CROMER.

_Section the First_.

THE town of CROMER is situated on the north-east part of the county of

Norfolk, upon the edge of the british ocean, from which it is defended by

cliffs of considerable height.

It must formerly have been a place of much more consequence than it is at

present, as that which is now called Cromer, was in the survey made by

the Conqueror, accounted for under the town and lordship of Shipdon,

which has long given way to the encroachments of the sea, together with

the parish church dedicated to Saint Peter.

At low water there are many large masses of old wall to be seen, which

appear evidently to have belonged to some of the buildings of the old

town; and at very low tides a piece of building is discoverable, which

the fishermen call the Church Rock, it being generally supposed to have

been a part of the old church of Shipdon, and I think with some

probability of truth; though others have doubted it, supposing it

impossible but that the constant action of the sea for so many ages, must

long ere this have dissolved all traces of it.

The present church, dedicated to Saint Peter and Saint Paul, was probably

erected in the time of Henry the fourth. It is a very handsome pile,

built with flint and freestone, consisting of a body and two aisles,

covered with slate; the tower, which is square, with an embattled top, is

an hundred and fifty-nine feet in height.

The entrance at the west end, is a beautiful specimen of gothic

architecture, now in ruins; as is the porch on the north side and the

chancel. The flinting in many parts of the building, for the beauty of

its execution, is, perhaps, scarcely any where to be excelled.

The inside of the church, which is kept in good repair, is capable of

containing a very great number of persons; it is also tolerably well

pewed; but except the double row of arches which support the roof and

divide the aisles, very little of what it has been remains; these,

however, are of beautiful proportions, and the windows which were

formerly of noble dimensions, and probably ornamented with that most

elegant of church-decorations, painted glass, are now in a great measure

closed up by the hands of the bricklayer.

Amongst the repairs done to the church is one, which though it may be,

and certainly is, in some measure beneficial, yet, as it affects the

beautiful proportions of the middle aisle, the eye of taste must

regret--I mean the flat ceiling, which diminishes the height of the

building by cutting off the roof. Height when duly proportioned

proportioned certainly adds much to grandeur. In churches and in most

gothic buildings the roof terminates in a point corresponding with the

other parts, and by the exclusion of which the proportion and beauty of

the building is in a great measure destroyed.

There is something too in the dark and sombre hue of the roofs of

churches, when the timbers are left in their original state, that is very

pleasing.

Monuments there are none of any consequence,--one or two of the Windham

and Ditchell families are all the church contains; but a well-toned organ

has been placed in the gallery within these few years, for which the

church is peculiarly adapted.

At about a third part of the height of the staircase, which leads up the

steeple, is a door which opens upon the lead of a small turret,

communicating with the stairs, from which a few years since, a boy, by

the name of Yaxley, fell into the church yard, between some timbers which

were laid there for the repairs of the church, without receiving any

other hurt than a few slight bruises, and is now on board a ship in his

Majesty's service.

Robert Bacon, a mariner, of Cromer, (says the History of Norfolk) found

out Iceland, and is said to have taken the Prince of Scotland, James

Stewart, sailing to France for education, in the time of Henry the

fourth.

By the will of Sir Bartholomew Rede, citizen and goldsmith, also an

alderman of London, made in October, 1505, in the twenty-first of Henry

the seventh, the annual sum of ten pounds was bequeathed for the

foundation of a free grammar-school, which is paid to the master by the

goldsmith's company.

The houses in general are indifferent and the rents very high; yet

tolerable accommodation is to be found for strangers, from one to three

guineas per week, some of which command a fine view of the sea, and are

extremely desirable.

The want of a large and well-conducted Inn is amongst those few things

which are chiefly to be regretted by those who pay a visit to Cromer.

Parties are frequently formed for an excursion to a watering place by

those who have neither time, nor inclination, to stay sufficiently long

to make it worth their while to engage lodgings; of course they complain

of the want of accommodation. The consequence is, they become disgusted

with the place, and not unfrequently, I fear, leave it with a

determination of coming no more, but also by describing to others the

inconveniences they have experienced, deter them from making trial of a

place where their neighbours have fared so indifferently.

