Well, not so much a sea mark, this one, as it is well inland; but I guess it is one which the majority of us have at one time or another come within a few inches of. I have passed under, or should it be through, the bridge in many types and sizes of sailing craft, from kayaks and dinghies to old gaffers. Connie and I once spent a very happy lunch eating crab sandwiches sitting on the river bank near the bridge watching the antics of the many brave and not-so-brave souls that "shot" the little bridge.

This being the problem, of course, it is a little bridge, and on the approach for the first time it looks like a hole in a wall. The old hand when approaching will be aware of the strength and direction of wind, will take into account the number and position of the other vessels nearby, the speed and direction of the current, etc, etc. Not so those who approach the ancient structure for the first time.

Sad to say, I drew pleasure from the antics of one gent in particular on a large varnished hire cruiser who, although not at the wheel, appeared to be in "command". He stood stiffly erect in the centre cockpit behind the helmsman, pipe clenched in teeth with cravat and neat shirt, and on the approach announced in a loud voice intended for all to hear, "Don't panic Simon, we must be firm with these people. We have the right of way."

On hearing this I knew we were in for some entertainment. As the vessel drew close to the bridge and the several craft that were coming and going in a more or less orderly fashion, the gent in command started shouting out helpful orders such as 'Steady, steady, STEADY!' and 'Watch out, WATCH OUT!'

The shiny cruiser commenced a graceful sideways slide toward another cruiser coming out of the hole under full throttle, with a couple of inches to spare on either side. The newcomer gave a series of blasts on his horn which mercifully drowned the rough comments shouted by the cravat man at his helmsman, the bridge, the rest of the traffic and his wife who had joined him with a cup of tea to see the fun. After several forward and astern commands they finally lined up with the hole in the wall and set forth at full throttle only to be yet again forced to go hard astern as a weather-beaten old guy standing on the public ramp wiping his hands with an oily rag shouted, "Hey cap'n, drop yur windscreen afor yum gerum wrapped round yer ugly mug".

I now have a confession to make. Many years ago when I was still young enough to smoke without setting myself on fire and could still remember my children's names, I took a party of friends down to the Broads and taught them after a fashion how to sail. After a stern lecture on the correct procedure for passing through Potter Heigham bridge we set off, lowering our masts as we approached the bridge. I stood by in one of the old gaffers that we had hired and gave encouragement as they filed past in line ahead, I joined on the tail end and entered the opening with our 4hp Stuart making a pleasant echo within the cool gloom of the bridge, followed by a grinding noise as the wooden scissors crutch supporting our mast clattered and groaned against the overhead stonework! I had forgotten the very thing that I had told everybody else was of the utmost importance, to use the small crutch especially provided for passing through the bridge and not the normal one which I had used. I paid for my mistake that evening when my friends bought and forced me to smoke a cigar the size of a shotgun in a waterside pub.

Notes on Sea Marks 3

While searching the Net for a clue for a drawing to accompany Doug's Sea Mark, I discovered that Potter Heigham Bridge has a history:

"The mother of Lady Evelyn Montefiore-Carew, determined that her daughter should have Sir Godfrey Haslitt of Bastwick, sought the help of a local witch in making a love potion, which she herself administered to Sir Godfrey during his attendance at a hunting party at Kings Lynn. The local witch had refused any form of monetary payment for the potion, but had made Lady Evelyn's mother swear that, if the potion worked, then whatever payment the witch asked for would be given. To this Lady Carew had foolishly agreed.

Sir Godfrey duly proposed to Lady Evelyn and the wedding took place with a great deal of pomp and ceremony in Norwich. However, at the reception, as the clock struck midnight, the gates of the hall burst open and there, framed in the doorway, stood a skeleton. Ignoring the screaming guests, the skeleton rushed over to where the young bride stood clasped in her new husband's arms and grabbed her up in its bony limbs.

Still holding its victim, it then leapt into a waiting coach, which was drawn by four coal-black horses. As Sir Godfrey and his astounded guests rallied themselves and raced out in pursuit, the coach set off in the direction of Potter Heigham. Sir Godfrey's last view of his virginal bride was her young pale face pressed against the glass mouthing entreaties whilst the skeleton sat with its bony arms wrapped around Lady Evelyn and her bridal gown.

Upon reaching the bridge at Potter Heigham, the coach collided with the wall. It then burst into flames and tumbled into the River Thurne, its ill-fated passenger still inside.

This then was the payment that the witch had demanded for her potion.

Now it is said that on the anniversary of that fateful day anyone foolish enough to be in the vicinity of Potter Heigham Bridge will hear the sound of horse's hooves and the crunch of wheels on the road. As the skin on their scalps tightens and rivers of ice course down their spines, a fiery coach comes into view careering at great speed. It then hits the bridge and plunges into the water of the river below before vanishing."

No wonder, then, that skippers mess up their attempts to shoot the bridge: it must be bad enough trying to negotiate so small an opening, without worrying about a coach-and-four coming down in flames on your foredeck... KM