hasn't been a train near here since Saturday, May 3rd, 1969. And, would you believe it, barely four months later, on August 31st, 1969, Sergio Leone's epic film Once Upon a Time in the West (C'era una volta il West) was released in the UK.....
How's that for a coincidence?
I may just be dreaming. It's the monotony, the drudgery, of an almost featureless 14 mile walk.
This morning I set off from home to explore the new King Charles III English Coast Path extension to the Norfolk Coast Path. Officially, even now, the Norfolk Coast Path starts at Hunstanton and ends at Hopton-on-Sea on the east coast. But now sign posts lead you down from Hunstanton, past Heacham, past Shepherd's Port and the RSPB Reserve at Snettisham, and direct you to King's Lynn. And that is what I wanted to do. To get to King's Lynn.
The signs aren't good. Keep to the landward base of the flood bank says one. Guns unloaded until reaching shooting area says another. Is Jack Elam waiting for me? Woody Strode? Am I going to be surprised by the ice blue eyes of Henry Fonda as he walks out of the brush? Please don't let me hear you call him Frank.....
Another sign says Private Shooting. Membership card to be carried at all times when carrying a gun. I have neither card, nor gun. My vulnerability screams. Will I be privately shot?
Another sign says Toilet 9 miles. OMG! What kind of hell is this?
I obey the signs. I keep to the landward side of the flood bank. I keep my eyes peeled for the livestock that apparently may be in the coast path corridor. I stumble over tussocks, my duster flapping in the wind. The train is two hours late, how will I ever get to Lynn?
Some kind of bird flies at me - but it's a lie. It's just a cut out. What is this never-ending torment?
I dream of Claudia Cardinale. It's the only thing that keeps me going. She's just arrived in Sweetwater. She searches for her husband. Am I the lucky one?
She looks past me - Am I not part of her dream? (I know she's 86 now, but she's still gorgeous.)
And then her eyes brim with tears as she finds her new family lying shot down. Was it the King's Lynn and West Norfolk Wildfowlers? For a moment I quake in my boots.....
And then I hear the squeaking of the wind turbine and I am at the station, harmonica round my neck. With respect to Buster Keaton (Steamboat Willie Junior) [not to mention Federico Fellini - 8½] I step off the train on the wrong side......
My opponents are one horse shy, so I gun them down, even though I have no membership card. Ha! So Frank sent you, did he? Squeak, squeak..... A lone cow eyes me suspiciously. What will I do next?
Well - if I had any rubbish, I might take it with me. And if I had a dog......
But it's all a dream. The wildfowlers are snug in their houseboats:
Or in their cabins (which used to be houseboats) even though there isn't a duck in sight:
They don't frighten me! I'm on King Charles III's English Coast Path, and I've got the signs to prove it! And I'm warning you, there's no toilets, cafes, or public transport options for 11¼ miles in that direction!
In fact there's nothing. Just sweet nothing.
For a coast path it's lacking something. The last time I saw the sea was at Snettisham RSPB, some ten or so miles behind me.
The only sign of life is a tractor harrowing up the reclaimed arable land, flocked by hungry gulls.....
Until I reach North Lynn farm, where a Welcome sign instructs me to stick to the footpath - OK! What else would you expect me to do?
Did you think I might swim in your ditch?
Or burn your corn?
No! I am now 13¼ miles from the nearest toilet, cafe or public transport, and my dreams have come to nothing. I don't even have the squeak of a wind pump to keep me company, so, please, let me out of this impossible world, this Escher mezzotint.....
And then, as the camera crane rises above the industrial activity before me, I reach the end of the trail, Ennio Morricone's score swirling around inside my head.
Though the wind turbine still squeaks:
Either
Or
and if those links don't work just look up the opening sequence of
Once upon a Time in the West online and enjoy.....
Thank you, steamboat Richard
ReplyDeleteSounds like a trial by ordeal. Is the toilet distance a mistake or a piss-take? Told with a great sense of humour, Richard. The references to Leone and Morricone are very apt (Seen and enjoyed that film many times); can hear the squeaking wind pump and the plaintive, somewhat unnerving notes of "Harmonica". Excellent photography (as always). By the way, has Charles ever walked along "his" path?
ReplyDeleteGood job! Nothing is often v sweet and, as you know, Sam B thought nothing was more real than nothing.
ReplyDelete