Unfortunately the trade to an Inn-keeper (in this and I suppose, indeed,

it is the same in most small bathing places) is almost entirely confined

to the summer season; therefore, unless the influx of company at that

time was sufficient to carry him through the expences of the winter also,

I very much fear such an Inn as is necessary for the situation could not

answer. However, I should think the trial of it, though hazardous, might

probably prove successful: with such an addition, Cromer would, perhaps,

in the course of a few years, stand a chance of rivalling some of the

more celebrated bathing places for the number, as well as consequence of

its visitors; without it, it must to a certainty remain contented with

its present acquisitions.

Lobsters, crabs, whitings, cod-fish and herrings, are all caught here in

the finest perfection; the former are always eagerly sought after by all

who arrive; indeed, coming to Cromer and eating lobsters are things

nearly synonymous.

The lower class of people are chiefly supported by fishing; the herrings

which are caught here are cured in the town, a house within three or four

years having been erected for that purpose, which, I believe, answers

well both to the proprietor and the fishermen, who now find an immediate

market for any quantity they may bring in.

The fishery, independent of the pleasure we receive from the

consideration of the support it brings to a numerous, hardy, and in many

instances, an industrious set of people, is not without its effect in a

picturesque point of view. The different preparations for a voyage; the

groupes of figures employed in different ways,--some carrying a boat down

to the water's edge,--some carrying nets, oars, masts and sails; while

others, in a greater state of forwardness are actually pulling through

the breakers, form a scene of the most busy, various and pleasing kind.

The return, also, of the fishermen from this little voyage, frequently

affords a scene truly interesting; particularly in the herring season,

which being in the autumnal equinox, is liable to wind, which sometimes

suddenly bringing a considerable swell upon the beach, renders the coming

in of the boats both difficult and dangerous; a circumstance which

although it cannot fail in a great measure to take from the pleasure we

should experience in being witness to such a scene unconnected with

danger, yet the different attitudes of the boat as it is impelled over

the billows, the exertions of the crew, the agitation of the water, and

the expression marked in the countenances of the surrounding spectators

awaiting their arrival--are all of them incidents so highly picturesque,

that we can but behold them with admiration.

At one moment the little bark followed by a mountain of a sea hanging

over its stern, every instant menacing destruction--the next thrown up

aloft, ready to be precipitated into the gaping gulph below; alternately

keeping the spectators and crew, trembling between fear and hope, till at

last some friendly wave with dreadful force hurls it upon the shore. {9}

Those faces (for upon such occasions the beach is always covered with

beholders) which were but the moment before the most strongly expressive

of the feelings of wife, mother, children or friend, under the most

torturing anxiety for the safety of those who are most nearly allied to

them, by the ties of affection or of interest, are in an instant changed

to smiles and tears of joy, to thanks for their safety, and almost in the

same breath to enquiries about the success of the voyage.

The mercantile trade here is small; the want of a convenient harbour

where ships might ride in safety, will ever be an obstacle; there are,

however, small exports of corn and imports of coal, tiles, oil cake,

London porter, &c.

Perhaps there are few places, even at the distance of twenty miles from

the sea, where coals are dearer than they are here; one principal reason

of which is, the expence and hazard attending the unloading; to effect

which the vessel is laid upon the beach at high water (which can only be

done in fine weather) and when the tide is sufficiently ebbed, the coals

are taken from the vessel by carts, each carrying half a chaldron, which

is as much as four horses can well get up the steep and sandy road cut

through the cliff.

Thus the business is carried on till the returning tide obliges them to

desist till the next ebb. About two tides generally serve to complete

the ship's unloading, which is seldom of greater burthen than from sixty

to seventy tons.

From the loading and unloading the vessels arises another source of

picturesque amusement from the combination of horses and carts, men and

boys--these employed in their different departments compose various

groupes, and give a new character to the scene, by connecting maritime

with rural occupations.

There are no places of public amusement, no rooms, balls, nor card

assemblies. A small circulating library, consisting chiefly of a few

novels, is all that can be obtained; but still for such as make

retirement their aim, it is certainly an eligible situation.

The bathing machines are very commodious, and the bather a careful,

attentive man. The shore, also, which is a fine firm sand, not only only

renders the bathing agreeable, but when the tide retires, presents such a

surface for many miles as cannot be exceeded. The sea too is one of

those objects that appears to have the constant power of pleasing. Other

scenes (though beautiful in themselves) by being seen constantly, either

lose much of their power or become tiresome by their sameness;--it is not

so with the sea--those who live constantly by the side of it, if their

occupation lies within doors, seldom fail at the leisure hour of noon or

eve, to pay their respects to it, even in the most stormy weather. This

fondness can arise from no other source than the constant variety it

produces. Its charms are various and incessant--whether its azure

surface is dressed in smiles or irritated into frowns by the surly

northern or eastern blast.

The cliffs in many parts are lofty and well broken, and their feet being

for the most part composed of strong blue clay, are capable of making

considerable resistance to the impetuous attacks of the sea; so that when

the upper parts which are of a looser texture are brought down by

springs, frosts or other accidental circumstances, and are carried away

by the action of the tide, the feet still remain, opposing their bold

projections to the fury of the storm.

It is very rare too, that there is a scarcity of shipping to adorn the

scene; the trade from Newcastle, Sunderland and the Baltic, keeping up a

constant succession. The different parties of pleasure, also, that

assemble upon the beach in an evening, for walking, riding or reading,

constitute variety and make it a very pleasant resort. But towards the

close of a fine summer's evening, when the sun declining in full

splendour, tinting the whole scene with a golding glow, the sea shore

becomes an object truly sublime. The noble expanse of blue waters on the

one hand, the distant sail catching the last rays of the setting sun,

controlled on the other by the rugged surfaces of the impending cliffs,

the stillness of the scene, interrupted only by the gentle murmurs of the

waves falling at your feet or perhaps by the solemn dashing of oars, or

at intervals, by the hoarse bawling of the seamen;--"music in such full

unison" with the surrounding objects and altogether calculated to inspire

so pleasing a train of thoughts to the contemplative, solitary stroller,

that he does not awake from his reverie till

"black and deep the night begins to fall.

A shade immense, sunk in the quenching gloom;

Magnificent and vast, are Heaven and earth.

Order confounded lies; all beauty void;

Distinction lost; and gay variety

One universal blot; such the fair power

Of Light, to kindle and create the whole."

What can give a more adequate idea of the power of the divine Creator

than such a scene? What can give a fuller comprehension of the compass

of human invention than the intercourse which is maintained between

nations through the medium of navigation? And to an Englishman can there

be a more pleasing or exulting theme, than the wide extent of the

commerce of Great Britain and the glory of the British Navy?--the bulwark

of this happy land.

"This royal throne of Kings, this scepter'd Isle,

This earth of Majesty, this seat of Mars,

This other Eden, demy Paradise,

This fortress built by Nature for herself,

Against infection and the hand of war;

This happy breed of men, this little world,

This precious stone set in the silver sea,

Which serves it in the office of a wall,

Or as a moat defensive to a house,

Against the envy of less happier lands."

To the artist, also, the sea furnishes an almost never-ending source of

amusement; it is a constant moving picture capable of a thousand

modifications, and of being treated on canvass in various ways; it admits

too of the grandest effects of light and shadow, and in the hands of such

a master as Vanderveldt of producing wonderful effect. But it is in the

storm alone that the grand effects I am speaking of are to be found.

"When huge uproar lords it wide"

It wants at such times no adventitious aids to set it off. The calm on

the contrary without some assistance, as rocks, fortifications or

figures, will hardly be able to support itself. It is true you may place

a vessel in the fore-ground, but a ship at anchor lying with her whole

broadside to the eye, however noble it may be to contemplate or pleasing

by the goodness of the painting, will always be a formal object. If you

wish to make it picturesque you must compose your fore-ground of some

projecting rock, or pier-head, a boat or two lying on the shore, and a

few appropriate figures; remove the ship in the fore-ground to the second

distance, with others in the last distance to mark the horizon, and with

these materials, if well managed, a very pleasing picture may be formed.

But a storm at sea has in itself sufficient grandeur to support it; the

vessel labouring with the sea, having all its formal lines broken by the

disposition of its sails, and which being, as is often the case, strongly

illuminated by the sun bursting through the gloom, with the whitening

surges breaking upon the shoals or dashing against the sides of the

vessel, doubly augmenting the blackness of the sea and sky, form a

contrast so noble as to render all other aids superfluous.

Sea fowls as having a peculiar character of their own, and also as

tending to mark that of a sea-coast view more strongly, have always been

considered, and with the greatest propriety, as objects highly

picturesque and amusing whether in natural or in artificial landscape.

Mr. Gilpin has treated of them at large in his Forest Scenery, with that

accuracy and elegance peculiar to himself; nor has another great master

done them less justice.

"The cormorant on high

Wheels from the deep and screams along the land;

Loud shrieks the soaring hern; and with wild wing

The circling sea fowl cleave the flaky clouds."